#Too Little Too Late fic.

[books-and-science]

Too Little Too Late Chapter 3

Pairings: Ienzo/Reader

Summary: You're the local Potion Master and Enchanter for Radiant Garden, after meeting and getting to know one of the local scientists, you've managed to fall head over heals for him. Little did you know your love for him would be your downfall, as an illness takes a hold of you causing you to cough up lilac petals. You could easily cure it by telling Ienzo how you feel, but you can't help but notice the new face around Radiant Garden and he seems very close to Ienzo. 

Rating: G but its got some swearing.

A/N: Thankfully I am now giving you a longer chapter.

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You had been spending the rest of your day in bed reading the book Merlin let you borrow, which thankfully had a recipe in it for two potions. One would lessen the pain and symptoms enough to make it bearable. While the other was the terrifying cure that could make you forget about Ienzo all together. Unfortunately, a lot of the ingredients were hard to get your hands on. Some were imported from other worlds while others had to be caught in the forest outside of the town.

As you read, you started to understand the magic behind the disease. The folklore alone was interesting:

A witch working for the royal family fell in love with the prince, she felt a love so strong that her heart ached. When she finally managed the courage to tell him about her love, he rejected her. It stung so much to be pushed away by someone so dear to her. She decided to create a potion that was hard to make and dangerous to use. A potion to make herself alluring to others.

Thankfully, the potion was a success, and when she took it many men would try to woo her, but she only had one person in mind. She made sure to be close to the Prince as she could be while the potion was active. Many would notice her and stare at her in awe. But, the prince was still unfazed.

The witch decided to approach him herself once evening. She knocked on the door to his room, and when he answered, he had a princess in his room, they were planning their wedding.

The moment she realized that she could never have him, something inside of her cracked. Her heart broke and an outpouring of flowers burst from her heart the darkness taking a hold of her, destroying her on the spot.

Left behind was an illness that would continue to plague those who are deeply in love with someone that could never return their feelings.

“Fuck me,” You closed the book loudly scaring your cat, “Sorry, Cheddar.” The orange cat stretched out his back and left with his tail in the air. “I said I was sorry.”

You were about to reopen the book when you heard the door jiggle and open, You froze, who the fuck was in your apartment?!

“Hey, I saw your sign, are you okay?” it was just Ienzo. “Oh, hello Cheddar.” Looks like the cat found him first.

You keep forgetting that you gave him a key, “Oh, yeah,” you yelled out to him, you said this mainly out of habit. “Well, no.” you then admitted.

“Where are you?” you could hear him walking around lookin for you.

“I’m in my room.” You then looked at the book beside you and quickly stuffed it under your pillows.

He then appeared in your door way, “Do you need me to bring you any soup?”

You can’t just tell him that you could die, “Um, I’ve just been feeling under the weather, it could be just a cold.” You weren’t ready to talk to him about this yet.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he frowned crossing his arms, you felt butterflies, he was so sweet and caring.

“Maybe help me find a list of ingredients,” you point to a list on your bedside table that you had written down for the potion that would help calm your symptoms, “I have some of these, but others may be hard to find.”

Ienzo came forward and gently took the list and looked over what you needed. He looked worried and hesitated before asking, “These are some rare plants and creatures.” He then looked you in the eye, “is something wrong?” He is quite the insightful one.

“A client has an ailment,” You didn’t want to alarm Ienzo, he would just ask too many questions.

“I see, I may be able to get Myde to go out and find these, he’s usually bored with the work that Even usually gives him,” Ienzo chuckled, there he was thinking about Myde, and you had to figure out how to be okay with it. And not die over it.

“That would help a lot, you can just tell him to drop it off when he gets it,” You felt the scratch in your throat starting to get stronger. You let yourself let out some quick coughs into your elbow, “I’ll pay him when he gets here.”

“I’ll take it to him and I’ll let you go rest,” He slipped the list into his pocket.

“Thanks, Ienzo,” you managed to get out two more normal coughs.

“I’ll be by later to check on you okay?” Ienzo placed a hand on your shoulder, “Just get some rest, I’ll bring some soup with me.”

“Are you sure?” you knew he was rather busy, also you didn’t fully understand how this disease worked yet and you weren’t sure if you should be around him very much right now.

“Uh, yeah, I can’t have you literally die on me,” He laughed while you tried your best to smile, because he had no idea how close he was to the truth of the situation.

“Thank you, I’ll see you later then,” As soon as he left and the door was locked, you booked it to the bathroom just in time to violently cough into the sink and full blooms of lilac and blood littered your sink. “Oh, this isn’t good.”

-------------------------------------

Once you were back in bed, you opened the book once more and began to study the ailment you were currently facing. It said that the coughing fits could start for a variety of reasons, and it was always a little different for each person who suffered from the illness. You took notes and wrote down the two different potions that this book provided, one was for the actual cure that could make things worse. The second was a potion to help prolong the life of the person who suffered as well as take away some of the pain.

For now you could make the potion that eased the pain until you could figure something out. There had to be a reason why the side effects were so varied when someone took the ‘cure potion.’ It was an old recipe so there had to be a way to create a potion that could take the properties of the original without the harsh side effects. You were damn good at what you did and you were confident that somewhere your grandmother had some books and notes that could help you re-work this potion.

You had many notes and made sure to put them in the book to hold the pages that were important, maybe you would need to find a copy of this book in case anyone else came down with some of the illnesses listed in this old book. Then at least you could cure them. A lot of older cures weren’t as effective as the ones created today, you’ve heard of other potion masters attempting to update the potion recipes, why couldn’t you?

You pushed the book back under your blankets and started to get out of bed as your door opened once more. “I’m back!” Ienzo called out, you threw on some socks and made your way out to greet him.

“Welcom- oh you brought Myde with you,” you almost jumped at the sight of a stranger in your home, but if Ienzo trusted him so could you, right?

“Hello!” Myde waved at you holding a tote of what looked like potion ingredients.

“Oh my gosh already?” you took the bag and looked inside. “is this all of it?”

“Not yet, but since I wanted to get away from Even for a bit I managed to find some of them for the time being,” Myde grinned proud of his accomplishment, “I will spend the day tomorrow gathering the rest.”

You ran over to you bag hanging by the door and grabbed out some munny for him, “here this is for you then, for what was brought today.”

“Oh, wow are you sure? Thats a lot!” Myde shyly took it into his hands.

“I don’t think you understand how hard it can be to get some of these ingredients especially in such a timely manner,” You pushed the currency into his hands and then hung up the new ingredients next to the door to take down to your shop later.

Ienzo had set a pot onto your and started a fire underneath with a snap of his fingers. “Oh! Ienzo that was so good! you’re really improving!” You clapped coming over to his side.

“Thanks,” He smiled, “I’ve been practicing a lot with Merlin recently, it was terrifying to use magic again the first time I managed to light a flame. But, now I’m glad I decided to try it again.”

“I’m sure it’s been quite useful,” you could do some magic but you really only learned what you needed to help yourself around the potion shop.

“Wait! Does that mean I can re-learn water magic again!?” Myde seemed hopeful. “I would love to have something to fight with again! Then I could feel a little more useful and maybe I could get a job out of the lab.”

“I don’t see why you can’t relearn it,” Ienzo shrugged watching over the pot of soup, it smelled amazing and it looked quite hearty.

“This smells so good,” you warmed up your hands next to the stove.

“Thank you,” Ienzo chuckled watching you basically drool over the food.

“Ienzo got so good at cooking! Its crazy!” Myde clapped, “this is the best soup he makes!”

Aw that was cute that Ienzo cooked for him, you were sure Myde really loves it at least you’ll get to partake in his cooking tonight, “Now I’m really excited to try it.” you did your best to keep your tone light.

“Also do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Myde pointed vaguely around your home.

“Oh yeah it’s just that door there,” you directed him, “Cheddar might follow you in.”

“Ched-?” he looked down at his feet and sure enough, an orange chat sat at his feet waiting for pets and probably to guard him at the toilet. “Cheddar!” Myde’s eyes immediately lit up, “This is the best cat I’ve ever seen.”

“Just so you know, he’s right, but he has also told every cat this same line before,” Ienzo looked over his shoulder briefly, and gave his attention back to the stove top.

You and Ienzo chatted about what was going on in the lab and what they were working on while you got some bowels ready for dinner at the table. “Thanks for cooking, I didn’t know you were learning to cook.”

He gave a shy smile over his shoulder, “I had decided to start learning a few months back, Dilan is such a good cook and he always seems really at peace when he’s making meals for us.” He explained taking the soup off of the heat and placing it on the table over the cloth you had placed down. “So, I wanted to try myself and I have to say that I can see why Dilan enjoys it so much, its very relaxing.”

You were about to say something before Myde opened the door slowly causing it to creak quite loudly, “Hey,” he cleared his throat and then asked, “So I found some blood in the bathroom...”

Ienzo immediately looked your way, worry evident on his face, “Blood?”

“Oh, uh,” You felt immediately on the spot, anxiety making your heart beat faster, “I bumped into something with my-” You were wearing pajama pants, “Leg! Its fine I’m just clumsy” You tried to give a thumbs up and a grin to convince them. “It’s all cleaned up now so I’m okay honest.”

Ienzo and Myde looked between each other and decided not to bring it up anymore, since you seemed quite determined to bury it. “You promise you’ll call me if you need me right?” Ienzo asked again this time with a firm tone.

“I will,” you nodded your head trying to match his tone, “I’ll call if I need you.”

“Okay,” Ienzo eyed you for a little bit longer before grabbing your ladle and passing out soup into the bowels set at the table.

Thankfully after that conversation you were able to lift the mood talking about how Sora, Kairi, and Riku would be coming for a visit in the next week or so. You all were discussing the obvious chemistry between Riku and Sora. You were glad that the blood incident has not escalated, you would have to be more careful from now on.

[youchangedmedestiel]

Friend: What are you doing right now?

Me: I have a lot of projects.

Friend: Oh so cool, what are those? New job, new business, new home, new relationship?

Me: Ok, I have a lot of SPN/Destiel projects.

[feroluce]

I've only recently started having my own thoughts about Emanator!Sampo and I think my favorite version of this is that he is technically an Emanator, it's just that he doesn't talk about it because Aha is a dick who only blesses people that don't want it and Sampo hates it here dkjxkdkdck

Aha blessed the Mourning Actors! A whole faction of people who have specifically made it their life's mission to resist Elation! THEY made a literal worm THEIR Emanator just to see if it would be accepted into the Genius Society! And when it wasn't, Aha just as easily killed it and tossed it aside! So I feel like there is a good possibility that Aha looked down at Sampo, this little oddball who doesn't seem to even like Epsilon or a lot of the Masked Fools and was like.

Hey.

You know what would be really really funny.

And I feel like being an Emanator wouldn't even be a plus for Sampo, because of how he operates. Sampo excels at blending in; he managed to smuggle himself onto a planet

that had been isolated for 700 years,

with only one (1) single city on it,

and going even further, he snuck himself into the Underground,

where the population is even more sparse,

and STILL. Not a single accusation of him being an alien! Not even after the Astral Express lands and proves that interstellar space travel is possible! Sampo is so thoroughly ingrained into Belobog that yeah, some people admit they don't know his origins, but none of it ever comes with the question of whether he actually is a Belobog native or not. Sampo knows exactly how to blend himself into his surroundings in the most subtle way possible. And being an Emanator, something far more powerful than any normal human or Pathstrider could ever hope to be, would only throw in a massive extra variable for him. Sampo would have to be so so careful to keep a lid on his Emanator traits, to keep up the appearance of being totally normal and average at all times. It doesn't help him at all.

And this part is pure indulgence, but I love taking Aha's closeness with mortals, and THEIR tendency to take human form, and twisting it into a case of THEM using Sampo as a vessel.

I want Aha to look at Sampo the same way all of us look at Sampo. A chew toy. A plaything. Something to shove through the meat grinder. Aha thinks Sampo is hilarious and a funny, silly little guy, and THEY want to put him in Situations just to see what he does. Sampo is not a fan.

This though, this is what makes Sampo so wildly entertaining as a vessel. Because Aha knows that Sampo does not want to be a vessel, does not even want to be an Emanator, and THEY find it SO much fun to watch the mental gymnastics he has to pull to convince himself he's ok with it, this is fine actually, because he's not exactly about to tell off a literal god. He doesn't feel like getting a smiting today, please and thank you.

Because squeezing yourself into a human vessel is so different than merely adopting a human disguise, there's already a human soul in there, it's kind of a tight fit. If Sampo doesn't make room, doesn't all but dissociate right out of his own body, it could cause. Consequences.

And so, Aha always gives a warning, just to watch him squirm.

It begins with the sound of bells.

Just little ones, at first. Small, clinking little sounds that could even be considered nice. Something almost gentle, like a wind chime in a pleasant breeze on a warm day. This is the signal for the countdown.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Makes himself as small as possible within his own body.

The bells rise and multiply, tinkling wind chimes give way to sleigh bells, to shopkeepers bells, the sound of something inevitable approaching, something entering.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Dilutes himself, weaker and weaker concentrations.

The bells rise and rise, multiply and multiply, celebration and tragedy resonating in the sound of church bells, ringing bright and loud, the sounds of weddings and funerals both the same.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Becomes like smoke, like vapor. Hollows himself out.

Empty, empty, empty until he echoes, like a bell, like something with the sole purpose of being shaken and rattled around, a thing to be struck, the sounds jarring and punched out and gasping and piercing the air, the lung, the eardrum.

Sampo breathes in.

Beaten he rings, bashed in he sings.

Aha breathes out.

[crybaby-bkg]

asking nerd Bakugou to give you a ‘pearl necklace’ and he starts grumbling about you tryna drain him dry but instead of pulling out his cock, he pulls out his phone to actually search for a pearl necklace </3

and to both his surprise and embarrassment, his phone is quickly tossed away in favor of you showing him what you’re actually asking for. he’s not mad though—not when you end up looking so pretty covered in white, grinning, and asking for another necklace <3

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Jason and Tim become friends during Jason‘s Robin era.

When Jason runs away to Ethiopia, Tim buys himself a plane ticket and sneaks after him.

[soaps-mohawk]

What do you reckon the next chapters gonna be about? Smut, angst, fluff

Answering this before I log off and rest my wrists for the evening

But the next chapter will be primarily smut with some fluff thrown in, then at least one, maybe two chapters with a lot of fluff and maybe some smut (and a considerable time jump), then pretty much from there it's gonna be A LOT of angst for a while.

I kind of fucked up the timeline a bit and did not really think this through very well, but yeah. To avoid dragging out the story, I'm going to do a pretty big time jump within the next couple chapters, just for the sake of moving the story along. I know a lot of people are chomping at the bit to get to the angst and finally find out about what's going to happen with the cameras. We'll get there, I promise. Just give me a couple chapters to jump ahead and set things up.

[sugarpasteltmnt]

little PSA about this blog and 'TNV'

hi friends!

going through my ask box, it's come to my attention that i have a handful of doodles in notebooks asks which leads me to believe not all of my readers are adults.

That being said, I wanted to clarify that this blog is strictly for my 'Neon Void' AU-- I will try to keep it as SFW as possible (with the occasional swearing whoops) however, TNV deals with some heavy topics, as well as some graphic displays of violence. So please use discretion while reading or choosing to follow my blog.

I'll also be transparent that I am an adult. I understand that this may make a handful of people uncomfortable. Please feel free to block or not engage if you feel this way!

I will be answering these doodle asks since they're already in my inbox and because i cherish every piece of art gifted to me, but please message me if you decide you are uncomfortable with it and would like me to take them down! However, moving forward I will be avoiding any future notebook doodle asks.

Thank you guys and i hope to bring you more turtle angst soon (`･ω･´)ゞ

[johnslittlespoon]

no one encourage this path of brainrot because i will end up writing 3000 words of john and his metaphorical wagging tail when he sees his gale, john and his obsession with the smell of gale's aftershave, rubbing his face on gale's pillow, john and the way he follows gale wherever he goes as though there's an invisible leash between the two of them, john and the way he almost barks out his laughs, john and the way his teeth can't help but sink into gale's neck, collarbone, shoulder, hip, thigh, john and the way he pretends it doesn't do things to him when gale nonchalantly praises him, pretends gale can't see right through him, john and the way he spills over gale's hand when gale calls him a good boy on a whim, john and the way he seeks it out every time gale's on top of him after that, john and something something collar something dog tags something pretty pup something something uhhh rutting up against gale's thigWHAT who said all that that's crazyyyy dude

[birrdify]

this is soooooooo totally not the actual writer but there's this oooooooone fic called Sever the Ties that me, this totally nameless anon SOOO didn't write, it's kinda like, emotional as all hell but also kinda gay. That writer also who totally isn't me is also planning a less 34 focused sequel to it since they liked writing it so much it's just taking a while. The plans do exist tho and a bit of the beginning

HOLDON WHAT???? HELLOOO????? OH MY GDO NICC IM SO SORRY I JSUT FOUND THIS??? HELPLP I TOOK A DOUBLE TAKE AFTER READING "SEVER THE TIES" cause i went oh my god! thats the fic i read! and OH MY GOD!! THATS THE FIC I READ!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

fic HERE and thsi is nicc: (since i dont think anon asks give notifs) @34saveme34 (IF YOU DONT MIND ME TAGGING YOU MY BAD

[martyreddie]

written for the @summerofbuddie week 1 prompt: mixed media

synopsis: There is one point on the list, though, for which no matter how much digging Eddie does, he finds no rational reason to discard.

QUEERING THE MAP, it says, in big bold letters. A website. Completely anonymous. No sign ups, no follow ups, no nothing. All you have to do is tap on some place, any place, on a map of the whole wide world, write about your queer experiences in that place, and send it off. Niche enough that he’s pretty sure Buck doesn’t know about it; popular enough that it’s unlikely he’d stumble across Eddie’s entries if he did. As long as Eddie doesn’t do anything stupid and tag any places that could expose who wrote the message, like his house or the loft, he ought to be fine.

But, like, it’s a map. Eddie’s not going to get any real help from a fucking map. He’ll give it the courtesy of a five minute look-over. Afterwards, he can cast it aside like everything else.

Or: Eddie figures some things out, gets a second therapist, and tries his best at finding a way to keep Buck from noticing how obviously and hopelessly Eddie is in love with him. It's ironic, really, that what ends up exposing him are his anonymous musings on some niche internet map.

__

aka the post season 7 buddie queering the map fic in which eddie is just trying to figure out how to cope with how in love he is so that he can be normal around buck again :D

current word count at 24,513 with 2/3 chapters published, unrated because i'm not entirely sure where the road is taking me yet. aiming at weekly updates or sooner if possible updating intermittently because my arms yearn for tendonitis and I can't allow myself to indulge them :,)

[password-door-lock]

Lately I can't stop thinking about sharing a bed with Saeran.

GE Saeran sleeps on his side (as evidenced by the CG where he’s sleeping on his side lol). If you also sleep on your side, then he probably wants to be the little spoon (unless you have a strong preference to the contrary, in which case the two of you can alternate) but if you sleep in the fetal position or something like that, then he's perfectly content being the big spoon, as well. If you sleep on your stomach or your back, then he'll curl up against you with an arm draped over you. The most important thing for him is being close to you, and he can be flexible as far as what that looks like. I do think that if you end up as the little spoon at night due to your sleeping position, you'll probably end up as the big spoon a lot more when the two of you cuddle during the day. Also, the shark plushie is going to be present while the two of you are resting— if he's holding you, Saeran probably won't be able to also hold onto the shark, but it'll still be in the same bed. Maybe you might even be the one to hold onto it some nights! Although physical touch is something he really enjoys, if you’re not feeling up to it for whatever reason, Saeran totally understands! He might elect to wear one of your sweatshirts to bed instead (and let you wear one of his if you’d like to) or cuddle with one of your plushies. Ultimately, what’s most important to him is that both of you feel safe and comfortable while you get the rest that you need. He likes having two or three really plush pillows and only minimal blankets, since he doesn’t get cold easily during the night— he probably won’t even notice it if you steal the covers from him in your sleep. Even though Saeran wakes up occasionally in the middle of the night, he doesn't worry about it too much. He knows that he's still getting rest as long as he's laying there, even if he isn't technically asleep, and of course, he cherishes the time with you.

Ray also sleeps on his side, but unlike GE Saeran, he's very, very nervous about accidentally upsetting you or unknowingly crossing your boundaries. He’s new to this, and he can’t imagine that you would actually want him that close to you. Even if you tell him it's okay, Ray probably wouldn't want to initiate any physical contact at first, though of course, he daydreams about holding you close. He'd probably stay securely on his own side of the bed, taking care not to bother you in any way as he falls asleep watching you rest— he’ll allow himself to turn to face you. To him, being able to look your way while he falls asleep is pure heaven. If you don’t want to be touched, Ray totally understands that— the last thing he wants is to cross your boundaries, and besides, he’s happy enough just seeing that you’re resting well. If, however, the two of you have been together longer and gotten more comfortable sharing a bed, then he'll be over the moon to cuddle up with you if you’d like. Ray really likes being held— if you sleep on your back, he'll rest his head on your chest. If you sleep on your stomach, he might try sleeping on his stomach, too, and you can drape your arm around him. If you sleep on your side, he wants to be the little spoon. If you sleep in the fetal position, he'll probably figure out some creative contortion that allows him to be held by you all night. But, of course, if you'd prefer to be held instead, then he'd be happy to do that sometimes, too! He doesn’t really like to be under the covers at all, and he’s not used to using a pillow, so he doesn’t have any very specific pillow preferences. Although his body won’t let him sleep for more than three hours straight (he has nightmares, and his circadian rhythms are skewed anyway), he’s worried about waking you up, so he’ll stay with you for as long as he’s able to justify putting off his work, even if he can’t fall back asleep. 

Suit sleeps on his back. It's the way that he feels the safest— he's able to look around the room and see everything as he's falling asleep and if he's woken up. If, for some reason, you find yourself falling asleep in the same bed as him before his apology (which is very unlikely), it will likely be your idea. First, he’ll laugh at you for even suggesting something like that, and then, if he decides to humor you, he'll probably just pose you on your side, curled up against him, with his arm around you possessively. It doesn't matter how you normally sleep— you're his toy, and he's already being very generous by letting you rest in the first place. He sees sleeping when one could be working as a sign of weakness, so he’ll probably do his best to stay up even if you fall asleep in this position, and he may even taunt you for being so clueless as to show him such a vulnerable side of yourself. In actuality, he has no idea what to do once you’re actually beside him, and he might end up getting frustrated and pushing you away. However, after his apology, he'd be even more nervous and awkward than Ray— but Suit, too, ultimately does like to be held. He'd let you curl up next to him with his arm around you, rest your head on his chest, or even lean against him, depending on how you’re the most comfortable. Even if he can’t understand why on Earth you would even want to cuddle up with somebody like him, he has no intention of causing you any more discomfort or pain. If you're a stomach sleeper, though, he might end up with his arm at an awkward angle all night to accommodate you, so be warned and adjust accordingly! That being said, if you’re not someone who enjoys physical touch, the last thing he wants to do is cross your boundaries again! As much as he likes being held, he'll be just as content to lay beside you without touching and listen to your calm breathing as you sleep. He likes firm pillows, and he feels much more secure laying on top of the covers in his suit than snuggling up under them in flimsy pajamas. He’s too hyper-vigilant at Magenta to fall asleep easily, but he’ll set an alarm for one hour just in case he does manage to drift off for a bit. Whether he’s taking a break from hacking the messenger or hiding from the believers, Suit does not have time to lay around with you forever. 

Unknown doesn't really like to sleep very much. Sometimes, he falls asleep at his desk— whether you happen to be sitting on his lap or not. He doesn’t care at all about his own comfort— the only reason he ever sleeps is because his body is forcing him to, and the way he sees it, a stiff neck is worth it if it gets him even a little bit closer to his revenge. The rest of the time, he uses the couch that's been brought into the intelligence room so that he doesn't have to waste time walking to his room and back during the night. On those nights, neither one of you has many options other than to sleep on your side— Unknown likes to have you facing him, with your head resting against his chest. Pressing you close to him like that gives him a weird sense of comfort that he can’t really explain. Besides, he doesn’t like the idea of you looking at his monitors while he’s asleep if you lay facing away from him, so he tells himself that it's not like he really has a choice. If the two of you actually end up in a bed, then that means he's too exhausted to argue that it's a waste of time— he might end up sprawled across the mattress however he falls on it, taking up most of the available space and leaving you to slide in wherever and however you'll fit. It’s been so long since he’s had a proper night’s sleep in a proper bed that he’s probably going to be a bit awkward about it. If he's awake enough, he'll pull you close and hold onto you for more of that strange comfort, but he might be too tired even for that. If you don’t want to be touched, there’s a really simple solution for that— you can just sleep at a different time from him, or in a different location, and he’ll give you work to do while his body is forcing him to rest. He doesn’t care where or how or if you sleep— he just cares that you’re getting your work done, or so he claims, at least. He doesn’t see any point in using pillows or blankets when he can sleep just fine without them, and he honestly thinks you’re kind of spoiled for wanting things like that. Because he regularly pushes his body to the limit, when he does allow himself to rest, he sleeps very heavily for a fairly long time. If you’re in his grip, then you’re not getting out of it anytime soon, and otherwise, you’d best leave him alone. 

SE Saeran also sleeps on his back, and his thoughts on sharing a bed are... complicated. He likes to be close to you, but he often has nightmares, and he knows that he kicks sometimes in his sleep. You’d have to be very, very close to him for Saeran to allow you to see him in such a vulnerable position, and even then, he’d still be nervous about inadvertently doing you harm. After all, he’s tried sleeping with plushies before, and he always wakes up to find that he’s thrown them onto the floor during the night. What if he pushes you off the bed or something? What if he lashes out, erroneously thinking that you’re one of the monsters from his past? The first couple of times you stay over, he doesn't sleep at all— he just lays beside you, feeling calmed by your peaceful breathing, even if he's anxious. Then, after that, he'll try out sleeping with you in the same bed but not touching him at all, and when he finds that he doesn't accidentally kick or elbow you in his sleep, he'll start to feel more comfortable with the idea of getting closer. Sometimes, he’s content to fall asleep in your embrace, whatever that might look like. Sometimes, he wants to cuddle with you for a while before separating to sleep on separate sides of the bed. Sometimes, though, he might decide that he doesn’t want to be touched at all, and the two of you might stay on opposite ends of the bed all night, or you’ll go home early and video call him from your own bed, instead. Naturally, on nights when you have similar issues, Saeran will be just as accommodating. He’s not picky about pillows, but he’s strongly opposed to having any kind of covers over him, and he often sleeps with a fan because he feels like the bunker is too hot. If you like having lots of blankets, he’ll keep them in his room for you, but the pair of you will have to work something out to ensure that he doesn’t get too hot during the night. Sometimes he gets up in the middle of the night, but he’s always sure to be extra careful when getting in and out of bed so that he doesn’t disturb your rest.

[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.

[braisedhoney]

"He’s frozen stiff, threatening claws now hovering down to the side—his eyes look huge in the darkness, that faint white glow giving just the slightest of his expression away. 

He still doesn’t strike."

- all because of you (i do right) by puppyblue on ao3, Chapter 1. @puppyblueao3 here on tumblr i think!

(does this count as a fic rec or fanart. both, probably. rambles under the cut.)

SO uh—i'm really picky about fanfiction. like. really really picky.

i dunno why exactly, but i kinda have a hard time reading them right away bc a) i'm not really a shipper and that's most fanfiction i've seen and b) i like when i can really imagine the characters saying and doing whatever it is they're doing.

y'know the whole "he would not fucking say that" meme? lmao that's me, but with fanfics and only to myself. (i know everyone has their niche and i'm not here to police anybody's fun, just curate my own.)

anyway all that to say that i really, really liked this one. a lot. it's canon divergent off of into the spiderverse, and if you can believe it the comic is literally not a spoiler bc it's in the summary of the fic. but if you liked uncle aaron or even just are a sucker for redemption (? ish?) arcs, i think you'd like it! with all the angst and chaos from atsv it's a nice change of pace.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

so here's the thing. Cass's favorite brother is probably Tim. he's her little guy, her sweet cheese, her good time boy. they're both very similar to Bruce in a lot of ways, but more than that, they find it easy to be around each other. Tim is more quiet than the others, which Cass appreciates, but he's also fascinating to watch because there's constantly a thousand things going on beneath the surface of him. Cass and Tim are masters of parallel play, but only and primarily with each other. Tim is quiet when Cass wants to be quiet or talks when she needs to talk, and if she doesn't have the words for something he never so much as bats an eye (even Dick bluescreens sometimes trying to figure her words out), he just helps her find the right ones. Tim can read her almost as well as she can read him, just slower and not trained into him, it's just how he is. he looks at her and tries to figure out how she works, the way he does with everyone, a way most people don't. it makes her feel seen the same way she sees, and that's valuable to her.

another thing is that Tim is also, in all honesty, Jason's favorite brother. like it's almost counterintuitive considering how they first really met, but hey — brothers forged in blood, right? there's some wild poetry to it and they Get each other on a level the others don't really bc they're the middle children, 2nd and 3rd and always afraid of being rejected. but they've got each other. Tim is Jay's favorite because he's so incredibly forgiving (to be welcomed back to the family by the kid he nearly killed? the kid he hated? INSANE.) and because he doesn't judge. (Jay is Tim's favorite bc he's chill when Dick or B can be smothering sometimes. Jason isn't the one who lost a brother and a son, he's the one who was lost, so he's not quite so afraid of losing. yes, he's protective, but not overwhelmingly so.) they have an instinctive kind of brotherhood where they balance each other out, tempering each other's worse tendencies and bolstering the better ones without having to talk about it.

the third thing: Cass really does not like Jason. she has the no-kill rule in her heart even before she had words to explain it, and it's different than with Bruce because she's lived it. she's lived the reason why they have that rule. and Jason has too, but come out on the other side, what Cass considers the wrong side of a worldview completely different than her own. Jason kills, he breaks the law written in her soul and in their adoptive father's, and no one stops him. she can't comprehend it, and she will never accept it. she rarely uses his name, rarely interacts with him at all if she can help it because much as she wants to start a fight, it would hurt Bruce if she did and she doesn't want that. she just calls him Hood, most of the time. if they absolutely have to work together, she does what needs done and leaves.

so. Cass hates Jason. and Jason hates being hated. as far as the principle goes, he can get why Cass doesn't like him, but she's loath to even be around him and that bothers him. she's just this side of being actively hostile, meanwhile Jason is honestly trying his best not to tick her off but it's really hard when he gets glared at by possibly the most intimidating Bat every time he's at home. the same way there's a difference between Bruce and Batman (they put away masks at home, or at least they try to), there's a difference between Jason and the Red Hood. but Cass, determined, rock-solid Cass, refuses to accept that. it's not a good situation, especially when Tim gets in the middle of it, because both Cass and Jason love Tim but hate each other and Tim is just tired and wants his siblings to get along and see, this is why he prefers one on one time to family gatherings.

because at some point something happens and Tim gets hurt, maybe captured or outnumbered (as capable as he is, even a great strategist and skilled fighter can be overwhelmed at times) while out on patrol, and Oracle, sitting in front of her computer array, sighs and rubs her temples and opens up a communications channel to the only two Bats available to assist — Red Hood and Black Bat. she tells them what's up, gives them Red Robin's location, and then dips back out of the channel because she is not going to spend the rest of the night listening to palpable silence from Cass and increasingly frustrated questioning from Jason. she's not paid enough for that.

so Cass and Jason HAVE to work together. HAVE to team up to save their mutual favorite sibling (who, for what it's worth, has no clue he's ANYONE'S favorite). and neither of them is pleased with this turn of events, on multiple counts — 1, Tim is hurt. 2, Cass hates/at least strongly dislikes Jason. 3, Jason has tried everything to make peace with her and is honestly feeling a little bit desperate about it at this point because he has tried EVERYTHING, so now he's just right back at aggression. it's a situation that really can't have a good outcome for everyone, because Cass and Jason's mutual dislike for each other is at odds with their mutual love for Tim and both of them arrive at the same conclusion: all they can do is work for the best outcome for their little brother.

Tim, who has only been lightly stabbed and could have probably gotten by with just one person for backup instead of two, let alone THESE two, is both exasperated by the turn of events, and just plain glad that someone came for him. he's bleeding and hurting and watching from the alley floor as Cass stares (glares) at Jason, who's trying to figure out how to get a shot in that will give Tim a way out without, yknow, shooting his brother in the process.

and then Cass just swoops down and between her insane skills and the intimidation factor of a bat with a full-face mask the entire situation is diffused before Jason has a chance to shoot anybody, which is a better outcome than Tim expected. Jason grapples down as Cass is finishing up with the last few bad guys and she turns around and starts glaring through the mask again. the problem is, she loves Tim. he's her favorite brother, the one most like her and most like their father. but Jason loves Tim too, and Cass can see it as soon as she looks, really looks to see it. and it's so, so obvious when she sees Jason's bloodstained, scarred hands carefully bandaging Tim's (slight) stab wound and the fact that Jay pulled off his helmet as soon as it was safe to and is talking and grinning and keeping a steady eye on Tim because everyone knows that Tim plays down his injuries often and you have to watch him, because he's smart enough to hide things unless you really know him. and Jason knows him. and Cass can see that. and as much as she doesn't like Jason, as much as she's possessive of Tim, she softens for just a minute.

not that she'd ever tell anyone, and Tim was too distracted and half-foggy from blood loss to see it in her at the moment. Cass still doesn't like Jay. Jay is still utterly frustrated by the fact that she won't give him a chance. Tim is still annoyed by all of this and complains to Babs about it (bc Steph just laughs and says all three of them need to suck it up and move on, which is TRUE, but unhelpful) any chance he gets.

it isn't until an Arkham breakout, not the worst they've seen but obviously not good news, when Jason gets badly hurt and Tim (who was with him at the time) gets Really Scary, like full-on not moving a muscle, staring down the man who did it with such intensity that it feels like he could kill with only his masked eyes, sharp and suddenly absolutely terrifying to anyone who doesn't know him, that something really clicks for Cass. because she slips in as Tim coldly, calculatingly shatters the guy's kneecaps just as thoroughly as Jason's bullets would have done and then his rigid intensity falls away and he's a kid terrified that his brother is hurt.

Cass sees the way Jason is with Tim and she can't quite reconcile that caring with all his killing but she knows, because she can SEE it, that Jay cares about Tim much the same way she does. and then she sees how Tim acts when Jason is hurt, the scary sharp side of her little brother that only comes out when he's very, very afraid and very, very determined, and she sees the way he loves his older brother and... she can't deny that either.

and maybe Cass will never LIKE Jason, maybe there will always be some tension between them, but. she doesn't call him only "Hood" all the time, anymore, and Jason is capable of recognizing that tiny detail as her version of a peace offering. Tim is just glad they're not yelling at each other (or Cass's silent staring version of yelling) all the time. maybe it's a whole mess, but hey, they're working on it. as long as there's love, somewhere, there's something. (there's family)

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

shuake week - day one - amnesia

a boy wakes up from a coma. the situation is explained to him by doctors and a boy with raven black hair. his name is akechi goro. this boy found him, bleeding and unconscious, and brought him here months ago. he doesn't remember him.

he doesn't remember anything.

—

the boy visits again. they play a game of chess. the boy is pleasant. he's fake.

this boy, kurusu akira, is lying to him.

—

akechi spends his days getting better. recovering slowly. but no memories resurface. he asks kurusu if he knew him, before.

he tells the truth.

and then he lies.

—

akechi remembers something disturbing. he asks kurusu what it means.

he lies.

—

kurusu introduces him to his friends. these people don't treat him nicely. they don't treat him rudely. it's awkward. it's wrong. they don't like him.

they lie.

—

akechi plays another game of chess. he asks for the truth, politely.

kurusu refuses.

akechi snaps.

the chess game is in ruins. akechi is standing on weak legs, ranting and raving and desiring to…to…

…….why does he want to kill him?

akechi runs.

—

he tries to live the lie. he tries to forget. the memories scare him. 

but they won't go away.

…and he doesn't want them to, either.

he needs to know the truth.

—

kurusu confesses it all. akechi calls him a liar. he breaks.

he's too weak to do any damage.

even still, this time, it's kurusu who flees.

—

akechi remembers.

he remembers everything.

the whole truth.

it hurts.

—

he refuses guests. he thinks about killing himself. he lies.

he lies and lies and lies and 

……….

he tells the truth.

and leaves.

—

akira finds him, again. bleeding, though uninjured. unconscious, yet fully awake. sick and lonely and scared. akira finds him.

and holds him.

and tells him the truth.

i’m sorry.

i won't leave you again.

goro holds him tight. he clings to the only truth that matters.

he is loved.

[lasagna-with-teeth]

Thinking about making a priest watch porn for the first time and he's all shy and flustered, he keeps trying to look away and avoid the sinful thoughts - but he keeps glancing back at the screen, unable to resist the temptation. <3