amayasnep

¡Patas en abundancia!

Amaya 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ | 27 | ΘΔ | Artist | Nature lover | Huge nerd | Actually a snep | NSFW 🔞

Kissing girls is a mitzvah :3


lorenziniforce
@lorenziniforce

thinking about: post-tf sensory overload. Lying there, drawing ragged breaths into new lungs, trying to reckon with new and changed senses, new limbs and your new body. Slowly reacclimating to the world, perhaps with a companion present - such as the one who turned you, for example - comforting you as you open new eyes, smell new scents. Panic and fear subsiding to be replaced with a rising joy and wonder. A cathartic clarity in the wake of undergoing an incredibly intense transformative experience.


quyksilver
@quyksilver

I awaken, my body in pain, both searing and dull, from places that shouldn't exist, yet feel like they've been missing my whole life. A cachephony of beeps and whirrs fill my ears.

I inhale. I feel both my torsos rise, my fur—fur!—rubbing against the thin hospital blanket. So much as changed, and yet so much remains the same. A medley of smells. Disinfectant, medicine, plastic, metal, detergent, sweat. Piss that hadn't been mopped up completely.

A voice, the voice of the doctor, but filled with tones I never could have heard before, calls out to me. 'Ms. Zahav Lavan? Can you hear me?'

Opening my mouth, I try to reply in the affirmitive, but my tongue, now impossbly long, makes it so all that comes out is, 'Yaaaaaa...' I nod yes, feeling air resistance on my ears and whiskers as I do so.

From the other side of the bed, a gentle voice—I assume a nurse—asks if I want to see myself. I nod again. Unseen hands untie the blindfold over my eyes and lift off the cloth. More pain! Searing brightness! I clamp my eyes shut, and slowly, slowly reopen them.

As the sterile hospital room comes into focus (I'm glad they went from sterile white to neo-Victorian pastel colors), I see Dr Zhao to my left, and to my right, the nurse holding a hand mirror. I carefully reach out and grasp the mirror in one clawed, furred hand. Thankfully, the handle of the mirror is large and soft, letting me hold on tight without needing too much muscle co-ordination. That's good. I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt myself with these claws I don't know how to handle yet.

I bring the mirror closer to me. As I get a good look at my face, my eyebrows shoot up. I bring my other hand up over my nose—ow! I poked myself with a claw—I carefully bring my other hand up over my nose, feeling it, cold and wet.

In the mirror, still holding on tight so I don't drop it, I see the back of my hand, covered with short white fur, with fingers that end in pointed claws instead of broad flat nails. And I see my eyes—purple, the colour of sugilite, with vertical pupils. Above them, large, black triangular ears.

I awkwardly smile, revealing my sharp new teeth, and then I cry. It's my face I see. What I see is me. That's my face. For the first time in all the years of my life, I can look in a mirror and see myself.



lorenziniforce
@lorenziniforce

thinking about: post-tf sensory overload. Lying there, drawing ragged breaths into new lungs, trying to reckon with new and changed senses, new limbs and your new body. Slowly reacclimating to the world, perhaps with a companion present - such as the one who turned you, for example - comforting you as you open new eyes, smell new scents. Panic and fear subsiding to be replaced with a rising joy and wonder. A cathartic clarity in the wake of undergoing an incredibly intense transformative experience.