#tw: needles

[squidsinashirt]

Gordon had only just finished bullying the stupid, fiddly, ridiculously designed connector into starting the bag of fluids, when Scott spoke, and then moved and-

Aw, f-

“No, nononono, Scott!!”

Gordon clamped his hands around the bandage to try to protect it, clinging on for dear life as the elder Tracy did his best to rip his hard work out of place.

“Come on, please, it’s just until your numbers improve! Don’t be an- I know, okay, I know! But it’s this or you get worse! ”

The music in your headphones blocks out most of the world while you focus on maintenance.

But there are some things that take a LOT of blocking and even if you ignore the dull roar, the vibrations causes by One’s retros as she descends back into her spot beneath the pool shiver across the concrete floor and buzz the soles of your feet through your shoes.

He’s back then.

You know you’ve got at least half an hour’s grace, as from what you overheard of the comms chatter, Virgil will probably be all over big brother with a medi-scanner as soon as he hits the lounge. You’d heard the grunt of pain as he’d taken the brunt of one of the rescuees doing something stupid. But he was ‘fine’ as he always was so what could anyone do with the idiot. Good luck to Virgil.

Should be just enough time to finish up here and make yourself scarce before Mr Grumpy turns up.

You check the status readouts again and frown. Four is grumpy too. Must be something in the air.

You turn to grab your water bottle from the table and startle as your hand closes instead around a mango and dragonfruit frappe, the distinctive branding of your favourite Cairns smoothie bar in adorning the 100% biodegradable cup.

You don’t need to raise your eyes to know who is standing behind you, uniform still snow-damp and smelling of hard work…

Huh. Well, that was unexpected to say the least.

Gordon regarded the frappe for a long moment, fingers growing cold around it as his brain caught up, before glancing over his shoulder and-

“Jesus, Scott.”

He knew he was there, it could only be one person, and still - surprise. Amber eyes met blue, and Gordon reached up to remove his headphones.

He regarded his brother for a long moment, the silence stretching between them as his eyes caught the scuff at the elder’s forehead, the bruise forming beneath it, the somehow awkward way he held himself. One blonde eyebrow lifting to voice his first thoughts - he wasn’t about to actually say it, given the current situation, but Scott did not look particularly great.

“Virgil’s gonna to want you in medbay, y’know… are you soaking wet? Did you fly home soaking wet?”

Good luck Virgil indeed.

[tw1nkee28]

Into the Eye of the Beholder.

★ ——----------—— ★

★ ——----------—— ★

Bell, my muse 🫶

I love you Bell

They could never make me hate you 💔

[pretzel-box]

MDNI | TW: Body Horror, Detailed Graphic Description of Gore. Mention of Needles

Tags: Established Relationship, Devotion, Obsession, TW Tags above

Words: 2,2k

Sebastian Solace could hear your faint breathing in the silence, another form of melody that graced his ears. It was calming and invited him to pause from the burden of the daily life and dream instead. He was sure, your presence alone is like a bright shimmer at the edge of his void world, not blinding but so unbelievable radiant, a glow that pulls him towards your existence like the moon that beckons the tides.

His gaze lingers a bit longer than intended and yet not long enough to satisfy that hunger in his soul. He traced the curve of your form, with a fleeting glance, as you sit at the desk, lost in the pages that stretched out before you. Each turn of the paper is a soft whisper, a delicate flutter that harmonizes with the quiet rhythm of your breath. You are unaware, absorbed in the world between the lines, stories and memories, yet your every movement feels choreographed by the stars themselves—effortless, graceful, like a long lost dream.

Sebastian watches, mesmerized by the way your fingers brush the edges of the book, gentle as if you hold something precious. The faint light spills across your skin, casting a soft halo that wraps around you, an ethereal glow that seems to exist for his eyes alone. In the stillness, you are his celestial body, his guiding star, unknowingly illuminating the vast, shadowed corners of his heart.

Even the way you tilt your head, lost in thought, feels like the subtle pull of gravity, drawing him closer, though he remains in the quiet distance. He wonders if you can feel the way the air shifts around him, how it hums with the silent longing he tries to contain deep inside him. You are his solace, his steady beacon in a sea of darkness, and though you are unaware of his gaze, every part of you seems to call to him, softly and irresistibly.

The way your voice wrapped around his name sent a shiver down his spine, a sensation as delicate as the brush of sunlight after a long storm. "Oh, Sebastian," you had said, and it was as if the very air he breathed had shifted, softened, warmed. There was a tenderness in your words, a gentleness that seemed to cradle him, filling the empty spaces inside his chest.

Your voice, like the wind, swept through the quiet room, curling around him in invisible tendrils, soothing, comforting, and undeniably real. If sound could embrace, then surely this was the closest he'd ever come to feeling human warmth drenched in love. It enveloped him, like the gentle embrace of arms he longed to know. Each syllable lingered in the air, thick with sweetness, as though the very essence of your being flowed through the sound, leaving a trail of honey in its wake.

"Dreaming as always," you teased, your words lilting in a way that felt like a dance. "You surely got your head in the clouds." And oh, how right you were. He was far beyond the realm of mortals, his thoughts soaring high, lost among the stars you unknowingly filled his world with. His heart, caught in the sheer comfort of your presence, was suspended somewhere between the heavens and earth, weightless, adrift. You were not just the pull that grounded him, but the entire sky he yearned to float within, a cosmic force that kept him both dreaming and awake at the very same time.

He smiled faintly, helpless under your spell, for every word you spoke was like stardust falling gently into his soul, filling the dark spaces with light. You had no idea of the gravity you held over him, how your voice alone shaped his universe, a melody that kept him tethered to you, even as his mind wandered through galaxies made entirely of you.

Time passed, yet not a single day saw Sebastian’s love fade or waver. It flowed endlessly, like the ceaseless currents of the ocean, drenching you with his quiet, unwavering devotion. His love became a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his being, shaping every thought and action. He was ready to forsake even the simplest of pleasures, content to immerse himself entirely in the depths of your existence. Every movement, every breath, every word he spoke seemed to carry your name, a silent vow of his love that coursed through him like water through the veins of the sea.

"Hold still," he mumbled softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, soothing and gentle. There was no command in it, just a quiet reminder as he held the sharp silver needle between his large, grey fingers. The metal gleamed faintly in the light of his glowing lure, casting soft reflections across the water. He carefully threaded a piece of red string through the needle’s eye, makeshift and fragile, yet it was all he had. The first aid kits he’d scavenged from the Blacksite over time had long run dry, leaving him with no choice but to use whatever he could find.

Your arm lay before him, a deep gash marring the skin, crimson blood flowing down in slow rivulets, like rain sliding down a windowpane. It pooled on the floor below, dark and heavy in the water. Sebastian’s chest tightened as he worked with quiet precision, his fingers moving deftly, though the sight of your blood filled him with a deep ache.

He wished for better tools, for a world where you would never be hurt, where his hands wouldn't have to stitch your wounds with makeshift threads. But this was the Blacksite, where even tenderness had to survive in the cold, unforgiving depths.

His focus was entirely on you, though he remained silent. He didn’t want you to feel the weight of his worry, the way his heart clenched with every drop of blood that spilled. His touch was steady, careful, as if you were more precious than anything else in this forsaken place. And to him, you were.

Painter’s digital face flickered on the nearby navipath screen, his expression shifting to something indescribable—an emotion too complex for mere pixels to convey, especially on this tiny screen next to the door. He observed Sebastian with a silent intensity, studying the careful way his grey fingers moved as he worked on you. His glowing eyes flickered, tracing the delicate thread being pulled through decaying skin, before his gaze settled on you—on what was left of you.

Sebastian had become a creature of instinct, driven by something darker, something primal. He had torn through the dark halls of the Blacksite with a violence so raw, so brutal, that it left no room for mercy. Mere Limbs were shredded, layers of soft flesh ripped apart as if it were nothing more than paper beneath his hands. Deep crimson blood had flowed like rivers, drenching the cold metallic floors in a sea of red. The stench of rotting bodies clung to the air, thick and suffocating. He had bathed the Blacksite in death, and yet it was never enough.

He needed more.

Your body, once divine, had begun to rot so long ago. The soft skin of your face, once untouched by time, had long since withered away. Maggots crawled through what remained, eating away at your remaining existing flesh that had shriveled up and lost its radiant color, but Sebastian couldn't see it. Or perhaps he refused to. His eyes, dark and hollow in that shade of blue, only saw the memory of you—the beauty you once held, the light you once gave him. He couldn't bear to lose it.

So, he had followed in Urbanshade’s footsteps. He had learned, in the most twisted way, to preserve you. Piece by piece, he replaced what decayed, ripping parts from the bodies he’d slaughtered, stitching them together with thread, with force, with desperation so solid that it became the foundation of his delusion. He practiced, over and over, perfecting the art of sewing until murder became a ritual, a divine act of art in his mind in the name of creation.

Sebastian Solace had turned the Blacksite into his own cathedral of carnage, a place where death and love were inseparable. He had twisted his devotion into something monstrous, into a grotesque form of art where your body, patched and stitched together from the remains of his victims, was his only masterpiece. His love for you had become a relentless hunger, one that consumed him as completely as it had consumed the bodies he tore apart to keep you whole.

And still, he sat by your side, gently stitching, as if he were mending something sacred.

„Sebastian. They are gone.“

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on you, taking in your once delicate features, trying to grasp at the fading remnants of what you had been. But the longer he bathed in your presence, the more your appearance twisted and warped, a grotesque distortion of the memory he clung to. The rosy tint that had once colored your cheeks was gone, replaced by the sickly pallor of decaying flesh. Your skin, that soft, precious surface he had adored, was now peeling, hanging in ragged strips from your bones, exposing raw, festering meat underneath.

His heart quickened, the rhythm erratic as his mind scrambled for answers that weren't there. Where was the gentle glow in your eyes, the light that had once held him captive? Instead, hollow, sunken sockets stared back at him, their emptiness filled only with the dull sheen of rot. The stench of death clung to you, thick and nauseating, wrapping itself around him, filling his lungs with each breath until the taste of it settled heavy on his tongue.

The skin he had so tenderly sewn was slipping, the stitches frayed and torn, unable to hold together the decomposing mass that had once been you. His hands twitched, instinctively reaching for the needle and thread, desperate to fix it, to make you whole again. But no matter how many times he stitched, how many bodies he tore apart to replace the rotting parts, it was never enough. Your flesh, his precious masterpiece, was slipping away from him.

He could see the maggots now, squirming and writhing beneath the layers of your skin, feasting on what remained. The sight turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to save you—needed to preserve what little of you was left. Yet, the more he tried, the more your body melted into something unrecognizable, a grotesque nightmare that mocked his every attempt at salvation.

He broke like glass and died inside from a pain that couldn't be described with words. In the endless blue eyes were a deep reflection of total confusion as all traces of emotional warmth has left his body. Seconds passed, then minutes and somehow he wasn't sure if life really continued in that moment.

“I tried to eat them,” Sebastian whispered, his voice hollow, as if the confession carried no weight anymore, just a haunting echo in the stagnant air. He hovered above the floor, eyes tracing the dark puddle of blood mixed with filthy water beneath him. His reflection stared back, twisted and ghostly in a liquid that wasn’t even yours.

“After they died... I tried to eat their flesh to preserve them,” he continued, almost as if speaking to himself, his words barely audible. His gaze remained fixed on the pool as if searching for something—an answer, perhaps, or absolution. “I started with their neck... I remember, they loved it when I kissed their neck.”

His hand drifted to his mouth, his voice trembling, though his face remained eerily calm. “I sunk my teeth into the cold flesh... tasted the first drop of blood. I pulled at it, gently tearing away the skin, chewing it like it was some delicate meal. But all I tasted was metal—cold, bitter metal.”

His fingers twitched, reaching out to stroke the grotesque, rotting leg of the decaying mass that sat slumped in the chair, a body that barely resembled what it once had been. Painter, from his place on the screen, watched in silent horror as Sebastian caressed the flesh with disturbing tenderness, as if even now he could find traces of the beauty he once loved.

“It wasn’t like them," he muttered, his voice growing softer, more distant. "It wasn’t what they were. All I could taste was death. Cold, tasteless, soulless death.”

His hand trembled as it slid down the decayed limb, his eyes glazed over, lost in the memory. “But I kept eating... trying to find them in the flesh, in the blood. I devoured piece after piece, convinced that somewhere in the rot, they still existed. And then I woke up.”

His voice cracked, the weight of his confession finally settling in. “And I realized, I had tainted their beauty.”

He paused, staring at the ruin before him, his body still, his mind racing. “I wanted them back. So I began sewing. Stitching them together piece by piece. Everything I ate, I replaced. Everything I destroyed, I repaired. I cut away what was lost, what had withered. And everything that was them... everything that had been theirs... I loved.”

His fingers traced the jagged edges of the sewn flesh, a twisted mockery of the love he once held for you. In his mind, he had preserved you, kept you alive, bound to him through his grotesque ritual. But in the quiet shadows of the Blacksite, all that remained was a macabre testament to his obsession—a reflection of the madness that had consumed him.

And Painter realized, Sebastian is still utterly in love with you.

[skylessknights]

— Alicia Ostriker, from The Imaginary Lover: Poems; “25th Year of Marriage, It Goes On.”

[rezwrites]

Since we are in October… is there any chance you could write a Vampire!Agatha x reader?  Agatha finding the most delicious blood of her entire long life (Reader’s blood) and getting excited/horny when she drinks Reader’s blood

love your writing

thank you sm!!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, TW needles/blood/phlebotomy/venipuncture, blood kink, violence, allusion to kidnapping, non consensual thigh riding, unconsciousness

a/n: sry for going overboard with this, but vampire!hematologist!Agatha was so fun to write, I had to make a moodboard! <3

Waiting in the hematologists office you wring your fingers with nervousness, simultaneously regretting not bringing a light jacket to combat the chill of the air conditioner. You’ve heard nothing but good things about this doctor, hoping for some form of a miracle after cycling through many specialists only to come up empty-handed. It’s worth the out-of-city drive if you get some answers this time.

The nurse calls your name, taking you back to an examination room. As the nurse takes your temperature and vitals, you explain what’s been going on, going through routine questions. After jotting everything down, she orders a quick blood test to test your levels. Leaving to retrieve her equipment you lied down as she instructed.

Turning your head you refused to see what was happening as she tied the tourniquet around your upper arm, the strong sting of the alcohol wipe wafting through your nose. Wincing at the poke of the needle entering your vein, you exhale deeply. The nurse patches you up, gathering the vials. You thank the nurse after she lets you know the doctor will be in soon, leaving the room.

Anxiety rises up again as you await the results, trying your best to keep your breathing steady. Running your eyes over the walls, you read the various degrees and accolades framed. It blew your mind that this woman has fifteen years of school under her belt, being a doctor is definitely not for the faint of heart. A sudden rapping on the door brings you out of your thoughts.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Harkness.” She steps into the room, casting a soft, comforting smile. Her wavy, brunette hair tied in a bun, some loose stands falling over her white coat. Closing the door, she sat on her chair.

“Well, your blood pressure was a little lower than it should be. Lab results showed that you have a decreased amount of red blood cells causing Anemia. Now, if it’s a sudden loss of blood somewhere or an underlying illness, we don’t know yet. It honestly astounds me how those other doctors failed to see this for so long.”

“From time to time I’ll wake up with a sore neck or wrist. And my problems will arise after that.” You added. She looks at you intently, cerulean eyes full of concern. Turning to her computer she started typing everything you had said into her system.

“Mhm and when was the last time you woke up like that?” She questioned.

“A few days ago.”

“And you said you noticed all this happening after you gave blood at a blood drive a few months ago.” She asked.

“Yes,” you confirmed. Finally, some form of an answer and one step closer to a treatment plan. It all hit you at once, there was no way to stop the floodgates.

She turned away from her computer, closing your chart, “I’d like to keep you overnight to observe your condition.”

Her face turned in worry and the sight of your tears, “Oh dear, I understand it’s scary.” She grabbed some tissues off the counter offering them to you.

Taking them you shook your head, drying your eyes, “I’m more relieved to have more or less an answer.”

She pulls some documents from the drawer, explaining that’s it’s a consent to overnight admittance form, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a note for work if you need one, but it is imperative we get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.”

You nod, signing the paperwork before she put a patient wristband on you. Directing you to follow her she leads you deeper into the building, the atmosphere becoming more homey and welcoming, “This is where I keep my overnight patients, it’s more relaxed and calming than a hospital.”

Opening a wooden door there was a single bed with a television mounted on the wall. A small restroom in the corner and a medical cabinet next to the hallway door. She pulled a medical gown from the cabinet, instructing you to change, then lie down on the bed before exiting to give you privacy.

Re-entering the room she placed an IV bag on the counter moving towards the bed, “I’ll just hook you up to the monitor. I’ll also put you on an IV drip for the night as well, so you can get the vitamins you’ve been missing.” She clips the pulse oximeter to your finger, walking over to the cabinet against the wall grabbing everything she needs.

Once Agatha turned around with the needle in her hand, you turned your head away holding out your arm. Prepping and cleaning the crook of your arm, she warns you, “Small pinch.”

“Good girl.” Agatha praises slipping the cannula into your arm, securing it with tape connecting you to the cannula hanging the bag on the IV hook behind the bed, “here’s the remote for the television, press the call button if you need anything. I’ll be back soon to check on you.”

Dr. Harkness checked on you multiple times throughout the afternoon, making sure you were comfortable and not in any pain. She took another blood sample telling you she just wanted to see if your red blood cell count has increased. You’re truly thankful for her thoroughness and thoughtfulness. The warmth of the evening sun seeping through the small window of your room was causing you to grow drowsy, despite your earnest to stay awake in case anything came up. Unable to keep your eyes open any longer you texted your family, updating them before dozing off.

A soft knock on the door pulls you back into consciousness. Turning on the lamp you called out allowing the person on the other side to come in. Dr. Harkness steps through the door apologizing for the intrusion so late. Her hair loose, coat gone; a different air around her.

“So, good news I know exactly what’s wrong with you.” Agatha starts explaining, striding to the end of the bed, hands in her pants pockets. You listen close to what she has to say.

“Bad news is I’m not exactly going to help you.” She states matter of factly. You blanched at her words, heartbeat quickening. Eyebrows pulled together as you sat up, pressing your back deeper into the pillows.

“I mean, of course, I want you to be as healthy as possible don’t get me wrong, but I found the perfect snack in you at that blood drive.” Fear gripping you as Agatha stepped closer to the bed, her sinister smile showing her fangs, “I settled for rationing twice a month on you, but now that you’re here, I’d be a fool to let you get away this time.”

The room was now energized with malevolence. This woman, monster, was the cause of your problems. Why you can’t get out and enjoy your life anymore because you’re so dizzy and tired to do anything. Balling your fist, fingernails digging into your palms; knuckles turning white, “And when the police come? People know I’m here, if I don’t come home they’ll-”

“Easy. You went out the back where no cameras are, it’s easier to get to the parking lot that way than circling the whole building again. What happened after that nobody would have a clue.” Agatha countered, her smile was sickening, your stomach flipping.

“Even if, small if by the way, you managed to escape and get help who would believe that the good Dr. Harkness, was a vampire.” She started laughing in disbelief.

You eyes shifted between her and the door. Throwing the blanket off you you attempt to jump out of the bed, but Agatha was on you in a second wrestling you back down to the bed. Managing to get an arm free you landed a solid punch to her jaw, the pulse oximeter flying off your finger. Paralyzed with terror when her smile grew, completely unfazed by your punch, her eyes maniacal., “It’s just us here, feel free to scream all you want.”

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. Not a sound would come out. Pinning both your wrists in one hand, her other hand sliding off her slacks.

“I believe I got your neck last time,” her knees pushing up your gown as she shuffled up your body. Letting out a pleased sigh Agatha settled herself on your thigh.

Bringing one wrist to her mouth she didn’t waste any time sinking her fangs into you. The sharp, piercing pain elicited a cry from you, tears falling down your face. Agatha’s cold hand held your wrist tightly as she sucked roughly, hips rocking frantically.

“Absolutely divine.” Agatha growled out her ruby eyes holding yours as blood ran down your arm and her chin. She licks the blood running down your arm, her thighs tightening around yours. Tossing her head back as she shudders on top of you moan loudly, “Always so delicious.”

Your breaths grow shallow, everything is cold as you stare at the gray ceiling. A small whine escapes you, vision blurring as you teeter on the brink of consciousness.

“That’s it. Rest easy now.” Agatha voice is fading, “you’re going to need it.”

[glimpsesofjay]

My friend at work told me a funny doctor story about when they were little and I just couldn't stop thinking about batfam stuff long enough so now you get their story but Batman.

Imagine, little robins need to get vaccinated too (probably more then kids irl because there gotta be gotham specific vaccines). Cue, small Robin ( i had Timmy in mind because I love that little psycho and the premise fit in my mind) sat on an examination table, listening very intently to the Doc that has been explaining the Vaccines in great detail (because Timmy asked and wanted to be 1000% in the know).

Doc: And that's it kiddo! Any more questions? Or are you ready? It's really just a little poke! Tim: No it's fine, I'm ready now!

And when the Doc is just about to poke his arm, he just fucking LEAPS of the table and runs to the front door. BUT he doesn't leave because he can't just leave bruce there, so he stays seated on the steps until Bruce comes outside and sits next to him to calm him down.

They go back inside, the Doc tells Tim that it's okay he got scared but he really needs that vaccine. So tiny Robin sits back down, the sleeve goes up, the stuff is ready... And the little dude LEAPS a g a i n.

Only this time, there's 6'2 Bruce blocking the entire doorframe and he picks Tim up by the back of his sweater like a kitten to deposit him back on that table.

I thought that sounded cute, I might just draw a little comic for it over the week end! (And now I'm contemplating the others.)

[biggs-regretti]

Soots | Arty | Morgan App art for the sillies! All D&D characters.

[insomnious-illustrations]

Day 1: Eyes

I'm already four days behind for Ghoultober leave me alone.

[jake-and-amy-are-married]

@giftober 2024 | Day #18: Gift | Max gifting Furiosa lifesaving blood <3 |

[hertsi-thing]

"Are you grateful, Mandy?"

i started this at the start of the month and tweaked it to hell and back before finally just letting it rest. can y'all believe i finished one (1) big artwork in under a month ok this is HUGE for me

[inkieflame]

Some of us float (And some of us sink to the bottom)

A Tango and Docm oneshot

Word count: 3100

Trigger warnings: drugs, needles/injections, drawing blood, body horror, dissection, human experimentation

Author's note: Oh, it's a long one guys! And worth it! But, uh, if you hate needles or body horror this might not be the oneshot for you.

Aka: Tango has an experiment with Doc scheduled, and it goes exactly as Doc planned it

Tango knows something is wrong when he doesn’t receive his medication.

Again.

The first time he assumed it was a mistake. A fluke. He quietly enjoyed his day of energy, sticking to his room in hopes that the Watchers wouldn’t notice he was awake. And then he second day it got suspicious, but Tango still didn’t mention it. He ventured to the lobby, had a lovely, full and awake conversation with Impulse, and then enjoyed the rest of the day in the practice room. It was nice.

But this was day three.

And something between suspicion and dread was boiling in his stomach.

He knew exactly why when he checked his schedule for that day. No rental, but he did have an experiment. Just one. Just one experiment scheduled from one in the afternoon, all the way into the evening.

Just one experiment.

With Doc.

Oh.

Tango hangs his schedule on the back of his door again, and sits down on his bed. He resists the urge to curl his knees up to his chin.

Doc had talked the Watchers into another experiment? And of all the subjects here, Doc wanted the experiment with Tango?

Nausea churns in his stomach.

It was rare to run into Doc around the lab. In the early days, Doc had taken over almost half of the practice room, turning it into his own little laboratory where he continued to conduct the science he’d apparently been working on before his capture. But his work was disruptive, and prevented the other subjects from using the practice room, so the Watchers gave Doc an extra unused room to move his equipment into. Nowadays he spends all his days locked in his little lab.

Doc is always so passive with the Watchers. They never bother him, except to monitor his work and sometimes praise his progress. He’s like their favorite pet, and he know it, preening under their gaze.

And because of this, he holds a terrifying power over everyone else.

Tango nervously stands up, if only to release his newly pent-up energy. He opens his door and paces feverishly down the hallway. He pauses in briefly in the lobby to check the single clock that hangs over the door to the practice room.

Bdubs is sitting directly in front of the door, watching the clock like it might betray the time if he looks away from it, counting, murmuring each number under his breath. Tango is convinced Bdubs thinks the time will stop if he doesn’t keep track of it himself.

Lunch, Tango thinks. Lunch before the experiment because Tango isn’t sure when he’ll be able to have dinner, and he doesn’t want to be hungry.

In the end his lunch goes unfinished, because the Watchers come looking to take him away. Scar and Cub watch them warily from the other end of the table, but the Watchers are there for Tango and no one else.

Tango let’s out a sigh, and stands up obediently. They walk him out of the room with little white remotes clutched in their hands, able to trigger a remote traq. Tango knows it’s because he’s no longer drugged. They’re taking extra precautions.

Tango is taken to an operating room, and that is worse than meeting in Doc’s lab.

The Goat sits up on the operating table casually, waiting for him when Tango pushes open the door.

“Tango Tek.” He greets, slipping down from the table to approach him.

Doc is a monstrous person. Tango doesn’t know if his body modifications are from himself or the Watchers, both possibilities unnerve him. He doesn’t even know what Doc was originally. He’s covered in green fur, and massive, although part of the size difference might come from the cyborg parts, the wires that crawl and twist along and under his skin.

His height is aided by the glossy black hooves he stands on. Twisted horns break the skin at both sides of his head, curling around his skull and framing his grin. His mouth is full of teeth, violent canines that Tango can’t mentally justify with any of the other creatures Doc seemed to be crossed with.

Disturbing pink insect wings flare behind him, acting as the most menacing backdrop Tango can fathom.

Doc takes his hand and shakes it, “we’re going to have a lovely time this afternoon.” He promises. Then he turns to the Watchers, “Thank you for bringing him, you may go.”

And just like that the Watchers leave.

Tango is alone with Doc.

“Have a seat.” Doc drawls, still smiling. He gestures to the operating table. “Have they skipped all your meds like I requested?”

Chills rush across Tango’s skin. His throat is dry, and he swallows.

“Yeah. No meds.” He confirms, not able to work up the confidence to move, let alone climb up on the operating table.

Doc nods pleasantly and notes something down on a clipboard, “Wonderful, wonderful.” He hums. Glancing up at Tango and seeing he still hadn’t moved, Doc nods at the table again, “Sit, please.” He repeats.

Tango shuffles over to the table, and with his heart pounding, pushes himself onto his deathbed. The table is covered in a thick foam, with old pinholes littered across the surface. His stomach churns anxiously. He’s going to throw up.

“It’s good to have you, Tango, I’ve been wanting to take a good look at you for a while now.” Doc says, leaning against the head of the table, “it’s good to know that the Watchers are finally starting to trust me with their…” he prods Tango with his pen, “…more valuable assets.”

Tango can’t help but curl away from the touch. He echoes, “valuable assets?”

Docs nods, turning away to fetch something from the nearby countertop, “not counting the tribes in the nether, blazeborn only make up five to eight percent of the general population. It would be difficult for them to find a replacement for you if I were… irresponsible.”

Tango laughs nervously, “but you’re responsible. Right?”

Doc doesn’t turn around to look back at him, “you’ll survive.”

There is a beat of silence, in which Tango contemplates how far he’d be able to make it if he tried to sprint out the door. Would the Watchers just drag him back here?

“your rarity, of course, is exactly why I wanted to examine you.” Doc continues, wings buzzing softly behind him. “My old laboratory didn’t have anywhere near the resources that this one does. I haven’t been able to dissect a blazeborn yet.”

Tango doesn’t like the word “dissect” or the way that Doc has now turned to look at him with a hunger in his eyes. His mechanical parts click as he paces back to the operating table, carrying a few tools. Tango can see the antifreeze that pumps methodically inside the tubes along his metal arm. Tango doesn't like that either.

In fact, Tango dislikes most things about this situation.

Doc sets his supplies on the cart next to the table Tango is on, “Hold still. This shouldn’t hurt.”

Tango stiffens as Doc grabs a jar and a pair of tongs. Doc uses the tongs to carefully grip each blazerod crowning Tango’s head, and put them into the jar. They resist, clearly wanting to stay in orbit around his head, but Doc pulls them out with a tug.

“And you have no allergies? No medical deformities?” Doc asks, screwing the lid right on the jar and putting it on the bottom shelf of the cart.

Tango hesitates, “Not that I know of.” He says at last.

Doc chuckles, “you don’t have to be nervous. I ask so we don’t have complications. I want you alive.”

Alive, Doc says. But not unharmed.

Doc takes a syringe from the cart, with a long tube attached that curls and dips down to a collection container on the bottom of the cart. “Arm?” he prompts.

The unease that has been turning in Tango spikes. He instinctively shrinks away from the needle. Doc looks as though he’s both annoyed and amused.

“Just drawing blood.” He says, “I need a sample.”

So Tango holds out a shaky arm and allows Doc to put the needle to the inside of his arm. There is a click and hiss, and Tango has to will himself to not flinch when he feels the metal bite into his skin. Doc hums as he disconnects the needle from the tube, and puts a sticker over the injection site to hold the tube in place.

“Don’t remove that.” Doc instructs. “Are you prone to fainting?” Tango shakes his head, while Doc bends to turn on the blood pump, “Okay. If you feel yourself getting lightheaded, lay down on the table.”

The suction of the blood drawing can be felt immediately. Tango watches the red as it flows down the wire in his arm and to the cart. He feels dizzy within a few seconds, but he’s not eager to lay out on the operation table, so instead he takes several deep breaths and tries to distract himself.

“What tests are you running?” He asks.

Doc is reading over some charts he has on the counter, “Various things. I’ll run the standard blood tests later, since I can do those without you present. We’re going to record your height to weight ratio too, and I’d like a sample of your hair.”

Tango feels like he might pass out soon, but he manages, “my hair?”

Doc holds up a piece of paper, and looks back and forth between it and Tango, “It has curious physics.” He says, putting down the paper, “Do the Watchers cut it often?”

Tango would explain to him that blazeborn hair doesn’t need to be cut, and that the length is based on his environment which is why the blazeborn tribes in the nether had such long hair. But he was sleepy, and slumping, and sweetly falling into soft nothing.

Doc catches him before he hits his head on the table. It’s difficult to think straight, but he can feel Doc laying him out on the table. He can see his shadow, his twisted horns, in the corner of his vision.

“Careful.” Doc chides. Tango can hear the gentle whir and clicking of the fans inside Doc’s mechanical arm. It sounds like the hiss and crackle of the fire at home.

Despite Tango fainting, Doc doesn’t turn off the pump. He stands over Tango, passively monitoring as the collection vat fills.

“I feel sick.” Tango mumbles.

“I know.” Is all Doc answers with.

When the vat is full, Doc turns the pump off. Tango blinks sleepily at him, watching as the container is removed from the cart and taken to the counter. Doc labels it “Blazeborn – Tango” and sets it next to several other glass vats labeled with other races and names.

“One thirty? Is that normal?” Doc asks, and Tango struggles to comprehend the question. Doc writes something down on his clipboard and then eyes Tango, “Ready to stand?”

Tango groans, and pushes himself upright. Doc helps him to his feet.

“Stand to the wall by the door. Against the measurements.”

Tango walks to the wall, forcing himself to move through his slowly easing vertigo. He puts his back to the measurements on the wall, and Doc makes more notes on his clipboard. He pushes Tango’s hair down with the tongs from before so he can see the correct measurement.

“Five six.” Doc mumbles, and Tango is guided back to the table to lay down. “Are you experiencing any dietary issues? You don’t weigh enough for your height.”

Tango stares at the bright lights above him as the world slowly comes back to him, “That, uh, that’s normal.” He makes out, “I’m… blaze- uh, normally light.”

There is a pause. Tango can hear Doc shuffling and writing, and then he comes back over to him. His hooves click as they strike the tiles. The cloud over Tango’s brain lifts enough for him to notice Doc is gently wrapping restraints around his wrists and ankles.

“mmh, don’t.” Tango muffles, pulling away.

Doc just holds firm to his wrist and says, “You’ll hurt yourself if you thrash like this.” And waits until Tango’s limited energy fails him again. And then Tango is tied down arms over his head. Doc goes to the head of the table. “look up at me?” he prompts, and when Tango instinctively glances at his voice, Doc wraps another strap of cloth around his forehead to keep his head still. His skull is cradled by the foam of the table.

“The Watchers would kill me if I let you get a concussion.” Doc grins down at him, but the joke isn’t warm and his smile is hungry.

“What now?” Tango asks. His pulse flutters weakly in his fingertips.

“Now is the best part.” Doc lifts something from his cart that he can’t see.

He waits a few beats of awful suspension before there is a pitch at his arm, and the hiss of an injection gun. His nausea returns full force.

“Going to give that a few minutes to set in.” Doc says sweetly, “Don’t worry, you shouldn’t feel a thing.”

Tango dreads to know what he’s been injected with. It doesn’t take effect very quickly, but as the minutes tick by he realizes with dull dread that he cannot feel his fingers.

He’s numb.

“Feel that?” Doc asks.

Tango can’t tell where he’s been prodded, and his anxiety from earlier has eased. He tries to shake his head, but finds he’s still trapped in place, so he sighs softly, “No.”

“Fantastic.” Doc murmurs. He’s quietly cutting Tango’s shirt open. “Deep breath for me.”

Tango takes a slow, deep breath, unable to stretch into it when his hands are restrained above his head. Doc hums in approval.

He continues to cut away, pausing temporary to reach for another tool. Tango tries not to think about what Doc might do to him next. It’s easy. The drug he was injected with makes his brain cozy, in a way that his daily meds don’t. Normally his exhaustion only weighed on his body, but this is easy to lean back into.

Doc moved back to his cart for something else. As he moves back to Tango’s shirt, he can see several pins. From the angle his head is strapped down, he can’t see what Doc does with them. He can’t feel anything, but it sounds like Doc is pinning the front of his shirt open, pressing pins into the foam of the table.

“Deep breath in.” Doc prompts again. Tango complies, and Doc mutters, “Interesting.” Before scribbling on his clipboard again.

“What are you doing?” Tango mumbles.

Doc peers at him with a frown, as though contemplating how much Tango should know. “Dissection.” He says at last.

Tango frowns, “dissecting what?”

“You.” Doc makes another note on his clipboard, “Your insides are fascinating. Do you know what this organ is called?” he points near Tango’s sternum.

Tango thinks he would feel ill if he could feel at all, “My insides?” he manages weakly. He strains to look at himself, but he is firmly stuck in place.

“This one attached to your lungs,” Doc clarifies, realizing that Tango can’t see where he’s pointing, “Its moving when you breathe. What does it do?”

Tango is going to be sick. He’s going to throw up. He’s going to pass out. He will, he will.

“…Filter.” Doc decides, prodding at it a final time, “For all the nether ash.”

He takes another tool and investigates lower inside Tango’s chest. Tango’s breathing comes out rough and anxiously. He can’t breathe. He can’t. He can’t think. He fights against the restraints, but they hold steady.

Doc has him pinned open, and exposed, and he’s dying and weak and drugged and freaking terrified.

“Stop.” Tango chokes around his tight throat and panic, “please, I don’t-”

“You don’t need to worry.” Doc soothes, “The Watchers would end me if I killed their…” he searches for the correct world for a moment, before simply settling on, “Blazeborn.”

“Please.” Tango struggles to breath. His tears prick in his eyes, “please.”

Doc writes another note, and continues, “You won’t die. Can you give me another deep breath?”

Tango shakes through his panic, fighting his body. Deep breath. Deep breath. Please, please, just breathe.

“Good job.” Doc murmurs softly, “just like that.”

He pokes around some more, writing little notes in his clipboard and making small comments that Tango can’t make out. It’s all he can do to just breathe and breathe and hope Doc will be done soon.

Please be done soon.

Please.

“Kidneys are struggling.” Doc mumbles, “probably the heavy medication…”

Tango shutters, “how long?”

“Just a little longer.” Doc promises, “you’ve been so lovely and cooperative for me. You should give notes to Cleo.”

“…Okay.” Tango breathes.

The last several minutes pass in numb agony. Tango focuses on his breathing, suppressing the crushing panic that’s ever closing in. His cheeks are cold from crying.

He isn’t paying attention anymore by the time Doc starts to sew him up again. The pinch of the needle is hidden under the wave of drugs Tango is still floating in.

“The Watchers won’t schedule you for at least three days so you can heal. No extra medication, and be sure to eat plenty.” Doc is saying, as he ties the last knot into his skin. “I’ll see you again in a few days to check on the healing. Ask the Watchers for extra painkillers if you need them.”

Tango blinks at him though the haze of numbness. His heart is still panicked, and breathing is hard, but he’s so weak. So weak.

Doc gently undoes the restraints, “don’t stretch when you sit up.” He instructs.

Tango pulls into himself the moment he’s free. Everything is numb, and empty, and vulnerable, and weak.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, thank you.” Doc praises softly. “there should be Watchers right outside to take you back to your room. You’ll want to sleep for a while before you move much.”

Tango mumbles and nods, struggling to push upright. He’s got pale stitches in a capital “i” shape along his chest and stomach. Nausea rolls over him harshly. He gags.

Doc just nods, looking over his notes, “The numbing will wear off before tomorrow.” He says, discarding his clipboard and easing Tango off the operating table.

His legs give out immediately. Tango clings to Doc with the last of his dying strength, trying not to fall.

He’s walked to the door as Doc continues his thought, “if you heal up quickly, maybe the Watchers will let me take a look at their demon too…”

Tango is helped to his room by a Watcher, and then by Impulse and Pearl when it’s clear he needs more help.

He crashes on his bed, and is out almost immediately.

Meanwhile Doc begins his tests.

[junicult]

the bachelors and their thoughts on tattoos and piercings?? and if they have any/want any

!! the bachelors & tattoos / piercings

contains ; talk of piercings / tattoos. farmer has piercings tattoos (not specified). sfw. one minor nsfw comment in shanes (i seriously can’t help myself).

note ; i made this super quickly in literally like 10 mins😭

harvey

- he doesn’t have either.

- and he doesn’t plan on ever getting them.

- i don’t think he necessarily hates them, (on other people at least) but it’s not something he personally seeks out. like, if you just so happen to have tattoos or piercings, he doesn’t care.

- …he might be the type that doesn’t really like extensive amounts of facial piercings, tho.

- at least, if he met you and you already had those piercings, he might not want to seek a further relationship.

- if you’re already together, and extremely committed, you wanting piercings or tattoos wouldn’t change how he loves you.

- if he did have any piercings, they’d probably just be his ears. but i can’t even picture him getting any.

sam.

- LMFAO i just know he’s the person that doesn’t have any tattoos, but he constantly talks about all the tattoo’s he wants to get. (me)

- piercings, however, are a different story🤭

- he started off simple by getting his earlobe pierced for sure. definitely thought it was very “rockstar” to have.

- overtime he got a few more, (all of which taken place in sebastian’s basement), such as an upper lobe & orbital.

- and he definitely has an industrial. ik it.

- it’s probably healed too which is crazy.

- also, i think it’d be cute for him to just have a dainty little hoop on his nostril.

- when it comes to his partner, he couldn’t care less if they have any piercings / tattoos or not.

- butttt he thinks they’re so attractive. piercings especially.

- lip piercings if we’re being even more specific. ik that if u had snake bites, or an ashley piercing…phew.

- it just gives him an excuse to stare at ur lips lol.

- i feel like he would want to have his nipples pierced, but he’d never go through with it.

- same reason why he doesn’t have any tattoos.

- in general, because he skateboards and stuff, i feel like he’s immune to scratches and scrapes.

- he was also definitely the kind of kid that always had his arm in a cast or something.

- but i’ll still die on this hill: he has a low pain tolerance.

- sebastian can attest to it.

- mf is constantly squirming each time the needle even approaches his skin.

shane.

- he’s more of a tattoo kind of person then piercings.

- is it safe to say i think the majority of his are from when he was drunk😭?

- his pain tolerance is fairly high. he’s got a couple tattoo’s, that’s for sure.

- one on his arm of something gridball related to reminisce back on those days, and one on his back or maybe chest.

- of what? he doesn’t even know.

- as for piercings, definitely his regular & upper earlobes. he never changes the jewelry, it’ll always be that.

- i feel like he also has a daith just bc he heard it helps w migraines 😭

- but he is totally attracted to piercings.

- have any kind of facial piercings you want, he doesn’t care.

- but he’s an absolute sucker for body piercings, whether you have them or not.

- if u have ur belly button pierced, or even…u know…ur nipples dare i say; lord😭😭

- if ur dating, believe me he’s not ignoring those.

- when he sees u naked for the first time, or for the first time after u got those pierced—he’d be such a little asshole.

- “oh, these are nice.” he just raises his eyebrows, smirking down. “they healed?”

- if they are then…well. you already know.

- also he’s a sucker for a tramp stamp😭

- those were so popular in the 90s ik he’d lose his mind if u had one.

sebastian.

- pelican town’s unofficial piercer.

- lord.

- aside from multiple stick and pokes when he was in his teens, he doesn’t have any tattoos.

- they’re all definitely of things he looks back on and physically cringes. he doesn’t even tell people he has them, (besides sam & abby who were around when he was in that phase)

- the only reason you’d find out about them is if you saw them and asked him about it.

- as for piercings, he’s decked out.

- i’m talking lobes, orbital, helix, industrial, daith, conch. his ears are HEAVY.

- his eyebrow, nose, and lip is pierced too.

- his eyebrow might be one of his favs, and i also wholeheartedly believe that was his first ever piercing on himself when he was like 16. he stuck with it since.

- he also just has a nostril hoop. it’s black ofc.

- and…his lip piercing…

- a vertical labret 🤭🤭🤭.

- & u can disagree with me on this, but i’d like to think all of his piercings are properly cared for, cleaned, and healed. he’s not wasting any time caring for an infection.

- i also wanna say he has a few that he’s taken out as he’s gotten older.

- like his bridge piercing. he had it for a couple years before he decided to take it out, so he has a little scar there.

- i feel like abby has snake bites, which convinced him to get snake bites at one point. but when he got his labret, he took those out.

- lastly, i definitely think he had a septum at one point, but pretty quickly he realized it just didn’t suit him so he took it out.

- as for his partner, if you had any piercings—he doesn’t care. why would he?

- he’s incredibly impartial. whether you have them or don’t.

- but let me tell you…if you don’t have any, he’ll gladly change that if you ever asked😇😇

alex.

- he has none.

- zilch. zero.

- he’s not the biggest fan of a ton of piercings. unfortunately i feel like he was raised in that kind of household, so he was conditioned to feel the same way (we’ve all met george).

- like, if you have ur ears pierced or maybe one little face piercing, i don’t think he’d mind that much.

- it definitely depends on how much he likes you.

- if he met you while you had face piercings, he’d probably judge you by cover.

- but if you slowly got them after you’ve been dating a while, i feel like that’s when he’s realize how attractive they can be.

- if you got your lip pierced, and he got to see how plump your lips get from swelling—that might drive him crazy.

- everytime he leans in for a kiss you’d have to pull away, tutting, “ah-ah, no kissing.”

- it’s like ur torturing him.

- and if you ever convinced him to get a piercing, he’d only allow his ears.

- for tattoos, i think it’d be so sweet to imagine him wanting one that linked to his mom.

- like something she’s said before, a nickname she gave him, maybe even if she had a tattoo he’d get the same one.

- because he’s not that emotionally available, he never told anyone.

- not until u asked, and since he’s trusts you more then anyone, he doesn’t mind being vulnerable to you.

elliot.

- he has both.

- but his are just so beautiful that you’d literally see them on pinterest, y’know?

- he’s so tasteful with his piercings and tattoos.

- he’s a patchwork fan. like small separate tattoos on his arms and torso.

- each of which have meaning to him in someway.

- and his piercings are soo small and dainty. (GOLD TOO. he’s strictly gold.)

- he has a little stud on his nostril, and his ears are similar to sebastian’s.

- but he’s much more organized then anyone else. his piercings all took place over time, and they’re all matched. he’s a strict gold jewelry person.

- it just makes him look so clean and put together.

- when it comes to you, he in general doesn’t care whether you have them or not.

- physical attraction isn’t the biggest deal to him. so what if you do / don’t have piercings.

- but he can definitely appreciate if you’re just as dedicated to your jewelry / tattoos as he is.

[acinematicworld]

𝐒𝐚𝐰 𝐕𝐈 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫/𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫

[goryhorroor]

favorite horror movies (117): martin (1977)

"Things only seem to be magic. There is no real magic. There's no real magic ever."

[moodysullie]

I support women's wrongs.

[insomnious-illustrations]

"Your eyes are the eyes of a dead man."

(I couldn't decide which version I liked best so more under the cut)