#seething in rage rn
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callilouv Ā· 5 months ago
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layla users šŸ˜‚šŸ˜‚šŸ˜‚šŸ¤£šŸ˜…šŸ¤£šŸ˜…šŸ¤£šŸ˜…
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faeriekit Ā· 2 months ago
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Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)šŸ‘½šŸ‘»šŸ’š
[I can't remember the original prompt posters Ā 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.]
šŸ–¤Chapter navigation can be found herešŸ–¤ Click to browse previous updates.
šŸ’š Ao3 Is here for all parts šŸ’š (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! ĀÆ\_(惄)_/ĀÆ
Trigger warnings for this story: Ā body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | Ā my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
šŸ’ššŸ‘»šŸ‘½šŸ‘»šŸ’š
ā€œDanny,ā€ Diana says from the door.
Danny looks up from his place in the book. Itā€™s definitely aimed at younger kids, but itā€™s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he canā€™t quite parse, but heā€™s making pretty good progress on the words he canā€™t recognize.
Itā€™s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.
ā€œHm?ā€ 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 outā€¦wait, whereā€™d he leave his old people walker?
ā€œThis walk is long. You will want your chair.ā€
Well, then. Couldnā€™t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. ā€œFine.ā€
Diana smiles. She doesnā€™t have to wear the mask around him anymoreā€” Dannyā€™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 isnā€™t, likeā€¦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 hadnā€™t known what sheā€™d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn upā€¦ Sheā€™s nice. Dannyā€™s sure that sheā€™s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but sheā€™s in charge of him and sheā€™s nice. She doesnā€™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 himā€”with the taserā€”
(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.)
Dannyā€™s in his chair. Heā€™s notā€¦there. Heā€™s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (thatā€™s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and heā€™s not hungry and heā€™s only scared because of memories. Heā€™s safe. Heā€™s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the tableā€”theyā€™re not shocking himā€”he can move his fingers, heā€™s not stuck in his coreā€”
His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.
ā€œAre you alright?ā€ Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesnā€™t stop. ā€œWe can wait. There is noā€”ā€œ
Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. Itā€™s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. Thatā€™s notā€¦ Thereā€™s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.
ā€¦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 heā€™s not. Heā€™s here.
He wants to keep going.
ā€œAlright,ā€ Diana says, slow and careful. ā€œHold on.ā€
Danny doesnā€™t hold onā€”or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesnā€™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 doesnā€™t want to hurt him.
She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like heā€™s been here before, but he doesnā€™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 byā€”or just straight up stare, if theyā€™re rudeā€”and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and aā€¦starfish in a jarā€¦?
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.
ā€¦Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isnā€™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 Dianaā€™s pushed button.
Danny exhales.
They get off at a section of the base Dannyā€™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 thereā€™sā€¦likeā€¦decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?
Huh??
The rooms are numbered, but theyā€™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. Itā€™s got a number on it, same as all the others, but thereā€™s a box cutout taped to the front of it. Theā€”
ā€”The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.
Danny stares.
ā€œGegrapa,ā€ Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesnā€™t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the doorā€” 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 itā€™s kind of cool?
Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.
ā€¦No, itā€™s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room orā€”itā€™s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. Thereā€™s a wooden headboard and itā€™s got a mattress on it thatā€™s thicker than a VCR.
Thereā€™s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.
Thereā€™s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wallā€”thereā€™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. Itā€™s kind ofā€¦itā€™s kind of like a little hotel suite.
Dannyā€™s mouth goes dry.
He doesnā€™t move, and Diana doesnā€™t wheel him in. ā€œItā€™s okay,ā€ Diana says, andā€”Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but itā€™s only Diana, whoā€™s never hit him, and theyā€™re fine. Heā€™sā€¦safe. Itā€™s safe. Heā€™s safe here. ā€œDo you want to go in?ā€
Danny doesnā€™t move. His hands donā€™t touch the wheels. Theyā€™re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. ā€œā€¦What?ā€ he asks hoarsely.
ā€œA rumĀ for my Danny,ā€ Diana murmurs, quietly. Dannyā€™s heart throbs at the possessive. ā€œYou are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sumĀ hours. You cuĆ°e spendaĀ more time here, all ana.ā€
Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried paceā€” and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the roomā€”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 otherā€¦distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.
Thereā€™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 isnā€™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 isnā€™t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)
ā€œ...Me?ā€ 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 thereā€™s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?
ā€¦Itā€™s a bedroom. Itā€™s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.
ā€œYes,ā€ Diana says, and lets go of his hair. ā€œUse it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.ā€
Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelingsā€”they taste a lot like snotā€”and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.
Thereā€™s another little fridge inside the sitting area. Itā€™s not right next to the bed like it is beside Dannyā€™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. Thatā€™s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.
ā€œIf you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,ā€ Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. Itā€™s red. Itā€™s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurseā€™s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. Heā€™ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.
ā€¦Okay, thatā€™s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasnā€™t had that sinceā€¦ Dannyā€™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 Dannyā€™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. ā€œDo you like it?ā€ she asks.
Danny fidgets.
Heā€”does. He likes it a lot. The room doesnā€™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 outā€¦this space could be just another space. Itā€™s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.
ā€¦The room is utterly devoid of other people.
(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)
(Danny doesnā€™t like remembering The Box.)
ā€œI am scared,ā€ Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Dianaā€™s face immediately drops.
ā€œWhy are you scared?ā€
Iā€™ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesnā€™t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. ā€œNoā€¦people here.ā€
ā€œThat is triewe. You would have more dÄ«egolnes here,ā€ Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. ā€œIs that good, or bad?ā€
It isnā€™t good and it isnā€™t badā€¦? Danny isnā€™t sure how to phrase it. Itā€™s neither. Being alone is just scary.
ā€œYou not hurt me,ā€ Danny tries, knowing heā€™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 wonā€™t say anything. ā€œDo not.ā€
ā€œNo,ā€ Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. ā€œWe do not.ā€
No. They donā€™t. Danny swallows. ā€œBadā€¦hurt me.ā€ He doesnā€™t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.
Diana stills. Itā€™s like watching Vladā€™s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. ā€œOn eorĆ¾egearde?ā€ she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that sheā€™s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.
ā€œWho?ā€ Diana asks feather-light.
Danny doesnā€™t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.
ā€¦But maybe if he doesnā€™t say the nameā€¦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.
ā€œBad,ā€ Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? ā€œWantsā€¦hurts me? Forā€¦ā€ 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.
ā€œDo you feel safe with the staff dunstƦgerĀ in medical?ā€ Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quicklyā€”heā€™s never alone there, and no oneā€™s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.
ā€œGood,ā€ Danny whispers. ā€œTalkā€¦talks to me.ā€
ā€œEalne weg,ā€ Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. ā€œWe will cepa you safe.ā€
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 elseā€™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 Watchtowerā€”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 Dianaā€™s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.
Bruce is careful not to sigh. ā€œWonder Woman. What is the matter?ā€
ā€œSomeone,ā€ Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, ā€œHurt my charge.ā€
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.
ā€œTell me everything.ā€ Bruceā€™s voice is just as firmā€”even held midair like a cat. ā€œI will help you in every way I can.ā€
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moash Ā· 1 year ago
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i was having such a good time talking about stormlight stuff that wasnā€™t moash, i almost forgot how absolutely dogshit stupid so many moash takes are.
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andr0nap Ā· 1 year ago
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very problematic to ship vash and wolfwood. wolfwood is like 12 and vash is 150+ years old. gross. its giving pedo fantasy!
congrats anon on being the first one to send me hate! i hope it makes you feel as warm and fuzzy inside as it does for me šŸ„ŗšŸ‘‰šŸ‘ˆā¤ļøā€šŸ”„
to celebrate this very important milestone i have drawn vashwood making out sloppy style just for u
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josecariohca Ā· 5 months ago
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mirconreadzztuff22 Ā· 4 months ago
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IJUST WANTED TO DRAW FINN AND K.3.L.L.Y
I HATE ART (I would die without it)
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silverquillsideas Ā· 1 year ago
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If all the mothers and sisters and grandmothers and aunts and neices and daughters, let out the rage that we're all holding inside? The rage that is age old, the rage that is wild, the rage that's just seething and roiling and thundering inside of each woman? Against the world, and all of its horrors, against all the men who have wronged us, in big and small ways, against every derision, every sarcastic laughter, every humiliating word directed at us by the society at large? every "no" that we've had to fight against? every "you're not good enough", "you're weak", "you're a woman, know your place" that's been implied, both implicitly and explicitly, over and over in our lifetimes?
What happens, if we just let go of even a fraction of that justified rage, accumulated over millenia?
I fear that the world, will simply be burnt down. Razed to the ground, until there's just ashes and lava and the white hot lightning of pure, unadulterated fury, that each of us are made to contain, oh so carefully, inside the mighty fortresses, that are the hearts of every single girl.
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mokuknight Ā· 8 months ago
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DUDE PLAYING RANKED IS ACTUALLY SO STUPID, I DO FINE MOST OF THE TIME (At least fine right now), BUT I'M GETTING PAIRED WITH TEAMMATES THAT ARE DOING THE DUMBEST CRAP.
Okay, our carrier is in our base, I just returned our flag to our base while this guy happens to still be in it, carrying the enemy flag, and INSTEAD OF MAKING THE GOAL, HE RUNS OUTSIDE THE BASE WITH THE FLAG FOR NO REASON. I WAS THERE WATCHING THIS GUY AND THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING I COULD DO TO MAKE HIM NOT DO THAT AND DIE.
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gaytobymeres Ā· 1 year ago
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why is it so fucking hard to fins brown leather boots that dont have a huge heel and which dont have a zip on the inside. go on to a men's site or the men's section of a shoe retailer and i can find 15 pairs of boots matching that criteria. i am yet to find a nice pair or women's boots that fit the criteria. and unfortunately the men's sizes dont go small enough.
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dragonji Ā· 5 months ago
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my therapist forgot to reschedule my latest appointment meaning I wasted my entire day doing nothing so I could drive across town and be here at the office just to Not actually have a session. coolšŸ‘
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toledopilled Ā· 6 months ago
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im going to rip my fucking teeth out why do people who were fucking horrible to me in high school and middle school and who traumatized me for life get to be happy and successful while im just fucking stuck in life with all of the shit they left me with this is not fucking fair
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lightbulb-warning Ā· 1 year ago
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migraine struggles
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spaghett-onaplate Ā· 10 months ago
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me when
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angeltism Ā· 7 months ago
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i want to commit first degree murder on that fictional asshole
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neutron-stars-collision Ā· 1 year ago
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I'm so done with AT/RBR. Perhaps they should look at improving the car first before firing yet another driver mid-season. It's not like Yuki is faring that much better. And sure, great Dan gets another chance, but let's not be surprised when he's battling to enter Q2 every quali session
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aggressionbread Ā· 10 months ago
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It's a dystopian shitscape here
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