#FUCKING BEDTIME STORIES

[poppitron360]

People who read Percy Jackson as innocent children, how confused were you by the “Percabeth in the stables” scene in MOA? I’m curious to know what you understood of it, particularly as it’s meant to be a book targeted for kids and tweens.

[1001100-02]

Absolutely accepting of people having preferences but completely baffled by people who think the supernatural is too much for Doctor Who, as if 9 didn't stop Victorian Ghosts, 10 didn't battle a Werewolf, 11 didn't help a child defeat his nightmares come to life, 12 didn't protect a base against underwater ghosts and 13 didn't work to banish bog witches back into their prison?

Just because some sci-fi gobbledegook made it sciency doesn't mean it wasn't magical.

[swampstew]

You Picked Dare

Summary: Why the hell would you play truth or dare with a bunch of pirates? Warnings: nsfw but mostly language and suggestive content, no actual smut, Kid Pirates being the Kid Pirates. Killer x Female reader x Kid

Inspired by the mega awesome @magnuspirate who did this delighful tease of two hunky hunks hunking around

Dare.

Dare. 

Dare.

Your bold statement had come out smug and confident, echoing in your head with a twinge of regret.

The Dare was to go into the hot springs and take a photo – of Killer and your Captain. Damn the others for knowing your kryptonite.

There was an opt-out option – to clean the communal bathrooms for a month. No fucking way.

As you walked through the island you took nervous hits of your blunt to ease the butterflies in your stomach. All you had to do was take a picture. There were no restrictions, you could be seen or hidden, as long as you got a photo of them that was all you needed to escape this torturous dare disguised as a group bonding activity.

Fuck the crew! You loved them but also fuck them. You were gonna get them back.

About a hundred yards away from the hot spring you took a final drag and snuffed out the remaining blunt. Giving yourself an internal pep talk as you took each step.

‘Position self behind a bush. Snap a picture. Sneak away and then run like the devil’s on my heels.’

Picturing your devil of a captain, your stomach coiled with anxiousness. Oh how you wished you could light up the roach.

Creeping between the foliage, you could hear Kid and Killer talking to each other in relaxed conversation. They didn’t appear to notice you, silently cursing as you realized they were still too far to take a photo.

Tip toeing on the patches of grass, you could make out their conversation more clearly.

“Ya ever think about sleeping with someone on the crew?” Kid suddenly asked Killer. You nearly fell over yourself when you heard the statement.

“Once in a while, rarely act on it though. You?” Killer mused.

“All the time.”

“Horn dog,” Killer scoffed.

“Can ya blame me? All our girls are hot as fuck.”

“Yeah, but I also see most of them as sisters…”

“You’re so pure,” Kid laughed. “Yeah they’re family, but they’re also not. I’m not saying I’d do anything about it either but it’s tempting some times.”

You felt as if you weren’t breathing, skillfully crawling around the shrubs eager to hear and see more, as silent as the dead. One breath and they were sure to discover you.

“Ahh is this about Y/N again?”

Time stopped. Your heart stopped. You didn’t dare move.

“Could be,” there was a tilt in Kid’s voice. “Don’t pretend you don’t think about her and what it could be like.”

“You’re being vulgar, which isn’t surprising, but what do you expect me to say? ‘Sure Kid I’ll bow out from another person of interest to give you the advantage as your friend.’” Killer legitimately sounded a little mad. Well like, personal hurt mad, not crazy mad which he was every single second.

“I’m a man with needs too. And I LIKE her.”

You wished to be a small lizard so you could watch them argue about you. Maybe the blunt was laced with something – wouldn’t put it past your crew to be honest.

Low growling preceded a laugh, and you could hear the sound of water splashing. Oh to the gods to be a fish in that spring.

“Alright fair enough. Would it make you feel better if we do it together? It’d be her choice who she’d choose no matter what, no hurt fee fees over it. Maybe if we come at her with a multi-partner thing, 50/50 she agrees?”

“Kid!”

“60/40?”

“Stop it.”

“Damn 10/90?”

More splashing of water, waves of it crashing over your coverage and wetting your clothes. Practicing your breathing exercises, you mentally pumped yourself up to get it over with. One snap and bam, you’re gone.

“What if we show her our dicks first?”

“KID!”

“Whadd’ya say Y/N? Wanna check the goods before you sample them?” Kid couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Gods be damned. They all sucked.

Gathering the last ounce of dignity and lighting your roach, you jumped out from behind the foliage with your camera, looking to the side as you snapped the picture. Whether is was worthy enough to pass was no longer your priority.

“IT WAS A DARE!!!!” you screeched as your turned on your heel and bolted. You poor thing, you didn’t make it past 1 yard.

“Oh you’re not going anywhere, Y/N,” Kid taunted as Killer wrapped his arms around you and picked you up. His towel becoming loose and distressed from your struggling. Bringing you back to the hot spring.

Taking the camera, Kid tossed it in the water with the smuggest face a motherfucker could make.

“We showed you ours, now we dare you to show yours.”

[blueskittlesart]

it is kind of funny in a painful sort of way that because several hundred people recommended genshin impact to me purely due to it blatantly ripping assets from botw back in like 2021 i now have a worm in my brain that forces me to log in once a month and witness the death of video games as a creative storytelling medium

[burntblueberrywaffles]

Me opening ao3 every night before bed:

[onebigmanwhor]

when the when they

[bobosbillionsknives]

I AM GOING TO BASH HIM WITH A 400 POUND MALLET UNTIL HE IS NOTHING BUT A PILE OF RECOGNIZABLE MUSH

I AM GOING TO BASH HIM WITH A 400 POUND MALLET UNTIL HE IS NOTHING BUT A PILE OF RECOGNIZABLE MUSH

[whoisthatstrangeimbecile]

LOLOMOLnkjb

WARNING: CRINGE

cringe warning (incredibly cringe)

[javaghoul]

TG characters & who's out listening to the neighbours arguing again

Koma is the meme of the guy vacuuming the driveway. Any excuse to get nearer to the action.

As soon as he works out it's not ghoul related, Amon closes the window. He doesn't wanna hear this shit.

Itori doesn't know who Louise is, but wants to. She sounds like a party. Recognises the subtle slur of inebriated angry women.

Hide is a little averse to arguments, as is Ken. The former doesn't enjoy hearing others' misery, and the latter finds it a bit triggering.

Neighbourly arguments are a goldmine for Eto. If it isn't gossip, it's inspiration for her novels.

Nishiki acts like he's above it, but when he hears that Mr Neighbour has been shagging everything on the street he's listening.

When it sounds like the neighbours aren't tiring themselves out, Yomo will knock doors. Mostly to get them to stfu, but also to make sure everything's ok (especially if the neighbour has kids in the house).

Tsukiyama has missed out on the experience of noisy neighbour fights ☹️

Roma, Suzuya, Uta and Nico are out on the street feet away from the quarrelling couple encouraging them. They choose sides too.

Touka is a slams-the-window-loudly kinda person. If she wanted to listen to bullshit, she'd have stayed at work.

Saiko sleeps through the entire thing, but wonders why her neighbour is camped out in their car the next morning.

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

˚₊‧꒰ა fic reccomendations ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

MARVEL

includes ↴

☆ bucky barnes

☆ steve rogers

☆ miguel o'hara

☆ moonknight

☆ logan howlett

CALL OF DUTY

includes ↴

☆ simon riley

☆ john mactavish

☆ john price

☆ kyle garrick

☆ könig

THE LAST OF US

includes ↴

☆ ellie williams

☆ joel miller

DEAD POETS SOCIETY

includes ↴

☆ charlie dalton

☆ steven meeks

STAR WARS

includes ↴

☆ din djarin

☆ obi wan kenobi

☆ han solo

GRAVITY FALLS

includes ↴

☆ stanley pines

☆ stanford pines

MISCELLANEOUS

includes ↴

☆ santiago 'pope' garcia

☆ llewyn davis

☆ pete 'maverick' mitchell

☆ charlie babbitt

☆ daniel kaffee

☆ jerry maguire

☆ ethan hunt

☆ sherlock holmes

☆ indiana jones

☆ jake sully

☆ eddie munson

navigation . how you can help palestine

[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.

[chiangyorange]

Do you have any LoZ/LU fic recs?

i have many! they wont be organized in any particular way tho

i started just hucking links at this until i realized, oh this is gettin really long actually, so im going to shove everything under the cut with the link to the fic itself and some personal notes from me to hopefully get you to read them!!

for Linked Universe;

Two Moon Pearls and the Master Sword by serbii

the chain get sent to the dark world and literally everyone but four, sky, and legend get to turn into animals about it. also baby legend is there <3 this also has an in progress sequel!!! its so fucking good!!!!!!

Absence by Anonymous

wild forgets he has to TELL PEOPLE that he has amnesia. this has consequences. i love wild and warriors dynamic so much theyre such a duo. if i believe in my heart other people can see the vision too.... sobs. WAILS EVEN.

Dearly, Departed by boo_boo_thefool

a series of post-lu oneshots revolving around each of the heroes!! hasnt reached all 9 of the chain yet but still a damn good read. if i think too hard about this one i can and will cry. on command even.

The Missing Link by SparklingWonderQueen

ongoing fic about if the chain met wild riiiiight at the beginning of totk when hes still missing!

willow bark and chamomile by schrodingers__cat

a REALLY fucking good read. like oh my god i just got SUCKED into this from start to finish. if ur a legend fan yes the fuck you are. get in there. go.

Dawn of the Fourth by LazuliQuetzal

also a damn good read!!! time gets de-aged and wind goes "haha im the big brother now. ... OH NO IM THE BIG BROTHER NOW!!!!!!" fucking hilarious. absolutely heart wrenching. these things are both true at the same time

ageless quest by fandomsandshit

OOOOOOOH YOU WANNA READ ABOUT THE CHAIN SEEING THE LIGHT DRAGON AND CONTEMPLATING THEIR OWN ADVENTURES SO BAD OOOOOHHH (theres three installments so far and if i think about THIS ONE i will ALSO cry on command about it. man i fucking love totk zelda so much why did they do that to her poor girl)

To Share, to Speak, and to Hear by NajikaSun

i cannot explain to you how much i love the knights trio. i have many feelings about them and they will sit riiiight here. its about the weight of legacy its about the weight of trying to fulfill your duties. you get it.

darning the threads as they fray by Ammo_Writes

this ones not done but bow howdy does it get my brain CHUGGING!! the tone... the haunting feeling.... augh... AUGH !!!! WHERES MY BOY I MISS HIM SO MUCH.

sorrow, immortality, and hope by virtualpng

READING THIS MADE ME WANT TO TEAR MY FURNITURE APART WITH MY TEETH!!! OHHHH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDD ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD this author's other fics within the series also fucking slap. hard. god. the chain (who havent met wild yet) meet a stranger in ordon

Applejuice Stains on the Past by MjsKindaHere

HEY REMEMBER WHAT I SAID ABOUT THE KNIGHTS TRIO??> sky gets de-aged and wild is NOT normal about it. legacies and expectations and burdens etce etc. you get it

Young volcanoes by jelly_dragons

wild is incredibly fussy about how he was forced to wear the big clunky ass flamebreaker set in his journey meanwhile sky just gets some fancy shmancy earrings about it. the duo go into a volcano. hilarity ensues.

The Ruin They've Made Me by CluelessMoose

botw link's last battle did NOT go well with calamity ganon and leaves him possessed by the damn thing. and then the chain pop in. (owwwww OWWWWWWWWWWW)

Twin Quasar by StrixEye

written before totk released and its still unfinished but MAN AM I A SUCKER FOR GOOD COMPELLING TIMETRAVEL.

hold on, reaper by virtualpng

the chain before they ever meet wild but they pop into his hyrule anyway while hes in the shrine of resurrection. wind meets a ghost at fort hateno. god i fucking lost ghost stories.

steady going under by rebornofstars

the boys.... theyre sleepy.... specifically on top of twilight...

I'm A Riddle In Nine Syllables by SilverheartSP

GOD i fucking love ghost stories. pre-lu in botw where wild meets the chain as ghosts first, and THEN actually meets them

The Legacies You Leave Behind by Eureka5215

flora-centric study about her interactions with the chain. because she cant ever escape the overwhelming weight of a legacy like me too girl so real. yes this is part of my fixation on the knight trio. their haunted sadwoman air surrounding all four of them have captivated me mind and soul

Untarnished by Tashacee

MAN I FUCKING LOVE GHOST STORIES!!!! lovelovelove tash's hero's aspect au obvs the 2nd piece of fanart i did for this fandom was FOR heros aspect but man... MANNNNNNN UNTARNISHED HITS ME DIFFERENT!!!!! first..... ily king <3<3<3

In Flux by zippe

FUUUUUCKCKCKCKKCKC I LOVE FUCKY ASS TIME TRAVEL it can be to heartwrenching and this one is exactly thattttttt augh. AUGH!!!!!! i lose it ever time remembering this one

~~~

LOZ in general, but mainly botw/totk(and some aoc);

For The People by myfairstarlight

hey girl where did the divine beasts go. sidon is NOT having a good time about it hes EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED to that thing!!!!

That Brilliant Blue (A Bittersweet Goodbye) by myfairstarlight

hey. what do you mean sidon and mipha are doomed siblings. ill cry.

VIRTUE IS DROWNED, WITH HOLY HANDS, BY SORROW by lizandre

totk zelda in her time in the past. she is. not doing well!!!!

Again by Drich (drich147)

botw timeloop fic. yeah. theres this one scene where its revealed that guardians have a fuckign partymode???? thats hilarious.

so i'll never die when i'm dead by arashi_the_pancake

OW. FUCK. au where after turning into the light dragon zelda keeps her consciousness about it. shes not doing well!!!

[thatrandomblogsays]

Hiccup’s a better person than me for forgiving his mom, because if my mom, who I was left without and mourned my whole life, turned out to be alive and well and left me, a baby in the cradle to grow up without her all because she thought Vikings were being too aggressive to creatures that routinely burned down their houses and hated them for not changing, I’d lose my fucking. Wtffffff what was the point of having me if you weren’t going to love me

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Rem Saverem was a real one. Imagine being like between 28 and 30 and witnessing your crewmates torture a little girl to death, unable to stop them or rescue her. She’s not human but she looks and acts like a suffering child. She dies, horrifically and incompletely (frozen, status: alive). Your crewmates aren’t done with her even when she’s in pieces, and they put her in a jar to save for later. You keep her resting place clean and leave her flowers, knowing she never once got to see the miraculous geo-dome where you grow those flowers. Her siblings(?) or aunts(?) or mothers(?) support that geo-dome, each in a jar of their own, a torture and exploitation even slower than hers. You’re giving her little bits of them, but there’s nothing on the ship that isn’t created or maintained by slavery. There is no viable alternative you can come up with that doesn’t involve an overhaul of everything currently keeping humanity alive in suspended animation without waking up everyone and having a UN-floor-style shitshow of a discussion. You’re not an ethicist or a politician or even a community leader or systems engineer. You’re a navigator with a good head on your shoulders and an unequivocal stance on torturing children: it’s the worst kind of wrong. You don’t really know enough about Plants to understand what the alternatives to their exploitation are, if there are any. You just know it’s wrong, and the complicity eats at your bones and at your sanity via your conscience. How did you ever think that this expedition was the best use of your blank ticket? What would Alex say? (He would hold you and remind you that you are one human woman, and that you protested as much as you could, made your moral stand as best you could, and pushing harder might have resulted in your enforced return to cryo-sleep until the ships reached their destination, and then who would leave the poor child flowers? Who would think of her kindly? Who would be awake instead of you now, continuing to ruin her even after death?)

Then, the universe coughs up two more Independent Plants, and you know exactly why you’re on this expedition and how to make the best possible use of your blank ticket. Never again. You name the children, you treat them like people, you love them - and you’re barely 30 and traumatized as hell and you know you’re fucking things up, but there’s no one else and you cannot allow there to be anyone else, or everything goes back to square one and the twins go to the dissection table. You hide them in plain sight. They love you. You’re happier for their company, less lonely, and you never expected to have children. (You were planning, with Alex. If those plans had worked out, you would not be here to do your flawed best for these twins.) They are so smart, and you cannot bring yourself to tell them anything about the girl who came before them. You can barely put that experience into words for yourself, much less communicate the scope of it to two children. (They are so smart, growing inhumanly fast, and they are still less than a year old. You really should have fucking tried anyway.)

They discover their sister. They’re about one year old, and they fall away from you and from each other and from hope. One-year-olds shouldn’t be actively suicidal. You feel just like you did when you dragged yourself back to your room after screaming at your crewmates decades ago. You still think it was pure cowardice that you volunteered to go back into cryo-sleep so you could wake up years later and avoid spending time with mutilators and murderers. If you checked out, chose to sleep, volunteered for a solo navigation shift, how could you blame Knives for pushing everything down and ignoring it? After your own sick depression, feeling so powerless, how could you blame Vash for wanting to be done with everything?

But they’re barely over a year old. All you really know is that dead people don’t get to make decisions for themselves, death is the end of change for a person. (Alex will always be 27, love you more than anything, and will never meet the children who have become your family.) Things don’t get better for dead people. You want so, so much for things to get better for the twins.

One of them kills you, driving everything into the ground, humanity and Plants alike, because living means change means uncertainty means fear, and he is so afraid and humanity taught him his life was cheap, so why should he value theirs? The other plays the letter but not the spirit of your hopes; he lives for other people and never for himself, internalizes your insistence on the value of life and pays flesh by the pound to preserve it. He won’t follow you into death because your purchased his life (and so many other lives) with yours (he won’t squander that), but in a way he will never forgive you for choosing to die for others, and he’ll take that anger out on himself. You save lives and you doom Plants and you doom humanity trying to save humanity and Plants from their doom. Everyone’s on a rock again, back to where it all started on an inhospitable world, just a new one. But you kept things from ending. It all could have ended.

And you were like 30 and clinging to an imperfect but determined philosophy that kept you from flinging yourself into the grave after Alex, and you weren’t a mother or an educator or a spiritual guide or even particularly suited to raise children, and you fucked these kids up irreparably, but you were all they had and you were better than anyone who would have made them into tissue samples. You tried so hard, and both twins will carry you like a millstone and like a talisman for the rest of their very, very long lives.

And you named one of them Knives. What the fuck, Rem. Knives??

[cynyari]

hoyoverse owes me financial compensation for the emotional damages this quest has caused me

[trilliath]

Soooo...how are you liking bg3? 😁

I've had this game for twelve days