I forgot if you answered this already but what happens when one of the idols is destroyed
“Well I suppose I can have ‘ol Geshie obliterate this conversation from your memory after I’m done with you, so guess theres time for some Idol chatter…”
“Think of our Idols as…lifelines. Bodies made of flesh are soft and squishy as I’m certain you livestock are all too familiar with. But stone is tough and durable! Some stone can last for millions, maybe even *billions* of years! Especially if it’s the stone we used. Chipped from the shell of Ki themself. Hard stuff! Carving those little guys into our likeness was not an easy task, mind you.”
“But our idols aren’t just strong rocks. You see, we are soul bound to these sturdy little guys. Meaning that we are our idols and our idols are us. It’s like having a clone who always has your back. If one of us goes down, we can count on our idol to take over the process and revive us. Not only are they lifelines, they also serve as a battery of sorts! Your suffering keeps them fed, and boy are they HUNGRY lil guys!”
“As long as the Wells stay full, they stay fed, and we stay powerful.”
“Truth is I don’t really *know* what would happen if our Idols somehow got destroyed. Maybe we’d turn into sad little mortals or maybe we’d explode into confetti. Who knows. Who cares. It’s never happened. And never will.”
(The attack panel drawn by our dear ol @ickyguts)
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Writer prompt: hurt Steve Harrington
Jesus fuck babe I think you’re trying to kill me.
Also side note this was NOT supposed to be Steve channeling Steve Rogers but. Oh well. It happened and honestly I’m not upset about it. They both get the doe-eyed brunet with the hair at the end, so. 🤷♀️ also you should know I’m absolutely incapable of not ending with fluff, so. That is happening. Thanks for the prompt! ❤️
Steve was used to getting back up.
He was used to taking the hit, to walking it off, so no one else had to.
Perhaps the most notable one was underneath Starcourt, in a skimpy sailor costume, so his then-coworker—and God, now he can’t imagine life without her—could hopefully remain unscathed.
He was used to being brushed aside, labeled other, unimportant, dumb. He was used to brushing all that off. Like water off a ducks back or whatnot.
But this.
God.
This was total, all-encompassing, dizzying, terrifying.
It had started as a small headache. He wasn’t sure from what—from not drinking enough, skipping lunch, not sleeping enough, just too many bright lights and loud sounds, who knows—but it didn’t matter, not now, not with the way it had grown, from a slight pulse behind his eyes to a jackhammer through his skull. His vision was going in and out, his ears were ringing, he couldn’t even tell if he was standing or laying or upside-down.
All that mattered—all he could think about—was the pain.
Time didn’t exist, which meant he didn’t know how long it had been since it had started to now, feeling a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to move, to jerk away, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t tell if the hand was friendly or not. It didn’t matter; whatever they could do to him couldn’t be worse than this.
He would know. This hurt worse than the Russians.
Something pushed against his lips, and he opened on instinct, swallowing pills on instinct.
He didn’t have the capacity to wonder what it was, if it was more medicine, if the medicine he’d already taken had worn off, or if it was something worse.
He didn’t have the capacity to wonder about the hand on his shoulder, the other hand now on his head, in his hair. He couldn’t move away.
The pain lessened slightly. The hand in his hair, on his shoulder, felt nice. He didn’t move away.
The pain lessened slightly. A warm body, next to his. Familiar.
The pain lessened slightly. Words, a voice, whispering.
The pain lessened slightly. He could make out what the voice was saying, if he concentrated hard enough.
“You’ll be okay, Stevie, I’ve gotcha. ‘M glad Robin called me, said she thought you weren’t okay. God, to think you were just going to try to ride this out on your own.” A pause. “I’m only sorry for breaking in because it feels like something I should be sorry about. But I’m not sorry, if it means you’re not alone. If it means I can help you through this somehow.” A hand moved through his hair again. “I really hope any of this is actually helping. Kinda outta my depths here.”
Steve focused more. He knew that voice. “Eds?”
He winced, curled in on himself. The jackhammers doubled for a few seconds, drowned out any and everything else.
“Shh,” Eddie said. “Yeah, it’s me. Can you give me one of your hands?”
Steve focused. Tried to remember the rest of his body. Found a hand, prickly like tv static. Moved it until it hit something unyielding.
Eddie scooped it up, placed it in his palm. Lifted Steve’s first finger, let it fall against a callus, under his fingers. “Tap once for yes, twice for no.”
Tap.
“Good. Can you drink some water for me?”
Steve didn’t move. He wasn’t sure.
“Okay, let’s try this. Would water help right now?”
Tap. Hesitant, he didn’t want to move, but it probably would help.
“Okay. We can do that in a second, I’ve got a glass right here. Do you feel nauseous?”
Another pause, then two taps.
Eddie tapped back. “Do you think you could get nauseous if you move?”
Tap.
Eddie sighed. “Okay. Can I move you for just a second? So you can drink some water?”
Tap. Hesitant, but there.
“Brave boy,” Eddie murmured. “Let me do the moving, m’kay? You focus on keeping lunch down, but if you can’t, I’ll have a trash can ready. Okay?”
Tap.
“Alright.”
The world spun behind his closed eyelids, and he gagged, but kept it down.
“Good,” Eddie murmured, now behind him. “You’re doing so good, Steve. Little bit of water, now, slow, small sips, take your time.”
A glass pressed against his lips. He opened. Slow, small sips, like Eddie had said.
“Good,” Eddie said again, moving the glass away. His hand found Steve’s again. “Think you can sleep?”
A tap, then a squeeze.
Eddie paused. “With me here?”
Tap.
“Okay, Stevie. Okay. I’ll stay. Always.”
Steve woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. His head still hurt some, but it was much better than it had been. He rolled over to look at Eddie, who was waking up. “Mornin’,” Eddie murmured. “How’re you feeling?”
“Good,” Steve whispered. “You stayed. You came.”
“Course I did,” Eddie said, hand finding Steve’s hair again. “You needed me.”
Steve’s hand found Eddie’s other palm, tucked between them. Tap. “Always.”
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