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#Yes I'd love this a lot
carnivalcarrion · 4 months
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okay, this is a halfway to 7k unedited fantasy au snippet! Out Of Context as usual!
some warnings for this one: blood, gore, major character injury, graphic description of injury <3 i had fun w/ it not sorry <3
~
The front door slams open, stalling all conversation inside. A flash of lightning illuminates the two forms huddled in the doorway, one considerably larger than the other.
Barnaby staggers a half-step inside, dripping water all over the floor. That alone has Howdy putting down the glass and moving across the bar to better assess the situation. Eddie is struggling to support Barnaby’s listing weight, and both of them are clutching at Barnaby’s belly. They’re both soaked through.
Someone gasps, and the folks seated nearest to the door stand and back away, muttering in alarm. Howdy’s stomach plummets. Some of the water puddling on the floor is too dark to be just that. Barnaby’s front, under where his massive paw is clutched, is drenched dark as well. 
Eddie catches his eye - he looks wild with fear. 
“Out!” Howdy thunders. “Everyone out! I don’t care about your tabs or if you’re not done - if you have a room, go there, if you don’t, scram!”
Some people cast him and Eddie dirty looks, but they start to get up, grumbling all the while. Howdy couldn’t care less. Not when Barnaby is leaning so heavily on Eddie, his breathing so labored that Howdy can hear it amidst the shuffle and scrape of patrons leaving.
“What happened?” Julie yells, running across the room from the neighborhood booth. 
“Make sure everyone gets out,” Howdy says, redirecting her. Julie doesn’t look happy about it, but she complies. The patrons start to clear out faster with her aggressive ‘assistance’. Howdy throws his drying towel off to the side and nearly vaults over the bar to help support Barnaby. He reaches to sling Barnaby’s other arm over his shoulders-
“Don’t!” Eddie cries. He doesn’t let go from the wound, and Barnaby cringes away from Howdy with a breathy echo - “Don’t.”
“Why not?” Howdy says, panic rising in his throat. He looks closer at the wound Barnaby and Eddie are holding - this time he has to swallow down bile. Glistening, blood-slicked pink pulses under their hands. Barnaby whines softly. He’s terribly pale under his fur.
“Everyone’s gone!” Julie announces. 
Howdy snaps out of his horrified trance. He points at the bar. “Clear a spot on the floor for him on the floor, make sure we have room to work.”
Julie makes a frustrated noise but complies once again. Howdy slips around to Eddie’s side and trades places with him, but Eddie doesn’t let go of the wound. The sudden weight makes Howdy stumble, but he quickly widens his stance and starts shuffling them to the area Julie is clearing. They help Barnaby lower to the ground, and every pained whine and gasp is like an arrow to the heart. Eddie whispers apologies all the way down. Barnaby’s free paw leaves scratches in the bar’s cherry wood.
“Ed, I need you to get my supplies from my room,” Howdy says, rolling up his sleeves with quick, expert flicks.
Eddie looks at him like he’s crazy. “I can’t let go!” 
“I’m here to take your place - four arms are better than two, now get!” 
Eddie still hesitates, but slips away once Howdy puts all four of his hands where Eddie’s measly two were. It’s hot, and wet, and - and -
It becomes immediately clear that this is a wound they can’t fix, not without an extraordinarily talented healer. 
“Julie,” Howdy chokes out, “get Poppy.”
“Okay,” Julie says faintly, right behind him. She slowly backs away, and all at once sprints for the front door. A burst of fresh, rain-filled air blows inside before the door closes again. The cold shock makes Barnaby flinch and gasp. 
“Hold on, Barn.” Howdy forces himself to look at Barnaby’s face instead of the pulsing guts bulging from the gash someone sliced across his belly. The soaked fur under and around it looks purple. “Help will be here in a jiff, so don’t you go falling asleep on me.”
“Tryin’,” Barnaby wheezes, and his voice has never sounded so much like music, “tryin’ not to. It’s - stars, it hurts, Howdy-”
“I know, but you gotta hang in there, pal. Poppy will fix you right up.”
“I…” Barnaby makes a wretched noise that sounds like a sob, “I don’t wanna die.” He whines, a leg weakly kicking out as his guts twitch. “M’ not ready, Howds, m’ not…”
“You’re not going to die,” Howdy insists even as Barnaby’s blood soaks his hands and sleeves. 
He doesn’t want Barnaby to die, either, but who knows where Poppy is - there’s no guarantee that she’s home, and even if she is, her abode is clear across town. Julie is a fast runner, but in this weather… with such a distance…
Barnaby is going to die. 
Howdy will do his damned best to keep that from happening. 
Clattering precedes Eddie sprinting around the corner. He checks the bar hard, but doesn’t fall or flinch. He takes the hit and slides to his knees by Barnaby’s side and opens the pack. Howdy almost reaches out to rummage through it himself, but Barnaby’s paw starts to slip from the wound. 
“No no, none of that.” Howdy nudges it back into place with his knee and tries to jostle Barnaby with the same motion. “Eyes open and paw up, Barn.”
“Tryin’,” Barnaby whispers. His eyelids flutter in a vain attempt to stay open. His breathing rattles.
Howdy doesn’t need to tell Eddie what to look for, and thank the heavens for that, because Howdy doesn’t think he can look away from Barnaby’s pained features, much less form words that aren’t incoherent prayers to any god that will listen. Barnaby’s paw slips, and Howdy has to lunge to keep his insides from becoming his outsides. Just his hands aren’t enough - he needs to use his forearms. There’s so much of it. 
Eddie scoots forward and holds up a potion, and Howdy nearly howls in anguish. “Not that one! The healing potions - the red ones!”
“I know that!” Eddie snaps just as viciously, which is enough of a shock that Barnaby gains a moment of startled clarity. Eddie uses it to coax him to drink the golden energy potion. “I have some healin’ powers of my own - I can buy him more time than your bruise busters, and you’re fresh out of those, anyway!”
Out?
Howdy stares at his pack in horror. That’s right. He hasn’t restocked - oh, he’s a fool! He allowed himself to grow complacent and reliant on Eddie and Poppy’s healing. He has no time to thoroughly curse his inaction, as Barnaby’s paw comes back up to the wound, and his back arches as he wails his agony. The potion kicked in. Eddie quickly shoves his paw away again and holds his hands to the corner of the gash, his palms glowing orange.
“Oh, oh no,” Barnaby sobs, his boots and claws scraping wood, “Ed, stop-!”
“I’m sorry,” is all Eddie says. He shoves Barnaby’s paw aside when he tries to pry Eddie away. Barnaby grabs for the nearest thing with his other paw, which happens to be Howdy’s thigh. Howdy bites back a pained hiss at the feeling of claws digging sharp through his pants. The cold water saturating Barnaby’s paw soaks the fabric in seconds, creating a contrast to the pinpricks of hot welling up under the claws.
Howdy eyes the healing glow and the strain on Eddie’s face. It won’t be enough - Howdy doubts it will give Barnaby any time at all. The thin corner of the gash slowly knits together, but the rest of it is too wide, too deep. The only reason Eddie can heal any of it at all is due to how clean the slice is. The blade that created this wound must have been freshly sharpened, or enchanted. Howdy can tell at a glance that it cut through Barnaby like a knife through marmalade. 
Eddie heals the other tapered end. He and Howdy exchange a glance - Howdy sees it in his eyes that the healing is just a platitude. Blood continues to soak Barnaby’s pants, Howdy’s, their hands, Howdy’s clothes, the floor. 
Abruptly, Howdy is keenly aware of how quiet the tavern is. Rain drums on the roof and thunder rolls outside. The fireplace crackles. How long will it take to scrub the blood out of the wood flooring? How long will Howdy spend staring at the scratches etched into the bar?  
“How- Howdy,” Barnaby says. He isn’t gripping Howdy’s leg as hard anymore, but he gives it a weak squeeze. “Gotta tell ya - hng - somethin’. Shoulda… told ya sooner, but-”
“Save it for later,” Howdy says quickly. “You can gab all you want when you’re better.”
There likely won’t be a later, or better, and that’s half the problem. Call Howdy selfish, but he won’t let Barnaby make this hurt more than it already does. More than it will. He would rather live with a might’a than a could’a.
Barnaby knows it, because his eyes mist up and he nods weakly. “Yeah. When I’m… when I’m better. Can I ask a fa-favor?”
“Anythin’,” Eddie murmurs. Howdy had forgotten he’s there.
“Find Wally for me?”
Eddie lays a bloody hand on Barnaby’s arm, steely determination flashing in his eyes. “We will. I swear it on my patron’s light.”
“That’s a…” Barnaby pauses to grimace and swallow thickly, “a big promise, Ed.”
“I’ll make sure he keeps it,” Howdy says.
“M’ sure you will. But, but… if Wally really is gone… hey, I’ll say hi to ‘em for ya.” Barnaby manages a shaky half-smile. “At least that’d be one - one good thing ta’ come outta this, huh?”
Howdy’s composure cracks. He chokes down sobs as he slumps over Barnaby, uncaring of the awkward position or the insides sandwiched against his front, drenching his apron and shirt with blood. He hides his tears in Barnaby’s cold, waterlogged ear. Barnaby uses what little strength he has left to turn his head, weakly nuzzling the side of Howdy’s face. His breath is warm. Weak, but warm.
Distantly, Howdy hears Eddie curse and ask “Where are they?” The clink of his armor fades, and the door opens just enough to let in the scent of rain. Howdy hears more than feels Barnaby breathe it in. As close as they are, Howdy can hear the wet rattle in Barnaby’s chest.
Should Howdy do something to make him more comfortable? Would Barnaby’s herbs ease his pain? Even if it would, if anything would, Howdy can’t let go. That would hurt him more, and Howdy refuses to give up that tiny sliver of hope that something can be done. 
The door slams open to let in a thunder of footsteps. Howdy snaps upright, and he’s certain that if he didn’t have a job to do, he’d collapse. 
“Oh dear, oh-” Poppy squawks loud enough to make everyone cringe, her feathers fluffing up. “My feathers, that’s! Oh! That is much worse than what you told me!”
“One can hardly fault her,” Sally says before Julie can respond. She kneels by Howdy with Poppy right behind her. “Are you with us, Barnaby?”
No response. 
Howdy goes cold. “Barn?”
Sally briskly taps Barnaby’s cheek until he twitches, his eyelids barely lifting before falling shut once more. “Still with us!”
If Howdy wasn’t already crying, he’d start now.
“Can you fix it?” Eddie asks from off to the side.
Julie paces anxiously. “Of course she can! Poppy’s the best healer for miles, there’s nothing she can’t do. Right, Poppy? He’ll be up and joking in no time!”
“I.” Poppy’s feathers shake as she dances them over the open wound. “I will most certainly try, but I can’t do it on my own. It’s too severe for my magic to do much of anything. Sally, dear-”
“No,” Sally says immediately, her glow dimming. “You cannot be serious, I won’t - I simply will not-”
“You must. We all need to work together - Howdy and Eddie need to hold the wound shut. It won’t just be you.”
“We need to what now?” Eddie says, even as he settles on Howdy’s other side. “What’s going on?”
Howdy feels sick. “You and I have to make sure his insides stay inside, while Sally will-”
“Sally won’t,” Sally says. “As much of a nuisance as he likes to make himself, Barnaby is my friend! I could never-”
“Then you’re alright with losing him!”” Howdy snarls. “Perhaps you’d like to trade places with me and feel him die under your hands instead!”
Sally gapes at him, stricken. Her mouth flaps for a moment before she shuts it firmly and turns to the wound, lifting her hands. 
“What does she have to do?” Julie asks.
Everyone ignores her - not out of unkindness. Poppy nods to Eddie and Howdy. Eddie places his hands in the spaces where Howdy can’t completely reach. They exchange a glance and push.
There was a time when Howdy received an overpacked shipment of linked sausages. He had no room to store it yet, but the sack it arrived in tore. Shoving them back in - even with all four of his hands - was nigh impossible. It was impressive how the sausages had managed to fit at all, because the sack was certainly too small. 
Shoving Barnaby’s guts back into his stomach is a lot like that.
Barnaby cringes and moans in his nearly-unconscious state, feebly trying to get away from what is certainly agonizing pain. His brow bunches up, and he whines high in his throat. 
Howdy can’t spare a thought to it. Blood and organs squelch as Howdy and Eddie rush to cram it all inside - there’s no time for caution. As soon as the last slip of pink is inside - it’s so, so dark and red past the blue - they squeeze the wound shut to the best of their abilities. Barnaby sobs quietly.
“Now,” Poppy says, and Sally’s palms burn hot enough to make Howdy’s skin itch.
She holds her hands to the sealed gash, and Barnaby starts wailing. Too weak to thrash, he just writhes softly and keens, tears freely spilling down his face and carving dark tracks in his drying fur. His paw twitches around Howdy’s leg, claws digging in again like he wants to grab or yank or something.
“Almost there, Barn,” Howdy lies. Part of him wishes Barnaby would fall fully into unconsciousness. It would be dangerous, but at least he wouldn’t feel this. 
The acrid stench of burning fur and flesh fills Howdy’s nose. Sally and Eddie both gag. Heels rapidly click across the tavern as Julie sprints to the nearest waste bin, and she retches loudly into it. Howdy barely registers it - he’s barely breathing, himself. 
“Well done, all of you,” Poppy murmurs as Sally cauterizes. She holds her wingtips to the cooked flesh of the wound as Sally continues, and they glow coal red. The wound glows with it, the angry blistered flesh smooths and pales, and blue fur starts to grow back before their eyes. 
Barnaby’s paw falls from Howdy’s leg as he starts to slump, cries petering off into agonized whines. Poppy doesn’t seem alarmed, and Howdy just wants his pain to stop, so no one moves to keep him awake.
Soon, Sally has to shuffle in front of Howdy and Eddie to continue. They’re loath to move, so she awkwardly lies across their laps and reaches. As soon as she burns her way to the end that Eddie healed, Poppy gives them the all-clear. 
Eddie lets go first, slumping back on his heels. Sally is still draped across Howdy’s lap with her head pillowed on Eddie’s. The three of them catch their breath as they watch Poppy brush her healing feathers across Barnaby’s stomach. Julie staggers over to them and kneels next to Eddie. She leans against him, sniffling. Howdy doesn’t have it in him to protest when Eddie not only loops an arm around her shoulders, but around Howdy’s waist as well.
Barnaby is finally unconscious, his features slack  - Howdy places a hand on his chest to make sure, and the shallow rise and fall of it is more priceless than all the coin in the world. Howdy slowly sits. His hand trails down as Poppy pulls her wings back, and his fingertips dance on the silvery smooth line of a fresh scar. 
“I’ve done all I can,” Poppy says with a gusty sigh. “So have the rest of you - again, well done. You all did splendidly.”
“I don’t feel splendid,” Sally croaks.  
“Well… you are. Quite splendid. Let’s get him up and to a bed.” Poppy’s first attempt at standing fails. Sally all but leaps up to help support her, and she laughs nervously. “I’m afraid that took quite a bit out of me. There was more to heal than I expected, dear me.”
“Will he be okay?” Julie asks. 
Poppy looks at Barnaby with a soft, sad look in her eyes. “I can’t say for certain. It’s up to Barnaby, now… all we can do is make sure he’s comfortable. A-and keep a close eye on him! There could be, ah… complications. Infections, and the like. Mh, I’m sure it won’t come to that, though. Sally’s fire should have burned out anything nasty.”
Howdy belatedly realizes that he needs to help carry Barnaby. He kneels on shaky legs and gently maneuvers Barnaby’s dead wei- unconscious weight to the side. Howdy slips his upper arms under Barnaby’s, using his lower set to help support his back. Eddie takes one side, Sally and Julie take the other. Poppy does her best to help, but she can only lift Barnaby’s unbloodied leg with her beak. 
They shuffle their way to a ground floor room. There’s plenty, but Howdy once again chooses to be selfish and brings them to one near to his own. Near is subjective - Howdy lives on the second floor, but the staircase to his private suite is as close to Barnaby’s temporary room as it can get. Barnaby will be sleeping right below Howdy. If anything happens, he’ll hear.
They get Barnaby onto the bed, and all of them breathe sighs of relief - and mild pain, in Eddie’s case as he stretches his back. Poppy asks for Julie to stay and assist her with getting Barnaby adjusted. 
Howdy doesn’t wait for a dismissal. He stumbles his way out of the room with Sally and Eddie in tow, his heart jackrabbiting. It feels like he grabbed hot coals, or swallowed a bolt of lightning. He’s shaky and ill and he just held Barnaby’s intestines in his hands.
Howdy leans over the bar and blindly grabs a bottle from underneath it. He uncorks it with his mouth, spits the cork to the side, and starts chugging. The alcohol burns as it goes down. It’s cheap, bitter, and easy to focus on. He comes up for breath with a small gasp and coughs, wincing at the aftertaste.
Cleaning supplies clatter as Eddie brings them out of the supply closet - Howdy wasn’t aware he knew where that was. It’s just a bucket of water and a scrubber. Not that he’ll do much good. He’s still caked in blood and mud. Dishes clink as Sally cleans up the ample messes that the patrons left behind. Howdy takes another swig and stares blankly at the shelf behind the bar.
The blank eyes of the Wally-puppet stare back at him. At least the real Wally wasn’t here to see that. Howdy doesn’t know what he would have done, or how he would have reacted… best not to imagine. In any case, Howdy hopes that by the time they find Wally, this whole experience will be nothing but another story. 
Howdy goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand - oh. Right. It’s still covered in blood. All four of them are. The blood glistens when Howdy holds out his hands. It’s warm and tacky, clinging to his fingers like sap as he spreads them. 
It’s Barnaby’s blood. 
These hands were inside of Barnaby’s gutted stomach, and Howdy can still feel the sickening heat and the way it all pulsed and twitched and-
Howdy copies Julie’s example and vomits into the nearest acceptable receptacle. The alcohol tastes better going the other way, even if it burns worse. 
Once the dry heaving stops, Howdy sinks to the ground, shaking with silent sobs. His legs curl up and he presses the heels of his upper hands to his forehead, hugging himself with his lower arms. The crimson-soaked fabric of his shirt squishes and sticks to his skin.
Everything Sally carries rattles, and every few minutes something falls. Chipped cups, shattered plates, clattering platters. After each breakage, she picks up the shards and keeps clearing the tables. The constant swish, swish, swish of scrubber bristles on wood fill the silence between rattling dishware and rolls of thunder. Eddie scrubs at the one spot on the floor, where Barnaby sat. The water he pours and scrubs quickly turns pink, then red. 
The door opens, letting in yet another gust of air. It slowly closes, and Frank’s shrill voice cries out, “What in the heavens happened in here?”
Anger rises sharply in Howdy’s gut - and vanishes as soon as it came. There’s no use in being mad at Frank - they didn’t explicitly go with Eddie and Barnaby on their day trip. He was gathering information. There was no way he could have known what would happen. 
Frank belatedly notices the thick trail of blood on the floor, and sidesteps it before rushing to Eddie. “Is everyone okay? Who’s hurt? That’s not your blood, is it-”
“It’s not mine,” Eddie says, not looking away from his task. Swish, swish, swish. When Frank reaches for him, he waves them off. “Stay back, it’s a mess. I’ll take care of it - I’m taking care of it.”
He isn’t taking care of it.
Frank takes a step back, his eyes wide enough that Howdy can see the whites of them clear across the tavern. Frank looks over the trail of blood, the puddle, bootprints, the smeared handprints, and the sheer amount coating not only Eddie, but Howdy too. Sally doesn’t make a move to acknowledge Frank as she stacks wood platters and ceramic plates. More blood stains her from where she kneeled in it, and laid across Howdy and Eddie. 
A scraaaaape precedes Julie backing into the tavern proper with a large tub of steaming water. Howdy makes a desperate sound and scrambles over to it. He thrusts his arms into the water and scrubs furiously at his skin and sleeves, ignoring the burn of the slightly too-hot temperature. Julie’s stare sears into him for only a moment before she takes a shuddering breath and steps out of the splash zone. 
“Frank!” she says a touch too loudly, oozing false cheer. “You’re back! Did you find anything?”
“Did I - what does that matter! Julie, what’s going on?”
“Oh, Barnaby got a little hurt, but he’s resting now.”
Frank incredulously gestures to the tavern’s general state. “A little hurt?”
“Barnaby’s fine now,” Julie reiterates. “Poppy is taking care of him.”
“How did - why did - what -”
Howdy slowly stops scrubbing. His skin feels raw under his fuzz as he stands, water sluicing from his arms. He unties his apron as he returns to the bar and tosses it over a stool. He sits on the one next to it and snatches the open bottle of - whatever it is. It’s alcohol. That’s what matters. He rests his head in his hands between acrid swigs. 
“Everything is okay! Poppy is the best healer around, it’s nothing she can’t handle,” Julie chirps. No one calls her out on the proven lie. She starts collecting straggling dishes alongside Sally. “We’re just helping Howdy clean up.”
In his periphery, Howdy catches Frank side-eyeing him. He chugs from the bottle for a moment and slams it back down, if only to make a point. Frank is the only one to jolt at the sharp bang.
Frank slowly crouches by Eddie, frowning deeper than normal. He mutters something too quiet for Howdy to hear from the other end of the bar. Eddie says something back - Frank lays a hand on his shoulder, and Howdy scowls miserably into his drink. His thigh itches.
Swish, swish- the scrubber finally stills. Eddie shoots to his feet, his armor clattering loudly, and he steadies himself against the counter as his other hand flies to his forehead. “Oh no. Oh, no…”
Everyone stills, and the tension in the room thickens palpably. 
“What is it?” Frank asks.
Eddie looks at Howdy with horror in his eyes. “We lost Wormie. Barn dropped his hat when we were ambushed - there was no time to stop. We couldn’t…”
“Show me,” Howdy says, leaping off of his stool and charging for the door. Eddie follows hot on his heels.
The rain is freezing. It soaks Howdy through to the bone as soon as he steps out from under the tavern awning.
Howdy doesn’t dare go back to get a coat, even if all he has on are his thin work clothes. The cold nearly knocks the breath out of him, but he focuses on the alcohol warm in his stomach and plunges into the storm. He slows just enough to let Eddie - and, apparently, Sally - pass him. She carves a way through the pitch black night.
Mud saturates Howdy’s boots and the cuffs of his pants. It sticks unpleasantly to his skin and only worsens the chill as they run past dark buildings. Few windows glow orange, proving how late it’s gotten. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since Barnaby was injured. Even with Sally,’s light, it’s going to be impossible to find Wormie in this weather.
Howdy’s eyes burn as they leave the town’s muddy streets and plunge into the terribly dark forest. What if they don’t find her? The thought is almost too much to bear. Howdy doesn’t think he could face Barnaby when - if - he wakes up. They’ve already lost Wally, and that alone has had Barnaby in shambles. But if they lost his beloved little worm, too? 
It feels like they run through the woods for hours. Eddie keeps slipping and tripping, but manages to keep his legs under him. Howdy’s mind whirls with what-ifs and maybes and hows and whys. Eddie and Barnaby were ambushed so far away - why did they come to Howdy’s tavern instead of going right to Poppy’s? How horrible was it to go all the way into town in that state, in this weather? What if Wormie drowned, or was trampled, frozen, taken -
“I think it was here,” Eddie shouts over the thunder and rain. A flash of lightning illuminates the ground through the waving treetops. 
“You think?” Sally says. Howdy wishes he had said it first - now is not the time for Eddie’s navigational dysfunction! 
“I don’t know, Sally! I wasn’t really paying attention on account of keepin’ Barn’s insides from spillin’ everywhere!” Eddie doesn’t say it to be cruel, Howdy knows.
It doesn’t stop him from feeling unsteady all over again, or stop Sally’s glow from dimming. He glances around like he expects to see more blood, though even if this is the correct area, the rain has washed any evidence away. Howdy turns in a circle, tangling his upper hands in his hair. 
There’s no way of knowing. There’s no way of finding such a tiny, sweet little creature- lightning flashes, catching on leather outside of Sally’s glow.
Howdy lunges for the hat, uncaring of how his knees sink deep into frigid mud as he snatches it up. The hat is grimy, but undamaged. Even Ms. Beagle’s feather is intact. But when Howdy turns it over, his heart sinks.
Nothing inside.
Nothing on the ground around it either, even when he digs through the mud to make sure. Eddie hesitantly touches Howdy’s shoulder, and Sally’s warm glow envelops his back. 
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He sniffles. “I should’ve grabbed her. I should’ve-”
“You prioritized our bard,” Sally says. “We can’t fault you for that.”
They can’t. Howdy… Howdy wants to, but he can’t find it in himself. He’s cold, he’s tired, he wants to go make sure Barnaby is being taken care of. He looks around a final time, blinking against the rainwater pouring over his eyes.
Nothing but muddy soil, bushes, trees, darkness. 
Howdy clutches the hat to his chest and stands, stumbling slightly. His friends steady him, and his face pinches. He shouldn’t have drank so much at once. It’s finally getting to him, and soon he’ll be of no use at all. He can already feel the faint buzz in his head.
“We’ll come back in the morning,” Sally promises, tugging gently on his lower arm.
Howdy makes a pained noise. She won’t make it to morning. It’s too cold, she’s too small. All they’ll find is her little frozen body. 
“Hold on.” Eddie holds out an arm to stop them. “Can you hear that?”
“It’s impossible to hear anything over this storm,” Sally says. 
“No, no… I’m sure I heard something. It was a - a little, it was a little…”
Peep.
Howdy’s waterlogged antennae snap upright, and he whips around to stare at a nearby tree. A past storm must have nearly blown it over, as half of the base seems uprooted. Gnarled roots arc and tangle out of the ground. Howdy falls to his knees in front of the dark hole under the trunk. 
Another peep comes from inside.
“Sal, I need your light,” Howdy says, fumbling for her. Her golden glow fills the space, and he nearly sobs. 
Wormie squints up at them, curled into a tiny ball and shaking like the wet leaves she lies on. Mud covers her colors - if her eyes weren’t open, one could mistake her for a twig. Her harness blends into the rest of her. She peeps again. 
“Hey, gal,” Howdy murmurs, reaching into the shelter. Her antennae make a feeble attempt at raising, and she stretches her neck out towards his fingers. He slips them underneath her and lifts her out, making sure to shield her from the rain with his body. 
“Thank the stars,” Eddie says wetly. “For a moment there I thought we lost her.”
Howdy curls his fingers around Wormie, his heart breaking at how violently she shakes. 
“Should I take her? She must be freezing, the poor thing” Sally says, holding out a hand. Howdy holds her out, and Wormie lifts her head as Sally’s warm glow washes over her. She blinks at the offered trade, then drops her head and nestles into Howdy’s palm. Sally retracts her hand. “Apparently not.”
Howdy hooks the hat over that hand, and Wormie lets out a mournful peep. He lets Sally and Eddie pull him through the forest, staying hunched over the hat and murmuring reassurances. He starts quietly crying again at some point. The rain washes away his tears and sounds. By the time they return to the tavern, he’s exhausted himself. They all stumble through the doorway as a soaked, grimy trio.
Julie and Frank flurry over to fuss over them, but Howdy staggers past their worries. All he knows through the cotton in his head is that he needs a hot bath. He leaves their chatter behind and makes his way down the hallway, only pausing to listen at Barnaby’s door. 
Poppy is humming to herself. Howdy sags against the wall for a moment, taking solace in how calm she sounds. For a moment, he imagines going inside and resting at Barnaby’s bedside, but… later, he promises himself. When he’s in clean clothes and feels less like collapsing. 
Climbing the stairs to his room is a feat in itself, but Howdy manages it without tripping over the steps. He closes his door behind him and sighs, tempted to just fall asleep on the floor and deal with everything later. But Wormie is still shivering in his hand, and he might as well kill two birds with one stone. 
The hat is placed on the table for cleaning. Howdy hates to let go of Wormie, but he places her on the crown while he runs a bath. Not for the first time he thanks his past self for investing in this revolutionary tech called plumbing. All he needs to do is turn a valve, and hot water pours right into a fixed tub in the corner of his large, open room. 
For a long moment he yanks at the valve, not understanding why it’s not working- ah. He’s turning it the wrong way. He blinks forcibly and twists the right way, and water pours out. He watches it drain until it registers that he should plug the tub. 
Oh, the headache he’s going to have when he wakes up…
Howdy strips as he makes his way back over to Wormie, leaving unsalvageable clothing items strewn about. It’s a blessing in disguise that he was drenched by the rain - it kept all of the blood from drying, so his shirt and pants come off easily instead of sticking to his skin. He’s still stained red underneath them. Howdy undoes his ponytail and picks up Wormie. He carefully loosens her harness and slides it off, revealing a patch of spring blue and green bands underneath. 
He holds her to his chest as he steps into the filling tub. Steam rises off of it, and it clears his stuffed sinuses. He inhales it grateful and sinks into the water, clenching his teeth when it laps over the punctures in his thigh. He closes the valve and settles with a groan.
Wormie peeps at him and looks over the side of his hand at the water with longing in her big eyes. Howdy carefully lowers her until the warm water pools over his palm. Wormie finally stretches out as he rubs his thumb over her. Mud flakes and sloughs off of her, and she wriggles happily. She dunks her face and thrashes a little to properly soak herself. He gently runs a soap bar over her until she’s nearly white from the suds, and lowers her into the water so only her head floats on the surface.
Once she’s clean, Howdy grabs a small hand towel off of a nearby shelf, soaks it, and piles it on the side of the tub. He places Wormie on it and she happily starts burrowing. It occurs to him that he could look for some sort of floatation device for her, so that she could splash around to her tiny heart’s content, but just the thought is exhausting. So, a waterlogged towel it is. 
Before Howdy completely ruins the water by scrubbing more blood and mud into it, he washes his hair. The rain had already undone the ‘do, so at least he doesn’t have to scrub out the styling paste. He squeezes the water out as best as he can and slicks it back.
Watching the red caking his skin dissipate into the water is nothing short of a relief. He stops when he gets to the minor injury Barnaby left him - he can’t tell if he bled or not. If he did, it was overshadowed by Barnaby’s blood. He sits on the edge of the tub to better inspect it.
The wounds are shallow and nothing to write home about. They don’t need bandaging, though even if they did, the time for that has long since passed. Barnaby must not be dulling his claws like he usually does. Thankfully they weren’t entirely sharp, or Howdy suspects he’d have much larger holes in his thigh. Three punctures on the outside, one on the inside. Howdy opens the water valve a smidge just to wet a fresh towelette and properly clean the wounds. It would help no one to get them infected - Poppy needs to save her energy for Barnaby.
By the time he’s satisfied with his cleanliness - if he weren’t so tired, he’d have gone for a fourth round of soap - Wormie is dozing in her damp towel. He opens the drain before grabbing a fresh hand towel, this one dry. He carefully lifts Wormie out of it and wraps her in the soft fabric. Her eyes open for only a moment before she settles again, purring. 
For a long few minutes, Howdy just sits and holds her, watching her antennae twitch as she falls asleep. He absentmindedly rubs the towel, and Wormie’s purring increases as she’s dried. 
The sound of the last of the water draining pulls Howdy’s attention away from the tiny animal. He carefully gets out of the tub and puts Wormie back on the table, still wrapped up. Once again, he looks longingly at his bed. 
Howdy dries off and dresses in loose sleep pants and leaves it at that, not wanting to bother with a shirt. He rarely sleeps with one on, anyway. Too much of a hassle. He slips Wormie out of her towel and brings her downstairs, once again having to move slowly with much paid attention as to not fall with his leaden legs.
Poppy emerges from the room as Howdy reaches the ground floor. She turns and startles. “Oh! Howdy, you startled me. You look much better… though your hair is still wet - you’ll catch a cold if you leave it like that.”
Is it? Howdy brushes his fingertips over cold strands plastered to his neck. Oops. 
“Are you alright? You look quite unsteady…” Poppy comes over to him and squawks softly, her neck pulling back. “Is that alcohol? Howdy, are you drunk?”
Howdy shrugs one shoulder. Talking takes focus and time, but he manages, “I may be a little tipsy. No worries.”
“Many worries, dear.” 
“How is he?” Howdy deflects as he walks past her, partially leaning against the wall. He nudges open the door and rests against the doorframe. The blankets cast over the small room’s bed rise and fall in stark contrast to how shallow Barnaby was breathing earlier. 
“On the mend,” Poppy murmurs, following him inside. He slumps into the armchair already pulled up to the bed. “He might sleep for some time… he’s been through quite an ordeal. Anyone would be tired after so much healing, let alone after… well.”
Howdy carefully places Wormie on Barnaby’s neck. She stirs, and starts forcibly purring as soon as she registers the shade of blue underneath her. She doesn’t perform her usual party-seizure like she usually does when seeing Barnaby - she just burrows into his fur. Howdy has to wonder if she’s simply exhausted, or if she can tell that something is wrong. 
“I don’t believe we’ll encounter any complications with his health, thank goodness” Poppy says. “By my estimates, he should be up and moving within the week. I’d like him to remain on bedrest for a few days more than strictly necessary, but I doubt he’ll want to stay put.”
If Howdy weren’t so worn out, he’d tear up yet again. 
Of course he won’t stay. Barnaby will charge out the door as soon as he’s able, hellbent as he is on finding Wally. No one can blame him. The others will likely continue the search tomorrow, if not the next day. All Howdy can hope is they find something promising for Barnaby to wake up to.
He crosses his upper arms on the bed and pillows his head on them. He fights to keep his eyelids open, watching Barnaby’s peaceful face. He looks calm, his features holding no hint of pain. A warm weight drapes over Howdy. 
He starts to lift his head, but Poppy says, “It’s just a blanket. Rest, Howdy, you need it. Barnaby will be here when you wake up.”
Howdy means to thank her, but the word comes out as a weary sigh. He lets his eyes slide shut, and slips into deep sleep a second later.
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revenantghost · 2 months
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There are a lot of very different, very strong opinions on this scene--but I personally love how they handled it.
Nai is a character that commits many, many atrocities. Multiple genocide attempts, that whole thing with Vash and the dependents, so fucking much. But every villain is the hero of their own story.
And don't get me wrong, the scene where Knives chops off Vash's arm in Trimax? Absolutely brutal, shocking, and impactful. I love it. But this moment, for me, highlights that Knives isn't purely made of spite and hatred. He's full of fear. He's so afraid to lose what he loves.
I hate him. I hate what he does to the characters I care for, I hate how he demeans and violates others, I hate, you know, the excessive murder. But I get it. I've made fucked up choices trying to protect those I care about, I'll probably do it again. And that's what makes him one of the best antagonists I've ever seen.
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pistatsia · 5 months
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(plays "My son, look at my son, pride is not the word I'm looking for" in her head)
Gosh, I love him so much. I respect him so much for overcoming his trauma, for starting a new life, for slowly forming a normal attachment mentality.
And most of all for his reaction at loss. He's respectful, but never giving up and blaming himself or somebody else. He's grown so much from a child whom he once was. He's not feeling guilty. He knows that he gave all he could, he's ready to accept his lose and take his lessons from it. And return back.
I love him.
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sysig · 7 months
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Hazing (Patreon)
#Doodles#SCII#The Captain#DAX#Who's hazing who? Yes :)#I'd like to say this is early on in their relationship but let's be honest they'd take the opportunity to rib each other at any point lol#Hehe I had fun with DAX's eye and tendril expressions in this one ♪#I mean I have a lot lately with the curls and swirls and thick lines and shapes and fully-up and angry hehehe ♪ It's all fun!#But these were especially fun hehe#Still yet inspired by WOY lol - believe me I was least of all expecting to be hit this hard but I'm not about to complain lol#I still can't get over the fact that DAX and Peepers are both Commanders who are in love with their superior and have beef with a Captain#Hilarious ♥ Love that for them ♪♫#But yes! Captain Tim was what inspired these! Lol ♪ The fact that Peepers is 3rd in command to a pet is very funny haha#And obviously it doesn't quite transfer over since the Captain is y'know - a human and DAX is ranked under ZEX specifically#I guess if you really wanted to get into it the Captain could be bragging about sleeping with ZEX but that seems even a little too mean#And also would he be so brazen about that to DAX - would he even know? I guess it Really depends on when this is lol#I do love DAX's subtle rudeness hehe ♪ He puts up with you Captain and that's about it#I had a lot of fun with his pained/freaked out expression as well haha#I also forget if I've talked about my headcanon about VUX strength? :0 I feel like I have but I have no idea where lol#I also don't remember where I got the inclination from but at some point my mind settled on the thought that VUX arms are weaker than human#At least pound-for-pound - but their strength comes from their specificity :D That their grip strength is much more evenly spread!#I mean humans have what our hands so fingers - and our arms - we can grab and hold but they can /coil/#So holding a human in an arm lock like that would be hard to break especially if he held onto the Captain's shoulder or lifted :3c#Why are you picking fights person-to-person Captain don't you have a ship and crew to pilot right about now lol#Goes and tattles to ZEX maybe hehe ♪ Fair's fair!
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papakhan · 23 days
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I think in game it's kind of presented that Julie Farkas thinks poorly of, if not outright dislikes, the Great Khans which I guess is fair enough but also reeks of the attitude of the writers viewing drug addicts and raiders as subhuman. And I don't think really it lines up with either the Khan/Follower relationship depicted in game nor does it Follow Julie's reestablished personality. I think she's a little exasperated with them but not enough to warrent the "who? Oh you mean those raiders who used to clash with the vegas tribes 🙄" line that she has about them like cmon girl 1) people are like your only allies outside of Freeside and 2) why are you taking the Three Families side in this??? They're causing just as many if not more issues than the Khans even Arcade has lines about how the Families are exploiting Freeside and I can't think who else she means by "vegas tribes" Anyway. It does make sense for her to be annoyed with how they're causing more drug problems in Freeside but i don't think it makes sense for her to be written in a way that makes it sounds like she's angry with the Khans for *using their precious medical knowledge to make the evil morphine rather than the morally good morphine* when really she should be more angry with House/The Families for causing the poverty in Freeside and the NCR for forcing the Khans into the precarious position they're in while disallowing the Followers from truly helping them. The fact that by the time that Fnv comes around the Followers and NCR's relationship has broken down should be enough for the Followers to revisit relations with the Khans since, as I said, the Khans have been the only truly consistent allies of the Followers and more importantly, the NCR JUST MURDERED ALL THEIR CHILDREN. In this essay I will
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letteredlettered · 2 months
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I'm still confused by the wedding-industrial complex, tbh
#take proposals#like one day basically shortly after we got together my gf was like I want to marry you#i was like that's nice#then another time not that long after she was like hey we should get married#and i was like um that's nice i'm not ready#and she was like yeah sure okay#so next time we're together in person (because we're long distance) she was like hey I want to marry you#and i was like well there are things we'd have to talk about such as kids and finances and what country to live in#and she was like sure yeah okay#then there was a pandemic and the inability to see each other and a lot of other things including discussions#and then i was like okay yeah i think that's a great idea i'd like to marry you#and she was like that's great i love you we still don't know where to live#and so after that she still periodically says we should get married#and asks me to marry her#and i ask her to marry me#and we always say yes#and eventually figure out where to live and start applying for visas etc etc#but when we mention we're engaged people always ask#how did she do it?#did you know she was going to?#who proposed to who?#like fuck idk when it even happened don't you propose to each other like every other day when you love each other?#and isn't marriage a much bigger decision than a single question#and then like my cousin who coined the term 'wedding industrial complex' told me she was getting married#and i was like cool do you know when the wedding is?#and she was like what? no. he hasn't proposed#and i was like . . . but you know you're getting married?#and she was like yeah we've discussed it and agreed#and i was like sooo....that's not a proposal?#and she was like no because he hasn't asked
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cerise-on-top · 2 months
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Hello! Are you still writing hcs?
Graves with a spouse(writing this as a husband for him myself 🥰) who loves sewing and knitting, or some something amongst 'cozy hobbies' like embroidery, reading, poetry or baking. Just wondering How a relationship would be between them or how Graves would act.
Your writing is very lovely btw! I fell in love with it, very beautiful!
Hello! I am still writing HCs, it'll probably be a little bit longer until I take a proper break! That was a really cute request, I liked that one! Domestic and sweet stuff like that is always the best, so thank you for bestowing a request like that upon me! (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡
Graves with a Spouse with Cozy Hobbies
As mentioned already, Graves loves feeling like the big, strong, useful man in the relationship, so he’d absolutely love you even more if you have “soft and cozy” hobbies like the ones you mentioned. While he is very much a talker, something like knitting can be done while holding a conversation, so he’ll definitely talk to you as you work on your next project. He thinks it’s really awesome, the way your hands move so quickly to create something like a sweater, a scarf, or even a plushie. You don’t really look at him, way too absorbed in your project and not wanting to make even a single mistake, but you still spend time with him. It’s ideal, he can tell you the newest, juiciest gossip among his Shadows while you make him the coziest sweater he’s ever seen. Lets you measure him, if you need and want to, because he really wants that sweater. You wanna put a cute little motif, like a cup of coffee on it as well? He’ll fall in love even more than before.
But even when he’s tired, he wants to spend his time with you. Instead of talking, he’ll lean against you and watch you crochet a bit before nodding off ever so slowly. It’s nice, it’s repetitive, for the most part, and it’s also quiet. By the time he wakes up he gets to see more of your beautiful creation, so that’s a big plus. And when he isn’t dozing off against you, he’s more than happy to hold your yarn and make it a bit longer when you need it. There’s something magical about watching you crochet. He had to crochet in elementary school, but, since he didn’t want to sit down for something like that, he wasn’t very good at it. His strengths always lied elsewhere, so it’s fascinating to him that you can sit in the same position for hours on end, barely moving, and still having fun. The only time he has to do that is when he’s filing reports, and afterwards he needs something to take his mind off of those.
Graves, every time he’s about to go out without you, will always ask you if you need anything from the arts and crafts stores, willing to buy you the loveliest fleece for felting if you ask him for it. Hell, if you want to sell your plushies, or your creations in general, he’s probably the best man to have on your side. Especially when it comes to plushies. Some of his Shadows have families with children, so he knows some of them would love your creations. Might sometimes ask you if you could knit or crochet a baby wooly hat for one of them, if you have the time, since his Shadows know you can be trusted with a task like that. You will always be reimbursed, either by his Shadows or by Graves himself. Sometimes he does like to gift his Shadows something you made and pretend they bought it. You’ll always get your money, but it might sometimes be out of Graves’ pocket.
He definitely likes the domesticity of it. He can go about his day, certain you won’t get hurt, unless you’re sewing or embroidering. But he’d never stop you from pursuing a craft like that. In fact, he’ll actively encourage you, always asking about your projects and wanting to know if he can help you in any way. He wants to see your embroidery, your crocheting, your sewing, as well, so he might gently pick it up from time to time, view it from every angle and give you feedback a la Graves, praising you like only he could.
When you’re a baker you can be sure he’ll taste test your stuff every single time. He has a bit of a sweet tooth, not too much, but he loves you, so he’s willing to eat everything you make. If you’re up making cookies, then he’ll help you by either buying you the best, most reliable hand mixer he can find, or by stirring the dough himself so your arms won’t get too tired. This he does under the condition that he gets to be the first person to try your cookies, your cake, your cobbler. He may not be the worst baker, but he can still learn a lot from you. That he does with all the love in the world, looking at you with an adoring expression as you put the baked goods in the oven, waiting for them to finish. Always has a big smile on his face when he watches you be this content with your life. While you wait for it to properly bake, he’d sometimes ask you to play card games with him. Always lets you win on purpose during those times since you always look so happy when you win. Afterwards he rewards you with a kiss.
While he may be everything but a fan of poetry, he can respect you being one. Will listen to everything you have to say about them, from your analyses to you reading one out loud. If you have a few poets you like especially well then Graves will bend his back trying to find beautiful anthologies of their works. Maybe some books with a few gold engravings that would look well on a shelf. He wants you to know that, despite him not being interested, he still supports you. While you’re reading a book, he might sneak up on you, startle you and then take you into his arms, trying to get you comfortable so you can continue to read. Might glance at your book from time to time to get a feeling for what you’re reading. If it’s something especially cheesy he might chuckle a bit and call you out on being a hopeless romantic, giving you a kiss to your nose afterwards.
Overall, he likes it. It’s nice, not having to worry about you going god knows where and ending up injured. Besides, he always has something nice to come home to, whether that be some beautiful embroidery of violets or a Sachertorte you made from scratch. Will always praise you for doing well, will always make sure you have the means to keep creating, baking and reading. Does his best to keep it that way as well, you’re his precious little darlin’ and you deserve the world and so much more in his eyes.
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presiding · 9 months
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formerly an essay in tags but - billie lurk. half-nameless, misremembered woman. her powers derived from the things taken from her, without any catharsis or empowerment. the rat charm, tied with deidre's hair, her lover's voice in the mouth of rats. her arm and eye, taken, given back only to cause her chronic pain, then lost again. foresight seems a cruel gift for a woman who botched the timing of her takeover of the whalers, and bet wrong when it came to delilah.
she never bore the outsider's blessing; his first visit to her was more like an assault. every other dishonored POV character gets the choice to be selfish, and for that selfishness to mean something, but billie's actions have no effect on the world at large, either, in a game without a chaos system.
some say that corvo is the ghost, but he can reach out and change things. billie's buried herself twice and come back and nothing she does seems to matter - she is less a protagonist, more a convenient full stop in the narrative.
try this: open doto, start a new game. sit in her cabin. notice how little of billie there is. even the woman she loved more than anyone has the face of another named character.
she sits amongst the assets of other games: empty canvases and a dressmaker's mannequin that wears nothing.
#billie lurk#even the wiki is wrong about her its infuriating#pulled this out of tags because fuck it#in daud's DLCs even the stories that weren't about him were about him#but billie's stories are the scrapheap. they're the stuff they couldn't squeeze in elsewhere. cheap jokes and macguffins#i'm not even roasting the devs for this i think releasing dishonored in 2016 then DotO in 2017 was a feat (derogatory)#games should be made slowly and with love#and i know that everyones talked about this endlessly#but billie is my fav and it sucks that she got a game that only causes me to grieve for her as a character#not FOR her as a person#only the potential story that never was. that she never got.#you can have your strong black woman and not turn her into a trope. give her depth and range and heartache and agency. yes there was traged#but how did it SHAPE her?#dont get me started on her being designated caretaker of a former god and dying assassin. what the fuck#some of this i'd be more okay with if she was younger - i mean. the blank canvases? really?#this game could have been about wyman and there's not that much that would have changed in terms of the core story#“found out the asshole that killed your mother is still around. gonna go deal with that.”#emily who is stoned: “cool.bring me snacks on the way back”#wyman: “oh he's saying actually it was gods fault and that its possible to kill him. well i have literally nothing in my schedule”#billie's not surprised by anything anymore but maybe wyman would freak out over most of it. could have been a lot of fun#also you cant fuck up wymans characterisation. they barely exist.#local empress sends her enby girlboyfriend to kill god#pres writes increasingly deranged essays in the tags#death of the outsider spoilers#i have to complain about doto once every year or so or i die#but i'm not really gonna let arkane hide behind dev excuses when it comes to racism like. its not enough
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wren-of-the-woods · 11 months
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Criminally Underused Bird Nicknames for Jaskier
I love "Lark" as much as the next Witcher fic reader, but there are so many more options we could explore! Here are a few:
Jay / Bluejay This one has excellent potential because 1) jays are incredibly beautiful, colorful, intelligent, and social and 2) their songs are terrible. (Examples here, here, and here.) As such, it'd be perfect for a fond-yet-teasing nickname for Jaskier. Plus, it sounds like the first letter of his name!
Magpie Magpies are corvids like jays, so they're similar in many ways. This one has the extra connotations of collecting shiny things for bonus fun teasing <3
Sparrow Sparrows have lovely songs! They tend not to be very colorful, but they're very cute and the name sounds endearing. I've seen this one used in fic occasionally and I like it!
Sanderling Sanderling is an adorable name for an adorable bird -- they're little sandpipers that run around on beaches! It works perfectly as a reference to Jaskier's role as the Sandpiper and I think it's really sweet.
Peep Peep is a general term for the smallest few species of sandpipers (they're hard to identify at the species level, so calling them peeps is most convenient). It's similar to Sanderling in that it references Jaskier's role as the Sandpiper and sounds adorable!
Bonus: Songbird I have seen this one used in a few fics and I love it every time! It's vague enough to let you imagine whichever bird you want while also sounding very sweet.
Extra options include, but are not limited to: warbler, finch/goldfinch, nightengale, robin, kinglet, titmouse, mockingbird, and starling.
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doubledyke · 4 months
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thinkin about edd today
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hyperkitten224 · 11 months
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shout outs to the character traits that people tend to leave out
shout out to Sun's "pathetic fucking disaster, the wettest most pathetic man you've ever been in your life" energy, it's almost endearing and it makes me want good things for him
shout out to Moon's goofiness, it was there before New Moon came along and it made Moon look like a silly boy that deserves a whole lot of love (and he is)
shout out to Eclipse's Magnificent Bastard™ status, it makes him such a fun villain to hate and talk about even though it's ignored by fandom for the sake of ~angst~
shout out to Lunar's snarkiness, it makes him even funnier than they already are and it gives him that "bratty youngest sibling" vibe that I love so much about them
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babykittenteach · 3 months
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2023 in review! I made an effort to try more things and it worked mostly (at least for TV and movies). New things, new-to-me things, and new installments of old things all had characters to love even if I didn't necessarily feel fannish about them, and I'm hoping 2024 does, too.
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s4pphoiduser · 4 months
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in a world with an aftg show (because it Has to be a show, not a movie) seth would have a Pretty Guy actor playing him who looked even prettier when he was sneering or scowling and people would make edits of him with the velocity + slo-mo effects and be like "i can fix him"
#and kevin would be it boy of the century and matt would be THE 2000s icon along with allison#neil's the one who looks scrappy and jumpy (which he is) but everyone's gonna be in love with his sharp tongue and hater behavior#everyone would either hate andrew or love him and obv i fall into the second category i'd be no. 1 andrew minyard apologist/defender/lover/#everyone (including myself) would love nicky if this adaptation of him didnt come with all those predatory jokes godbless#everyone else is an icon. yes even aaron who's way too detached from the foxes but he partially slays just being a fox and king of idgafdom#the girls are icons obviously duhhh#but i think with riko the actor would be soooo good and pretty like scary pretty that people make edits and the captions are like DISCLAIME#wymack would have sooo many edits with the sound of whatever's trending that's equivalent to the usher DADDY'S HOME one#i actually have so many thoughts ab an aftg show despite how much i dont want it like i cant help it! aftg slays too much!#these bitches r all too damaged! i love them all too much! i think ab them all the time!#lots of people hate but aftg and the foxes r genuinely some of the most well written relationships to me probably bc i can personally relat#and i think a show would allow for other scenes that we dont see in the book bc theyre all from neil's pov and we don't really find anythin#know anything ab the other foxes beyond what neil knows himself#and LEST I FORGET. JEAN MOREAU. ICON OF THE CENTURY METHINKS...!#neil josten#andrew minyard#kevin day#dan wilds#allison reynolds#renne walker#matt boyd#aaron minyard#nicky hemmick#seth gordan#s4pphoiduser#aftg#all for the game#the foxhole court#the raven king#the king's men
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ilovedthestars · 23 days
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just once i would love to find a call for art that manages to hit more than one of
easy to submit to (I don't have to create a new piece from scratch in a week)
has some amount of actual prestige
has even a chance of getting money out of it
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palaceoftears · 4 months
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Minor Ladies Month - Beyhan Sultan × Quote
My mourning is over, sure, time has swept it away. But the heart can't forget some things, the heart can't forget even if you want to. I still do not have a husband, my children still don't have a father. Sometimes, they ask me "Why did our father die? Who killed him?". I become speechless, your majesty, I can not say a word. I can not say that my brother killed him.
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hydrachea · 2 months
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Your best bet against a Stellaron Hunter is another one.
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