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faeriekit · 2 months

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Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚

[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.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.

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

Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!

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 learns a few more words with practice.

Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.

…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.

They don’t even sound all that mean.

It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.

Firstly: horrible.

Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.

So. Uh. That’s…gross.

He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.

God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.

…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.

Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.

…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.

“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”

Anyway.

Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.

None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.

He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.

And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.

For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…

Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.

…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?

(It did, didn’t it?)

(…Didn’t it??)

His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.

It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.

Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.

He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.

...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.

He is sick. He has been sick.

The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.

He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.

And then he feels something weird.

Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.

There is something solid sticking out of him.

Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.

And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.

His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.

People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.

Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.

He doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.

They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.

It’s the lady. He knows her.

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.

She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?

She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.

“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”

She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.

Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.

But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.

“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.

There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,

Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.

When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.

Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.

They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.

It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.

The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.

Danny frowns.

The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.

The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.

Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.

The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.

And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.

Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.

Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.

The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.

Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.

She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.

“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.

The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.

It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.

#*hip checks through the door* hey losers! Guess who uses Arabic numbers!! Two earths!!#also if ANYONE is shitty about stoma bags or ostomy bags on this fic or in this chat I'm going to fight you. Lots of people have them.#they're usually a temporary procedure and even if they're not they're pretty normal and a lot of people have them. I knew at least one #like haha this is a body horror fic but ostomy bags are a REAL THING that people HAVE as part of their medical journey DO NOT be rude!!#So what we know of his injuries now: messed up legs. Messed up guts. Messed up chest. Is there more...? Who can say. 👀#health and hybrids #dp x dc #dcu crossover #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #incarceration to elopement to healthcare pipeline #His healing is speeding up and his language is getting better! When can we get a Diana POV?? <- me to me

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creatureschaos · 23 days

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Falling Through Reality

Early March I was struggling with "what makes my art unique" and tried to do some more...artistic feeling pieces. In this one, I tried to capture what it sometimes feels like to dissociate.

Posted using PostyBirb

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prince-liest · 7 months

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Still in the bag!

Meet Fairy!! Um... again. quq

I go to my LFS on Fridays so that I can see their shipments before the weekend crowd gets in, and the downside of this is that all the fish are on the pale side from stress because of their recent travel and unpacking. However, when I found her in the tank, she had a very clear horizontal brown stripe, which makes me certain that this honey gourami is female! She lost it in the bag here (again, due to the stress of traveling in my car), but she colored up in the tank within minutes.

feat. Jin Ling lurking in the back like a serial killer

All of the neon tetras were very interested in greeting her. Please just imagine that seagull scene from Finding Nemo where they're all going, "Mine?!" except it's my obese tetras chanting, "Food?!"

No. Fish are friends, not food. How are you this fat, I barely feed you any more!! I'm convinced they've figured out how to bite off the bottom feeder pellets I give the loaches once they soften up a bit.

I'M NOT TOUCHING YOU

Here she is trying to give Jin Ling a handshake with her feeler fins. He's not very receptive to friendship right now because he's got his breeding stripes on and is building a comically oversized bubble nest in that corner of the tank, but I'm hoping they get along once he calms down and feels less territorial. She definitely isn't as skittish as he is, and he stops chasing her once she leaves his bubble nest corner alone.

If I looked like that I'd admire my own reflection, too.

Overall, she is a very pretty and sweet fish! Even if it is difficult to take non-blurry photos of her due to how quick she is. I have high hopes that she will adapt well to the tank. Everyone in it is healthy, so if she survives the overall stress of transport and makes it the next few days, things should hopefully turn out great!

#aquariums #fishblr #fish #planted tank #honey gourami #personal #take 2!#if you haven't seen my previous fish post: unfortunately the original Fairy turned out to be a thicklip gourami hybrid not a honey gourami #and she passed away after a few days despite the promising start and the good health of the rest of the tank #I have higher hopes for this Fairy because the thicklip hybrids have similar genetic issues to dwarf gouramis #and honeys are generally more hardy #fingers crossed!!!#long post #text post

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theworldbrewery · 10 days

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Okay,so a tabaxi/elf

Would there be any long-term health concerns or things to consider?

on the level of Official Rules? no. there's nothing official about crossing D&D races having negative downsides other than the usual lifespan differences.

on the level of Roleplay and/or Worldbuilding? do whatever you want -- I'd personally have my player choose 1 or the other for their actual mechanical race and flavor the appearance to give that 'mixed' quality. frankly, the biggest health issue about crossing large genetic gaps is usually that the offspring is often infertile.

If a player wanted to have long-term health issues for their tabaxi-elf PC specifically because of their hybrid nature, I'd draw inspiration from existing species like ligers and mules. But personally, I don't care to depict humanoids as being that 'far apart' genetically -- I treat most humanoids as being as compatible as various human ethnic groups are in real life which is to say -- completely genetically compatible because it's all phenotype differences, not species or subspecies differences.

and so I wouldn't go out of my way to introduce health problems for a player that wasn't deliberately interested in exploring that angle. And if they just wanted to explore, say, a chronically ill or disabled PC, there are plenty of ways that don't involve a mixed-species or "mixed-race" ancestry.

and the mechanics I would build for a PC that wanted mechanical consequences for any malady, illness, or disability hinge so completely on the exact nature of the condition that I don't think I could go into details here on what that might look like.

If this is your table, I'd caution you against treating sapient D&D races as an exercise in genetic compatibility. there are interesting elements at play in this idea, but I just don't think most tables want to spend large amounts of time on their characters' genetic profile so unless you and/or your player have a unique passion for interspecies genetics it's super unlikely to come up in-game without feeling forced and weird.

and if you/your player does have a unique passion for interspecies genetics, far be it from me to instruct someone with more of an interest in how that should play out.

#tldr i simply wouldn't do this but if you absolutely must #just go get creative. look at real life examples. figure out what you/your player wants out of creating this situation.#i wouldn't penalize anyone for this concept but also wouldn't homebrew a new D&D race to accommodate the idea #and if this is for an NPC - i once again wouldn't apply the hybrid genetics as the reason they have chronic health issues.

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plague-hybrid · 2 months

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The very messy (and failed) search for a new therapist brought back some memories. Mostly about constantly being asked why I was even coming to therapy, despite very clearly needing it, just because I'm good at introspection.

I wonder if anyone has had similar experiences? I'll probably make a post about it because I have a lot to say.

#plague hybrid #dissociative identity disorder #traumagenic system #did osdd #actually dissociative #did system #actually did #mental health #therapy #trauma #complex ptsd #mental illness #recovery

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anqelbean · 2 months

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Me: haha, polls are just a fun thing, no need to get upset over them!!

Also me, while writing propaganda: If blorbo doesn't win I WILL cry

#HAVE I LEARNED NOTHING FROM THE HYBRID POLL #no more polls for me. they are not good for my health (said with no intention to actually stop)#anqels ramblings #eva.txt

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katya-goncharov · 2 months

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i really don't know how i'm ever going to survive a full-time job when just spending four days a week doing work & uni stuff already burns me out SO much

#and that's when i'm doing maybe five hours a day of either work or uni seminars #for me it's sort of like. if i'm doing three days a week of Not Free Time that's okay and i can just about manage it and even enjoy it #but the moment it's more than half the days in the week it's too much and my mental health starts going down the pan #though i do find online stuff easier to cope with so maybe if i can do a hybrid job i'll be okay. i couldn't fully work from home either #though because that would make me SO depressed and i'd never be able to concentrate #full time work just seems like so much!! and i don't think personally i could cope with it. which is scary because i sort of have to

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nonuggetshere · 10 months

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So they didn't become void, they were "born" that way

In FaaF there are different species and kinds of higher beings (still a MASSIVE work in progress tbh, trying to figure out how these cunts work, but for now I'm thinking they're extremely rare species with far greater abilities and lifespans than a normal bug's that have a chance to ascend to true godhood (but even if they don't ascend that doesn't stop mortals from worshipping them as they're already very god-like from a normal bug's perspective)), "pale beings" being one of these kinds/mutations.

Well, there was also a different kind once, "void beings", but they all went extinct a very long time ago by the beginning of the story. Shade Lord was one, and last, of them and it lost its life in a fight with Radiance - the same fight that drove her to make her permanent residence in the dream realm out of her new-found fear of death (which backfired spectacularly ngl). Its body was buried in the Abyss, where it broke apart and decayed, or decayed as much as a non-living thing can, before it was unearthed many ages later by the pale wyrm.

Not much is known about them since they've been gone for so long, and the vessels are the only void beings remaining, but since they're not "pure" void beings it'd be foolish of anyone to assume that the ancient extinct species behaved the same way as these ones do. But they were generally greatly feared thanks to the void's freaky, dangerous properties, which partly lead to their extinction as some of the other higher beings purposefully attacked and killed them whenever they stumbled across one out of fear. Now the only thing remaining of them are the rare void sources, where their former bodies still refuse to fully die.

Shade Lord does get accidentally resurrected in the story bc of all the tomfoolery happening with its body before almost immediately getting killed again by Ghost who inherits its title and reign. Don't ask me how that works, haven't figured that out yet. Magic god shit or something idk LMAO

#thylacines can talk #faaf au #I read somewhere once that if we close mammoths they wouldn't be true mammoths but more like a mammoth elephant hybrid? Idk how accurate #that is but that's essentially what the vessels are. A hybrid species that behaves and looks a lot like the extinct one yet the differences #are significial enough that they're technically not the same thing. And since nobody knows how void beings were like its anyone's guess #which of their traits originated from Shade Lord. You know they could have probably asked it if it didn't want to violently take over #and kill all other gods in rage filled revenge. And then tried to kill its so called children when they didn't want to participate in that.#PK 🤝 SL 🤝 WL parent of the year award #The vessels can't have even ONE good parent sorry #Well SL is less of a parent and more of a...DNA donor? Its kidneys got stolen and turned into babies #Currently in FaaF Norel and PK we're the only ones who studied void so a lot of its properties and origins are a huge mystery. And PK #slowly stopped after the vessel plan began. After Flower/Pure Vessel was taken into the palace the extent of his studies revolved around #them and their health. He only created new moulds when the old ones got destroyed. Guilt played a big part in his reasons for that.#Norel would know a bit more simply because PK's source sample was limited while Norel travelled across wasteland looking for void and #experimented with different sources. And he was considerably more...unethical about them. So he probably knows what void does to a mortal's #body while PK doesn't know much about that bc he was careful to not give any of his citizens and staff void poisoning after he realised it #was dangerous. Also thinking about Norel once having a mole in the White Palace which is how he found out about Floeer and the origins of #vessels. And maybe said mole broke into PK's workshop and wrote down some things before leaving Hallownest 👀 Bc it does feel a little #weird for Norel to know more than PK just like that. And he's a little snake who WOULD steal other people's work.#Like I mentioned previously Norel makes his own constructs which is something I wanted dabble in. Maybe he stole that idea from PK? His #ones are far worse and fewer than PK's but they serve their purpose and he's just starting dabbling in that. By the time he shows his ugly #mug again to terrorise Flower's kids and grandkid he'd probably be MUCH better at that 👀#I love my fucked up little moth #My one true talent is getting wildly off topic whenever sh asks me about my as #Aus*

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herawell · 10 months

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#genuinely think I need to go into work every day #even though it’s hybrid #if I WFH I end up fiddling around on my phone and sleeping from 5pm to 9 #and not showering or brushing my teeth #at least @ work there’s other ppl around #and idk why but my mental health takes a nosedive #negativity cw #funny how when I had a 1.5 hr commute I went every day #and now that I’m 20 min away I can’t drag myself out of bed

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manifestomode · 2 months

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youtube

#tech news #food wars #news #bioweapon #depopulation government take over #health #natural #depeche mode #electro house #delta machine #nutrition #nanotechnology #biological weapons #hybrid #artificial intelligence #the matrix #bibletruth #the book of enoch #Youtube

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faeriekit · 3 months

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Health and Hybrids (XVIII)👽👻💚

[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.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here..welcome to eighteen..

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

Where we last left off... Uh... *checks notes* UH... *flips frantically*...listen my laptop exploded and I lost the original version of this chapter gimme a break. I think it was the oatmeal ch. last off.

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

💚👻👽👻💚

So. Danny is halfway through his squeeze this, please exercises where he has a grippy thing the doctors give him where he tries to squeeze this until they make calm noises again when something bursts through the door.

He’s so distracted that he drops his squeezing machine.

Everyone immediately gets terse and guarded— the lady who looks out for him the most actually pulls up in front of him? Like, protecting him? With her body?? It’s so far out of left field Danny has to wonder if they’re, like, keeping him for something important down the line instead of just treating him.

The doctors take shelter behind medical equipment where they can, but whatever the assailant is, it’s too fast for them to put up their defenses. For a second, Danny is instinctually scared— the doctor in the periwinkle scrubs sees him almost every day, changing out his bag and fussing with his lower half under his blankets. The doctor in green makes him do the hand stretches he doesn’t want to do and sit up so that he can do it more often again.

He’s used to them. He doesn't want that to change, or— Or for them to get hurt.

The blur darts through the doors and past the doctors and is definitely aimed at Danny, so when the lady catches it (with one hand??) and hauls it up out of reach of Danny’s cot, Danny’s relieved wheeze is genuine and emphatic. Ohgodthatwasscary.

On the other end of her arm is a teenager. A teenager in a…red…outfit, probably, unless he really likes gray and Danny’s eyes are actually working normally for once. Gray hair. Some kind of face, presumably.

The teen’s legs keep spinning until he realizes how caught he is. Then he goes completely limp in defeat.

“Cild Lihting se þridda,” the lady scolds, not unlike how Danny’s heard Vlad scold his cat for throwing paperwork off his desk. “Hwæt eart eow dydest?”

“...Naþing ,” the teenager lies, badly, and it sounds so much like Nothing, mom, wasn’t me, that Danny can’t help but choke out a laugh.

It makes his chest muscles spasm and his throat sore, sure, but that’s not the point. The lady keeps scolding the teen she’s holding up midair, but the teen lights up at Danny’s choked out wheeze like the sun. Almost literally, actually— the green starts accumulating in Danny’s field of view as his body tries to compensate for whatever’s going on in the atmosphere around him.

The doctors slowly let down their improvised shields, fetching Danny’s lost grippy tool (ugh) and putting it back in his hand (UGH). Danny gives one, pathetic squeeze of the tool, and then decides to visibly languish, because this sucks, obviously. The fact that no one can sympathize with his struggle isn’t new. Just watch him go limp about it.

The next time the lady and the teen stop making scolding and scolded noises, Danny looks over; the teenager has been, apparently, wrangled into a hair net and face mask. Okay. So it’s not that Danny is off limits then— or maybe he is, but either way, it’s more about getting people into the right gear than about keeping them away from him. Once the teen’s been sprayed down with something that smells absolutely gross, forcibly gloved, and dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, the teen is back on his feet and hollering as he leaves the lady behind. “Þancie eow!!”

“Slaw, lytel Lihting!”

Slow, Danny understands, parsing out the weird words as they reach him. Lytel might as well mean little. This sucks. He can never tell if he’s right when he guesses, and he just gets lucky when people understand him back, or whether people are pretending to understand him more than they actually do. Lighting is a weird nickname for a kid though.

—And then the teen is a foot away from his face and babbling at top speed, entirely at ease with their proximity and hands moving a mile a minute, and Danny has not been losing enough time for that to be anything other than either magic or a superpower.

Oh, his brain corrects. The word clicks into place. Lightning.

It’s probably some kind of magic, Danny’s guessing, because as he’s absolutely flabbergasted that someone is leaning into his face and trying to engage him that talk that isn’t happening, his ghost sense flares with a backwash of OMGHIHELLO!!MIS/SEDYOUMISSED//YOUPLAYING?? that. Uh. Is very…a lot? Very intense??

Very…welcoming?

The lady who minds him but isn’t a doctor sighs, picks the teenager up by the waist (??) and sets him a whole foot back. The teen doesn’t even stop chattering, his aura flaring alongside a story Danny is definitely missing, but not unappreciative of.

He throws something onto Danny’s bed. Danny drops the grippy tool in order to grab it, to the doctor’s verbal dismay.

But.

Like Danny’s model shuttle, which never leaves his side, the thing on his bed is Danny’s. This is Danny’s weird, flimsy, squishy toy.

The teen practically vibrates with pride.

…Okay, then. He’s kind of confused, but like. You know. He’s not against this.

Danny picks the squishy, blue thing in his trembling fingers and shakes it around without any sense of fine motor control, and the thing leaps out of his fingers and lands on the floor pretty much instantaneously.

It makes a weird suction noise. Danny peeks over the bed to find it sitting upright, stuck to the floor.

The teen responds by throwing even more colorful, oddly-shaped toys on the bed.

Danny knows enough about doctors to know that there were probably structured plans on how Danny was supposed to spend his time on specific exercises to target specific muscles and stretch specific parts of his hands, but the teen sits at his bedside and plays with toys Danny doesn’t remember with him, and no one stops them at all.

It’s nice.

For about an hour, until Danny truly tires, it's almost…normal.

#Medical team: CAN YOU WRANGLE THE TEENAGER??#Diana: yes of course—#Bart: Whee! :D *items crash*#Medical (sheltering in place): CAN YOU WRANGLE HIM HARDER???#health and hybrids #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dcu crossover #incarceration to elopement to healthcare pipeline

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