#mutilation cw

[fenteii]

radiation mutation

[mad-as-a-box-of-frogs]

You kidding? I want to seal those bastards up forever.

Kevin Tran in A Little Slice of Kevin (8x07): SPN POC [75 / ?]

[patchwork-crow-writes]

A Carrion Dance

Cw: Blood, Gore, Death, Mutilation

The first cut is the deepest, your talons across the chest, exhuming my calloused heart to the warm morning air. Claws squeeze tight to simulate a pulse, wrenching cold blood through withered veins, teaching a corpse to love again.

Beaks nip and prod, deathly kisses drawing blood from stone. Warmth pools beneath papery skin, blushes black and blue to match your murderous plumes. Nothing is concealed from your pinprick eyes as you set upon my glassy gaze, the hook of your wicked smile the last thing I'll ever spy.

Feathers tangled in my hair, quills imbibed in crimson ink to sign away my final rites. To you I leave my life's work; be not coy, my angel, but pick me clean of the riches of my flesh. You occupied my mind in the zest of my life, and there too in death shall you feather your nest, and lay us now down to a carrion's rest.

No greater joy can I think of than this; To nourish you thus in this deathly bliss.

[theslowesthnery]

speaking of omens, they come in three different horn variations

"stump":

"horn":

and "cursehorn":

for both "horn" and "cursehorn", you can see new horns sprouting out of the stumps of cut horns, so assuming an omen survives the shearing of their horns, it seems like their are capable of growing back

what's curious about the "cursehorn" (beside the name - even the texture file of the horns is called "horn_curse_color"), is that the stumps they're growing out of are dark like the regular "horn", not lighter like the currently growing horns

[feleshero]

Night-Spider Episode 9: The Alien Costume (Part 2)

The first time Felicia put on the 'suit', it was... It was like the first time she was with Flash. The 'first' time, not the FIRST time.

It was warm. Tender where she needed coddling, fierce where she needed pressure. It coiled in her hands at first, threads of cooled darkness tickling at her aura. Asking permissions and testing boundaries.

She was unsure where to guide it. Sentient alien companions were a bit outside her wheelhouse, admittedly. She thought it best to do what consenting adults did and ask.

❝ How do we do this? ❞ There was a warble in her hands. A response gone unspoken, but one she understood. Deep breath.

The next part also reminded her of her first time with Flash... sorta.

The tears welling in her eyes and spilling out onto her cheeks, the impossibly disgusting yet eternally sweet flavor coating every bud on her tongue, the feeling like she was choking... pinpoint spots of the abyss forming in the center of her vision as she choked, gagged, drowned under the deluge forcing its way down her throat.

Hunched over, the darkness in her hands has grown three times as large. Ten times as heavy. It brings her down to her knees, spiking her into the earth in penance as her throat bulges at the seams.

Small veins of obsidian leak through her pores. The effusion burns COLD. So cold she can feel her skin freezing under its creeping advance. She tries to wick some away, in a panic. She succeeds, a glob of darkest black sent careening away from her, trailing a warm, rich crimson behind it.

A swatch of her flesh is ripped off, the darkness having threaded itself through her skin like needlepoint. To be rid of it, now, would be to be rid of her. She's trapped, freezing to death under a torrent of molten entropy, and her every pitiful cry is denied purchase.

Throat. Vocal chords. Even the well of her lungs have been seized by the suit. Every sound she makes is a frantic gurgle, a horrid screech, or a pitiful sob. Ichor leaks from her mouth when she tries to speak, metallic like blood, she can feel the perforations in her tongue, now swollen and barbed, too big to sit comfortable behind the serrated fangs that splintered her pristine whites and tore her gums asunder to find purchase.

Oxygen was precious. Measured in seconds now that her lungs were heavy with fluid and closed to the rest of her being.

Her phone. Just out of reach of her spasming fingers. If she can find a moment of focus, just ONE, she can call for help. Middle and Ring curl back, a practiced manuever toward the spinneret embedded in her wrist. They find purchase!

THWIP! The gossamer thread casts out, finds its target and-

❝ ... ❞

Gone. Lost beneath the darkness. Extended hand gone limp and then dragged underneath the oceanic abyss. Her flesh hardened and peeled off, her muscles untethered and splayed out, her bones dissolved. Gone.

And then the voice of GOD carves its way through Felicia.

Vibrating. Nothingness.

Reweaving. Infinite.

The divine presence changes the spider's venom within her. The tarantula's venom changes the call of the abyss without her. They both changed what remained of Felicia. They all turned into something else.

An Angel of the Void.

The spider made darker. The darkness made venomous.

Felicia was stretched. Stretched as anyone when seen from out of time. Across the call of ages, back to a universe that died to bring her this death. Almost an ouroboros. A spiral. A maelstrom.

The gravity well of a black hole, twisting inward, tightening, taking her below and below to the bottom, the heart, and through to the other side.

The Suit said: "When you hear this, you will know you are in the new you."

The Spider warned: "They'll build you till nothing remains."

Felicia agreed: "I must want these waves to drag me away..."

And then she was whole. Full. Alive? Lungs SCREAMING appreciation for the taste of air again. Veins in overdrive, pushing blood, adrenaline, and more through her hyper-powerful being.

Outside of her bedroom, out in the city, clinging to the facade of Fisk Tower and staring into... into- her own reflection? But upside down. And in a STUNNING suit! The colors were familiar, but the logo? What a design.

❝ What... the fuck did you do to me? ❞

A response unspoken, in the still-frayed edges of her mind. Like winterized lightning crashing around her synapses, the distant warblings felt much closer now.

Much easier to discern. Almost like a voice she could hear, as clear as she could hear her own. As if spoken through her own mouth.

❝ To YOU, Felicia? Nothing. But FOR US? Everything. ❞

[crystalmarred]

[HURT] -  for receiver’s muse to be half-conscious after an injury, and not able to keep their nightmares separate from reality.-Hiroto to any of your boys that you’d like to use <3

MEME ( accepting! ) ⇢ @oathofpromises

Something had hit him, careened straight into his side and sent him reeling, the air pushed from his lungs by whatever had crashed into him from his blind spot. He'd gotten hurt, Liun'a was sure. He could remember the sharp sting of... something. A blade or the jagged edge of a rock when he fell, he couldn't quite recall.

Had he passed out? Probably, he couldn't recall. All he knew was the hands on him. He was groggy, tired, exhausted in a way he couldn't quite remember being before—not for the longest of time.

For a moment, he thought he'd imagined the hands, the pull of his body... somewhere... Away from whatever fight he'd been engaged in by request of the Velodyna Gatekeepers, though he couldn't seem to recall what he'd been fighting and— ow, ow, ow, his head hurt when he tried, when he considered it too long, when he sought out an answer that wouldn't come to him.

For a moment, the hands on him were gone. Only a moment before they were back, on his head—ow, why did that hurt—with a strange, wet stickiness that he didn't want to understand. Or... Was the stickiness on him...?

The thought was there, then it was gone just as quickly, dashed by the way the fingers ebbed close, too close, to the eyepatch that covered the gaping hole that was his right eye.

A flash of a memory, a nightmare that haunted his sleep even still. A hand on his jaw, another holding his eye open. Don't, don't, don't, please, not that—

"Don't touch me!"

A scream, voice shaking, wobbling, terrified. Help me, please, don't—

Arms and legs drew in before he threw them outward, pushing off the Garlean in a way only a Miqo'te could. He couldn't remember why there was a Garlean there. Was there a Garlean there? Why would they be... Wasn't Ala Mhigo...

It— It didn't matter, it didn't, he was going to be hurt again, they were doing it again, just like they always promised—

Liun'a scrambled to his feet, leapt up so quickly that his vision swam, his stomach lurched, the air on his usually covered eye where he'd pushed the stranger so abruptly they'd accidentally taken his eye patch with them. He didn't notice, noticed little else besides the flash of pink on the beige backdrop of Gyr Abanian sands.

Lost in a fog that settled over him and not the land they stood on, he stumbled backwards, struggled to regain his footing before he fell back. Luck prevailed for a moment, his arm catching his fall in the familiar desperation of a man whose first and last instinct was survival. No one was coming for him, no one would save him.

"Don't—"

He repeated the word like it meant something, like Garleans—Garlean?—even knew the meaning of it.

A hand lifted to cover his unveiled eye—a decision he would regret later when the fine sands proved difficult to clean from the socket, when an infection festered in it. Yet his movement paused when his fingers touched hair, found that familiar sticky substance.

Oh...

He drew his hand back, stared at his red-stained fingertips.

Foggy confusion ate away at him. A golden brown eye glanced at the other person who still held his eyepatch in their hand. Tall. Pink... hair? He couldn't tell, his vision refused to clear. Was that a Garlean? But why would they try and hurt him, otherwise? ... Were they? Did they?

"... Who...?"

[blackcur-rants]

Random Silly Theory about “The Owl House”

The Titans and the Collectors are very likely meant to be stand-ins for different types of gods in mythology. The Titans are representatives of the really old Earth gods of mythology (think Gaia and Kronos in Greek mythology, Tiamat in Babylonian mythology, Pan Gu in Chinese mythology, Ymir in Norse mythology, Purusha in Hindu mythology) while the Collectors represent the later Sky Gods who displaced them (Zeus and the Olympian Theoi overthrowing Kronos and his Titans of Othrys in Greek Mythology, Marduk and the Dingir/Ilu destroying Abzu and Tiamat in Babylonian mythology, the Xian (later led by Yu Huang) carving up Pan Gu in Chinese mythology, Odin and Vili and Ve slaying Ymir before beginning the Aesir, Purusha’s body becoming the source of the Varna system) and in some cases used their dismembered bodies to make the world.

Given that many modern sects of Wicca/Witchcraft worship these Mother Earth goddesses in place of the patriarchal Sky Fathers…it’s definitely something to think about in this show about Witches.

@sepublic @niconebula @disregardcanon @lady-asteria @theplantarsdeservebetter

[perledelalune]

"I was literally disemboweled just before arriving here. Now here you all are putting your digestive tracts through arguably worse trauma. More evidence to my running theory that this island is Hell- it's behavior like that which caused you all to wind up here."

[riviclouds]

*cutely brings back butcher quackity*

[tianshiisdead]

British exploits in China get so downplayed as small and 'not THAT bad or violent' even in writing on the topic, to the point where people will fight you if you call it imperialism (and not a fair war at all) and say you have a victim complex, and then you actually look at what happened and it's like

death toll: 100,000 crimes (by british and co. mainly against civilians): torture, looting, burning orphanages, gang rape, mutilation of civilians, burning entire villages with people in them, killing and torture competitions of villagers regardless of age, massacr-

[seaofserene]

fucking help me // @somewhereinchaos​ 

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

((So for preservation sake, I am gonna slam down the dump about the Goth Punks I made a while back. Look under the cut if you wanna-

And this is it. The Cassandra bit was more to show the others what Cassandra looks like according to MindChamber and sort of invite people to let her manipulate or work with their muses iorhetgjeui))

[the-kinfesssional]

[tw for mutilation/blinding]

<•> RAHRAHRAHHGHGRRH just saWW soMMe radqueer say they're gonna MMutilate their body to be MMore like Vriska ≠,:[ <•>

<×> and they say they're "transitioning" MMY SIBLING IN ALTERNIA DONT BLIND YOURSELF THERE ARE SAFE OPTIONS FOR ATYPICAL DYSPHORIA <×>

<•> blocked eMM but... yikes ≠:[ <•>

-♑💜

[Translation: [tw for mutilation/blinding]

RAHRAHRAHHGHGRRH just saw some radqueer say they're gonna Mutilate their body to be More like Vriska ≠,:[

and they say they're "transitioning" MY SIBLING IN ALTERNIA DONT BLIND YOURSELF THERE ARE SAFE OPTIONS FOR ATYPICAL DYSPHORIA

blocked em but... yikes ≠:[ ]

HOLY SHIT

What the hell. That's erm!

[brassandblue]

“ what did they do to you? ”  ( from Little @ Goodsir)

Harry peered into Ed's eyes with his own worn, dark amber gaze.

They were all beginning to remember more things about the nightmarish Franklin Expedition. It had all happened so long ago, but now for some cruel reason, had begun to spring anew in their minds.

"I'll spare you the details," he began, "but... I assume I was to be their supper, after death. I was beginning to lose the fine motor function in my hands--from the lead poisoning, the starvation and scurvy--so I poisoned myself, and then of course, the mutineers."

He knew it was a gruesome (at the very least) thing to discuss, but he had begun to understand, in earnest, that airing such horrors with trusted friends seemed to bring a bittersweet relief. It was a disquieting catharsis, and a burden none of them needed to shoulder alone.

"But," he added quickly, "when I went, I saw... daybreaks. Sunlight and flowers and--good things. A terrible end, I know, but, I'm still glad to be here now with you and the others. Is that weird? Maybe a little," he mused with a small flicker of a smile.

[crystalmarred]

kissing your lover under the night sky while stargazing . — Dataun'a

MEME ( accepting! ) ⇢ @diademreigned

From the start, Liun'a was no stranger to the fact that he was awful at this, at being whoever or whatever Data needed in a... a partner. That word still sounded so foreign to him, so strange and unreal when he was still reeling from the disbelief that anyone would look at him and see someone worthwhile.

At best, he had been a soldier. At worst, a monster that had killed numerous of his countrymen.

He hadn't liked it. Of course he hadn't. But it would be hard to claim he regretted it, not when their deaths were all that was standing between him and his own.

He'd tried once, after all. He tried to refuse, had fought when they'd held him down and taken his eye for his insolence. They had known that a young boy barely into his teens needed to be taught—firmly—to get the desired results and they had done exactly that.

Before that, perhaps Liun'a was a good person, a good child that did his chores and told his mother he loved her and ran to hug his father when he returned home from a long day of work. Perhaps that had been who Liun'a Jakkaya had been, but now... now he was only this: An awful shell of a man that cared little for anyone but himself.

Or... that is what he'd thought.

His chest swelled when he looked at Data. Such warmth did he elicit, he'd thought at first he was suffering from some sort of condition and sought the aid of a reluctant chirurgeon to solve his... predicament.

Only to be told it was neither an ailment nor something he could be cured of.

So instead he lay here, caught in thoughts too vibrant, too much, too many, all centered on the man who had captured... something in him that he couldn't rightly describe. The late hour had left him alone with what ailed him—or so he'd thought.

Footsteps approached him from his blind side, his ears flicked as his head turned to the source. ... And there, he found Data. A smile on his face as he drew closer until he very nearly hovered over him.

"Can I join you?"

How silly. He asked the question as if Liun'a could prevent him from doing so, as if he was strong enough to, even if he wanted to.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked, instead of the question that stirred at the edges of his mind. The pointed, honest, by the gods, what have you done to me?

But words like those don't come to him easily, even with his sharp tongue.

It did not matter that Liun'a had answered his question with another question. It didn't matter that Data surely could barely see in the faint glow of the moonlight, dark as it was. The sharpened pupil of a Seeker made it more difficult, where Liun'a's rounded ones allowed him a much wider range of sight—save for on his right side.

Would have even mattered if Liun'a had said nothing at all? Would he have stopped and laid down next to him, anyways, undeterred until Liun'a told him he wanted him gone? He didn't, he didn't, this was both too close and not near enough; he wanted more.

He wanted more. That was the defining thought in his mind, the loudest of them that made his breath seize for a second at the thought.

What cruel and unfair god had let Liun'a stake a claim on him? Who had condemned Data to be with a man half-broken? Worry set into his brow as Data lay beside him, gaze upturned towards the stars above. He was caught in familiar, beautiful eyes that surely rivaled the stories Data himself had told him of the stunning blue-green sparkle of the Ruby Sea stretched across the horizon.

Data rambles. On and on, he fills the self-made silence Liun'a had fallen into with tales and truths that sound like poetry from his pretty lips.

His one golden brown eye fixated on them. From befuddlement, he drifted to wonder. The thought of what he did or did not deserve fell away, in favor of another pressing question that served to fluster him: Was he wearing lip gloss?

It's thoughtless. That question comes to him and for a brief moment, so does a bolder question.

How do I find out?

And before Liun'a can find his sense, before he can pull back on the reigns of the impulsive thought that could well cost him everything good that has fallen into his lap in recent weeks, he leans over. Silence fell over them again as Liun'a caught his lips with his own, putting an abrupt end to whatever Data was telling him about the constellations—interesting, though he could not focus on it.

As quickly as it came did Liun'a retreat Like an animal, small and terrified, did he curl back into his shell for a brief moment of respite as fear warred with the feelings that threatened to burst, to overflow every time his eye found Data's own.

"I—I'm sorry, I was— I was just—"

A gasp, one he thought belonged to Data for a moment before he realized it was his own when Data closed the distance 'tween them again and found another kiss. Then another. Then another.

His limbs quaked, quivered with a need he could not put into words. One that was not the demand of his body, but that strange ailment that had plagued him since first they had decided to become... this. Partners.

"It's okay," came that gentle voice that crawled up his spine like a shiver and crept into his ear. "You can kiss me if you want to."

His chest ached, heart pounded. Freckled hand took his own and their intertwined fingers worsened that feeling. It verged on stifling, somewhere between good and bad in a way he didn't want to end.

"O-oh... Okay... Can I...?"

A laugh. Bright, happy, whole in a way that Liun'a feared he would never be.

"Of course you can."

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

[ominouspuff]

I love rebel fox's ridiculously big sleeves

So glad you do — I dearly love them too. So many opportunities for flourishing and swishing from a man you would expect to do exactly neither and never

Also. You have given me the opportunity to EXPOUND and I’m taking it

The sleeve is not only aesthetic, but so EXTRA

CW mutilation: Fox’s right hand index-finger: “Ahsoka’s Gift” - In the arc where Fives (appears) to get shot by Fox, enraged by this and by her treatment by the Coruscant guard during her trial arc, Ahsoka takes revenge on the offending digit that shot the gun. With her teeth, btw — it gets a bit wild. Side-note: It factors in for the other clones that Fox is not right-handed, but that’s the hand he uses to shoot Fives. Then again, most clones are trained/raised/adjusted to be ambidextrous, so — it’s just odd all around, from the outside.

GAR armor: In keeping with the AU title and inspiration (Repurposing GAR armor towards the end of pulverizing wrinkly Sith — A guide by CC-1010, ecstatically-ex-marshal commander of Coruscant), Fox has kept his GAR shoulder-guards, a cutout of his chestplate, and knee-guards (plus one shin-guard), though the paint on them has been adjusted or worn.

Oversized sleeve: Beneath the batwing sleeve and dramatic flair, Fox is hiding whatever the rebellion uses instead of the Mandalorian Whistling Birds, in addition to an elbow-mini-blaster that fires a max of four shots, and extra ammo. (Also the sleeve is removable — think detachable bridal train)

CW self-destruction: On the reverse side of his chest-plate piece, Fox has an explosive device with multiple ways to rig it to explode. While it is detachable and likely could be used to explode OTHER things, the primary intent is a last resort gesture of defiance should he run out of other options.

Fox also has a replaced tooth (which he makes use of, but no spoilers here) and a metal plate protecting the surgery point for when his chip was removed. Since Fox is Fox, he prioritized speed over care at the time, so it is permanent vulnerability due to how his skull was treated and recovered afterward.

Do you see the knifes on his thigh they are small but they are important