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#and that was a very mild one
sweater-equestrian · 1 year
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I might be retraining Roxy to ride this summer. pray for me.
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ghost-bxrd · 4 months
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Prompt:
Tim is the first to find out the Red Hood’s identity and from then on sticks to Jason during patrol like glue (much to Jason’s chagrin, dammit, it would feel wrong to beat up Robin when he’s that starry eyed…)
Cue: PANIC from the rest of the Batfamily, who still think Hood is a forty-something year old crime lord and now assume they’re dating.
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yes i have personal & intimate reasons for my own (lack of) religious/supernatural beliefs, but it's not dishonest to admit: i am also an atheist bc at no point in my life have i, after completing a slightly unpleasant task, been witness to an angel/imp/sprite/devil/entity-of-any-kind manifesting in all their glory to offer me a pat on the head and a little plastic baggy of crackers (by way of encouragement/reward).
call me childish but in my heart of hearts i cannot truly participate in a belief system that tolerates such negligence
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moonlightfantastic · 10 months
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I decided to play as The Dark Urge for my single player playthrough and the dialogue options can be delightfully edgy
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luxaofhesperides · 2 months
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I'm not sure if you're still taking Ghostlights requests, but if you are: Dick asking Duke to take Haley to the dog park for him in order to set up a meet-cute for him with the guy with the weird green rottweiler
And if you aren't, just know that you're doing great and I appreciate the hell out of you
“Oh, shoot!” 
Hearing Dick rush around as a frantic mess is not uncommon while he’s in Gotham. There’s too many people wanting to spend time with him that he ends up pulled in a bunch of different directions. Dick’s always in a rush, always busy, always making time for people because he has more love than Duke has ever seen in a person.
Dick’s also got pretty good time management skills after years of doing this. He’s only cutting out a few minutes early for their designated three hour catch-up session. 
That doesn’t mean he’s going to do it gracefully, though.
“Almost lost track of the time!” he says, moving to the couch to pick up his jacket. “Hey, Duke, can do you me a favor while I’m out?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Can you take Haley to the dog park? I usually take her twice a week around this time, but I totally forgot to include that in my calendar this week so I’ve got plans with the Titans just outside the city, and no time to take her out.”
“Yeah, man, of course I can take her to the dog park. The one attached to Robinson Park, right?”
Dick nods, shoving his shoes onto his feet. “That’s the one! Her treats are also in the bag hanging next to her leash. Oh, and she has a friend at the dog park! Don’t be scared when you see him, he’s just green.”
“Oh…kay?”
“Great, thanks! Bye, Duke, I’ll see you later!”
And with that, Dick is gone, closing the door to his safehouse as he dashes into the hall. 
Duke is left alone in Dick’s Gotham safehouse, blinking dazedly at the empty space where he once was. He’s certainly a whirlwind of activity when he realizes he’s going to be late. He’s also skilled in just saying things and leaving before any questions can be answered.
Haly jumps up onto the couch next to Duke. They share a look, then Duke shakes his head. “You have to deal with that every day, huh?”
Haly, the good girl that she is, doesn’t say anything bad against her owner and just puts a paw on Duke’s thigh, her tail wagging. 
“I hear ya, girl. Let’s go to the dog park to meet your green friend,  I guess.”
He has no idea what that means, honestly. Is Dick just talking about a dog that got its fur dyed green? Or is Haly’s friend like… a mutant dog? 
Well, he’s not going to find out by stalling. 
Duke pets Haly, then stands up and walks to the door. Her head perks up as soon as she hears the jangle of her leash being moved, and then she’s running to the door, looking up at him expectantly. Smiling, Duke slips the harness onto her, then attached it to the leash. He gives her another quick pet before shoving on his shoes and grabbing her bag of treats and waste disposal bags. 
He double checks that he has his phone, then takes hold of Dick’s spare safehouse key and steps out into the hallway with Haly. She waits patiently as he locks the door, checks that the lock holds, then runs down the hallway, ripping the leash right out of his hands.
“Haly! Wait! Stop, girl!”
She happily ignores him and goes straight for the elevator, leaving him to run after her and quickly scoop up the leash as soon as he’s close enough.
“Of course you’re a little escape artists,” he says to her, “Just like your owner.”
Haly woofs softly, then stands up and scratches at the doors of the elevator. Shaking his head, amused, Duke pushes the button to call the elevator and wonders if Dick has to deal with this every time they go to the dog park. 
On one hand, it wouldn’t surprise him since Dick is absolutely the kind of guy to give in to his dog’s every whims and spoil her rotten. On the other hand, Duke fully believes that Haly is smart enough and cute enough to misbehave only when Dick isn’t around so he never believes people when they try to tell him about all the mischief she’s caused. 
Dogs and their owners really do reflect one another. The internet was right about that.
Duke makes sure to keep a tight grip on Haly’s leash once they leave the apartment building. The streets are busy, as they tend to be on weekends, and the sight of Haly straining against her leash, ready to run, brings a smile to more than one face. 
He plots the route to the dog park in his mind, then starts up a light jog, tugging lightly on the leash to prompt Haly to follow him. 
It’s nice to run just for the sake of it. Haly makes a good running partner as well. 
How long has it been since Duke had time to relax and not be prepared for the worst? All the running he usually does these days is to catch up with criminals or run for his life. Being out during the day, moving through the city, without any lives in danger? Genuinely nice and relaxing. 
Maybe he can offer to take Haly to the dog park from now on. Join Dick whenever he goes. Create a set few hours where he doesn’t do anything but enjoy being outside in one of the few places where the smog of pollution and chemical toxins isn’t so thick in the air. 
He’ll just have to make sure Dick doesn’t agree to something else during those days. It’s still strange to think that Dick could forget to do something involving Haly when he’s such a good dog owner and a pro at juggling various responsibilities and a busy schedule. 
Well, they all have off days. This must be one of Dick’s.
The sidewalks get wider once they reach the street that leads to the park. Families fill up the space, walking with strollers in front of them or lined up at a food cart. The vivid green of spring fills the grassy fields that lead to the large patches of trees, marking the edge of Poison Ivy’s territory. Clovers decorate the ground, bees moving from flower to flower. 
There are other dogs on walks as well, making circuits around the park or running after toys. Duke spots a cat in a walking harness as well and wonders if he can convince Damian to get one for Alfred the cat. 
The dog park is on the other end of the park, as far away from Ivy’s territory as possible. The fenced off areas are separated into big dogs and small dogs, with a helpful guide as to which dogs go where posted at the entrance. 
Duke slows to a walk, breathing deeply to help settle his heart rate back down to something normal. Haly walks by his side, tail wagging, as she watches the other dogs run back and forth behind the fence. 
She’s still small, just growing out of puppy size, so Duke leads her into the small dog area, carefully making sure the gate doesn’t open enough for any quick dogs to make a break for it. He walks over to a bench and sits down before undoing the harness on her, setting her loose. 
Haly licks his hand once, then darts away, barking lightly as she joins the other dogs tumbling around each other. 
Amused, Duke leans back at watches as the other dogs sniff her, then do their funny little bowing stomps, moving back and forth before running off so she can give chase. 
He figures staying for an hour will be good enough. That should get the most of her energy out, and then they can make the long trek back to Dick’s safehouse so he can pick her up before he heads back to Bludhaven. Pulling out his phone, Duke settles in to wait, keeping half his attention on Haly just in case any of the other dogs decide to get a little too rough.
The first twenty minutes pass peacefully. Haly runs around and the owners of the other dogs give her pets when she runs up to them. One even went over to Duke to offer him a pack of fruit gummies. 
Then a loud bark fills the air and Duke jerks upright, watching with wide eyes as a colossally large dog, green and glowing and slightly transparent, comes barrelling down the street, headed right towards them. 
He doesn’t have time to yell Haly’s name before the dog is in the fence. None of the other dog owners look alarmed, though, so he watches carefully, prepared to jump up and save Haly at a moment’s notice.
“Cujo!” someone yells from down the street. A guy with dark hair comes running up and smoothly jumps over the fence. “Cujo, how many times do I have to tell you not to run off like that?”
The green dog, apparently Cujo, barks happily.
“And you’re too big for this park right now, buddy. Shrink, boy. It’s time to be small.”
And then Cujo… obeys? The dog shrinks, and instead of being the size of a bus, it’s now small enough to be carried in someone’s arms. 
Green dog is not enough warning for all of that. Dick owes him so much for this.
Actually, he’s kind of shocked that Dick never mentioned this to anyone. Surely a giant green dog would get people’s attention. Why is this the first time he’s heard about it?
“You new around here?” someone asks, and Duke turns to see the person who gave him the fruit gummies.
“Kinda? It’s my first time coming to the dog park. I’m looking after Haly, that one right over there.” He points out Haly, who is running in circles around Cujo.
“Ah, I see. Dick mentioned someone new would be coming today.”
Duke narrows his eyes. He’s starting to get the feeling that he’s been set up for something, but he’s not sure what. 
“I’ll give you the spiel we tell all newcomers, in that case,” they continue. “Cujo is a ghost dog. Poor thing died during some animal testing, far as we know. Danny looks after him, since Cujo got attached to the kid years ago before he moved to Gotham. He’s a kind one, but very nervous, and we’ve all got an agreement to keep quiet about him and Cujo round this parts. You better be holding your tongue, as well, ya hear me?”
“Sure thing,” Duke nods. “My lips are sealed.”
He’ll just ask Dick about the ghost dog situation and do his own investigation if needed. But Cujo is just a dog, and his owner is just a guy. Nothing threatening, nothing requiring a Bat’s attention.
“Good,” they nod. “I’ll get out of your hair now.” They’re gone before Duke can reply, adjusting the hat on their head as they head back to their group in the back left corner of the dog park. 
Satisfied that things are under control, Duke relaxes back into the bench, watching Haly and Cujo tumble around with the other dogs, barking happily. Haly’s still growing into her paws, so she trips and falls often, but gets up without a moments pause, ready to keep playing.
From the corner of his eyes, Duke catches sight of someone walking towards him. 
He looks over and finds Cujo’s owner—Danny, wasn’t it?—approaching. Their eyes meet, and Danny offers him a sheepish smile and a wave. His eyes are a dark blue that seem to glow with some otherworldly light, and Duke can swear he sees something shifting around him, as if the air has turned visible and twists around his body like wisps of smoke. 
“Mind if I sit with you?” Danny asks, and Duke moves to the side a bit.
“Go ahead,” he says.
“You’re Duke, right? Dick told me about you last week.”
It’s looking more and more like Dick is up to something, and Duke will need to get his revenge. “Did he? All good things, I hope.”
“Aha, yeah, all good things. Um, actually I think I should apologize? I maybe said you sounded like my type so Dick promised that he’d get you here somehow. Sorry if this is messing up your plans for the day.”
Oh. Oh! 
Well. That’s interesting. 
Duke quietly shelves his plans for revenge against Dick and takes a proper look at Danny. He’s shy, but with a bright smile, glowing eyes and strange smoke curling around him still, and messy black hair windswept from chasing after Cujo. There’s a flush in his cheeks and his long fingers fiddle with the string of his dark red hoodie. 
“Don’t worry, I didn’t have any plans today. This is way better than just sleeping all day.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Danny laughs, “There’s nothing I like more than being able to sleep all day. That would fix me for sure.”
There’s a loud bark, and Danny’s eyes snap back to Cujo, who is growing bigger. “Cujo!” Danny yells, voice sharp. “Shrink down, or we go home.”
Cujo grumbles, whines, then goes back to being little. The green dog only has a moment to look sad before Haly is tackling him, sending them back into another chase around the park. 
“Sorry about that,” Danny says, slouching against the bench. 
“It’s all good,” Duke replies. “So. I’m your type, huh?”
Danny’s cheeks turn a deep, charming red. He looks away, then nods and ducks his head down. 
“And that hasn’t changed after meeting me?”
Danny shakes his head, then peeks over at Duke, gaze slowly moving up his body until he meets Duke’s eyes. “Definitely hasn’t changed,” he says.
Now it’s Duke’s turn to feel his cheeks burn, flustered and pleasantly surprised by Danny’s boldness. It doesn’t help that Danny is cute, someone he can see himself falling for. 
“Good,” he says, then knocks his knee against Danny’s. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you more. On one condition.”
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Tell me what Dick told you about me. I wanna make sure he wasn’t sharing an embarrassing stories about me. If I’m gonna make a fool of myself, then I’ll do it myself with no outside help.”
Danny’s laugh is bright and warm and sends butterflies dancing in Duke’s stomach. “Fair enough!” he says. “And you know what? I’ll trade you for embarrassing stories. Trust me, I have so many. Nothing you’ve done can be worse that the dumb shit I do on a regular basis.”
“Woah, woah, woah, confident, aren’t we? Don’t say that until you’ve heard about some of the stupid situation I choose to throw myself into.”
“Please, I’m an younger brother. If anyone knows how to be stupid, it’s me.”
“I’m part of the disaster that is the Wayne family. I think that has you beat.”
“My parents are mad scientists and my dog is a ghost. Try again.” The teasing smile on Danny’s lips makes him want to be reckless, to keep pushing, to go down this path as far as he can.  Duke can’t remember the last time he clicked with someone so instantly, to be so comfortable with them so soon. 
Damn. He’s gonna have to thank Dick for this, isn’t he?
As if on cue, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Duke pulls it out with an apologetic smile to Danny, who leans back a bit to give him some privacy.
The text that pops up is from Dick. It’s a photo of him and Danny from the side, heads bent close together as they talk with bright smiles. He can just make out the wild red curls of Kori’s hair. 
“I’m gonna put jello in his socks,” Duke says cheerfully, already looking around to find where Dick is hiding. 
He probably already moved locations, the ass. 
“What’s up?” 
He holds out his phone so Danny can see the screen. Danny stares at it, then looks around, then stares at the screen again. 
“...Is he watching us?”
“Yep.”
“...Should we do something about it?”
Duke shrugs. “I mean, I’m up for hunting him down and tackling him if you are.”
“I can do you one better,” Danny says with a sharp grin. He whistles, and Cujo comes running over, Haly at his heels, and he skids to a stop to sit before Danny. “Cujo. You remember Dick?” Cujo barks, as if answering. “Fetch! Go fetch Dick!”
Cujo jumps to his feet, grows from the size of a pug to a bear, and takes off for the art instillation farther into Robinson Park. Moments later, they hear a yell followed by loud laughter, and Cujo and running back, Dick hanging from his mouth, with Kori, Donna, and Roy following after him at a leisurely stroll. 
“I think we’re gonna get along great,” Duke says. “He’s gonna wish he never set us up.”
“That’s the way to do it,” Danny agrees.
“Say, wanna grab lunch together tomorrow?”
Danny blinks, then blushes again. “What, like a date?”
“Yeah, as a date. You up for it?”
“How could I say no? I was promised embarrassing stories.”
He watches as Cujo drops a rumpled looking Dick to the ground, half his shirt soaked with saliva. He dramatically mimes being shot in the heart when he sees them both looking at him, and goes limp when Kori picks him up and tries to set him on his feet. 
Then he tries to act very calm and cool as Danny leans against him. “Think he’s gonna follow up on our date?” Danny asks in a low voice.
Duke closes his eyes and tries not to despair. He didn’t even think of that. “Worse. He’s going to tell everyone else, then we’ll have every available Wayne kid stalking us on our date.”
“Guess I’ll have to rely on you to chase them off, huh?”
“Or we can sic Cujo on them again.”
“Or that,” Danny nods. “It’s always effective.”
He’s really going to have to bring his best to the date tomorrow, just to stay a step ahead of everyone else. Maybe he’ll ask Barbara for a favor and get her to lead them off? And if Bruce gets involved, then Duke is fully prepared to flashbang him, grab Danny, and run. 
It’s going to be a disaster.
It’s going to be fun.
He’s already looking forward to it, and from the mischievous smile on Danny’s face, he’s not the only one.
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castielsprostate · 6 months
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dean: you think i cant handle you and your chrysler building sized dick huh tough guy? well this bitch took a lot more than that
castiel: babygirl you cry when i look at you with a straight face
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the difference between miles and phoenix is that miles says his snarky thoughts out loud lmao
@neni-has-ascended's very cool notes on AA translation and honorifics
follow for more art <3
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aroaceleovaldez · 10 months
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the fact that Nico canonically gets flustered easily is really funny to me given he also is heavily implied to listen to emo/punk/etc music. poor guy puts his playlist on shuffle and the most nsfw rock song starts playing and he just slowly takes off his headphones.
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moraent-keys · 2 months
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Mass posting after realizing I don’t show y’all shit-
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i think Kevin's thing is that whenever Neil is Neilling he just despairingly asks "why must you be like this?" so much so that it becomes an inside joke among the Foxes. (somehow Kevin is the only one not in on it because he doesn't even realize he says it so often.)
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sysig · 6 months
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Congrats on your promotion (Patreon)
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phantomtwitch · 10 months
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For angstfest! I'm a little late, but here's one for a No One Knows AU.
They’re already moving as soon as he’s gone. 
Tucker grabs Danny’s legs while Sam picks up Danny beneath his arms and shoulders. He’s long past the point of being embarrassed about Sam being stronger than him, and they have to move fast as they drag Danny’s body into an empty classroom nearby. He mutters curses under his breath as the heavy classroom door bounces off his side, and Sam huffs and rolls her eyes. “Drama queen,” she accuses, and he sticks his tongue out at her as they carry Danny’s body the rest of the way inside and the door shuts with a too-loud slam behind them. 
But they’re not worried about the noise attracting attention. Most of the students are staying within their own classrooms, ignoring whatever odd sounds they might hear as the ghost alarm goes off in the background. The harsh, blinking lights cast odd shadows on Danny’s face, making Tucker queasy for a minute as they prop his body up against the wall below the whiteboard. 
“How long?” he asks, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath. 
“Two minutes and forty-five seconds,” she says with a grin as she sits down next to him. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”
“Nah, we did it in two minutes and thirty-eight seconds last month, remember?” he says as he sits down beside her and starts to unpack his backpack. The defibrillator is buried at the bottom, tucked beneath his things. It’s the smallest one they could find that’s still effective, even if they’re not exactly using it for its intended purpose, and Sam carries another just in case. For a normal person, it wouldn’t be possible to restart their heart and lungs with an electric shock, despite what the movies claim, but for Danny? Electricity is the only thing that works, the only thing that will bind his spirit back to his corpse as it infuses and activates the ectoplasm flooding his blood stream. 
The Fentons could no doubt provide a scientific explanation as to why and how it works, but to Tucker, it’s an odd kind of magic, of horrifying necromancy as they forcibly, painfully force the electricity to run through him again, so similar to the accident that caused this problem in the first place. It’s only by chance that they know it works, having tried the defibrillator hanging on the lab wall in the basement after he came out of the portal and his body fell to the ground as his ghost hovered over it in shock. He didn’t give it much thought the first time. Tucker merely assumed the movies were right and that they restarted Danny’s heart. It wasn’t until later that they learned the truth. 
With practiced ease he pulls Danny’s old NASA t-shirt off, and then scowls as he notices that Danny’s wearing a new necklace with a constellation on it that Tucker probably should know the name of after being Danny’s friend for so many years but doesn’t. “Great. More stuff to take off. Wonder who gave it to him,” he grumbles, twisting it around in his fingers until he finds the clasp and removes it. He checks him over for any more metal and finds none. “How long now?” 
“Four minutes,” says Sam, and he nods. They worry one day it’ll be too long, that there will be no forcibly stitching his soul and body back together, that all will remain is a ghost and the body of a boy who’s been dead for longer than anyone knows. The longest Danny’s ever gone is thirty-three minutes, yet they were still able to bring him back that day even as it seemed to take longer than usual. But there’s no one they can ask for help or advice, no one that’s dealt with this before besides them and Jazz, and none of them trust the Fenton parents enough  to not shoot their own son in the face if they learn the truth. Because so far, at least, when Danny’s back he is alive again. He’s grown a few inches since this started a year ago. He’s been forced to get his usual haircuts, to trim his nails when they get too long. His heart beats within his chest, and he breathes and smiles and laughs like there’s nothing different, nothing wrong, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about him.
They shift Danny again, laying him down flat on the floor on his back as Tucker kneels down beside him and sets up the defibrillator and sticks the pads to Danny’s chest. There’s nothing they can do until he returns, so they wait, Tucker drumming his fingers against the side of his leg as Sam continues to glance at her watch every few seconds. “Did you hear that they’re remaking the first Nightmerica movie?” he asks, looking for any distraction he can. 
“Ughh, yeah,” she groans. “Which completely misses the point of why it’s so good in the first place. I don’t want a modern version with modern effects. I want cheesy 80s costumes and music and horror and the chance to cheer as stuck-up cheerleaders get murdered. I mean I guess there’s a chance they’ll keep the original charm, but I doubt it.”
“Yeah, there’s already rumors that they’re casting, like, Scarlett Johanson as Nightmerica,” adds Tucker. “Doesn’t really bode well.”
“Seriously? If she gets cast, I’m just going to nope right out, pretend it doesn’t exist, and hope everyone else does the same,” she says, and then goosebumps erupt across their skin as the temperature in the room drops precipitously as Phantom enters the classroom, phasing through the wall. 
He looks rougher than usual as ectoplasm drips from his arms and chest, deep claw marks gouging through the thin black and white hazmat suit he wears even now. His eyes are consumed with green light, his hair floating over his head and flickering like sparks, and there’s a faint hint of white beneath the dark suit, of the shape of bones even as Phantom is nothing but ectoplasm. “Rough fight?” he asks.
There’s heavy static behind each word. Talking to him like this is almost useless. They can’t understand the ghost speech, the odd echoes and noise and whirring, and trying to teach Danny sign language or morse code or any other method of communication when he’s whole again is worthless, none of the knowledge transferring to his ghostly self, the wall between his two halves too solid for even Phantom to phase through. They don’t know why Phantom is one of the only ghosts that can’t speak without the noise and distortion, that can’t make his words understood, but it’s a truth that’s held fast for as long as Danny’s been like this. 
But Tucker’s gotten better at reading his unnatural body language, the way he twists upside down and curls his tail around himself as his sharp, pointed teeth flash. “Sorry, man,” he says. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”
They don't know why he feels compelled to fight the other ghosts. They don't even know what triggers the transformation, even as they've come to recognize the warning signs, like the odd vacant stare that sets in, the way Danny’s hackles almost seem to rise as he silently snarls. And it's not as if Danny can tell them.
Phantom whispers something in response, the words still lost in the static, and then he floats over to himself, putting a hand over his own corpse, because as hard as it is for Tucker to think of it that way, he knows, on some level, that’s what Danny's body is without Phantom. There’s no life in it, no presence, no spirit. It’s merely flesh, an empty vessel, and he shudders to think what could happen if another ghost found him like this, if he might be able to possess him somehow. 
"We're at nine minutes," says Sam, and Phantom lets out something like a sigh as he floats back into the corpse. Danny's eyes snap open, green and glowing, and they move quickly.
Unlike the one in the lab that was old and lacked the safety features of most modern AEDs, they had to make a few modifications to this one to get it to work. A modern defibrillator won't let someone shock a body with no heartbeat. Messing with the tech felt dicey, but they couldn't find any other methods to safely deliver a shock to him that wouldn't risk their own safety, too.
The pads are already placed, and he pushes the button, biting his lip as he waits. It delivers the first shock, but aside from a twitch in his shoulders and a confirmation from the AED, there's little to no sign it happened. 
A hiss of soft static, and Tucker understands the meaning despite the noise, a bitter plea for them to do it again. It takes three shocks before they see it, the strange white light around his midsection, and Tucker turns off the AED as he and Sam scramble a few steps back.
The light spreads, eventually too bright for them to bear the sight of it as little arcs of electricity dance along Danny's skin, and when it finally stops he's sitting up, staring vacantly. The daze won't last, but they take this moment to put away the defibrillator, removing the pads from his chest. Tucker puts the necklace back on, his fingers shaking as he snaps the clasp together. Much as he tries to act like this doesn’t bother him anymore, he can’t contain his relief at seeing Danny sitting up again, his chest slowly moving with each breath, his pulse steady beneath his wrist and neck. 
They've just pulled his shirt on when he blinks, and Danny looks down at his hands, wincing as he touches his chest. "I feel like I got run over by the GAV," he groans, and Tucker forces himself to chuckle.
"You might as well have. You hit the floor hard when you fainted," says Tucker. The injuries are never there, but some phantom pain always seems to remain as his ghost heals. "I'm sorry we never manage to catch you, man. I know it’s gotta hurt."
"It's fine," mumbles Danny. "How long was I out?"
"About ten minutes," says Sam. She doesn’t point out that they time this, now, down to the second. It’s not as if timing it changes anything, but it makes them feel better when they revive Danny in under twenty minutes. More than that and they start to worry. Tucker’s still not sure how Danny doesn’t have any brain damage at this point from the lack of oxygen. 
Danny hums, flexing his fingers for a minute as the ghost alarm shuts down. "I . . . Doesn't it seem like this is getting worse? I can't even remember seeing a ghost. I . . . I never can."
"You know this messes with your memory–"
"Yeah, but that makes this seem more like I'm having seizures or something, not fainting. And it's always one of you or Jazz when I wake up, which seems weird, maybe? I just  . . . Maybe we should tell my parents," he whispers, and Tucker's heart aches.
"I don't think that's a good idea–" begins Sam, but he cuts her off.
"--why not?" He looks between the two of them, scowling, his fists now clenched. "What aren't you telling me?"
He and Sam exchange a long look. It always comes to this eventually, yet despite their best efforts, it's pointless. Some part of Danny refuses to hear the truth, to acknowledge that he died or at least half-died in the portal, and within an hour he always forgets they even discussed this at all. They don't know why. They've proven over and over again that they accept him and love him despite how he’s changed. But the wall is still too solid to break through.
They should explain it to Danny again anyway. Tucker knows that. But he's so tired of repeating himself, and he knows Sam is, too. Jazz says his psyche needs more time to process and accept the truth, but it's been a year with no sign of things changing. 
Sam eventually sighs, forcing the words out. She's always been the strongest of the three of them in more ways than one. "A year ago, you had an accident. You were hurt badly, and we saved you, but–"
The door swings open suddenly, and he sees Mr. Lancer there, the relief evident on his face. "Lord of the Flies! Is everyone okay?" he asks as he takes in the sight of the three of them on the floor. At least the AED is back in Tucker's bag and out of sight, since Tucker doubts Mr. Lancer would be willing to ignore what that might signify if he saw it. 
"We're fine," says Sam. "We thought we heard the ghost and hid. I'm sorry we worried you."
"Somehow that always seems to happen with the three of you," he says with a frown, clearly questioning it, but thankfully he doesn't push it further. "But I’m glad that you’re safe, at least, and now that the ghost is gone you three need to get to class."
"Okay." They stand up, and Tucker can see the worry and distrust as Danny clenches his jaw and refuses to look at them as he heads out into the hallway. But that’s not the worst part. No, it’s knowing that by the time lunch rolls around, Danny won’t remember his suspicions or his fears. They’ll be pushed down, slowly hidden beneath the protective part of his mind that refuses to let him know the truth, and instead of questioning why he constantly faints whenever there’s a ghost, why he has strange aches and pains, and why he often sets off his parents’ equipment even when he’s human again, he’ll talk to them about the latest video games and movies and gossip and homework. 
He desperately wants his friend to know the truth. It hurts, even as he knows they’re not lying to Danny about what’s happening, that they’ve tried to explain it before. And despite how naturally taking care of his body comes to him and Sam now, despite knowing the signs that herald Phantom’s emergence, Tucker knows they can’t keep this a secret forever. Inevitably, they won’t be there one day, they’ll miss an obvious sign, or someone like Lancer will walk in a little too soon. And once they learn the truth, he and Sam and Jazz know that Danny will be taken from them as he’s locked away in a lab by the GIW or his parents and becomes some gruesome science experiment, tortured as he can’t even remember the reason why. 
More and more Tucker’s beginning to think they’re running out of time. They need to find a way. They need to get Danny to understand who and what he is so he can protect himself, because Tucker’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the lie, too. 
EDIT: I wrote a Part Two, it's here.
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moeblob · 2 months
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Ohiwe (lady) and Ohime (man) aka the fire deity after they get punished.
Originally just "Oh", the fire deity had a bit too much fun with punishing humans and so in a means to stop them, the elder gods split them into two. So now they have to be together in order to have their "full" power but as before the split, they get restless and like to wander. So while one stays in their city, the other gets to go out and travel and see the world and check on the other deities.
Also, as a whole/singular being Oh would use they/them. After the split however, it's definitely not the same and so Ohiwe likes using female pronouns and Ohime uses male pronouns. That way when discussed as one, it's back to they. That feels best for them.
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hi. here's a little over 5k words for the modern human au! entirely unedited, as usual! you'd think this is a full oneshot... ha... no... i actually have some warnings for this one - hospitals, panic attacks, major character injury / discussion of death / clinical description of injury.
in short, my writing comfort zone <3
~
The dial tone plays, and Barnaby looks down at his phone. Call ended stares back at him under Wally’s cheerful profile picture.
“He hung up on me,” Barnaby states. His lips twist and he tosses the phone onto the couch with a snarl of, “That little bastard.”
“Hey now,” Howdy says sharply, frowning at him. “That’s our friend you’re talking about.”
“Like he doesn’t deserve it! All I do is be supportive, understanding, and worry about his damn well being. And then he goes and acts like my very much well-founded concern is an attack!”
Howdy’s frown softens as he watches Barnaby pace, gesturing wildly.
“I love that RV. Maybe not as much as Wally, obviously, but it pains me that it needs to go. And it does need to go! Thing’s becoming a damn deathtrap.” Barnaby pushes his hair back and huffs. He glances at Howdy. “Right? I’m making the right call, here?”
“Of course you are,” Howdy says. “But-”
Barnaby cuts him off. “I tried to be nice about it. I tried to warm him up to the idea of retiring Home, yaknow? And what does he do instead of handling it - he revs up the tin can and runs. Home shouldn’t be started, let alone driven. It’s dangerous.”
It’s extremely dangerous. Wally is skilled at driving it, but no amount of skill will save him if it breaks in the middle of the freeway. What if the engine catches fire? What if a tire pops, or comes loose? Home is old, and wasn’t made to crumple in a crash. Barnaby doesn’t even know if the airbag still works. It’s not safe. 
The thought of Wally bringing Home hurtling down the freeway at ten at night in a - quite honestly - not great mental state turns Barnaby’s stomach. 
“I just wanted him to come back so we could talk about it,” Barnaby says. “I let him keep worming his way out of a serious conversation and now - now he’s -”
“Running away,” Howdy finishes. The point of his pen taps a rhythm against his notepad. 
Barnaby jabs a finger at him. “Exactly. One tough, necessary decision and he turns tail. This isn’t gonna go away if he skips town! Not to mention how he isn’t giving a thought to how this might affect the rest of us.”
“Especially you.”
Barnaby throws his hands up with an indignant look. “Now not only do I have to hunt him down-”
“That would be a we scenario, Barn.”
“But we,” Barnaby concedes, “gotta try to knock some sense into that thick skull ‘a his, and drag him back home - kicking and screaming if we hafta.” 
Howdy’s pen taps faster. “What if he doesn’t want to come back?”
“What if he-” Barnaby stops short and stares at him, wide eyed. 
That’s not. 
That wouldn’t happen, right? Wally would come back in the end. He wouldn’t decide to up and leave entirely, would he? He is in Home… all the essentials he needs are in that RV. Barnaby sits down heavily on Howdy’s threadbare couch. “What if he doesn’t want to come back.”
Wally would have to come back to clear out his studio - he’d never abandon his art. Then they’d have to go through everything inside the house and see what he wants to take, since not all of it is Barnaby’s. A lot of it is shared, so they might have to bargain on who gets what. 
Then they’d all have to watch Wally get into his motorhome and drive away. Possibly for good. 
Barnaby would be alone in that big house with Welcome, knowing that his closest companion is out of his life. Living somewhere else. It's sickening. 
“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Barn,” Howdy says, watching him with furrowed brows and a deep frown - if Barnaby were feeling like himself, he’d crack a joke about him emulating Frank. “I can confidently say that Wally loves you more than that old RV.”
Barnaby snorts. “You sure about that?”
“Unflinchingly. Believe you me, he’s going to wallow for a day or so, and then Home will come rumbling back down your driveway like it never left.”
“I wish I could have your faith,” Barnaby mumbles. He exhales and picks up his phone. No missed calls, no messages. “Maybe if I call him and ask him to just come back, no strings attached, he will.”
“That’s the spirit! Save the talk for another day - tell you what, I’ll help you corrall him so he can’t escape the conversation. I’ll tie him to a chair and bar the door if needed!”
“Good luck with that. Kid’s slippery.” Still, Barnaby hits call again. It rings only a couple of times before a robotic automated message states the caller as unavailable. Barnaby doesn’t enjoy being upset with Wally. However, it feels like his blood is simmering, and the wall is starting to look like great target practice for his phone. He grits his teeth. “He turned off his phone.”
From the corner of his eye he sees Howdy’s eyebrows shoot up as the man turns back to his paperwork. He exhales a controlled breath and writes something down. “I have to say, I’ve never known him to be such a-”
“Pain in the neck?” Barnaby offers.
Howdy clicks his tongue. “You said it, not me.”
“Yeah, well, he’s full of surprises.” Barnaby lets out a frustrated huff. He’s half tempted to run Wally down right now, but he wouldn’t even know where to start. There’s only one freeway out of town, but it goes both ways, and it branches. Wally would have hit one of those branches by now, and who knows which he took. North, south, east, west. Deeper into the woods, or towards the city? To the coast? Somewhere else entirely?
He has to face the facts - there’s nothing to do. He just has to wait until Wally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes how stupid and insensitive he’s being. Those are two words Barnaby would never normally use to describe Wally, but after tonight? They seem fitting. 
Barnaby can’t even muster up guilt for thinking such harsh things. He tried to be nice. He was patient. He’s always kept a lid on it whenever Wally frustrated him, which doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. And what does he get for caring? For being tactful and careful about a shitty situation? 
Avoidance, a shove, and a cut call. Wally left Barnaby’s been left to stew in his own anger and worry. Right now, he’s inclined to lock up that worry in a tiny box in the back of his mind. 
Barnaby pushes himself up with a grumbled, “I’m makin’ some coffee, want some?”
“If you’re offering then I will not decline.”
Barnaby pretends not to feel Howdy’s eyes following him to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. It’s hell to maneuver around in, and the frustration of bumping into something every five seconds only makes Barnaby’s mood worse. By the time the coffee is brewing, he’s ready to punch the cabinets. He won’t, but he wants to. He’d regret it immediately, but he stares at the chipped paint and fantasizes. 
The coffee machine breaks after brewing a whopping single mug. Barnaby stares at it for a long moment, and tallies up the consequences of taking a hammer to it. In the end, he just clenches his fists for a long moment and counts to ten. He takes the mug and sets it in front of Howdy, then goes to the window to brood. Thankfully Howdy is too reabsorbed in his work to notice beyond a mumbled thanks.
For the next hour, Barnaby’s thoughts are entirely composed of Wally. Different scenarios of what might happen next, how Barnaby might handle those situations without shaking Wally for doing something so needlessly reckless, and cruel daydreams of setting Home on fire. Barnaby wants to feel bad about that. He doesn’t. That damn RV has caused two different rifts between Barnaby and Wally - and Barnaby was the one to fix both of them, because both times Wally just left. 
He gets it. He really does - for a time Home was all that Wally had. It’s been with him since Wally was thirteen, and if the thought of retiring it to a dump makes Barnaby sad, he can only imagine how much it distresses Wally. Well, he can do more than make an educated guess. Wally practically told him tonight, if not with words than with actions.
Still. They’re adults - Wally is older than him, if only by a handful of months. When does Barnaby ever ask something of him? When does Barnaby ever push? Why can’t Wally see that Home is becoming a liability, and why won’t he listen? Barnaby can’t make it make sense. 
Wally has always been more inclined to avoid conflict, but this is too far. Barnaby swears, when he tracks Wally down he’s going wring that scrawny little-
His phone is ringing. 
Barnaby lunges for it, relief dousing his anger. He picks it up, ready to give Wally a piece of his mind and then beg him to come back-
“It’s an unknown number,” he says, shoulders slumping. Of course it’s an unknown number. Wally wouldn’t change on a dime and decide to be considerate for once. He exchanges an exasperated look with Howdy and declines. He goes to set the phone down - the number calls back.
“That’s one determined scammer,” Howdy says. He leans back in his chair and holds out a hand. “I’ll deal with ‘em.”
Barnaby is all too happy to hand it over. Let the poor sap on the other end of the line deal with a master swindler. 
“Howdy-hi, how can I help?” Howdy starts with a mischievous grin thrown Barnaby’s way? He leans back in the chair and hums. “Who, may I query, is asking?”
All at once, the ease drains out of Howdy and he stops fidgeting. He sits up, already looking at Barnaby with a paled expression that has something cold slithering down Barnaby’s spine. Something is wrong.
“He’s right here.” Howdy holds out the phone. His throat works uselessly for a moment before he plainly states the obvious, “It’s for you.”
Barnaby takes it, his mouth abruptly dry. Howdy is already up and moving - grabbing his coat, his keys. “Hello?”
“Is this Barnaby Beagle?” a professional feminine voice asks, tinny through the phone.
“B. Beagle, yeah.”
The woman introduces herself as the nearest city’s hospital, and Barnaby’s heart drops through the floor. She asks him to confirm that he’s Wally Darling’s emergency contact. He confirms, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Howdy takes his arm and gestures to his shoes by the door, spurring Barnaby into motion.
“Is he okay?” Barnaby manages to say. He puts the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and almost curses aloud as he switches it. 
“Mr. Darling was involved in an automobile accident,” is all the hospital employee says. “He was brought in a few minutes ago.”
Barnaby steadies himself against the doorjamb, choking on a whispered, “Oh, god.” 
Keys jingle as Howdy opens the door and pulls Barnaby through, then locks the door behind them.
“But is he okay?” Barnaby asks again as they hurry down the short hallway to the stairs. 
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information at present.”
It’s bad. It has to be bad if they won’t say anything over the phone. He must be silent for too long, because Howdy takes the phone, tells her they’ll be there soon, and hangs up. He tucks the phone into Barnaby’s pocket before opening the door to the store’s back lot. 
The frigid air slaps the shock out of Barnaby, and sensation comes flooding back in. He grabs the keys out of Howdy’s hand and strides to the car with long, powerful strides that would leave anyone shorter than Howdy in the dust.
“Are you sure-”
“I’m driving,” Barnaby growls, cutting Howdy off.
Howdy makes a disapproving noise, but relents. They get in and Barnaby adjusts his seat with harsh movements, jabs the key into the ignition because Howdy’s car is a dated hunk of junk, and peels out of the parking space before Howdy even has his seatbelt all the way on. 
Howdy clings to the ceiling handle as the car tears down the mostly empty street, going at least ten miles over the speed limit. Barnaby doesn’t know exactly where the hospital is, but he knows how to get to the city. They can figure it out from there. Several people honk as Barnaby brings them flying onto the freeway. 
“Holy Marilyn marmalade!” Howdy screeches as they narrowly avoid side-swiping a minivan. 
Barnaby ignores him and cuts off a pickup to get into the right lane for the interchange. Howdy whispers a string of something high pitched and strained and clings to the handle with both hands. 
It takes him a moment to parse out the constant ramble as, “-pull over pull over pull over pull over-” Two honks and a squeal of tires as Barnaby almost causes an accident, and Howdy yells in a louder and deeper tone than Barnaby has ever heard from him, “PULL OVER!”
Barnaby clenches his jaw and cuts across the carpool lane’s double whites. It only takes a moment to reach the shoulder. Howdy leaps out of the passenger seat as soon as the car stops, marches to Barnaby’s side, and wrenches the door open.
“Out,” he snaps, breathing hard. “Barnaby, I swear to all things priceless, get out. “
Barnaby meets his steely gaze for all of a second before unbuckling and getting out. Cars whip by. Howdy huffs at him and slips into the driver’s seat, muttering about recklessness and disasters and if you would wait to try and kill us until we’re right outside the hospital, if only to save us the ambulance fee-
When Barnaby gets into the passenger seat, Howdy waits for him to buckle in with fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. He merges onto the freeway smoothly and carefully. They go slower than the speed Barnaby had them flying down the asphalt at, and it makes something deeply impatient itch in him, but it’s safer. 
“I know you’re upset,” Howdy says, eyes still fixed on the road, “and I know that you’re scared. But what in hell’s bells was that, Barn?”
Barnaby side eyes him and grimaces, folding his arms. “I don’t know. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”
“You put yourself in danger too, you know.” Howdy sighs and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re of no use to Wally if we get ourselves in a crash. What would he say?”
“Whatever he’d say would be hypocritical,” Barnaby says before he can think better of it.
Howdy glances sharply at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“He..” Barnaby’s voice fails on him, and he swallows hard. “He was in an accident.”
Howdy is silent for a full few seconds before he exhales a thin, pained sound. “Oh, Walls…”
He must not know what else to say, which is good and well, because Barnaby doesn’t either. A long few minutes pass of silence. Headlights of passing cars on the other side of the freeway flash over them before plunging back into darkness. The dials on the dash glow. The check engine light is on. They’ll need to get gas in order to make it home. 
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Howdy says. He’s tapping the steering wheel again. “It’s likely just a few scrapes and bruises, at worst a broken bone. Nothing Wally can’t handle, and certainly nothing to be concerned over.”
Barnaby can’t bring himself to agree. Maybe… maybe if Wally was driving slowly… but that wouldn’t matter if someone crashed into him with enough force. Home is a large, sturdy vehicle, but it isn’t invulnerable. Wally certainly isn’t.
Without the distraction of driving, all Barnaby can think about is the what ifs. Yeah, what if he’s only a little bit hurt, but what if it’s worse? All of the worst images Barnaby can think of roll through his mind like a messed up movie reel.
Wally dead on the scene, caught in a hunk of twisted metal. 
Wally, choking on his own blood in an ambulance, dying en route to the hospital.
Wally flatlining on a metal table. 
Wally’s small body covered with a sheet-
“Almost there,” Howdy says, slowing at a stoplight. It bathes them both in red. Barnaby didn’t notice when they got off the freeway. 
Barnaby squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead to the cold window. After a moment, a slender hand rests on his thigh and squeezes. It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Barnaby breathes a little easier. 
Despite the drive down the freeway feeling like it took hours, the drive through city streets to the hospital passes in a blink. Before Barnaby knows it the car is spiraling up to an upper floor of the parking garage. The floor is mostly empty - Howdy pulls into a spot right by glass double doors. 
Barnaby gets out a split seconds before Howdy, staring at the pristine white walls just inside the doors. In a moment he’ll find out if it’s not that bad, or if he’s about to have the worst night of his life. He’s been to a hospital twice. The last time was for Howdy, but he went with the knowledge that it was only a precaution. The other time was for Mama’s health scare. 
That had been terrifying. The waiting, the wondering, the too-bright hallways and the staff’s rigid smiles. It ended well, but it had still been horrible, and hospitals took center stage in some of his recurring nightmares. Barnaby never wanted to see another loved one in a hospital bed again.
Looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 
Howdy comes around from the driver’s side and lays a hand on Barnaby’s shoulder. “If you need a moment to-”
“Nah,” Barnaby says, his voice rough. He nods and adjusts his sleeves. “Better rip the bandaid off.”
They go into the sterile maze. The bright overhead lights dazzle Barnaby’s eyes after being in the dim parking garage, and he grimaces at the strong odor of antiseptic and floor polish. Howdy makes a beeline for the nearest receptionist and talks to her in rushed, low tones. 
Barnaby shuffles after him, rubbing his shaking hands together and eyeing every person in scrubs that walks past. Something beeps somewhere. He thinks he hears someone crying. This is a place without color, art, or happiness. 
“This way,” Howdy says, walking past him and tilting his head at the elevator. Barnaby follows, feeling like a lost puppy dropped at the side of the road. 
A nurse gets into the elevator with them and politely smiles before staring at the floor counter and pretending they don’t exist. It’s fine with Barnaby. If he has to make small talk right now, he might actually snap. The man’s pink scrubs are almost an eyesore in the harsh lighting. 
The elevator dings, and they all get out on the same floor. Howdy reads door plaques and wall signs like a hawk, his head turning on a swivel as he reads everything at lightning speed. Barnaby nearly has to jog to keep up with his hurried pace. 
Howdy changes direction without warning and heads straight for a door at the end of a short offshoot hallway. Barnaby reads the sign next to the door.
[can’t remember if it’s icu or the other thing, research later]
It’s bad.
The waiting room is small - longer than it is wide, and there’s a woman sleeping in a chair in the corner. It looks nicer than the emergency room, or where Barnaby waited to see his mama. The benches have colorful cushions, and the walls are a pastel green instead of white. There’s an abstract geometric painting on the wall next to the woman. 
Barnaby slowly takes a seat on stiff cushions, watching Howdy talk to the receptionist from afar. He nods and pats the counter before joining Barnaby. He sits close enough that their legs press together.
“Someone will get us up to speed as soon as there’s news,” Howdy says. “I tried to pry some more out of him, but he wouldn’t give up another word.”
Barnaby nods, staring down at his hands. His nail polish is already chipping, despite Julie painting them only last weekend. Barnaby picks at the bright red on his pinkie until Howdy pulls his hand away and enfolds it in both of his own. 
When Howdy takes a deep breath, Barnaby finds himself mimicking him. Their gazes meet - Howdy’s is unflinching, and steady. He smiles and runs his thumb over Barnaby’s knuckles, soothing the nervous trembling, and Barnaby is struck by how darn grateful he is to have Howdy with him. 
If he had to do all of this alone… Barnaby doesn’t think he could. Either he’d have gotten himself into a crash to join Wally, or he would still be sitting in his car, staring at the hospital doors. He doesn’t have the courage. But Howdy does, and Barnaby loves him for it. 
For once, Howdy lets the time pass in silence, though after a long stretch of indeterminable time he gets up to pace. The bench cushions are high quality, but they start to feel uncomfortable. Barnaby doesn’t dare go for a walk. At least they’re not the usual waiting room chairs - he’d rather stand than try to fit into those plastic, narrow things. 
At some point the woman in the corner wakes up. She startles seeing two strangers in the room with her, but quickly ignores them. Barely a few minutes pass before she leaves, mumbling something about coffee. She doesn’t come back. Barnaby spends a while wondering why - did she go home, or wait somewhere else, or did she receive news in the halls?
Howdy sits down again and starts typing furiously on his phone. When Barnaby gives him a curious nudge, he quietly explains that he’s texting the group chat. Barnaby feels a twinge of guilt at that. He completely forgot to let everyone know that there’s a… situation. Who knows if any of them will see it until morning. 
Message sent, Howdy gets up to pace some more. His rhythmic gait gives Barnaby something to focus on, seeing as the clock on the wall is silent, and the receptionist seems to be sleeping. Barnaby could probably pass time on his own phone, but every second spent distracted is a second he might miss someone coming to tell them…
What? Tell them what, exactly? That Wally is okay? That he can receive visitors? 
That he didn’t make it?
The door opens, startling Barnaby to his feet. Howdy scurries over from the far side of the room and rests a steadying hand on Barnaby’s lower back. A woman clad in blue scrubs enters, reading something on a clipboard. There are shadows under her eyes, and she looks beyond exhausted. Barnaby can sympathize.
“Mr. Beagle?” the doctor asks, looking between them. When Barnaby nods, she smiles thinly, gaze flicking briefly to Howdy. “Hi. I’m Dr. Allen. Before I disclose any sensitive information, I’d like to confirm what your relation to the patient is.”
The question gives Barnaby pause. He’s always had a difficult time putting his and Wally’s relationship into simple terms, because it’s anything but. Wally is his best friend, his dearest companion, the man he lives with and can’t imagine being without. 
“He’s my partner,” Barnaby settles on, because it’s a good umbrella term. Partner can mean a lot of things, and people don’t usually pry for specifics. “We’re as good as family.”
Dr. Allen writes something down on her clipboard. “No worries, I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not - you’re his emergency contact for a reason, after all. It’s just basic information that I’d like to have on hand.”
“Course - so how is he?” Barnaby cuts straight to the chase. He’s not in the mood for niceties. 
“Well, Mr. Darling is certainly giving us a run for our money,” Allen sighs. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s gotten through the worst of it.”
“He’ll make it?”
Allen offers another tight lipped smile. “We’re doing our best.”
Barnaby has seen enough hospital dramas to know that we’re doing our best means no promises, prepare for the worst. Howdy must feel the tension gripping him like a vice, because his hand slips from Barnaby’s back to his hand. 
“What are his injuries, if I may?” Howdy asks. 
“I’m not sure-”
“Please. We’d rather know than wonder.” 
Allen looks between them and sighs again. She flips a page on her clipboard. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of time between the crash and when emergency services were called. Between blood loss and the near-freezing temperatures, Mr. Darling developed mild hypothermia.”
Wally was dying, cold and alone in the wreckage of his home for who knows how long before anyone came to help. Barnaby sways in place, and Howdy helps him sit down on a bench instead of the floor. Allen looks apprehensive.
“Keep going,” Barnaby rasps. He needs to know.
Allen doesn’t look happy about it, but she continues. “Mr. Darling also suffered several low-grade lacerations from shrapnel, some fractured ribs, a compound fracture in his left tibia, and currently unidentified damage to his right hand and lower arm.”
Barnaby swallows a mournful sound. That’s fine, it’s fine. Broken bones heal - Wally will be painting again in no time. 
“He also developed an intracranial hematoma. It’s been treated, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until Mr. Darling wakes up.”
“What is that?” Howdy asks before Barnaby can figure out how to speak again. “Intracranial hematoma - tell me if I’m wrong, but that sounds like a head injury.”
“It is - in layman’s terms, it’s a brain bleed. Head trauma can cause bleeding inside the skull, which puts pressure on the brain. We caught it as quickly as feasibly possible, which should raise his chance of a full recovery.” Allen flips the clipped page back into place. “There may still be lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet. I’ll be forward with you - this is one of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive.”
Allen goes on to offer platitudes that Wally is a fighter, and easily answers the flood of questions Howdy has about the mentioned injuries. It all sounds distant. Underwater. The room is too small and the air is stale - are the vents working? Is there a window they can open?
In a blink - and yet the conversation lasts ages - Allen promises to come back with more information as soon as she has it. She smiles one last time and leaves. 
“Barn?” Howdy sounds muffled. “Barn, are you alright?”
What kind of question is that? Of course Barnaby isn’t alright - his best friend is dying, likely on this very floor. There’s a chance he’s already dead. Barnaby might have already lost him, he just doesn’t know it yet. 
Mr. Darling was lucky to be found alive. 
One of the worst crash cases I’ve seen in some time. 
Mild hypothermia - brain bleed - lacerations - fractures.
Lesser complications and injuries we haven’t been able to diagnose or address yet.
We’re doing our best.
“He hung up on me, the little bastard-”
Barnaby is up and out the door before he registers moving. He staggers down the hallways in a blur, everything swirling together into a mess of sight and sound as his lungs struggle to get a full breath. He bypasses the elevator and takes the stairs down to the level they parked on. 
The cold air does nothing to help him breathe. Barnaby chokes on it as he leans against the rough wall grasping at his chest. Howdy is there immediately - he must have been on Barnaby’s heels the whole time. 
“Talk to me, Barn,” Howdy pleads, a hand on the back of his neck and the other over the one Barnaby has on his chest. “What is it - you’re not having a heart attack, are you? Tell me you aren’t, I can’t handle that right now.”
Barnaby doesn’t know. Maybe? He feels like he is. He can’t breathe. He tries to say so, but the ragged gasps his breathing has devolved into doesn’t allow it. Howdy must know something he doesn’t, because he doesn’t run to get a doctor.
“How can I help?” he asks instead.
“Don’t - don’t - know,” Barnaby wheezes. 
“Okay, alright, don’t worry, Barn, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Let’s try, ah - what were the steps? I didn’t exactly write them down, though in hindsight I should’ve - that’s not the point! It was… what a time to take after Eddie’s memory-”
It shouldn’t be helping, but Howdy’s constant stream of words grabs Barnaby’s attention. He manages to inhale nearly a full breath before it stutters back out and he’s struggling again.
“Breathing!” Howdy says. “Yes, that was it - Barnaby, I need you to focus on me. Copy my breathing.”
He sucks in a slow, dramatic breath through his nose and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Barnaby catches on and tries to mimic him, but-
“Can’t, I ca-an’t,” Barnaby says. His chest hurts. 
Howdy presses their foreheads together. “Yes, you can. Come now, Barn, in… out. Simplest thing in the world.”
It doesn’t feel simple, but Barnaby tries. It feels like forever before he manages a full inhale. He butchers the exhale, but Howdy praises the minor win before launching right back into measured breathing. 
Barnaby finally manages a slow inhale and exhale, and suddenly it feels like the pressure filling his chest has vanished. He slumps against the wall, worn out. He puts his hand over Howdy’s mouth in the middle of another dramatic demonstration.
“You’re alright now?” Howdy says, peeling his hand off. Barnaby nods, and Howdy leans next to him with a whoosh. “Thank the stock market - I was starting to get light headed.”
It takes another few minutes for them to catch their breath. Barnaby straightens enough to rest his head on Howdy’s shoulder, breathing in his cheap cologne and homemade laundry detergent. Howdy cups the back of his neck and massages the tense muscle there. 
“This will all turn out okay,” Howdy promises. “Wally is stubborn - I think we both know that well enough. By this time tomorrow we’ll be moving forward.”
Barnaby wants to be that optimistic, but this is real life. For all they know, moving forward means making funeral arrangements. His breathing stutters and he forces it to even out before he can start hyperventilating again. 
A car pulls into a parking space with a gravelly sound. Barnaby pays it no mind until Howdy makes a surprised noise - Barnaby looks up, and his stomach churns.
Frank, Eddie, and Julie are all getting out of Frank’s car. They’re all in various states of dishevelment. Frank’s hair is a mess, and he has what looks like Eddie’s company jacket thrown on over his pajamas. Eddie is in little more than a shirt that says male? lol, more like mail! and boxers - he’s even wearing slippers instead of shoes, and his hair flops over his forehead in soft tufts. Julie’s hair is still in curlers, and though she’s wearing shoes, she’s in a too-long shirt over sweats that don’t belong to her. They’re paint-stained. 
They rush across the parking lot, all worried faces and tired eyes. They’re already asking what happened, is Wally okay, Sally is getting Poppy, they should be here soon, has there been any news-
Barnaby lunges at the nearest trash can and vomits.
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sheavesandbounds · 1 month
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sometimes her family looks at me and their tongues curl around the name of a dead girl i stare them in the eyes with an unfamiliar smile until they swallow it down uncomfortably they do not know what i am all anyone knows is that she went away and i came back in her place i wear her skin i carry her flesh and bones and puppet them as if they were mine but they do not fit me and so her family wails and cries: how could i desecrate her memory? how could i even consider changing her body? how could i mutilate her? she is not the one being mutilated i have sliced and torn and ripped away parts of my soul to try and fit this body, yet it slowly rots around me i can feel it coming apart at the seams from the pressure of containing even fragments of me and still they call me her name, as if they cannot smell the stench of death
i understand that they loved her they miss her they mourn for her they think that i am doing this to hurt them her can they not see that dragging around this corpse under the guise of being her is more disrespectful to her memory than anything else? can they not see that i loved her too?
the girl is dead but the body remains i will reshape it to fit me and it will be my turn to live.
Inspired by this post and the tags
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storfulsten · 4 months
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Do you think BF would ever be able to convince Whitty to wear one of those cat-ears headband things?
mm well don't see why not lol
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have a vaguely related-but-not-really doodle I guess bc why not ha
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