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#I feel like I repeated some things but

the-monkey-ruler · 1 year

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would you say macaque is something like a necessary evil in the novel?

I would say you are talking about the Six Eared Macaque right? There are a few Macaques in the story. I mean I wouldn't really say he is "necessary" as that isn't really the role he plays within the novel.

When I think "necessary evil" I think more like a force in society that is kept in order to keep the peace or to preserve other social forces that are considered more important to keep than to lose. A necessary evil is an evil that someone believes must be done or accepted because it is necessary to achieve a better outcome—especially because possible alternative courses of action or inaction are expected to be worse.

Which I do not believe the Six-Eared Macaque plays at all.

He is to play the role of the mirror to Sun Wukong. He is supposed to represent the absolute worse of what Wukong is capable of, not really being the opposite of Wukong but rather more of a foil to show Wukong what he could have been (I actually think another great foil character is Erlang Shen for different reasons). A version of Wukong that if he continued to be a warlord, continued to kill without regard for the value of life or consequences that the would turn into him.

The Six-Eared Macaque is not given a backstory so it's hard to say if they have similar backgrounds but rather it is that they are the same species and have the same drive that Wukong had at the start of the novel. Both being of immense power and, like Wukong, The Six Earred Macaque's greatest desire was to get fame and glory and to be recognized for it, despite the consequences.

Personally I believe that the Six-Eared Macaque was inspired by the Buddist saing “The dharma is not to be transmitted to the sixth ear" which means that there isn't a third person around to easdrop, usually between student and teacher. This is only used once when Wukong was speaking with Master Puti and this is where I think that the Six Earred Macaque learned the same skill that Wukong did.

Of course, this also means that he doesn't have a complete understanding. He would always be slightly off with his own teachings, always a step behind, and only be able to imitate what they were eavesdropping on as they were never told directly.

Kind of like how Wukong is supposed to be a master of transformation when he fought Erlang Shen and still lost the SIx Earred Macaque is supposed to discern and have knowledge but he is still just eavesdropping. He is never going to have the real thing.

Wukong is meant to represent Nothingness or emptiness, literally in his name meaning "Monkey Awakened to Emptiness" and how he and the Six Earred Macaque are meant to be of one mind but they are "two mind" that are fighting each other. One being one's natural impulsive thoughts and the other is the self-control people practice to think ahead. They are both inside a person's mind but only one can have full control of the body so to speak. I think a good western example of this would be like Ego vs ID but please don't take that as a one-to-one, it's not!

It is connected to how Wukong is the mind monkey and in order for him to reach his namesake that state of overcoming uncontrollable thought he needs to fight the worst version of himself, which is what I think the Six-Eared Macaque is supposed to represent. This actually goes with how I think Wukong and his connection with Bailong being the Horse of Will show how Wukong has gradually started to overcome his own thoughts and practice self-control though his dedicated willpower. (Bailong is an important allegory yet again.)

Long story short I think that the Six-Eared Macaque is to more represents Wukong's character growth. Rather than be a "necessary evil" he is another milestone to show that Wukong is about to look at the worst traits of himself and through fighting himself and wrestling with who he is, he is able to come to accept himself as well... and by defeating his doppelganger he shows that after battling himself he comes out the victor. Him moving on and changing throughout the journey shows him to be stronger and more sure of himself both mentally and spiritually.

#six eared macaque #sun wukong #jttw #journey to the west #xiyouji #sorry for any errors #I feel like I repeated some things but #ya know #get the idea #knowing you are able for great good but also great evil #the need to keep yourself in check else you start going down a dark path #Facing the reality that you are capable of horrid atrocities and need to hold yourself accountable #WUKONG HAD TO FACE HIS LEGIT WORST INNER TRAITS AND SAY 'im better than that'#AND HE IS #Wukong looking at himself the selfishmess the ruthlessness the lack of empathy #and he hates that about himself #but the only way to change it is to confront it head on and personally stop it #he always trying to do better #ask

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the-witchhunter · 6 months

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Question for the DPxDC crowd

what do you guys actually consider liminal? Like, I genuinely don't know anymore

because early on it was pretty much just Jazz having grown up with ectoplasm in the house for years and in her food, which makes sense, and it was an extremely rare thing

then it got expanded to Sam and Tucker

Then members of the Bat crew that got resurrected by a Lazarus pit(and Dick for some reason? He's never canonically died guys...)

Now it seems to be the entirety of Amity Parkers, All the Bat clan, half of Gotham, Half the Justice Leage, the entirety of the League of Assassins

is it just having come into contact with ectoplasm/Lazarus Pits? Prolonged exposure? Because it's starting to feel like everyone is liminal besides the guys in white for some reason

Like you guys have started using Liminal to basically replace the word "Ecto-contaminated" There is a canon word for the thing you guys have started using liminal to describe

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #it just feels like a cool idea got watered down #everybody is liminal #tim hasn't died guys #Dick hasn't died #it used to be just make people a bit off and unsettling like a cryptid #not a superpower #idk maybe i'm just burnt out on it #like ghost king stuff #legit i have massively reduced my fanfic consumption because of how often some tropes are tossed in randomly #and i get distracted because it doesn't make sense in context unless the thing actually means nothing at all #and it's enough to ruin otherwise excellent fics for me #it's Chekov's gun that never get's fired #more like referencing another fic's chekov's gun #yeah i'm probably just burnt out and am nitpicking a minor bit of bad writing that keeps getting repeated

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

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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.

#IM SORRY FOR ANY HOSPITAL/PROCEDURAL INACCURACIES IM NOT TRYING TO BE ACCURATE AT THE MOMENT #except for the injuries. those are realistic and i did my due diligence. read a lot of first hand accounts! medical pages!#ohhhh this was so cozy to write #i mean. not as familiar as actual on-screen injuries but yk #its been too fluffy in here.#this is a mild example of my usual tastes and habits when it comes to fic & fiction #WHUMP CENTRAL BABEYYYYYY #i like it messy and painful!!! Lets Fuckin Go!!!!#this is a prime example of me not being able to shut the fuck up when writing #my scenes & convos just go on and on and on and on....#but yes! enjoy! the Crash arc is very thoroughly planned out in my head and lately its one of my favorite things to imagine before bed <3 #bedtime stories can be fictional characters going through horrible injuries & emotionally hurting each other #snippets from the bog #i will repeat what i have said multiple times before #i take the comic relief character. i hurt the comic relief character #i could have posted the little carnival half-scene. i could have #but ive been feeling stressed and caged and i need to let out some steam #and this is how i do that. controlled fictional violence <3

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slavhew · 2 months

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Hello!

If you're not too busy, would you mind listing some of the things you think count as death flags for Mr. Spender?

There's the obvious fact that he's the "old" mentor to group of young protagonists, but what else do you think would count?

OHH BOY ok so I'd think I'm a crackpot for this but since we're talking about Zack "Foreshadowing" Morrison. I have some thoughts

No harm in leading with the (chronologically) first thing that jumped out at me:

This one IMMEDIATELY made me antsy whenever I came back to it after my initial read, and considering Zack has referred to it on twitter in the past as one of their favorite jokes it's definitely not been forgotten about.

Second, the sheer amounts of near-misses, jokey or not, of Spender narrowly avoiding specifically lightning

Again, not much, but it's weird that it happened thrice, latter two of which had real gravitas rather than an one-off joke.

And third, Spender himself. He's repeatedly shown himself to be kind of a self sacrificing idiot, as well as prideful to a fault. Granted, it's both him and Mina trying to take on all the responsibility of saving Mayview and its inhabitants from their fate.. But Spender is exactly that right measure of doesn't-value-himself-enough (chest footprint aftercare or lack thereof), having an obscene amount of power (enables his loner act + pride) and poor judgement that has the capacity to put him at great risk. And it has!

Spender has not only shown low enough self-esteem to view himself as the de-facto scapegoat for the safety of the town, but also prideful enough to make very bad calls that end up in people, often himself, hurt (COUGH FORGE INCIDENT COUGH)

This is all conjecture, but it's definitely enough to make me worried about him :') Even if all this doesn't mean he'll necessarily die he's definitely getting (even more) seriously injured at some point. I love the guy but he's so far doing a horrible job of convincing me he wants to live bad enough to circumvent at least that

#not art #admin answers #paranatural #pnat #richard spender #pts-fic-notes-and-blog #before i continue on with tag ramble i just want to say tysm for leaving an ask!#none of my friends read this so ive been stewing on these thoughts for some months and i loved finally sharing them #this isn't exactly proof but the hijack possession seemingly being the final nail in the coffin for his and isabel's relationship.#idk it feels significant to me. thats one more tether to support kinda gone. someone who knows him well enough to know he's unwell #he seems not exactly content but fr incapable of not burning bridges as he is now. and considering how rashly he acts he REALLY needs those #to not do stupid shit all the god damn time with no buffer other than Lucifer. who for his measured approach to rick's hotheadedness #has honestly shown himself to be pretty lenient and kinda bad at controlling spender's more (self) destructive tendencies? so he dont count #to be clear i love spender to bits but he is dumb as rocks and has all the self preservation of a fruit fly. it needs to be said #also the lightning man... idk its WEIRD like especially on the reread its the thing that most consistently threatens him! it repeats #sure he gets chewed by a bat and banged up by forge but?? he somehow always comes back to lightning. catnine has it out for him #its something i didnt even really put together until i continued reading the flashback chapter AFTER getting this ask and went OHHHGNHF #which the only reason lightning is such a non issue is lucifer's powers. which belong to his sunglasses and not to the spirit in him #so its not like they can't be taken away he's just got a really good excuse for having those on all the time #TAGS GETTING SO LONG. ANYWAYS. i hope this is comprehensible lol

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even-disco-baby · 8 months

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YOU — “No. There is still a chance.”

DOLORES DEI — “You think so?” Her voice is weary.

EMPATHY — Everything about her is weary. She is the Innocence of weariness, of heroically borne suffering.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That is the picture you have painted for yourself, at any rate.

YOU — “You looked back. That’s the memory, the moment, that I can’t stop returning to. You looked back. I had a chance, for just that moment…”

DOLORES DEI — She meets your eye, gaze still forever cast back over her shoulder. Time stops. The stars are stilled, the ocean silent. There is *nothing* beyond this memory. Nothing at all. All of infinity is contained in this single moment when anything and everything was possible.

“Oh, Harry…” She sighs, soft as eiderdown. “We never had any chance.”

And just like that, the wave of time collapses under its own weight, obliterating everything. This moment was six years ago. She is gone from here. Gone, gone…

PAIN THRESHOLD — You cannot leave. There was nothing outside of this moment, and now there is nothing at all. It’s all gone. There is no point. I’m sorry. I can’t do this any longer.

VOLITION — Please, don’t say that…

“Okay. Well, fuck me, then.”

“How would *you* know?! You gave up! You didn’t even try!”

“We *must* have had a chance, at some point… Doesn’t everyone get a chance, if nothing more?”

“How could you say that…?”

DOLORES DEI — “Because it’s true,” she says, matter-of-fact. “There is no moment in time that you can turn back to, no branching paths, no infinity. There is only what happened. I looked back… and then away.” She closes her eyes, turning her back to you.

“The moment ended. *We* ended. That is all.”

SHIVERS — A wave crashes against an unseen shore, ocean spray tickling the back of your neck. You shiver, but no one shivers with you. You are alone in this intersection. Why are you here?

“Why can’t *I* end?! Why can’t this all just stop? Please, make it stop…”

“Ended? I’ve barely even started! I got a chance to start completely over as somebody new! I don’t need you anymore! You’re just dead weight to me now.”

“No. That wasn’t the real ending. We’re a part of something so much bigger than this intersection, telling a story that encapsulates all of history! There’s *more* to this, it *means* something.”

“Then… What am I supposed to do now…?”

DOLORES DEI — “No, Harry.” She turns back to you again now, and she looks… sad.

“We were not metaphors. We were people. Our narrative was not intelligently designed. It simply followed the patterns of history, because those are the only patterns we *know.* We tried to create something new, but we failed. There is no narrative reward for our failure, no satisfactory ending. There is only the immutable past and the unknowable future.”

RHETORIC — There is no assurance of what is good or deserved or what may bring relief. There is no assurance of punishment, either. There is no assurance of anything. Not even of a future. I don’t know what to say to make this bearable.

VOLITION — Even so… As long as you live, *something* is promised. Can you live with that?

I can’t, I just can’t do this anymore…

I can. It’s enough.

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I can at least try for a little longer…

VOLITION — That’s all I ask. That’s enough.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #dolores dei #suicide tw #ummmmm haha *twirls hair*#sorry this isn’t more of the dolores saga im really trying to get back into the swing of things 😭#this is smth that won’t make it into the saga but that i was thinking about nonetheless #im not too fond of the whole ‘’dora is literally dolores dei’’ thing tbh #i feel that the mundanity is what makes their story impactful #and also just. makes it feel like somebody is kinda going overboard on projecting onto their proxy ex. lmao 😭#idk like the metaphor gets a little TOO metaphorical for me. but that’s just my onion. im an rgu fan so who am i to judge #anyway this is more my take on the harry/dora story #which is that dora was Just Some Guy and ultimately we have to live w the fact that we’ll never get the full story #because she literally exited the narrative #we can speculate about what her and harry’s relationship was like and how much of the blame is on each of them #dora’s lack of class consciousness vs harry’s violent misogyny etc etc #and like. it’s not that there’s no value in examining those things bc there definitely is value in it #in examining what patterns you DO see repeating in your life and in the world around you #that is what politics is really… examining the system and all its moving parts #but ultimately the past is immutable… our perception of it changes as we gain new context and understanding but what’s past is past #and there is no way of knowing with any certainty what the future holds #that’s where the overlap of all of these political and personal conflicts is for me #and why it comes back to harry questioning whether it’s worth it to even live #it’s about whether or not you can live with the grief of the past and the uncertainty of the future #i want to learn to live with it… to work toward building a future that i want to live in #anyway. coughs

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muninnhuginn · 7 months

Text

Wondering about Li Tianchen's powers being related to touch and how that informs his relationships with others.

There are three people we really see him interact with who know of his powers: Qian Jin, Li Tianxi, Liu Xiao.

Qian Jin always wears gloves in the present day, something that shows his careful personality, but is also likely habit from interacting with Li Tianchen considering he never wore them as a cop. Qian Jin doesn't truly trust Li Tianchen, even as he plans to use him for the same powers he shields himself from. Their relationship should be closer to parent-child, considering their circumstances, but is instead more a fragile balance of mutually using each other as tools. Qian Jin maintains distance, always seeking the next betrayal. There's no trust between them though, so betrayal is inevitable.

Li Tianxi doesn't wear gloves and willingly takes Li Tianchen's hand when offered. To some extent she is conscious of being used, but that's still her brother, and so she doesn't shield herself from him. For them as siblings, touch used to be a source of comfort, guidance, and protection all in one. Over time though, that's become twisted. But Tianxi still lets Tianchen use her and Tianchen still sees what he's doing as some form of protection. There's trust here at first, but it's stretched thin, and love can only try to paper over the gaps. Which is why Tianxi eventually reaches her breaking point and runs away. She didn't entirely give up on their relationship though. Even to the end, she was willing to save her brother, despite what he'd become.

Liu Xiao offers Li Tianchen his hand. It's reminiscent of shiguang, especially of the hospital scene when they do the Chen Bin dive by mutual agreement. But also a mirror of Li Tianchen offering Li Tianxi his hand as he uses her.

Liu Xiao's overall relationship with Li Tianchen is a dark mirror of both the twins' relationship and of shiguang, but with the added element that his "friendship" is conditional. With the twins and shiguang, there's still faith beneath any hurt they may cause each other. It's a two-way street. For Liu Xiao, he says Li Tianchen has to "earn" his friendship. The onus is always on Li Tianchen to prove himself in some way. And Li Tianchen is in a position where he needs to believe he's in control because the alternative is too horrifying to consider. So Liu Xiao says "jump" and Li Tianchen asks "how high?"

Liu Xiao can trust that Li Tianchen won't betray him. He is in control of the situation and in control of Li Tianchen. Li Tianxi is dead, Qian Jin in custody. He can't go to the police because they've cottoned onto the idea of powers and he's left a trail of bodies in his wake. At this stage, Li Tianchen has no other ties left but Liu Xiao.

Liu Xiao offers his hand. It's not gloved. It doesn't need to be.

#I feel like ppl want ltc and lx to be a more equal partnership but I think from what we've seen part of the point is that it isn't.#ltc is in a cycle of being preyed on by different ppl and he leans into the idea he could have control instead #so someone validating that and seeming to give him a route out? ofc he goes for it. and lx uses that to emotionally manipulate him.#losing his other connections with ltx dying then means he's dependent on lx. and he's aware of that to some extent tbf when he asks if-#-he has a choice. but at the same time he's in too deep to back out now.#link click #link click spoilers #shiguang daili ren spoilers #tried not to go too deep into the parallels w/ other relationships but I do think they're there intentionally.#the repeated theme of people withholding info and what it does to their relationship is too pointed to ignore.#(also I've said he can't go to the police bc of the whole killing thing but tbh I think that aspect was ingrained much earlier)

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juminies · 8 months

Note

there's no way they changed any of the translations right? i specifically remember a very iconic jumin phone call where he says "you can ask for much more"

They might have! I've seen some speculation that some things were changed around when Cheritz did the big interface update a few years back because apparently quite a few people remember the same details differently to how they currently happen. It is just speculation though, as far as I'm aware.

To elaborate on my tags from earlier, I was specifically talking about this part of the "Are you playing with me?" call on day 8.

Here are these lines in Korean ->

Disclaimer I am by no means fluent in Korean, but I'd say my basic reading comprehension is decent. Sooo if I were to translate this I'd probably do it like this

You can be a little more greedy. No, far more greedy.

You can ask me for so much more. I'm prepared to do anything.

Though I do like the translation "I'm ready to do whatever it takes to satisfy you." That's a good line 👀

It is definitely possible that he says something very similar to "you can ask for much more" elsewhere in the translation (it's on brand for him to repeat that idea after all), but I'm not 100% sure! Super random line for them to change if they did change it.

#mystic messenger #jumin han #if there's some sort of context to the baby thing I'm missing someone feel free to tell me by the way #it's such a random liberty for the translators to take if it doesn't have some sort of meaning I'm not aware of hahaha #when I was listening to the call while playing I had to do a double take because I was like 'that is NOT what he said'#maybe they just didn't want to repeat 'more' too much

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figofswords · 1 month

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has anyone tried loop earplugs for auditory processing issues, especially and specifically while working a retail job? I know originally they were for helping with overstimulation but the noise levels at my job aren’t enough to overstimulate me so I’m not really looking for anything that’s going to muffle things too much. the issue is if there is more than one conversation happening or if we’ve opened the door to the street I completely lose the ability to process what’s being said to me, like I’ll stand there absolutely fighting for my life trying to process the customer spelling their name for me and having to have them repeat each letter four or five times before my brain understands it, or fully checking out of one conversation and into another without noticing it and then having to fight my way back to figure out what the other person said, or even trying to figure out what *i’m* saying if I check out mid-sentence. my manager recommended I try loop so im wondering if anyone else with adhd and auditory processing issues has experience using loop in a retail setting and whether you think it’s worth it or not

#it’s literally so bad I feel like I’m wading through water against the current trying to stay on top of a conversation #I’ve always had some auditory processing issues but if I’m with friends or family I can just be like wait sorry I checked out repeat that?#but at work I’m standing there the customer is spelling their name two letters at a time #I cannot hold onto those letters for long enough to type them into the computer #I ask them to repeat they repeat at the same speed same volume and don’t break it into single letters OR syllable groups #each of which would be easier than two letters at a time #and the only thing that changes in their tone or face is a subtle expression of ‘oh this person is stupid’#IM SORRY OK MY COWORKER JUST LAUGHED ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM MY MANAGER JUST YELLED SOMETHING FROM THE BACK #A GROUP OF FRIENDS WALKED PAST OUTSIDE TALKING LOUDLY THE BUS JUST WENT PAST #IM TRYINGGGGGGG

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themyscirah · 6 months

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Amanda... I miss her.

But I don't trust a single person to write her other than Ostrander/Yale. Like I don't trust them to do it right. Because like it's easy to write her being shady and manipulative and involved in secret government conspiracies. That's what she does. But it feels so hollow once you've seen her character in the way Ostrander describes it. Like she is a woman who is desperate and trying to do what she thinks is right. She has found a place of power (as a fat Black woman in the 1980s) and is doing anything she can to fight and hold onto it as powerful and ambitious men try and steal it from her. So she doubles down. She doubles down on the shady deals and the broken promises and the violence and she destroys her enemies, and loses a part of her soul in the process. And then some other ambitious politician rises up and the process repeats itself over and over and over again as each time she loses more of her morality and more of her soul and more of the respect her colleagues had for her. In place of that she gains more power, she gains fear, and an even more badass reputation. Until by the end of the book the villains begin to understand/sympathize with her more than the heroes ever will. Like THAT is who Amanda Waller is. It may happen subtly, it may happen over a longer period of time but that descent is a critical part of her character! She is a tragic character! And I feel like every perception of Suicide Squad I've seen outside of the original has her as this static villainous snapshot which is just untrue to her core imo. Like she is not a hero. But she is also not JUST a villain. She is a highly flawed character who is always descending farther and farther into villainy as she is led there by what she believes is right.

#maybe the problem is there isnt as much of a side cast in the later suicide squads from what ive seen.#bc the reactions of the government workers and prison workers are CRITICAL in this #also like. suicide squad isn't all villains guys. its a mix of prisoners and government workers with various moralities who can all general #ly join together in one thing: hating amanda waller #GOD I-#so many feelings abt her #also like lemme know if people think shes actually done okay in non 80s comics bc from what ive seen and the vibe it gets it seems bad #maybe i should go back to the 80s i probably missed some appearances there #but 80s plots are so annoying though 99% of the time its either new gods space shenanigans but weirder or visits to a made up country #obviously based on real ones which are then used for cold war propaganda #hgggggg #but like you can tell so easy when ppl dont get her. bc theyre all like amanda waller (derogatory) when REALLY its waller (derogatory)#(affectionate) (derogatory). at times with another affectionate or derogatory (or repeat of both) thrown in at the end #amanda waller #suicide squad #the suicide squad #dc meta #dc comics #blah #she gets painted as this 2 dimensional villain when to me shes literally like the hero of a greek tragedy #tonight is an amanda waller thoughts kind of night ig

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