#Generic Sterile Injectables

[creativeera]

The Generic Sterile Injectables Market poised for strong growth driven by increasing demand for affordable healthcare

The generic sterile injectables market encompasses pharmaceutical formulations such as vials, ampoules, bottles, syringes and bags, which are administered parenterally into the body for treatments. They offer effective and affordable alternatives to branded sterile injectable drugs across therapeutic areas including oncology, cardiovascular diseases, infectious diseases and autoimmune diseases. The growing prevalence of chronic diseases and increasing healthcare expenditure have boosted the demand for generic sterile injectables globally.

The global generic sterile injectables market is estimated to be valued at US$ 46.33 Bn in 2024 and is expected to exhibit a CAGR of 10% over the forecast period 2024 to 2031. Key Takeaways Key players operating in the generic sterile injectables market are Baxter International Inc., AstraZeneca plc, Merck and Co., Inc., Pfizer Inc., Fresenius Kabi, Novartis International AG, Teva Pharmaceuticals, Hikma Pharmaceuticals, Dr. Reddy's Laboratory, Mylan N.V., Sun Pharmaceutical Industries Ltd. The key players dominate the market with their wide array of products in various dosages. The increasing prevalence of chronic diseases and aging population has amplified the demand for affordable healthcare solutions. The rising healthcare costs have prompted patients and providers to shift towards cost-effective generic injectable drugs from branded equivalents. This has accelerated the growth of the global generic sterile injectables market. With rising healthcare expenditures, healthcare providers are boosting investments in emerging markets of Asia Pacific, Latin America, Middle East and Africa for expansion of their generic sterile injectables portfolio. Generic Sterile Injectables Market Trends is expected to drive during the forecast period. Market Key Trends Increased Research & Development and manufacturing capabilities of emerging players: With growing demand for affordable and effective biologics, emerging players are investing significantly in R&D and expanding their sterile injectables manufacturing infrastructure. This has led to increased competition and entry of more affordable biologics in the market.

Porter’s Analysis Threat of new entrants: Low barriers to entry make it easy for new companies to enter the market. However, regulations and requirement of high capital to set-up sterile facilities pose challenges. Bargaining power of buyers: Large group purchasing organizations and hospital networks have significant influence on prices. However, need for essential medicines keeps bargaining power in check. Bargaining power of suppliers: Few major global players supply key starting materials and APIs. However, potential for forward integration limits suppliers' bargaining power. Threat of new substitutes: Limited threat as generics have few major therapeutic substitutes. Biosimilars pose a potential long-term threat in certain disease segments. Competitive rivalry: Intense competition on pricing and new product development. Major players compete by improving quality, reliability of supply and enhancing portfolios. Frequent litigation and regulatory issues also impact competition. The United States dominates the Generic Sterile Injectables Market Regional Analysis accounting for over 40% revenue share in 2024. Strong payer system, sizable healthcare spending and increasing generic adoption to contain costs drive high growth. China sterile injectables market is projected to grow at over 12% till 2031, making it the fastest growing regional market. This can be attributed to rising living standards, healthcare reforms focusing on essential medicines and initiatives to expand domestic sterile manufacturing capabilities.

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Alice Mutum is a seasoned senior content editor at Coherent Market Insights, leveraging extensive expertise gained from her previous role as a content writer. With seven years in content development, Alice masterfully employs SEO best practices and cutting-edge digital marketing strategies to craft high-ranking, impactful content. As an editor, she meticulously ensures flawless grammar and punctuation, precise data accuracy, and perfect alignment with audience needs in every research report. Alice's dedication to excellence and her strategic approach to content make her an invaluable asset in the world of market insights.

(LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/alice-mutum-3b247b137 )

[healthcarehubhh]

Generic Sterile Injectables Market to witness highest growth owing to increasing prevalence of chronic diseases

Generic sterile injectables are medications that are administered intravenously or through injections for treatment of chronic and critical illnesses. The global sterile injectables market is estimated to be valued at US$ 38,706.5 Mn in 2024 and is expected to exhibit a CAGR of 10% over the forecast period 2023 to 2030. Generic sterile injectables are essential for treatment of various critical illnesses including cancer, infectious diseases, cardiovascular diseases and others. Rising burden of chronic diseases worldwide has fueled the demand for cost-effective generic sterile injectables. Moreover, growing geriatric population which is more prone to chronic illnesses is a key driver of the market. Generic sterile injectables offer similar therapeutic efficacy as compared to their branded counterparts at significantly lower costs. This has increased their adoption in developing nations with large patient pools and budget constraints. Key Takeaways Key players operating in the generic sterile injectables market are Baxter International Inc., AstraZeneca plc, Merck & Co., Inc., Pfizer Inc., Fresenius Kabi, Novartis International AG, Teva Pharmaceuticals, Hikma Pharmaceuticals, Dr. Reddy’s Laboratory, Mylan N.V., Sun Pharmaceutical Industries Ltd. Growing prevalence of chronic diseases worldwide has increased the demand for generic sterile injectables for treatment of cancer, cardiovascular diseases, infectious diseases and other critical ailments. According to WHO, cardiovascular diseases are the leading cause of deaths globally and accounted for over 17 million deaths in 2015. Technological advancements in sterile injectables production such as automated vial and syringe filling equipment has improved yields and sterility, facilitating large scale production of affordable generic injectables. Market Trends Increasing consolidation in the industry: Major players are pursuing inorganic growth strategies such as acquisitions and partnerships to strengthen their injectable drug portfolio and manufacturing capabilities. For instance, in 2021, Baxter acquired pharmaceutical company Hillrom for $10.5 billion. Rise of biosimilars: Biosimilar versions of high-profit biologics are gaining approval and commercialization providing opportunities for generics players. Biosimilars offer significant cost savings compared to reference biologics. Market Opportunities Emerging markets in Asia Pacific and Latin America provide immense opportunities owing to growing healthcare spending and large patient population. Favorable regulations in some countries encouraging local manufacturing of generics augur well for the market. Shortage of essential sterile injectables globally during COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the need for boosting local manufacturing capabilities especially in developing countries. This presents opportunities for investment and collaboration between global players and local manufacturers. Impact of COVID-19 on Generic Sterile Injectables Market The COVID-19 pandemic has adversely impacted the growth of generic sterile injectables market. During the initial months of the pandemic in 2020, elective surgeries and non-emergency hospital visits reduced significantly which led to a decline in overall demand for generic sterile injectables. However, as the pandemic intensified, demand spiked significantly for certain therapies used in treatment of hospitalized COVID-19 patients such as antibiotics, analgesics and sedatives which provided some relief to the market.

[genderqueerdykes]

btw, as someone with hypermobile ehlers-danlos who self-injects HRT, i wanted to take the time to recommend liquid bandage to anyone else with hEDS and any other conditions that cause one to have easily damaged skin!

i use the Walmart brand but it is the same as this one here! they generally contain antiseptic as well, so it helps sterilize the injection site as well! i've included the back of the package to show the active ingredients, make sure you check just to be safe if you have allergies to certain medications. it peels off super easy, i never notice when it comes off, whereas with latex and fabric bandages, it would pull and tear my skin too much, to the point where it would cause bleeding. this does the trick with no pain or skin damage!

[versatile-blogger-1]

Global Generic Sterile Injectables Market Is Estimated To Witness High Growth Owing To Increasing Demand For Cost-Effective Medicines

A) Market Overview:

Generic sterile injectables are drugs that are produced and packaged without patent protection. These drugs are widely used in hospitals and clinics for various medical conditions. They offer significant cost advantages as compared to branded drugs, making them highly popular among healthcare providers and patients. The increasing demand for cost-effective medicines, coupled with a growing need for injectable drugs, is driving the growth of the global generic sterile injectables market.

The global Generic Sterile Injectables Market Size is estimated to be valued at US$ 38,706.5 Mn in 2022 and is expected to exhibit a strong CAGR of 10.3% over the forecast period (2022-2030), according to a report published by Coherent Market Insights. B) Market Key Trends: One key trend driving the growth of the global generic sterile injectables market is the increasing focus on biosimilar drugs. Biosimilars are highly similar versions of biological drugs that have lost their patent protection. These drugs offer significant cost savings and have a similar efficacy profile to branded biologics. The increasing demand for biosimilars, especially for the treatment of chronic diseases such as cancer and autoimmune disorders, is fueling the growth of the generic sterile injectables market. For example, Pfizer Inc., one of the key players in the market, has recently launched its biosimilar version of trastuzumab, a drug used for the treatment of breast and gastric cancer. This biosimilar is expected to offer significant cost savings to patients and healthcare providers, leading to increased adoption and growth of the generic sterile injectables market. C) PEST Analysis:

- Political: The political landscape plays a crucial role in the regulation and approval of generic sterile injectables. Government policies and regulations regarding drug pricing and intellectual property rights can impact market growth. - Economic: The growing need for cost-effective healthcare solutions is driving the demand for generic sterile injectables. These drugs offer significant cost savings to patients and healthcare providers, making them economically viable options. - Social: The increasing prevalence of chronic diseases and the need for affordable treatment options are driving the adoption of generic sterile injectables. These drugs are essential in providing quality healthcare to a larger population. - Technological: Technological advancements in drug manufacturing and packaging processes are improving the quality and safety of generic sterile injectables. This is boosting their adoption in healthcare settings. D) Key Takeaways:

1. The global generic sterile injectables market is expected to witness high growth, exhibiting a CAGR of 10.3% over the forecast period, due to increasing demand for cost-effective medicines. The cost advantages offered by these drugs are driving their adoption in hospitals and clinics. 2. The fastest-growing and dominating region in the generic sterile injectables market is North America. This can be attributed to factors such as a well-established healthcare system, increasing prevalence of chronic diseases, and favorable government policies promoting the use of generic drugs. 3. Key players operating in the global generic sterile injectables market include Baxter International Inc., AstraZeneca plc, Merck & Co., Inc., Pfizer Inc., Fresenius Kabi, Novartis International AG, Teva Pharmaceuticals, Hikma Pharmaceuticals, Dr. Reddy’s Laboratory, Mylan N.V., and Sun Pharmaceutical Industries Ltd. These key players focus on product development, strategic collaborations, and mergers and acquisitions to gain a competitive edge in the market. In summary, the global generic sterile injectables market is poised for significant growth due to the increasing demand for cost-effective medicines. The market is driven by key trends such as the focus on biosimilars and technological advancements. However, political and economic factors, along with social and technological aspects, need to be considered for the overall market analysis. With North America emerging as the fastest-growing region, key players in the market continue to invest in innovation and strategic partnerships to maintain their market position.

[resfrio]

TABULA RASA / WORM & DISCO ELYSIUM CROSSOVER

Summary: When Taylor gave up, she didn't break so much as crumble.

OR: After the locker happens, a young amnesiac girl wakes up in the psych ward with only two dozen voices to make her company.

CHAPTER 1. 

“YOU WAKE UP AND CHOOSE VIOLENCE”

The hum of fluorescent lighting. Sterile sheets. A dry throat and pain like sandpaper across every nerve.

You blink once. The ceiling is off-white. You blink again. 

You do not know your name.

LITTLE OWL — Wake up, wake up, wake up, they locked you in the dark, and then, like mommy and daddy too… But we messed it up and we didn't die…

DR. HEARTACHE — Hush. You're safe for now, stay calm. Breathe in, out. Good. You're waking up.

RELENTLESS DETERMINATOR — You were buried in something, and your body remembers it, even if your mind doesn't. The why or how doesn't matter, anyways. Get up.

You sit up slowly. A heart monitor beeps. IV line in one arm. No sign of visitors. Just the rhythmic beep, beep, beep.

No flowers. No cards. No one is waiting. Alone.

GHOST IN THE MACHINE [Medium: Success] — This is a hospital. North American general layout, searching… Extrapolating information indicating it's on the East Coast. That needle taped to your arm? IV fluids, saline. 

FUTURE ROADKILL [Trivial: Success] — We've been given the fuckin' good stuff. They're trying to keep you down, girlie! Hm, it feels like Haldol and something else. When's the next dose, anyways? Who the fuck cares what kinda juicy, puckered asshole we were when the hospital is treating us this good? 

Despite not knowing what happened or even why, you feel scared. 

You had the deeply uncomfortable sense that this drug was like an unstoppable black hole. 

Why are you in a hospital? Why were you given medication to keep you sedated? 

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR — This is nothing to be afraid of, dear. Just get up, we'll help you fix everything, one thing at a time. Don't be afraid. Ignore that crass man. 

You try to move, but suddenly feel something tug at your wrist.

It was soft, but also simultaneously very sturdy.

 

What was it?

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Trivial: Success] — Use your eyes, dummy. You're strapped down to a hospital bed, and they've given us a via intramuscular injection of haldol. You know what that means, right? 

JACOB — It means we should get these off! 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Formidable: Failure] — Wait- What? I guess you're right… After all, for what possible reason would they strap down a young girl?

 That's right. 

You didn't know much of anything, but you felt like you knew at least that only dangerous people were restrained. 

You didn't feel very dangerous… You should get these off. 

Thinking that, you started tugging harshly on the soft wrist restraints, but despite their softness, they felt so tough for the strength of a young girl who'd been unconscious for who knows how long.

For a moment, you thought you'd just give up and wait for the nurse to come back but—

RELENTLESS DETERMINATOR [Trivial: Success] — No.

DRAGON OF KYŪSHU [Easy: Success] — No! 

TOWER OF ENDURANCE [Medium: Success] — No.

—you broke them. 

Suddenly, you found yourself standing in a wrinkled hospital gown, with slightly wobbly legs and a pair of teared-apart wrist straps tied to your hands still. 

SELF-CONFIDENT NIHILIST — Well, yes. We won't certainly be the most graceful person in the room, though. That just can't stand, ha! Get the joke? 

You look down at your slightly wobbly legs, and for some reason, you wanted to ask the smart voice earlier of a movie about a fawn. 

Thinking about it, why do you even have voices in your head? Why would someone-

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR [Trivial: Success] — Focus! 

CONNAISSEUR OF THE FIRMAMENT [Easy: Success] — Look, there's a whiteboard besides the bed. What's that? 

GHOST IN THE MACHINE [Medium: Failure] — W-Well, I tried to look it up but there's nothing. Maybe it's a new contraption, created while we were asleep? Anyways, go and read what it is..!

Following the voices' commands, you walk towards the whiteboard. 

It has a lot of information.

CONNAISSEUR OF THE FIRMAMENT — Alright, we're close enough now, let me just…

═══════────═══════────══════════════────═══════────══════

  Brockton Bay General Hospital – Psychiatric Unit

   January 4, 2011.

  Psych 3-B

 Patient Information

 Name: Taylor Hebert

 DOB: June 12, 1995

 Age: 15

 Diet: Regular

 Allergies: None reported

 Precautions:

Fall risk

Self-harm risk 

Psychiatric Observation Level 1 (Unconscious)

Primary Concern: Suspected acute psychotic episode.

 Status on Arrival: Arrived during mental health crisis with minor physical injuries (contusions/superficial lacerations)

Consciousness: Unconscious x 3 days 

Physical Restraints: Yes – soft wrist restraints in use (precautionary until assessment possible)

 Care Team

Attending Psychiatrist: Dr. Alana Reyes

 Pediatrician: Dr. Mark Iseri

 RN Today: Emily Chau

 Charge Nurse: Anthony Hall

 Today's Plan / Goals

 Monitor vitals q4h

 Maintain IV fluids & nutrition

 Neurologist consult (pending imaging review)

 Evaluate for underlying medical causes of altered consciousness

 Begin psych evaluation when patient regains consciousness

 Family / Emergency Contact

 Parents: Deceased

Kinship Foster Parent(s):

 Lacey Kingsley 

Communication Notes

 Preferred Name: Unknown 

Language: English

Interpreter: Not needed

Pain Scale: Unable to assess

Observation: Continuous video & in-person q15 checks.

═══════────═══════────══════════════────═══════────══════

EVERYONE — [ … ] 

JACOB — (not sounding very contrite at all) Oh dear, this is a rather unfortunate set of circumstances. 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM — Unfortunate? You, little conniving bitch, tricked us! We were already a known crazie, now that we broke out of our restraints, they're gonna make them even worse! 

DR. HEARTACHE — An acute psychotic episode can be a one-time occurrence, usually of sudden onset, or can occur repeatedly, or it may be the early phase of chronic psychosis. It can occur following an adverse life event (e.g. loss, acute stress or trauma)... Child, what did they do to you? 

 You ignored the voices' escalating argument, as you read through the whiteboard information.

Apparently your name was 

Taylor Hebert. 

T-A-Y-L-O-R 

H-E-B-E-R-T 

It felt like a piece of you slotting in its place.

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR — The surname Hébert is of French origin, meaning "son of" or "descendant of Herbert". Herbert, in turn, is a French version of the Germanic name, composed of the elements "heri" (army) and "berht" (bright, famous). Therefore, Hébert ultimately signifies "bright army" or "illustrious warrior". It's a nice last name, your parents must've been good people. 

Your father and mother were Hebert too.

Mother, deceased.

Father, deceased.

Reading those words makes you want to start sobbing. 

JACOB — Well, I hate to rain on your parade but we do need to do something about this. How about we ask around? I'm sure I can help you charm the pants off the doctors, easy peasy. 

THE WINGED ONE [Easy: Success] — That doesn't sound very smart. Just think about it, we don't have any parents, we are alone and kept drugged out supposedly for our own ‘safety’, who's to say they won't just lock us up? Who'd fight for us once they do that and throw away the key? 

Distrust of authorities comes to you maybe a bit too easily, as the argument thoroughly sways you. 

That's right. 

Who'd fight for us, now that our family is gone? 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM — We literally just read the file say we have a foster parent. Am I the only literate one here? 

JACOB — [Stirring shit] Well, who's to say it's a good foster parent? Maybe they're the reason we even ended up having a something something psychosis. 

Those were both good arguments. 

On one hand, you could put your fate on the hands of the hospital and trust that your foster parent knew and wanted the best for your sake—

RELENTLESS DETERMINATOR — Are we crazy? … Nevermind that, anyways, let's go and see which floor we are on. 

Indeed, the only real option was to take things into your own hands. 

And with that decision firmly in hand, you walked towards the locked window, trying to visualize your fall like one might recreate a crime scene.

HARBINGER OF ARITHMETIC [Formidable: Failure] — Well, we're on the fourth floor and a fall would definitely break something. What more do you need to know to realize this isn't a good course of action? Think about what facts you have and how much you're just imagining. 

TOWER OF ENDURANCE — Except we're made of sterner material. I can help you live through the fall, but the window is locked and made of reinforced glass, breaking it would alert the hospital staff. How are you going to deal with that first?

That was true. 

Ignoring Harbinger's way too logical words, while you were lost and barely even knew your name, the other people here knew more about you than you did, and could likely easily track you down through unknown means. 

Even more so if you made a giant ruckus by breaking the reinforced window and then jumping off the 4th floor.

How could you open this thing when the only thing you had on you was a hospital gown and IV drip?

GHOST IN THE MACHINE [Challenging: Failure]  Sorry… I don't know how to break the law. Maybe you could help us? [poke at something in the dark] 

EFFICIENCY PROTOCOL — [looking around awkwardly] Maybe if we had a bobby pin and at least ten minutes of practice. As it is, the clock says it's been four minutes and thirteen seconds since we woke up, and the whiteboard says they check on us every fifteen. It'd be a most useless waste of our time. 

SELF-DECEIVING TRAITOR — How about we just walk out, Taylor? No need to overcomplicate things, sweetheart. If you act like you belong, no one will think you don't. 

That was certainly an option, though one you doubted you could pull off, especially because-

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Trivial: Success] — And just how are you planning to act your way out of showing half our ass in this hospital gown and the shredded restraints still tied to our wrists? Dumbass. 

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR — Enough! You're all just like children. Bickering and wasting our precious time! Now, let it speak! 

EVERYONE — [ ? ] 

DIRTY GLASS WINDOW — Oh boy, I was wondering when I'd get a chance to speak! Don't you dare break me!

EVERYONE — [ ?? ] 

GHOST IN THE MACHINE [Medium: Failure] — There's no known psychological precedent for a window providing tactical insight, but we're here now… Maybe this is normal after all. 

DIRTY GLASS WINDOW — This is normal. All people can speak. Why can't a window be ‘people’ too? 

That was very true, you couldn't help but be convinced by this very fact-driven argument.

You blink at the talking window. Then again. The dirt and dust have gathered in subtle patterns that almost, almost, form a face. A twisted smiling mask, but nonetheless a face. 

And with that, you stood besides your new friend and listened. 

DIRTY GLASS WINDOW — You don't have to lockpick or break my precious glass. I've got you a sweet deal: just clean me with some water or whatever and a clean rag, and I'll unlock the latch for you, no biggie. 

JACOB [Easy: Success] — You've got yourself a deal, champ! How about you even throw in some info about the streets around the hospital? That's only fair. 

DIRTY GLASS WINDOW — [Gullible] Sure!

That was a very good deal indeed, it could be done in under ten minutes, and you pretty much had all the tools at hand.

Plus, info on what's around the hospital and knowing where to hide when needed was extra helpful.

SPITEFUL COWARD — SO. Are we finally escaping? Hurry the fuck up! Rip a corner of the blanket to use as a rag. The nurse's coming, I can feel his breath on my neck! 

CONNAISSEUR OF THE FIRMAMENT [Medium: Success] — Nurse Hall left a purified water bottle at the corner of the cabinet. Probably in a hurry. We can use that. 

TOWER OF ENDURANCE — ██████, come help. 

WALKING ORDNANCE DEPOT — On it, ma'am! 

DRAGON OF KYŪSHU — Don't keep me waiting too long, woman. 

With the help of the three voices, you found yourself frantically cleaning the Dirty Glass Window like the world's least qualified window cleaner.

DECENTLY CLEAN GLASS WINDOW — Wooo! That's what we're here for! Thanks, darling. This is the cleanest I've been since inauguration day! 

With a quiet clack the window's slightly rusty latch obediently opened. 

It was only now that you noticed it was night, a chilling wind entered the hospital room, making you slightly shiver.  

DR. HEARTACHE — Take the rest of the blanket and wrap it around you, it's going to be cold outside.

DECENTLY CLEAN GLASS WINDOW — As promised, here's the information: This is Brockton Bay General Hospital. It's right between the border of The Docks South and the so-called Downtown. The hospital has its own little ecosystem around it, with shops set up to provide meals or offer shower and laundry service for the hospital patients' visitors. That is to say, you could probably raid a second-hand store nearby if you're quick enough. It is no Boardwalk.

You listened to it, and in your mind a little map of this city ‘Brockton Bay’ that you were a part of started to form. 

The wind slithers in through the open window like a whisper from some forgotten dream. It tastes of sea salt and smog and faint promises of freedom.

You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Hospital white. A little too thin.

SPITEFUL COWARD — Hurry up, you imbecile! Now's not the time to get all poetic! 

THE WOMAN WITH THE HAT [Trivial: Success] — There’s no one in the hallway yet. But time is not your friend. Neither is gravity. React fast, or don't react at all. Jump.

You grip the frame of the window, eyes flicking downward. Four floors. An alleyway below. A dumpster squats there like some stinking sentry. You don’t know if it’s full or empty.

Doesn’t matter.

WALKING ORDNANCE DEPOT — [Medium: Success] There’s a maintenance ledge just beneath the window. Half a meter wide, steel support bracket visible… Probably bolted in. Looks weathered, but solid enough. We can do it.

RELENTLESS DETERMINATOR — Good. Plant a foot. Lower slowly. Don’t hesitate now. You made your choice.

DRAGON OF KYŪSHU — C'mon, faster, girl! I refuse to get caught at the starting line because you were too slow!

DECENTLY CLEAN GLASS WINDOW — [muffled] Remember to visit me when you become famous..!!

You swing a leg through. Cold air bites at your skin. The soles of your feet protest as they touch the cold metal. You crouch.

You start edging sideways. One hand gripping the wall, one on the window frame, heart slamming in your ribs like a trapped bird.

Silently, you start making your way down like a particularly large squirrel.

Once you're low enough, you drop and brace yourself for the brief fall.

And then—

CONNAISSEUR OF THE FIRMAMENT [Challenging: Failure] —  Oh. Everyone, I'm sorry but…

A man in a security uniform ambles below. Fat, bored, coffee in one hand. Keys on his belt, flashlight hanging loose. Not looking up.

But then you drop down like a deranged bat. 

The slothful security guard and you look at each other for a second. 

EVERYONE — [ … ] 

DRAGON OF KYŪSHU [Easy: Success] — [Muscle and sinew crackle as you get ready for the incoming fight] This was inevitable, after all. If you're gonna fight, you have to win. Beat him up. One punch and that slob is down. Go. 

SPITEFUL COWARD [Trivial: Success] — [Fear, Fight or Flight, you choose fight] I just knew that guy would mess up, I should've been in charge of the escape plan! It's in my literal name! 

FUTURE ROADKILL [Easy: Success] — [Your adrenal glands tickle] Let's fucking gooooo, this shit was getting boring! 

THE WOMAN WITH THE HAT — It starts with the shoulder. Always the shoulder. A slow tectonic grind beneath the skin, rolling power down the arm like thunder moving across a battlefield of meat and bone. Punch. 

Before the security guard could swallow his sip of coffee and yell about an escaped patient, you knocked him unconscious. 

DR. HEARTACHE — Well, I think you all were maybe a bit too ready for violence. Maybe we should put him against the wall or somewhere people can see him soon, it's cold. 

JACOB — You kidding? If we do that, they're going to find out even sooner where we went or how we escaped. Let's rob this guy blind! He must have some money on him.

Isn't stealing wrong? 

You don't know a lot of things, but come to think about it, you have a faint memory of someone you called “mommy” telling you that. 

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR — Well… Yes. Objectively speaking, it is. But you're an amnesiac orphan, for now, it's okay. Focus on how you can survive in the present, Taylor. 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Easy: Success] — Let's see… 4 $20 bills and 1 $5 bill. That's… we're still broke, but it's a start. Look, he also had a baton, a holster for the baton, notepad, pen, an old pepper spray, a flashlight, and his phone on him. I already unlocked it, since he obviously used his birthday on the ID as password.

JACOB — Take his phone and we pawn it off somewhere for good buck!

That also sounded like a good idea. You didn't know a lot about phones, since, for some reason, holding one made you deeply uncomfortable, but any advanced piece of technology must be expensive, and thus, it'd be worth at least something.

You were getting a bit hungry.

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Easy: Success] — If I'm not mistaken (which I never are) then phones come with a tracking function, idiot. Do you want them to find us?

EFFICIENCY PROTOCOL [Medium: Success] — (Snatching phone away) Let me confirm. Hm… Hm… Hm. No, it was manual and he didn't have that set up. We're good, stealing procedures undertaken… Let's go.

SPITEFUL COWARD — Are you all dumbasses really stopping to mug this guy in the middle of us breaking out of the hospital holding us hostage!? 

JACOB — Hey, hey, hey. Calm. No one's coming here yet. In fact, I'd advocate to rob this guy's clothing too but I'm guessing the doctor here wouldn't be too crazy over that, would you?

DR. HEARTACHE — You'd be right. 

JACOB — Gotcha. Anyways, we're done here for now kid. Time to pack up! Up, up, everyone!

THE WINGED ONE — Maybe we should leave him a little note, maybe he won't be mad if we put sticky note on his forehead saying 'I'm sorry' 

JACOB — I agree! We're so smart.

Was that something you should do?

THE WINGED ONE — Of course. It's what a polite fellow would do.

Well, if so...

SPITEFUL COWARD — I hate you all.

Now you were an obvious hospital escapee, shoeless and half-ass still out (well, covered by a ripped thin hospital blanket), except you had a way-too-big duty belt wrapped twice around your waist, containing pepper spray, a flashlight, a baton, and your (also) stolen phone. 

Can't forget the stylish shredded wrist restraints around your wrists.

On the unconscious security guard's forehead, there was a slightly wrinkled sticky note, written with a slightly wobbly hand: 

SELF-CONFIDENT NIHILIST — Our drip can, fortunately, surely only go up from here!

It was, as you had noticed before, night. Thankfully, aside from the tired security guard you had just forcefully sent to Dreamland, there was nothing else—

CONNAISSEUR OF THE FIRMAMENT [Medium: Success]  — (really wanting to make up for last mistake) There's a camera if we go that way, let's go behind the dumpster and then climb the fence, we should be out by then.

Indeed, after that voice pointed it out, you noticed a beat-up security camera, which made you promptly turn around to where the voice told you.

Said fence was a rather tall thing, probably to further discourage the very thing you were just about to do.

DRAGON OF KYŪSHU [Easy: Success] — Hmph. Leave this to me. 

Were humans supposed to be this sturdy and strong? Or were you just special somehow? 

Wasn't that just fiction? 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Formidable: Failure] — I truly don't think we've done anything out of the ordinary, Taylor. And I'd notice it, if we did. 

SELF-DECEIVING TRAITOR — You're such a stiff. Taylor's clearly special! On this world's stage, she's the protagonist! How can't you see it? Do you even have eyes!? 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM — Oh, do shut up, idiot. I bet you even think you're the smartest, prettiest— 

You hear something like a loud THUD! and muffled screaming.

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR — Moving on… To be honest, dear, we don't know enough yet to say for sure. Does it matter if you're normal or special? What's important is surviving, let's get you some clothes and then hopefully some food for you, then we can think about that.

You went up and down the fence, and found yourself as a lonely, amnesiac girl dressed in rags.

Where to go, where to go…

JACOB — Let's stick to the dark alleys. We may look too fabulous for the streets just yet. Plus, if anyone tries to rob us, we can counter-rob them, getting more money! It's a win-win.

The streets of Brockton Bay were very lonely at night; only broken with the occasional late-night food stall and 24/7 convenience stores.

It was January, and even though it wasn't currently snowing, it still felt cold. Very cold. 

RELENTLESS DETERMINATOR [Formidable: Success] — Compared to what you're going to have to live through, this little chill is nothing. 

TOWER OF ENDURANCE [Challenging: Success] — We can keep going. Walk. 

And so, you indeed kept walking. 

Finally, after probably ten minutes of wandering  that had you seriously consider the pros and cons of mugging someone out of their clothes, you found yourself in front of a second-hand clothes store.

The sign is an eye-searing neon and flickering in a way you subconsciously find very cliché.

Shaking your head as if you physically chase away your thoughts, you decide to enter.

Only to meet your greatest foe yet—

The door.

It won't open.

DRAGON OF KYŪSHU — We can always just destroy it, don't get your panties in a twist.

You don't think you even have those on.

JACOB — [Shit stirring] I agree. Let's even make a ruckus and scream about how they're being classist against us, how 'bout it?

For the same reason you didn't want to break the glass window in the hospital, you didn't want to break this door.

Especially since you saw what you vaguely remembered being called a ‘cashier’ manning the counter.

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Trivial: Success] — [Crawling out from the punishment corner] Do I have to point out the fact it says PUSH, not PULL? 

Observing the door more carefully, you realized that it was the truth.

A chime rings out, old and cracked like the voice of a dying god. Finally, you step inside.

Ah, finally some good, nice warmth. 

Time to bundle up. 

SELF-CONFIDENT NIHILIST — The lights are too yellow. The carpet’s too beige. The air smells like mildew and someone else’s memories. Welcome to second-hand limbo, baby!

SELF-DECEIVING TRAITOR — Ugh, everything's here a decade out of style, but I suppose it's a start. 

SPITEFUL COWARD — Nevermind that, stop dawdling and get to clothes shopping, that cashier is going to call the cops, they won't come soon or eagerly, but they will.

CONNAISSEUR OF THE FIRMAMENT [Medium: Success] — The cashier is wearing glasses. In the reflection of the glasses, you can see them trying to contact someone on their phone even when they act like they didn't see us. 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM [Medium: Success] — This place is approximately 1100 square feet. No security. One cashier. Three cameras — two dummy, one real but unmonitored. Floorplan matches most northeastern resale shops circa 2000–2010. Low threat environment.

The ceiling tiles are water-stained, like someone bled rust into the plaster. Shelves sag under the weight of too many forgotten sweaters. Somewhere, a radio croaks out Fleetwood Mac’s “Gypsy.”

Despite the hurry, you feel comfortable, amidst these forgotten things. 

You shuffle inside, carefully avoiding the real camera that the voice told you about. The bell over the door jangles a second time as it closes behind you. 

The cashier is still pretending you don't exist.

DR. HEARTACHE — She isn't as apathetic as she looks… See that? Her fingers are trembling, she feels scared of you. What sort of city is this Brockton Bay, where someone is clearly attentive enough to be scared of someone like us entering yet still refusing to react? 

You move like a ghost, feet silent on the stained linoleum, the belt around your waist jangling quietly with purloined plastic. The racks stretch out before you — cotton graveyards. Denim mausoleums.

JACOB — Let's look for some white button-ups, those are always classy! 

SKELETON KING — (Suddenly appearing) I agree. 

JACOB — Ugh. Where did you even come from? Now I don't want it. 

THE WOMAN WITH THE HAT — Do not forget the hat, though. 

There were a ton of clothes and options to choose from, and despite having nothing (or maybe because of that reason), you didn't even know what to choose. 

Especially with the rest of the voices bickering over what ‘drip’ to choose:

SELF-DECEIVING TRAITOR — … -nd like I was telling you, we need those red high heels above all else, I just know we have killer le— 

Another loud ‘THUD!’ and then the sound of someone choking.

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR — Now no one will get any drip! I shall dress her! 

You were glad for the voice interfering, as you were now lost on whether high-heels were or not incredibly crucial to your survival after hearing a minute long argument between everyone.

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR — First, grab that backpack. It will do. Then, grab that beanie and then—

With the voice's help, you grabbed a green beanie, a pair of leggings to help with the cold, then slightly baggy black pants over those, a burgundy turtle-neck shirt, a thick trench-coat, a lilac scarf with purple and magenta flowers.

And the greatest find: a pair of dirty white sneakers that actually fit you!

You dressed in the « DRESSING ROOM » thing the voices told you about, and afterwards, made sure to put the pepper spray, money, flashlight, phone, notepad & pen, and baton in the trench coat pockets

With a bit more of carefulness, you could even fully take off the shredded wrist restraints. 

Then you turned around, and found yourself staring at a teenage girl.

It was you.

LITTLE OWL — How did she put it again? Limbs too gangly. Stick thin. Thin lips. Wide mouth. Large eyes. We look like a big owl now, mom. 

 

SELF-CONFIDENT NIHILIST — I mean, the clothes don't help for sure, but you don't look bad. It's a bit cute in an avant-garde way. It's all about chutzpah, darling. Chin up, walk like you mean it! 

SELF-DECEIVING TRAITOR — [muffled] We once played dress up too...

You didn't know what to think.

DR. HEARTACHE — Somewhere inside you, something uncomfortably close to self-loathing wells up. 

But why? 

Was this due to your lost memories?

You didn't think you looked… that… bad, why would you hate yourself? 

Why would you feel such dissatisfaction upon seeing your face?

Why did the memories make your heart hurt?

Why did they

always 

poke

at 

your 

insecurities?

[DAMAGED MORALE -1] 

AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR [Challenging: Success] — STOP. 

It was only then that you realized you were grabbing your head and heaving, your throat felt constricted and you felt like you were seeing the world through a fish-eye lens-

DR. HEARTACHE [Medium: Success] — You were having a panic attack, sweetheart. Breathe in, out. Don't think about that for now, follow my instructions, yes, good. Put everything else inside the backpack. 

Almost robotically, you went through the motions of stuffing the other clothes (apparently, according to the voices, having more than one set was crucial into not stinking) into your canvas backpack. The ragged blanket went in too, and your hospital gown did, too, to avoid leaving evidence in the scene of your soon-to-be crime. 

By the time you were done, you felt just a little less cracked inside. 

JACOB — HM. So. As always, I don't mean to interrupt, but we better get out of dodge. You all, uh, do remember this gal was sneakily calling the police, right? 

GHOST IN THE MACHINE [Trivial: Success] — The police in Brockton Bay are notoriously slow to respond. Looking through social media logs, it's a common consensus that they take approximately 30 minutes to arrive anywhere if they do at all, unless a particular set of circumstances are met, which were only hinted at but our situation definitely doesn't, anyways. 

SMARTEST PERSON IN THE ROOM — With that in consideration, let's still get out of here ASAP, Taylor. Remember to avoid the angle of the one working camera.

SELF-CONFIDENT NIHILIST [Challenging: Failure] — You don't swagger as you step out of the thrift store dripped out of your mind, and in fact, stumble on the door threshold… We'll never recover those cool points. At least you still avoided the camera, though. 

Both the cashier and you carefully avoided eye-contact with each other as you caught your fall with the door handle and then speed-walked out of the thrift store with a furious, embarrassed blush on your cheeks.

As you walked for a few more minutes, now looking just like a girl who shouldn't be out alone so late instead of a crazy hospital escapee, you finally realized you didn't actually know where you were going.

You looked up.

The moon…

It looked so bright and beautiful. 

You suddenly feel a shiver; like a centipede crawling into your spine and entering your neocortex.

EARTH-BET — WELCOME, ██████. Welcome back. Welcome back home. 

The wind suddenly picked up, and for that moment, it was like the only person in this world was you.

Just you, a person named Taylor, staring at the moon, wondering why your heart suddenly felt heavy, like a stone dropping from a great height.

CHAPTER 1, end.

Author Note:

If TR! Taylor's life was an Episode game:

You must trust in authorities to want the best for you. Do you: 

Put your trust in them and go back to the bed (pay 200 gems)

Jump off the 4th floor window

 Assault a security guard on your way out of the psych ward 

Taylor & Co didn't think about the cold/exposure when leaving that security guard unconscious and on the ground, but the man did also have a walkie talkie that they missed, a few minutes later at the regular check-in it was noticed that the guy wasn't there anymore and so he was quickly discovered, with the sticky note still on, after being assaulted by a deranged amnesiac 15 years old psych ward escaped. Being a sec guard in BB is suffering.

What's everyone's guess on the voices that appeared in this chapter?

I just have 2 more chapters, but honestly idk if I will continue this or if so, continue posting them here, mostly because I'm doing everything on phone and editing Tumblr posts on phone makes my wrist ache fiercely because it's;;;;;; SO WONKY /cries

[icycoldninja]

Lab Visit (Sephiroth x Scientist!Reader)

(Set in Crisis Core)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sephiroth was due for a physical today. He was supposed to receive new Mako injections and stamina boosters, as per Hojo's orders. You, one of Shinra's top scientists, had been ordered to complete this procedure. While the very mention of such a task frightened your fellow scientists, you were not to be deterred. Sephiroth was a bristly, rather cold person, but he wasn't as cold to you, which could probably be credited to the little friendship the two of you had built. Over the years, Sephiroth's visits to the lab had brought you company, real company, not the ramblings of some deranged lunatic who lurked about in the shadows. Sephiroth was different, both physically and mentally, though you could never tell why. There was something about him that enabled his very presence to be both calming and terrifying all at the same time. Yes, the man could be nice at times, but there were several disastrous instances where he lashed out in anger at anyone who dared approach him with a needle or syringe, though when you did it, you were a different story. One could even say...he trusted you. This trust allowed you to do things to him no one else could, such as take samples of his blood without him going ballistic and destroying everything in the lab in a fit of rage--or possibly, fear.

"Y/N," A low, sinister voice intoned, as an old man with greasy black hair tied back in a low ponytail emerged from the shadows.

"Dr. Hojo," You greeted, feeling yourself tense under his menacing gaze. Of all the scientists--no--all the people in Shinra, Hojo was who you detested the most. The acts he'd committed were unforgivable. Turning your own assistants and fellow scientists into mutant creatures for "research"?! Unbelievable! Not to mention the things he'd done to Sephiroth before you'd even arrived. You hadn't even uncovered the details of what happened, but you knew it had to be bad.

Still, Hojo was your employer; he was paying your wages and providing you with opportunities to learn and grow your experience--as well as chances to talk to Sephiroth more often, so you had to grit your teeth and bead it.

"The subject will be here soon," He finally said, sounding rather giddy. "Prepare the equipment. I want samples of everything." You gulped, knowing full well that when Hojo said he wanted "everything", he meant everything. Skin samples, hair samples, sweat samples, and more. You barely finished gathering up your gear when a familiar figure trooped through the door.

"Dr. Y/N, how do you do?" You spun around, trying--and failing--to hide the grin on your face.

"General Sephiroth, a pleasure to see you again. Do have a seat." Sephiroth nodded before tugging off his leather trench coat, revealing his lack of underclothes. He hung the coat on a rack on the wall and took a seat on the hospital-style bed you'd prepared for him. From the corner, Hojo watched, a devious glint in his eye. You busied yourself with gathering up vials and beakers, and such, while the two men glared at each other silently. After several minutes, Hojo departed, presumably to slither back into whatever hole he crawled out of, leaving the two of you alone in the room. Almost instantly, the tense mood was lifted.

"I can't believe you can put up with him," Sephiroth sighed, crossing his bare arms. You shrugged, sterilizing a needle with alcohol.

"Believe me, I'm trying very hard not to throw something acidic at his head." Your eyes met, smirks both plastered on your faces.

"I would like to see you do that," Sephiroth chuckled, extending his arm for you to prick.

"And to do so would be my dream come true," You responded, gently pricking his arm with the needle and drawing a few small drops of blood.

Sephiroth nodded, a smile on his face as he relaxed into the hospital bed. Over the course of the next hour, you collected all the samples Hojo would need for his sick creations, and once the Mako infusion drip was in, you were both free to chat, about work, about your own personal lives, about everything. Throughout the entirety of this short visit, Sephiroth looked happier than you'd ever seen him, even though he was in a place he hated. He was happy with you, and you were happy with him.

Once the infusion was complete and Sephiroth was free to leave, he did so reluctantly, for the only reason he braved the nightmares of this lab, the only reason he subjected himself to experimentation, was so he could see you.

[catboybiologist]

Okay i dont talk about HRT with people a lot and i started E when i was a teen so i actually didnt know estradiol injections were a thing until i saw your posts. I thought injections where a T thing and that we all got E through titty skittles.

I want to ask what the difference actually is because its piqued my interest. It sounds pretty annoying compared to a pill. Is it cheaper or more often covered?

also ps i know youre not my doctor but is 44pgml too low?

So first off, yes, 44pg/mL is way too low by any standard. The usual standard you'll see is 100-200pg/mL, but this is starting to be considered very, very low. More modern standards of care try for 200pg/mL at trough (the lowest you should be- on sublingual this doesn't vary much though). Generally 200-400 pg/mL is the more typical modern guidance. Your T is also very important here. It's very difficult to get your E high without your T going at least a bit down first.

With that said, self injecting E seems very intimidating at first, but has a lot of benefits, including but not limited to:

The main benefit is medical. Injecting E bypasses the liver. This means that you're stressing out the liver less.

This has an added benefit: you can safely get a much higher effective dose with little to no health concerns. Eg, Oral and sublingual generally have a limit of 8mg sublingual per day, and most of that gets completely destroyed by the body via the liver before it acts on estrogen receptors. Sublingual injections come in different forms, and the dose numbers aren't directly translatable, but no matter what you do, the effective amount of estrogen you're delivering is much, much higher.

Additionally, this means that your estrogen can safely get high enough to suppress T on its own. Once your T is down, and E stops being suppressed by T, the reverse will start happening- E will down regulate T production (up to a limit but that's an additional detail). That means something awesome- no blockers. No Spiro, no cypro, no bica- all of which have some concerns of their own beyond just E.

Yes, it is easier to access. Generic, sterile, injection supplies are easily available online in large quantities from reputable medical supply sources, and the injectable medication itself is generally cheaper and more likely covered by insurance.

This also means it's uh. Easier to access when access to HRT is... Non-conventional.

Whiiiiich also means another thing. Injectable medication is always limited by expiration time and the sterility of the vial, not the quantity it's packaged in. Which means that IF YOU KNOW WHAT YOURE DOING, you have flexibility in your dosage if you so choose. Eg, I have personally talked with my provider about how to do this safely, but I've recently tried dosages of estradiol valerate ranging from 6mg to 8mg a week. Again, remember that this isn't translatable to 8mg sublingual a day- 8mg EV injected a week is SO much higher than 8mg estradiol pills per day.

It seems intimidating, but honestly, I find a ~20 min routine on a Friday morning much easier to keep track of than taking multiple pills multiple times a day.

In general, it's considered the best HRT option, although most people ease into it with a period of time on sublingual first. If you can, get trained by a nurse to self inject the first couple of times.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) part 7

Warnings: severely injured villain, blood loss & infection, high fever, rough recovery

He pressed two fingers to the inside of her wrist to check her pulse once the IV line was securely taped to her arm, and his gut twisted in knots when he could barely feel it fluttering beneath his fingertips, struggling weakly to keep pumping what little blood volume was left in Villain. But it was still something, and Hero could work with that.

Villain's body had shut down to conserve energy, and so Hero knew the task of feeding her would fall entirely on him and his skills as an multi-qualified hero Agency medic. He used to be a medic alone, until he got tired of being on the sidelines patching up wounded heroes and decided to become one to fight alongside them and get in on the action himself.

Villain had always hated that decision. It worried her constantly that he would be in the heat of the battle instead of in the safety of Agency's medical wing, tasked only to repair wounded warriors and send them out to fight again. But for Hero, fighting on the frontlines had been a calling. He wanted to do more than just heal people, he wanted to fight for them too.

Hero shook himself back to the present, chest aching at the memory. He intentionally kept himself distracted with his hands to keep his mind from wandering again as he prepared a slurry mix to give to Villain in a feeding tube, and it was easy to guide it into her stomach to give her all the nutrients and vitamins she needed to speed up the healing process.

Once he'd fed her, he gave her an injection of heavy painkillers, just in case her consciousness slipped back at a weird time and surprised him. He didn't want her waking up in agony.

"I'm sorry," he whispered once he was done. He knew he'd already said it before, but there was really nothing more to say than that -- I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as he climbed back into the bed to warm Villain up again.

"I'm sorry," he cried as he broke down in tears at the sight of her deathly pale face.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed when he woke up from a vivid nightmare about her suffering later that night.

"I'm sorry," he croaked in the morning when he woke up and remembered what happened.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. More than you'll ever know... and ever believe...

-------------------------------------------------------

The next day was another battle for survival. Villain's infection had rapidly worsened at an alarming rate of speed, a high fever soon setting in that Hero fought to control. It was an aggressive type of infection that ravaged Villain's already-weak body, and Hero monitored her closely day and night for the next two days straight with almost no sleep just to make sure she'd survive to the next morning.

Villain's body had gone from cold as death to a fiery furnace far too fast, and Hero knew it was probably taking a lot out of her body to fight the infection.

This night Villain had been too warm for Hero to handle sleeping next to, so he'd taken off his shirt to cool down, stubbornly not wanting to leave Villain's side but also extremely uncomfortable by the sheer amount of heat her feverish skin was generating.

Despite her body being alarmingly hot to the touch, her fingers were still always cold, strangely enough. Hero had done everything he could to bring down the fever with every medication he had in the house and hundreds of ice packs every day, but nothing seemed to work.

-------------------------------------------------------

It was four days after he'd found her in the street now and her condition had both improved and declined drastically. The fever only ever seemed to climb, but at least her physical body was still slowly healing with the daily wound dressing changes and sterile flushings. Hero's hard work was incrementally paying off. But slowly. Too slow for comfort.

Hero had run himself ragged with stress and guilt, working tirelessly to keep up to Villain's tube-feeding schedule and regularly drugging her with more painkillers and sedatives. But it never felt like he was doing enough for her. Not enough to make up for the harm he'd caused her in the past. He had gotten virtually no decent sleep since he'd found Villain, and it was steadily taking a toll on his mind. But he refused to rest while she was still at risk of dying at any moment.

��️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @whatwhump

@writing-with-olive @and-we-shake-the-iron-hand

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 9: Lactation

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 8971

Afab!reader, noncon, mentioned/implied abduction, lactation, milking machine, medical kinks, injections, human experimentation, breast expansion, breastfeeding, possible body horror elements depending on how you want to look at it, general horror/ psychological horror themes, let me emphasize again that this is VERY non consensual 

A/N: okay, this one is dark. It might be upsetting or uncomfortable to some so PLEASE read the tags and pay attention to your own comfort levels before clicking the read more. It’s Dottore and you should expect the worst, so honestly just multiply that by 5 before you make your decision to read or not ndkvndke

⭐

You were hand selected from a group of other women and girls. Neither the oldest or the youngest, you’d fallen somewhere in the middle. It had been a diverse selection, ranging in size and shape, and even physical maturity, but he chose you out of all the rest. You’d watched him summarily dismiss the matrons standing in line with little more than a glance, outright scoff at the ones who hadn’t even hit puberty yet, as if they disgusted him, and then wave off the girls who were thin and malnourished. It was impossible to tell what he was looking for at the time, especially when it had come down to you and a few others who were healthy and ripe; old enough to be of marriageable age but not so on in years that your bodies were showing signs of aging yet … but you’d long since come to realize the answer for yourself. 

After that humiliating selection process and the equally invasive exam that followed, your world receded to a fine, pinprick of existence that consisted almost exclusively of cold metal equipment and him. Sterile and unpleasant, he touched you with impartial hands encased in powdery gloves while he conducted his preliminary experiments in the cold laboratory where he kept you like an animal. When not on his exam table or hooked up to strange, whirring machines that you did not understand the purpose of, you were securely locked inside a cage in the corner. You’d been foolish enough to think it somewhat nice and even comfortable at first, since it was bigger than the one you’d had to share with all the others after those masked deviants took you from your home. He even provided you with a blanket so you wouldn’t catch a chill and expire before he was through with you — or so he’d said —  but the appeal had quickly faded. It was impossible to stay optimistic when you'd been in here so long that you were even starting to forget what the outside world was like. 

You couldn’t tell how much time you’d spent there, unsure if only several weeks had passed or if months had flown by without your noticing. It could have been either, and he never responded when you asked. He never said anything to you, only at you. The Doctor in the frightening bird mask. As cold as any of the steel equipment he touched you with and just as silent as the machines, he merely conducted whatever trial or objective was on the schedule for the day and then left. You weren’t even sure if he had a name, but if he did you certainly didn’t know it. 

He’d also never asked for yours. 

The Doctor called you ‘Specimen’ when he bothered to refer to you at all, sometimes murmuring instructions to the exceedingly rare assistant that would stop in from time to time to help him with tasks. Either to get you hooked up to another set of plugs and monitors, or to strap you down to the table for him. You were much too scared to actually struggle or fight but it seemed to be the way of these things, so you allowed them to secure leather straps over your ankles and wrists without a fuss. He never hurt you beyond temporary discomfort when he’d take stabbing metal pincers to your breasts and notate the measurements with a low hum, or slip an uncomfortable metal device inside your cunt to spread you open. This, you could accept. You tried to tell yourself it was probably still better than what the others were experiencing, wherever they were, and the pain never lasted long anyway. 

But then came the day where he wheeled a small tray over after already securing you in place on the chilly metal slab in the center of the room, and you just caught a glimpse of what was on it. Needles. That wasn’t so strange. He took blood samples from time to time, to do what with you had no idea, but … these syringes were full of something. A mostly clear fluid that looked only slightly murky in the glaring overhead light. He was going to inject you with it. 

You understood this on an intrinsic, innate level of comprehension but still maintain your obedient silence while he putters around with whatever else was on the little tray. It’s not like he would have explained anything to you even if you’d asked. It’s only when he finally turns to you and wipes a cold, faintly clinging swathe over one side of your breast do you start to realize that something is not quite right here. The smell of antiseptic floods your nose all at once and you gasp, jerking against the bindings holding you down. 

It’s no use though. The leather is entirely unrelenting no matter how much you anxiously jostle your wrists, and all you can do is lay there, watching with big, frightened eyes, as he thoroughly wipes the area clean. It was so chilly in the lab that your nipples were already stiffly coiled but the one he’s clinically wiping down with that damp cloth seems to pebble to an even finer point that makes you whimper low in your throat. The Doctor had touched you like this before, many times in fact, so you didn’t understand why your body was reacting like this to him. Almost like it knew something you hadn’t yet realized … 

When he brings the first needle close to your tit you panic even though you try not to. But he merely clicks his tongue at you, murmuring something under his breath about behaving as he reaches out with his other hand to cup the swell of your breast and still you. Your toes curl at the sensation even as you anxiously shake your limbs, so scared and wracked with uncontrollable shudders your chest heaves under his hold but he doesn’t even give it a moment's pause. One second the sharp needle is arching through the air on a sure, steady trajectory, and the next it’s sinking deep into your flesh. 

A hurt, gutted little moan escapes you, hot tears flooding your eyes while you watch him swiftly depress the plunger. It only takes a few seconds for the syringe to empty and he leaves you wildly gasping for breath when he withdraws it from the skin before turning back to the tray. 

You can’t process any of it as he sedately moves around the table to come up on the other side and repeat the process. It’s like you’re suffocating, looking up at him in horrified confusion and disbelief. What the hell was he injecting you with?

“Wait …” It's little more than a timid mouse squeak. 

Softly tutting at you, The Doctor quickly wipes the area down with a second antiseptic wipe and then bends over your chest to bring the next needle close. “Hush now, Specimen. I’ve got you.” 

The sharp point pricks into the meat of your breast and he lets out a low, faltering breath as it sinks in. You lurch on top of the table, too restrained to actually pull away, but it does little to stop you from devolving into hysterical, heaving gasps. You didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. But if your frantic reaction concerns him in any way he certainly doesn’t show it as he straightens up, eyeing you from under that horrid mask for a long moment before humming a brief sound. 

“Perhaps Specimen needs a sedative for today. We don’t want you hurting yourself carrying on like that, do we?” 

Chuckling faintly at the way you wordlessly squawk and shriek, he steps around you again to dig in a drawer on the far side of the room. You’d never admit it but you were so gripped by wild, mindless panic, very nearly choking on it, that you’re almost a bit relieved when he returns and injects another shot into your pinned arm. Almost immediately a false, manufactured calm starts to wash over you and you readily relax into it, happy to let your mind drift off rather than be forced to face the reality you were living. 

*~*

The next day finds you strapped down again, but this time with the upper half of the table propped up so you could sit. You’d woken up sore, your chest aching so fiercely it made you wince and seethe each time you moved, and having the weight of your breasts settle without any support like this was just making it worse. If you could have brought your hands up to elevate them and lessen some of the pressure you would have gladly done that but your wrists remained locked next to your hips. 

The Doctor takes his time giving you the usual examination as he always does, checking your temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, etc until he finally gets to the end and sets his clipboard aside. You cautiously watch him reach out then, twitching when he tentatively prods the underside of one breast with a blunt knuckle. He doesn’t miss your reaction even though you’d tried to conceal it, scared of what he might do with that information, and he noises a brief sound of interest as he brings his other hand up as well. 

Simultaneously, he nudges both of your tits to lift them slightly but not actually support them, and you hiss through tightly clenched teeth. You were already starting to feel lightheaded, a bit nauseous. The deep ache you felt was so close to being unbearable that you can’t help but react even when you know he’s only going to turn it back around on you. 

“My, how interesting,” He murmurs to himself, sounding really quite pleased with this result. “You’re already this tender, Specimen? It must be working even quicker than I thought … looks like I made the right choice when choosing you for this experiment. Aren’t you happy?” 

You want to ask him what experiment, desperate for any information at all, but you bite your tongue, already knowing full well he wasn’t going to explain anything to you. All you can do is helplessly watch as he pokes and prods, and paws at your chest until you can’t hold it back any longer and stinging tears track a wet path down your face. Your chest was so sensitive and sore it felt like he was jabbing you with blunt knives. 

Softly laughing under his breath, The Doctor lifts his hands a little higher and just brushes over your stiff nipples. You choke at the instant, blinding sensation and jerk back against the table so hard it clatters in response. It was all you could do just to keep drawing air into your lungs. You were so oversensitized it hurt! 

“Please,” You somehow manage to grit out. “Stop it!” 

“How precious,” He purrs, low and mean, as he takes delicate hold of the hardened buds between thumb and forefinger. Just holding them for the moment but even that is enough to make you writhe in place, thrashing against the bonds as much as you physically can. “You know, this is the kind of feedback you just can’t get with animal test subjects. All they do is scream and bleat, but you …” 

He leans closer — so close the curved beak of his mask almost touches your face — and you suck in such a ragged, threadbare gasp that it seems to claw at your throat on the way down. Trembling like a leaf now, you just stare at him. Fixated on the spot where his eyes should have been. You can catch only a very small glimpse of the corner of his mouth like this, and you’re more than a little unnerved to find he’s smiling. Delighted. Pleased. 

You just shake even harder. 

“Isn’t it nice that we can communicate like this, Specimen? You can beg me for mercy and I can laugh at you for being stupid enough to try. Why, if I suddenly find myself feeling generous I could even attempt to have a conversation with you.” Pausing, The Doctor appears to give that a moment’s consideration only to softly click his tongue at length. “Probably not, though. I doubt you have anything of interest to say.” 

Before you can even think to respond or formulate a convincing argument for yourself, he abruptly pinches down on your nipples and you shriek. Jerking back against the table only makes your tits bounce and pull at your sore teats where he’s still got them squeezed between his fingers, fresh tears welling behind closed eyes. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever felt. Even worse than the barbaric looking contraption he’d wedged inside your cunt and used to stretch you open when he first brought you here. You’d thought nothing could compare to that discomfort but you were now realizing just how bad it could really be. 

In this manner he spends what feels like many agonizing, endless hours just toying with your breasts; tugging and pulling, and twisting, until the sharp sensitivity somehow exceedes the threshold of comprehension in your mind and dwindles to a dull, mostly numbed but still aching throb. You’re distantly aware of it but too strung out to give it voice anymore. You barely even register the sound he makes when he finally breathes out a quiet sigh of satisfaction and pulls away, leaving your chest screaming in the aftermath. All you knew was that he was stepping away, leaving you to the agony … 

But then he comes back, and a broken little sob bursts out of you when you recognize the two needles in his hand. Whatever this experiment was, it didn’t look like it would be over any time soon. 

~*~ 

The next few days continue in the same manner, repeating the same process over and over again until you almost start to become acclimated to it. The Doctor visits you once in the morning to make note of your vitals and jot down whatever remarks on his clipboard before leaving you to waste away in solitude until midafternoon. Another round of vitals and more note taking, then another session of having him paw at your chest until tears were streaming down your face and, finally, another shot in each breast. He leaves you for the rest of the day until his final check in late in the evening when he makes his final notations and then secures you inside your cage for the night. It all would have been rather humdrum at a certain point except … 

Except that by the end of the first week you start to notice certain changes in your body. You’d thought it was your imagination at first, just a result of the injections and all the brutish pawing he insisted on doing for no reason you could conceive, but your breasts were in fact getting bigger. Swelling to the point that it was noticeable and you couldn’t write it off as a mere flight of fancy. Even worse though was the way your nipples had likewise become puffy and constantly stiff, like they were in a perpetual state of arousal. It was all very strange, to look down at your own chest and see yourself looking like that, but The Doctor was nothing if not pleased. 

He marveled over the results to no end, constantly remarking on how well you were reacting to the treatment and muttering under his breath that it wouldn’t be long now. You didn’t dare to ask until what, really not sure if you even wanted to know, but it’s not as if he would have told you anyway. Utterly helpless, all you could do was try to grin and bear with it for as long as you were able to, hoping that this trial would soon come to a close. 

But of course you’re not quite so lucky, and at the start of the second week he suddenly introduces double dosages of that mysterious substance he was injecting you with. Instead of one in both breasts, you now got two in each and with that increase so too do the results start to speed up. 

Your chest is not only growing bigger, you're more than a little horrified to realize one day, but heavier too. Initially you think they’re one and the same, and you were feeling jittery panic over nothing. But then you’d touched them, lifted them in your palms to lessen some of the strain, and it had occurred to you that your tits weren’t just filling out … they were swelling with an internal pressure, like something was building up under the skin and the resulting inflation was forcing them to expand. You couldn’t make any sense of it. Not only did you just not understand what was even happening in the first place but you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around why he would do this to you. What was his goal? Were these really the results he’d hoped for, or had something gone wrong? 

Trying to tell yourself you were still likely faring better than any of the others you’d shared a cramped little prison cell with or any of the women you’d stood in line with to be evaluated like livestock only goes so far. It soon becomes especially hard to consider your situation a lucky one when the daily breast massages steadily turn into a truly tortuous experience. Where you’d once been simply too sensitive and tender, there was now the added sensation of having too much pressure without any way to relieve it. You sob all throughout these little sessions now, groaning and heaving against the exam table while he squeezes and pinches, tugging on your raw teats until you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind. It gets so bad that even after he leaves you to your own devices you find yourself rubbing your chest in a blithe attempt at easing some of the constant ache there. 

That’s how you eventually figure out what’s really going on. 

It’s the start of the third week (you’d made it a point to keep track from that first injection) and your tits are so heavy and swollen they look like they’re ready to burst. Fighting back harsh, body wracking sobs, you desperately run your hands over them even though it’s done you little in the way of good up until now. It’s like an instinctive urge though, something deep in the primal part of your brain compelling you to massage your breasts even when it just causes you more discomfort. But you can feel something building in them and you’re half delirious with the thought that you would soon find relief if you just kept at it long enough. 

The first wet dribble almost goes unnoticed. You think it’s a mistake. A bead of sweat, perhaps, or maybe even a faint little droplet of blood where your nipples felt so chaffed and sore. But when you look at your fingertip only to find a clear, somewhat thick consistency clinging to the skin, you feel faint with disbelief. Try to convince yourself that it’s not what you think it is, that you were excreting literally anything else — anything at all, but … the proof smacks you across the face when you bring it up to your mouth and take a cautious lick. 

It was sweet and bitter at the same time, and more than just a bit cloying and you’re suddenly left with the crushing realization of what he’s done to you. 

~*~ 

For the first time ever, you fight him tooth and nail when it comes time to strap you down to the table for your midday exam. It’s difficult with your chest so swollen and heavy that every shuddering movement hurts, but you still manage to hold out until he’s forced to call for backup. You feel rather proud of yourself for that up until two sets of hands descend upon you, grappling to get you secured in place, “without harming the Specimen!”, he’d irritably snapped. 

It seems to stretch on for many, many minutes, but at last they manage to buckle a restraint around one of your wrists and it becomes frustratingly easy for them to get the rest. You’re left panting and heaving, shooting daggers at The Doctor as well as his assistant when they step back to sort themselves out. The younger man was nursing a bruised jaw where you’d successfully caught him with your elbow and The Doctor … you’d almost knocked his stupid mask off his face, and you regretted not being able to see him without it as he tersely readjusts it’s placement. Maybe next time though. There was always a next time with him. 

Finally drawing himself up, The Doctor impatiently tugs at the cravat around his neck where it had twisted askew before barking at the other man. “Get the table up. I want the Specimen sitting for this.” 

His assistant rushes to obey and you narrow your eyes at him in warning, still gasping for breath as he comes up next to you. Bending down, he reaches under the table to fiddle with some sort of lever or mechanism and then moves to incline the top half of the table, slowly inching you up until you’re left staring directly at The Doctor. He’s standing at enough of a distance that you can see his mouth under the curved beak, and you’re quite pleased to note he’s scowling at you. Good. A bit of frustration was well deserved after what he’d done to you. 

“Now then,” He finally intones, low and dangerous, as his assistant reaches back under the table to lock it in place. “Might I ask just what it is you think you are doing today? I was so sure you knew better than that.” 

It takes you a moment to realize he hadn’t asked you a rhetorical question for once and was actually expecting an answer. You were so unused to him acknowledging you in any way that for a moment you’re not quite sure how to respond. 

“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is you’re injecting me with.” You finally spit. 

The Doctor tips his head to one side, looking so much like a curious carrion bird in his beaked mask and feathers that it actually sends a chill down your spine. “Do you really think you’d understand if I told you? How ridiculous.” 

Your cheeks start to grow warm, but you pull yourself up as much as you’re able to and try again. “You’re a monster! What did you do to me?” 

“That’s better.” Simpering, he roughly yanks at his coat to straighten it and then strides forward. Your already erratic heartbeat picks up at his approach but you can’t pull away when he comes up alongside you and reaches out to rather disinterestedly grab one of your tits. Sharp splinters of pain immediately shoot through you and you wheeze, looking down at his hand on your chest in dull disbelief. “What I did to you is rather simple, really. If you want my honesty so much then let’s just say I’m a little surprised you didn’t start to figure it out sooner. Even someone with rocks for brains should have noticed the correlation when their body started to undergo sudden change. I mean, really. Are you that oblivious or are you just trying to get under my skin, darling Specimen?” 

He emphasizes that last bit with a tight, incensed squeeze on your chest, and you outright choke when a tiny little spurt of discharge flies from your nipple. Going so completely still it’s disconcerting, The Doctor simply stares down at you for a long, tension filled moment. Then, to your reeling surprise, he abruptly lets you go. 

“I see,” He eventually murmurs, tapping a gloved finger to his chin in thought. “So that’s what finally tipped you off. We’ve already made it this far in the experiment so it simply wouldn’t do to kill you now and have to start over from scratch … but we’ll have to adjust the parameters. Specimen is far too erratic to be left to their own devices anymore. Might even need to be put under permanent sedation until the final test results are obtained.” 

Muttering under his breath, The Doctor turns from you to pace the room in deep consideration and leave you violently shuddering on the exam table. You didn’t want to be permanently sedated … just the thought alone is almost enough to send you spiraling into full blown panic. Although you’d welcomed its comforting embrace once you were far too alert now to willingly slip under like that. You needed to think of something. Quick. 

“I’ll cooperate - -“ 

“Your cooperation means less than nothing to me.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip, making you cower in place. Suddenly turning on his heel, he stalks towards you again and you can do nothing at all when he slips his hand under the heavy weight of one breast so he can lift it in consideration. “Specimen should be close to full production levels at this rate. Another day or two, I suspect.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, interspersed only by your labored panting and the nervous shuffle of the assistant somewhere behind you. But The Doctor is perfectly still while he seems to weigh the options laid out before him, his blunt thumb brushing idle circles over the straining swell of your tit while he thinks. You’re certain the waiting is going to kill you. 

“Dimitri!” He abruptly snaps, startling both you and his assistant, if the tiny yelp behind you is anything to go by. “Prepare the machine immediately. I know just what to do with this one.” 

*~*

With your hands secured behind your back, you’re led from the enclosed section of the lab you were usually kept in and into a different section that housed far more complicated machinery than you could reasonably process. You’d never seen so many different kinds of knobs, buttons, circuits, control panels, hanging wires and thick cable power lines in your life. Half of it you hadn’t even known existed until being brought here, but your relative familiarity with the banks and complicated components in the other room did serve as an effective baseline to at least understand that what you were looking at was far outside your sphere of comprehension. 

Even the tall cylindrical machine The Doctor’s assistant pulls you up to is so far beyond anything you could reasonably wrap your head around that you have no idea what it was supposed to do. You feel a bit like an oblivious sheep being peacefully led to the slaughter, but there wasn’t much you could have done about it even if you did know what was happening. 

Leaving your side, the assistant scurries over to the control bank and starts to fiddle with various levers on the panel, evidently fine tuning the parameters of the output as the strange machine starts to sputter louder. You momentarily consider making a run for it, weighing your odds of escape with your hands tied behind your back, but then The Doctor steps up behind you and takes a pinching hold of your elbow to give you a brief, teeth rattling shake. 

“Did you know,” He says rather amicably, at complete odds with the rough treatment. “Mammalian births are some of the most successful in nature. Even putting aside mankind, they’re among the most common class of animal and for good reason. Tell me, Specimen. Do you happen to know why that is?” 

You give your head a mute shake, a little too unnerved to play this game with him, and he barks out a clipped, humorless laugh. Yanking on your arm, The Doctor drags you closer to the heaving machine until the sound of it seems to swallow you whole and set your guts to vibrate. Suddenly finding yourself more scared than you’d ever been, you instinctively try to backpedal but he all too easily holds you in place. 

“It’s the milk, you silly little nitwit. It promotes growth and development, in addition to a wide variety of benefits to brain functionality.” Grinning a sharp, eager smile under his mask, he reaches up with his unoccupied hand to tug at a clear tube sticking out of the machine. Your mouth drops open when it jerks loose with a loud, forceful suck of air but nothing comes out, not even a peep. You were starting to have strong suspicions what this machine was used for and yet — you didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. 

Turning to you again, he holds up the open ended tube piece and tauntingly waggles it at you. “Now, answer me this … do you have any guess as to what happens to developing infants if they’re denied that very milk they need to grow? Say, in the instance of the untimely death of their mother?” 

Your stomach lurches with an intense, sinking feeling of dread. You did not like this line of questioning and what it would suggest any more than you liked the aggressive shucking noise coming from the machine. Surely you were misunderstanding something and he didn’t really mean what you thought he did. “I — I don’t know. I don’t understand - -“ 

You cut off with a frightened squeak when he gives your arm another tug to drag you closer, nearly pulling you stumbling right into him. Your heavy tits bounce with the sudden motion and bring fresh stabs of discomfort with it, but you’re much too focused on The Doctor to get swept up in the pain. It was all you could do just to stay on your feet instead of collapsing in a dead faint. You’d never been so terribly frightened. 

“They don’t grow.” He hisses, sharp fingers digging mercilessly into your skin. “Not to their full potential, anyway. All the amino acids, antibodies, vitamins and minerals they should have gotten from their mothers milk … gone, just like that. I’d ask you another question but it’s obvious you don’t have the intelligence to even follow along so allow me to spell it out for you instead. A colleague of mine runs an orphanage. Some of the children she takes in are quite young indeed and there is a noticeable difference between those who lost their parents early in development and those who did not. The ultimate goal of this experiment was to determine whether or not a reliable production method could be used to — fill in the gaps, so to speak.” 

He leans down then, putting his face close to yours, but you just stand there, staring up at him in wide eyed terror. It was like he was speaking a foreign language now, every other word so bizarre and incomprehensible that it may as well have been complete gibberish. But somehow you still grasp enough of the meaning to be afraid. You still tremble uncontrollably when he tips his head, and suddenly his breath is intermingling with yours without his mask in the way to block it. 

“And lucky you, our first test subject. Such a resounding success too.” He purrs in a soft, velvety croon that makes your spine snap straight. “Even I wasn’t expecting to see these results so quickly. If only you could have just had the sense to stay nice and docile for me … oh well. It doesn’t really matter now does it, my darling Specimen?” 

You force your constricting lungs to expand, sucking in a harsh, stuttering breath, but he just nudges your right up against him before you can think of something to say. Your blood instantly turns to ice when you feel his coat brush against you as well as the body heat coming off him, and frantically try to twist away. It was much too late though. His hold on your elbow was as good as iron and he now had you standing close enough to the machine that he could direct the suctioning tube towards your chest. So gripped with terror, you desperately try to angle away from it to no avail and you outright shriek when it sucks your nipple up and seals to your breast with a deafening loud schuck. 

Throwing your head back, you scream up at the ceiling until your throat seizes under the stress and you trail off into a gutted, hollowed out groan that seems to echo off the walls. The pressure is so extreme on your swollen, sensitized teat that for a wild moment you actually think it’s going to pull it right off. But when you sway unsteadily, nauseous and sick, then chance a look down, immense relief washes over you when you see the tip of your breast very much intact. That doesn’t make it any less painful though, and you viciously seethe through your teeth as you watch the suction pull at your nipple, stretching the pliant flesh to the point that it hurt just to look at it.

But then, to your groaning horror, you catch a brief jet of milky discharge getting sucked out of you to disappear up inside the tube and whatever it was attached to. You understood perfectly now. This was a milking machine. A horrid creation of The Doctors, no doubt, and it was so powerful that even when his hand falls away it stays suctioned right where it was over your teat. To your surprise, however, the sharp discomfort you’d first felt quickly starts to recede into a dull thrum under that constant pulse and you can’t quite stop yourself from issuing a low, faltering sound of relief. There was still an immense amount of built up pressure inside your breast but somehow the intense suction actually helped make it a bit more bearable. It wasn’t by much, but you were willing to take anything at this point, and your knees violently knock with that realization. 

“O - oh, blessed Archons!” 

Chuckling faintly, The Doctor slowly releases his hold on your arm and you nearly collapse right then and there. The only thing that reminds you to catch yourself is the tube attached to your breast which showed no sign of loosening its hold anytime soon. You stagger and try to reestablish your balance without him there to keep you propped up as he shifts behind you to step up on the other side. From the corner of your eye, you watch him reach out to grab the second suction device, grimacing even when your neglected tit throbs at the prospect. 

“Please, dear Seven, I’m begging - -“

“They aren’t listening, I’m afraid. Such a pity.” Casually, The Doctor curls his unoccupied hand under the weight of your tit and lifts it slightly to better bring the tube down on the nipple. It firmly sucks into place just the same as the first did, and you scream at the initial pain that tears through you. But same as before, it only takes a few moments for the constant, rhythmic sucking to alleviate some of the tension in your chest and, shuddering, you force yourself to relax into it. Easier said than done when it felt like this horrible machine was actively trying to suck the life right out of you but you manage, somehow. 

“How … how long do you intend to leave me like this?” You pant, struggling to swallow around the rock lodged in your throat as you awkwardly shuffle your feet to better ground yourself. 

“Hm?” Crossing his arms, The Doctor puts his head to one side in faux consideration. “What a silly question. As long as it takes for your production levels to reach their maximum output and for you to start milking properly, of course. Your current rate,” He nudges his chin towards the shuddering tubes, still mostly clear save the occasional tiny wet bead moving along their length. “Isn’t even close to being sufficient. Your lactation ducts need to be thoroughly stimulated until they start to trigger your let-down reflex for optimal milk flow. Truth be told, I had wanted to save this for the final step since things could get … messy, but you just had to go and force my hand, didn’t you?”

With a faint click of his tongue, he starts to turn. “No matter. At least now I won’t have to spend quite so much time monitoring your progress to ensure that everything is proceeding as it should. One way or another, that machine will have you sorted out in no time.” 

Gasping, you give a little jerk when he moves to walk away but you manage to catch the subconscious reaction before you can yank on the suction cups and hurt yourself. “Wait! Please don’t actually leave me here! You can’t — nghn! It hurts, you bastard!” 

The Doctor doesn’t even acknowledge your desperate pleas and he disappears further into the lab without so much as a backwards glance, leaving you at the mercy of the machine. 

~*~ 

You’re not sure how long he’s left you like this. All of your careful tracking since that first injection, gone just like that without his clockwork appearances to track the time with. It could have been mere hours or the whole day, a whole night. You never would have known any different. 

Your legs shudder under you, exhausted and sore from standing for the indeterminate period you’ve been hooked up to the machine but the tubes are too short for you to sit. You were effectively tethered to the faintly groaning mechanism with only enough lead to shift from side to side before the powerful suction started to pull and cause a great deal of discomfort. It wasn’t so bad when you just stood there and let it suckle at your raw teats, but that was hardly any comfort to you at this point. 

You’d watched your breasts shudder against the force and slowly, so slowly you hadn’t even realized it was happening at first, let down on the intense pressure that had steadily built in them over the last two weeks. What was initially just an occasional spurt of creamy fluid, shuddering beads sucked up through the tubes and into what you could only guess was a collection unit, had gradually turned into a relatively steady stream of creamy white fluid. Even without any real knowledge on the topic, you still recognized it for what it was and could no longer try to pretend it was something else. You were not only lactating but quite excessively by the looks of it. Whatever he’d been injecting you with had caused such an extreme physiological shift in your body that you were now rapidly producing milk without ever having been pregnant and the output only seemed to be steadily increasing. 

The innate relief that comes with having your tits milked doesn’t do much to pacify you though, and your head slowly comes up when you catch the sound of approaching footsteps. You know it’s The Doctor, so familiar with that slow, confident gait and the unique sound of his boots on the floor that you’d know it anywhere at this point. Shuddering so hard you nearly collapse, you force yourself to straighten from the tired hunch you’d fallen into, hissing when the suction tubes give a stiff jostle over your nipples. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he’d found the capacity for mercy in his twisted soul but a little part of you still hopes … 

“Good morning, Specimen. You look lovely today, don’t you?” He drawls as he comes up behind you, and a hurt little groan bursts out of you when more of the pressure in your tits gives to release a thick, creamy dollop into the sucking machine. You just stare down at the tubes in frozen, slack jawed disbelief. At the sound of his voice? 

He steps up beside you then, startling you, and you snap your attention up to find him grinning under that ugly mask. Waves of deep satisfaction practically roll off him as he halts close enough you can feel his coat brushing your thigh. The two of you just look at one another for what feels like an eternity, your shoulders trembling with every labored breath. 

“I see the machine has served its purpose.” He says at length. 

“Screw you!” 

Clicking his tongue in admonition, The Doctor reaches out and casually — much too casually — slips a gloved hand between your thighs. You jolt so hard the tubes bob with the motion, pulling at your poor tits, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it as he worms his wrist in the tight space even when you try to squeeze him out. Long, blunt fingers find the seam and rudely nudge up into you, nearly knocking you off balance when you give a fierce jolt. 

“My, my, isn’t that interesting?” He croons, baring sharp teeth with a mean, perverse grin as those oppressive digits slip and slide through an obscene amount of slick. You’d been so focused on the continuous suction on your nipples, the stilted relief of pressure, that you hadn’t even noticed how the rest of your body was reacting. 

Your stomach wrenches with this knowledge but you just stand there, thighs quaking around his hand, while he casually pulls soft, wet little clicks out of your cunt with the drag of his fingers. It was horrible and disgusting, and your nausea only increases when you catch a glimpse of yet more creamy white discharge being pulled up through the tubes. 

“Are you enjoying your milking, Specimen? Good. You’re going to be here for a while so it’s probably best if you find some way to entertain yourself.” Chuckling, The Doctor slowly withdraws his hand, much to your shuddering disappointment, but he ignores your quiet whimpering in favor of straightening up. “Dimitri!” 

A sudden bang sounds from somewhere in the lab. Within seconds, the young man rounds the corner at a flustered sprint and you sway unsteadily on your feet when his eyes widen at the sight of you. 

“Lower the settings on the machine,” The Doctor hisses at him, low and dangerous. “Then leave me for the rest of the day. I will oversee the experiment myself from here.” 

He turns back to you as his assistant goes scurrying off to fiddle with the control panel, leering viciously under his mask when he reaches out to palm your hip. You gnash your teeth, chest heaving with fast pumping terror but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he tugs you closer. Your pelvis bumps his firm thigh and you suck in a harsh breath. He couldn’t be serious … now, after all this time treating you like little more than a slab of meat? 

Seething, you grimace when the suction suddenly lessens to a weak, hollow tug that you can barely feel through your raw teats. The change in pressure is immediately apparent though and your nipples pulse in its absence. You have to fight back the sobs that try to tear their way out of your throat as you watch him slowly reach up to wrap his hand around one of the tubes still clinging to your breast. He doesn’t pull it off though, not yet, and instead just looks at you for a long beat. 

“I suppose you do deserve a reward. After all, you’ve far exceeded my expectations and I’m quite pleased with you, you know.” He purrs at last. “I wasn’t expecting you to take to the drug so quickly, nor did I foresee you reaching this production level so soon. You’ve impressed me a great deal, Specimen, and I always make sure to reward good behavior where I can.” 

He doesn’t warn you before he does it. So abruptly it leaves you reeling in hurt disbelief, he pops the suction tube free with a firm tug and your nipple throbs against the total lack of pressure. It feels like a million tiny pinpricks are stabbing into the sensitive flesh all at once when the air hits it, wafting uncomfortably against hot, swollen skin. Unable to stop yourself, you look down only to instantly wish you hadn’t. 

Not only was the swollen teat so puffy and dark from the suction, fat with milk that beads and dribbles wetly from the tip, it was also humiliatingly engorged. The constant sucking had pulled at the pliant skin for so long that it now stuck straight out in a plaintive, attention grabbing point. Meaty and so starkly different from how it had once looked, you feel bile rise in the back of your throat. 

The Doctor doesn’t allow you enough time to fully process what you’re seeing though, and you helplessly watch him take the remaining tube in hand so he can pull it loose as well. You shudder so violently at the onslaught of sensation that your knees give out but he’s quick to steady you with both hands on your hips. Fingers digging in mercilessly, he pulls your lower body against his own and your mouth drops open at the hard press of his cock on your stomach. 

“That’s a good look for you, Specimen. Much better than all that hissing and kicking you did yesterday.” Casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do, he lifts a hand from your waist when he’s sure you’re steady enough not to fall and nudges a single finger under one teat. You loose a gutted, broken sound when a fresh bead of milk trickles out to run down his hand and, humming, he idly presses up to make more come out. “Yes, your production levels are excellent. Your let-down reflex seems to be working quite well.” 

You aren’t sure what he’s going to do next when he withdraws his fingers, but the very last thing you expect is for The Doctor to hunch over your chest and seal his mouth around the nipple. Going stock still at the sensation of a hot, wet mouth suckling at your breast rather than the cold, impartial machine, you just stand there and … let him do it. You were horrified with yourself but couldn’t quite find the wherewithal to be disgusted when it felt good. So much better than you could have imagined it would. His tongue laps at the swollen bud to gather the creamy secretion and swallow it down, the suction of his mouth so much less intense than the merciless tubes and yet — somehow far more satisfying. 

A frazzled whimper rattles through you with the sensation of your milk ducts giving out completely, releasing a steady stream into his mouth. The Doctor groans very softly against your skin at the influx of milk and nuzzles deeper into your breast, bringing his teeth down around the puffed up areola to make it squirt at the back of his working throat. Numbly glancing down at yourself, at his face pressed into your chest, you’re more than a little horrified to find a sympathetic dribble coming out of the opposite teat to splatter on the floor below. You didn’t understand how you were making so much milk and you knew even less why your body was reacting to him like this, but all of that seems to get swept up and dissolved in the dreamy haze that slowly comes over you. 

You’d felt it while you were hooked up to the milking machine as well but had written it off as a defense mechanism of some sort … just an old, primal part of your brain trying to make the situation more bearable so it didn’t break you. The physical discomfort as much as the mental strain of watching your body change against your will was taxing enough that it had made sense at the time. But now you knew, innately, that it was a natural response to feeding. As much as the let-down reflex was, this strange sense of peace was just the nature of your mammalian instincts. 

Suddenly his strange questions and even stranger answers made a lot more sense. 

“Goodness,” He groans when he finally comes up off your breast some moments later. A heavy squirt of milk follows after him, splattering across his open mouth but, much to your heaving shame, he just reaches up to wipe it away. “You really are producing more milk than I expected you to at this stage of the experiment. I suspect at this rate you could likely fill almost two gallons in a single day … such a sublime Specimen you are, darling, and a resounding success at that.” 

You can see he’s breathing heavier now, either excited by the results or the act of feeding from your breast, and you bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet as he straightens so he can reach for his slacks. He’d never crossed this line before, had never shown you even so much as a passing interest even when he had you spread out and helpless on his exam table, and you don’t know what to expect. The rigid cock that springs up in the space between you surprises a strangled gasp out of you though, and you try to jerk away from it. He was big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take. 

The Doctor just grabs onto your hips, squeezing so hard you cry out even as he drags your pelvis closer so he can slot himself between your thighs. Wheezing, you shudder uncontrollably when he takes a moment to sedately thrust into the space and drag his stiff length over soaked lips that seem to cling at him. The calm that had mercifully fallen over you while he was suckling is quickly replaced by jittery panic, and you can’t help blubbering like an idiot when he none too gently forces your pelvis into an upward, tilted angle that almost drags you up onto your tip toes. 

You didn’t want him touching you like this. Didn’t want to even think about him moving inside of you, claiming your body for himself. 

But the stiff rope keeping your hands behind your back is unrelenting and there isn’t anything you can do about it as he nudges closer to line himself up with your entrance. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m sure you’ll like it. Your sweet little cunt is already so very wet and I bet it’s just aching to be filled, isn’t it?” 

Hissing through your teeth, you twist your head around so you won’t have to look at that horrible mask looming over you. But that does absolutely nothing to deter him though, and you cry out when he starts to slowly sink into your hot, squirming guts. Taking him like this is difficult, the slow stretch so much worse than it would have been if you could properly spread your legs. He just forces you to stay upright when you waver, and you let out a hurt little groan as his fingers dig into your hips so hard you can feel bruises blooming under the pressure. Your cunt grants him entry one stilted inch at a time though, welcoming it as much as your mind wants to fight it. 

But you’re completely at his mercy and when he finally settles inside you, as deep as he can reach in this position, you feel something in you snap. Your hips nudge forward of their own accord to weakly rut against the intrusion as you tip your head down, intending to look at where his body connects with yours, but all you see is … your breasts, so swollen and heavy, leaking copious amounts of milk all over your front. Like being penetrated had loosened a faucet and you were now freely dribbling all over the place without the need for any stimulation. The sight alone almost sends you shuddering right over the edge. 

Hunching closer when your eyes start to roll back, The Doctor studies you up close for a long, drawn out beat while your cunt hollowly contracts around him, squeezing his length in pulses. You feel the excited shiver that runs through him as much as you see it, and then he tips his head to just touch his mouth to yours. “Aren’t you being good for me?”

“P - please —!”

He softly shushes you, lips brushing when he speaks again. “You’ll get your reward, not to worry. But tell me something first, Specimen. If you can do that for me I’ll make sure you feel so good you won’t know what to do with yourself.” 

Mewling softly, you sway against his hold while your tits just keep leaking. “What do you want?” 

“Can you tell me your name?” 

You go still, so caught off guard by the question you can’t seem to process it at first. But then a stiff shudder tears down your back and your eyes go big, jerking back as far as you can when he’s got a hold of you like this. A helpless, trapped little animal sound bursts out of you but he just grins at you, his mouth a razor sharp slash under the mask. You didn’t remember. It had been so long since you’d spoken it, since anyone had called you anything other than Specimen … you truly didn’t know anymore. 

Where there once had been a solid, tangible thought there was only ringing silence. An echoing void inside your head, and The Doctor’s leering smile only grows when he sees the horror dawn on your face. 

You weren’t anyone now. 

Just Specimen.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[rickriordans-dumpster-fire]

random will solace headcanon i thought of:

generally doctors and nurses and the like are very careful with well practiced things like preparing injections or just generally working with other medical supplies that break skin (scalpels and stuff too)

will has been doing this stuff long enough and he knows he can just heal any nicks and re sterilize anything should the worst case scenario happen, so he does little tricks like a seasoned bartender or something which freak out the other campers

like imagine waiting for a shot and after sterilizing the vials with alcohol prep pads he just, tosses them and flips them before stabbing them with the uncapped needle far more aggressively than necessary. he’ll be walking to do some minor surgery he’s done hundreds of times twirling a tiny scalpel like a baton while he’s humming or whistling to himself.

mostly little tricks he’s learned while the infirmary was empty to keep himself occupied, and i find it fits well with his flip flops and shorts as infirmary attire self.

[bullshit-usa]

Not the psych anon, just someone who thinks it's nonsensical to attempt to get scientific proof that the way certain people live their lives is empirically wrong. Pretty eugenics-y.....

I never said I thought identity is innate, it's a social construct, but we live in a society and are a social species, so as we've developed as a species, identity was one of those developments. Identity can be whatever the fuck we choose because its function is unique to the individual and is communicated however the individual chooses.

Do you really think "woman" and "man" are material things? Because they're not. That's not how biology works, they're just social constructs we applied to clusters of characteristics that have tons of variables and the only reason those variables seem "uncommon" is because of the violent enforcement of the sex binary on intersex people.

Stop being a cop

I am so, so sorry for analyzing why someone may want to inject themselves with steroids - a thing that causes people to die of heart attacks at 30.

We should just let people do things, after all. Just let teens have sex with adults after "consenting," let little Timmy shove powdered bleach into his throat, he says he wants to and says it smells good! I am such a hater. Addicts like doing fentanyl, so ruining their fun by telling them that it can and does kill is eugenics-y.

I am such a believer in eugenics for saying people shouldn't go and sterilize themselves in the pursuit of a bodily aesthetic. Let's just let people experiment. Who cares if they realize what they've done with themselves! You may hurt someone's feelings if you show concern, you know.

You are way more sociopathic than I could ever be.

Like, let us be real here, you aren't demonstrating any actual morally valuable ethics here. You haven't considered the consequences of this shit at all. The most likely reason for you saying this is because realizing and accepting this fact would make you reconsider your choices or wants. That or you want to be seen as a good person so badly you're willing to hypothetically accept the suffering of thousands just so you can feel good about yourself. It is fucking insane.

Putting your own image over an actually reasonable ethical position is fucking crazy. Literal supervillain shit. This is how I see the vast majority of you activists yet I stick to logical arguments because y'all are in actuality so morally apathetic that you're too lazy to even think of potential negative consequences of your beliefs. You understand detransitioners exist, you're talking to one, but my existence quite literally means nothing to you. You don't want to prevent something like my experience from happening again, instead, you want to be seen as a good person, because your image matters more than my health.

Now onto the logic:

Social constructs are downstream of reality. Stereotypes are an interpretation of what people consider to be reality.

Male and female do exist. Masculinity and femininity correspond to the respective sexes for a reason. What is considered "masculine" is downstream of being male, what is considered "feminine" is downstream of being female. What comes first is the sex, then the social construct. The social construct is applied to a person of a specific sex it applies to. So the sex has to be first. The person's sex exists before the social construct is applied, your sex is determined at conception, right when the sperm fertilizes the egg. The whole "everyone starts as female" myth is nonsense. We just don't know until a fetus' genitals develop to a point where it can be differentiated from a female fetus.

The fact that the construct exists doesn't mean reality doesn't. The fact that sex is static (generally speaking) and social constructs aren't doesn't mean sex isn't real or vice versa.

Woman is the word to describe female. Man is the word to describe male. They were synonymous until our culture developed to a point where social constructs weren't enforced as heavily, so our perception of "what men/males do" has become more distant in time.

In the 1700s, women wearing a dress and sewing, cooking, and churning butter were seen as just as female as menstruation and getting pregnant. Our perception and definitions of words have changed and grown beyond their original purpose. This doesn't mean these words have no meaning.

They have just become more abstract, less rigid in application.

A person from the 1700s only justification for why women wear dresses, sew, cook was just as much of a "because they're women" ass explaination as for why we would say "because they're women" in response to why women get pregnant. Life wasn't anymore complicated than that. Their interpretations were just what they saw. They saw women get pregnant and clean, so thats what woman was.

But obviously things are more complicated. But that is due to the industrial revolution. We advanced to where we can do more than be restricted to very limited roles in work or in the household. Men have more strength than women due to testosterone making it easier to build muscle, its not like men happened to be the ones fighting the wars while women farmed and raised the kids for no reason. It's just the evolution of our intellect and of our inventions that now allow women to kill teenagers in the middle east now.

The only "violent enforcement" put on intersex people is the genital correction surgeries, and that is primarily an issue shared with people with all types of deformities and chromosomal issues. Infants were getting genital correction surgery for the same reason infants get surgery to fix their cleft palate despite the consequences for both -they see it as a problem that needs to be fixed for the sake of their kids health (no matter how bullshit that may be) and for their future mental health (no matter how true that may be).

That isn't violence, that's outdated medical practices showing their effects. Beyond that, intersexuality isn't some magical force that makes people go this way or that way, intersex people are one sex or the other. All of us are varied creatures, all of our genitals and amounts of hormones are different for the most part, but we still fit under this binary. Binary does not mean there can't be variation within the binary. It's two separate categories. They can share similarities, but they have characteristics that cannot be found within the other category, so they're classified as binary.

My position is quite literally just be you. You don't need to identify as something else that you can't be. You can like dresses and be male, you can like having short hair and be female. Once you believe that you are this thing, you tend to try and force yourself to become even more like that thing because you still recognize that there are differences. But those differences will never go away, because some of them are just as foundational as which sex chromosomes you have.

No amount of surgery will ever change that, your cells will still keep acting as if they are that sex and will behave in certain ways because you are that sex. Your body will still act like it can produce eggs even when it can't, it's not like the neuroplasticity of the brain. Once an organ is gone, it's gone. Another organ can't become a stomach after you lose your stomach. The body suffers as a result, the same way the brain would if we didn't have neuroplasticity.

And I want to be a lawyer, a prosecutor, why the hell are you telling me not to be a cop, lmfao? Cops and vets are my type

[anxeious]

is cropping dogs' ears basically always animal cruelty? only because humans think it looks better?

simple answer: no, not necessarily! let’s talk about it!

also i know i might ruffle some feathers here but please look at this w an open mind (adding a read more i know most people prob don’t care) this is long sorry lol <3

i used to be super against cropping (ears) and docking (tails) (will abbreviate as c/d) too until i learned more about it. i also used to be super against the breeding of dogs in general and was very adopt don't shop, i have since educated myself a lot more on the topic (i support ethical preservation breeders of purebred dogs ONLY i do NAWT support backyard breeders or puppy mills who breed mixed breeds, designer dogs or poodle mixes/doodles for profit, people who mass produce dogs, or breeding outside of the standard) now that we have that clarified let's get into it

in the case of livestock guardian dogs (lgd), farm dogs, or working dogs, it actually prevents injury! in the case of a lgd who protects livestock from predators (think coyote, wolf, bear, etc) something like an ear or a tail would be a great spot for a predator to grab onto in the case of an altercation. the ears have a lot of blood vessels and would bleed a lot, having an ear ripped off in a fight with a wolf wouldn’t be very good. with farm dogs similarly, as well as docking tails so something as heavy as a cow doesn’t step on it. working dogs used for personal protection same thing, nobody could grab onto their ears/tail during a fight. also, for the work that they do the ears would hit their face and can split or a hematoma can form, when this happens once it is likely to keep happening/be a reoccurring issue. this is very very painful. as well as cropping ears it’s meant to give them a look of alertness instead of approachability, that’s the part people confuse with “just to look scarier”. while it did help them to “look scarier” it also helped deter potential attackers which in turn keeps the dog & person safer. the dog in the pic that i rb'd that ur referring to is a lgd

so ear cropping non working dogs of cropped breeds for aesthetics is a thing yes and is obviously highly controversial. i’m not gonna sit here and say it isn’t for aesthetics. some people argue it prevents ear infections which might be true but that doesn’t negate that it’s primarily for aesthetic purposes. plus basset hounds and spaniels get a lot of ear infections and are not cropped. but as long as it is done by a licensed vet under anesthesia with multiple ways to control pain (nsaid, nerve block, injectables, etc) in a sterile environment by someone experienced who knows how to do it properly while being closely monitored by professionals before, during, and after the procedure, followed up with proper aftercare, pain management, ointment, antibiotics, cleaned regularly and taped/posted (this is so the ears sit up straight, cropping is done when the puppy is weeks old so the cartilage hasn’t hardened yet) it is perfectly okay, the dogs do not notice, play like normal, it heals nicely and the dogs have little to no pain (this can be clearly observed w people who have c/d puppies) the puppies are back playing with littermates nearly as soon as they wake up. also, dogs CAN communicate when c/d. dogs like huskies have upright ears and communicate just fine, regardless, the ears/tail aren’t only way dogs communicate with one another. the issue is when people diy this procedure with no anesthesia or pain management in an unsterile environment, with no experience or knowledge on how to do it properly, and end up with a botched crop that gets infected and causes the dog a lot of pain. THIS is the issue and what so many people (myself included) should be against. when it’s done properly it is perfectly safe. dog ears heal very very quickly, and when done properly it takes around two weeks to fully heal, after that is just posting so the ears stand up. crops not done by vets are the horrific crops u might see pics of online, super botched inflamed, infected, red and swollen, very painful. that’s why it’s not ideal that a lot of countries ban the procedure in hopes of stopping it. people are going to do it regardless. banning it just prevents professionals from being able to do it safely and encourages people to do it at home with scissors thus causing puppies a lot of pain.

why crop? well, in a lot of cases it IS done to look more intimidating (i mean if u get a big scary dog for protection purposes, that’s kinda the idea, no?). also show dogs of c/d breeds are obviously c/d as showing dogs is about preserving the breed’s original purpose & breed standard. in the case of ethical breeders of cropped breeds (like a doberman) the puppies are almost always c/d BEFORE they go to their homes. breeders have a specific vet they trust (often traveling quite far) and would never make their buyers have to seek out a good vet on their own. the average person doesn’t know what to look for when it comes to finding a good vet for such a procedure nor would they pick up on an red flags, so the breeders get it done at their preferred vet before the puppies go home and kickstart the healing/taping process before pups go home. these breeds are cropped because ethical, reputable, and responsible breeders breed towards the breed standard, which for dobermans includes c/d. the breed standard is there to serve the breeds original purpose and is what ethical breeders breed towards. even in personal protection breeds who are not doing protection work, the ears are cropped in an effort of preservation. dobermans specifically were c/d because they were the first breed bred for personal protection. they were originally created to protect tax collectors many years ago as this was a dangerous job at the time. and being c/d makes it harder for people to grab onto them in the event of an altercation. so in an effort of preservation they are still cropped.

there are cases where it’s medically necessary as well, like a dog keeps getting happy tail but i figured you were talking about cropping for non medical reasons so i didn't include that here

[chocobochaserstories]

Darker Omegaverse Themes: Breeding Facilities

A darker and more perverse look into an idea within the omegaverse I wanted to explore and world build on. I heavily based this on my own livestock experience, especially dairy cattle.

TW: Dehumanization, forced breeding, sexual/breeding slavery, lack of free will in the omega/alphas, omega/alpha trafficking, and just… be warned and wary if you’re more sensitive.

True omegas don’t exist in the “wild” society anymore. They’re kept in breeding facilities and raised for product.

The ratio of born pups is roughly 25% Alpha and Omega to 75% Beta. That’s 12.5% of each. 

As pups don’t present until 11-12, they’re kept in a nursery until then. Here, they receive care and basic education, but the level varies by secondary gender. 

Betas and Alphas are educated longer, with Betas being educated with the intention of going into higher education or working the “farm” when they come of age. 

Alphas and Omegas are kept as breeding stock. An omega will have their first breeding season around 18, and are expected to bear one litter per year. 

The first breeding occurs the year an omega is to turn eighteen in January, and their dry season (non productive) is from October to December. During this time, they are allowed to recover to be bred again the following January.

Pups are taken after about twenty four hours, to allow the pups to nurse on their mother’s colostrum (first milk that contains important antibodies that are specific to the mother).

Adult omegas produce milk and pups predominantly, however some facilities also sell omega slick as a “miracle elixir”. This is why pups are taken after the first twenty four hours. 

Pups are reared in the nursery by betas, though some facilities use a dry omega or two. Dry omegas are omegas who are older and no longer producing.

Omegas are generally kept in solo stalls, but are turned out regularly to be with other omegas as they are social in nature and cluster. In the summer and spring, they’re allowed grass, and the winter and autumn they’re kept inside and out of the snow to avoid illness.

Omegas are identified primarily by ear tag or tattoos. Some facilities mark them by ear notches, however this is not a universal system and can cause confusion if an omega is sold.

Omegas are periodically evaluated and those who are not producing adequately (poor quality pups, multiple repeated stillbirths, multiple preterm labors, birth complications due to structurally concerns [ie narrow pelvis, prolapsed uterus, etc]) may be culled from the herd. They may be euthanized, or to save profits, many farms will sell them.

Omega auctions generally consist of dry omegas, low/poor producers, and recently presented pups. Dry omegas are generally sold as servants, nursemaids, or nannies. Young alphas are sold at these auctions as studs.

Alphas are kept separate from the omegas for most of the year, and are not kept as long as omegas. Omegas are kept their entire breeding life while alphas rotate between farms to allow breeding back of the pups. Occasionally, if a sire is very good, the alpha may be kept.

Not all omegas are auctioned. Some, especially if they have good bloodlines, will be kept as future dams on the farm.

Betas that stay on the farm are farmhands, reproductive technicians, or otherwise assist on site.

Many facilities now use artificial insemination as opposed to live cover due to liability and efficiency. It’s faster and poses less risk of injury or STD. In addition, it allows for samples to be inspected to choose the best parents for each litter and to catch any mutations or undesirable traits before breeding.

Some farms only keep one or two alphas on site just to calm omegas down the old fashioned way, but they’re generally sterilized to prevent unwanted litters. However, with the availability of alpha hormones on the market, this practice is rarer.

An average omega litter is roughly 2-3 pups, and omegas are given fertility injections starting AT presentation to increase conception rates and litter sizes. 

[defilerwyrm]

Hi! I'm a trans guy pre on everything but i got my first doctor appointment on my local LGBT+ health's office and wanted to ask you, i know we all are different with our own doubts and experieces but still, what would you rec me to ask them? like in general doubts or explaining procedures/treatments. Bc sometimes i get anxious and forget to ask questions. Thank you in avance!

Howdy, sorry for the late reply! Let’s see, questions you can ask:

What are the benefits and pitfalls of each of the types of HRT available to me?

Which changes are permanent and which require HRT upkeep?

How will HRT affect my fertility or lack thereof? (Personal note: T is not birth control!!)

How soon should I start to see changes on each type of HRT?

If I get put on injections, will I be allowed to self-inject?

If so, ask for a demonstration of where and how to do it

How many weeks worth of T can I get at a time?

How often will I need to come in for blood tests?

(If you had blood work) Based on my blood work results, should I change anything about my diet or supplements?

Who can I contact if I need an emergency refill?

Who can I contact if something seems to be going wrong (not seeing results, unexpected results, etc)

What kind of surgical options are available to me? What kind of paperwork do I need for those?

(If you’re at all interested in or curious about surgical options) Can you recommend a surgical practice?

What all do I need in order to change my legal name and gender marker? Can I get help with the paperwork/legal aspect from somewhere local?

If you get put on injectable T: How should I dispose of my sharps boxes? (see below)

From experience: if you do get onto injectable T and are allowed to self-inject, shop online for three things in bulk:

1 mL Luer-lock disposable syringe barrels (I recommend BD general use, they’re great)

20 ga Luer-lock tri-bevel hypodermics (for drawing liquid)

23 to 25 ga Luer-lock tri-bevel hypodermics (for injecting)

A box of 100 of each will last you almost 2 years. Your pharmacy might offer you these free, but my experience has been that they’re kind of crap (dull needles are not fun); YMMV.

You can use a square of toilet paper soaked in 70% rubbing alcohol to sterilize your injection site, and another square to hold on the site after withdrawal afterward.

You will also need a “sharps box,” which is any sturdy, disposable plastic container that you can seal. You could spend $$ on buying a medical-grade one, but I just use an empty laundry detergent bottle. When it’s full, wrap the whole thing thoroughly in duct tape and write BIOHAZARD - SHARPS on each side. Where I live, I can just toss them into the trash like that, but it might be different where you live.

Best of luck, brother. :)

[killerclown-art]

Hey, delete this if its not ok. But, would you be willing to write a Scarecrow fic for one of the kinktobers?

I'd be happy with any of them! Happy Halloween!

How can I deny a special request!!! It's been a long time since I wrote any of the rogues, but I gave it a shot. Prompt: Sounding

Strange that a self-inflicted act would stir one’s fear with little prompting. Professor Crane contemplated attaching the nodes to his heart monitor to himself but, recognizing the thought for what it was, it’s just a distraction.

Tonight he was implementing a new stimulation technique. Since becoming the Scarecrow, the villain had tasted his weight in toxins; from gassed to injections, poisons and hallucinogens. His brain was severely altered.

It had been weeks since he was able to produce any natural amounts of endorphins without the aid of his fear-gas and huffing it straight from the can was not a long-term solution.

With chemical alteration off the table he decided to move onto something more physical: masturbation.

Well, sex in general, but due to his circumstances he had to resort to masturbation. Crane was neither interested nor had access to a partner, at the moment. He tried not to dwell on this fact for too long, it eventually got depressing, but it was a factor in this experiment. Over time, his hand was no longer enough.

Stripping his cock vigorously every night had eventually become as dull as brushing his own teeth. It became a struggle just to wring any amount of pleasure from his body. Some nights he couldn’t even get hard despite indulging in an obscene amount of porn.

He had experimented with different techniques, from edging to using various toys, but nothing seemed to work. He even attempted to recreate scenarios from his fantasies, hoping they would reignite the spark, yet even the darkest ones only left him feeling more frustrated.

As the days dragged on without relief, Crane began to worry that his past experiments might have led to an unintended consequence—chemical castration.

There was something missing. Crane was inspired by the thrill of his namesake. He needed fear. Now, he sat on his own exam table with a new set of sterile instruments; long, thin, metallic rods that made his cock twitch, just from the sight of them.

He delicately picked up the first one, the thinnest of the collection, and rolled it between his fingers. It was cold to the touch and Crane imagined what that icy steel would feel like when pushed into his cock.

He didn’t have to wait long. After coating the rod with a liberal amount of lube he lined it up with his slit. As the rod entered, a shiver danced up his spine, an icy tendril of fear and anticipation intertwining with the physical sensation. The cold metal sent a shockwave through his body, chilling him from the inside out, much like the first pierce of a needle into one’s veins. The thrill of fear mingled with the discomfort, creating a new, intoxicating blend of sensations that left him breathless.

Slowly, once the temperature of the rod matched his body, Crane started to move. He twisted it around, pushed it against his inner walls, and even dared to push it down further until he had only an inch of rod between his fingers. The sensation was curiously exotic and did provide promising results. He noticed immediately when his cock started to stiffen around the rod and force it out just a bit.

Crane felt the warmth spreading over his skin, a telltale flush that signaled his arousal, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. Yet, despite the newfound sensitivity, it still wasn't quite enough to satisfy the craving for intensity that gnawed at him.

His gaze drifted to the next sounding rod in his collection, its larger diameter both daunting and enticing, promising the stretch he desperately sought. Taking a deep breath, he reached for it.

Again, the cold bit him from the inside out but the moan that left his lips promised heated arousal. As Crane inserted the larger rod, the initial resistance was immediate and intense, a sharp sting that bordered on unbearable. The urethra protested the intrusion, the pain slicing through the haze of arousal, like broken glass, causing him to gasp.

Despite the discomfort, or perhaps because of it, Crane's determination only grew stronger, his hand already reaching for the final, most formidable rod in his collection, its girth matching that of his pinky finger.

Lube was no longer a factor at this point. Once the second rod was removed, Crane’s cock was leaking clear fluid down its shaft and over his fingers. It was more than enough for him because any more would make the last size slide in too easily.

The last rod gleamed ominously as it hovered over his open, eager cockhole, its polished surface reflecting the dim light of the lab. His body quivered with anticipation, greedily craving the mix of pain and pleasure that awaited. With a deliberate push, he guided it in, and the moment it breached his entrance, a raw cry escaped his lips, echoing through the empty lab like a haunting symphony of desire and relief.

Being a psychologist, and not a biologist, Crane did not stop to think about any lasting damage to his member this might cause. For the first time in months, he was hard and on the edge of orgasm. He pumped that final rod quick and hard, until the room was filled with the wet squelch of churning fluid and the hot slap of skin on skin.

Crane's entire body tensed with each thrust, the sensation of the thick rod stretching his urethra to its limits was a delicious agony, a fiery line of pleasure-pain that burned through him. Each movement sent electric shocks radiating from his core, a relentless teasing that pushed him closer to the brink. The raw intensity of the experience left him gasping for breath, his senses overwhelmed by the exquisite torture that was somehow both unbearable and utterly addictive.

“Fuck-fuck-fuckl-” The first words Crane spoke to himself all night. He couldn’t hold back now. Sweat dripped over his face, tears tracked across his cheeks, and cum started to pour from his pumped-out cock.

Each push of metal forced the sticky fluid out of his body. It was a violent display, the pain nearly masked the relief all-together, but he couldn’t stop. The feeling itself was more like a pressure release. He was simply another canister of gas being busted open and spewing all its wicked contents.

Crane rode out the rod until the metal became more of an intrusion than a pleasurable addition to his body. When it overstayed its welcome he yanked it out and tossed it aside with the rest—ignoring the specks of red coating its end.

He collapsed back on the table, his body trembling and spent. A hollow ache lingered in the aftermath, a testament to the punishment his body had endured. Despite the faint throb of pain and the knowledge that he had likely pushed himself too far, a twisted satisfaction washed over him—his mind blissfully devoid of regret.

[hundredpocketed]

doing my best to inject some whimsy into the world’s most sterile office i will keep wearing my homemade and second hand weirdgirl clothes while looking like i don’t know how to brush my hair until i get an official warning about my appearance 💪 tomorrow i am visiting a beloved friend and generally precious person in l*merick my second time back in the city since i left nearly 2 years ago now!! and i am so unbelievably excited. life is so beautiful i‘m such a fortunate person to have met so many wonderful people. a great week to be aoife despite the drudgery 🦋