#body modification tw

[mvndrvke]

effie + body modifications trigger warnings : body modifications, body dysmorphia, medical, child abuse, coercion. there is one medical illustration of a ribcage under the cut.

rather than focusing on all the modifications effie has had over the years, i'm gonna keep this pretty short and simple and just talk about the ones she still has. effie has had many procedures and modifications done over the years. capitol fashion is more than just clothes, after all ( as we see with characters like tigris ), and effie is no different in doing whatever she has to in order to chase current fashion trends.

after the 74th games and the end of her engagement, effie removes a majority of her modifications. she only kept three main ones to her ribcage, feet, and legs, which are described in more detail below.

reshaped ribcage. wearing tight-lacing corsets will mess with you if you wear them for a long time, and effie has been wearing things to alter her shape for pretty much her whole life. this restricted her ability to breathe, and after thg, effie has the lower part of her ribcage replaced to allow her to breathe more easily and maintain a more natural body shape. this is the only one of her main three alterations that happened after the 74th games; the others happened before.

feet curving. this is the only real aesthetic/cosmetic change that effie kept. she cannot unpoint her toes, and always walks like she's on her tiptoes, which made it easier for her to wear heels, but also eased the pain she has from plantar fasciitis (inflamed tissue in her heels).

reinforced tibias. realistically, this is because her legs are weak af. effie has shin splints as a result of the wearing away of cartilage in her knees and strain on her shins from wearing heels. she was really doomed to fail from a young age with this one. her shins are very weak because of this displaced pressure, and when she got her procedure on her feet, this followed swiftly after to compensate.

[idontknowanametouse]

So... I wrote a fic about Jujutsu Kaisen. Cause I refuse to believe canon. Anyway, here it is. (spoilers for Shibuya arc and a lil bit for the Culling Games arc) (briefly, it will be available in Ao3. probably) (sorry for bad english and probable inaccuracy with canon)

Kugisaki is moved to another room of the infirmary. Shoko knows she’ll have to do a herculean effort to try revert the cursed technique, but it’s worth it. Furthermore, she can see that the body modifications that were made on the girl’s body are less profond than those made on Nanami’s. And maybe, just maybe, the fact that Kugisaki’s technique affects the soul may help her during the execution.

When she finally stops doing the Reversed Curse Technique, Shoko falls on her knees, all vitality leaving her body. She feels like she is about to die after fighting with such effort against the cursed technique. Hana helps her to get up, as she was there after being called to take off Gojo’s seal, and Shoko took advantage of her presence to ask for help and try reverting the curse’s technique. The woman is reliefed they cured the girl’s physical form, but doesn’t know if they did the same to her mind.

_

There are people on the room before Ieiri can stop anyone from entering in. Even though Itadori, Fushiguro and Maki are the only ones to stay in there all the time, the rest of them stays a long time, and it works like this on the following two days until Kugisaki wakes up.

At the first moment, she looks around, confused. One of her eyes is milky and has stretch marks around it, as they couldn’t heal that damage without leaving behind a scar. Kugisaki moans a little because of the pain, squinting her eyes, trying to make the left one see, but in vain. Then, as her gaze falls over those around, her confusion seems to increase with their faces of expectations and tension, and opens her mouth, about to ask what happened, when she remembers she couldn’t speak before.

An avalanche of memories suddenly comes up and burries her under it. Memories from Shibuya and from the week after that.

Then, for the first time in many, many years, Nobara Kugisaki starts crying.

There’s an instant of shock in which everyone can’t do anything except feel their hearts break with the vision of her face getting contorted with pure trauma and pain as tears pour uncontrollably out of her eyes, making clear how broken Nobara is. The following instant, she feels arms squeezing her tightly and continues to cry.

_

It’s been a few hours since Nobara woke up. She is shrunken on the litter, and, even though she no longer has the empty look from before, now, it seems her eyes are the epitome of silent pain. Yuji hasn’t left her side since she woke up, and everyone agreed on making shifts to stay close to her.

Suddenly, the infirmary door opens and Megumi enters in.

“Nobara.”

“Ah, hi, Megumi.”

“Do you want to speak?”

“No.”

“Ok. Then, you just need to turn around to look.”

Without knowing what he means, she turns around and immediatly sits on the litter, exclaiming:

“My cane!!”

She practically rips the metal object out of Megumi’s hands, looking at the pink stars pattern with the trans and lesbian flag stamped on the handle, shocked. She asks:

“How did you get it?!”

“They found it on Shibuya and brought it back here. Yuji wanted it to stay here.”

“...thanks, Yu.”

“You’re welcome!” he smiles, and, for a second, just a second, she seems to almost smile back to him.

_

Now that she can walk through the school again, it’s normal to see Nobara wandering around without saying anything, but it’s even more common to see her alone, at her part of the infirmary, staring at the wall while hugging her knees, her eye looking so, so tired.

Maki is the third one on the shift to visit her. They see the colorful cane propped up on the wall and the eyepatch with a heart on it (it was gift from Itadori) on the girl’s face. Just as she enters, they say:

“Hi.”

“Hey, Maki...”

“How are you doing?”

Nobara doesn’t answer.

“Does it hurt?”

“The eye? No. And... the burn scars?”

“Just when they touch something.”

“I’ve never seen your arms before. They’re beautiful.”

“Ah... thanks.”

She sees a hair strand fall over Nobara’s face. Since they started hanging out, Maki sees that this sometimes happened, and always puts it behind her ear. They tries to do the same now. In an instant, Nobara’s eye gets wide and she almost falls back, covering her face with her hands:

“NO!!!”

Maki immediately stops. A second passes until Nobara looks between her fingers and uncovers her face, now flushed, murmuring:

“Sorry... sorry... I’m really sorry...”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just... that...” her voice almost disappears as she speaks. “...his... hand...”

Maki doesn’t need any more information. She just approaches without raising their arms and sits by her side on the bed. Nobara hesitates for an instant, then her head falls over their shoulder.

_

The cane hits the ground when Nobara enters the other part of the infirmary. Nanami’s eyes meet her and she backs off, getting off the room. She can’t face him. Not yet.

_

“It’s made to wipe you out.”

“What?” Shoko asks, looking at Kugisaki.

“The needles. They stick you and make you get confused everytime you remember a little bit of yourself. They’re parts of his body that he modified to make it look like this way.

Shoko looks at the girl’s face, so shaken by everything that happened.

“...thank you, Kugisaki.”

_

‘She wakes up, feeling like all of her body was under the effect of anesthesia. There’s a point of her face that hurts. She tries to move, but feels heavy. She can barely open her eyes, such big is her tiredness. Her mind seems to be completely empty and she can barely think. Suddenly, someone raises her eyelid delicately and her gaze falls over two men. One of them smiles and says:

“Ah, you finally woke up! How do you feel, Hime-chan?”

She tries to speak about the mess that her body feels like, but her tongue curls up and shows itself as being useless on saying anything. The man raising her eyelid giggles and says:

“Oh, of course, silly me! You can’t speak. But don’t worry, you won’t need it. Instead, I’ll explain you what’s happening, ok? But, before, I’ll just put this behind your neck!”

And he creates out of the palm of his hand an ensemble of black needles.’

Nobara wakes up suddenly and turns around, gets her cane and walks out of the room. She doesn’t know what she wants to do, all she knows is that she doesn’t want to stay there to ruminate that again and again.

She goes to her room on the dormitory and looks at her stuff. She gets surprised they didn’t put everything away when they thought she was dead. Maybe Yuji stopped it from happening. Suddenly, her gaze falls over a small bottle of brown hair dying product.

She takes it. Her hair is now on its natural color, black, and she hates the fact that it’s this way. It always gave her a fucking horrible disphoria. She goes to the bathroom, but stops walking once she hears someone say:

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t saw there was someone here.”

She turns around and sees a person on pajamas with brown skin, long black hair with a pink strand and piercings on the lip. Nobara asks:

“Who are you?”

“Hoshi Kirara. I came here cause of my boyfriend.”

“Kugisaki Nobara. I... kind of live here.”

“Kugisaki...? Ah.” They seem to notice the bottle in her hand. “You gonna dye your hair? Sleepless tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“I know how. Wanna help?”

Nobara was about to say she was fine, until she realizes that, actually, she wants to do anything, except be alone. Then, she nods and they go to the bathroom.

Occasionally, Kirara makes a few commentaries, but they don’t seem to be expecting an answer from Nobara. Instead, they give her space, seeming to comprehend that the girl does that mostly to have someone by her side, to make those haunting thoughts leave.

“You are so pretty!” Kirara exclaims. The morning is arriving when Nobara’s hair entirely brown.

“...thanks.”

“You welcome.”

(this is the part 3 of a fic I wrote. To get the other parts, research for "the shape of two souls")

[darkdoverpseeker]

Looking for a Hunger Games AU over Discord, with a partner who is 20+ like me. I'd love the story to surround the most recent victor of the games, and the arguably unhinge things they've done to return to the mentor they're slightly obsessed over. It's a good thing their mentor's also slightly obsessed with them. May include (but not necessarily) 🕊️🕊️ dead dove topics like rape, unhealthy power dynamics, dealing with trauma, body modification, etc. I'd love for this to be very gentle between the main pairing, while the world they live in is super toxic. M// or F// please! Trans and NB friendly.

interact if interested!

[daisy-mooon]

Altered

Whumptober Day 20: Alt prompt, body modification

-

Of course replacing the blood in her veins wouldn't be enough to convince Carol that she was Kree. They'd had to have replaced her organs as well.

-

At first, Carol had been-

Well.

She wouldn't say she was… okay with the blood in her veins. Not by a long shot. She had settled for handling it. She'd shoved through the disgust and helplessness with the knowledge that blood cells died and regenerated as time went on, and that by the time she had sent Yon-Rogg back to Hala, most of his blood had washed into hers.

But it wasn't until a memory of a science class she'd taken in high school had hit her, violently, in the dead of the night, that she had realised that humans had one heart, and she had two.

Of course replacing the blood in her veins wouldn't be enough to convince Carol that she was Kree. They'd have to have replaced her organs as well.

The horror was nauseating. There was no possibility that could handle that.

They'd cut open her chest, removed heart and stomach and lungs and intestines and things she really did not want to think about, and neatly stitched her up in ways that were wrong. The ruins of the trust she'd held shattered further, sharpening and digging into the furthest corners of her mind. How many other parts of her had been altered for nothing more than a lie?

Carol lifted her shirt, only slightly, and stared at the night shadowed skin of her chest. Completely scarless. She pushed it back down, slowly, and forced herself to breathe. The familiar, double heartbeats were sickening. She couldn't remember which side it was supposed to be from.

Thud. Thud. Left, right. Two halves of one whole, something she couldn't separate, couldn't distinguish. She'd never remember what it would feel like to only have one.

She keeled over and threw up.

[yandere--stuck]

no need/pressure to respond to this, but with all the intestine stuff that keeps getting posted... along with stuff about ford (drool)... (all really good btw)... and maybe this is too gross/weird in which case DEFINITELY feel free to ignore this,, but i keep thinking about bill keeping you two alive while you pull each other's guts out, and then stuff the other person's guts inside of you... switching intestines... and then being sewn back together, permanently having a part of the other inside you now <3 very good to me. maybe ford is bigger than you so your belly bulges ever so slightly... - zag gore anon

God, that is genuinely so horrifying. I love it!!!

Imagine lying on your back as you recover - well, technically speaking. The scarring only hurts in a way that's sickeningly pleasurable, and Bill has (hopefully) made it so any wrong movements don't cause your Ford's guts to spill out of you.

You try to focus on anything else. The symbols carved along the roof and walls of the Fearamid, the muffled sound of music from the other room where all the Henchmaniacs have gathered to party, the feel of Ford nuzzling against you and pressing soft kisses to your face.

"Isn't this wonderful?" He asks, voice gruff. "I can feel you inside of me. Can you feel me?"

One of his hands brushes against your stomach and you resist the urge to gag building at the back of your throat. Suddenly, it's all you can focus on. The image of you puking out the intrusive organs flashes into your mind. You can't ignore the feeling of squirming and wriggling inside you and whether it's phantom or not doesn't matter because Ford's intestines are inside you, and it's disgusting. It feels like there's something alien nesting inside you, and any sudden movement will cause it to burst out of you. You want to rip your skin off, you want to puke them out or rip the intestines out of you through the scarring. But then again, Bill would probably like that, wouldn't he?

You can at least excuse Ford's behavior. Over thirty years of being on the run through so many different dimensions, only to return home and suddenly having any sense of stability being just as quickly wrenched away from him by the one being who had hurt him most. You want to believe this is Ford giving into the madness and losing himself to it, to the idea that maybe, if he gave in to Bill's whims, it'd be easier. And maybe he's right.

But you're not there, yet. And you pray you never will.

All you can do is manage a nod as your whole body quakes under Ford's touch.

"Awww, if it isn't my two favorite fleshbags," Bill's voice suddenly booms, making you jump. "You two are so cute together! I'm so glad this brought you two even closer together. Say, I was thinking for next time, how does a heart transplant sound?"

Your eyes widen and your teeth clack together. You dare to take a glance at Ford's expression. He meets your gaze, eyes crinkling with excitement behind his glasses as he beams at you with utter joy.

[solar-eclippse]

Whumper cutting/buzzing/shaving off whumpee's hair. Especially if they have long hair and/or are particularly proud of it.

Whumper can explain away the action as being motivated by hygiene or a desire to avoid maintenance, but whumpee knows what it is. There are a million things that whumper could do to them against their will, and compared to most of them, this feels almost gentle, but this- this hurts them almost as bad, because it's an erasure of who they are. It's a reminder that they're not even a person anymore, if whumper so decides.

[anon-e-miss]

Reformation - 8

Just in case you thought I had put this aside...

Prowl covered his mouth with his servo, lest someone hear his wantonness. Jazz had him on his back, splayed across his desk, and the Omega’s knee pinned to his own shoulder. The Alpha’s spike was buried in his valve. It felt different out of heat. Lust was clearier without the fog of his breeding-cycle. He could felt every ridge of Jazz’s spike as they dragged across his valve’s interior nodes and biolights. To Prowl it felt like they lined up perfectly with this Alpha’s spike. Was that something that happened in heat? Overload coiled in his belly and his spark at the same time and exploded, not for the first time in this rendezvous. The protospark had completed the split the orn before and now the priority was ensuring they had the energy to stabilize their orbits. Jazz had taken responsibility for this and he took it seriously.

“Mm!” Prowl muffled his cry as his back bowed as his spark surged with overload.

Jazz made it good, so good. He used toys to drive Prowl crazy before he brought his spike to pressure, and lots of synthetic lube. One was still locked behind Prowl’s hatch, buzzing away in his aft. Prowl’s optics rolled back in his helm as the Alpha ground his knot, still inflating, against his gamma cluster. Lubricant, all Prowl’s own now, sprayed out around Jazz’s spike just as he pushed in a final time and his knot locked them together. Still, Jazz rolled his hips, fragging Prowl with his knot and grinding it against Prowl’s gamma cluster. Prowl’s valve rippled over it, over and over until Prowl whited out. He came to still trapped on Jazz’s knot but he was sitting in his lap, draped against his chassis. The toy in his aft was still softly buzzing. Prowl’s jaw was slack. He had been drooling, he realized, fragged out of his processor but this singularly cocky and considerate Alpha.

“Bet ya don’t might taken a break so much now, hmm?” Jazz teased him. Prowl never took breaks but Jazz had suggested making use of the timeslot in Prowl’s schedule.

“Mm,” Prowl hummed. “I think it is hard for me to think of working when you have fragged me stupid.”

“Nothin’ stupid ‘bout ya, Sweetspark,” Jazz told him.

There was no pushback from the Alpha tacticians working under Prowl. If they heard Jazz bending him over his desk and railing him within a micrometre of his life, they did not show it. Prowl did not know if he had just managed to enforce the chain in command before ever entering that productive heat or if Jazz and paid them a visit and given them a detailed warning of what their insolence would result in. At the moment, everything was going smoothly. He had thought Optimus might take him off duty but the Prime supported Prowl continuing as he always had since he had enlisted. Ironhide cancelled their regular training sessions and told Prowl he was on-call if any tactician needed supplementary discipline. Between Ironhide and Jazz, Prowl thought his team would not dare fall out of line. There were few Alphas in tactics anyway, the team was mostly Betas. Like their Alpha colleagues, the Betas remained held to the same standard as any soldier, any Alpha, respect your chain of command and your colleagues, that was it. All the same, they would be Prowl’s first line of defence against hormonal Alphas, as was the nature of their society.

“Jazz!” Prowl gasped. 

It was late in his duty-shift, technically this would have been classed as overtime but Jazz had negotiated if Prowl wanted to take their brainstorming session late, they needed a break. That break involved Prowl skewered on Jazz’s spike, armour eskew as Jazz played with his well and rubbed his note. He writhed on Jazz’s knot, overwhelmed with pleasure. In between overloads, Jazz coached them through the mission brief again. Strange that the overloads seemed to reset his battle computer and he saw the mission through additional perspectives every time. They worked late as Jazz lingered on helping Prowl reset but not as late as Prowl might have pushed alone. The end mission plan Jazz would hand off to Mirage and Hound was one Prowl was uniquely pleased with. Did getting fragged make him a better strategist? That was a strange thought.

***

It was a relief to Jazz how Prowl settled into his new reality. He had been worried Prowl would enter a deep depression when his carrying was confirmed but he had absorbed the knowledge and had immediately decided he would do everything right by it. Leave it to Prowl to just naturally want to be the best. To Jazz, he was the best Omega, strong-willed and effortlessly sensual. For his part he would be whatever Alpha Prowl needed to be his best. Overload steadied Prowl and de-stressed him. Jazz was pleased to assist on that front, certainly, he benefitted himself on that front. They had settled into a comfortable routine in just a matter of mega-cycles. Jazz made sure he fuelled and overloaded well and Prowl settled back into his regular life. It seemed unlikely to Jazz that Prowl would want to take too long a leave with these bitties once they emerged and he could picture Prowl’s nursing them while taking regular breaks. He could picture him round still/again. Jazz shook his helm; he was still an Alpha and some aspects of his code were coming up stronger now. Having found an Omega to carry his bitties, his code looked to the future and many more bitties carried by this mech.

“Ori!” Jazz exclaimed when he opened the door to Punch.

“Bitlet,” Punch greeted him with a firm hug. “How are you, Love?”

“Good,” Jazz said. “Prowl’s just cleanin’ up.”

“‘M sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” Punch replied. 

“Me too,” Jazz said. “But it’s alright. Ya caught us good intel. Prowl’s already puttin’ it to use.”

Prowl was radiant. He came out of the washracks, glowing. It was in his field, even if he himself did not recognize it. Four quartexes into his ten quartex carrying of twins, Prowl had a large bitty bump. His faceplates had rounded a little, softening his already softer features. Jazz did not know exactly what he had looked like as an Alpha but Jazz imagined he had been handsome. Certainly, he was gorgeous as an Omega. Round with Jazz’s progeny, so far as the Alpha was concerned, he was the prettiest of Omegas. The prettiest of mechs. Punch smiled at Prowl and Jazz thought his originator was beaming at the sight of the Omega his creation had ensparked.

“Well, Lovely ‘m Punch,” Ori greeted Prowl. “‘M pleased to see my creation’s doin’ right by ya.”

“Jazz has been very good to me,” Prowl replied. “Your ruby tea has been a blessing. I have had none of the light-cycle sickness when I have been drinking it.”

“That’s good!” Punch smiled. 

He had gifts for Prowl, and that was no surprise. A blanket to snuggle into when he found himself a little cold. More crystals for teas, things that would help with lactation since the Twins would take a lot from him. Oils to help itchy plating and his bump grew and more and more. Jazz knew his originator would want to fuss and after four quartexes of settling into his carrying, Prowl was in the helm space to appreciate it. He had not spoken about his own family. Given what he had said of his progenitor, Jazz did not imagine he had been supportive of Prowl when Prowl had returned bitched. Unless it was to tear the mech’s helm off, Jazz did not want him around Prowl or their bitlets. They did not know if the Twins would be Alpha, Beta, Omega or some combination. No one who would think less of one than another did not need to exist in their sphere. As Prowl showed Punch their newest ultrasound photos, Jazz got an urgent comm.

“Go for Jazz?”

“Jazz, there’s a Praxian at the gate insisting on seeing Prowl,” Trailbreaker explained.

“Alpha?” Jazz snarled, immediately thinking of Prowl’s progenitor.

“Beta,” Trailbreaker replied. “Enforcer. Says he’s a cousin. Won’t say what he’s here for. Says it’s none of our business. He did tell the Alphas on guard duty how he would take them down… point by point… I can sort of see the family resemblance.”

“I’ll swing by,” Jazz said. “Cousin… what could he be here for?”

[sketchmre]

two concepts of the same character. the first is a insectoid moth-like shifter/changeling and the second is a fleshy mimicry fairy. both manually draw in their eyelashes/eyebrows/lips/irises/nails

[veinsfullofstars]

🤖 Kirbtober 2024 Day 10: Mechanical 🤖

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Susie proudly showing off the company’s newest security guard, Mecha Knight, who hangs limp and unconscious from several support cables suspended from above, his metal-grafted wings held aloft, his new horns and missile-launcher pauldrons gleaming under a single spotlight, his six-pronged beam sword gripped firmly in one hand and alight with a fiery pink glow. END ID.)

“It’s our newest model! Top-of-the-line in company defense! Complete with all the latest security updates, bug fixes, and almost no resistance-based crashes to date!”

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 09/11/24, finished on 09/12/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[mvndrvke]

SYRIO ALTROSS

personals & non-mutuals, please don't reblog! trigger warnings : body dysmorphia, body modification, coercion, abuse note : syrio is an oc i've made up, so please don't steal him!

syrio was part of effie's life for years. with families that ran in the same social circles, it was inevitable that they got to know each other, and eventually began a relationship. it wasn't one of love; effie didn't love syrio, and he didn't love her. they made an attractive couple, and that was all that really mattered. effie just wanted to be admired.

syrio didn't propose. he gave effie a ring, and that was that. effie was excited, young and foolish enough to believe that was what she wanted. but attempts to plan a wedding were pushed aside by syrio. he wanted his future wife to be the best, the most beautiful, the most fashionable. effie was what she made and created. she was not afraid to change herself.

so she did. again, and again, and again. she was the height of fashion, the brightest gem at every party. she was so lucky, and everyone reminded her of that. effie reminded herself of that with each change and alteration. she was so lucky.

things changed after the 74th games. effie's delicate rules of the world was shattered, and she struggled to have faith in the life she'd built for herself. she traveled with katniss and peeta for their victory tour. things were fine, but when the reaping happened for the 75th games, syrio reacted with excitement to see his fiancee's victors compete in the games again. to him, it was a good thing, an exciting thing. to effie, it was the end. she gave back the ring and offered no further explanation.

after the initial shock, neither did syrio. it was a relationship void of feeling, and one that left effie feeling disappointed and disheartened. she'd shaped herself into the perfect thing, but she was still too different. many of the alterations she'd made to herself over the years for syrio she had undone. she hated her body, but at least it was as she'd chosen. that, at least, she could be happy with.

[idontknowanametouse]

So... I wrote a fic about Jujutsu Kaisen. Cause I refuse to believe canon. Anyway, here it is. (spoilers for Shibuya arc and a lil bit for the Culling Games arc) (briefly, it will be available in Ao3. probably) (sorry for bad english and probable inaccuracy with canon) (this is the last part)

Ieiri told Nobara before most people that she and Kurusu will try to heal Nanami. Nobara is reliefed, but she gets tense. What if, with him, it won’t work?

A little bit of the tension is dissoluted when she finds out the physic healing process worked, but the rest of it remains during the day in which Nanami remains unconscious. This time, Ieiri only lets Nobara stay there because she needs to move between the two rooms to leave and enter the place. The following day to the process, Ieiri (very tired) warns the girl that Nanami woke up in the middle of the night. She immediately gets excited, a little of the shine in her eyes coming back, but her joy dies soon later.

Nanami’s mental state remains the same. He can’t remember a thing.

With her hands trembling, Nobara asks if she can see him. Ieiri tells her that yes.

She doesn’t say a word when she sits by his side. The man has scars that form some kind of outline where his burn scars used to be. Nanami blinks when he sees her, and raises a little his body on the litter.

“Hime?”

Nobara feels a shiver down her spine when she hears that name, but tries to ignore it. She knows it’s not his fault. Then, she sighs and asks:

“Why did you protect me all the time?”

“Kami-sama asked.”

Not always, she thinks. Most of the times, yes. But, on the first time, no. She saw that, in the end of this one time, the needles pierced his neck.

Ieiri told her to be careful, as he was having aggressive reactions towards who approached too much. The only one with who he took it easy was Yuji. However, when Nobara comes closer, Nanami doesn’t show any reaction. She sits, her back against his’, and murmurs, so low that the only one who hears it is herself.

“...you like protecting the newbies, right? ...it was easy to realize it...” she turns around and hugs him from behind. “Don’t worry, Nanami-san. We’ll solve this. We’ll be ok.”

_

Nobara looks at her phone, anxious. Okkotsu Yuta came back found out where he was. They asked Nobara to use Ressonance on the needle Shoko took out of her before because it was a part of him. She will do it with pleasure, but she has to wait for Okkotsu’s call to know the right moment of using the technique. As he’s a special grade, he can face him, but her help will be good.

The phone rings. She grabs it in a second and answers the call.

“Hello?”

“Now.” Okkotsu’s voice says before turning off.

Nobara takes the needle. For the first time in the week since she woke up, she permisses herself to remember each moment, each painful thing, each needle, each dead person, each thing she did against her will, and feels the cursed energy flow through her body. Then, she burries the nail on the needle.

She hammers it again. Again. Again. Until the needle disappears.

She walks as fast as she can through the school until she arrives at the infirmary. She needs to see him, needs to garantee it worked, please, she begs for it to have worked...

Nobara sees Kurusu leaving the room. They seems relieved. Now faster than ever, she invades the infirmary and, suddenly, stops. She approaches, cautious, his litter, and murmurs:

“Nanami... san?”

He looks at her. His eyes are overflowing with silent tears.

“Kugisaki.” His voice is hoarse and broken. This man’s voice shouldn’t be like this. “I...”

“Stop” she says. “You... don’t need to say anything, ok?”

“...ok”

She squeezes his hand tightly.

_

The next days are silente and strange, however, a little, just a little, happy and relieved. Because everyone is happy they’re back, but they know that the two of them passed most of the time silent because they shared something nobody else will understand.

When Yuji makes Nobara laugh, she realizes she might be getting better.

And when they manage to get the Prison Realm, Kurusu is there to take the seal out of Gojo and she and Nanami stay close to the cube the moment the Angel frees him, she realizes they will be ok.

(this is the ending for a fic I wrote. For the other parts, search for "the shape of two souls")

[mistyriousness]

A Different Kind of Deal

((Aka: What if Husk made a few more bad gambles and ended up under contract as the eternal lapcat to a less merciful Overlord?))

[lexirosewrites]

Hello! Long time reader here and I thought I’d give this a try for once. Espescially since there were so few this past week. I love Slick Sundays.

This is a long one.

Scifi/Space Voyage enemies to lovers AU because I love scifi and couldn’t help myself. CW for noncon body modification because I’m fascinated with how omegaverse biology could start but its not in detail.

Steve Harrington is hired onto a space ship as an exercise physiologist (It’s like a very educated personal trainer). It’s a relatively small ship, with an equally small crew of scientists and engineers who’ve been given the chance to research the biology of other planets around the galaxy. He likes the crew just fine, even if they hate the physical excersize that’s required for this type of trip. One such member is Eddie Munson, the ship’s handyman and published fantasy author going on this voyage to hopefully find inspiration for his books.

Eddie annoys the shit out of Steve, constantly pushing his buttons and making his job difficult. The institute they’re working for has strict guidelines for the crews’ physical state to maintain safety, and the person responsible for keeping them there is Steve. But Eddie is practically allergic to anything he deems exercise, and as such fights Steve about doing the exercises he needs to. The others on the crew also don’t do all of their needed exercise, the nerds, but at least they look guilty about it. Eddie’s just prickly. (Eddie is just trying his best not to get a violation for jumping the pretty man, because when Steve was demonstrating an exercise, unknowingly showing off his pert ass, Eddie nearly pinned him to the equipment and pounded into him until Steve couldn’t cum anymore. Eddie’s only idea on how to avoid that was making Steve not like him and not be in any setting where he might see Steve’s ass.) (Steve may or may not have been showing his ass off on purpose. Sue him the guys hot.)

It doesn’t help that they can’t stop running into each other, gravitating towards the same secluded observation deck. Most nights Steve gets there first, and Eddie will silently slip away to another deck. But one night when Eddie gets there first, Steve startles him by sitting next to him. They sit in silence for a bit before they tentatively start talking, reaching a point of camaraderie. They meet there every night from then on, becoming close friends, maybe something more.

One day, the scientists discover an interesting planet where most organisms have a very strange dynamic between genders. Further studies show that their tend to be 6 combinations of two sets of genders. The omegaverse genders.

When a sample container breaks one day due to someone’s clumsiness, the entire crew get sick. High fevers, severe soreness, and sinus pain are the common symptoms, but some have abdominal and genital pains, describing it as their organs are being rearranged. The scientists have theorized that a highly infectious bacteria escaped from the broken sample tube and it’s been changing all of the crew to follow the gender biology of the planet they’ve been studying. They are all developing secondary genders.

Steve ends up growing all the equipment he needs to carry a baby, something he’s been secretly envious of not getting to experience, and Eddie ends up with a knot on his dick and a new breeding kink. Now they can smell each other, easily picking out emotions they couldn’t before and realizing that all the bickering was a strange form of foreplay. They don’t immediately act on it, actually they sit on it for a week, before Steve breaks the silence and telling Eddie that if they follow these wants it has to be because Eddie wants him as a long term partner and not a fun passtime.

Eddie, being the secret romantic he is and knowing that he’s been slowly falling in love with Steve, blurts out that he wants Steve forever. Eddie wants to build a den for him to nest in, wants to help him through his cycle and breed him, give Steve the big family he’s always dreamed of, and be his mate. It’s a really strong come on and Steve feels crazy for loving it, espescially with the newness of their biology. It doesn’t stop him from leaning into his alpha’s side and whispering into his ear:

“Take me to your den and breed me. We’ll worry about our first date later.”

Steve ends up being the first human omega male to give birth.

(On the fence of whether or not I’m actually going to turn this into a fic. The writing goblin in my head has been very loud lately.)

i’ll take 100k words please ���

[cydanite]

"You remember that you are a distinct being with a finite form and a mortal body."

!!SPOILERS for the ending of StP!!

Concept sketch for my interpretation of Slay the Princess’s protagonist. I like the canon vagueness of his design, but I came up with a concept I wanted to explore c:

He has 2 pairs of wings, one on his head and one on his back. The "Narrator", in trapping him, clipped his wings and disguised them as hair and a cloak. Best to not to give any reminder that flying out of the woods is even an option.

The smaller pair wrap around his head like hair, the few remaining primaries folding over each other as bangs. On the “thumb” of the wings are birds feel, decoratively chained together. Don’t be fooled into thinking that chain isn’t meant to hold, though.

The larger pair drapes limply off his shoulders like a cloak. It’s fastened by an X shape. You know the one, when people are lazy with drawing medieval clothing (myself included) we use it as a closure, a formless cross drawstring. You don’t question it when you see it. You wouldn’t suspect it’s two massive metal staples puncturing his flesh.

He can’t see his wings for what they are, so he doesn't feel through them. Not until he can manage to remember...

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(also i wrote a snippet hehe)

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The Narrator: The pain is threefold.

First comes stiffness, an ancient ache creeping in from the edge of your perception.

Awareness of this newfound sensation latches on to your mind and pulls, quickly fracturing into a sprawling map of new body parts.

It’s your hair. It hurts, in ways hair shouldn't be able to hurt. Every fiber protests against you despite being just hair mere moments ago.

The fabric of your cloak betrays you as well. You're inescapably aware of the space you now take up. New, itching, uncomfortable, ugly sensations form all down your back.

Voice of the Hero: It's like we just regained blood circulation there. We're being stabbed a thousand times over.

The Narrator: It doesn't end there. Injuries that previously gone unnoticed now make themselves known. You recall running sharp fingers through your hair. Only now can you feel the dried blood. You would've taken better care of that cloak if you'd known it was made up of you.

Voice of the Hero: But what's happening to us?

The Narrator: The web of pain maps out its shape. Two pairs of feathered wings become part of your body once again.

Voice of the Hero: 'Once again'... having wings makes sense, I suppose. But how could we have forgotten this? It seems so inescapable now.

The Narrator: But as you go to reign motor over your limbs once again, the third pain rears it’s ugly head… cold, harsh metal digs into your flesh.

It pins your limbs in their poses. A tiny set of cuffs pull small wings taught around the circumference of your head.

The closure of your "cape" is two enormous staples, staked through your flesh and clamped down hard. There's no blood here, the wound long since healed.

...Who or whatever did this to you, it was never intended to be removed.

Voice of the Hero: Maybe we should keep more vigilant in the future. If we can't trust our own body... I don't want to think about it more than we have to.

[anon-e-miss]

Reformation - 4

Jazz had suspected Prowl would not be thrilled to know he was carrying. There was no Autobot more focused on the Cause, not even Prime. No one worked harder to see the Autobots through famine, energy shortage, victory and defeat. Having an Omega in such a senior and specialized position was unusual but Optimus Prime was unusual. He had a few Omegas in important positions and he treated them as he would an Alpha. The only difference was that the Boss Bot was a bit more protective of his Omega Autobots, knowing full well even within his own ranks, there were Alphas who might do them harm. Neither Ratchet nor Prowl had ever needed his protection, both were fierce and self-assured. It was startling to see Prowl now, meek and dejected.

“Y’re okay,” Jazz assured him. Prowl shook his helm. He had to feel worse than low to actually admit he was in anything but perfect form. “Want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Jazz replied. Prowl turned his helm. His expression was different, his optics were different. The pain was raw. Jazz held him, and he would hold him until the Praxian could keep himself upright.

“Okay?” He asked.

“I get it’s my business to be noisy but ‘m not ‘bout to interrogate ya, Prowler,” Jazz told him. “Ya got the right to keep yer peace.”

“I had thought, I had hoped maybe because it never happened before, he had not finished it,” Prowl explained.

“What to ya mean?” Jazz asked.

“I was bitched,” Prowl said and the saboteur’s spark went cold.

“‘M so sorry,” Jazz told him. What else could he say? It was the thing Alphas feared more than anything, even death.

“I don’t remember how long he had me,” Prowl said. “Three heat cycles passed but they have never become regular so I do not know how long it was. Quartexes, I guess. He raped me every mega-cycle. They just lasted longer in the heats.”

“What was his designation?” Jazz asked.

“He’s detained on Garrus 9,” Prowl replied. “He will never be charged for what he did to me. The hits he committed were considered more significant.”

“His designation? Jazz asked again.

“Why?” Prowl asked.

“So I know who to kill, Prowler,” Jazz said. “Ain’t that a given?”

“He is detained in Garrus 9,” Prowl said.

“Eh, ain’t that hard to bust out, can’t be that hard to bust in,” Jazz replied. Prowl dimmed his optics and leaned his helm on Jazz’s shoulder.

“You are needed more here,” Prowl said. “Or out on one of your ops.”

“Gimme the designation, Sweetspark, ‘n I’ll figure it out,” Jazz told him.

“Lockdown.”

“I know the designation,” Jazz said.

“Someone paid him to bitch me,” Prowl said. “He never admitted who. Since he was never tried for it, he was never forced to undergo mnemosurgery to force the truth out of him. He laughed and said he would have done it for free. I watched the interrogation tapes. I should not have.”

“‘M glad he didn’t make ya heavy,” Jazz replied. Prowl nodded.

“At first, I thought maybe he had done so much damage,” Prowl said. “He broke my pelvis, dislocated my hip, cut me all over. I thought maybe my frame could not be primed for it in those conditions. Then I had a heat, away from him. The enforcer did not seem to come any closer, nor did any of the Alphas after. I thought maybe Lockdown had not quick finished unmeching me.”

“Yer still a mech,” Jazz told him.

“I am an Omega mech,” Prowl said. “If a Beta is half a mech, what is an Omega then?”

“The most powerful force in the universe,” Jazz replied. “My Ori taught me better than to think Omegas weaker than me. He sure ain’t.”

“My progenitor taught me Omegas are all whores,” Prowl replied. “The one who bore me was caught in the act with another Alpha. He pled his innocence but my progenitor had seen him overload and dismissed him for being weak and disloyal.”

“That’s disgustin’,” Jazz said. “Ain’t an Omega’s fault. Halfwit Alphas’d rape Omegas to death all the time if Omegas frames didn’t have some defences. Ain’t weakness, Prowler, or disloyalty. It’s survival ‘n what helps ya to survive sometimes bleeds yer spark.”

***

Prowl had survived and to a degree sometimes he felt he was just still surviving. It had become easier in Iacon where no one knew what had been done to him. Though he had tried to remain not just in Praxus but at his precinct, after his broken struts had healed, it had not been possible in the end. His commanders had  been afraid to demote him or release him from his duties for fear of how it might look to the media but his command prospects had evaporated. Who would want an Omega for Praefectus? What Alphas would obey one? Barricade had taught him not to cow as Barricade had never cowed and for a time Prowl had thought he could continue. When he had closed his first case after returning to duty, he had felt reassured that his processor was still his. He had been in denial. He had entered heat while still on duty and the enforcer that had won the promotion that had previously all but certainly been Prowl’s had taken him into one of the interrogation rooms and bred him there before dragging him off to a nearby scraplet motel. Prowl had heard Nightstalker brag about fragging the stick out of his aft and Garboil and been audibly drooling when he said he hoped he caught Prowl his next heat. There was no way Prowl could have allowed him the chance. Barricade had been angry, not at him but at them but even his unflinching cousin had agree Prowl needed a fresh start.

“I want to go home,” Prowl said. He was defeated. It would not reabsorb. He did not have that kind of good luck. There was no point in terminating it because it would trigger a fresh heat. Omega code had cruel failsafes.

“Maybe my place?” Jazz offered. “Ricochet ‘n me got a place off base. I think ya knew that. He’s out on an op. You might like a long oil bath ya don’t have to reserve.”

“That would be good,” Prowl replied. Generally when he came out of heat, Prowl could not get away from the Alpha that had relieved him of it fast enough. But he felt clingy to Jazz. Perhaps because he was gravid. Has his frame decided he belonged to this mech. Though he shuddered at the thought, Prowl was not strong enough to resist.

“Okay,” Jazz said. “Let’s get outta here.”

Jazz had a nice place. Ricochet was an artistic mech and both his paintings and his sculptures dotted the walls and surfaces, along with instruments Jazz seemed to have collected. Prowl was glad to devest himself of his armour in the washracks. He may audibly have signed when he saw the jacuzzi tub. It was a considerably nicer oil bath than any within the base. He jumped when Jazz touched his hip, noting a spot when the armour had pinched. Of course, Jazz was to blamed for it. The armour had not wanted to close over Prowl’s belly, still very much round with Jazz’s all too virile transfluids. Prowl stood still as Jazz noted other pressure sores. As hot oil filled the tub, the Alpha doctored them. How were they supposed to work together if Jazz felt ownership over him? Would he even be allowed to work with Jazz’s progeny growing in his forge?

“Better get some new armour cut for ya,” Jazz said. “I don’t think ya wanna be pinched all the time.”

“No,” Prowl replied. “I do not… but they will not allow me in office in something… revealing enough to fit me now.”

“Optimus ain’t gonna lose ya ‘n all yer good work ‘cause I got ya in the family way,” Jazz assured him. “There’s armour that’ll give ya some modesty without hurtin’ ya. I’ll sort it out.”

Prowl had largely avoided Omegas as an Alpha, preferring to work through his ruts. That was not to say he had not enjoy a couple as a young mech, Omegas of his progenitors choosing. He had been grateful they had not kindled. Was he more or less grateful now. Rather than a progenitor, he was to be an originator. This protospark, lest it reabsord, would grow into a newspark and emerge. It would emerge through Prowl’s valve. When he thought about it, it was horrifying. Sometimes Omega’s needed c-sections. Would getting it cut out be better than pushing it out his valve? For once Prowl hoped his Omega code would take over and make him feel this was all perfect and natural and joyous.

“Climb in, Prowler,” Jazz told him. He held Prowl’s servo to make sure he did not slip. “I’ll bring ya some ruby tea.”

“Ruby tea?” Prowl asked.

“My Ori’s cure-all,” Jazz explained. “He’ll want to meet ya. If it sticks, I mean. He’d be good for ya, I think. Since he’s carried… ‘n if ya choose to let’m know what happened, he’ll be sure to cut off Lockdown’s helm if I don’t get to’m first.”

[alcorianight]

I did not realize this got so long, so rambly word vomit under the cut

I do think more attention should be paid to the absolute horror Jason must have felt after coming out of the Lazarus pit like a foot taller and built like a damn fridge.

Like he died at 15, tiny, still small due to malnutrition and then the leading theory is that the Lazarus pit cures that and beefed him up. For one, that's gotta mess with his motor control a ton, especially when you consider that normal growth spurts cause a period of clumsiness (think jarring steps, toe stubbing, knocking your elbow on doorknobs or whatever), so a total body overhaul -Lazarus Edition™ - might be enough to keep him from even walking properly, let alone fight skillfully and gracefully.

Even if you say he got his coordination back from training or comic book science meant the pits didn't fuck that up, being small was probably a major part of his identity. Consider Jason before Bruce. He was tiny, but still resourceful and strong enough to jack tires. But being tiny was useful. Being tiny meant more hiding spaces were available. It meant he was unassuming. It meant people's eyes skipped over him. It meant avoiding attention. It meant safety.

And sure, Jason probably complained about being small when he was Robin. Probably even dreamed of being big as a street kid because being big meant having power, but being big on the streets meant being noticed and he knew that. It was something to dream about when he was older but not what he needed then.

I've also seen people headcanon that Jason is claustrophobic from the coffin, and I kinda vibe with that, and being bigger also screws with that because things feel so much bigger when you're small. If you think about it, elevators and the like probably felt a lot more spacious when you were a kid. So not only has his body been drastically changed without his consent (and I haven't really touched on that here, but also consider how it has to affect Jason Todd (who champions consent and autonomy and personal safety of the little guy) to have experienced nonconsensual body modification first hand like that) but it can actively cause him more mental distress.

And I think, coming out of the pit, the memory of his death still fresh in his mind, and stuck in the League of Assassins, maybe being small would have been comforting. He could still access all the same hiding places he would immediately clock. And while the image of a big man hiding somewhere clearly too small for him might be funny, it's also heart wrenching because he's lost so many safe places in a single moment.

Of course when Jason does go back to Gotham he's learned to use his new body and the fact that it makes him intimidating as hell, but I think there's another negative there as well. Because as Robin he comforted people. No Robin is ever soft but they are all almost definitely better at comforting victims than Batman (maybe not Damian, but he's a baby which is simultaneously more and less comforting) and a big part of that is because they're kids. Kids just aren't as intimidating as giant ass adults and I can imagine that this probably messed with Jason when he first got back to Gotham and tried to talk to the street kids or the working girls because those are groups of people who are going to be suspicious of men built like a goddamn fridge. He can't come up to them like he did as Robin, and I'm sure over time he's won their trust and they find him a symbol of safety, but the first few interactions have to hit hard because it feels like he doesn't belong in a place that's been his first home. That somehow he no longer fits right where he always did before.

I also can't imagine how disconcerting it must be to not recognize your reflection for like every part of yourself. Like, this one time I had makeup done for an event (not my idea) and it was so heavy that I didn't recognize myself and I felt so uncomfortable with that and that was just my face. My hair, my height, my build - all of that was still familiar, comfortable, but can you imagine being unable to recognize even that? And if he avoids mirrors to avoid seeing his reflection, he might not even be able to recognize himself in pictures and videos. (There's a fanfic with this idea and it definitely inspires this post because I honestly never considered this before and I thought it was so well written and such a good point that we don't pay enough attention to. You should totally check it out if you got this far.)

The last point I have for this post has to do with his relationship with Bruce. So typical timeline (I think) for Jason is he dies at 15, crawls out of his grave about 6 months later, is catatonic for 3 years, and then spends a year mentally present training with the League of Assassins on his world tour or whatever. I am fuzzy on the details here but basically from his birthday, Jason can't be older than 19-20 when he comes back to Gotham (I think 19 is the accepted age) but mentally he's 16 and for some fucking reason DC artists like to draw him like he's over 30. THIS IS A PROBLEM! Like this is an extremely fucked up 16 year old kid that should be trapped in a 19 year old's body but instead it's so much worse because (and I've seen someone describe him like this before) he's actually trapped inside the body of a 35 year old divorcee AND THAT IS NOT OKAY! Like even if we're gonna say that the Lazarus pit alters the body to peak physical health that would be like 22 or some shit. Past 30 is not a physical prime. You can be fit for sure at 30 but that doesn't change the fact that your ability to build muscle and heal and whatever else are probably better in your early to mid 20s and hey guess what that's still younger than Dick's accepted age (or maybe about the same (I have stayed up too late writing this to keep proper track of numbers)). But Jason looks older than Dick more often than not (the Gotham Knights game will never be forgiven for whatever the fuck happened to Jay's character design).

Okay sorry for the sidetrack, but Jason looking older is gonna fuck with Bruce because Bruce is gonna have a real hard time seeing his tiny, malnourished, never gonna top 5'4 Jaylad in this giant hulk of a figure, especially when the age is so off. Like imagine you have a kid who goes to college and does a ton of internships or research so you don't really see them for 4 years, you're still gonna expect your kid to look like they're 22-23. If they look like they're 35 you sure as hell are not gonna pinpoint that as your kid. So Bruce sees Jason and it makes sense that he doesn't think that's his kid BECAUSE THAT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE HIS KID! (I'm ignoring the moral differences in this post) So Bruce doesn't see a kid when he looks at Jason but Jason is mentally 16 and, despite everything he says to the contrary, he sees his dad when he looks at Bruce. Jason doesn't see an equal, someone who is just another adult. This is his dad, an authority figure in his life, someone whos opinions and words hold power over him whether he wants them to or not. But Bruce can't see that. Because Bruce doesn't see a kid. He doesn't see his son. He sees an equal and that's tragic because you're always supposed to be your parents' baby. Even when you're 50 with your own family and nearly adult kids, you're still gonna be your parents little baby. Because parents see their kids at all the ages they've ever been and it's the fact that Jason doesn't have someone who looks at him and sees him how he was when he was 2 and 7 and 10 and 13 and 15 when he still feels 16 that makes this so sad. Because no one's been his parent for long enough to really build that and Bruce can't see Robin!Jason in the Jason that came back.

Wow, uh, I'm really sorry to anyone who reads this. This really got away from me and it's super unorganized and I just kinda word vomitted all over this. This was just supposed to be about how his body was different. How did Bruce end up in this?