#medical complication

[heardatmedschool]

“When things get ugly, ask for help, even if there’s no one there that knows more than you, so you’ll at least have an extra clear mind.”

[inkskinned]

you're in the habit of denying yourself things.

if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.

but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?

what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.

and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.

you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.

so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.

it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.

sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.

oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 310

Shadow core Danny? Shadow core Danny with Hazmat AU? Indeed, with a hint of a twist. 

See that hazmat helmet beneath the hood? Yeah that’s erm, that might be his actual face now. It might be able to split open into a proper maw, as he found out during one of the early fights. He thinks it might be a shadow-core thing though, because Fright Knight has something similar, along with the Keeper. Who's apparently a ghost that keeps track of other shadow-ghosts, which, cool. Cool library covered in flesh, nothing spooky there. 

He mentions this? Because apparently even if all ghosts partially feed on emotions, shadow cores need Fear the most. Which, thankfully shadow cores are apparently more rare than he’d expect, so he’s not going to go into a territorial frenzy or something on a bad day, yay! 

But uh, he might… count as a ghostling since he’s only a year dead- in fact he’ll continue to be as such until he’s at least 100 years dead, since he didn’t die as an adult. Which in turn… means he needs even more fear, at least until he’s old enough to generate it on his own. 

So what’s a ghostling to do? Take a trip to one of the most fear-soaked cities in the world, y’know, just a little weekend trip every month. Gotham isn’t that bad, and he can stay invisible- mostly! What’s going to happen, he run into a vigilante? Ha… oh no.

[parisoonic]

[untolduttering]

Desires

Summary: Law does routine check ups on all the crew members, and decides to take advantage of the situation when it’s your turn.

Tags: nsfw, medical setting, inaccurate medical practice, I would say dubcon just to be safe, medical malpractice, vaginal fingering, piv, unprotected sex, female reader

Word Count: 3k

In order to keep a healthy and functioning ship, Law had each crew member do a monthly check up with him. Simple and short, it was merely to give anyone the chance to bring up possible ailments or small issues that may have gone under the radar. You hadn’t known about this routine when you first joined as Law wanted you to get comfortable with your new life on the Polar Tang. Now that months had passed and you were melding in smoothly, it was time for your first one. As you approached the infirmary, your nerves were getting the best of you, and now wished you had asked Ikkaku what you were in for.

Unsure what to do once at the door, you knocked, and heard Law call, “Come in,” right after.

“Captain,” you said as you gently closed the door.

“Y/n-ya. I’ll need you to strip down and put on the gown on the bed, if you’d please,” he gestured to it with his hand. “I’ll step outside while you do so.”

You froze, caught completely off guard. You didn’t know what to expect, so nothing should have really thrown you, but this was completely blindsiding.

“Strip down? Like take off… everything?” You asked.

“Yes,” he said as he got up. “Just the gown.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

He nodded back as he passed you and left the room.

In the time you’d been on the Polar Tang, you had developed some sort of feelings for your captain. The idea of having to be nude in front of him left your skin buzzing, both in excitement and dread. But you wouldn’t be naked, you’d have a gown on. You picked up the said gown and rubbed the material between your forefinger and thumb. The material was thick like normal clothes, and so technically, you wouldn’t be naked in front of him at all.

On the other side of the door, Law was questioning his morals. No, this was not standard procedure. There wasn’t any point in making his crew change clothes, not when it was a ten minute check up. Ever since you joined, you had been this annoying itch in his skin. You sat deep beneath, somewhere he couldn’t reach, something he didn’t know what to do about. He imagined all the ways he could have you, either between your legs or in that special place in his chest. And so he gave himself this one thing, this one abuse of power, and that was it. He’d give some reason why the next time he didn’t make you change, that the first time is different, more thorough possibly. He just wanted to have the knowledge this one time that you stood before him with nothing beneath that gown. Just this once.

After changing into the gown, you folded your jumpsuit and underwear, setting them on the corner of the bed with both bra and panties buried deep inside the suit. You took off your boots and socks as well, and set those at the foot of the bed. Sitting propped on the edge with ankles crossed and hands pressed into your lap, you called out, “Okay. I’m ready.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to keep your gaze on his face, instead opting for his chest and the stethoscope around it. You missed his heavy lidded gaze, and wrote off the momentary jump his chest made when he inhaled sharply.

He was regretting this indulgence heavily now. Staring at your exposed legs, he was caught by the part of the gown that was hitched up, showing more thigh than he had anticipated. He felt ridiculous about how little he was getting riled up over. And still he needed more.

“Any concerns before we begin?” he asked.

You wracked your brain, but nothing ached, there wasn’t any lingering pain from past issues. Just the usual bumps and bruises that came with maintaining a pirate’s life. “No.”

“Alright. I’ll be starting with your heart and lungs. I’m just looking for any abnormalities, like an irregular heartbeat or a struggle with breathing. I’ll need you to lean forward so I can access your back.” He washed his hands as he spoke and put on a pair of gloves.

You did as he asked, staring hard at the floor as you waited. You watched his feet approach and stop to your right. The cold from the stethoscope made you jump, and almost like it was instinctual, Law lightly grabbed your knee, as if to steady you. Your heart began to pound wildly, and the heat began to grow in your cheeks. He’d know it was his touch that made you nervous, and then he’d ask you why, and you’d have to tell him that just his mere presence made you light-headed, and so of course your heart was going to explode from his hand. And then he was never going to come anywhere near you again. Your damned heart was going to ruin it all.

But he didn’t ask about your heartbeat. He only asked for a few deep breaths before he stepped back, taking the plugs out of his ears and resting the whole thing back on his neck. “Sounds good,” was all he said. He didn’t admit that your nerves pleased him, that it might mean you felt something towards him. But he tried to smother it. He was not something that anyone could possibly desire.

“Alright, now for your eyes. Similarly, I’m looking for any abnormalities, something like cloudiness or an irregularity in the iris or pupil.” He pulled a slim cylinder from his array of tools, and asked you to open your eyes wide and to stare at his right ear. He turned it on, and a bright light blinded you. You didn’t move, doing your best to do as he asked and be a star patient. You always felt the need to find some sort of approval from him, as he wasn’t the type to give it out liberally, and that made it even more worthwhile. He switched to the other eye, asking you to look to his left ear. He stepped back, murmuring, “Good, good.”

“Now I’ll be looking into your ears. I’m just looking for any irritation, anything foreign, blockage, or possible damage both to the ear canal or the eardrum.” He grabbed one of the many tools displayed across the counter. Softly, he grabbed your chin and tilted your head so that he could look. This sudden and continuous intimacy was overwhelming; he had never touched you before. It simply must be how it went with everyone else on the crew. With the way he usually spoke to you, it was clear he held no secret fondness just for you. This was just work. When he switched sides, his leg pressed against yours, and he kept it there. You didn’t know exactly what about this was bringing him so close, but you hoped it would never end.

“I have to check your throat now. If you could open your mouth and stick your tongue out, please.” Once again, you did as told. You expected him to reach out again for one of his tools, for him to just simply look in, but instead his forefinger and middle finger were pushed in and pressed down on your tongue. You let out a small and surprised yelp. You squeezed your thighs together, tight, against the shot of pleasure you felt, and grabbed onto Law’s coat.

Law knew damn well this was not the right way to do it. He had those wooden sticks, neatly tucked away in a glass jar. But he needed to feel the warmth of your mouth, the slick of your spit wetting his fingers. His left hand immediately gripped your thigh as soon as that sound left your mouth. Law wasn’t really seeing, he couldn’t focus on anything but how you felt beneath his hands. He slowly dragged his fingers down your tongue, savoring the sight before fully removing them. He didn’t move away though, nor remove his other hand. He was incapable of it. Belatedly, he registers the hands gripping his coat. His eyes meet yours.

You immediately let go and leaned back, misreading his look as one of questioning and annoyance. Heat burned your cheeks as you held your mouth open, waiting for his next instruction.

He cleared his throat and managed to pull himself away. “You can close your mouth. Everything looks fine.”

Law turned away, and stood back in front of the counter. He looked to be contemplating something, staring at the items splayed before him without touching them. He rested his hands on the counter, a finger on his right hand tapping and tapping away. Nerves started to claw at your stomach.

“I’d like to do a vaginal exam,” he said suddenly. Your stomach swooped and your head felt light immediately.

“You can say no, it’s not necessary, it’s merely on offer, a precaution.” Law was cursing himself. He was being unbelievably stupid, he knew it, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. He stayed facing the wall, rigid and unmoving. It was a gamble and one that he immediately regretted. If you said no, it would marr the way you looked at him for the rest of both of your lives. It was too far of a jump from a regular exam, you’d see right through it and know him for the pervert he was. He was being gross and was crossing too many lines, all for the slim chance you might accept. And if you did, then what? What the fuck was he doing right now?

A different war was going on in your own head. It was an intimate and vulnerable suggestion, one that would bring him closer than ever before. Could you let him do something like that? What even would he do? Would he simply look, or would he stick his fingers in like he had just now? The thought sent another pleasant shiver through you, and the heat at your core was building once again. Fears and nerves and need made you so unsettled, and the need for him to touch you became unbearable all of a sudden. It was a professional formality, nothing more, and you were taking more from it than he was, turning it into something it wasn’t, but you didn’t care. He didn’t have to know you were enjoying it, that it was something you were going to use to get off to later, and multiple times more after that. It made you feel dirty but you didn’t care.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m okay with that.”

Law finally looked at you, the surprise clear on his face. For a second, you feared that you missed something, some queue that meant you were supposed to say no. But then his face cleared, he nodded, and placed himself in front of you.

“I’ll need you to lift your legs up. I can position them for you, if you’d prefer.” Law was barely keeping himself together. He couldn’t believe you agreed, and didn’t want to make the wrong move and ask for him to stop. His entire self was currently a sea of desire and self hatred.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d prefer that.” Your voice was soft, anxious over spoiling the moment as well as what came next.

Law nodded, and pushed your gown all the way up your thighs. He was desperately trying to keep his hands still, to keep his composure and professionalism. But the more skin he exposed, the farther he took it, the more he started to lose it. He then gently grabbed both of your knees, and proceeded to lift them and push them to your chest.

All the air rushed out of Law’s lungs as you were now fully exposed to him. You could hear it as it happened, and as you watched his face for further reaction, you saw his tongue dart out to quickly wet his lips. It was not exactly what you had expected, but it was an ideal one nonetheless.

As he let go of your legs, pressed your toes into the mattress to keep yourself in the position he placed you in. Law’s movements seemed slower, and his eyes never left your pussy.

“I’m…” he trailed off, his emotions finally breaking through the barrier he’d placed. “I’m going to put my fingers in now, okay?”

You nodded, noticing that he did not give the medical reasoning behind it. It didn’t matter to you, as long as he touched you.

He slipped one finger in, emitting a small sigh from you. It went in easily, the wetness having already coated your hole. He curled the digit, just barely moving it in and out, feeling around your walls. Law placed his other hand just beneath your thigh, leaning in closer, terribly focused. He felt your walls tighten at his touch and proximity, and began to feel smug.

“Feels nice in here,” he said. It came out breathy, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Feeling bold, he added another finger, and reached deeper. You rocked your hips forward and let out a whine.

At this, Law finally meets your gaze. He looked to your mouth and leaned in close. His eyes flit back to yours, to your mouth, and then your eyes again, asking. His eyebrows furrowed. Pleading. You barely nod before his lips are smashed against yours. Law is a starved man, and he devours you greedily. He pulls his fingers out and rips off his gloves, desperate for that skin to skin contact. You buried your hands into his hair and moaned into his mouth. It was messy and heated, kissing until it became a sloppy make out. You parted your lips to let his tongue in, and Law did not hesitate to explore your mouth. His hands had moved to grip your thighs, keeping them in position and kneading them as he did so. They moved lower and lower, teasing. He inserted his fingers into you again, and started properly pumping them in and out. You pulled away to breathe and moan, and Law took the opportunity to latch onto your neck.

It was divine to finally have those skilled doctors fingers inside you, working you open. He scissored them as he went, his palm hitting your clit again and again, and it was better than all those daydreams. His mouth was hot where he sucked on your skin, and each playful scrape of his teeth made you groan.

Law kept a fast pace, his fingers hitting that spongy sweet spot again and again, but it wasn’t enough, you wanted more.

“Law,” you breathed. “I want you.”

He lifted his head and pressed his mouth to your once again, muttering, “You want me? Say what you want.”

You whined again before saying, “I want your dick. I need you to fuck me.”

He hummed and said, “You do?”

He could be so frustrating, such a tease. Huffing, you said, “Law, please.”

He finally obliged, taking his fingers out and licking them clean before working his belt undone and unzipping his pants. He pushed them and his underwear down just enough to pull his cock out. Law dragged his tip through your folds, coating himself in your fluids and relishing the way his actions made you squirm. Right before you were about to complain, he pushed himself inside, taking it slow to let you adjust. It wasn’t all that thick, so the burn of being stretched was pleasurable, but it was long, and he was deep by the time he bottomed out.

“You feel good, pretty girl?” Law asked.

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I feel good.”

Law pulled himself out, till just the tip was still barely inside, before slamming himself all the way back in. You cried out, your back arching, and Law kept fucking into you, setting a brutal pace. Every accidental brush of your hand against him, every longing look he gave you when you weren’t paying attention, and every ache that Law felt when he was near you was put into each thrust. He wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you close, until your chests where flush against each other. To have you so close to him was making him wild, and to have you mewling and crying out into his ear made him go positively insane. That added with the way your walls squeezed around him made him want to never let you out of his sight ever again.

Your own thoughts were completely filled with Law. It was impossible to think of anything else. The way he held you so close and slammed into so wantonly, your skin making lewd slapping sounds and the wet squelching of your cunt being fucked, that it was him filling you up so nicely, it all was so overwhelmingly good that it made tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Incoherent sounds spilled from your mouth, and as the heat started to build in your lower stomach, you whined out Law’s name again and again.

He reached down between you and started rubbing your clit with his thumb. You moaned out at the new sensation and gripped Law’s shoulders harder, nails starting to dig in.

“There you go, baby. There you go,” Law murmured, sounding strained. “Just let go for me.”

Your brain had gone blank at this point, focused on nothing but the man before you and the heat building in your core. Your words were slurred as you chanted out a “please, please, please.” The feeling built until it suddenly snapped and you came with a cry.

“There it is, just like that, so good for me.” Law’s words came out all strung together, talking you through your orgasm just as much as he was talking to himself as his own came closer. He kept rubbing your clit as he fucked you through your high, pushing you close to overstimulation. At a final pulse from your pussy, Law came inside you. He removed his hand and pulled you close again, his hips stuttering as he finished.

Law rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and trying to collect yourselves. Once you caught your breath, you broke the silence.

“Did I pass?” you asked.

Law groaned and rolled his eyes as you giggled. He pressed a kiss to your mouth before saying, “Yeah, you did.”

[kayberrie]

We are not just numbers. We are men.

[mera-kiin]

he'd just hate to see you cold, doctor

[sopranoentravesti]

Gonna make a controversial statement—people on this webbed site had more compassion for the poor white rural Trump supporters than they do for Jews

[yourlocalmissingtexture]

Unhinged “trust me, I’m a doctor” scientist & their partner whom they perform questionable experiments on is my favorite dynamic

[antiadvil]

This video has me thinking: does anyone else have stories about how you would have died if not for modern medicine? I don’t know that I would have died, but I had strep throat for like a week once before getting antibiotics which definitely would have been a dice roll before penicillin. Feel free to rb and put stories in the tags or just add them on if you’re comfortable sharing!

[witchofthesouls]

I like thinking about humans-into-Cybertronians because of the weird, alien fuckery along with ex-humans making connections to certain things because it's the closest approximation they have.

Imagine if 'running on fumes' is a literal statement among Cybertronians. As their tanks run near empty, there's a petroleum-like taste that lingers in their sinuses and, if left long enough, cycles out of their vents. That's why Cybertronians typically don't like hanging around gas stations because it's a really stark reminder of long-term starvation. Meanwhile, you got an ex-human going like, "Man, I'm starting to taste gas, so I need gas. Huh, y'all have built-in reminders to feed yourself outside of hunger pains? That's neat."

As well as the ex-humans misdiagnosing themselves. Let's take Cybertronian carriage. Humans are used to a pregnancy that completes its course in a designated organ (aka womb), so finding out a mecha had straight up knocked them up that bypassed the initial spark-to-spark teether formation wouldn't freak them out in the ways that a lot of Cybertronians would be really concerned about. Especially the medics and said partner(s).

Ex-human crying over the sonogram because they got told it's a very high-risk pregnancy and all they see is the coming baby is very deformed since it's only a ball within a ball of green soup and silver tendrils. Partner is highly confused yet attempts comforting in varying levels of success.

Cybertronian medic needs to explain that the sparklet is healthy, but ex-human really needs to watch themselves because the entire process will be done within the gestational chamber and goes deep into explaining the complications that can happen.

Partner is absolutely riveted by all the gravity of the matter since the strain of having a full-carriage that initialized in the chamber can put the carrier in danger as there can be coding conflicting with priorities that rends said carrier unconscious or wrecks health complications, especially since there's a high-chance of the newspark not fully detaching from their carrier's spark as the dropping process ensures.

Ex-human that comes from a species where a pregnancy is like getting into a moderate crash, so damage varies each time is happy that they haven't fucked up badly yet and can plan a baby shower. "By the way, when's the due date?"

Medic: "Hard to say with the carriage combined, but it's more in the primary initialization stage. The sparklet's still has a visible, if a bit thin, teether to your spark, and a solid mass hasn't formed yet."

Ex-human: "Okay, so how long?"Medic says incomprehensible length of time for an Earth child and how it can vary.

*Confused ex-human noises over the several human lifetimes is the equivalent of a span to a Cybertronian carriage. And how multiple factors can impact the timeframe.*

*Confused Medic noises out of sheer concern over ex-human's family history, especially over the fact they have extremely and highly dangerously short carriages.*

*Confused partner noises on why their love wants to plan a bathtime for the newspark at this moment, and wonders if ex-human knows that water and infant Cybertronians do not mix.*

Or, another thing. What if the dropping process where the sparklet detaches from the carrier's spark to descend into the gestational chamber below to build its frame has very 'classic'** heart symptoms in a human body?

(** Quick heads up, much of human biology and modern medical understanding derives from male biology. Unfortunately, women usually see atypical symptoms that are more subtle, moderate rather than severe pain/discomfort, or pain in other other locations rather than the chest.)

Ex-human has sudden, excruciatingly chest pain, insides literally quivering and shifting in sync with the bursts. Meanwhile, everyone around them is calm, trying to soothe them, and they think they're honestly dying so fast because there's no rush to the nearby hospital, and everyone is pushing comfort-it's okay-we got you at them.

[reasonsforhope]

Researchers from Western and Brown University have made groundbreaking progress towards identifying the root cause and potential therapy for preeclampsia.

The pregnancy complication affects up to eight per cent of pregnancies globally and is the leading cause of maternal and fetal mortality due to premature delivery, complications with the placenta and lack of oxygen.

The research, led by Drs. Kun Ping Lu and Xiao Zhen Zhou at Western, and Drs. Surendra Sharma and Sukanta Jash at Brown, has identified a toxic protein, cis P-tau, in the blood and placenta of preeclampsia patients.

According to the study published in Nature Communications, cis P-tau is a central circulating driver of preeclampsia – a “troublemaker” that plays a major role in causing the deadly complication...

“The root cause of preeclampsia has (so far) remained unknown, and without a known cause there has been no cure. Preterm delivery is the only life-saving measure,” said Lu, professor of biochemistry and oncology at  Schulich School of Medicine & Dentistry...

“Our study identifies cis P-tau as a crucial culprit and biomarker for preeclampsia. It can be used for early diagnosis of the complication and is a crucial therapeutic target,” said Sharma...

Until now, cis P-tau was mainly associated with neurological disorders like Alzheimer’s disease, traumatic brain injuries (TBI) and stroke. This association was discovered by Lu and Zhou in 2015 as a result of their decades of research on the role of tau protein in cancer and Alzheimer’s.

An antibody developed by Zhou in 2012 to target only the toxic protein while leaving its healthy counterpart unscathed is currently undergoing clinical trials in human patients suffering from TBI and Alzheimer’s Disease. The antibody has shown promising results in animal models and human cell cultures in treating the brain conditions.

The researchers were curious whether the same antibody could work as a potential treatment for preeclampsia. Upon testing the antibody in mouse models they found astonishing results.

“In this study, we found the cis P-tau antibody efficiently depleted the toxic protein in the blood and placenta, and corrected all features associated with preeclampsia in mice. Clinical features of preeclampsia, like elevated blood pressure, excessive protein in urine and fetal growth restriction, among others, were eliminated and pregnancy was normal,” said Sharma.

Sharma and his team at Brown have been working on developing an assay for early detection of preeclampsia and therapies to treat the condition. He believes the findings of this study have brought them closer to their goal...

“The results have far-reaching implications. This could revolutionize how we understand and treat a range of conditions, from pregnancy-related issues to brain disorders,” said Lu.

-via India Education Diary, September 22, 2023

[horror-aesthete]

A Cure for Wellness, 2016, dir. Gore Verbinski

[crimeronan]

been thinking about the rabies condition in writing lately, which is a GREAT post about stakes and characterization. basically exploring how if there's a 100% chance a character is doomed, then they can and will do extremely dangerous/damaging/contraindicated things for the slimmest hope of survival. which is one of my Favorite narrative devices

but while we're using health metaphors, i've been thinking about another somewhat complicated means of introducing character stakes, which i'm tentatively calling 'the autoimmune condition' for reasons that are. obvious

the premise itself is simple: the character has Something that they need to survive. they either can't live without this thing or they will lose something vital about themselves if they lose this thing. there is no replacement or alternative for the thing. what's most important are that the consequences for losing it are Extreme, rabies-condition-style

in the real life allegory, this is the immune system. which is great for being alive!

then the problem is introduced when this thing starts killing the character.

the character still needs it to live.

so: there is a 100% chance that you will die if you destroy the thing killing you. if you impair it through other means, there is a 100% chance of consequences, though the severity of those consequences is up to the author. (these are medication side effects in the real life allegory.)

if you do everything you're supposed to then you'll PROBABLY survive, but you're gonna have to play lifelong tug-of-war to balance everything, and you are often going to have to choose between two shitty options. bc there is no alternative.

this is a counterpart to the rabies condition in terms of stakes; with this condition, your character has to make complicated and difficult decisions about what they're sacrificing for their future. it's not the immediate life-and-death stakes of rabies, it's a slow decay instead.

what side effect consequences are they willing to take on?? and what are they NOT willing to take on?? where do their priorities lie in terms of symptom management?? what other solutions are they looking for?? what are they willing to sacrifice??

and perhaps most importantly: what exactly do they need to lose before they'll Accept the side effects / sacrifices that used to terrify them?? how high do the stakes need to be??

at what point is this character going to look back at the choices they've made up to this point, and realize that they no longer recognize themselves??

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (VI)👽👻💚

[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 whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here and this is part six💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Danny and Bart are bros now. The Speedsters chat about the horribly injured entity their kid has decided is like a...pet? Theydk?

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

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny wakes up to an unbridled wave of nostopdon’t.

…He rouses. His lungs flutter.

Danny flinches. 

There’s something— it’s large and it’s green in a way that humans are not and it’s taller and wider than Danny’s human and the space it makes in Danny’s senses—

The red human Danny is too attached to now buzzes to his bedside, spilling worrywor/rynerv/ous all over Danny’s section of this abandoned hospital. His muscles tighten up to compensate; and when the green not-human adult gets closer, Danny pushes himself forward on his elbows— closer to his vibrating human, closer to a defensive formation. 

The green thing moves and Danny can’t see the gesture. He bristles. 

And then

Danny’s skull spl

                                its

                                                down the middle. 

Everything hurts and everything is on fire. 

Danny screams. 

                        And he screams. 

                                                        And he screams. 

And—

Danny isn’t moving— everything else moves when Danny screams but he isn’t moving— the fast human has gotten even faster and they’re zooming through the building, through rooms and past adult humans that Danny has never seen, and all Danny can do is sink his claws into the human and hope that it stays. That Danny stays. In its arms, and not next to— that. 

The fast-buzzing human finds a dark room. 

It shoves Danny and itself inside. Good. 

They hide. 

Even better. 

Someone comes to the door, and Danny can feel the frigid heat of a blast forming in his fingers. But it’s only two of the humans Danny has already met. And another young human.

This one has light hair, he thinks. It shines in the light spreading out from the cracked doorway. 

They talk and they don’t crowd his space but to be honest Danny would rather they did. There’s something horrible out there, and he knows these humans aren’t that bad and whatever green thing out there certainly is. They should all be safe in this nice dark room. 

He makes a grabby hand. Come here. Get closer. 

…One of them does. Great! Danny gently bats at it with his knuckles until it joins them underneath the table. Danny puts the buzzing human in front of him and his new human behind him, so that he’s in the middle. There’s layers now. They can’t all get wiped out at once. 

Danny makes grabby hands at the other. It makes a huffy sort of vibration. Probably a laugh. Stupid. Doesn’t it notice that they’re in danger?? 

Danny whips a very sharp comehererightnowbetween them— not lashing, but not gentle. They are in danger. Come here. 

Thankfully, the last two obey—Danny’s pretty sure he’s being humored, but that doesn’t matter. Not as long as they’re all under the table. And safe.

The buzzing human’s anxious vibrations slowly move out into a slower, calmer boredom, and that’s fine, because boredom means that it doesn’t think they’re in danger. No one has found them yet and the humans are twitchy and nervous.

One of the darker-dressed humans says something. Danny can’t tell what it says, exactly, but he can turn his head to listen. The words flow around him like water. Someone else murmurs something else.

A human hand bats at Danny’s. Danny flinches. It—is it fighting?? Are they fighting??

They don’t start…hitting. But they keep batting at Danny’s hands, very carefully avoiding his claws, and—oh. They want to play. And they probably want to play quietly, so they’re being smart about not getting caught. Ugh. If Danny had his toys, they wouldn’t be so bored. This is almost worse than boredom.

…Fine. Danny’s claws don’t exactly retract like an animal’s, but they’re not so essential to his being that they’re formed and present all the time. The sharp shapes of his claws shift in the darkness, until they’re only blunt nails: suitable for playing.

All the humans make very excited noises under their breath. It’s all very interesting or something. It can’t be that special. Danny sees other ghosts reshape little bits of themselves all the time.

The quiet human in red gently lifts up Danny’s hands with its own. It gently tosses Danny’s hands in the air, so that they clap together very quietly once they fall down onto its own. Danny lets it happen. They’re this close to him anyway. They’re probably not a threat.

(The real threat is outside, anyway.)

Then his hands get flipped over. The human gently bats its hands against Danny’s, extremely careful not to anger him enough to claw. They do this a couple times before Danny figures the game out.

Oh. It’s a hand game—Danny even knows this one. It’s Ms. Mary Mack. The quiet one whispers the right tune under its breath.

Once Danny knows it, it’s easy to gently follow the motions. He surprises them when he knows the motions as well as they do; his wrists hurt when he goes too fast, or when the human kids do—when they push too hard, Danny makes himself intangible, to their delight—but he can be gentle, and eventually everyone else is gentle, and they carefully plot out Mrs. Mary Mack and a veeeery slow version of Concentration.

It’s all very fun, right up until the Large Green Not-Human pushes itself through the floor.

Danny pulls his hands back, unsheathes his claws, and shrieks.

Everyone yells and everyone gets closer—it’s a defensive formation and that’s good but it’s not enough if he needs space to help defend them—and everything is loud and upsetting and Danny’s already hurt but he can fight and he will—

—Apology, Apology— something whispers, infinitely quieter than the attack Danny had suffered.

He bolts upright. What? Oh, oh no. It wants to talk to him. Danny does not want to talk back. NonononoGoAWAY.

The giant green thing backs off. Danny gets a distinct sensation of —Questions, Answers— sent to him. The feeling is accompanied by a procession of Danny’s own memories: the stars from the base, the container he’d woken up in, his bed nest and all the waste in it.

Danny winces further back under the table. Just because he likes his cot and feels safe in it doesn't mean it isn't gross. It is gross. But everything is going to be gross until all of his insides are actually inside of him again, and not squished up in his more liquid form.

The quickfasthuman darts in front of Danny, as if it is going to be any defense against whatever this creature is, and starts yelling in its little human voice. Danny keens.

—Care, Concern— flows towards him. With it comes Danny’s memories of the buzzing human bandaging him, a flesh-tone bandage stretching across the hole where more of his nose ought to be.

…Danny stills. It’s. That’s.

It’s a very gentle emotion. Maybe the thing is…lying…? But if it was, Danny would be able to feel it. Right?

There are more thoughts and feelings that come by, first very quietly and softly, and then a little too fast to track as the being get ahead of itself. When Danny pulls away, it slows down, and the flow becomes manageable again.

The Earth. Green and peaceful.

Space. —Home. Home—

This base that Danny is on. On it are faces that the green being can see, that Danny can’t— but in its memory it shares, all of them are welcoming and friendly with…their coworker. This being.

(Is this an alien?!)

(The being pauses in its recollection. It feels distinctly —Amused, Amused—. And then Danny gets space memories!! Of Mars!!!)

He carefully eases his claws out of the carpet. Okay. This is pretty cool. Danny’s getting the hang of this.

He (thinks? Successfully?) bounces back a memory of his first room, his first shuttle model of the Atlantis, the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling.

The alien (Alien!!!) treats him to a memory of his own offsprings’ resting places in his home. On Mars.

Danny doesn’t even argue when his buzzing human tries to pick him up. They can break formation. It’s fine. Danny purrs and purrs with his core. For the first time in months and months, someone can speak to him properly. Someone wants to speak to him.

What Danny thinks matters.

The stranger invites Danny into a mutual conversation, and Danny accepts.

Danny sinks himself into a memory of the earth, as seen from the upper atmosphere. The stars were all-encompassing there. He misses flying. 

The Martian sends him a memory of a crashed…

…Oh. Danny squeezes further under the table. That’s the Specter Speeder. From the stranger's eyes, his crash into the dirt looks so bad. That’s…that crash hurt him. He’s still hurt. Still so bad. 

Even the alien’s —Concern, Fear, Worry— isn’t a comfort. 

The Martian replays the memory of the bandaids again. And then a new memory: the laboratory where Danny woke up. 

The room was full of nervous humans in scrubs and lab coats, all of whom were nervous, nervous, fussing over problems like safe food and adequate oxygen and sanitary environment and please, please be okay. Danny’s empathy is limited to other empathetic beings, but the humans' thoughts and worried faces are bare and transparently clear to the alien. 

…Oh. 

Danny thinks of the young humans crowded around him, trying to keep him comfortable and safe, even when the alien knows that the humans know that he isn’t a threat. But that they worry for Danny anyway, because he’s scared and unhappy and in pain. 

Oh, Danny thinks. …Oh. 

[calipsno]