#I miss being able to write like this

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Take a good look… with Gyo.

[whump-in-the-closet]

oh no! the fantasy character with dark hair and scarred facial features is actually about to be taken prisoner and tortured!! again!!

[rwby-confess]

Confession #385

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

me stubbornly forcing myself to drink green tea and rest from my THIRD COLD THIS MONTH

[deoidesign]

.

[ofmdee]

81 pics in my part 30 folder, 38 made it into the chapter itself 😂

i might cut down the sexy stuff, idk, the chapter is 7.2k words before editing lmfao, and when i edit i usually add more to each scene

but also who is gonna complain about a longer sex scene? 😂

much 2 ponder

gonna try to get this edited over the weekend!!! 😤

catch up before the next chapter drops~!

[hopeswriting]

i miss when i was writing khr meta on the regular and being unwell about it on here with you guys. i think i like having the time and energy to be chronically online actually

[dragon-queen21]

Don’t know why I keep getting hate comments on things, maybe I’ll just melt away into a puddle forever how about that

[fyodior]

.

[chryblossomjjk]

just found out that jungkook interacts with people who aren’t me

[clxckwork-sun-n-moon]

PLEASE. PLEASE I NEED ECLIPSE TO CARVE A PUMPKIN IDC HOW IT HAPPENS JUST GET THEM A PUMPKIN PLEASE

Pumpkins - 969 words

“I need your biggest pumpkin.”

The pumpkin seller gave you the flat look of a woman who had been told the same statement at least five times before you’d shown up and she fully expected to keep hearing the same thing after you left. Letting out a long sigh, she gestured to the broad spread of pumpkin patch ahead of you.

“It’s self-service, you take what you can find,” she intoned. “Have a spooky blast finding your perfect pumpkin. The weighing scales are up by the entrance, we do not provide trolleys to transport from the harvest patch to your vehicle.”

“That’s okay, we came on foot! And we have plenty of hands.” 

Her eyes went from you to the dog by your side, unassuming. And then her gaze tracked slowly up and up behind you, and garnered that expression of surprise you were quickly getting used to. Even after putting him in your biggest hoodie, thick overcoat, and wrangling an extra long pair of cargos from an online shopping site, he still caught eyes wherever he went with you.

“He’s shy,” you said quietly as Sun raised a hand and waved. The seller waved back, stepping aside for the three of you to shuffle onto the pumpkin patch proper. 

It took about an hour for the three of you to find four good pumpkins. Sun was extremely excited for this, and you let him go running off freely to find his own personal pumpkin. Moon had already talked to you the night before about what sort of pumpkin he wanted, and you obliged to his wants, picking out a smaller one that easily fit into both of your hands. Montague would hop across the trails, sniffing around the pumpkins for any possible smell of rot, but otherwise keeping his distance - you two would share, as was the easiest way when one friend didn’t have opposable thumbs.

But you also had another to pick a pumpkin out for, and Eclipse specifically had asked to be surprised. Easy enough to do, since this was his first Halloween and not only was he excited but they had been decorating after finding your old stash from three years ago. 

It was nice, being genuinely excited about this holiday for the first time in a while.

Montague’s low whuff caught your attention. Hurrying around the end of one of the plots, you saw what he’d found and the glee in your chest warmed up into a bright grin.

“Oh. Oh yes,” you said softly. “He’s going to love this one.”

-

Three hours later, involving having Sun carry all your goods back to the train station, wobbling your quad bike back to the cabin, and an obscene amount of pumpkin disembowelment: it was time. 

“So, what did you guys carve?” You leaned over to glance at Sun and Eclipse’s pumpkins, sat proudly hollow on the newspaper-covered table. You’d done this outdoors just in case, but you didn’t know the extent of the splattering that would occur (and since you were going to be cleaning juice out of your hair tonight, the preparations had been underwhelming).

“I did a crescent moon!” Sun said proudly. “I don’t think the clouds were that good, I kept breaking pieces off.”

“Hey, it’s good for your first attempt.” Sure the moon was a bit wonky and, yes, bits of the clouds were more jagged than smooth. But you hadn’t expected masterpieces anyway, so the fact it was recognisable was all good.

“Is that a moon on your’s too?” Sun asked, leaning his head over to peek.

“Full moon! And a werewolf, kind of.”

“I modelled,” Montague chimed in from below, his tail thudding on the dirt ground at an ever increasing rate.

“And what about you?” You turned now to Eclipse, still licking bits of pumpkin scraps and juice from his claws. Smacking their feathery lips, they crouched down fully to grin alongside the pumpkin.

“Me,” they chirped. Sure enough, there were two pairs of eyes and a very wide, very jagged grin stretching right across the pumpkin that was at least twice the size of his head. Lots of surface area to work on, and they’d shredded most of it as snack food.

Laughing softly, you ruffled through Eclipse’s feather ruff, his head nuzzling hard into your hand as he hummed and they purred and you half expected them to bowl you over in their enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay. Help me clean up the insides, this will make at least a week’s worth of curry, maybe some muffins too,” you said, gesturing to the plastic bowls dotted around. You’d made sure to rig a few bowls with bucket handles for Montague to lift through too, but after carrying everything inside, you need to box it all for refrigeration. Thankfully many hands made light work, and you had many hands to help you out. 

An hour in and Moon was out, and the pair of you ducked outside with Moon’s pumpkin in his hands. Fireflies began to flit around the edge of the clearing as he carved away, with you sharing stories of the day and him sharing stories of Halloween at the Pizzaplex. No peace was yet left, as eventually Eclipse came bounding after you, full of energy and pumpkin seeds and intent on peppering you with the latter. Dew soaked into your jumper but nothing would drown the mood as the pair of you rolled over on the grass, Montague sitting next to Moon and the pair exchanging a quiet look. 

Soon, four pumpkins sat in the window of your cabin, while four figures bustled around your kitchen in the constant process of boxing and weighing crushed pumpkins and seeds. One a werewolf, one a demon, one a moon, and one a lonely blackbird in a night sky.

[akiirart]

you

[sciderman]

How do you feel about the increase in really weird NSFW ads on here (advertising panels that look like sexual encounters, and AI art apps that pride themselves on porn) but will take down NSFW posts from their users, even if it isn't technically sexual.

i hate all social media and it's consistent prioritising the advertisers over the users and the internet simply was a better place before capitalism sunk its hooks into it

[mamawasatesttube]

superman: up in the sky #6

NO, SIR! I WILL NOT!

[sophiethewitch1]

chapter 7 is done! we just need it beta read and then shes off to the races boys!!!