#tw phantom pains

[factual-fantasy]

Where there any side effects after Mario got revived by the 1-up

Like any markings or anything?

Mario has no physical mark or scar from the injury that killed him. Thanks to the power of the 1-Up mushroom, Mario’s body has 100% healed itself. Every last cell was put right back where it should be..

But the 1-Up mushroom couldn’t heal Mario’s mind. And sometimes during times of stress or exhaustion.. he feels a sort of.. phantom pain. Due to the trauma of the whole event.

Its usually a hot pain that forms right where the gashes happened. And Mario has a relatively high pain tolerance. So its really frustrating for him- and actually embarrassing for him when he immediately crumples under the pain. He doesn’t like being seen as weak. He doesn’t want Luigi to see him as weak. He needs to always be seen as strong. For Luigi.

But of course Luigi doesn’t see him like that. He never sees Mario as weak during these times. All it does is it just.. its makes Luigi really sad. To see his brother hurting like this. Knowing there isn’t really much else he can do other than get him a cold rag and wait it out..

[purple-tello]

Early morning angst because this was how I wanted the Agent Bishop blog run but I don't have an Agent Bishop blog so we have this ✌

Trigger warnings: Implied experimentation, and dehumanizing language, use of drugs, blood mention, phantom pains.

Report 08: Trial Extraction.

Filed by Agent Bishop in Facility 92.

At 8:00 in the morning, Subjects Three and Four were ethically sedated with a moderate dose of phosphine, and delivered to the in-building laboratory for testing. It has been recommended that a form of anesthesia is used to keep both incapacitated during the extraction of the biological mutagen. Subject Two was brought into the lab, though was visibly aggravated by the unconscious mutants. The following interaction was observed.

Two: What is this? This was not part of our deal!

B: You offered to replicate the mutagen used to create this species, but it has come to our attention that some of the requirements for that substance are not at our disposal. Specifically the radioactive components that seemed to be the source of the mutation.

Two: You have that. Imperium, the blood from the alien you had in your possession a few months ago! Not once did I give you permission to knock out the boys!

B: Your permission is not required. Your cooperation is the only thing we need from you.

Two: ... Then wake them up.

B: Both subjects have proven themselves to be dangerous when awake. I cannot authorize you to speak to them.

Two: They'll be more, "cooperative," if they know it's me. Why do you insist on them? The rat was mutated with the exact same mutagen!

B: Subject One has proven a legal citizenship in the United States of America and refuses to consent to any tests or extractions.

Two: I guarantee you he will when he leaves you've got his sons on anesthesia!

B: If you're not going to cooperate, you will be escorted back to your cell.

Two: Wait! Wake them up, and I will extract the mutagen. I will recreate it with the elements you provide to me, but I want them to be awake.

It was then authorized by my supervisor to allow subjects Three and Four to come into consciousness, though we heavily restrained them beforehand. Two waited patiently for them, until Three was the first one to wake. The following conversation was observed.

Three: No way.

Two: Leonardo, are you alright?

Three: Yeah, because I love waking up tied to a bed with you standing menacingly over me. What's going on? Is that Raph?!

Two: Do not become alarmed, Leonardo. This was the only way I could convince them not to hurt you.

Three: Dude, what the guck? What did you do?

Two: They want the mutagen I used to create you and our - your family. If I'm not the one to extract it or create it, they'll do it themselves.

Three: Oh my god you're just as evil as I thought you were. You're selling us out?!

Two: If that were the case, you wouldn't be awake for this.

Two: Because I'm so grateful for that. Can't you get us out of here?

Three: That's what I'm trying to do. The mutagen for our freedom, that was the offer.

Two: You know that's gotta be a trap, right?

Three: Then we will, as you would say, "burn that bridge when we get to it."

Two: When have I ever said that? Raph?!

Four: Draxum? What are you doing here?

Two: Trying to help you.

Three: Daddy Draxum has decided since he loves us so much, he's going to experiment on us himself instead of letting the scientists do it.

Four: What?!

Two: That's hardly being fair. I'm doing this to get you out of here. A small blood sample from you both, that is all I'll require, and then we can move on.

Three: Until they need another sample to verify you got it right, then another after that to create more mutagen, and then again because they somehow lost the first vial. You seriously think they're letting us out that easy?!

Two: Well unless you want them to find a reason to put you both back under and send me back to my cell to tell your father I couldn't save you, I suggest we all start getting along.

The animosity between Two and Three seems to be largely on Three's side, though Two seems more easily aggravated. Trial extractions began under intense supervision from myself, several guards and a few scientists observing the process for future reference. Two's confirmation of a biological connection between One, Three and Four has been noted in One's personal file, and should be used as motivation for its consent to DNA testing. The DNA extracted from Three and Four will go through a process of separation similar to that of plasma before the blood will be returned back to the bodies of Three and Four, as to prevent a significant amount of blood loss.

It should also be noted that at one point during this process, Three began to exhibit symptoms of what can be described as, "Phantom Pains." This became intense enough to warrant a morphine drip for it, as well as a break from the extraction process, though it expressed a desire to stay in the laboratory. Two requested the presence of One as a, "comfort," for Three, but was denied due to One's behavioral issues. Further investigation should be done to conclude how Three came to lose their limb, due to the intensity of the Phantom Pains.

[blue-nardo]

Oh god oh guck I forgot phantom pains exist oh my god this hurts

[samurai-yuichi]

He's hurting quick what do you for phantom pains???

[abbeyofcyn]

Phantom Pain 3

PREV

Masterpost

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CW blood

Transcript

P1

[Mumbling]

[Shuffle noises]

[Peeks]

Where?

P2

This...doesn't seem right

[Hissing]

THEY'RE HERE

[Clicking noises]

Who?

[More clicking and hissing noises]

This is-

P3

THIS IS NOT HOW IT HAPPENED

[Hissing]

Donnie?

P4

Right, right. I need some more titanium and figure out how to make it more skin like, maybe rubber? It needs heating too and I need to lengthen-

Donnie?

-the shoulder part. Oh and ask Mikey to- Huh?

[Screaming]

P5

[Clicking noises]

[Background screaming]

It's me! x2

Your brother!

[Louder clicking noises]

NARDO!

P6

What?

[macygracie]

I've wanted to enter a fandom event for forever, so here's my entry for @ecto-implosion! @alumbianchronicler wrote this fantastic fic to go with it, so go check it out: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52422205

Thanks so much to the people who organised the event!

Since the gif is so compressed, I'll slap the original images under the cut!

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... A LOT of readers google what an "ostomy bag" is! Danny reestablishes his comfort with the Arabic numeral system!

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

The next time Diana comes to visit her charge, her gloves are blue. Her scrubs are a pale pink. She is given a new face mask, and a new hair net, and walks through the double doors without needing to be buzzed in.

Alright. Perhaps the boy is not genuinely “her charge”. Still, he is hers to protect and to keep; although her position is, officially, as security to the medical team working with their young patient, the medical team knows as well as she does that the boy does not genuinely intend harm.

Is he prone to outbursts? Perhaps, but very few of them are powered. It is entirely understandable too, according to the mental health professionals on board the Watchtower: trauma affects how well one comports oneself and how one interprets their environment. They may see things, hear things, or misunderstand things, and believe they are under threat. The circumstance makes for a great deal of residual fear and mistrust.

Diana was once raised amongst communities of women with few untouched by battle fatigue. She recognizes the signs of lost time and of reawoken fear. She understands what battle-weary warriors are truly fighting against.

A doctor and a nurse mumble a greeting as Diana passes by them. “Morning, Wonder Woman.”

“Good evening,” Diana returns, eyes crinkling. One nurse visibly glances out the window—and then smiles, sheepishly, having forgotten their location in space. Time zones on the Watchtower are often…flexible; Diana, however, has only just returned from her day job. “How is the patient?”

A doctor jerks their head towards the monitor. It is only ever left on if no one else is in the room; privacy is key to recovery. The active monitor means that the medical team has left him alone for now. “Take a look. You might have to go kid wrangling again, Ma’am.”

Alright. Diana obliges them.

On the monitor, in little stick-figure form, are three figures, all sitting or crowded around the room’s singular bed. Her patient sits in his little white gown, legs still as ever, as Impulse drapes himself across the bedspread, and Robin (ex-Robin? Third Robin? Doesn’t he have a new name now?) stands at the bedside.

The Speedster wiggles, mouthing out words she can’t hear without a microphone. Robin is focused on something in his hand—a tablet, perhaps? If Impulse is chattering into the air, then Robin is short on answers; her charge, in comparison, looks back and forth between them, likely unable to understand what the two are up to.

Diana’s mask catches her sigh. “Busy, are they?”

“Do you think you can hold the red one down long enough for a refresher on proper PPE usage?” the doctor begs. The question appears to be genuine. “They just zoomed in a little bit ago. We’ve been trying not to disturb them, but without masks and gloves…”

…Her charge was still at risk for possible contamination or infection, as they couldn’t get consistently accurate test results on his immune system. Diana hummed. She could see the problem.

“I shall. Buzz me in, if you will.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The door clicks open. Diana strides through, unafraid of teenagers or similar ilk, and content with her position as designated scolder.

And, to his credit, the Robin at her charge’s bedside recognizes Diana’s lack of enthusiasm with the situation, and winces with artful precision. Silly boy— as if Diana would believe that any Bat would be ashamed of breaking a rule if they had already chosen to break it. She cannot help but be fond of each Bird’s eccentricities in their own ways. Robin hides the contraband food in his hand behind his back.

Impulse, however, hardly notices her approach, draped over her charge’s casts as he is—a whiteboard in his hand, furiously scribbling away at whatever attempt at communication he has decided to test today. Having met several male teenagers in her recent years, there is a decent chance he has been drawing genitalia as well.

Diana politely coughs into her mask. The gesture is entirely performative. Robin responds by hiding a separate can of energy drink—opened—on the side table behind him, in the hopes of hiding it from view.

Impulse, who failed to notice her arrival, continues to scribble. Occasionally there will be a burst of superspeed, but it will be in contained little bursts. He likely either wants to preserve the marker, or he is taking more care with his attempted art than usual.

Her charge looks up.

His eyes are still a concern—glazed with a green film, they jitter back and forth ever so slightly when he tries to focus on any one object in particular. He hasn’t indicated any discomfort with his eyesight, however, so it hasn’t been addressed beyond documentation.

The crack in his face—from two inches above his white, nebulous hairline and trailing down to his chin—is visible evidence of an injury or gouge of some sort, with new pink skin all around the edges as the only visible sign of inhuman levels of healing. Diana has seen a number of scars, and a number of healed, gaping wounds, but it is occasionally unsettling to set eyes on her charge and see the still-healing brain matter, skull, and inner sinus cavity through a viscous, green, not-quite-organic wound filling material.

There seems to be a consistent rate of healing, though. Diana can only hope that recovery is possible.

“Good afternoon,” Diana greets softly. Her charge’s discolored fingers flex as his face turns to look at her. “Are you well?”

His green-tinged lips part and then come together again. He’s not not paying attention—he listens very well, and has begun to use certain words in English to compensate for his need for communication. That being said, Diana has little idea what he is and is not capable of understanding.

Impulse, however, finally recognizes the newest occupant in the room. “Wonder Woman! Uh—we totally had permission to be here this time! Promise!!” he offers, immediately switching from someone gleeful to see her from someone remembering their misdeeds.

Diana is very lucky that her mask covers her fond smile. If it is her job to be stern today, she ought to live up to the task. “Did you, now?”

Impulse beams sheepishly, and rolls off of the casts of a bemused half-alien boy. “Yes! Remember last time when the nurses all said I could ‘come whenever’ and ‘bring a friend’ and—“

“You were asked to buzz in ahead of time and put on your protective gear?” Diana finishes, wry. Before she is able to scruff him appropriately, however, the superpowered boy is already gone and back—now with an askew hairnet, an upside-down surgical mask, and gloves a size too large for his hands.

“So I did that!” Impulse protests, the mask moving unnaturally over his face. “Look! All dressed up!”

It is a well-intended last minute effort. Alas, it would all be for naught. Diana scoops up a squawking speedster by the nape, and a now-blinded-by-a-misplaced-surgical-mask Robin, and trots them both back to larger medical.

“One moment!” Diana tosses back to her charge, who is, understandably, concerned.

Still. It takes Wonder Woman, two nurses, and a paraprofessional to successfully sanitize and gear up an uncooperative speedster. Robin sulks through the entire process, but capitulates to it with more grace.

Her charge’s green eyes shine and his fingers curl around his few personal possessions as Diana returns to him his companions; she wishes, so dearly, that she could ruffle his pale hair. “All done!”

The teenaged heroes sprawl across his bed just as casually as they had before—if better prepared for their environment. Robin largely gives her charge his space, careful not to impede where he isn’t wanted, but Impulse freely shares affection that her charge, at least, does not visibly deny.

Diana has her own routine to complete. She heads for the intravenous injection bags, pulls out a fresh one, and cracks the seal. After that, it’s shaking to mix the concoction and a fresh replacement.

Impulse grabs one of the toys off of her charge’s side table and brings it into his lap. The board is tilted, and all the slotted-in pieces fall out. He spends some time sorting them by shape, and then by color, until her charge lifts trembling fingers to pick them up, very carefully, one by one.

She’s impressed. His pincer grasp recovery has not been consistently smooth sailing. “Excellent work,” she praises.

Robin looks up from his tablet. Impulse looks back at her and beams. Her charge gives her a brief look, observes that she doesn’t need anything from him at the moment, and gets back to sorting the little pieces back into their allotted slot.

Impulse rests his chin on the steel arm bar of her charge’s cot. The pose seems…uncomfortable. “Hey, Tim. He got them all right.”

Timothy Robin taps away at his tablet—no doubt taking down documentation of his own. Diana can’t help but feel affection; every Bat and every Bird is so nosy, but if she wants to actually see those notes on her charge, she will have to press Batman for them with a reasonably-sized threat.

“Really?” Robin asks, eyes on the screen. “Do you think the pieces were matched based on color, or actual understanding of the numerical system?”

Diana looks down, line in her hand as she reconnects the intravenous bag. The toy in her charge’s lap is a mock clock face. Each of the numbers is printed onto the removable piece, in different cut-out shapes, and painted different colors.

The atmosphere changes. The air itself tastes different—something like electricity sparks on her tongue. And then it’s gone.

“No, he’s looking to put the clock face back in order, specifically,” Impulse confirms. Ah. Speedforce. Diana should have been able to recognize the feeling by now. “He’s kind of annoyed, actually. It’s like a baby toy.”

“Well, it is a baby toy.” Robin taps away.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s annoying. He knows he should be able to do it.”

Impulse buzzes again, and her charge hums, stuffing his flat hand between the board and the sheet until he can tip it over without grabbing at it. He repeats the same process, the only difficulty stemming from his shaking grip and his shaking eyes.

The urge to pull him close and pet his hair is understandable, Diana reminds herself, but not conducive to his long-term comfort. She smiles at him, as best as she can behind a surgical mask, and discreetly checks his drainage bags to see if they need replacing while she’s already close.

“All’s well,” she declares at last, finished with anything that isn’t social. Thankfully, having two teenagers in the room takes care of her charge’s most frequent issue—boredom. She claps her hands together, and her charge looks up at her, eyes vibrating. “Do you require anything?”

Her charge looks at her. Her charge looks at his friend. “Ouatair?” he tries to enunciate, tongue thick against the green-filled split in his hard palate. “Pleese?”

“Ithinkhewantssomewater,” Impulse rushes to translate, but Diana already knows this request. The water provided is chilled in a refrigerator, and it takes no time for her to find sanitized cup and straw—steel, so as to be safe when dropped, and relatively uncrushable, with a handle for simple gripping.

She presents it to him grip-first. His expression is grateful, and frustrated. No warrior wishes to be in the position of needing constant. Diana can understand the wish to do things on his own.

“Soon,” Diana offers, voice a whisper. “You’re already better off than before.”

Her charge grumbles into his cup. His tongue, half-green, finds the straw for him; he chomps down on the straw, slurps as loudly as he can, and sulks.

Teenagers. Diana finds herself unable to understand how Bruce has so many of them, and understands perfectly well how easy it is to take on a child in need and make them your own.

The cup goes back onto the side-table, half-empty.

“Hey,” Robin starts again. He puts his tablet to the side. The white board is pulled out of Impulse's hands and goes onto her charge's lap, and with only a little whining. “How’s this?”

Her charge mumbles something neutral. His eyebrows scrunch together, but he takes the offered blue marker from Impulse and lets the boy uncap it for him.

“Yeah, it’s more adult or whatever,” Impulse encourages. Her charge sticks out a green-mottled tongue, but takes the marker to the white board and writes. Robin peers over his shoulder to watch. “It’s just the alphabet. A, B, C, D~!”

Her charge hums the tune back to him, continuing seamlessly where Impulse left off. The teen hero beams.

Diana stills.

“Yeah, you got it!” Impulse encourages, and peeks over the edge of the board to see her charge hard at work. His letters are wobbly, certainly, and there are some that he misses, but the alphabet song is a longstanding English-language tradition. He know it. He knows it by rote.

“You missed the ampersand,” Impulse points out. Her charge scowls through the fissure in his face.

…There is no reason for Diana to get excited. Yet. Robin-the-former is already jotting down his own notes, pleased with his observations. There are many reasons and many ways this teenager might have picked up the song. J’onn famously picked up on Earth’s radiowaves before being transported to Earth; this could be further evidence that her charge has some connection to Earth, or it could be a connection to something more bizarre and unusual.

There is no shortage of unusual events these days.

And, of course, Diana runs out of things to do. She smooths down her charge’s blanket, which he hardly notices in his frustration. She refills his water. She is tempted to go grab her copy of The Art of War from her bag in the other room, which she has read before, but which she is rereading at behest of Bruce’s newest initiative: Tactical Book Club. She is optimistic about the opportunities for further education this will provide her comrades-in-arms, if not underwhelmed by the reading material. As long as the teenage heroes are in the room, Diana is obligated to remain with them, in the event that the danger level might…fluctuate. A book would give at least the semblance of privacy to the three.

Her charge makes a noise. “Hay!”

Diana looks up. In shaky hands, resting on his lap, he holds up a largely complete alphabet. There are one or two shaky letters—thorn, which is fairly common, and eth, perhaps less so—but otherwise carefully drawn, very neatly done.

“Excellently done,” Diana praises. The alphabet is a triumph of the physical work it takes to heal.

Her charge beams through his craggy face, buzzing with delight.

"I dunno," Impulse teases, upside down on her charge's legs. "They're kinda wonky."

The boy's face scrunches, smears the color away with a swipe of his arm, and draws something else.

The board shakes with his exertion as he lifts it back into place on his lap, and Diana allows herself to sigh, audibly; sure enough, as she had expected, there is a misshapen, blue, cartoon representation of a penis.

Robin full-on cackles with surprise, but Impulse falls of the bed with laughter.

Unfortunately, it is now Diana's job to figure out how to scold a teenager, and one who speaks no known language besides. Based on the resulting expressions she earns, Diana is unsure if the scolding works, but. Well.

...She tried.

[stealingyourbones]

Jason’s body isn’t meant to exist in the mortal plane. His existence is an affront to reality. It started a year or so after being revived. Jason’s body is wracked with pain as his body flickers with unearthly static, his soul rebelling against being in the wrong plane of existence. The first episode lasted only a second or two but it felt like hours. After that night, the episodes of glitching back in and out of reality became more and more frequent. Jason tried his best to prevent any and all confrontations with his family. He didn't want to worry them that he was slowly dying. His spirit forcibly trying to go back to the afterlife when all he wanted to do was stay alive.

The episodes happen every week now and last a minute or more. Each one saps Jason of all of his energy and strength. Jason spends many days just staring, eyes unfocused towards the ceiling, and just wishing for hours on end for the pain to stop.

—

Danny first saw the boy around three years ago. A teenager with a white streak in his hair kneeling on a nonexistent surface and clutching his head. His mouth was open to yell but Danny couldn't hear his scream. The figure flickered in and out of existence like jarbled tv static for only a moment before he vanished.

Danny tried to figure out ways to locate the man but came up with nothing. He put the issue behind him as his new title of Ghost King required almost all of his available free time. For two years he has spotted the screaming man flickering in and out in the Ghost Zone. The man has been appearing more frequently now. He wears different clothes each time, sometimes wearing a strange red helmet, but his position is still the exact same: Curled in a ball, hands clutching his head, and mouth open in a silent scream. Each time he would flicker in and out of existence before vanishing back to where he originally came from. 

Danny didn’t know what to do, he never saw anything like this before and felt helpless. He contacted Frostbite who couldn't find any previous examples of this happening in the Ghost Zone. Contacting Clockwork the man just smiled and told Danny that everything is happening exactly the way it should.

One episode of the screaming man changed everything. He appeared directly next to Danny. The man was without his helmet, he was dripping sweat and his eyes were glazed over in pain. Danny acted on impulse and knelt down to the man to rest a hand on his shoulder to ground him. 

The second Danny touched the man’s shoulder he cried out in agony as he felt the mans pain as if it was his own. God, he’s seen this person for the past three years and did nothing as this man suffered to this extent? Through the pain, Danny promised himself that he would do everything in his power to help this man. Focusing on the man's spirit, He could feel the man’s soul pulling him back towards the mortal realm. Danny latched onto the man's soul and let it carry him to the man's physical form.

—

Jason was fully dissociating from the pure agony his body was consumed with. His skin flickering and distorting and twisting out of place, his vision filled with nauseating swirls of greens and purples. It was always the same colors, why was it always the same damn colors?!

Suddenly, the pain became a background hum. It was still excruciating but Jason had gained a frighteningly high pain tolerance over the last three years. 

Jason felt something on his shoulder and noticed a figure in his house moments before the wave of exhaustion from dealing with the episode hit him like a brick: A man in extremely detailed battle armor with a long flowing cape behind him stood hunched over him, grasping his shoulder in a vice grip. Iridescent white hair flowing in a nonexistent wind and face contorted in agony as he flickered in and out of existence. The man had taken his burden. 

The last thing Jason saw before his eyes closed was a glowing crown of dark energy glowing an eerie green light atop his head. Something about it radiated a sense of safety and protection. 

He didn't know who this figure was but he knew that for the first time in two years, he had hope.

[kaysdenofchaos]

being an angst lover and also hyper empathetic is sooo annoying

cause like why am i just sitting here thinking even remotely about tmmt donnie and suddenly feel like my hearts two beats away from getting ripped out of my chest likeeee

,,,god i wish i meant that figuratively

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #3

Trope of the day: “Make it stop.”

_

Tears run out of whumpee's eyes, who squeezes them shut, averting their face from caretaker who is still sleepy and confused. Whumpee feels their hand on their shoulder and flinches, the panic and pain too much to bear.

They hear the other's muffled voice, their own hands pressed to their ears to make the loud noises stop. All of them are overshadowed by their own racing heartbeat.

“Make it stop,” whumpee rasps through their gritted teeth as their body cramps in pain of old and new injuries, of hallucinations and invisible daggers cutting them. “Please, just make it - make it stop,” they repeat and feel caretaker's hands wrapping around them.

Whumpee is lifted up into the other's arms, holding them close, almost too close. But they don't let go, won't let go. Caretaker removes one of whumpee's hands from their ears, which is pressed against their chest.

The steady heartbeat makes them freeze and catch their breath for a moment, their body still shaking. “I got you, kid. Now breathe with me.”

[yourfavsmokesweed]

venom snake from mgsv:tpp

YOUR FAV: VENOM SNAKE FROM MGSV: TPP SMOKES WEED IN A DENNY'S PARKING LOT!

[unorganisedalienrubbish]

Whump fun fact!

(Again, from experience. Will differ for each person. Not a medical professional)

Scar tissue will HURT even after everything appears fully healed. Especially if the wound was deep. Even if the scar doesn’t inhibit mobility, gentle pressure or movement will make it ache. This can last from a few weeks, to years (I know some people who’s scars haven’t stopped aching decades after the incident) it could be lifelong depending on the injury (this only concerns physical pains not the added mental baggage)

So when writing characters in their recovery arc, even years down the line. Their scars may still pain them (they will never be the same as they were before, even fully healed. ‘Ownership’ fans, run with this as you like)

So, keys pressing into the hips and thighs when going about on errands (like house keys in the front pocket). Backpacks/satchels/bags pressing on shoulders. Belts or other restrictive types of clothing. (I have a friend that gets violently nauseous when even lightly brushing a patch of scar tissue)

The (physical) pain will last for years. Even after everything is healed. Nothing can really be done for it. Even if there is no damage to muscles or anything serious, just skin-damage; it is likely to prevent your character from moving properly, especially if the area covered is extensive (ie whip/lashes accros the back)

Another area for concern is joints, or areas where the skin moves a lot. So: knees, elbows, hips, shoulders, (ankles sometimes but that’s usually due to ligament damage) and definitely hands. Scar tissue lacks the elasticity of normal skin. So bending a joint against the scar tissue will make it ache (or make the skin feel tight and raw, depending on how fresh it is).

Pressure on scar tissue can also affect sleeping. Obviously, side sleepers will have trouble with pressure on their hip, thigh, ribs and shoulder. Back sleepers: back, butt, heels. Front sleepers: chest, shoulders, neck, front of pelvis)

That’s all I can think of for now, hope this helps! Happy hurting!

[blue-nardo]

WHEN WAS ANYONE GONNA TELL ME THAT PHANTOM PAINS ARE AN ACTUAL THING????

[battle-subway-ghost]

PHANTOM PAIN IN MY FCKING ARM. This is just GREAT nothing is wrong with it but its hurtgn anyways ebcause arceus HATES ME

[dnuoh-xof]

So, out of morbid curiosity, I listened to Skull Face's ten-minute-long-ass "What do you see?" Joker-esque speech from GZ... and while it the tape itself didn't have anything super incriminating in it other than like, I don't know, basic torture (I think a guy gets waterboarded or something) — like something else I can't stomach to watch — I have a few things to say about it.

1. This man is gaslight and gatekeep. Like Jesus fucking Christ, the amount of forced empathy under false pretenses he postures having for the sake of either gathering information or for the sake of luring his interogees (?) into a false sense of security, is honestly a little astounding. (Which, in itself, isn't necessarily something foreign to his character, hence his proclamation of "I don't want to do this. I'd rather not have to ring the bell," when interrogating Code Talker.) I would say he is two-faced, but he regularly accentuates that he doesn't have one. So it would be disingenuous to draw such a comparison.

2. The voice acting really isn't as good as the voice acting James Horan provided in the sequel, "Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain." Like, in the tape I cherry-picked to watch, it's not... terrible? But if I said it wasn't leagues below Mr. Horan's performance in the latter release, I would of course be lying. Skull Face simply sounds more menacing in the latter, despite the much more mature tone of "Ground Zeroes" in comparison. Which is strange, since "The Phantom Pain"'s depiction of Skull Face is easily the more comical, and unserious of the two. I also find it off-putting because he sounds so much younger in that one, LOL, which I suppose makes sense, given that the tapes take place around 1977-1978... ish?

I will say one thing about Skull Face's design in "Ground Zeroes," however: I like him without the mask. Very off-putting and disturbing in appearance, likely befitting of the... *cough* tone, of that game... or lack thereof. Other than that, I don't really have much to say about it.

[theritalk]

Wings:

my back is heavy from something not there

posture fixed, shoulders hung.

feel them stretch, out in the sun

from something that I am.