#we're going healing

[thedragonlancechronicles]

Do not contact me without a referral from your

**general practitioner **

[feluka]

the most powerful thing i've done is convince my mother that my binder is a "modesty bra" sjfhekdjdjfhjdj i fully have that woman believing that this is a common thing among my classmates who like to dress modestly, which inspired me to follow that trend. i've been telling her this since ~2014 and she still says "i washed your bra for you ^_^" when she washes my binder for me

[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.”

[trensu]

Guess who's baaaaack! It's me, I'm back to writing. My laptop when kaput back in May and I've only recently gotten a replacement. In celebration of this, here's more of stasis in darkness. Enjoy :)

.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said. 

“Years? But, why would you want–? I’m–I’m no one, Lord.”

“Don’t say that.”

The god’s voice hadn’t gotten louder, yet his words carried a force that made the room tremble. The air became heavy with it. Wayne’s breathing grew haggard under the pressure of the words. Steve tossed out any idea of false privacy and crossed the room in a few steps to kneel at the other side of the bed. He took Wayne’s free hand to anchor him. Wayne didn’t so much as twitch in his direction but his knuckles went white as he gripped Steve’s hand.

“You gave me your spoils and your stories every night. I felt your love in every word you spoke to me. You’re the reason I’ve been able to exist this long. Wayne Munson, you are the most important person in the world to me."

Wayne let out a wordless cry. The hand in Steve's shook. Steve viscerally remembered how it felt to have the god’s attention like that for the first time. He also remembered how guilty the god sounded after he realized the effect he had on mortals. With a slight grimace, Steve discreetly nabbed the Lord of Night's attention. 

"I think that was a little too much," Steve suggested cautiously in a low tone barely audible over Wayne's sobs. "Maybe dial it back a little?"

The Lord of Night nodded abashedly. When he spoke again, the pressure in his speech noticeably lessened though the love in his words remained.

“So, you see, I needed to meet you in person. To thank you.”

The last part made Wayne weep louder. The grip he had on Steve’s hand increased in strength, and Steve was sort of relieved Wayne was an old man because even this frail, his hands were pretty damn strong. If he’d been any younger, Steve would’ve had bruises for sure. The god waited patiently as Wayne collected himself.

“My Lord, y-you–” Wayne gasped as his crying subsided. “I don’t deserve–”

“Wayne, you crazy old man, are you going to argue with your god?” the Lord of Night said in the same teasing tone he used with Steve all those nights in his pilgrimage. Wayne’s eyes widened.

“N-No! I’d never–!”

The god laughed, playful and bright as a star. Wayne halted his protests to stare in awe again. 

“You know, I usually encourage a bit of dissent but this time, I’m putting my foot down. You do deserve this, okay?”

Wayne nodded dazedly. He still watched the god with soft, warm eyes. His hand twitched in Steve’s as if he wanted to reach up to touch the god. Steve loosened his grip to allow it but Wayne didn’t follow through with the motion.

“...you remind me of someone,” Wayne whispered. The Lord of Night tilted his head curiously.

“Do I?” he asked. At Wayne’s nod, he added, “I hope it’s someone good. I know what people say about me these days, and let me tell you, it’s not super flattering. King of Darkness this and monster herder that, blah, blah, mean and scary, blah.”

“I know better than to pay any mind to hearsay,” Wayne replied. "I’ve found that most people are fools, my Lord." 

The Lord of Night laughed again. Wayne looked delighted. 

The rest of the night continued along the same line. The Lord of Night listened eagerly to Wayne’s every word as he reminisced about past heists and recalled fond childhood memories. Steve kept to himself, for the most part, letting the Lord of Night and his last believer bask in each other’s presence. Wayne stayed awake as long as he could but finally fell asleep as dawn approached. The Lord of Night began to fade as the first rays of the morning peeked through the bedroom window.

“Watch over him for me, please?” the Lord of Night asked Steve. “I’ll be back tonight.”

“Of course, Lord,” Steve replied. 

The sun broke past the horizon and the Lord of Night vanished. Steve took the stone from the bedside table. He wrapped it up carefully in cloth before returning it to his satchel. That level of care probably wasn’t necessary considering it was solid stone but it was the only thing they knew would keep the god tethered to this plane so far from his last shrine. Steve was charged with carrying his god's tether and he would not let him down by being careless with it.

It was also the only thing he had been given that belonged to his god. Typically, a holy warrior would be granted a symbol of their faith by a temple priest once a god had accepted the holy warrior’s offered service. Most of the time it would be a simple pendant or bracelet with a god’s sigil; a mass produced thing any follower could obtain, the only difference being that a holy warrior’s token would carry a particular blessing from the high priest. A holy warrior would carry that as a sign of their commitment until they’ve earned a more prestigious item to replace it during their years of service.

Steve’s journey so far has been as atypical as it could get. Most warriors traveled to their god's grandest temple. They recited that god's specific prayer for a holy warrior's offering, witnessed by a high priest who would then reveal whether the offering was accepted. Steve's god had no official prayers of any sort, much less temples or clergy. Steve's god couldn't really remember his own symbol aside from a vague outline of it; not nearly enough for it to be inscribed on even the simplest of tokens. 

Regardless, Steve wouldn't trade his experience for anything. Most holy warriors toiled for years, even decades, before getting a chance to meet their god. Steve met his god nearly at the beginning though he hadn't known it at the time. He'd been able to see him and speak to him. Steve’s humble offering of servitude had been accepted directly by his god rather than by priestly proxy. So what if his god wasn't able to grant him a token for his pledge? His presence was a privilege Steve would take over any boon.

It was a sentiment Steve knew Wayne understood. Steve scooted his chair closer to the bed where the old man lay sleeping. He wrapped a hand around Wayne's wrist to track his weak pulse, and settled in for his vigil.

–

Steve woke Wayne a handful of times to make sure he drank some water or ate some of the vegetable soup Steve had thrown together using whatever he’d picked from the garden the day before. They chatted for a while; Wayne telling Steve about his life before age and sickness caught up to him. Eventually, Steve was able to coax him back to sleep when it became obvious his energy was fading.

At some point in the day, Wayne’s temperature began to rise. Nothing worrisome yet, but dread trickled into Steve’s veins regardless. The old man had been fighting whatever ailed him for a while now. If a fever overcame him, Steve doubted Wayne would survive it.

When the Lord of Night appeared alongside the fading sunset, he seemed as worried as Steve. Wayne sat in bed, propped up by pillows Steve had strategically placed. His eyes were rheumy but steady.

“You’ve seen the Door already, haven’t you?” the Lord of Night asked Wayne dejectedly.

Wayne’s gaze strayed from the god. He glanced at the corner opposite of the bedroom door. His hands shook as he tried to point that direction. Steve didn't see any door there. The god took Wayne's hand between his own, tangible to his last believer even as he appeared more translucent than the night before.

“It showed up earlier today,” Wayne whispered. The god nodded.

“You don’t have to answer yet, but soon. Once you go through the Door, you’ll be in Death's domain. No god is allowed to enter there besides him. I would have lost my chance to meet you if we’d been delayed any longer.”

“Good thing you have Ser Steve. He got you here real quick from what he told me,” Wayne said with a crooked smile.

“Has he been talking himself up?” the god asked amusedly. “Trying to impress the boss?”

“It’s my first quest,” Steve butted in with mild exasperation borne of embarrassment. He hadn’t expected Wayne to mention him at all during his communion with the Lord of Night. “I have to make a good impression.”

“To make up for the first impression, huh?” the Lord of Night teased. 

Oh no, Steve thought when he caught Wayne’s curious look. He wanted to hide his face in his hands. That would be childish. Steve was a man so he was above that, unfortunately.

“Wayne,” the Lord of Night said with palpable mischief. “In exchange for all the stories you’ve given me these many years, what if I told you how I got my very first holy warrior?”

“I didn’t know better,” Steve groaned weakly in an effort to stop the story before it began in earnest. The Lord of Night made a shushing motion in his direction. 

“It would be a privilege, Lord,” Wayne said with matching mischief.

“Settle in, my loyal follower, and listen closely,” the Lord of Night began with exuberance. “I call this tale The Trial of Nine Nights.”

The rest of the night, the god recounted Steve’s pilgrimage. The way he told it painted Steve as some sort of gallant hero. It was suspenseful and whimsical. It didn’t sound like Steve’s experience at all. Yet every word was true, told with a flair that Steve himself would never have imagined. Wayne had hung on his god’s every word, despite the sporadic interruptions caused by coughing fits.

“The way you tell stories…” Wayne said faintly between coughs as the story wound to an end. “You…really do remind me of…someone. My little starmaker*. He was…” His voice trailed off weakly as he tried to catch his breath again.

“Rest now. Tell me about him tonight, Wayne,” the Lord of Night commanded as he disappeared with the arrival of dawn.

Wayne’s temperature seemed to climb with the sun. Steve did what he could to help. He stripped the bed of blankets and draped cold, damp towels over Wayne’s brow. More than once Wayne had asked Steve to answer the door.

“Someone’s knocking,” Wayne insisted.

“I’ve checked already,” Steve lied. He hadn’t heard a single knock all day, much less one coming from the very door-less spot Wayne kept indicating. “No one’s there.”

Wayne drifted in and out of a restless slumber. Despite Steve’s efforts, the fever had not lowered by nightfall. The Lord of Night paced at the foot of Wayne’s bed with a caged restlessness. Wayne had yet to wake up. 

“I don’t think he’s going to make it. Can you do anything for him?” Steve asked, hesitantly. “You came here to help him, didn’t you?”

“No,” the Lord of Night said shortly. “I can’t. I’m not a god of medicine. I’m not a healer.”

Each word was said with increasingly helpless frustration.

“I’m not strong enough to calm his dreams. I can’t ease his pain,” the Lord of Night said angrily. “At this rate, I won’t even be able to apologize to him.”

“Apologize for what?” Steve asked incredulously. Steve’s question went unheard. The Lord of Night tugged at his hood as if trying to hide his not-face. He gave up his pacing and slumped defeatedly on the chair beside Wayne’s bed.

“His family has sustained me for so long. He’s so devoted to me, and I keep failing him,” the god said, voice thick with shame. The brooding silence that followed was unlike the Lord of Night’s usual demeanor.

Steve wanted to protest the god’s claim. He was tempted to ask why the god believed he’d failed his last follower. Steve had seen people who’ve scorned and rejected their gods for a multitude of reasons. Wayne had not behaved like any of those people. Wayne had been so happy to see the god, Steve couldn’t imagine Wayne wanting an apology of any sort.

Before Steve could steel himself to ask, Wayne finally stirred awake.The Lord of Night straightened and drew the chair closer to his last follower. Steve situated himself near the corner Wayne had claimed to see a door. There wasn’t anything Steve could realistically achieve by placing himself between Wayne and the unseen door. When Death’s Door knocked, there was nothing a mortal being could do to keep it from opening. Regardless, Steve hoped he could provide some semblance of comfort by standing guard. 

Wayne’s eyes were glassy. He lay limp and disoriented, making not a sound outside his labored breathing. Neither the Lord of Night nor Steve spoke. Steve didn’t want to startle the man nor bring his attention to the unseen door. After a few minutes, Wayne finally noticed his bedside companion. 

“You,” he croaked in a daze. “I know you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The somber tone went unnoticed by Wayne whose entire face brightened with an unexpected joy. 

“Eddie,” Wayne said shakily. 

“What?”

“Eddie, you’re here,” Wayne said with more love and joy than Steve had ever heard from another person. He felt a momentary flash of envy that someone could hold another so dear, before it hit him that Wayne was speaking to the Lord of Night. The god seemed as dumbstruck as Steve over it.

“Is…is that me?” the Lord of Night asked. The god sounded so young and lost. It reminded Steve of Dustin and his friends when they were small. It inspired all the same protective instincts.

“‘course it’s you, Eddie,” Wayne said fondly. 

“Eddie,” the Lord of Night whispered. “Oh, it is. It is me. I’m here.” 

The words rang through the air. The finality in them nearly deafened Steve. The words were a realization that shifted the entire cosmos. The air he breathed, the light he saw, the very world he perceived had changed fundamentally. It was a change so loud and obvious, Steve was certain every human left on earth and everyone beyond the Door knew it happened. Yet between one blink and the next, the world remained the same as it ever was. Everything that had been still was and would continue to be for as long as the stars burn.

Inexplicably, Steve experienced a bout of vertigo at the shift that had and hadn’t happened. He fought back a wave of nausea that accompanied it.

“Eddie,” Wayne rasped over the rattling of his weak lungs. No longer translucent, the god appeared solid and real in a way he hadn’t even at the shrine where Steve first encountered him. Wayne’s wrinkled hand reached out to gently cup the Lord of Night’s cheek.

"Hey, Uncle Wayne," the Lord of Night said with a new voice. 

"My starmaker, I missed you. So much. But how're you here? You were gone, you di–"

"We didn't want you to be alone," Eddie, Lord of Night, responded thickly, leaning into the hand and covering it with his own.  "We wanted to thank you for taking care of us all these years."

"Don’t,” Wayne wheezed, teary. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Eddie. You deserved so much more than your pa or me ever gave you."

"No! No, Uncle Wayne, don't apologize," he said earnestly. "You were perfect. You gave us a home when pa died. We were so little and you protected us. You loved us. That's all we ever wanted."

“Oh, Eddie,” Wayne said in a heartbroken rasp. “That damn door’s been knocking all day. Who'll take care of you when I'm gone, Eddie?" 

"Don't you worry about that, Uncle Wayne. Steve's gonna look after me.”

“Are you sure?”

The Lord of Night took off his hood and turned back to look at Steve for the first time since he sat himself at Wayne’s side. All the air left Steve’s lungs in one fell swoop. His god had a face.

His god was beautiful.

The Lord of Night’s skin remained pale, providing a stark contrast to his large, dark brown eyes glittered with bittersweet joy and sorrow. His lips, full and a soft shade of pink, were pulled into a wide, mischievous grin that dimpled his cheeks. His dark eyebrows were almost hidden under wild curls. His hair draped over the slope of his shoulders and matched his eyes wonderfully.

Steve willed himself to stay steadfast and strong under the god’s gaze. The Lord of Night’s grin twisted a bit as if he wasn't entirely pleased by what he saw. The nausea from before came back because Steve knew what people looked like when he'd disappointed them. As usual, he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

“Yeah, I’m sure. He already promised,” Eddie, the Lord of Night, said. He turned back to Wayne and gently wiped the sweat off the old man's brow. 

“Good,” Wayne said with a. “You need someone takin’ care of you, the way you get in trouble all the time.”

“We weren’t that bad,” Eddie said with a watery smile. After a pause, Eddie continued reluctantly. “Uncle Wayne, if you need to answer the Door, you can. I won’t be alone.”

“Yeah,” Wayne murmured. “I’m tired, Eddie.”

“You won’t be for long, I promise, just answer the Door.”

Wayne’s breathing slowed. His eyes drooped closed. Eddie clung to his hand until it went lax. A choked sound escaped him when Wayne’s breathing stopped. Steve instinctively stepped forward to comfort him but Eddie abruptly stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. He whirled around and stumbled towards the empty space Steve left behind. 

“You better take care of him. Wayne is a good man, he’s earned–” Eddie said to…the wall? But stopped and reeled back. His mouth curved down in a scowl. Eddie’s eyes were dark and glowering as he stared at something there that Steve himself could not see.

“Oh, fuck you, I know I can’t do anything to you but–”

Eddie stopped again. He looked like he wanted to punch something. Or someone?

“I just want to know that he’ll be happy and saf–hey, asshole, I’m still talking you, don’t you dare– FUCK,” Eddie shouted at nothing. He panted in anger. Steve cleared his throat.

“My Lord?”

“I forgot how much of a dick he is. It’s not like I was asking for details! I don’t fucking care what’s past his stupid Door. It’s not a crime to want your family to, like, go somewhere good after. He could’ve just said yes or no!” Eddie ranted.

“My Lord, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh,” Eddie paused. “Right. You wouldn’t. And you shouldn’t. Not yet. Not for a long time, hopefully.”

------

*starmaker - so this is a reference to some lore i dropped in the previous scene during some edits I made after I had posted it on tumblr. basically, the legend explains why bedtime stories are a thing and that the lord of night creates a star for every story that impresses him. a really good book or author will get called a starmaker, though to the general population it's just a thing people say to denote greatness in stories without context of where the saying came from.

------

and now we're all caught up with what i've written so far, wow! but don't worry, i still have plenty more to write, stay tuned.

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [1/5] motifs -> fire

You find the girl wearing that necklace, she's your arsonist. Murderer. Excuse me? Arson happens to property. This girl's a murderer.

[bogkeep]

okay there's just SO many video essays about "the death of media literacy". how dead can it be when all of you are so good at it. has media literacy gotten provably worse or do we just have the internet now. when was the golden age of media literacy

[genericpuff]

i have nothing to say about the newest episodes of LO

so I'll let past me from the year 2022 say it instead

because everything they said a year and a half ago ironically still applies today and i don't even know how that's possible but it's where we are 💀😭

[puppyeared]

i wrote this as a joke because I wanted to strangle a guy watching tiktoks without headphones on the bus, but im genuinely disturbed that we've gotten to a point where convenience comes first. and it depresses me even more that its used to justify and monetize greed

[apostate-in-an-alcove]

Religious and secular people alike will talk a lot of talk about how they feel sympathy for people with religious trauma and suppprt us but as soon as one as us has the audacity to display one of the more negative and uglier symptoms of religious trauma, we get completely demonized, tone policed and degraded for it. The expectation that people with religious trauma have to be constantly palpable to outside observers, especially religious ones, is harmful and unhelpful and only serves to cater to the feelings of the very people who would rather silence us.

[luxscape]

dying to save the world is a very cool sacrifice to make, a real hero move

but it becomes super uncool when you have to do it because your megalomanic abusive piece of shit father decided to play god and shattered the timeline

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from chapter 11 of Constellations:

‘Did you still want me to play piano today?’ Efnisien said. Gwyn stared at him, and Efnisien grinned. ‘You forgot, didn’t you?’ ‘Do you just remember everything?’ ‘Like a vault,’ Efnisien said, laughing. ‘Um, probably not everything, but things like that. I don’t have to play.’ ‘Aren’t you nervous?’ ‘I am, but I enjoy playing. I’ve gotten used to doing some public and private performances. And it’s relaxing. I’m not like an actual professional, but it’s nice to do something that’s not research or data or interviews or some shit.’ ‘I’d… I’d like to hear you play again. I used to like it even back then.’ ‘Yeah, it was one of the few times Crielle was calm,’ Efnisien said, shaking his head. He walked towards the corridor that led into the rest of the house, and Gwyn followed, looking around avidly.

[vaguely-concerned]

sophia seeing cailan's body hanging there when they go back to ostagar, and suddenly all she can see even through the rot and the ruin is just how much he looked like alistair...... :'(

a mental image that totally will not haunt her through alistair's many years on the throne as rebellions and assassination attemps come and go. doesn't send her unhinged and unwise even a little

[snippy-tano]

See now I'm having a thought about Medic!reader who is on the tram with them and sees Tech fall. When they all wake up and Hunter ushers everyone to the ship, they stay behind and go looking for Tech and find him alive but seriously injured and unconscious.

They find a small cave and they hide out there until they know it's safe to comm someone to come and get them. Maybe Rex or Echo or Riyo🥺❤️

I just need reader softly taking care of Tech and him waking up like "you were supposed to leave."

And they say "I could never leave you."

Your choice whether the relationship is established or it's just hidden feeling that come out here❤️❤️❤️

Prooooooooooo

Thank you for this. This was incredibly therapeutic. I may have gotten carried away and y’all should let me know if I should continue this as like an actual fic. Because oooooh boy is it tempting.

Anyway, I hope you like it! And I hope this helps you just as much as it helped me lol

WARNING SPOILERS! THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR TBB S2 FINALE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK :')

Masterlist is here!

Taglist is here!

Tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life; @marvel-starwars-nerd; @mackstrut; @dissapointingpancake; @ahsokatano-thetogruta; @welcometothepedroverse; @fractiouskat; @mandaloriandin; @bantha-shit; @badbatch-simp24; @katelynnwrites; @s1st3r; @leotatombs; @torchbearerkyle; @rain-on-kamino; @the-navistar-carol; @bombshe77; @arctrooper69; @social-mockingbird; @littlebluebatbrat; @get-wr3ckered; @dangraccoon

————————————————————————————————

Falling

Everything happened so fast, you almost thought it was all a dream. Or rather a nightmare.

One second you were helping provide cover as Tech worked to get the tram moving. The next he had fallen and Wrecker was working to pull him back up aboard the train.

“Don’t you do it, Tech.”

It was the pleading tone in Wrecker’s voice that had you turning from where you had taken cover. You were moving towards the back of the tram before anyone could stop you. You stopped just behind Omega and looked down to see Tech raise his head before raising his blaster.

A pit formed in your stomach as you began to panic.

No no no no no no no no

“When have we ever followed orders.”

Then he fired.

And you screamed, loudly and gutterly.

The tram jerked upright and took off, you stumbled against the wall, blinking slowly. You could hear the batch screaming at each other, but weren’t making out any of what they were saying. You only held onto your trembling hands, feeling like the edges of your vision were darkening rapidly.

You only caught the shout of needing to brace yourself, your instincts numbly forcing you to comply.

Then your vision really did go black.

When you came to, everything in your body ached. Your ribs protested every breath and you knew you were in rough shape. You gingerly lifted your head, seeing yourself surrounded by smoking wreckage.

Omega’s voice had you turning just in time to see her collapse. With a groan of effort, you climbed to your feet, hand pressing against your side. You met eyes with Hunter and he hesitated.

Please Hunter, I have to go back. You practically begged in your mind, hoping he would understand.

It looked like he was going to protest, likely saying that he couldn’t lose anyone else, but you couldn’t let him choose for you. You had to do this.

So you turned and ran as fast as your ribs would let you into the woods. You could hear Wrecker and Echo yell for you, but you didn’t stop. You’re honestly not sure how you managed to move so quickly and for so long, although you figured it was probably the adrenaline.

Eventually you fell to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut as a way of hopefully shutting out the pain. You had bacta patches in your med pack, but you refused to use any. If you found Tech and by some miracle of the Force he was alive, you knew he would need every patch you had.

After your vision cleared, you forced yourself back to your feet and continued walking in the direction of your best guess as to where Tech fell. You weren’t running anymore, but you kept a good pace, knowing that the Empire would be out looking for Tech very soon.

If you found him, you had to move quickly.

Eventually, you found what looked like wreckage from the tram. Your heart began to pound as you began to pick through it, looking for any sign of Tech.

Then you saw it. Armor.

You swallowed your nerves and forced air into your lungs as you stepped over the smoking debris. The running of water nearby and the sound of your own haggard breathing was all you could hear. You knelt beside Tech, hand hesitating. His helmet was gone and he definitely looked like he had fallen from a great distance, but it was hard to tell if he was still alive.

You pressed your fingers against the side of his neck, praying to every god or deity you knew about, begging them that he would be alive. For a few agonizing seconds, you felt nothing.

And then you felt it, the very gentle thump of his heart beat. It was weak, incredibly so, but he was alive. You almost burst into tears right then and there, but you knew the Empire was on their way if not already almost here.

You had to move. Now.

Tech was bigger than you, but you had to move him and fast. You stripped off a few pieces of armor, tossing them closer to the large river that you were near. Maybe the Empire would think he fell into the water and go searching further down the river. It would hopefully buy you both some time. Then you sat him up, placed his arms over your shoulders and stood up.

He was by no means a small man. He may be the “skinniest” in the Batch, but he was still built like a soldier, which meant that he was an incredible deadweight. Your legs shook from the effort, but you managed to hold him steady.

His helmet and goggles were missing, but you didn’t have time to go looking for them. Your sole focus was getting the both of you out of there and to a relatively safe location as fast as you could. Tech had injuries that needed to be tended to immediately. In any normal situation, you wouldn’t have moved him for fear of a neck or back injury. But you didn’t have that option.

After a quick feel of his neck, it didn’t seem like anything was broken, which was good enough for you.

You moved through the clearing, stepping around debris as best you could. Thankfully the ground wasn’t wet or muddy, so the likelihood of footprints being left behind were small. But still, you zigzagged as much as you dared, stepping where there were already indents in the grass in an effort to conceal your path.

You were two klicks away when you heard Imperial ships zoom just above the tree line over you. For one horrifying second you thought they were going to spot you, but they continued on, heading the direction you had just come from. The burning in your ribs became background noise as you tightened your grip on Tech’s arms and began to move faster.

You had been walking for what felt like hours. Every inch of your body was burning with effort and breathing was becoming more difficult. But you somehow kept going. You knew Tech was still hanging on because you could feel his soft puffs of breath against your neck. It was honestly the only thing keeping you going.

The way you carried him was far from ideal. There were many other ways that are better for medic carries in a situation like this, but considering Tech was fully unconscious, the odds of getting him up across your shoulders were small. This was the best you could do in the situation you were presented.

The elevation began to increase and the burning in your legs only intensified. You stumbled once, your heart leaping into your throat. But you managed to keep a hold of Tech and when you could breathe again, you continued walking.

As the light in the sky started to dim, you stumbled across a cave. It was hidden from the air from all the tree cover. You almost didn’t see it from the ground due to the high bushes and brush covering the entrance. It was far from ideal, but once again, it was likely the best you could do.

You only hoped there were no creatures inside who had the same idea you did.

The bushes cut into your pants as you forced your way inside, but those were minor scrapes, you had much more pressing injuries that needed tending to on Tech. You moved further into the cave, hoping to get far enough that when you started a small fire, it wouldn’t be spotted from outside. The cave had a bend and you rounded it, blinking in the darkness. Your eyes quickly adjusted and you could see that the cave continued on to the right, but there was a wall running along the back. It would do well for hiding the two of you.

Your legs shook from overuse as you carefully kneeled, turning Tech so you could gently place him on the ground. For a few seconds, you hunched over, breathing heavily.

Your entire body ached, from both the crash and the effort of carrying so much deadweight as far as you did. Your ribs made every inhale and exhale remarkably painful and you breathed as even as you could to try and lessen the pain.

When you were sure your vision was cleared, you yanked off your medpack and began to pull everything out. You pulled out a small orb and hit it, bathing the corner of the cave in a soft light. You grabbed a small flashlight and leaned over Tech, lifting up his eyelids and flashing the light. His pupils dilated as they should, which was a good sign.

You set the light down and began to search him for injuries. You scanned him and found he had a lot of broken bones, but thankfully no internal bleeding. It was a relief.

You fell into an easy trance, pulling off his armor and placing bacta patches on his worst injuries and splinting where you needed. You very quickly ran out of bacta patches, but still did your best to set everything so the bones would heal properly. When you were truly out of supplies, you covered him up with a shock blanket, placing your jacket underneath his head.

You brushed a hand across his cheek, beyond thankful that he was alive and you had been quick enough to find him.

Your troubles were far from over. You were still trapped on this planet with a severely injured trooper and your own injuries. You couldn’t stay here until you both healed, but neither of you were in any shape to fight your way out right now. You could try to call for help, but there was always a chance of it being intercepted and you both being caught anyways.

You’d have to wait for Tech to wake up to call for help. Hopefully he would be able to think of ideas on how you can get out of your predicament. But for now, you both needed to get some rest.

You wanted to lay down, but you knew once you did that you were not getting up again for a while. So you climbed to your feet and grabbed a small silent alarm you kept in your med pack before heading to the mouth of the cave around the corner. You gathered some wood from just outside the cave and set the alarm before pushing through the brush and fluffing it back up once inside.

The small fire you made didn’t take long to start.

You would have to go out for more wood very soon, but at least for now there would be some warmth for the both of you. You found a spare roll of gauze at the bottom of your pack and got to work pulling off your own armor until you were only covered by one layer of clothing. Painstakingly, you wrapped the gauze around your abdomen.

It wouldn’t do much for the broken bones, but at least you had some support. They were crudely wrapped, but it was the best you could do for now.

When you finished, you eased yourself onto the cold cave floor. Your entire body hurt and was trying to lull you into sleep. But with Tech still unconscious, you knew that someone had to stay awake.

So you started talking.

At first you talked through medical triage. You walked yourself through your training manual that you basically had memorized at this point. Then you talked through a few specific procedures you had learned along the way as a combat medic. Then when you ran out of that, you started to talk about your life. You talked about your home planet, your family, how you grew up, your hopes and dreams then, your hopes and dreams now, how you ended up joining the GAR, your first mission with the Batch and how quickly you’d come to love them like family.

You were just beginning to talk about a holodrama you and Omega were in the process of watching when you heard movement.

You stopped talking and looked over at Tech. He wasn’t awake yet, but he was starting to stir. As quickly as your ribs would allow, you sat up and moved over to where he was laying. You adjusted the blanket covering him and hovered, watching as his eyes slowly flickered open.

His eyes widened and he started to sit up, but you placed your hands on his shoulders and forced him back down.

“It’s okay. You’re safe, relatively speaking. But you have a lot of injuries, so you shouldn’t move.” You said and he blinked, taking a few deep breaths.

“You are correct. I will take your advice and remain from moving.” He replied and you let out a breath, relaxing ever so slightly. You reached forward, pulling the blanket so it more fully covered him.

“You were supposed to leave.” Tech said quietly and you let out a sigh.

You knew he was going to bring it up eventually, you had just hoped it wouldn’t be almost immediately after waking up. It shouldn’t surprise you though, this was Tech you were talking about.

You played with a seam on your sleeve that had torn in the crash. “I could never leave you.”

Silence fell for a moment and you let out a breath. Everything about this mission had gone wrong from the moment you set foot on this planet. More than anything you wished it had played out differently, but that is not what the galaxy had planned for you.

You knew Tech would likely scold you, saying the rest of the Batch’s wellbeing outweighs his own life. You knew that he was likely correct in that thinking. The needs of the many often outweigh the needs of the few.

But with Tech, you tended to throw all that out the window.

You had never admitted it to anyone before, but you’d always had a soft spot for him. It started out harmless enough. When you were assigned to work with the Batch, he was always the one that never really seemed to take care of himself. So as a medic, you took on that responsibility. You did it for all of them really, but Tech seemingly needed it the most.

Very quickly after that, your motives changed from just doing your medic duties to doing it because you cared. Then it shifted again to just plain affection. You had no idea when that grew into a crush, but it eventually did. You never said anything, and you never planned on saying anything. Your lives were all crazy enough as it is that there was no time.

And if today was any indication, it was too dangerous. Anything could happen to anyone.

Tech cleared his throat and you closed your eyes, waiting for him to tell you that you made the wrong choice.

He surprised you by placing his hand over yours.

Your eyes snapped up and you met his gaze. “Thank you. Without you, I shudder to think at what would have come of me.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. His hand gave yours a squeeze and made no move to let go. Not that you were complaining.

“How are you feeling? What’s your pain level?” You asked and he thought for a moment.

“I am feeling like I fell off a train.”

“Tech.”

“Apologizes. My pain is manageable. Thank you for providing me aid. Have you treated your injuries?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yes. I have.”

“You shouldn’t lie to me, cyar’ika.”

You averted your eyes as your heart thumped in your chest. “I did what I had to do. Don’t worry about me, my injuries were minor. Now you need to get some rest. The more you sleep, the quicker your injuries will heal.

“I am not tired. I have been unconscious for some time now. You, on the other hand, need to rest as well. I will wake you in a few hours, I promise.” Tech insisted and you tried to formulate an argument, but you also knew if something happened, you would also need to be rested, especially as the one currently in the best health.

He must have sensed your resistance fading because he gave your hand another squeeze. “Get some rest. Please.”

You found yourself nodding before you could say no. Tech seemed pleased with himself, but you were too tired to care. You tried to hide your wince as you sank down to the floor, but it was hard to keep your face passive. Tech didn’t comment on it though, which you appreciated.

“Two hours Tech. Wake me up in two hours.”

His hand found yours again before giving it a squeeze. “I promise.”

You tried to fight your exhaustion, but it all hit you at once. You drifted to sleep with Tech’s warm hand tightly holding yours. You didn’t know what would happpen when you woke up, but Tech was alive and so were you.

And that was enough.

[zerodaryls]

it's so funny (read: sad) that if bigoted fuckheads didn't insist i was a woman simply by virtue of my body at birth, i'd probably be chill with she/her pronouns in addition to he/they. if my mom didn't insist i was her daughter, i'd probably let her call me that, and we could still have a relationship.

i'm nonbinary and 'gendered' words are hypothetically meaningless, but because there are so many people who are more interested in telling me who i am rather than lovingly and curiously letting me express my own sense of self, those words carry trauma.

there's no reason a nonbinary person like myself can't be a son and a child and a daughter. there's no reason a nonbinary person like me can't go by he, they, and she.

'she' is not a slur. 'daughter' is not derogatory. 'beautiful' 'pretty' 'gorgeous' 'feminine' are not insults.

to the contrary, they're parts of language that express certain facets of a multi-faceted human existence, like mine.

and i have this sad, mournful feeling that if it weren't for unloving, condescending people, i'd probably be down to be called any of those things alongside my usual masculine/neutral terminology.

but i'd rather die than let anyone tell me what i have to be called.

[thefirstknife]

out of curiosity, do you think the traveler would've fled again if it could?

All of Elise's timelines seem to show that it would have, but it's had years to take the opportunity since the red war. With Elsie saying that that biggest difference so far is the Young Wolf, it makes me wonder if the traveler itself has noticed us

Yeah, I 100% believe it did notice us and that it stayed on purpose. Hell, it could've done something at the end of WQ when Savathun moved it to the throne world. A lot of people forget that, but Savathun put it there with a ritual, holding it in place with her wizard magic. The moment we severed the ritual, the Traveler returned to the Last City. It didn't have to do that! It could've stayed in the throne world if it felt safe there or it could've left entirely, but it didn't. It returned to us.

Something from the showcase still bounces in my head and makes me insane and it's this:

When we were resurrected by Ghost at the very beginning of this story, we didn't know why. But it was for this. The Traveler is asking us for help. And it's our responsibility to protect every living thing in the universe.

This matches with Elsie's failed timelines. We are not there. The Traveler leaves in other timelines because we're not there to help, Guardians are corrupted and fallen to Darkness en masse and there's no one left to hear or act on the Traveler's cries for help.

But now? There's a chance. The Traveler has seen us make a difference. It can't do anything on its own really; we've seen in Lightfall that even when it acts, it can still only create. The terraforming beam looks cool, but it's not an attack. It's a defensive action. The Traveler's job is not to fight or destroy, so when this terrifying entity is after it, it needs help. It equips us with tools that we can turn into weapons and it hopes that we will make the right decisions and not fall to Darkness. It's given us a choice and so far, in this timeline, we've chosen to stand by the Traveler and protect it.

I also believe that if everything turns out okay after TFS and we stop the Witness entirely and the Pyramids are no longer there to pursue the Traveler, it should leave and go resume its duties around the universe. Nobody owns the Traveler and had it not come to what happened in the Collapse, it would've left us eventually when it finished the terraforming it was meant to do in our system. There are probably many species in the universe that could use its help, as well as many from the past that could possibly use its help to recover from what happened to them, if they're still surviving (like the Eliksni!). But before any of that can happen, we have to save it first.

[sunsetzer]

On one hand, I want a final fantasy 6 remake, because the game is criminally underrated and the amount of fan content (which is all absolutely fantastic btw) is Not Enough for my neurodivergent, hyperfixating brain.

On the other hand, that would inevitably encourage more people to join the fandom, which would be great, except it seems these days the bigger a fandom gets the more toxic it becomes, and I really like what we have going on over here in our little corner. We all just love the game and its characters and nobody fights about who should and shouldn't date who or who you shouldn't like because they're ~problematique~. Nobody's trying to make one ship morally better than another, nobody's calling anyone names or threatening to doxx people who don't agree with their opinions. It's so peaceful and I love that for us. We're just vibing. Moisturized. Unbothered. In our lane. Flourishing.