#{ This is a real hybrid of this and that. }

[bixels]

I watched the original Muppets movies recently.

[lipglossanon]

Deed I Do

Real Dad Dogman!Leon S. Kennedy x Daughter Puppy!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, incest, age gap (Leon is late 40’s and reader is late 20’s), hybrids, jealous Leon, short and sweet, dirty talk, grinding, unprotected sex, breeding kink, knotting, creampie

ETA: this was a commission but I’m a dumbass 😭

Kofi commish by @bumpkin-batch

Word count: 1999

title from Deed I Do by Ruth Etting

Leon stretches, bones and joints popping loudly. 

“Looking forward to that retirement, I’ll bet,” Jill jokes as she passes by him to sit at the desk behind Chris’. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes and stands up from his desk chair. 

He usually works away from Chris’ desk, out on patrol alongside his owner, but after turning 40, they kept him pushing paper and training new pups. This new batch coming in has him excited, although he’d never admit it. It’s the very first litter he sired back when he was in the breeding program decades ago.

“Aww, aren’t they cute!” Rebecca coos as Chris brings in the new lineup of would-be police dogs.

Leon would roll his eyes, but he’s too busy cataloging each of the new pups. There are seven in all—five boys and two girls. Aside from the girl on the end, they’re all stoic and calm. She, on the other hand, keeps letting her emotions get the best of her—tail wagging happily before remembering to stay still. 

Leon has a really good feeling she won’t be cut out for police work. It sends a little pang of worry through his chest, but he squashes it down in favor of watching them. As they’re put through their paces, Leon keeps an eye out on the girl. Just to make sure she does what she’s told. 

Weeks fly by in this new routine. A few of the recruits are turning out not to be fit for police work. The girl is definitely too friendly and useless at trying to apprehend someone breaking the law. Another pup, a boy, is too hyper. He’s already broken through three harnesses and accidentally bit an officer. 

But still, five out of seven new police dogs isn’t anything to sneeze at; Leon’s proud the majority have what it takes, like himself. The boy’s already been adopted by Barry. His two daughters have been begging for a hybrid to play with after school, and with his energy, he’ll be a perfect fit. The girl, on the other hand, is much too sweet and soft. Leon’s been keeping an ear out for what they’re going to do with her. 

He’s taken a liking to the pup; she’s earnest and kind, something he doesn’t get to see every day. She’s started to hang around Chris’ desk with him when the recruits have free time. It could explain why Chris suddenly springs it on him that he’s taking her home at the end of the week. 

“She’s just not going to fit in here,” the dark haired man gestures to the empty office, “and I don’t want her going to a shelter to sit for god knows how long. You two get along, and this way you won’t be home alone when you retire next month.”

Leon scoffs, but secretly he’s extremely pleased about the new situation. His own little girl is getting to stay with him. He can teach her all the things she wouldn’t learn here, especially with him being gone. And she’s so sweet. He’s happy he can spend this time with her and not have to worry about the job. 

Friday rolls around, and you’re a ball of joy. Leon even finds himself smiling at your excited chattering while he leads you out to Chris’ vehicle. You grow quiet on the drive to your new home, but your tail wagging assures Leon that you’re happy. Chris helps you get settled into your new room, right next to Leon, and gives you a quick tour of the house as the dogman follows behind.

There are a few bumps in dealing with a new pup in his space, but Leon wouldn’t change it for anything. He’s looking forward to retirement just that much more. In the meantime, he shows you the ropes. Cuddling, playing, annoying Chris—you guys do it all together. You groom each other too, something Leon finds himself seeking out more and more. Lately, you’ve been smelling downright edible. 

He’s had to excuse himself from your cuddling before he gets too hard to hide it. You’ve also been extra clingy lately, practically gluing yourself to him at every chance you get. Leon calls it quits midweek, and as soon as Chris opens the front door, you’re pressed all along Leon’s side with a wide smile. 

“Congratulations!” You kiss his cheek, and he gets a whiff of something sweet and tart, making his mouth water. 

You usher him into the kitchen and throw out your hands, “Ta-da! I made your favorite!”

Grinning, he ruffles your ears, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, ducking your head out of shyness, “Thanks, dad. I hope you like it.”

Picking up the fork, Leon takes a bite of the lemon cake. Sweet.. tangy.. soft.. moist. The errant thought that this is what your cunt might be like makes his eyes flutter closed with a groan. 

“It’s good?” Your eyes peer at him, ears perking up. 

“Delicious,” he pats your head, and your tail whips back and forth.

“Chris, you have to try some!” You call out, heading back into the living room. 

Leon takes a few more bites, mouth salivating at the taste. He needs to get his shit together. You bring Chris into the kitchen with you, and Leon watches him shower you with praise over the dessert. You become more and more flustered, and an ugly feeling of jealousy rears its head in his chest. 

“You okay?” 

With a start, Leon blinks, realizing a low growl has been building up in his chest. 

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking about something,” he clears his throat. “Well, I’m beat, so I’m going to take a shower and head to bed.”

“Oh, okay,” your ears droop, and it makes his heart hurt. 

“Did you need me?”

You pick at your nails, “Could we watch a movie together? I’m feeling kinda under the weather.”

Warm satisfaction suffuses him over your asking him and not Chris, “Sure, just meet me in my room once I finish showering.”

“Okay!” You smile brightly and hurry off to your room.

“I’m glad you guys are getting along,” Chris chuckles before stuffing another bite of cake into his mouth. 

“Don’t eat all of it,” Leon points to the dessert, “that’s technically for me.”

“It’s one slice,” Chris rolls his eyes. 

Leon’s nose twitches, and he waves his owner off, heading to the bathroom. After showering, Leon wraps his lower waist with a towel before realizing he didn’t bring a change of clothes. It’s a habit he’ll have to learn to break since you’ve moved in. Sighing to himself, he makes his way to his room, hoping you haven’t come in just yet. 

His hopes are dashed when he sees your wide-eyed look as you lay in bed. His sheets are gonna smell like you, and it makes his cock twitch. Pulling in a deep breath to calm himself, he nearly chokes as your sweet scent floods his nose. He knows he’s looking at you a little too heatedly.

“Sorry, I’ll get dressed.” He finally breaks eye contact and heads to his dresser. 

He throws on an old tee and slips on a pair of sweats under the towel before tossing it in the hamper. You scooch over to make room for him, and as soon as he’s lying back, you’re practically clambering on top of him. You throw one thigh over his legs, the heat of your cunt a hot brand against his leg. Burying your face against his chest, you nuzzle and scent your way up to his neck. 

“Dad,” you whine, “I feel sick.”

“Sick how?” He murmurs, trying to clear the fog in his brain as you subtly grind against him. “Have you been taking your meds?”

You shake your head no, pressing your nose against the pulse in his neck. 

“I ran out. Chris is s’posed to pick them up tomorrow,” you mumble, lips brushing against his skin and raising the hair on his neck. 

“Oh, baby,” he croons, cock chubbing in his sweats. “It’s heat sickness, my sweet pup.”

No wonder you’ve smelled so good lately. He grips your hips and helps you straddle his lap. 

“Take these off,” he snaps the band of your shorts, “gonna make my sweet girl feel better.”

Whimpering, you quickly slip off all your clothes until you’re sitting completely naked on his thighs. He pushes his sweats down just enough to free his hardening cock. 

Your tail thumps against his legs. “Smell so good, dad.”

“So do you, baby,” he helps you sit your chubby pussy on his cock, pressing the thick length against his abs. “Just rub against me.”

Nodding your head, you brace your hands on his forearms as they grip your hips. Whining, your pussy lips part around his cock, and you slowly rut against him, dragging your slick all along his fat dick. 

“That’s it, doing so good giving daddy a pussy job,” he groans, jerking you back and forth as you frot against him. 

Whining, you hump down against his cock, precum and slick smearing across your cunt until there’s a sticky mess between you both. Leon grunts, feeling his knot starting to form at the base of his dick. 

“Fuck, gonna make daddy pop his knot, baby,” he drops his head back as you moan loudly. 

“Want it, please dad, my pussy feels so empty,” you pull away, shiny strings of slick clinging to his cock. 

“Shh, shh,” he runs his palms up your thighs before bringing one hand back down to grip his cock. “I’ll give it to you, but you gotta be quiet for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, biting your lip when Leon slaps his cock against your pudgy clit. 

He uses his thumb to press the head down to guide it into your drooling hole. You both pant and sigh as you slowly sink your cunt down until you're flush with your dad’s hips. Leon’s eyes nearly cross from how tight you are, walls soft and wet as they squeeze his cock.

“So good, fuck, gonna knot you, sweetheart, knot this sweet little pussy,” he growls out, pulling out to shove you down onto the mattress. 

He manhandles you onto your stomach and yanks your hips up before fucking his cock back into you, bottoming out in your squelching heat. He sees you bite down on the pillow to muffle the cry that slips from your mouth. Your pussy flutters and grips his cock tightly, sucking him in until the tip kisses your cervix. Growling low, he roughly pumps his hips, slipping his cock in and out of your perfect pussy. 

“You’re perfect, fucking meant for me,” he leans forward to bite and kiss your neck, “fat pussy a perfect fit for my cock.”

“Dad, dad, feels so good,” you whimper brokenly, “want your knot, want your pups, daddy.”  

“Fuck,” he snarls against your ear, cock pistoning deeper into your greedy hole. “Cum for me, pup, and I’ll knot your wet pussy.”

He reaches underneath you to circle and pinch your swollen clit. You thrash and buck against him, mewling and gasping as he works you closer to your orgasm. His knot catches at your hole, and as soon as your back arches, your pussy cumming around his cock, he shoves his knot past your clenching hole and locks you together. 

“Dad!” You cry out, voice muffled from where you’re pressed into the sheets.

“Ohhh,” he lazily humps your ass, rutting his cock and knot deeper into your cunt, “so good, baby. You did so well for daddy.”

You hum happily, and he nuzzles against your neck, laying you both on your sides so you can rest comfortably.

“I’ll fill you up again later to keep you from getting sick,” he murmurs in your ear and groans when your pussy milks and pulses around his cock. 

“Thanks, dad.”

He smiles and presses a kiss on your hair. He really does have a sweet pup.

[verrixstudios]

GUYS I DID ANOTHER COMMISSION!! SECOND ONE FOR TUMBLR!!

LOOK AT THIS ADORABLE DRAGON?! He belongs to @wingsoflegends and AAA LOOK they gave me a PAID excuse to draw an adorable Mudwing hybrid AND A BUNCH OF BUGS?! AND HIS NAME IS BUG????

[girlboyburger]

a show-style milly moo! 💕

was really fun to reference old pony bases again ^_^

[whinypuppi]

ᶜʷ: ᵖᵘᵖᵖʸᵍⁱʳˡ!ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ , “ᵃⁿⁱᵐᵃˡ” ⁿᵉᵍˡᵉᶜᵗ , ᵖᵉᵗ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ , ᵖʳᵃⁱˢᵉ , ᶜˡᵃʷⁱⁿᵍ & ᵇⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ , ᶜᵒˡˡᵃʳⁱⁿᵍ , ᶜʳᵉᵃᵐᵖⁱᵉ , ᵇʳᵉᵉᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵏⁱⁿᵏ

not proofread!

the night satoru gojo decided to adopt a hybrid, you were the lucky girl. he could hardly contain himself when he saw your sweet little face, wide eyes, puffy tail, and laid-back ears. he knew how nervous you were—poor baby. probably so sick and tired of being caged up all day. despite what their website said online, they completely neglected all of the hyrids here. the entire “hybrids are people too” went straight out the window.

despite your malnourished condition, he knew you were the one. $2500? no problem. he sure had it on him and paid in full instantly. during the entire process, you were so shy and scared—shaking like a leaf. either the staff were mistreating you, or you had a bad experience with a past owner. either way, he sympathized with you. he wanted you to know you were safe.

when you came home with him, he already had stuff set up for you. he planned on getting a dog or a cat, and considering you were a dog, he had things set up for you. hybrid food, water, blankets, a soft but sizey bed, and training pads (just in case).

“well, here we are, puppy! your forever home!” he grinned ear to ear, letting you sniff around cautiously so you could get used to your surroundings. his friendly voice did make you somewhat ease up, but you couldn't be sure.

“it's better than that shelter, for sure. are you hungry?” that made your ears perk up—slowly turning to look from him. it was almost amusing how you tiptoed on all fours while taking in the sight of your new home.

“oh? is that it, puppy?” he spoke enthusiastically, but also in that tone you'd speak to a baby. “they didn't even tell me your name, pretty. what is it?” you slowly whispered it, sitting in front of him timidly. he repeatedly it, humming and letting it roll off of his tongue. it had a nice ring to it.

.·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·.

you'd been with gojo for a couple of weeks by now, having completely gotten attached to him and unable to be separated from him. you'd whine and sniffle if he left you alone. you couldn't even sleep separately anymore.

everyday, your became needier and would crave his attention constantly. he'd even take you out for walks with your pretty little pink color on to burn off some of your energy. it was weird how your body language was beginning to change, but he didn't question it.

that was until the day you went into...heat. actual heat. he facepalmed at not having thought about it beforehand or even doing research before he adopted you.

when you woke up, you panted, your face was hot, and you clenched your thighs. gojo was still sleeping silently next to you—his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath he took.

you clung to him, huffing in a frustrated tone before grinding your lower half against him. it felt good. the mini stimulation nearly made you bite your lip. you hadn't even felt something like this before—having been in the shelter all of your life, and were always forced to take heat suppressents in the form of bitter pills.

you kept up the movements, only thrusting your hips forward gently at an attempt to not wake him. you cried out into his clothed shoulder—burying your face into the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent. he smelt manly from the intense yet inviting cologne he always wore. it smelt extra good this morning for some reason.

your tongue ran over his pulse while lapping at his skin and leaving little bite marks. not enough to hurt or wake him, but noticeable and would probably get him questionable looks if they lingered long enough.

“satoru,” you whined breathily, acting like a bitch in heat (which you were) as you picked up the speed of your thrusts and claws dug into the flesh of his forearm. your panties he bought for you were already drenched and clinging to your pretty pussy, some of your slick dripping down your thigh.

your legs shook, your heart raced, your tongue lulled out, then everything stopped—

satoru groaned softly, eyes fluttering open as he ran a hand through his hair. you eeped, pulling back. the knot that was bound to snap in your stomach dulled, leaving an unfamiliar ache. it made you feel sexually frustrated, but at the same time—so so guilty.

you loved satoru a lot. he was your owner and took special care of his sweet girl, but this? whatever you were doing was wrong in your eyes, and it surely would be in his too. bad dog. he'll take you back to the shelter for being a disgusting mutt.

“mm, baby?” he spoke in his usual tired voice, yet it felt so different this time around. you swore you got chills and your ears fell back. that low and sultry tone shot straight to your core.

“m-morning,” you mumbled, eyes drifting away from his curious ones as you tried not to look guilty. the way you chewed on your bottom lip and your timid ears gave it away, though.

“it sounded like you were hurt. are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked with worry, unlike his usual sweet-as-honey tone.

you nodded vigorously, but it was an obvious lie. he held his arms out, gesturing for you to come closer. “you don't have to lie to me. makes it feel like you don't trust me. hurts my feelings.” he pursed his lip, pulling you close and petting you. he scratched behind your ears and gently pulled your little tail, just trying to get a rise out of you.

when you let out a whine, he stopped, and his eyes widened slightly. he's pulled your tail gently in the past to tease you, but this was the only time you made a noise like that.

he instantly took note of the rising blush on your cheeks and building embarrassment, petting you once more. “um, sweetheart.”

you looked up at him with your pretty eyes he admired even more than his own, yet they were glazed over with...something he hadn't put his finger on until now.

“are you in heat?” he knew it might've been an embarrassing question to ask, but the way you were behaving, and that little noise you made lit a flame in him that shouldn't have. it was the only logical explanation, anyway.

a pause, your body tensing, the way your breath hitched. he got his answer by that alone, but hearing you admit it would've riled him up beyond comprehension. “s-satoru, 'm sorry! please—don't take me back to the shelter!..” you were already pleading—thinking your badly-hidden secret was given away. tears brgan to weld in your eyes, yet he held your cheek lovingly.

he frowned. did you really think he'd hate you that easily? you were his sweet puppy. he would never! “sweetheart, look at me.” he tilted your chin up, wiping the tears from your pretty eyelashes.

“'m not mad. i wanna help you, pretty girl. would you like that?” the idea made your thighs clench, and you nodded shyly.

he wasted no time lifting your shift over your head and instantly being met by the sight of your perky breasts. what he always forgot to do was buy you bras, but he never had an issue with staring. he respected you, at least, but now he could stare all he wanted. your body was perfect and your nipples hardened from the slight brush of his fingers against them, combined with the cold air.

“please—hurry. wan' you s'bad.” your voice was whiny and he chuckled, maybe even thanking you for being able to get to it. your eyes shot down to the boxers he slept in, a bulge straining against them.

“always so needy,” he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before standing up and tugging his boxers down with a content sigh. you wanted him to feel good too, considering it looked painful as it twitched with your eyes on it.

“like what you see?” of course you did. he was already bigger than you height-wise, but hell, he was nearly 8 inches. he was gonna split you open. your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight, and you tried not to gasp.

“i promise i'll be gentle. you can tell me to stop at any time.” he reassured you, ruffling your hair before lifting your hips carefully to slide down your pants and pretty panties. you were fucking dripping. his cock pulsed.

“so wet...” he ran his finger over your slit and watched you squirm. “all f'me? i feel special.” he brought his thumb to his lips and sucked gently, grunting in content as if you were the sweetest little thing he ever had the pleasure of tasting.

“'toru, you're teasin' me—” you huffed softly, your legs attempting to close from his heavy gaze, but he dug his nails into your hips and held your thighs apart.

“ah ah ah.” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “none of that, pretty. i wanna see all of you. especially this pretty cunt.”

he leaned forward, his breath fanning over it and making you even wetter. he inhaled deeply, but you attempted to push his head away out of shame. he surely didn't have any.

he knew you were getting impatient, and he was too, so he spared you both any more excruciating waiting and brought his tip to your clit. the gentle rub he did against it made you jolt, your tail starting to wag. cute.

“it'll sting. bare with me, ok?” he warned you, pressing another kiss to your cheek, then neck. he was careful with you, but he knew you wanted it rough.

when you nodded in acknowledgement, he slowly began to slide the tip in, and he swore he couldn't breathe. how could you feel so heavenly he could hardly put his tip in without wanting to thrust impatiently?

you sharply gasped, whimpering as more tears pricked at your vision. “sh, sh. i know, i know—fuck. you feel real good, puppy.” he praised you, rubbing your ears as his pelvis connected with yours. in one dangerously rough thrust, he was fully inside of you, and you whined pathetically, big globs of tears already streaming down your puffy cheeks. he just couldn't help it—you were so tempting. so wet and warm...he wanted to be in you forever.

he groaned loudly, muttering out curses as you dug your claws into the back of his neck. your legs were already locked around his waist which helped you with stability, but it hurt an insane amount. he was aware of this and already started to feel guilty, but it faded almost instantly when he felt you clench. you breathed out a shudder, letting your head fall limp agaisnt his shoulder when his thrusts continued.

“god—haven't ever felt a cunt like yours before, puppy,” he spoke in almost a whiny tone, which made you try to suck him in deeper. that spot he hit inside of you against your velvety walls with each buck of his hips made you wail, yet you didn't want it to stop.

“yeah...yeaaaah. just like that. my sweet girl's so tight all for me.” he would've cried from how heavenly your little cunt was if it weren't for the broken moan and pathetic laugh he used to cover up how he was falling apart with each thrust.

he was already so sloppy. he couldn't help it. you'd forgive him, right? you were his sweet puppy—without a doubt, you would. you wanted to be bred, anyway. it was an instinct. having him breed you and fill you full of his cum—maybe even have his babies made you squeal.

“shit shit shit— 'm so sorry, sweet girl. gonna cum in you so early. you aren't mad, r-ight?” the way his voice cracked on the last word added to your wetness. he knew all you could do was let out little noises, so it was mostly a rhetorical question.

the absolute squelching and skin slapping was beyond unholy, but sounded so good to his ears. he was on cloud nine—eyes rolling back as his thrusts became rapid and his cock slammed against your cervix aggressively. he was moaning with each thrust, and you couldn't stop crying. there was no possible way you could stop. the pain mixed with pleasure was so unbearably good.

“FUCK! baby, gonna let me breed you? fill you to the brim and make you have my kids? does it get you off, sweet girl?” his voice sounded so broken, yet sultry. with one last, sloppy thrust, he completely filled you up and made you brokenly sob. your pussy spasmed and your thighs quivered, cumming as well all over his cock.

“my sweet baby.” he kissed you so gently you barely felt it due to the overstimulation and how out of it you were.

he praised you constantly as he cleaned you up and let you rest in bed. every couple hours he was coming in to bring you water or tend to your needs. sometimes he'd even lay with you to help with your separation anxiety. you loved him so much.

his poor, sweet puppy.

[llitchilitchi]

happy pride! no matter your gender or sexual orientation, I hope you can find happiness in your life, even if it seems impossible right now

i really wanted to paint this since about march, but haven't really found the time to do so. at last, i finished it before the end of pride month.

the two girls are dressed in traditional Slovak folk dress, or kroj (traditional folk formalwear) from Piešťany region. Piešťany and the nearby village of Krakovany have one of the most gorgeous forms of kroj in the entire country and for a long time, dolls dressed in this style of dress were gifted to foreign delegations to represent my country. the same country that won't represent people like me

it is a form of reclamation, in a way, to depict sapphic love in this dress. we're here, and have always been here, even if the rest of the people will deny us our existence. this is for all my fellow queers living through being a hot point of debate during elections. you are seen and you are loved. you are part of this country, and you are part of our culture, and the culture belongs to you just as much as to everyone else

i love you, and stay safe

[chez-cinnamon]

Au for real world au

Everything the same except Howdy undergoes a chrysalis and later come back as a butterfly/or moth

Hell yeah!!! I love that idea!!!

His colours are rough but I like them hehehehe- He ends up just waking in the middle of the night and ends up forming his cocoon in Fionn's living room-

It takes him a while to come out, but his partners and daughter are ecstatic <3

[kaleidoru]

friend from the sea

[phoenixmetaphor]

chreon week 2024 - day 2 (belated) - post vendetta

[monster-mash-m]

Cat hybrid boyfriend who’s easily startled

He’s managed to earn the nickname of your little scardly cat.

Thunderstorm he’s come running to your arms crying and with his hairs on end. Telling you to protect him from the storm.

Of course you always comfort your silly kitty, pet his hair and tell him you’re there for him. Will reward you for looking after him for killing pests around your house.

Will get petty if you don’t comfort him over silly things though, his nail got caught on something, he’s crying to you whining about how he needs his human to comfort him. When you don’t he gets all stroppy, pushing stuff off your counters.

He’s just your little scardy cat that needs to be adorned with your affection 24/7.

[frostios]

Today i post whatever. Little notes on design things i do with the headchogs. Sonic is kinda like a "baseline" to play off of

[szilverer]

to my ilk

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Oh, Nenê... How cute... 🥺💕

After dying to an atomic creeper in a cave and stressing over potentially losing all his items, Pac returns home to set his spawn and receives a sweet surprise:

His cat falls asleep on top of him and purrs when he goes to bed :')

[zero-is-nebulous]

Wtfish

[teddybeartoji]

yeah yeah yeah whatever i'm also thinking abt snow leopard!gojo clinging to your legs n thighs as you're getting ready to leave. like he's just refuuusing to let you go. he nuzzles his face into your soft flesh and his tail wrapps around your ankle and it's so fucking hard to leave bc c'mon:((((( he just wants your attention:(((((((((( he wants you to play with him:(((((((((

[faeriekit]

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.