#body modification mention tw

[amyinnile]

Amy nodded at her friend in agreement with that statement, although with zero squeamishness at the pain such techniques may induce. She observed this from the point of a scientist, a professional of a different kind than Celine who appreciated the historical and cultural part of the art of tattooing and marking of the body like any other thing ancient people did. Pain was also often an integral part of it all, not just a side-effect of the, in comparison to today, primitive tools and ways of doing body art back then. She adjusted her hold on the copy of the book she held, so Celine could take a look at the unfortunately only black and white images available between pages of text.

“Well I hate to disappoint you but although they could become priestesses, because of their menstruation and ability to give birth they were still not considered holy enough, which was why they could not perform sacred duties like dressing up the sacred image of a deity. But they could own their own property, which was not something ancient Greece or Rome was always happy to allow.” Amy’s lips slanted into a little sarcastic smirk like that was no news to her - many ancient civilizations’ views and overall treatment of women throughout the history of their existence were not always equal to that of men. As per usual.

Amy gave the copy in her hands another quick look, lips pursing as she thought about Celine’s question. “Maybe, if I got any fertility left to protect now. I’ve achieved what every deeply devoted ancient Egyptian strived for - immortality after death. But it came with a price.” She shrugged, seemingly not too bothered by it. There were things about her current state of being that bothered her but those were not the ones she’d just spoken of. “A good mosquito protection tattoo would be great though.” She joked, just to lighten the mood and show Celine that these particular topics never have and never would be sensitive for her. At least Amy thought they won’t become sensitive in the future but then again, who knew. People changed. She sure wasn't the old Amy anymore.

“Priestesses of the past were often connected to witchcraft, superstitions and rituals. Of course, I simplify this connection right now but does your former coven have anything similar to this?” She jutted her chin out towards the book she held. “How far back does your coven date to?” She asked, ever curious about the past, much more so than the future.

⌝ The werewolf mother leaned over at the mention of her name, elbow falling onto the couch as she did so, dark hair cascading down her shoulder. The direct request for her attention the only thing that actually drew her out of her own work. She'd been sitting with her legs crossed beneath her and iPad in her hands for...well, she'd lost track of how long she'd been focused on the recreation of Venus that Violet had asked her to do. Much like Amy she was still in the clothing she had worn to work but fortunately for Celine that was just sweatpants and a tank top with a sweater wrapped around her for warm, black socks that had little red cherries on them covering her feet.

⌝ "The way some cultures have been able to do tattoos and withstand that fucking pain, like fuck, they definitely deserved a baby after handling that," she commented. Really the idea tattoos these days were painful surely came less from them actually hurting now so much as traditional methods genuinely causing pain because there was no electronic function to speed up precision and process. "And some still do it too, obviously," Celine added, because in many places it was part of tradition to do tattoo work the old way.

⌝ Leaning back after getting a look at the images attached to what Amy had been reading she readjusted her legs, one foot beneath her while the other rested on the edge of the couch cushion. "I do like the idea of priestesses with the intention of like having kids though, not just like 'we're virgins forever,'" she commented, because that always felt kinda silly to her. "But fuck it looks brutal," especially seeing just how low some of the tattoos seemed to come across the body. "Would you do something like that?" Celine asked. "Like, get a tattoo for protection or fertility?"

⌝ Celine herself had tattoos, perhaps considered vulgar in nature, but like most magic things were about concept and belief. Celine having the word 'DIVINE' over her pelvis would to many read like some trashy tramp stamp but Celine had got it after her second son was born and she knew she was done having children, a reminder of her motherhood, of the potential she had within her even if she was closing that chapter of herself for the safety of her witch children.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 20: “You will regret touching them”

Aaaaand now for today’s fic

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Time

- Summary: Time finds a wounded Warriors

CW for implied/referenced torture, captivity, nonconsensual body modification, blood and injury, and brief mention of vomit

———————————————-

If he clenches his teeth any harder, Time is certain they will break.

He stands in the middle of a cell – small, cramped, and smelling of sweat and vomit and blood – hands in fists, heart thumping an erratic beat in his ears. A blue eye stares up at him from the corner, bright in a too-pale face. The other is sealed shut with swelling and blood. The proud green tunic is sullied as well, the scarf long gone. Blonde hair so meticulously cared for lies limp and filthy. Strong hands tremble, bound together behind a hunched back.

“Captain.” It is half a whisper, half a low growl.

Warriors makes a small, muffled noise as though trying to respond through the dirty cloth tied tight between his lips. Time’s fingernails dig into his palm.

Here before him sits the hero he and his brothers have spent the last week searching for. He should feel relief. All he can feel is red-hot anger.

But there isn’t time for that. Warriors needs him. His big brother needs him.

Sheathing his sword, Time drops to his knees. Puddles of blood dot the floor, some mere splatterings, others worryingly large. He pays them no heed, reaching forward instead to tug away the gag. Warriors breathes a raspy sigh of relief as it falls.

“...bout-bout time you showed up, S-Sprite,” he teases in a voice so hoarse it’s nearly unrecognizable. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs up a mouthful of blood.

Time does his best to ignore it.

“I’m sorry that we kept you waiting,” he murmurs as he sets about undoing the ropes that bind the captain’s hands and feet. The apology tastes bitter. What good does it do now? The heroes had gone as fast as they could. And still, they had been too late.

Warriors shivers, suddenly, and Time is struck by how very small he looks.

“But don’t worry,” he says, gently, trying not to dwell on the fact that his big brother should never look that way, “I’m here now. You’re safe.”

Warriors gives him a weak smile.

A few more short moments slide by, in which Time works to untie the ropes. They are thickly knotted, but he has slipped from far tighter bonds. And soon they fall away to join the filth on the floor. Warriors lets out a sharp hiss of pain.

“S-shoulder,” he explains at Time’s concerned look. “Dislocated.”

That can’t be the only thing out of place, Time thinks, bitterly. The way he is struggling to breathe speaks to a few broken ribs at least. And as for the rest of him…well, he can only guess at the extent of the damage.

Anger flares up in him once more. He shoves it down.

“I don’t have Hyrule’s healing powers,” he says, reaching into his pouch. “But I have a fairy. Her magic should be enough to tide you over until I can get you back to camp.”

Warriors blinks dazedly. “You…you’re the only one h-here?”

A grim smile pulls at Time’s lips. “Yes. I came across this place entirely by chance. The others were taking a short rest and I saw no reason to drag them along on a search that would likely lead to another deadend. It’s alright, though. No one is here anymore…except for you.”

If they had been they would have regretted it, he thinks, bitterly.

Pushing the dark thoughts away, he lifts the bottle out of his pouch and unscrews it.

“Here, this should…”

He stops short as the fairy darts forward. The lighting in the room is decidedly dim, which he supposes is why he hadn’t seen it before. But now in the pinkish glow of the fairy’s magic it’s painfully obvious.

The word “murderer” is carved in jagged, blood-red lines into Warriors’ left arm.

Time’s vision goes crimson.

“Captain…” It’s everything he can do to keep his voice level. Suddenly, he’s a child once more, kneeling on the battlefield, begging his brother to stay alive, to stay with him. He’s a child being hurtled back through time without truly understanding what that even means. He’s a child being laughed at and thrown aside by the man he has been tasked with defeating.

He’s a child helpless and weak.

Late. Much too late.

“...did they do this to you?”

For a long moment, Warriors doesn’t reply. He merely watches the fairy do her work, gaze dull and almost detached. There are tear-streaks on his cheeks, Time realizes now, curving through the patches of blood and dirt.

“Their fa-families died in…in the war,” he murmurs at last, voice hollow and defeated. “They…they blame me.”

Time forces himself to take a breath.

Of course, they do. That is always the reason the traitors give, as though placing the blame on the hero can assuage them of their own guilt, justify their horrific deeds.

“Well, they’re wrong,” he says, firmly. “And believe me, anyone who does a thing like this was never in their right mind in the first place. You do not carry the blame of a war you didn’t even begin, but fought bravely to end. You are a hero, captain, not a murderer.”

Warriors drags his gaze up to him, something terribly vulnerable within it.

“Y-you’re really somethin else, Sprite,” he whispers, breath hitching. A small smile tugs at his lips and somehow it makes him look even more young and broken than before. “How c-come you say everything like…like you mean it?”

Time places a gentle hand on his good shoulder and he seems to melt beneath his touch.

“Because I do. I meant every word. Why hide from someone who can always tell when I’m lying?”

Warriors chuckles, slightly. It almost sounds like a sob.

The fairy finishes her dance and zips back to Time.

“I’ve done all that I can,” she whispers. “The word that they hurt him with…I lightened it as much as I could.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, inclining his head. And with a soft jingle, she disappears. He turns his attention back to Warriors. “We’ll see if there are any spells or potions capable of stopping that from scarring. There is no reason for you to carry the false burden they have placed on you.”

The captain merely gives a small nod, eye downcast once more. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and he hugs his arm to his body, as though eager to hide it. At the sight, the anger abates somewhat, replaced by the ache of his heart.

How dare they do this.

Time reaches out and draws him into his arms. Warriors slumps, bonelessly into his embrace, trembling slightly with pain and exhaustion and emotion.

“It’s alright. It’s over,” he says, softly, echoing the words Warriors had soothed him with so many times during the war. “I’ve got you.”

Carefully he rises, lifting the captain up as gently as he can. He wants nothing more than to tear this place apart, to find those who did this terrible deed and make them wish they had never been born. But his priority right now is Warriors. He needs rest and healing and for that cursed word to be wiped off of his skin. He needs safety and reassurance.

Vengeance will have to wait.

Though if he has his way it will not wait very long. The perpetrators were gone when he got here, likely cowering from the punishment even they knew they deserve. But once he finds them – and he will – he won’t hesitate to do what must be done.

No one touches his big brother without coming to regret it.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1251

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

TW: infertility | nsfwhump | mentions of noncon

An AFAB whumpee really wants kids and has done for ages. Thus image the trauma when after being recused from their kidnapping, they discover they were made infertile from the torture Whumper inflicted - incidentally their dreams of starting a family are ripped apart from them.

Alternatively: AFAB Whumpee instead discovers they are pregnant post recuse - but to their horror it's Whumpers kid. Now Whumpee has to live with the fact Whumper has such control over Whumpee that they control their deepest desire.

[hurtthemgently]

Demon tail whump ideas-

Cold, always fun. Force their tail under freezing water, or hold ice cubes against it. See how long it takes for it to go numb.

Shock collar, but small, meant to go around the tail

Put heavy jewelry on their tail and make them hold it up. After a while the strain will be agony

Restraining them by something pierced through their tail, such as a knife or doornail. Or put a piercing through the fin and attach it to a chain.

Bite it. Bite their tail.

Tie a cute little bow next to the fin

Get a whip, cane, or riding crop and mark up their back and tail.

Have a bunch of sewing needles and don’t know where to put them? Your demons tail makes an excellent pincushion.

Holy water has plenty of fun possibilities

Grab their tail and tug sharply. Pull around them by it.

[jadienjaystoriesandart]

A Father of Spores

Summary: Grian hasn’t been feeling himself since coming out of the decontamination room. Though he has a clean health, and no more shrooms are growing on or out of him, he still feels weird all over. He keeps hearing Scar’s voice too, but the man isn’t any where to be seen. And Mumbo has him staying away from the main areas where the resistance has been hitting, as par for the course after exposure. But, that didn’t stop Cub from paying him a visit. 

Warnings: Mentions of Body Modification, Brainwashing, Body Horror, Corruption, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Cannibalism, and Altered Reality.

No Beta lol, give into the spores please.

-

The usual after decontamination was a period of which one had to quarantine away from any and all forms of the mycelium. Which meant Grian was stuck in his simple house away from the main area of infection, which was mostly the outskirts and inner city. Luckily his area was mostly untouched, and made for some time he could gather his thoughts. Truth be told he didn’t remember alot of it. Mumbo was being vague on purpose, so he could only guess it was bad. His arms and back were healing up fine at least, no more shrooms growing out of them. And he was taking it slow for the time until the week was up to head back to work, once they were sure all signs of infection were gone. 

It was... dull, boring, going on day 3 with Grian doing a movie marathon of the Scooby Doo films... they were bad but in a cringy good way. He was also was watching Mystery Incorporated, and trying to keep his mind off things as he petted his cats. Lately it’s been.. odd, he swears he hears Scar’s voice in his house. But, each time he turns around, no one is there, and not a sign of spores in sight.

Maybe he really is starting to lose it? Maybe it’s a prolonged effect of after exposure? He had heard altered state of mind was a common side effect for a few days, so... he tried not to let it get to him. 

He finished peeling the potatoes for a pot roast he was making, getting started on cutting them into 4′s when there was a knock at his door.

“Hm?” Grian looked up confused, could that be Mumbo? Maybe even Impulse or Doc coming to check on him? The latter was more likely as Mumbo knew better than to go to someone during quarantine period, he was target number one after all. Washing his hands quickly, as another knock was heard, he walked over to the door.

Opening the door after turning the lock, Grian looked outside, and felt his inside turn cold at the sight before him. 

Green and black fugus like stuff ran up the side of his face, creating these horns that poked out from black hair. The eyes were pure black with blue orbs looking at Grian, glowing blue shrooms grew out the side of the face as well and along his shoulders.  Cub smiled brightly at Grian, “Helloooo Grian.” he said cheerfully to him, the horns flicking a bit like cat ears.

SLAM!

Grian had his back to the door his heart rate rising as he looked startled a bit in disbelief. He stood there in shock, staring at the ground. For a second, he wondered if he had imagined it.

More knocking behind him as it vibrated through his back. “Grian.” Cub’s voice said, “I promise I won’t make more shrooms grow in your walls or couch. I just came to talk.” his tone almost a slight whine to it, playful and teasing.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Grian groaned in annoyance as he stood up again and opened the door again peering at Cub around the corner. Cub was smiling brightly at him still, despite the stuff growing out of his skin and face, the smile was the same as Grian remembered it. Opening the door fully Grian sighed, “... Don’t try anything.” he grumbled before allowing Cub inside. He was an idiot, but frankly he knew Cub could force his way in if he wanted. So, civil was the best course of action, and calling the cops wouldn’t do shit, as that last time the happen Scar infected them all. 

Cub walked in and did take off his muddy shoes in the mud room, Grian closed the door again, but didn’t lock it just in case. He looked at Cub who was petting on his cat, she didn’t seem to mind purring away happy to see him again. Cub smiled at Grian, “I’ve missed you.” he told him, “Didn’t mean to be gone so long, or cause you to get a new couch before then.” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with a fanged smile.

Shifted a bit Grian made a face, “Darn well better be, that was a good leather couch.” he grumbled a bit as Cub did laugh, it... sounded off, it was Cub’s voice but also distorted a bit. He looked at the other and sighed heavily, “Hungry?” he asked him curiously, trying to keep calm and even voice.

The horns flicked as Cub perked up, “A bit, any meats will work, or anything mushroom and vegetable related.” he said walking with Grian to the kitchen taking a seat at one of the bar stools. 

“Mushroom related?’ Grian asked confused as he put the potatoes into the pot. 

Shrugging, Cub leaned on the counter, Grian was gonna have to disinfect things again. “I mean, fungus is cannibalistic by nature, we eat dead things, even other dead shrooms.” he explained. “well, it’s not really ‘cannibalism’ as we don’t have the same moral standing as most humans. Just a way of life really.”

Grian hummed at that looking intrigued  as he put the pot on high and sat across from Cub. This felt painfully familiar, days and nights they spent together when dating just chatting and laughing. Before Cub got infected, before he fell off the face of the earth for 6 months and came back... looking like this. 

“Been a long time, huh?” Cub smiled at him calmly, “I’ve missed our nights together, Scar likes hearing me talk about you. He really likes you.” he chuckled faintly as Grian looked at Cub with sad yet curious brown eyes. His feathers shifted a bit as the faint sound of chuckling was in his head, but it was gone as quick as he heard it. 

A pause in the air as Cub hummed faintly, “he wants to see you again,��� he said slowly, “the father I mean, Scar, he wants to get to know you on a personal bases, as I talk to highly of you.” 

Grian said nothing as Cub watched him without blinking, in fact the other didn’t see to blink at all. A moment, before Cub continued, a sad, and quiet sigh escaping his mouth. “I wasn’t forced like this Grian.” he said, as it shattered the silence like glass, and Grian was now looking at him with wide eyes. Cub gave a sad smile, “I was very willing.” 

Wide, and shocked brown eyes looked at Cub, that... that couldn’t be true! He remembered Cub being among the ones that went missing when the Father Spore had made his appearance, after he infected the building Cub had been working in. The day he came back, stumbling and a bit dazed in Grian’s door and near contaminated the whole house beyond repair... before vanishing again. 

“I know, hard to believe.” Cub said calmly with a shrug, “but I’m not lying, i have no real reason to lie like this. Trust me, the brainwashed ones are obvious compared to ones like me. We are gifted with more freedom of will, our thoughts are more our own, but we are still connected to The Father.” he explained to Grian messing with one of the shrooms on his arm. As he did so it did spew out some blue powder, which Cub cleaned up from the counter. 

Ones like Cub couldn’t produced heavily spore pollen like Scar, but he was still contagious through contact. Even more so than some of the others infected, but Sculk was a very advance form of fungus that grew in the darkest parts of the world. 

Chewing on his lower lip for a moment, Grian narrowed his eyes at the table, the silence stretched as this info sank in. “Why?” he finally asked after a long moment of his thoughts swirling around, taking in the fact Cub, his Cub, became this monster like creature.

Another shrug, Cub sat up a it, “The Father isn’t just some guy infected with overgrown mushrooms Grian... he’s something much more powerful and more than a mere man now. He’s the new age coming, of which all will be either connected or food.” he said in a matter of fact tone. Then a grin, “I know sounds very ‘Cultish’ doesn’t it? But it’s the honest truth, Scar speaks often of his plans to me, of how not all will be infected, but used to spread the spores with their decaying bodies.”

Another round of insides being dunked in cold water, Grian swallowed hard at that. They had.. suspected that was the plan, given some were killed by Scar and found with lots of mycelium and shrooms growing out of their dead bodies. But, to hear it from a source, it just made it all the more scary. 

“I was tired Grian,” Cub looks out the nearby window in thought, “I loved you so much, but other parts of my life were just so dull. I felt like I was doing things on a loop, and felt empty without you or other connections.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment then a faint smile, “Then I met Scar, he broke into the building, and spoke in a charming voice. He was cunning, threatening, but gentle and so calm. The building was over run with spores, mycelium, and Scar gave all us a choice. To accept his gift, or be the example.” 

Grian stared at that as Cub stared outside at the darkness, there were many bodies that day, all taken over by mushrooms, that area was still under heavy rules, no one was allowed inside it. It was a prime area to be infected, and the process to get rid of it was slow and with little fruition. Thus it was blocked off from the general public. 

“I accepted to go with him, me a very few others. I was actually the first to speak up that I’d go. On the promise of a new start, something more...” Cub spoke again catching Grian’s attention again. “He was so... gentle Gri, he cupped my face, smiled at me so lovingly, and promised all that and more.” a near whisper, reverently, and in so much awe. 

Cub looked back at Grian, “He took me to his home, the resistance base as you know it, and carefully helped me through the process. It was scary at first, I won’t lie, but the results are worth it.” his eyes almost glowed, “We are a part of him, and he of us. We are his children, Grian...” he reached out, but paused looking at up Grian with longing, loving, and pleading eyes. “I want you a part of us too, Gri, to feel like this. Loved, cherished, wanted.” 

They stared at each other for a long moment, before there was a hissing sound, Grian turned and swore rushing to the stove as he turned it down before it could mess up the burner. Once he was sure it wasn’t going to boil over, Grian looked at the contents in the pot, eyes narrowed a bit as Cub’s words rang in his head over and over again. 

Cub was clearly infected badly, but, he spoke so highly of how he was now. The idea of what Scar wanted in the end was terrifying. Though he could picture it clearly, the grass gone, now a soft purplish grey, perhaps a few more trees here and there, tall shrooms also that grew, the air cleaner and clearer than it ever had been. 

‘What a beautiful imagine, no?’

Scar’s voice in his head as Grian gripped the handles of the pot tighter. He frowned a bit, before getting out some food for him and Cub. Placing the bowl in front of his old flame, who didn’t take his eyes off him once. 

For a while they ate in silence, Grian messing with the food and Cub adding a mushroom to his happily. Then he spoke up, “I don’t know Cub,” he admits after a long moment, “I... just don’t know.” 

His thoughts were jumbled, a mess, and he just wasn’t sure. He was afraid, scared of what he’d become, repulsed by the idea of letting mushrooms grow out of him. But the way Cub spoke of it, a painful longing. What would being loved like that taste like? What would it feel like? To be cherished so easily? he had felt that with Cub, and in that moment in the office with Scar. And, Grian would be a liar if he said he didn’t want that. 

‘I could give you all that and more, my song bird.’

Cub finished eating and smiled at him, “you don’t need to answer right now Grian.” he said gently to him, “The Father can wait, even though you might see him later.” he smiled, then paused, “Oh... wasn’t suppose to say that.” he said.

“What?’ Grian looked at cub, “What do you mean? What is he planning?’

Shaking his head, Cub stood, “Can’t say Grian, secret and all,” a teasing wink, “if you joined us though, I could tell you so much more. All I’ve found out about what we are.”

A glared from Grian, as Cub smirked at him, “But for now,” his eyes gleamed over green and his voice changed, “tell no one you saw us here, little bird.” 

Grian froze at that, eyes widening... he felt like something fogged over his mind and he nodded to Cub. Cub smiled at that, eyes turning back to blue, he bent down for a moment, “Until then my flower.” he ghosted his lips over Grian, but didn’t touch them. And slowly pulled back from the dazed bird turning and leaving.

It wasn’t until the door clicked shut did Grian blink back into awareness. He looked around at the empty bowl, and some of the sculk on his counter. He felt... sad that Cub was gone, and he was alone again. 

Sighing after a moment, Grian got up to start disinfecting the counters and bleaching the bowl. His mind lost in thought as he went through the motions.

Maybe if he wasn’t distracted by his thoughts, he might have noticed when he moved, his body who puff out these faint purple spores. Or might have also noticed that the blue of his feathers was turning a bit purple as well. 

[justletmereadmycomics]

CW for descriptive speaking about body horror, blood, and overall lack of grammar tl;dr the average painful-turning-into-a-monster-transformation-sequence media isn't whumpy enough and people need to dive more into shit like turning into merfolk and mutating into weird hybrids that are in the uncanny valley of "feels like my body but not" also please note that this is all just my opinion and experience in media consumption and you are free enjoy what you like; im just bored and felt like rambling with 0 grammar or punctuation today.

hey guys I like seeing people go through intense painful physical transformations with an affect on their mental state that either makes them scared of them selves or forces them to do horrible things that also scare them and can I just say that werewolves are so underwhelming like yeah sure you get taller and turn into a buff ass furry boo hoo go cry about it like most of the time you're not even aware and it only lasts for a fucking night

give me shit like turning into a siren/merperson where they have to feel themself molting and their skin squeezing on their body as scales start to grow and they start mindlessly scratching every where from the pain when uh oh your legs are failing but you can't think about that now until whoopsie daisy your lower limbs are melting together and your pants are magically whooshed away once you're past the nakey parts also did I mention the wonderful possibility of growing fins everywhere and experiencing those tear through your muscles and skin whilst they grow on your back and arms and already painful and foreign feeling tail and also your vocal cords changing to be able to produce siren song shit in a way that makes your throat feel like its being mauled from the inside out oh yeah and also having your eyes fall out and regrown wouldn't that be a fun idea anyways vampires are about the same except a little better than werewolves bc they at least have the possibility of dealing with "the hunger" tm and way more weaknesses that can make them miserable like not being able to be in the sun or eat food anymore bc your body can't handle it one of the better examples ive seen is the one in ROTTMNT: The Movie, where (be warned of spoilers) characters are "possessed", so to speak, and this shit goes on

its a very good movie, highly recommend it (the sereis has two seasons, and I haven't found the movie off of Netflix) also blood and struggling to adjust to a now permanent mental impairment/disadvantage/damage in a sense of "you're not human anymore and so you now have to deal with [blank] thought processes" (eg. someone gaining dragon shit would grow an affinity to hoarding things, not noticing such until their home is incredibly cluttered with piles of shiny items and hating themself for doing something so "inhuman")

things that ive seen that fall in the good transformation category are: demons* birds work most of the time, but you have to give them a beak and shit. also the wings can't just grow out of them painlessly.** most fantasy based anthros, really.*** most mutations seen in TMNT shows (that shits known to be painful bc it alters your DNA mostly through science rather than the normal mystics) bugs *only horns and a tail? weak. give 'em goofy legs and a snout or some shit, spin in a few animal traits just for fun. mental side effects that are nice for these guys tend to be a sudden lust for darkness (or just a sudden intense lust) **I recommend something like their arms falling off, OR something similar to the process in Haibane Renmei (tw for blood and minor body horror). An alternate option that I haven't seen would be to have the arms morph into wings themselves, but none of that grow feathers and get little longer bullshit. Character should feel their bones changing, the flesh forming to create a new limb and feathers piercing their skin like needles. Yes feathers are regularly soft, but imagine having a hundreds of tiny pinprick like things poking out of you and getting longer.

***this does not include fairies and unicorns. The only acceptation for these is character having weird magic fluxes and this becoming an effect of such. for example, if character is becoming a fairy, they will feel themself being compressed as wings either grow from their back or are summoned in a blast of magic that basically cuts them open where the wings "attach" so to speak.

[the-polite-lurker]

!Important Reminder!

Agreeing to disagree is one of the most important things you can do as a person, especially as a Christian! Jesus Christ loves all and while we might struggle with that we should aim to do the same despite our differences. Unless someone is being inherently evil then there is no point in arguing with them.

For example:

I hate Trump, but one of the kindest and funniest people I know is a Trump supporter. I am pro life but my own mother is pro choice and I still love her deeply. I am Catholic, but my best friend is atheist and we get along very well. I strongly believe in evolution and have a scientific background, but many good people don’t and that doesn’t make me superior or inferior to them. I am against cosmetic surgery and body modification of any kind, but does that mean that I go out of my way to harass a trans person who’s had affirmative surgery or a someone with a nose job or a tattoo? No! We are all God’s glorious creations and we are commanded to love by Christ himself!

For more, see Mark 12:30-31, Matthew 19:12, Isaiah 56:4-5, Galatians 5:22-23, 1 Corinthians 12:12-13, Galatians 3:28, Acts 10:28, 2 Corinthians 5:19, Romans 8:38-39, 1 Corinthians 13:4-6, John 15:12-13.

Rant over and God bless!

[jonesatheart]

Body Modification

"Hey, pal."  

Casey closed his eyes with a soft groan. "I'm dyin', aren't I?"  

Raph chuckled and tousled his hair. "No, ya not dyin', drama king."  

"It's somethin' bad if I'm in'e lab and you're here without Don. If it was fixable you'd'a gotten Don as soon as I started wakin' up. So what's wrong with me?"  

Raph shifted. "It's complicated. It's fixable, it's just gonna take a few months."  

Casey hummed. "What'd I break?"  

"Nothin'."  

He lifted his head to look at Raph. "Then what is it?"  

"You feelin' okay to sit up? Ya were pretty doped up when we first found ya." 

Casey nodded and pushed himself onto his elbows. "Yeah. Honestly. I'm feeling pretty okay considerin' it sounds like ya had to go all mission impossible for me."  

"Yeah, well. They weren't tryin'a rough you up too bad. Kinda just happened. Don says ya didn't have many defensive wounds so they probably ambushed ya and dosed ya pretty quick then kept ya under the whole time. Ya been in and out here for a few hours too." 

"You're bein' weird, Raph."  

"I'm really sorry, Casey," he answered quietly, unable to fully look at Casey. "We really...we failed ya this time." 

"Okay, now you're just scarin' me. What happened?"  

"We think they took ya from your apartment. I got a text from you sayin' ya made it home fine after patrol and...based on the time line either they jumped ya right after ya sent it or they just sent it themselves."  

Casey felt his heart rate kick up as dread settle into his chest. "Raph, what day is it?" 

"It's Wednesday. They nabbed ya late Monday, early Tuesday. We don't always talk durin' the day and bein' out, we slept late. April's ben outta town so it wasn't till we tried gettin' a hold of ya about comin' over for dinner that we knew somethin' was wrong. It didn't take us long to find ya after that though. They didn't even really fight back about it. Just let us take ya."  

He cast a warily look at his friend. "They being?..."  

"The Dragons. We brought ya back Tuesday night and Don ran some tests to make sure you were okay, got ya started on an IV and some other stuff we nabbed from a few ambulances, and you been sleepin' off whatever it was they gave ya."  

"So it's like a full twenty-four hours kinda thing."  

"Close to, yeah."  

"And I guess it has somethin' to do with?..." He raised his left arm which was bandaged from the elbow down to his knuckles. 

"Yeah."  

"Do I wanna know?" 

Raph shook his head. "Ya really don't."  

"I wanna see it."  

"Case-" 

"Raph-" 

"It's a tattoo. It's...It's their tattoo." 

Casey went still. "What do you mean 'their tattoo'?"  

"I'm sorry."  

"I wanna see it."  

"Casey-"  "It's not goin' anywhere and I'm gonna have to deal with it. Let me see it."  

"Okay." Raph held out his hand and Casey gave him his arm.  

"Hey." Casey rested his other hand over Raph's. "This is not your fault and I'm not mad at ya."  

Raph nodded. "Let's get this off and then ya can decide how ya feel."  

Casey stared at his arm as little by little  the outline of a purple dragon appeared, the tail first just under his elbow and ending with a severed head on the back of his hand. It was impossible not to recognize. A near perfect recreation of the one on Hun's arm, but condensed to his forearm where it could never be out of sight. The severed head either a threat or an accusation. 

He started gagging and Raph snatched the small bin off the floor and shoved it into his hands. He stood by his friend, holding back his hair and keeping the trash can steady.  

"Donny!" Raph shouted. "Get in here!" 

Donatello rushed and took the trash can from Raph. "Was he complaining of any symptoms before he got sick?" 

"He just threw up when I showed him his arm," Raph replied, massaging one of Casey's shoulders.  

"The shock of it then," Don nodded.  

--- 

"When can I get rid of it?" Casey asked, his voice dull from exhaustion and throwing his guts up. It had taken a while, even after his stomach was empty, for the his body to relax and stop dry heaving. Even then he was still shaking.  

"From my research, at least four months. Maybe up to six." 

"After that?" 

"Laser removal is an option. But the coloring does make it difficult. Thankfully they didn't have time to fill it in, but purple is one of the more difficult inks to remove. And. Scarring is always a possibility."  

Casey nodded and leaned into Raph who slipped an arm around his back. 

"I know you're not going to want to, but taking care of it is going to be really important. Keeping an eye out for infection and making sure the skin heals properly can help prevent scaring. We can always help you with that. But the faster it heals, the sooner we can look more seriously into removal options."  

"Thanks for takin' care of me, Don."  

Donatello reached out and squeezed his wrist. "That's what family does."  

"Family looks out for each other, we already talked about it, we want ya to hang out here till we can get you a new place," Raph told him. "That's not an offer. I'm tellin' you that's what gonna happen," he clarified when Casey looked like he might argue.  

"It ain't like they couldn't find me at the shop or somewhere else if they really wanted to," he grumbled. 

"Doesn't mean we gotta just hand ya over either." 

"They're not gonna kill me, Raph. If they'd wanted to do that they'd'a done it already. They want me to live with this. They don't need to get revenge beyond this."  

[spymeister]

@citizensofcybertron ---------------- Stupid, fraggin', useless aft transport.

He knows that parts of the Decepticon -Autobot Front lacked resources and materials, but he never thought it would get this bad. Cosmotrail had been a decent mech, before an anti-transport shell had taken him down with extreme prejudice. Following the waste not, want not grittiness of survival— the now empty shell had been retrofitted into an actual transport.

Despite his own pragmaticism- it's HARD not to find it creepy.

He'd had a split second to deliberate the unfairness of his functioning before a secondary shell finished the first shell's job. The last half of the transport had been reduced to slag and super-heated metal, and forced the five odd mechs aboard it to jump ship or risk being killed. Shadowstep had been the last off, right before the retrofitted corpse had been destroyed in an explosion—

— and the first mech reduced to scattered parts as another shot took him out.

It'd been his light-and-sound show that had managed to distract the gunners long enough for him to engage his gliding panels- snarling as he weaved and wove his way through the streamers of tracing rounds as they tried to follow.

Behind him, two more of his team fell- their screams cut off in the shrill shriek of the plummet past his audials. One shot, luckier than the rest- is enough to send a round clear through his right shoulder. His secondary arm unfurls from its hiding place- snapping out to hold the first arm in place so that they remain airborne

The second pulls out a modified blaster and returns fire as he spirals closer to the ground.

The landing is far rougher than he likes- but he manages to slam into the surface of the planet beneath him behind a ball of debris. It's enough to shield him from the worst of the firefight long enough for him to get his bearings and do damage control and inventory.

Whipcord has also made it, but like his mission leader, he's likewise wounded. His audial vents flick this way and that, red optics swiveling to Meister as he holds his own wound closed with one hand.

::What's the op, Mes.::

Meister flicks his optics to him, then snarls- leveling his blaster out over their shoulder- and towards an Autobot behind him.

"Survive, Whip. S'what we do."

[nuvomica]

Fam like this has zero hate in it but how is gender affirming surgery any different from the ones you hate? It's literally purging the parts of your body that you or society can't accept and it's kind of just as devastating and sad. I agree with you that people should do whatever they want with their body but also like it's kind of awful to see someone suffer so much that they have to go to surgical solutions.

This is why it's so interesting to me!! And this post is super rambly with no clear answer because I'm me and I'm learning all the time!!!!!!

Your opinion is yours, but it is super interesting that upon the topic of surgery, your mind goes to 'purging the parts you hate'. Gender affirming surgeries aren't always 'cosmetic', aren't always found through suffering. Who am I to draw lines and cast aspersions? To me, it feels like as much of a grey area as most debates are, especially as I try to stay aware of my own inherent biases vs my personal issues with gender and appearance.

For example, breast surgeries. Done to combat cancer. Reductions because of back pain. Reductions for convenience. Implants for gender affirmation (for trans and cis ppl). Implants because of previous medical reductions. Or literally any number of reasons.

At what level is it 'okay' to get something done, if in my opinion, there is a level of 'not okay' at all? 'Okay' being a loose term as it is, because I certainly don't mean morally, but as a point of, say, condemning societal pressures on people. It would be presumptuous of me to ever look at something someone does for themself and say, "well that's not okay."

Is convenience a medical reasons or a cosmetic reason? Or is it neither. Is it that there is not enough clothing and aid out there for someone who is inconvenienced by large breast size? Is it that there isn't any clothing that fits cutely, that t-shirts stretch, that lingerie doesn't come in that size? Or is it inconvenient enough that it either causes their back to ache if they're too active for too long or with chronic pain that doesn't ease at all?

What about those who get surgery on their tubes or uterus, not for 'medical' reasons, but for comfort? For taking control back? For (here it is again) convenience? For gender transitioning? How could I ever hate a surgery like that?

Meanwhile, in my personal view, seeing someone get a nose job for purely cosmetic reasons is sad to me. Why did they feel they have to do that? What sort of pressure have they face throughout their life to take them to that point? But what right do I have to judge? None, other than that I am a part of the same society that made them feel their nose was not acceptable. I do not have a broad, hooked, high bridged, or flat bridged nose, so what standing do I have to judge at all?

What about someone who loves plastic surgery as they love art? For whom body modification is a joy, or as I said before, is about control. Should I be pitying them? I don't, right up until they change something I personally view as 'sad' to change. Isn't that strange? Where did I find this moral high ground from which to look down and feel pity? What arbitrary measure have I developed for what parts of the body are 'sad' to alter?

I wouldn't go up to a stranger in public and say, "I'm so sorry you got your nose done." So why do I feel comfortable pitying the actress who had a face lift? (Rhetorical, I know the objectification of celebrities is a core reason here, but it serves my point).

It goes further. At what point is a surgery 'just' a body mod? Someone getting an ear piercing to combat headaches or allergies. Someone getting their ears or genitalia taken off so they just have a hole. Someone gets bottom surgery. Someone getting their earlobe pierced. Someone getting their eyebrows tattooed because theirs don't naturally suit their gender expression 'right'. Someone getting the name of a loved one on their arm. Someone getting laser hair removal. Someone getting their eyeball tattooed. Getting their incisors capped to points. Veneers. Tongue splits. Acrylic nails. My view is already biased by a Eurocentric upbringing and the conservative nature of my town, so.

With my own biases, I do feel a hate for buccal fat removal. I do feel a hate for cosmetic nose jobs. I do feel a hate for brow lifts. I do feel a hate for hair transplants. I won't deny that. You're right, I do feel shitty that gender is so ingrained in appearance and the value therein that trans ppl can feel so devastatingly unhappy about their own bodies. At the same time, I don't feel someone getting top or bottom surgery is 'wrong' in doing so, and I do not pity them.

Oh not to even bring up teeth. This debate starts all over again at teeth. Cosmetic, comfort, medical.

My original post and my continued thoughts are never a condemnation of the individual undergoing a surgery, only on the pressures of industry and society. It's my frustrations with sexism, racism, transphobia, and fatphobia.

Gender affirming surgeries happen all the time for cis people, including very invasive ones, and I just want to be extra aware of the hypocrisy and more intense scrutiny towards trans people getting similar surgeries, you know? Especially as someone who experiences dysmorphia but not gender dysphoria.

It just comes down to all these questions, and then further still down to personal philosophy. As is the case for most of my personal philosophies, I find it hard to make blanket statements set in stone, because there's always context. There's always further understanding to be gained, if not in my own, then in hearing of how others understand.

What right do I have to feel sad? To hate?

Where is the defining line between cosmetic, comfort, and medical, if there is one?

[antiendofuzzies]

vent

I really hate how some alters in our system deny some of the trauma that happend to us and try to pretend that it wasn’t that bad like one of the littles I take care of is a yorkiekid* and it makes me really sad that that is their system role -🪅 from 🌌🩷

*A yorkiekid is a syskid/system little that holds trauma related to having body modifications against their will or without their consent. This may be considered a subset of other terms

im sorry, sometimes alters just can't remember or are in denial and there's not much you can really do about it. We really hope you're safe and okay now

((sorry this isn't a very good response, we're not sure what to say))

[that-0ne-loser-ky]

I believe that God gave you this body as a way for you as a mortal to be able to create something you love to show to him, as a way for you to be able to see what he has created and for him to see what you have created.

[malewifefirestar]

Honestly I think the idea of cybernetics in mortal kombat could be explored more as the level of cybernetics is clearly more advanced but also the different ways it’s handled based on the characters that have them is interesting

There are the more simple cyborgs with some cybernetic parts compared to the entire body being cybernetic. Untop of the time line difference from Mk9 that takes place some time in the 90’s while mk11 takes place in 2019.

Such as Jax having cybernetic prosthetic arms due to the loss of his. They act as an enhancement for super strength in those limbs.

Then you have Kano who has an cybernetic eye that can shoot laser beams and can scan objects or people to easily identity damage or get a layout of it.

Then their is the opposite more extreme end with the Lin Kuei Cyborgs, with full cybernetic bodies, made to enhance the clan member behind the limits of a regular human no matter how trained.

Yet are more slow and bulky then before but with strength and weapons installed into the body. (However cyborgs of the Lin Kuei haven’t won a canonical fight since they turned into a cyborg)

However when frost becomes a cyborg in mk11 her design is much sleekier and faster then previous Lin Kuei cyborg designs, more human like, clearly a more advanced level as her version of a cyborg is much more newer in design and technology.

So their was an advancement in technology in between the events of mk9 and mk11 but have little to know of knowledge of how or when this advancement in tech came to be in mk verse despite it’s clear importance in most characters journeys and claims of power.

Especially when a lot of Lin Kuei members like Cyrax, Smoke, and Subzero have clear disdain for it(Subzero is also an interesting case because in one timeline he favors advancement in the clan like this but in the new timeline detests it).

However Sektor pushes for it because of the idea of becoming a perfect assassin this way.

[mad-hunts]

“So, what were you whispering about?”

huh. on the outside looking in, the club currently behind him didn't actually look like such a dump, barton thought. and what a peculiar line of thought that was. especially considering he knew what kind of people lied within it, as well as the man himself who ran it. they were all manners of trashy in his opinion. but hey, if someone was willing to do business with him here, then how could he refuse the offer to come here? a sigh came from barton as he finally got done with talking in a very low voice with the owner of the establishment. and this was because they were talking about something highly illegal, which barton personally had no qualms with doing — though the GCPD or any stray passerbys might.

the man was a complete creep and was known for being a fan of the unusual, in a way that even rubbed someone like the dollmaker the wrong way. he wanted something rather untraditional out of him; to commission a 'doll' for him that would only have one thing altered about the main body of it due to how much he missed a certain someone. and normally, barton would've said no on the spot due to just how messy operations like this can get when emotions like love are involved, but he could not deny that the promise of favors was often a very persuasive method to get him to change his mind. you could only do so much with money after all but favors? the things that you could do with them were pretty much endless, honestly.

barton tried not to think too much about the fact that he essentially just allowed himself to get bribed by someone, however, and fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket's pocket. it was sort of a chilly night in gotham and so he naturally busted out something that would keep him warm; one hand reaching to grab a cigarette and the other, holding a lighter up to the tip of it to set it ablaze. but that was before someone suddenly popped up out of seemingly nowhere to talk to him. which, made him accidentally burn himself as the lighter nearly fumbled out of his hand because of how she startled him. barton had physically recoiled in response to being scared by the other and let out a groan: both slightly in pain and in disbelief while he tried to regain his composure.

❝ oh my god, have you ever heard of saying hello before you approach someone? i mean... what the hell? i didn't even hear you, are you trying to be some kind of flake or something? ❞ barton groaned once more as he rubbed his hands down his face for a moment and rolled his eyes as he turned his face away from the other for the time being. ❝ people are so weird. why do you want to know what me and him were talking about? ❞ he asked the other, raising an eyebrow at her as if he was genuinely confused. though it was all an act as he knew that whispering to someone had a tendency to look pretty suspicious, ❝ we were just talking about something private with his family, that's all. which isn't exactly the kind of thing that you want to broadcast to the world... you know? ❞

with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, the lighter he was holding once again came to light as he flicked it on, lighting the end of his cigarette. maybe if he acted like he didn't care, then she would leave. but people in gotham were usually too stubborn for their own good.

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

Febuwhump day 11 alt prompt: Human Weapon

 They remembered that he showed up out of nowhere in a flash of light, scorching the grass beneath his feet. Called himself Dr. Bathel Somsny. He wore clothes nicer than anything their people could even dream of and shared beautiful gifts with the people of the town. His loyal guards were monstrous, towering over even the tallest of people in town. They had horns like a bull and tails with spikes on them. They each had limbs made of a strange glowing metal that and had enough strength to lift a house. Even so, the doctor commanded them with complete authority.

 He wowed the people his abilities, creations, and his actions to better the town. When their enemies attacked he protected the town, when their crops didn’t grow he fed them, and when their mayor was caught stealing taxpayer money, he dealt with him. People started calling him a god.

 It wasn’t long before people started worshiping him like one too. They build shrines and statues dedicated to Lord Somsny, bowed before him when he walked the streets, and gave up whatever they had when he asked them, all in hopes that he would continue to bless their town. So when he asked someone to follow him, they did so happily.

 Now, they didn’t even remember they name, or anything about their past. Only what they new about Lord Somsny. Their mind had been broken and scattered beyond repair, and their body reshaped into something they will never recognize again.

 their body had been sliced and diced, mechanical parts added where their organic flesh was removed. Their eyes were replaced with lenses, fingernails replaced with razor sharp claws, teeth replaced with sharpened metal, and the joints in their arms and legs replaced to be stronger and faster. He also added things to them, things that would make them better, he claimed. Another set of mechanical arms were added below their own, three wings implanted into their back, and even more sets of eyes attached to their head or implanted in other parts of their body.

 Their world was full of pain, the only reprieve being their reward after successfully following Lord Somsny’s order’s. They couldn’t think through the pain, living in a constant state of waiting for their next instruction in hopes of getting some relief. They couldn’t form words through the fog that was constantly clouding their mind, unable to talk or communicate properly. They were stuck in their own mind with nothing but the pain and people in white coats to accompany them. Their body moved in jerky movements, struggling though the pain and moving on instincts.

 Blood dripped off of them as they walked down the white hall, bright red standing out in the otherwise colorless environment. None of it was theirs. They were lead by people in white coats, chains heavy on their neck and arms. Their bare feet slipped a little on the cold floor, smearing blood as they did. They groaned as the scientists pulled them forward to keep up, their muscles straining. They were eventually pushed into their cell with only one set of footsteps following them. The sound of dress shoes on tile echoed off the tile.

 They turned at the noise and saw Lord Somsny standing before them. They bowed their head, unable to fight the instincts that had been implanted in them. Lord Somsny stepped forward, hand raising to gently pet the top of their head. Their heartrate picked up from the praise. After a moment, they felt a pinch in the side of the neck before Lord Somsny’s hand was removed and he stepped back, praising them for a job well done with a syringe in hand.

 They sagged as the pain started slowly easing and their body was able to relax after such a long time. Lord Somsny left them, door shutting before a sprinkler on the ceiling turned on and rinsed the blood from their body. None of it was their own.

 They fell to their knees as the water stopped. The pain reliever flooded their system, causing their muscles to relax for the first time in weeks. Their shoulders sagged, even as a they shivered from the cold water. Slowly, they laid down on the floor, exhaustion taking over as they relaxed.

 Their head hit the floor before they realized, mechanical eyes closing slowly. For the first time in days, sleep came easy to them.

Character from my WIP: Dimension Traveling and Other Mistakes

[classically-tragic]

In a knock down drag out fight with myself over getting a vertical labret. can’t decide if I actually want one or if it’s my annual October meltdown