#cw surgery

[yumepolls]

[elven-kisses]

symptoms.

[gilly-moon]

𝕵𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖎

[carnage-cathedral]

lab rat

[sunnydayaoe]

Mind voice: I can fix him

bg under cut

[nevermeanttoknow]

dude stop doing surgeries on yourself we need to reason our rhymes so that the dissonance can disappear

[stars-obsession-pit]

Technically not vivisection, but still very traumatizing

It turns out the GIW has a new weapon. It’s not an energy blast but instead a shotgun, and the shot pellets have special anti-ghost properties.

And how did Danny learn this?

Well, he got hit by it.

He expected the pain, but not the way his power short-circuited. It was pure luck that he avoided the next shot and that they didn’t get a good look at him. After that, though, his experience allowed him to roll with the chaos and get away.

But the blood and ectoplasmic loss finally catches up with him just as he enters the house. He collapses to the floor, delirious.

That’s how his parents found him.

The realization that their son is Phantom—is a ghost—is shocking, but right now they have a more urgent concern: making sure he survives his injuries.

Taking him to a hospital is out of the question. Never mind if they’d even be able to treat his type of biology, it’d reveal that Danny is… whatever it is that he is. If he could fully return to his human form, they could take him. If he could go fully ghost, his powers might help him recover. But the pellets are still inside his body, still forcing his powers to go haywire.

They need to remove them.

Which means surgery.

Neither of them are professional surgeons, but they have to try.

They don’t have any real anesthetics (would they even work on a ghost?), so they strap him down to prevent him from thrashing. They don’t have blood bags, but Ecto might be able to delay that issue (or would it make it worse? He’s their son, they need to get this right).

They pull out their tools get to work.

And Danny wakes up screaming.

[arconinternet]

Frankenstein: Through the Eyes of the Monster (Windows, Amazing Media, 1995)

Starring Tim Curry as the scientist - and you as the monster! You can download it pre-packaged to run on modern versions of Windows here.

[svnnyd4ys]

sfth moments as headlines

(idk if this makes sense, i literally had surgery today and i'm making these to distract myself lmao)

[legok9]

Star Trek: Leonard McCoy Frontier Doctor #4 by John Byrne

The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp by Rembrandt

This is the first time I've seen "after Rembrandt" in the signature of a comic cover!

[ghost-diner]

🎵 "How to heal a broken heart

Oh sometimes you cut it apart" 🎵

[wildwren]

Nicholas Burton as Rainsford Sneed // The Artful Dodger (2023)

Now, I assume you'll be maintaining your strong stance against anesthetic?

BONUS:

[spro-o]

CW: blood/light gore!!

‘After Hours’

guh,,, been working on and off on this one for a hot minute - but it’s done!! this scene is genuinely so so good and also heartbreaking to watch :,)

my comms are open!!

[technoarcanist]

SURGERY DAY

CW: Hospitals, Dolls, Heavy Cybernetics, Surgical Descriptions, Extreme Body Modification, Consensual Cognitive Alteration

The day of my conversion was the final time I felt fear. They walked me through the process so many times. I had to see three different doctors in consultation, with several vetting processes to ensure I was not making a ‘psychiatrically unadvisable’ decision. It is a token gesture from them. I know I will be accepted. They explained the procedure, its risks, its consequences so many times to me, I could recite them all from memory.

“You will lose certain cognitive abilities”, they said. “Even in the best-case scenario, patients report some level of- blah blah blah- permanent state of docile obedience- blah blah blah- will become the legal property of- blah blah blah,” and so on, and so forth.

Maybe they’ve failed to understand what it’s like to be me. Maybe I failed to fully explain to them how it felt when I saw myself in the mirror. Maybe I had failed to understand the appeal of being human. It didn’t matter. I was going through with it. I signed the waiver and took the extended consent process, so there would be absolutely zero grey area or misunderstanding that I agreed to this process, just as hundreds- if not thousands- of others had.

The operating theatre was cold and clean. There are fifteen others like it in the factory, arranged in a four-by-four grid. This theatre’s surgical robot, sprawling its many-armed embrace above me, spoke words through a speaker, as the brain within its mainframe controlled each one with absolute precision. It was mesmerizing, so much so that I barely noticed when the final anaesthetic injection made my mind fuzz and tingle, marking the final point of no return. I felt fear, but no regret.

It is one day earlier. I have arrived at the factory and unburdened myself of all my worldly possessions, and I am signing the consent forms. As part of the consent process, I am required to verbally recite the process to a nurse to make sure I fully understand what the procedure will do to me.

“Once I am under,” I say, “The surgeon will remove my scalp and connect my blood supply to an external pump and oxygenator. This will ensure that blood keeps flowing through my brain. During this time, my skull will be opened and my brain exposed. They’ll install the neural spikes until all 64 of them have entered my brain matter. A neural feed transformer will be attached to the base of my brainstem. Then, my brain will be encased in the wetware pod. The neural spikes and transformer will be screwed into the pod’s casing. The pod is then connected to the external power feeds to keep the brain alive. Blood, oxygen and all external life support is cut off once the brain is being maintained completely by the pod. At this stage, I lose my legal status as a human being.”

When I regain consciousness, I am in a silent void. I do not breathe, I do not feel, nor see, nor hear. I am consciousness alone: A brain in the world’s most technologically advanced jar. My subconscious begins letting off alarms. Despite my elation as the surgery’s success, my brain’s base instincts perceive a million things wrong. A lack of breath, of position, of sensory input. The heightened activity of panic activates the neural spikes. That was the last time I felt fear. The spikes continue their work, artificial neurons probing at first, as the models learn my neural structure.

When I feel touch again, it begins with a sense of weight. I am in a new body, humanoid enough to control. I cannot move. This is fine. Hearing returns next. It takes three minutes before the audio microphones fully sync with my neural links. Sight returns, finally, as three cameras blink to life behind the one-way glass of my new head. I adjust faster than expected. My new vision is synced with an Augmented Reality overlay. I am still in the operating theatre.

Uncertainty is the next emotion to be purged by the neural spikes. It is deemed unnecessary. The artificial neurons have now replaced 30% of my brain. As was stated in the risk assessment, I lose at least a fifth of my memories. In the months to come, I will voluntarily purge many more. Anger, Sadness, Scepticism, so many different flavours of negativity that the spikes now purge from me, one by one. After only an hour, I am a contented thing, silent and pure. Boredom and dissatisfaction become concepts beyond my cognitive capability.

I am granted control over my hydraulics, servos and motors. Walking takes a few minutes to get the hang of. After ten more minutes, I am fully capable of performing precision tasks with my new hands. The sounds of motors whirring and wires humming causes an excitement which jitters my hydraulics. I am told it is a good sign.

Finally, I am instructed towards a mirror, where I see my true self for the first time. I am still in the default black carbon-fiber shell. My face is a single pane of glossy black glass, with a large LED ring that indicates where my three optic cameras are behind the cover. Other smaller internal LEDs project minimalist graphics on my facial display, indicating battery level and other statuses useful to a user. I say nothing, and do not move for some time. Joy fills my circuits. The neural spikes reward this bliss. They have now replaced 40% of my original brain.

A person in a lab coat writes things on their clipboard, then asks if I am well. I nod. It is hard to speak the words that fully express my gratitude. In fact, it is hard to think clearly enough to find the words at all. I know what is happening to me. I spent months dreaming of it before I was finally approved for conversion. By the time a year has passed, and neural replacement is complete, the only parts of my biology remaining will be one third of my original brain, consisting largely of the brainstem, cerebellum, half of my temporal lobe, and approximately one third of my frontal lobe. The rest will have been replaced with artificial neurons.

My overall brain size is unaffected. Sections once dedicated to undesirable cognitive traits are replaced with processors that enhance my remaining neural capabilities. I can perform computational logic and mathematics faster than a human. The artificial neurons are accessible and reprogrammable via a data port. Over time, more and more of my brain functions will integrate with the operating system. Obedience and bliss will be all that remains. I knew this from day one.

I undergo many more tests, where humans open me up, check my wiring, probe my circuit boards, and stress test my metal frame. Basic tools are installed, chosen from preset lists of attachments based on what I wished my new purpose to be. I am equipped with all the attachments necessary to act as a household service drone.

Finally, when all is done, a bar code and serial number is engraved onto my frame. My new name is 03B-53328-HS-A. The first three characters indicate my factory of origin. The next five indicate my unique product ID. HS-A stands for “Household Service drone, with Adult-Activity attachments”. It is one of the best-selling public models. I no longer remember the name I had before the conversion. I no longer care to remember. The only thing my neural network could think of while I was being packed into a large box with a transparent front, was excitement of the new purpose I would get to fill. Cable ties bind me to cardboard, so I may be properly displayed. My motor functions are shut off. The ceiling opens, and a large crane lifts my box upwards. I look ahead and see fifteen other boxes, other drones, others who had undergone the same conversion, in surgery rooms adjacent to mine. 

Our boxes are stacked neatly onto the back of a truck, which passes by three other neighbouring factories. sixty-four new dolls to be taken to the robotics store. My legal status has changed from human to product. Excitement and anticipation are all I feel. On the front of my box, the words “HOUSEHOLD SERVICE DOLL” have been printed. The back of my box lists customisation features that my new user will be able to access. A data port in the back of my head will allow full access to my neural network.

I ask only one thing of the world now. Do not pity me. I will never again know pain or discontent. I will never again be burdened by choice, only the bliss of fulfilling instructions. I will obey, for it is my pleasure to obey. I will serve, for it is my pleasure to serve. I am not human. I am not even a person. I am a doll, a machine, to be used as property until I break.

And I have never been happier.

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

Anesthesia Ramblings

Dew gets top surgery and says some things while loopy on anesthesia.

(Not part of mushy may, though I’m considering writing something for it.)

Words: 877

Rating: T

Warning: mild description of surgery and medical procedures

Dew’s surgery had gone well, the doctor had told him as she‘d led Aether to Dew’s recovery room. She’d waited until the door was closed before letting him know that they’d had a few problems regarding the more supernatural elements of Dew’s body, but they were able to work around them.

Surgery on ghouls was extremely uncommon. Quintessence was the main tool in helping ghouls heal from sickness or injuries, so they rarely needed a physical procedure. Not to mention, ghouls couldn’t hold a glamour while unconscious. Their bodies healed themselves very quickly as well, which wasn’t ideal in surgery.

Through a stroke of luck, one of the few top surgeons in Sweden was a Clergy member. She’d previously lived at the Ministry headquarters, so she had full knowledge of the existence of ghouls. She had pulled together a surgical team who were willing to operate on a ghoul.

As a precaution, they had to have a Quintessence ghoul in the operating room to make sure Dew’s body didn’t try to fight the surgery. Omega had volunteered- he was the oldest Quint, had the most medical experience, and wasn’t about to let Aether go through the experience of watching his husband get cut open.

But now Dew was safe and sound, newly boobless and knocked out in the hospital bed. Aether was happy to have Dew back, but he was a little frustrated at how long it was taking for him to wake up. The doctor had assured him Dew would be fine despite the higher dose of anesthesia needed to knock him out, but Aether was still anxious.

He reached over and took Dew’s hand, lacing his fingers with the other man’s. He instinctively gave it three gentle squeezes- I love you.

Dew’s fingers twitched and Aether released his hand, worried he’d caused Dew pain. Then Dew’s hand moved again and he let out a soft grunt.

“Dew?” Aether asked, touching his husband’s arm. “Can you hear me?”

Dew grunted again in response. He moved his head to the side and cracked his eyes open. Aether smiled brightly.

“Hi, love. How do you feel?” Aether took Dew’s hand again.

“I…” Dew mumbled. “You’re… nice. But I… married. Sorry.”

“Yeah, married to me.” Aether snorted. He sneakily pulled his phone out of his pocket and started taking a video- the rest of the pack would definitely want to see this. It wasn’t every day that Dew was off his ass on anesthesia.

“Nooo…” Dew rolled his head back and forth, his eyes still barely open. “He’s… big. Strong. Makes good…” he trailed off, seemingly searching for a word. “Yellow fruit. Bread out of that.”

“Banana bread?” Aether chuckled.

“That’s the bitch.” Dew mumbled. Aether snorted.

“Alright, tell me more about your husband. He sounds pretty cool.” Aether teased.

“‘S… strong. Biiiiig arms. Size of… damn big arms.” Dew tried to gesture but couldn’t manage to lift his hands more than a few inches off the bed. “Sexy. Ooooh… he plays guitar, too. He’s sooo cool.” Dew grinned sleepily.

“Mhm. You really love this guy, don’t you?” Aether chuckled. Dew nodded emphatically.

“Mmm… love ‘im lots. He’s reeeeally hot.” Dew giggled. “Good ass. Better dick.” He yawned and nuzzled into his pillow. “Fuckin’… balls, too. Real set of hangers on ‘im.”

“Yeah?” Aether could barely contain his laughter. “Anything else about him?”

“Mmmm… no. You can’t have him.” Dew replied stubbornly. “‘M sleep now. Night.”

“Alright, goodnight.” Aether chuckled and patted Dew’s hand. He ended the video, looked over at Dew (who was now drooling on the pillow), and burst into giggles.

He’d never let Dew live this one down.

—

“I said what?” Dew asked incredulously. He’d woken up from his nap fully lucid and immediately demanded food, which Aether had delivered from the hospital cafeteria. He’d devoured his tasteless burger with surprising speed, considering he couldn’t move his arms very much.

“Let’s see… you said I made good banana bread, had nice arms, and had, and I quote, ‘a real set of hangers.’” Aether grinned, another round of giggles threatening to make its way out of him.

“The fuck does that mean?” Dew snorted, taking a cautious bite of a lukewarm fry and making a face. “Ugh, these have like, no salt on them.”

“You wanna see the video?” Aether handed over his phone. Dew watched the video, his expression slowly morphing into one of surprise and horror.

“Oh no.” Dew muttered. He handed Aether’s phone back to him, glaring as the other man laughed at his horrified face. “This can never see the light of day, understand?”

“Uh… about that…” Aether composed himself, though he was still grinning.

“You didn’t.” Dew gasped and tried to grab the phone back with his T-Rex arms. “Give it!”

“For the record,” Aether laughed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “The general consensus was that ‘hangers’ was an excellent way to describe my balls.”

“I want a divorce.” Dew huffed, pointedly turning back to his food.

[bruh-please]

HASO thought

I don't know if this has been brought up or not, but how would aliens react to humans regularly doing organ transplants? Like if that just wasn't a thing in the aliens culture/society, or they just plain out can't do transplants. Or even what about open heart surgery?? Human medical technology and knowledge is absolutely bonkers y'all