#one of my favorite thing to do in fiction

[gojoidyll]

stubborn heart ch. 6

yan!capitano x wife!reader

summary | or in which capitano is told he needs a wife. and he begrudgingly agrees.

previous | next

“M’lady,” your maid bowed to you as she opened your carriage door. After getting ready for the day, you had quickly left the house with your maid following after.

“Thank you,” you said as your attention was soon brought to the bookstore. It was the best one that Snezhnaya has with a grand selection all around. Just thinking about what books you could get today excited you to no end.

“Back again,” the cashier said with a grin as you entered the bookstore. Smiling sheepishly at being recognized so easily, you nodded, “it seems I just can’t stay away,” you answered.

“Your patronage is always appreciated. If you need help finding anything, please don’t be afraid to ask.”

You pondered her words for a moment, before nodding to yourself, “about that. Do you think you can give me some book recommendations?”

The cashier immediately brightened at your words as she clapped her hands together, “I would be happy to! I have some favorites that I have just been dying to share with people, but its always hard to find people who are interested in the same thing…”

“Well,” you started, “I’ve been told that I would read just about anything. Back at the Hearth I would resort to reading cookbooks or how to manuals if I ran out my normal reading material.”

The cashier chuckled at your words, “well, not to worry, I won’t be recommending anything like that,” she moved from behind the counter and gestured for you to follow, “come on, I’ll show you where my favorite section is.”

When she turned to walk off you and your maid followed.

“And here we are,” she stopped in front an aisle and walked into it, and as she would run her fingers along the spines of the book she stopped on a specific one, “this one was just too good,” she said as she pulled it out, but before she handed it to you, she hesitated.

“Something wrong,” you asked.

“Well.. how do you feel about romance books?”

“Oh! I like them a lot! It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“And what about romance with a little… spice to it?”

Spice? You weren’t exactly sure what that meant…

“Uhm, sure. I’m fine with that too.”

“Perfect!”

Her hesitation was long gone as she handed the book to you, “Arkan is by far the perfect fictional man by the way, he’ll have you wishing you were in the book!”

You looked down at the title as she handed it to you.

Most of the romance books you read were short fantasy stories, and most of the time the main characters only had titles and didn’t have names. Like the book Capitano was reading to you. The princess, knight, and the prince didn’t have any names or stuff like that. So, having a romance book with characters who had actual names may be a good change of pace.

“Thank you! Do you by chance have any other recommendations?”

“Of course!”

Throughout the rest of the time you spent there, the cashier lady kept telling you the level of spice of a book which continued to confuse you, but not wanting to seem like an idiot you kept acting like you knew what she was talking about. Though, luckily, she did give you some books to buy that didn’t have any “spice” in them whatsoever.

“M’lady,” your maid said as you both finally made it back to the manor.

“Yes,” you asked as you helped her carry the many books you had bought today.

“You… do know what that cashier meant, right?”

“About what?”

“Spice.”

You two had made it to the library easily, the both of you quickly setting the books down to give your arms a break.

“Uhm… about that,” you said with a sheepish look on your face, “not really.”

Your maid seemed to blush lightly at your words as she reached for your hand, “then please excuse me, I don’t know how to tell you this but…”

“But what?”

“The amount of spice in a book correlates to the amount of sexual content it has.”

Your maid broke it down to you as if she was telling you that your pet dog died.

“Hah?”

It took a few moments for your brain to properly register what she had just told you, “HAAAAAAH?!?!?!”

You broke your hand free from her grasp as immediately slapped both of your hands to your burning hot cheeks, “what do you mean?!?!!? Are you telling me that I just b-bought- bought sex books?!”

“Well,” she said, “its not like every single page is specifically sex, but if its super spicy then I can guarantee you that there will probably be a lot of it…”

You crouched down to the floor, your hands falling from your red, hot cheeks as you went to hug yourself. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

You heard of sex, of course, but you never once did it yourself nor do you know how to do it. Hell, even when the other older girls in the hearth started talking about their “experiences” and even how they pleasure themselves alone you would always run out of the room. You always thought that that it was a topic you didn’t need to know, but of course that all changed when you literally got married a mere few days ago. Which, of course, is why you get so nervous every time the word consummate left Capitano’s mouth.

“M'lady?”

She crouched down next to you as she laid her hand on your back as if she was trying to soothe you.

“Yeah?”

“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed. You didn’t know.”

“I know, but if Capitano finds out then that will just be another dumb thing I did that he’ll add to the list… I haven’t exactly been giving him the best impressions you know.”

Your maid patted your back, “don’t worry, he doesn’t have to know.”

Once again, your mind took a few moments to comprehend what she said, “h- huh? You- you aren’t going to tell him that I accidentally bought these types of books?”

Your maid shook her head, “of course not.”

You sniffled a little, “should we- should we take them back?”

Your maid shook her head at that, “to be honest, I think reading about sex will be easier for you than asking someone about it. I mean,” she giggled, “you and Lord Capitano have to consummate the marriage at some point.”

You scoffed, “I can’t believe you’re laughing at me!”

“I’m sorry, but it is kind of funny!”

You huffed and looked away from her causing her to laugh again before patting your back once again, “but I am serious. Reading books like that can at least give you an idea of what to do.”

You sighed and thought it over. As much as you hated to admit it, she was right. You had no one to ask about how to properly have sex with someone and you definitely didn’t want to ask Father or Capitano about it. And you know you would be a laughingstock to the others at the Hearth if you asked them…

Maybe reading about it will help after all? Besides, it would be less embarrassing since it means you wouldn’t have to ask anyone, and as long as Capitano doesn’t find out about it, then you won’t have to crawl under a rock or try to explain yourself on how you accidentally bought some not so safe books.

“So?”

You sighed, “well, it would be better to read then ask about it, I guess…, but please. I’m being for real, don’t tell anyone about my screw up today.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

Right then and there, a new friendship bloomed. You learned that her name was Atri and in return you asked if she would stop calling you m’lady. She said she would, but only when no one else was around. To which you were you happy with.

taglist

@nas-ha @simp-simp-no-mi @emmathecouchpotato4583 @sendria @riotakire @littlekohai77 @lvtuss @kreishin @floffytofu @nastylilcvnt @mikoslightnovels @feral-childs-word @barbatoss-bitch @venicecherryblossom @squirrelboxer @temperamentupgrade @avalordream @immahuman @xavlyzn @greensunflowerjuna @sarah22447 @naviabestgiirl @nevermoresworld @depressedbearblogs @ppancakesforu @0vendettaself @lilyalone @mochiivqi

some say "no blogs found" when I try to add them </3

[getvalentined]

I mentioned this elsewhere but I can get into more detail about it here: one of my favorite things to do when writing fic for a series that isn't placed on some AU version of Earth is to use legitimate but archaic or obsolete terms for things: "dioxidane" instead of hydrogen peroxide, "bhanga" instead of marijuana, "shellshock" instead of PTSD, and so on. I think it gives the work a more realistic air while also solidifying the setting as being somewhere else, and still being something that a reader can look up if necessary.

Also a huge fan of repurposing common idioms for the fictional setting in question. I play in FF7, and these are a few of my favorites:

In for a penny, in for a pound → In for a gil, in for a grand

Rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic → Washing windows in Midgar at Meteorfall

A bull in a china shop → A grandhorn in a glass boutique

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth → Don't look a gift bird in the beak

Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, that's why I [verb] on company time → Boss makes a fortune, I make a gil, that's why I [verb] while I'm paying the bills

Cold as a witch's tit → Chilly as Shiva's armpit

Hung like a horse → Built like a behemoth

If wishes were horses beggars would ride → If wishes were chocobos beggars would fly

Idioms catch on because there's a particular flow and rhythm to them, so you can't always just swap out a word and expect it to work—you can't just plug in "chocobo" everywhere common turns of phrase use "horse," for instance, because the extra syllables throw off the flow and make the phrase awkward to say. You gotta figure out the pattern in the idiom, where the emphasis hits, etc., and then rework that to work in-universe.

Stuff like this is very silly, but it really makes a difference to me with regard to readability and suspension of disbelief, so I really enjoy doing it in my own work, and it's always fun to see it in someone else's!

[maintitle]

I do not care about the solavellan favoritism. Given the set-up of the game, I'd be mad on behalf of Solas romancers if there wasn't a bit of favoritism for them.

What I care about is the over-emphasis on that romance in an article that cuts and dashes peoples love of other romances while also dashing the state of the world your choices built. I care that Iron Bull and Blackwall romancers now are in a state of limbo. I care that no romance from before DA:I even exists anymore, in the eyes of this game. I care that my favorite fictional character, whom I played a man to romance, is being confirmed as heavily involved with the game, but seemingly robbed of all context of her life's story. I'm mad that a necessary culling of choice has turned into a wilfire that has left only three survivors, and yes I'm a little annoyed that the one very well fed group in all these changes is the most popular straight romance.

This whole thing is frustrating as hell and it hurts a lot of people to know that their choices don't matter and that their favorite romances are either lessened or gone, and that their favorite OC's are basically non-existent in the mind of this game. So please don't turn this into a fandom versus solavellan issue, because it's not about solas, it's about how a huge fraction of the fanbase is sleeping on the couch while one romance specifically is sleeping in the bed.

[absolutelybifurious]

the thing is im usually allllll for putting eddie in the torture nexus, its actually my favorite favorite thing, but it hits so different when its chris. when its the person eddie has tried so hard for again and again and again. when its this thing he's poured his entire soul and life and being into for YEARS to try and Not Fail His Kid. when its now his kid being merciless in punishing him. now the same kid is ghosting him for this one mistake that also hurt eddie terribly.

and i get it isnt out of place for a teen to do something like this, bc their emotions are so big, but can someone CALL THAT OUT? can someone be like yeah hes taking this a bit far lets maybe put a stop to it??? but eddie's parents are just ignoring eddie and letting this Angry Teenager uproot his entire life and break his dads heart while eddie is powerless to do anything about it because he, once again, so desperately, wants just to be a good father. but he actually kind of isnt being one because he doesnt value himself enough to be like oh hey, wait, you're actually being unfair. we need to discuss this. he can't teach chris that running and being selfish and icing people out is Not Healthy because that would mean prioritizing his own hurt over this months-long temper tantrum christopher is having. and it would be great if this arc ended in a way that addresses THAT.

and if no one's gonna explain this to chris, i just need someone to explain it to eddie, i really desperately need someone to actually comfort EDDIE. i need someone to tell him, or at least acknowledge, that it wasn't completely his fault. that he tried to stop it before it affected chris. that he did the right thing but then got ambushed by kim. or even that the whole kim thing must have Hurt Him Too. like someone just hold him or talk to him or ANYTHING in a way that isn't wow you really hurt christopher huh :(

but i honestly can't tell where they're going with it bc its been one episode. i just know i, like christopher and eddie, am having Big Feelings and DONT KNOW HOW TO PROCESS THEM.

there's so much potential and im tentatively excited but also hahahahasf i would like this particular torture nexus to end immediately. this is a kind of emotional horror that might actually give me heart damage. christopher diaz get over yourself and go home.

im really hoping all this leads to a VERY heartwarming reunion because if it does not then i have beef with a fictional thirteen year old im so serious. (also the diaz parents but i've had beef with them so.)

[corisanna]

Actually, I'm not done talking about things I love about ANAI! Your Sayaka is *chef's kiss*

The way you went from "writing Sayaka is hard and I'm having trouble figuring her out" to "Sayaka Miki Is Done With Your Bullshit" and her actively be aware of "I'm a support character at best. That is going to change if it's the last thing I do. Just have to wait for a scene change."

You made me care about Sayaka in a way the original show never quite accomplished. She's genuinely my second favorite character in ANAI after Hitsugaya. Depending on the scene and my mood she even steals his number one spot.

I wanted to include specific lines of hers that I go "*points* I liked that!" at, but soon noticed it would be almost her entire script. So.

Here's to your Sayaka whom I adore very much 😌

Thank you!

Interestingly, the more I worked on Sayaka, the more attached I got to her. I had already been soft for her from seeing her arc as an allegory for depression and social stress a teen generally doesn't have the life experience to mitigate careening into a tragic, self-destructive psychological breakdown, but nudging her actions in ANAI to continue at the angle of the more even-headed and positive mindset she started with at the beginning of the anime before getting sabotaged by the contract endeared her to me even more. The way I wrote her made her canon story feel even more tragic in contrast to "what could have been." The life details I reasoned backwards to get included some things that are personal, so I got even more into her head. I love to write her now. She's my favorite PMMM character.

Coincidentally, that "adding personal details to the canon doll that already resonates with me" process is a factor in why Toshiro is tied with her as a major favorite fictional character of mine, with Homura a more moderate degree of favorite. In general fandom, I mean; I try to not play too much to favorites in writing ANAI. I don't know how successful I am at that.

I've gotten a lot of similar comments about ANAI Sayaka over the years. Those and things I see in fandom in general always make me wonder why she gets so much negative commentary or even hate. I find her canon self to be a sympathetic portrayal of teen angst and existential crisis causing a painful spiral. She makes sense to me even when she lashes out and tries to create life stability through some rigid morality and defensive rejection of people and their help. I've seen people scorn that she acted more okay in the immediate aftermath of Mami's death; I read that as intense masking of her feelings. She feels real. Maybe it's because I had a depressive spiral as a teen that I tried hard to mask as being okay, had more and saw friends having them in adulthood, and saw myself in her even before I started playing with her for my story.

One of my subplot goals for ANAI is to develop Sayaka's character through her personal struggles that she masks with cheer and teasing to be more stable and in a better place mentally. I hope I can pull it off. I've wished for better things for her since I first saw the anime.

[zepskies]

NAVIGATION

Welcome to my little corner of the world!

About Me: Alex (she/her | 28) || Hopeless romantic, Dean Girl - EST 2014, Latina POC 🇨🇺🇵🇷🇩🇴

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We chatted about Dean Winchester and Jensen Ackles’ early roles, the best and worst seasons of SPN, the joys and pains of writing Soldier Boy, and much, much more.

For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

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5 Tips to Stay Motivated to Write

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Writing a Good Kiss/Romantic Scene

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Asking the "What If" Question & Developing Plot Ideas

How to Build a Tumblr Following - (At least, in my experience.)

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Why We Love The Boys: A Review of Supes Ain't Always Heroes

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Dean Winchester AU Fic Rec List

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August 2024 Fic Recs

**Author's Note

All 18+ content is labelled across my stories, as well as any dark themes or trigger warnings. So minors, please don't interact with those posts. Also, I do not read or write:

RPF (real person fiction)

Wincest

Non-con

[whumpluv]

✶ ‧₊˚ㅤ. . . introduction !

hey, i'm jude! i'm nineteen and use he/him pronouns. i'm autistic and torturing fictional characters is one of my special interests. i've been into whump for a long time, but this is my first time actually getting involved in the community.

✶ ‧₊˚ㅤ. . . tastes && preferences !

‧₊ ๑ favorite whump things: public humiliation, being held underwater, forced to beg, threats of rape/non-con (but with no intention of actually following through), sleep deprivation, all hurt and no comfort, defiant whumpee + whumper who is going to have so much fun breaking them. there's probably more, but i can't think of them right now.

‧₊ ๑ least favorite things: vomiting. i have pretty bad emetophobia irl, can't handle seeing puke, but i can usually handle reading about a character puking if it's not detailed. i think that's my only least favorite whump thing that i can still (usually) read about.

‧₊ ๑ absolute no-gos: actual rape/non-con, nails or teeth being ripped out, super young whumpees (i do have some underage whumpee ocs, but they're all at least teenagers. i cannot handle little kids being hurt). uhh ... i think that's it, actually.

[aslket]

So I know I read something like this back in high-school on LiveJournal or something, but I reblogged a post about Camilla Hect reading Harrow's letter and I was reminded of Legolas

Because Legolas' dad got asked by Gandalf and Some Ranger to look after this horrible little creature right? Keep it locked up but alive, because it might know about something important. How they acheived this is anyone's guess, because Gandalf wasn't at all forthcoming about what that knowledge was. But however it's done Thranduil agrees, and Thraunduil's a king of his word, so they are apparently going to incarcerate this thing indefinitely. And it's an awful thing, it's so shriveled and cringing and weirdly small? Like a goblin-sized extremely old addict, who's been eating toddlers mind, but who Gandalf just literally tortured. Keep in mind, real goblins exist and the wood elves don't try to rehabilitate them, so they could presumably perceive that he wasn't 100% evil

Anyway this horrid little not-goblin can't eat real food, can't stand the sun, and obviously hates being locked in their cellars for over a year. So they let him out on the darkest nights to climb a tree in a clearing under gaurd. Wood elves aren't monsters, and this small being is clearly suffering, and they'll mitigate that if they can. Right for all sentient beings but orcs, Sauron and Rignbearers says Thranduil

But then. Then that little shit manages to communicate(?) with someone(???) while up a tree in the middle of a clearing gaurded by archers in the dead of night, and a bunch of fucking orcs bust him out. Or even worse, he didn't and they have a critical security crisis on their hands, instead of only an extremely severe one. This is not a great look for Thranduil, and now he's gotta let Gandalf know ASAP what went down because, as previously stated, the reason he agreed to house this weird sounding pitiable creature was presumably because Gadalf gave him some extremely incomplete and alarming info about why it was so desperately important he be safely imprisoned

Regrettably, nobody can ever fucking FIND Gandalf, which makes letting him know kind of difficult. A wizard is never late, because you can never actually pin them down for a fucking RSVP. So Thranduil grabs his son, after all the tracking and reapprehension of this fugitive has failed, and tells him to go to Rivendell and leave a message for Gandalf and That One Ranger with Elrond

This is a shitty job. Legolas' home just got attacked and a bunch of his people killed, and now he's gotta travel over the misty fucking mountains to find a hidden bloody valley and tell a literal 1/16th angel, on behalf of his people, that they've completely fucking biffed it. Jury's out on if Legolas has ever really left Mirkwood before, boy's never even been to Lorien, which is just across the river. The only sliver of a bright side to this is he won't actually have to tell Gandalf himself. If he shows up in Mirkwood looking for the afwul ittle guy, his dad gets to tell him what happened. The chances of "the grey wanderer" HAPPENING to be visiting Rivendell during the same day and a half Legolas spends there, probably just handing off a letter and mooching some supplies in a properly diplomatic fashion, approach zero

Then Legolas actually arrives.

So there's DWARVES here, and the son of the Steward of Gondor, and That One Ranger AND Gandalf. Apparently a council is happening, and Elrond's hosting. You guys didn't get an invite, which is pretty insulting, but apparently NOBODY got an invite and everyone just got up independently and decided to come here because bad shit was happening in their individual corner of the world. That's basically unprecedented, and not a good sign, but this is also a great opportunity for Legolas, and phenomenal branding on Elrond's part, really. All these people ended up here with news, and he's gonna make sure they all leave on the same page, and Legolas gets to take all that info back to Thranduil.

The only wrinkle in Legolas getting to be actually present for this once-an-age get together is that Gandalf and That One Bloody Ranger are ALSO here, and that's a little embarrassing, really. Sucks to advertise the you couldn't manage One Job in front of the DWARVES. But at least it's just that you lost track of one gross little creature, who's probably been eaten by orcs or something by now, so its not the diplomatic disaster it could be.

So everybody gets together, and Gandalf shows up with a pair of hobbits. Obviously Legolas has heard of hobbits, but its perhaps occurring to him at this point that they're Suspiciously small. He's only met one other non-goblin creature that size.

The council starts, and the fucking dwarves go on, but everybody covers the basic situations at home and they're pretty universally Not Great. But then Elrond says ok, now that we're all on the same page, we're gonna cover the important secret stuff. Legolas, at this point privy to state secrets of elves, men and also dwarves, might be puzzled here. Especially when Elrond proceeds to give a lesson on ancient history, starting three thousand years ago. That is a long time ago even for elves, and he's covering what, the fucking rings of power and the last alliance??

Actually, he's covering specifically one ring of power, and it whereabouts. And also that Gollum had it, and it comes up that BILBO did too (what the fuck??) and oh, also, That One Ranger is the lost King of Gondor. Cool. This is fine. Now everyone is talking about how glad they are that Gollum's under lock and key and can't cause any more problems, and Legolas literally leaps from his seat at this point to mention with considerable concern that he's actually not

This is real bad news for all of five seconds, but then Gandalf blows it out of the water when he drops the Saruman's-a-fucking-traitor bomb. And eventually this leads to Legolas agreeing to go on a crazy quest to MORDOR with four hobbits, a wizard, a king, a steward's son, and a dwarf. Literally everything Legolas thought was a huge problem has been revealed to be minor annoyances leading up to the apocalypse

And that's what I love about Camilla reading that letter. She thought she was dealing with some shit. She thought she was going to impossible lengths. She had NO IDEA

[not-psychotic]

[fictionadventurer]

Maybe the problem with Christian fiction is that it's non-denominational. People are just "Christian", with no effort put into showing what practicing that religion looks like for them specifically. No indication that there are other Christians who could have different beliefs. No wrestling with differing ideas and the struggle of how one should live out their Christian faith. And that makes it unrealistic and unrelatable.

[redhoodie1723]

esteban ocon being considered really tall when he's shorter than my dad, brothers, and a lot of my male friends is so funny to me

part 2 part 3

[pepperpixel]

Initial drawings of that old man… I literally, I haven’t finished reading the book of bill yet!!! I had to stop and take a break for a week to feverishly draw fanart of myself petting fords floofy hair and giving him attention and shit…!!!! The urge was too great….!! I’ve literally. I had a crush on this guy the instant he was first REVEALED in the show, but I did not have the artistic prowess to draw good looking old men back then… but I do now… thank god… thank fucking god

[stardust-falling]

fandom psa; there is nothing whatsoever that is inherently "problematic" about shipping characters who are "found family."

Adoption is not found family. A blended family is not found family. A found family or chosen family is a group which, through circumstances or simply mutual affection, hold their relationship to one another with equal care and importance as family members ought to. It's not the same type of relationship.

It's not incest. It's not even pseudo-incest unless you want it to be. I personally don't care what people ship, but I'm absolutely tired of people misusing the term "found family" to just recreate the idea of a nuclear family and force those roles onto the entirety of a fandom. Sure, maybe characters who are found family may view themselves like siblings, or like a parent and child or aunt and niece, but they might also just see each other as friends-- and guess what? romantic partners too! That's technically the most widely-accepted form of found family/chosen family there is!

The whole point of found family/chosen family is to have the importance of "family" on relationships that lie outside the commonly-understood bounds of that relationship. Not to recreate the "mommy-daddy-daughter-son" dynamic with unrelated characters and use that headcanon or fanon dynamic to enforce your own morality or preferences on other fans.

[countlessofvoids]

Me somewhere in 2026 when a new God of War game is announced and instead of Atreus or Faye oriented game it's another Kratos prequel

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

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.

[dykedvonte]

why do you hate Joshua Graham or Honest Hearts so much?

This DLC and character represents a bigger issue with fandom spaces I have but particularly fallout fandom in general.

Fallout tends to tackle a lot of topics controversial and not. The first two games it’s heavy cause they are the most satirical and direct with how anti-war, nationalism and etc… they are. 3 loses this as it’s very clear once you play or learn about all the games that Todd and a bunch of guys at Bethesda just liked the 50s post apocalyptic aesthetic and refuse to actually critique the ideals of the time period like the earlier titles.

New Vegas is the game that really gets back into it a degree it almost seems like it’s taking too much on. There are things done exceedingly well while other things are done horribly wrong . I’ve made posts about it before and plan to make a big series of posts (it’s a lot of writing) but my biggest gripe is with Honest Hearts and all the gross and white savior esque depictions it has of indigenous peoples. The entirety if FNV does not do the injustices faced by indigenous people correctly on any count. My two biggest complaints are with the Khans and the tribes in Zion but I’ll talk about the former on a different post.

Both characters of Daniel and Joshua are the most accurate depiction of white saviors I’ve seen and I hate how the DLC tries to justify and defend them. The DLC treats Joshua like this man who has repented for his past actions when he is just retracing his steps after his cruelty bit him in the ass. He was one of the worst parts of the Legion and it is all but explicitly stated that if you don’t force him to be non-violent he will turn the tribes of Zion into the legion 2.0. The Dead Horses and the Sorrows are horribly infantilized by both Daniel and Joshua who both use them for self serving purposes guised by religious duty. The White Legs are the horrible stereotype of violent and savage indigenous and I personally think a lot of their interlinking with Ulysses, his hair and Ulysses character in general are distasteful and very telling of how BIPOC or POC where involved.

But outside of the game it’s the weird obsession people have with these characters ideologies and trying to make them seem more interesting/philosophical than they are. Tumblr is an echo chamber and many fans of Fallout are not the people on this site. Many people are not educated in the issues these characters convey and how poorly they do or used these characters as a poor introduction for their takes. Contrary to what a lot of people believe in, fallout has a prediomeny white cis male fanbase. More importantly a large portion of the fanbase is white.

You can joke how FNV made you trans or see the numbers on post/fics or diverse headcanons but these are kiddy numbers compared to the millions that consume the franchise and aren’t in those more aware spaces or don’t engage in the spaces the same way someone like me does/has to. Their views shape a lot more than people realize and it’s exhausting to be in a space where people don’t correct the more subtle yet toxic aspects of it but also adopt them into some weird quirky view point on the characters or issues. Some people don’t realize and some people don’t care.

My main issue is just the idolizing of these sort of thing in this fandom space and people try to acts like a game like fallout whose tagline is “War never changes” and has never had a game not revolve around political or militaristic factions issues isn’t that deep or doesn’t relate to real issues. I think it’s mainly caused by how over powered you can become and how you can strong arm your way past these learning moments as majority of people who play this game do play it as a power fantasy where they can do so as they please (which of course, go ahead it’s fun) but never take in parallels or lessons in the story as if it was just another first person shooter.

Also like another personal gripe is Cazadores spawn like hell whenever I’m there and I have not found a mod that works to mod them out so I have to play Indigenous Racism the DLC while getting jumped by giant wasps WHILE helping Mormons. Like I cannot catch a break.