#dodgy medical doctors

[dinosaurswant2rule]

I've had a little re-write of this chapter of this particularly brutal story. Mac goes missing during a mission to stop a human trafficking ring and is branded MIA by the foundation.

Plagued by guilt and furious at Matty for playing with Mac's life, Jack abandons his life at the Phoenix to hunt for his friend.

Here we see a taste of just how far Dalton will go in order to find his boy

Riley and Bozer stay at the foundation, but start to deteriorate as two of their allies are gone.

@panchostokes

@csinickstokes

For anyone who wants to see Jack suffer :P I've done my best to tag this, but obviously if I've missed something tell me and I'll correct. The AO3 tagging is more detailed than the below

[soapybutt17]

The Next of Kin

Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.

Masterlist || Request are Open

It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.

“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.

A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.

“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.

His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.

What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.

“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”

“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.

Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.

~

When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.

He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.

On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.

The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.

Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.

Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.

“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.

You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.

“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.

You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.

“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.

“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”

You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.

“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.

You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.

“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.

“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.

~

When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.

Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.

“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.

Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.

“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.

“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.

“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.

“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”

At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.

“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”

He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.

[batboyblog]

abotion bans will caused more deaths

not will, have

she's not the only one, often we talk about abortion bans causing more deaths we're talking about people undertaking dodgy illegal or DIY abortions, but in states like Texas, its not even women trying to have abortions for unwanted pregnancy, its women in the middle of medical emergencies who can't get help, who go to the ER and no one will help them. If you get pregnant in a state with an abortion ban you are in serious danger.

[specialagentlokitty]

Master chief x reader - learning new feelings with you

Saw that you would start writing for Master Chief. I finished watching it like a week ago so this is a funny coincidence😂. Maybe a Master Chief (John-117) x reader with this prompt “Did you mean it?” “What?” “When you said you loved me did you mean it?” from your 2024 prompts. So many of the 2024 prompts would be great for him. You don't have to write this if you don't won't to as always of course.( •◡-)-♡ - Anon💜

Sitting at your desk, you flicked through some of the files on the tablet you were holding, taking a sip of your tea that was sat in front of you.

There was a knock on the door and you looked up.

“Come in.” You called.

The door was opened, and you smiled a little bit at the Spartan and your cell doctor who came through the door.

“Miranda, Master Chief, what brings you here?” You asked.

The Spartan took a seat in a chair on the other side of the room, and Miranda walked over to you.

“I’m sorry Doctor, I know you’re very busy but John has been injured, and he refuses medical assistance. I thought maybe you could convince him to get help.”

You nodded, standing up from your desk.

“I’ll see that the chief is safe. Thank you for bringing him here.”

She smiled, heading out of your office and you turned around to John, walking over you took a seat in front of him.

“Why are you refusing medical care Master Chief?”

“I don’t know who I can trust, who I can’t trust.”

You slowly nodded your head.

“You’ve been having an influx of emotions since you removed the pellet from your back, these are emotions you have never felt before so you don’t know how to process them, that’s okay.”

You leant over the table, tapping a finger against the helmet over his head.

“However, refusing medical assistance when it’s needed is not okay. It’s dangerous to put yourself in that situation.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, may you remove your helmet please? Show me where the injury is.”

John reached up, carefully pulling his helmet off, setting it on the floor next to his foot.

He looked up, his eyes connecting with yours, and you pulled a torch out from your pocket, flashing it over his eyes.

“Follow my finger.”

He did as you said, and you carefully turned his head from side to side to ensure that there was no pain or restriction with his movements.

“You’ll need a few stitches, but otherwise you’ll be fine. I can have somebody from the medical team come up and sort that out.”

“No.”

“No?”

You turned around to look at John, setting your tablet back down, showing him that you were listening to what he was saying.

“Do you not want the medical team to do it?”

“No.”

“Alright, I won’t call for them.”

Walking across your office, you grabbed a first aid box you kept in there and walked back over, taking what you would need out.

John didn’t say anything as you placed your hand on the side of his face, turning it just a little bit so you could work on stitching the wound on the side of his head.

“I hope you know that I’m no medical doctor Chief, so this will be a dodgy job at best.”

“I know.”

You hummed a little bit, remember what you had learnt a long time ago as you fixed up his injury for him.

When you were done, you bagged everything up, took your gloves off and set it all aside, sanitising your hands.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” John replied.

You turned around to look at him.

“Do you feel you can trust me?”

“Why?”

“Because I would like to know why you refuse medical attention, why Miranda brought you here to see me.”

John clasped his hands together, leaning his head down to run his hands over it, letting out a small breath.

You didn’t pressure him, you simply walked back over to sit in front of him once more.

“Chief?”

He looked up at you, and you gave him a reassuring smile.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me of you don’t want to, okay? I’m not here to force you into anything you don’t want okay? Remember this is a safe place.”

“I need to go.”

“Alright, that’s okay. If you do want to talk though just come and see me, my door is always open for you.”

He nodded his head, picked up his helmet and left, and you walked back to your desk.

You had a good idea as to why he decided to come to you instead.

After touching the object they had found, he’d glad glimpses of what you believed were memories, he’d learned he was stolen away from his family.

He wasn’t very trusting after finding out it was the very same doctor whom been with him and the pet her Spartans this whole time.

The only constant thing he had right now was you and the other Spartans, he had demanded to see your file to make sure you weren’t in on it as well, and you showed him.

You never hid anything from him.

So, if you had to guess, he was a little more trusting of you than any of the other doctors, and he felt more comfortable with you than the people who were usually poking and prodding at him after missions if he was hurt.

You had a few sessions with some of the marines, spending some times with them, talking to them and listening to their concerns or fears.

As late afternoon came around, you were walking around your office to stretch your legs, and there was a knock on your door before it opened.

“Doctor?”

You hummed, turning around, smiling at John as he came back through.

“How can I help?”

He quietly closed the door, standing to attention, hands clasped behind his back as if he were reporting to a supervisor.

“You seem to make sense of things when nobody else can. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“Let’s take a seat and have a talk, yeah?”

He sat down, and you sat down opposite him.

He began to explain everything to you, sometimes pausing to find the right words or think about what he was saying.

He didn’t say much, and he stopped speaking to look at you.

“Do you understand what it is?” He asked.

“I do, yes. When we’re young we are taught how to handle our emotions, process them. Our parents teach us first, how to appropriately react to emotions. Does that make sense?”

John shook his head.

“Well, when I was a kid when I was angry I used to break things or throw things. My mom gave me a cup of water, but I was angry because she wouldn’t give me my favourite snack, so I threw the cup and broke it.”

John furrowed his brows a little bit.

“Over a snack?”

You laughed a little bit.

“Kids will do anything for their favourite snacks.”

You smiled at him.

“My mom put me in time out while she cleaned it up, then she came over, explained to me when I was angry I should never throw things, or hit people. When you’re angry you shouldn’t speak to people, and you should never go to bed angry.”

He slowly nodded his head.

“Our teachers continue these teachings, the grown ups in our lives help us learn about this emotions, how to handle them and how to process them. You never had that option, you had your emotions taken away from you.”

“Kai seems to be adjusting…”

“Kai is deflecting, Kai is finding things to occupy herself, but there will come a time where she will be forced to face the emotions she doesn’t know about yet. Grief, loss, pain, you’ll experience them as well.”

John raised his gaze from his hands to look at you.

“It’s hard to point which emotion it is you’re feeling, but if I had to guess I would assume perhaps anger, and confusion mixed into one.”

“What do I do? How do I make it go away?”

You gave him a sad smile.

“You can’t make them go away, you can push them down, but one day you will need to process them. There are different ways to doing this, and I can guide you, but I can’t process them for you, this needs to be something you do yourself.”

“What do I do?”

Getting up, you walked over to your desk and picked up a bit of paper, walking back over to him and you sat down next to him.

You were much smaller than he was, even sitting next to him on the couch it was clear that you were smaller than him.

You held it out to him and he took it.

“I keep this list for anybody who needs help figure out how to process their emotions. It’s a list of things that may help you. From going to the gym, writing letters, then there’s taking a step back from your current situation, go for a walk, find somewhere quiet to sit and just be you.”

“What do you do?”

“Well, I wait until the weekends, then I leave reach, and I go for a hike nearby. Around this time of year there’s my favourite place where all the flowers are in bloom, and I just sit there, sometimes I read, other times I just listening to the birds. I enjoy the escape of nature.”

John nodded his head, setting the paper down on his table.

“I decided to come here because I trust you.” He said quietly.

You smiled softly.

“Well, I’m glad you can. But Chief?”

You turned his head down to look at you.

“Next time please go to medical, it could be something serious. If you don’t like going there, you can get somebody to call for me and I’ll come with you, alright?”

“Why?”

You smiled softly at him, placing a hand on his arm, patting it a few times.

“Because you trust me, if that means I have to come to medical with you to make sure they don’t run any unnecessary tests, and make sure you’re alright I’ll do that.”

He nodded, and you got up, making your way back to your desk to put the paper away.

“Spartans were conditioned to only bond with other Spartans.” John said.

You looked over at him.

“I… don’t understand how to interact with other people.”

“That’s alright, you can learn if you want to. I’ll be going to my hike tomorrow if you would like to come along, I think it may help you.”

Taking another slip of paper, you wrote down a time and a place and walked over, handing it to him.

“I’ll be here, I’ll wait around for you, but you can find me there every weekend.”

He nodded, taking it from you and he left without another word.

The following day, just like you said, you waited for John, and he turned up a few minutes later, dressed in his work out uniform.

He usually wore it under his suit, so it made sense as to why he was wearing it now, they were most likely the only clothes he owned aside from his armour.

“How long does it take to get there?”

“Not long, we’ll need to stop to buy some water first.”

He nodded his head, following you to the shop, and you grabbed a couple of bottles of water, along with some food for lunch, paid for them and put them in your bag.

You and John made your way there, and you began walking the trail you walked every weekend.

“Doctor?”

“You can call me (Y/N), we’re not at the office. We’re friends right?”

“Friends?”

You smiled brightly.

“Well, you come by my office enough to not be friends at this point. I’ve never had somebody willingly come to my office so many times.”

He stayed quietly for a few moments, just searching around the trial.

He was looking around for threats, you knew that.

“How do I know what emotions are what?”

“Well, it depends on the person I suppose. And the emotion, take love for example, there are different kinds. Parental love, the love between a person and their parental figure, or parent and child. Then there’s plutonic love, the bond between friends, then you have romantic love, the love, the connection between two people who want to spend the rest of their their lives together.”

“How do you know the difference?”

You stopped walking, crouching down to look at some blue flowers that were blooming from the grass.

John knelt next to you to look at what you were looking at.

“Well, you have a plutonic love for the other Spartans, you’ll protect them, but just because you have to, but because they’ve essentially become your family.”

You looked up at him.

“Parental love, I’m not to sure how you’ve experienced that if you have. As a child I know you would have, and in time perhaps that’ll come back to you.”

You stood up, carrying on your walk, shifting the bag on your back and little uncomfortably.

John placed a larger hand on your shoulder, and he held his other hand out to you.

Taking the bag from your back you passed it over to him, letting him swing it over his shoulder.

“Thanks, it was getting a little heavy.” You laughed.

“Do you always bring so much?”

“Not always, but there’s two of us this time.”

“I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you.”

“Hey, come on chief, don’t say that. You’re never an inconvenience.”

John glanced at you.

“Why do you call me chief?”

“What would you prefer me to call you?”

He thought for a moment.

“I will call you (Y/N), only if you call me John.”

You smiled brightly up at him.

“Alright John.”

You carried on walking, every so often stopping to admire something and John would just stand there was stare at you.

He watched you carefully, not able to fully relax, put that sense that there was always a threat behind him.

As you reached a fork in the path, you took the one to the left, and soon enough you were surrounded by trees in full bloom, a sea of pink and white petals all over.

You walked to the middle and sit down, resting your hands behind you as you looked around.

“Why do you stop to look at everything?”

John sat in front of you, setting the bag between the pair of you.

“Well, it’s always important to take time to admire things you consider beautiful, for me, I find beauty in nature, the simple things that are all around us. I love it.”

John nodded a little.

“You never told me about romantic love. What is that like?”

“Well, again it’s different for everybody.”

“What is it for you?”

You were curious about his sudden curiosity about feelings, because the whole time since he removed his pellet he hadn’t shown much interest around them.

“John, can I ask why you’re suddenly curious?”

“Miranda says I love somebody. I don’t understand what that means.”

“Ah, I see. Well, for me it’s the little things that somebody does, what they like, the way they laugh, or the way they might make a small noise when they stretch. For me it’s about all the little things, not the big gestures. I don’t care about them, I’d take flowers over expressive dinner, walks instead of going to shows or things like that.”

John nodded his head.

He just sat there studying you, his eyes solely focused on you, watching your every move.

There was a reflection of the flowers in your eyes, and a warmth in your smile.

“How do I know if I love somebody?”

“Well, you could experience a need or want to be with this person, be next to them at all times. You’ll want to learn everything about them, it could be a tightness in your chest when you see them, a need to protect them. There’s a lot of different tells.”

“What do I do?”

You smiled.

“You could tell them, ask them on a date.”

John nodded his head, watching as you got up from where you were sat.

Walking over to one of the trees you stood under one of them, looking up through the blooming flowers.

John got up, walking after you and he stood behind you.

He watched your pointless attempt to try and reach them, there was no way you could teach them, but he could, so he reached up and took one of the flowers, giving it to you.

He enjoyed the close proximity to you, he didn’t know much about anything other than fighting, but he knew he liked having you nearby. He had an urge to keep you safe, and he liked seeing you smile.

“I love you.”

You snapped your eyes to him, head tilted back as you stared at him in pure shock.

John stared right back at you, his soft gaze focused solely on you, neither of you saying a work.

“Chief!”

He turned around, and you did the same thing, stepping from behind his larger frame.

“We have to go now.” Kai said.

John nodded his head, turning around to look at you.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. Please let me know you have returned home safely.”

You slowly nodded, just watching d he jogged away but you couldn’t get the thought out of your head of what he said.

Technically there was nothing wrong with anything going on between the pair of you as he wasn’t a formal patient you were simply doing a friend a favour by helping him.

You had to admit you did like his presence there, and you had wondered about if Spartans dated, held relationships and such.

You didn’t see John for a good few weeks, but the moment he was back after his debrief he made his way to your office and knocked on the door before walking in.

“Master chief?”

He frowned a little.

“I prefer it when you say my name. It sounds different when you say it.”

“Sorry John, what brings you by? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I wanted to see you.”

This made you smile, and you set down some of the books you were holding in your hands.

John walked over, he seemed to reach out for your hand but he hesitated.

“I would like to go on a date with you, but I don’t know how to do that.”

“Can I ask you something first?”

He nodded his head, and you reached out, holding his larger hand between your smaller ones.

You had to look up in order to look at him, his head turned down a little bit so he could look at you.

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

You took a small breath.

“When you said you loved me did you mean it?”

“Yes. What you described is how I feel when I am around you, I want to explore this feeling, experience it with you. You see me for me, as John, not as master chief, even though you refer to me as master chief.”

You laughed softly, he enjoyed that sound.

“I’ll call you John from now on then.”

John studied you.

“Can you lean down?”

He complied, curiosity in his eyes.

Leaning forward, you pressed a very careful kiss to his cheek.

“Lets start slowly, a coffee date, get to know each other. You’re still learning about yourself, we don’t want to overwhelm you.”

He nodded his head, looking at his hands surrounded in yours, and he realised he had never known such a gentle and careful touch.

He enjoyed the different feelings he had around you, and he wanted to learn more about them, more about you

[capr1pengu1n]

Hi! Hihihi! big fan here!

I am fiending for something mouth watering, torturing, jaw dropping smutty fun with our boy from Assault on Arkham. Female reader please. Maybe she's a nurse working a shift at Arkham or a therapist or care tech? I'm just seeing total domination, daddydom/zaddy type vibes. But feel free to do whatever you feel.

Thank you for your time and consideration!!

Tata~!

Corrupting the young with your uncivil tongue

Summary: While on shift at Arkham Asylum, what should be a routine check on an injured inmate turns into something a whole lot more.

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), Assault on Arkham!Eddie, dom/sub dynamics, praise and degradation, choking, rough sex, fingering, face fucking

Words: 4.4k

Notes: Thank you so much sweetheart, you're too kind! This gave me an excuse to rewatch his scenes on yt (mgg really is one of the perfect voice actors for him, even with his sometimes dodgy vocal deliveries)

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Being a nurse meant seeing the truly ugly side of Arkham Asylum; the dangerous patients always being one movement away from lashing out at times. You didn't mind your job, in fact it was rather rewarding at times to help those you could, being able to feel as if you were making a difference in this cesspool of a city.

But many of the inmates you knew you couldn't trust, dangerous criminal masterminds who were constantly using Gotham City as a battleground for their many wars with the batman. And you knew deep down that The Riddler was one of those men. But still, he'd been nothing but...kind.

Well, maybe kind is a little bit too strong of a word. But he'd always been one of your better patients, never giving you too much trouble. And you couldn't deny the tiny part of you that lit up when you saw his name on your rota, no matter how much you pushed the feeling down in the crevices of your mind. His snarky smile would always be waiting for you when you administered the pills that he most likely just hid under his tongue, or to patch him up whenever his big mouth got him into trouble.

It seems today was one of those days, as you made your way to the rather empty infirmary and saw Edward laying in bed, flicking through a book without a care with one hand, the other handcuffed to the side. The doctor that saw to him had been rushed off his feet, rumblings of a mass riot causing all of the staff to be more overworked that usual, if that was even possible for a place like this. Still, you stood by his bed and closed the privacy curtain.

"There you are sweetheart, I was beginning to believe i'd been forgotten about. A distressing thought, i'll have you know."

You can't help but laugh softly at his dramatics, as he lowers the book to his side to give you a look at his face. A cut was across his cheek, not overly deep.

"Ah yes, this. Well that'll teach me not to display my mental superiority at dinner time, lest i'm slashed again. I really should have enacted some sort of revenge before one of the idiotic guards blundered in."

"Does it hurt?"

"Nothing more than a scratch, my dear."

There's that smile again, self-satisfied and smug, but with a hint of something else. He adjusts himself so he's sat more upright, watching with sharp eyes as you look through his medical chart, not missing the slight confusion on your features.

"Does anywhere else hurt?"

"If i say my chest, will I get to remove this horrid jumpsuit?"

You flush in spite of yourself, laughing softly at his insinuation which delights him greatly. Placing the chart down, you look back at him as he adjusts himself yet again.

"I see no reason why you'd need to stay, I can call for you to be escorted back to your cell now."

"Yes about that," he starts, looking around in a dramatic manner, "why is there no guard here anyway? Don't tell me they hardly see me as a threat? I'll have you know I-"

Shaking your head, you interrupt him. "No no, there's rumors of a riot starting. Everyone is on high alert. And it seems that there's a mistake on your chart...it says you have a broken leg. I doubt they thought you'd get very far."

The momentary annoyance of being interrupted dissipated when he heard your words, and he lets out a bark of a laugh.

"Oh the ineptitude of these fools truly never fails to amuse me." With a smirk, he tilts his head as he looks at you before continuing. "But i'm sure a girl like you wouldn't have made a mistake like that."

At his praise, you can't help the flush of pride that swirls in your chest despite who he is, as you smile softly. Pleased with the way you respond, he reaches up and gently tugs you closer to the bed by your arm.

"Does it take truly so little to flatter you?" he asks, causing you to look away for a moment before he squeezes your arm. "No. Look at me."

You do as he says, looking at his eyes through his glasses, before nodding a little. "I guess not..."

"Pity." he murmurs, looking at your chest unashamedly. "I'd have thought you'd be used to compliments, looking like that."

You feel the embarrassment and excitement bubble up in you at his words, despite your better judgement, despite the fact that a criminal mastermind is flirting with you and you like it. Forcing yourself to clear your head, you glance away yet again.

"Thank you."

"No problem darling."

Before turning to leave, he coughs slightly to get your attention.

"Hold on a moment. You really think it's a good idea to go out there? You said it yourself, a riot could break out at any moment." he declares, his eyes firmly fixed on yours.

"Well...yes. I could always go with the guards, they'd protect me."

"I could protect you." he says without missing a beat, without blinking. The look of shock must be evident on your face as you look at him.

"Why would you do that?"

"Why do I do anything?" he challenges, the rattle of the handcuff cutting through the room.

"...you do things when they benefit you." you say softly, trying to match his gaze.

"Exactly. Or maybe I want to protect the pretty nurse who always turns a blind eye when I don't swallow my pills."

"I-I don't-"

"Don't lie sweetheart, it doesn't suit you."

Hesitating, you glance down to where his hand is cuffed to the bed. This is a bad idea, an awful idea and you know it. But your apprehension is delicious to him, and he leans in as best he can.

"And you like the idea, don't you? Of The Riddler's protection?"

You swallow audibly, not denying his accusation. "I can't...i'm not Harley Quinn or anything, i'm not gonna go running off with a psycho-"

"Don't call me that." he snaps harshly, his tone serious and even making you flinch a little. Upon realising, he clears his throat a little in an attempt to calm down. "I'm not trying to dump you in a vat of acid to prove your devotion darling. I'm simply saying I could protect you."

Upon being under your gaze yet again, he puts on a smirk. "Besides, I'm not blind. The way you look at me is quite different than the way the other dimwitted orderlies do. It's...refreshing."

You release a breath, shaky and slow as you weigh up your options here. If a riot does break out...he probably could protect you. And it's not like he has any reason to harm you, right? Nodding slightly, you try and come up with some pathetic excuse before he interrupts you.

"What time is it?"

Slightly bewildered by the question, you glance at your small watch and reply, "About 7."

He hums, rolling his neck. "Might be a good idea to get me out of these handcuffs sweetheart."

Frowning, you go to ask him why before the power goes out. The room is plunged into darkness, causing you to jump at the sharp noise of the lights going. Frantically you stumble to try and head backwards before you feel a hand grasp at your waist, and suddenly you're pressed against a man's broad chest.

"Okay, I may have lied about needing your help to get out of the cuffs." Edward murmurs, before laughing smugly.

Panic sets in as you scramble to get away from him, but he only laughs harder and uses both hands to hold you still.

"Oh please stop struggling. You know I could overpower you. But I meant what I said darling, I'll protect you." he coos into your ear, and you can feel the satisfaction radiating from his smile in waves as he lets go of your arm.

"Now, be a good girl and barricade the door when the lights come back on."

"How do you know the light's will-"

With a bang, the lights come back on, and on instinct you follow his instructions. Regardless of the morally dubious actions of the serial killer you've found yourself with, you know how bloody Arkham riots can get, so self preservation wins out as you take a chair and push it against the door. Barricading yourself in with The Riddler.

He watches you carefully, half expecting you to make a run for it, but being slightly relieved when you trail back to him. "Good."

"How did you know when the lights would go off?"

"You're a smart girl darling, figure it out."

He must have known about the riot, hell he might have planned it. But what you couldn't understand was...

"You planned the riot, or at least knew. But why aren't..." you pause, as he steps closer, too close, "why aren't you trying to escape?"

He chuckles, lifting his hand to cup your chin. "Oh you naive girl. You think I orchestrated this just to escape? Perhaps I was wrong about you, or perhaps you're just too modest."

Observing the look of realisation on your face, he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone. "You can't taste it until you undress it, what am I?"

You can't deny the hitch in your breath at his, albeit cheesy riddle, which causes him to laugh more. "The answer isn't what you're probably thinking, but it's still an apt description of what I want to do to you."

What he wants to do to you. That's all you can hear rattling away in your brain as you let him stroke your cheek, down to the side of your neck.

"And trust me my dear, I want to do a lot of things to you."

"Like what?" you ask, the words spitting out without processing, but he smirks anyway.

"You want me to tell you? Tell you how much I want to dominate you completely? Have you completely at my mercy, as this whole asylum tears itself apart from the inside on my orders?"

You couldn't suppress the small whimper that escapes your lips even if you tried, as you nod your head. Instead, he moves his hand to wrap around your throat, slender fingers gently squeezing.

"How about I show you?" he rasps out, before slamming his lips against yours. It's all consuming, the way he keeps you still with his grip as his tongue forces it's way into your mouth. He explores every inch, reveling in the small moans he swallows as he uses his other hand to grab your hips, pulling you against him so you can feel the bulge straining against the garish orange jumpsuit.

"Get on your knees." he growls out against your lips, and you drop obediently. "Good girl, you're learning your place."

Not deterred by his condescending words, you gaze up at him as his fingers fiddle with the zipper of his jumpsuit, freeing himself after a moment. Your eyes immediately dart to his hard cock, watching as he pumps himself a few times and gently rests it on your cheek.

"A man can get certain...urges in a place like this. A lesser man would have probably resorted to his own hand to achieve momentary gratification, but I knew...I knew if I waited, victory would be all the more sweet."

He taps his cock on your lips, and you open and let your tongue gently run along the head. Gritting his teeth, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, keeping you still and not allowing you the privilege of tasting him just yet.

"Ask me nicely. Tell me you've wanted me the same way." he demands.

"I've wanted you." you reply, staring up and giving him the most pleading expression you can muster. "I've always been attracted to you, I've always wanted you Edward."

He groans quietly, running his cock along your lips once again, humming appreciatively as you seem to have learnt your lesson in keeping your tongue to yourself.

"I do love you saying my name. But I think a different word is in order, after all, i'm here protecting you."

You know he's desperate for validation, desperate to feel superior and in control, but god you want to give it to him so badly.

"I've always wanted you sir." you ammend.

"That or 'master' will do." he smirks down at you, before tapping his dick against your lips deliberately. Getting the hint, you open up and let him push your head. Luckily he gives you the grace to not shove his whole length down your throat, pushing you halfway before letting you set the pace. You get to work immediately, bobbing your head as you suck, blinking up at him to observe his reactions.

You can't deny he looks stunning, his frown and brow lines relaxing as he lets you service him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment to truly indulge in your wet mouth. He'd been in Arkham a few weeks now, and if what he said about relieving himself was true, it really had been a while since he felt such carnal pleasure.

As he opens his eyes again, he looks down at you once more, stroking your hair as you moan softly around his cock. While he certainly isn't going to admit it, he's relieved you were so eager to get on your knees for him, happy he got the signals right, happy he wouldn't have to admit that his lust was unrequited, what's he thinking, he's the riddler! Any woman would be lucky to have him, he's a specimen -

His thoughts are stopped when you push further, taking him deeper into your throat before pulling away for breath, taking him in your soft hand and jerking him. He let's out a slightly higher pitched noise, before growling and gripping your hair with both hands.

"Arms behind your back dear, let's see if I was right to choose you."

You do what he instructs, taking a deep breath before he pushes his cock into your willing mouth. This time he doesn't hold back, holding you in place as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth, before pushing deeper. Suppressing the urge to gag, you moan brokenly around him as your fingernails dig into your own arms, willing against your body's natural instinct to put your hands on his thighs and push against him. Instead you behave, letting him fuck your mouth and take his pleasure from you.

The look on your face has him getting close rather quick for his liking, but he's way too desperate to care. Glazed eyes, spit covered lips and chin from where his cock is pushing out your saliva, he thinks you look gorgeous. His one hand remains in your hair as his other grips your jaw.

"So good for me...fuck, almost makes me wish I hadn't had those idiots cut power to the cameras in here. Seeing my favourite nurse choking on my cock..."

He moans softly, cock pulsing as he gets nearer his climax. Rhythm faltering, he desperately ruts into your throat, wanting to cum so badly it almost hurts. All the while he's mumbling and muttering how slutty you are, how much this is usually beneath him, how good your mouth feels until-

"I'm gonna cum, you're gonna, shit, swallow it...swallow it all." he demands, before his hips still as he pumps his cum down your throat. Choking, you do your best to swallow all he gives you before he releases the death grip on your hair. You pull away and gasp shallowly for oxygen.

"What do you say?" he says condescendingly, although you don't miss the laboured breathing that betrays his excitement.

"Thank you." you start, but the firm tap on your cheek gives you the incentive to rephrase, "Thank you sir."

"Better. You know how few people can say they've had the privilege of The Riddler fucking their face?"

Despite how fucked up morally you know it is, you can't help but feel slight pride at his words, knowing that it's you who he chose to sleep with. He tugs you up by the arm, before humming and squishing your cheeks together, tilting your face from side to side as he appraises you.

"How about you lay on the bed." he says, and despite the phrasing, you can infer from his tone that he's not asking. So you do, hearing the cheap infirmary bed creak as you lay down. Outside you can vaguely hear noises, yells and chants mostly, but you try your best to tune it out as Edward makes quick work of ridding you of your nurse uniform. He gives a wolf whistle, smirking shamelessly.

"Not bad at all." he mumbles, which you assume is quite high praise for him, as he gropes your tits roughly. "I knew I wasn't wrong to have been taken by your looks. It's a bonus you have half a brain in there somewhere."

Feeling a little mean, he gives one of your breasts a sharp slap, grinning as you flinch and squirm. He repeats the motion, and again for a third time on the other one, before soothingly massaging the tender skin.

Before long, he can't resist parting your legs to get a good view of your dripping cunt, needy and pulsing after being treated so roughly by him.

"Oh poor thing." he coos, the falseness of his sympathy only adding to your arousal. "Do you need master's help?"

You can only nod pitifully, as he brings his fingers to your clit and circles slowly, as if observing the consequences of his actions. At your hips jerking, he uses his other hand to pin you firmly to the bed, the structure squeaking under the weight. He continues to play with your clit, alternating his pace and rhythm to keep you on edge, never quite allowing you to reach the peak of the satisfaction he could bestow upon you.

"Such a needy hole, look at it. It's just begging to be filled, isn't it?" he asks, to which you nod again. In response, he slaps your cunt harshly. "If i wanted to talk to myself, i'd have simply jerked off in the safety of my isolated cell. Speak."

"Yes, yes I want to be filled." You say quickly, embarrassment fading away to let the desperation uncurl its claws in your mind. Seemingly satisfied, he slowly pushes two fingers into your pussy, barely suppressing the groan at how wet and hot you feel.

Starting to pump his digits, he curls them to press into your g spot, watching as you tense and make soft moans at the sensation. His other hand wraps around your neck, smirking at your wanton desperation.

"So quick and eager to have a criminal's fingers inside of you. And a nurse at that, don't you have a duty of care?" he taunts sadistically, languishing in your shame and embarrassment as he keeps fucking you harshly with his fingers. You try and shake your head, but you can't with how he's choking you ever so slightly; a reminder that your life is in the hands of one of Gotham's most feared supervillians. And your cunt has never been wetter.

But you aren't the only one affected. Edward was never the type of man to be able to go multiple rounds, and age didn't exactly help that fact. But whether it was being in the Asylum, his abstaining from self pleasure, or just you, he was hard as a rock again and itching to know what your pussy might be like around him.

"Please..." you start to beg, slightly dazed from the onslaught of sensations.

"Please what, hm? Please stop? Please fuck me? Oh please I want to be fucked by the greatest intellectual this city has ever known?"

You can hardly digest the intense self importance he's displaying as you nod again as best you can. "Please fuck me sir."

"Getting better, but say it louder. More conviction. I'm not an easy man to please." he threatens, moving his fingers faster, practically bullying the inside of your pussy as he releases the grip on your neck, allowing merciful oxygen to grace your airways.

"Please sir, please fuck me. Please make me yours, your slut. Please." you beg between moans, body tensing.

"I will." he assures you, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his face to observe your fluids, "but you should know, you became my slut when you so willingly got on your knees for me."

He grabs your hips and pulls you towards him as he kneels firmly on the bed, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under you. You almost voiced your thanks at the action, before he rubs the head of his cock on your sensitive clit.

"Once more, for good luck."

What an asshole, he doesn't even believe in luck, you think to yourself, but the stimulation on your core was leaving your breathless and needy, so you indulge him.

"Please fuck me master, I need you. I need The Riddler."

Playing into his ego, his persona, almost always works (not that you know that, opting for an educated guess instead) and he rewards you by sinking into your pussy, moaning uncharacteristically higher pitched. Once he bottoms out inside of you, he takes a moment to really take in the scene in front of him, before grabbing hold of your hips and starting to move.

You moan, the fingering causing your cunt to already be sensitive and on fire with urgency as he starts to fuck you. He bends over you, taking his glasses off and placing them at your side before starting to move his hips faster, determined to rid you of any other thought but him.

"That's it, fuck, go dumb on my cock for me." he encourages, as your eyes glaze over. "My dumb little nurse, so willing to spread her legs."

Not being able to deny his accusation, you simply hold on to his arms for dear life as he picks up the pace even more, thrusting into you and watching your cunt soak his cock in your wetness.

"Making such a goddamn mess." he grunts, leaning down and slapping your clit for the sake of it.

You whine at that, body jerking in response as he chokes out a small chuckle. Soothing it, he rubs circles with his thumb in time with his thrusts, content with the noises of pleasure that fall from your lips. Outside, the noise of the riot were obvious now, and he uses it to his advantage.

"What if someone were to see? Would they think i forced myself on you? Or would they see you for what you truly are? A whore who wanted one of her patients to fuck her." he demeans you, and all you can do is attempt to shake your head.

He tuts, leaning so his breath tickles your lips. "I told you, lying doesn't suit you sweetheart."

Perhaps you were a whore, for wanting a man like Edward to make you feel something, but you can't hope to deny that what he's making you feel is good, so damn good.

"I'm a whore." you mumble quietly, before he groans. He feels your walls tightening around him, can feel the way your body is tensing as you near release.

"Say it properly, and i'll let you cum all over The Riddler's cock. How about that?" he says it like he's giving you a gift, something so unbelievable that you should be grateful he even considered it. But either way, you give in.

"I'm a whore, i'm your whore sir." you manage to get out between punishing thrusts, nails digging into the meat of his biceps. "I'm The Riddler's whore."

He moans, slamming into you with conviction. "You're damn right you are."

You're unsure if that meant you had permission to cum, but between his thrusts and his thumb playing with your clit, you knew you couldn't stop it as you cum hard around him. Your back arches, giving him a hell of a sight as he chases his own orgasm brutally.

"Yes that's it, take it. Take what i give you...take my cum, god you're so lucky. So privileged, so-"

He cuts himself off with a groan, mumbling your name as he buries himself completely inside of you as he finishes. You squirm softly at the warmth of the sensation, but not being able to go anywhere due to the death grip he has on your thighs; you're most certainly going to have bruises.

After a few blissful moments, he pulls out, admiring how your cunt flutters around nothing before his cum slowly leaks from your used hole. He gently reaches down and collects some on the tip of his finger, before pushing it back inside, laughing at your overstimulated gasp.

"There. Now wasn't that more enjoyable than running to the guards for help."

Giving him a sweaty nod, he climbs off of you and fixes him jumpsuit, before rolling his shoulders and standing up. You force yourself to sit up a little, watching as he smirks.

"I'm a little ahead of schedule, I confess I was foreseeing a little more convincing on my part for you to let me bed you." he says, uncharacteristically self deprecating, now matter how slight.

"Ahead of schedule for what?" you ask, before your answer is revealed when he picks up an empty chair and smashes the window.

"Oh sweetheart, while I did want to fuck you, did you really think i'd not pass up the opportunity for escape? I think my sabbatical has reached it's conclusion." he announces, walking over and grabbing your wrist to look at your watch. "The morons should have neutralised the guard post by now, if they actually listened to what I had to say."

At your hesitance, he smirks as he lets go of your wrist and leans down to give you a lingering kiss. "Perhaps i'll visit you again, you certainly made quite the impression on me."

At a loss for words, you stutter out a quick "okay" before he turns and begins to climb out the window. Not before turning for one last look at you.

"I really should have left a mark, people need to know you're mine now. Get changed sweetheart, in my estimations you have about ten minutes."

With that, he's gone, and you're left on the bed, cum dripping from your cunt and sweat slowly evaporating from your naked skin. Still, you suppose, he did protect you from the riot.

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

(perhaps one day I will include a daddy kink in my writing, but alas I fear today is not that day)

[australianwomensnews]

Medical research has a major problem: an alarmingly high number of trials are based on fake, fraudulent or misinterpreted data.

Research misconduct sleuths call them “zombie” studies. They look like real research papers but they’re rotten to the core. And when these studies go on to influence clinical guidelines, that is, how patients are treated in hospitals and doctors’ rooms, they can be dangerous.

Professor Ben Mol, head of the Evidence-based Women’s Health Care Research Group at Monash University, is a professional zombie hunter. For years, he has warned that between 20 and 30 per cent of medical trials that inform clinical guidelines aren’t trustworthy.

“I’m surprised by the limited response from people in my field on this issue,” he says. “It’s a topic people don’t want to talk about.”

The peer review process is designed to ensure the validity and quality of findings, but it’s built on the assumption that data is legitimate.

Science relies on an honour system whereby researchers trust that colleagues have actually carried out the trials they describe in papers, and that the resulting data was collected with rigorous attention to detail.

But too often, once findings are queried, researchers can’t defend their conclusions. Figures such as former BMJ editor Richard Smith and Anaesthesia editor John Carlise argue it’s time to assume all papers are flawed or fraudulent until proven otherwise. The trust has run out.

“I think we have been naive for many years on this,” Mol says. “We are the Olympic Games without any doping checks.”

How bad science gets into the clinic

Untrustworthy papers may be the result of scientists misinterpreting their data or deliberately faking or plagiarising their numbers. Many of these “zombie” papers emerge from Egypt, Iran, India and China and usually crop up in lower-quality journals.

The problem gets bad when these poor-quality papers are laundered by systematic reviews or meta-analyses in prestigious journals. These studies aggregate hundreds of papers to produce gold-standard scientific evidence for whether a particular treatment works.

Often papers with dodgy data are excluded from systematic reviews. But many slip through and go on to inform clinical guidelines.

My colleague Liam Mannix has written about an example of this with the hormone progesterone. Official guidelines held that the hormone could reduce the risk of pre-term birth in women with a shortened cervix.

But those guidelines were based on a meta-analysis largely informed by a paper from Egypt that was eventually retracted due to concerns about the underlying data. When this paper was struck from the meta-analysis, the results reversed to suggest progesterone had no preventative effect.

There’s a litany of other examples where discounting dodgy data can fundamentally alter the evidence that shapes clinical guidelines. That’s why, in The Lancet’s clinical journal eClinical Medicine, Mol and his colleagues have reported a new way to weed out bad science before it makes it to the clinic.

Holding back the horde

The new tool is called the Research Integrity in Guidelines and evIDence synthesis (RIGID) framework. It mightn’t sound sexy, but it’s like a barbed-wire fence that can hold back the zombie horde.

The world-first framework lays out a series of steps researchers can take when conducting a meta analysis or writing medical guidelines to exclude dodgy data and untrustworthy findings. It involves two researchers screening articles for red flags.

“You can look at biologically implausible findings like very high success rates of treatments, very big differences between treatments, unfeasible birth weights. You can look at statistical errors,” says Mol.

“You can look at strange features in the data, only using rounded numbers, only using even numbers. There are studies where out of dozens of pairs of numbers, everything is even. That doesn’t happen by chance.”

A panel decides if a paper has a medium to high risk of being untrustworthy. If that’s the case, the RIGID reviewers put their concerns to the paper’s authors. They’re often met with stony silence. If authors cannot address the concerns or provide their raw data, the paper is scrapped from informing guidelines.

The RIGID framework has already been put to use, and the results are shocking.

In 2023, researchers applied RIGID to the International Evidence-based Guidelines for Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), a long misunderstood and misdiagnosed syndrome that affects more than 1 in 10 women. As a much maligned condition, it was critical the guidelines were based on the best possible evidence.

In that case, RIGID discounted 45 per cent of papers used to inform the health guidelines.

That’s a shockingly high number. Those potentially untrustworthy papers might have completely skewed the guidelines.

Imagine, Mol says, if it emerged that almost half of the maintenance reports of a major airline were faked? No one would be sitting around waiting for a plane to crash. There would be swift action and the leadership of the airline sacked.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

so im 99.999999% certain this is bullshit but i just came across an app called calmara which markets itself as a sexual wellness tool for women where you can send in a photo of your partner's genitals as a "peen check" to see if they have STIs.

im not sure if it only works on penises, but it apparently uses kind of AI algorithm to check for the STIs. apparently the algorithm can identify more than 10 STIs in 60 seconds with an accuracy of 96%.

again, 99.99999% that claim holds the same amount of water as a bone dry desert but im not a sex witch so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the app itself has ethical issues abound but im curious as to whether theres anything to that claim.

here's the thing:

even if we overlook that it's extremely weird for an app to ask for pictures of people's dicks and that that's just a shitshow re: privacy

and even if accept that this app can, somehow, successfully identify visible symptoms of sexually transmitted infections without being fooled by normal variations in genital appearance

we're still left with the fact that even low estimates hold that around half of all people with STIs have no symptoms, and that the genitals are not the only place that can be infected by many STIs. several common infections can be transmitted by having oral sex with someone with an infection in their mouth and/or throat. it sounds like this all is only going to catch the most egregiously visible genital warts or herpes sores, which you could likely notice yourself anyway.

so, you know. wildly incomplete information, certainly not useful enough to justify how dodgy to be collecting pictures of people's junk.

bonus round: this quote from the CEO and co-founder that is. not comforting lmao.

Co-founder and CEO Mei-Ling Lu told TechCrunch that Calmara was not meant as a serious medical tool. “Calmara is a lifestyle product, not a medical app. It does not involve any medical conditions or discussions within its framework, and no medical doctors are involved with the current Calmara experience."

[orangecrush]

In my dream fix-it Creamsicle fic:

The initial setup is canon compliant: Freddy is an undercover cop, and they’re preparing for the heist, or it’s already happened.

Neither Freddy nor Larry dies. (Duh.)

Freddy gets shot – either during the heist or in some other way. His injury is serious and incapacitating, and it makes him utterly dependent on Larry. (WHUMP! The more and heavier the better!)

There’s at least reference to (but preferably a description of) a medical procedure that saves Freddy’s life – probably done by some dodgy doctor or a vet, whomever Larry or Joe or whoever fits the storyline can get. (I’m not a medical professional and don’t care about accuracy. But I pretty much go insane when characters magically recover from injuries that definitely require more professional medical attention than their caretakers are able to provide.)

Freddy tells Larry the truth about himself, and though it obviously complicates things between them, Larry doesn’t abandon him.

There’s a very gentle, nonsexual bath/shower scene in which Larry helps Freddy get clean after his injury. (This piece is crucial and nonnegotiable.)

There is sex, but it doesn’t drive the story, and it’s not rough or kinky. (The way Larry touches Freddy in the warehouse? Yeah, that’s the kind of tenderness with which he's touching him out of the warehouse, too.)

They ultimately escape by leaving the country, preferably in a way that incriminates Freddy just as much as it does Larry (e.g., by taking some or all of the diamonds).

There’s an unambiguous happy ending or, at the very least, the sense that they’ll eventually get there.

[unsentimentaltranslator]

“Wait, why are the edgelords right about the people who make ‘translation is loss’ posts?”

I don’t want any of the people I reblogged from under my old account, or any of the people I will undoubtedly reblog from under this account, to think I’m judging them for reblogging those posts. Those posts are the only point of view that non-translators on here tend to see, both because media translation is more interesting to the average non-translator than the majority of what we do and because while the tortured artist types are posting their laments on the internet, the rest of us are typically just getting on with our work. But “translation is sad because you can’t translate great literature in a way that fully replicates the experience enjoyed by those who speak the original language” is…not the best way to conceptualise translation for numerous reasons.

1. Most translators will never get to work on high-profile literature projects. You know that line in the song Don’t Be A Lawyer in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend where he says “Did you hope one day you’d find a way to spend four years working on a pharmaceutical company’s merger with another pharmaceutical company?” Yeah. And that’s not always a bad thing. “Translation is loss” is a romantic way of saying “if you work on prestigious literary projects, EVERYONE will have an opinion about the translation you did and many of those opinions will be the same kind of bitching that any high-profile creator has to deal with”. At most, I’d be willing to work on something like Marie Kondo’s books, where the audience is interested in the substance, not the style. Beyond that, forget it. I know what people are like.

2. Translation loss in prestigious literature is the kind that’s most talked about, but it’s one of the least actually consequential kinds. Not getting 100% of the original experience of reading a novel might be a bit of a bummer, but it’s not comparable to people dying because someone messed up a translation for an aircraft or a medical device or a bridge. It just isn’t. In my country, a dodgy translation of a treaty occupies the same place in our history as the smallpox-covered blankets in American history. That’s a tragedy. “We can be sad about both!” But you’re not.

3. Bridging the gaps between the two languages is OUR FUCKING JOB. If it was easy, we wouldn’t be hired in the first place. Academic study for translators is not supposed to be a fucking funeral for the source text (again, where would we be if translators in fields like aviation, medicine and construction did that?!); it is supposed to equip you with the analytical and problem-solving skills necessary to create the best target text possible. Which brings me to my final point:

4. If you’re a novice translator, the reason you find it so difficult to convey the source text in a way that is both accurate and natural is BECAUSE YOU ARE NEW TO THIS. You are going to need a lot of corrections at first. WE ALL DO. Some people never get good enough to translate professionally, just as not everyone is cut out to be a professional writer or artist or doctor or lawyer or teacher or pilot or athlete. That isn’t the profession’s fault. Every novice translator has to deal with a difficult learning curve and you can either blame it on the inherent nature of the profession or you can work on becoming the best translator you can be.

In closing:

 “ReAdEr i HaVe TaKeN LiBeRTiEs” NO FUCKING SHIT.

[whump-me]

Protector: Chapter 1

Chapter 1 of Protector, a novella-length whump story about a ruthless superpowered assassin trained from childhood to kill, and the brother determined to save him from himself.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the complete novel on Patreon

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The man in the bed was too pale, his skin almost the same color as the crisp white sheets. Three days’ worth of dark stubble dotted his chin, making his pallor stand out even more. He lay too still, lips slightly parted, his breath coming irregularly in near-silent puffs. Under the light, his forehead took on the waxy sheen of a garage-sale doll—one of the bargain-bin ones with its hair shorn and an arm chewed off by a dog. A sour smell rose up from the bed, like sweat and old bandages.

Bryce pulled the curtain to one side, filling the room with natural light. If anything, it only made the man look worse. The sunlight brought out the sallow tinge of his skin, and landed with unforgiving clarity on every one of his faded scars. Bryce didn’t know how he had acquired any of those scars. The sight made the years the man had lived without him stretch wide in front of him like an uncrossable chasm.

He lifted the man’s arm as gently as he could to unwind the bandage around his shoulder. He held his breath, hoping the man would tense, jerk away, complain that Bryce clearly didn’t know what he was doing—and had no bedside manner, to boot. Instead, all Bryce heard was another barely-there puff of breath.

He unwound the bandage, grimacing at the layers of sticky scab that peeled off with it. He winced at the sight of the gunshot wound underneath, the deceptively small hole surrounded by black bruising and swollen flesh. He knew it was lucky the wound hadn’t gone through the bone, but it was hard for him to look at that torn flesh and see anything lucky in it. Especially when the man had two more like it.

He wiped the wound down with an alcohol-soaked washcloth. It should have stung like a bitch. The man didn’t react. Nor did he respond when Bryce layered the wound with fresh gauze and wrapped it up again.

He laid the man’s arm gently back down on the bed, and tucked the covers up around it. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I know that must have hurt.”

Unless it hadn’t. Unless the man was too far gone to feel pain anymore.

Did the wound look worse than it had yesterday? And was the man paler than he had been? Bryce hoped the answer was no for both, but feared it was yes. Not for the first time, he wished for the safety of a hospital.

Here in his spare room, there were no monitors hooked up to the man to let Bryce know how much danger he was in. There were no nurses on call. No doctors to rush in if there was an emergency. The only equipment he had at hand beyond basic first-aid supplies was what he had scrounged up from the dodgy seller he had found. That included the three remaining doses of pain medication that he was saving for the times he guessed to the pain would be worst—not that he had any way to know. Six doses, if he used half the amount his source had told him to use.

The far wall of the spare room was still piled high with junk. It hadn’t always been that way. When Bryce had bought the house, he had insisted on finding one with a second bedroom solely because he had still been sure he would find Zach someday. For years, the room had held nothing but an empty bed and an empty dresser. A dusty temple to his loss.

But then more years had passed, and his optimism had faded into pragmatism. Zach or no Zach, he could either live his life or let it pass him by, and he chose to live it. The space had gradually filled up as the non-Zach pieces of his life filled the Zach-shaped hole inside him.

He went back to school, and textbooks formed an ever-growing stack on top of the abandoned files containing his research into Zach’s disappearance. He had landed a desk job to replace his bartending gigs, and the dresser filled with clothes he could no longer wear after six months of sitting behind a desk all day. He made friends—yes, him, with actual friends for the first time since sophomore year of high school, imagine that—and half-empty bottles of whiskey and vodka piled up in here, forgotten, as drinking alone became less appealing.

Then the call had come in from one of his investigators.

Even as he had moved on with his life, he had kept paying all three of them to keep searching, year after year, because stopping was tantamount to officially giving up. He hadn’t really thought any of them were still looking for Zach. Until one of them found him.

Suddenly, all the extra money Bryce was raking in from that desk job went to good use to hire the extraction team. While he waited for them to report in, he did his best to clean out the room, whistling under his breath and expecting a happy reunion.

They had shown up on his doorstep when the cleaning was half done, with an unconscious man on a stretcher between them. The man hadn’t looked like Zach. He had looked like a corpse.

He had fought, the team had explained. They had done everything they could to subdue him without serious injury. They had clearly been worried Bryce wouldn’t pay them the remainder of their agreed-upon fee. Bryce had signed the check without paying attention. It could have been for ten times the amount, for all he knew. He had bigger worries.

Three days later, the man still looked like a corpse. He looked like a stranger. Thinking of him as Zach felt like giving up in a whole different way. It felt like giving up on the boy whose image he had carried behind his eyes all these years like a talisman. This man was not that boy.

But he was Zach.

Zach was home.

Zach was still unconscious.

Maybe Zach was dying.

A sharp gasp from the man in the bed broke Bryce out of his thoughts. Zach’s eyes flew open, wide and unseeing. He strained for breath like he was drowning.

“Zach,” Bryce said urgently, bending over the bed. He wrapped Zach’s hand in both of his. The man’s fingers were rigid, his skin cold and slick with sweat. “Zach, are you awake? It’s okay. It’s me.”

Zach’s eyes rolled up in his head. His back arched off the bed. His hand curled into a fist, crushing Bryce’s fingers. His mouth gaped open and shut, like he couldn’t draw a full breath.

Bryce cursed under his breath. If only they were in a real hospital room, he could have yelled for a nurse, and the room would have filled with bustling activity in seconds. But taking Zach to a hospital had been out of the question from the start. At least if he didn’t want to lose him all over again.

The investigator had worn a nervous, hunted expression as he had given Bryce all the details on the people who had Zach. The Psi Enhancement Research Initiative, a clandestine government operation studying people with supernatural powers… and training them for black-ops work. Apparently Zach had powers. That hadn’t been the part that had concerned the investigator, who had informed Bryce that he wouldn’t be looking into this any further, and that he would appreciate it if Bryce lost his number.

“Come on, Zach. Snap out of it.” Bryce squeezed Zach’s hand as hard as Zach was squeezing his. “Come on, come on, come on…” His words devolved into short, sharp curses. He would not stand here and watch Zach die. He would not.

Zach’s gasping breaths grew louder, each sharp rasp sounding like one misaligned rusty gear scraping against another. His skin was even whiter than before. His lips had a blue tinge.

Oxygen. That was one of the expensive supplies he had bought in his panic, trying to figure out how to turn his spare bedroom into a hospital room—oxygen. He tugged until he pried his hand free of Zach’s grip. Then he rummaged under the bed until he pulled out the metal canister. It looked like a fire extinguisher. Which made Zach’s body a burning building.

With shaking fingers, Bryce attached the slim plastic tube that led to the oxygen mask. He turned the dial until the oxygen began to flow with a hiss. Then he lowered the mask over Zach’s nose and mouth. Zach threw his head back with enough force to dislodge it.

Bryce tried again. He held it over Zach’s face with both hands. The plastic swallowed the rasping sounds.

Zach’s gasps slowed. He sagged back onto the bed, limp once again. His eyes fluttered shut. When Bryce hesitantly pulled the mask back to get a look at the face underneath, Zach’s lips were a healthy color again.

Bryce settled the mask back into place again. “It’s all right,” he said, knowing Zach couldn’t hear him. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

A little color came back to his cheeks. Enough to make him look like he was sleeping, not like he was a corpse in a coffin. The tension in Bryce’s body didn’t ease. He held the mask in place, like it was a shield and the next enemy attack could come at any moment.

He was so busy listening to Zach’s breathing, trying to figure out if it sounded healthier than when he had come into the room a few minutes ago, that he almost missed it when Zach’s eyes opened.

Everything else about Zach was different, but his eyes were the same startling blue. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes darting from side to side, disoriented. Slowly, he focused on Bryce.

“Zach,” Bryce breathed. All the tension of the past three days sighed out of him on a single breath. “You’re awake—”

Zach reached up with both hands and tore the mask from his face.

Then, his face an empty mask, he lunged for Bryce’s throat.

---

Tagged: @sowhumpful

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[trainofcommand]

Hi ily

I'm having thoughts of Lorne x Carson and since you're the Lorne expert I wanna know what your thoughts are

(feel free to ignore this)

OOoh, I love this, anon, and I'm super excited you asked (and super tickled that you think I'm a Lorne expert!!).

OK. Lorne and Carson. Hmmm. There's potential there! Carson getting all aflutter about some things, maybe that snark we sometimes saw that was also...anxious. Snarkily anxious? And Lorne would be like, "Uh, you sure you want to go there, Doc?" Because he has to deal with a lot of scientist snark, and he's seen where it can lead (bad places) sometimes, so he's just reminding Carson, but also be a little sarcastic himself (mmmm, love me some snarkily sarcastic competent Lorne). And that makes Carson look at him. With interest. In a surprised kind of way.

Or, or. Maybe it's Clone Carson. And it's awkward, sometimes, to be around people who watched you die, and were close friends, because they look at you sometimes, and it's a look that says they're startled, but happy, but sad and guilty, and missing something (someone) all at the same time, and it's just...awkward. So sometimes he wants to spend time with people who didn't know him the way Rodney did, or some of the medical staff. And one of those people is Lorne. Sure, they'd worked together, but not closely, and Lorne doesn't look at him expectantly, or forget that there are things - events, people, conversations - that he doesn't know because he wasn't there.

So sometimes they just kind of...exist together. Quietly. Maybe over a beer or whatever Carson can get his hands on. He learns about Lorne's painting, and he asks about things that he doesn't know, but that the original (and sometimes, he thinks to himself, the real) Carson knew/experienced. And it goes from there, little-by-little, both of them finding something in each other that they didn't expect.

Or, let's face it. It could just be some kind of dodgy 'I think this may be an aphrodisiac, Major' situation off-world, and Carson knew that going off-world again could get messed up, but right now he doesn't care, not at all, and Lorne's tac vest is already off, which is quite unusual, he can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Lorne without a tac vest, and Lorne is saying, "Better get those pants off, Doctor," and yes, yes, why are his pants even still on, that seems incredibly inefficient, he'll need to have a word with himself about it after, and possibly draft a memo, but right now, Lorne's shirt has come off, and my goodness.

In conclusion - Yes.

[n7punk]

I also saw the picture and thought maybe she just didn't have her makeup done. I think I'm generally good at comparing two faces when I have pictures of them to look at and she could have had light things in a big bag 🤷‍♀️ but maybe I'm gullible 😂

no i think it's very likely she just wasn't wearing makeup even if twitter is convinced it's actually william's supposed mistress lmao. honestly the funniest possible outcome for this whole thing was she did actually have a normal abdominal surgery that went well because then this absolutely shitshow of a PR situation is even worse because they could have just released an instagram reel of her at any point and no one would have cared about it anymore.

like the reason the conspiracy grew is because she disappeared suddenly for ambiguous medical reasons with no forewarning and they refused to take a single photo of her for weeks. and then the ones they did release were so dodgy and doctored it made it look like they were covering something up. I fully believe if they released one photo of her resting while looking decently healthy at the end of january with like a get well soon balloon and bouquet, no one would have cared. i totally get resting in private and healing from surgery, but the mother's day photo was a disaster of their own making. they finally conceded to releasing a "good" photo and they should have done nothing before they did that. it legit convinced a lot of people she was dead and even had me suspicious of what was going on lmao

[celticcrossanon]

They are not getting titles for the kids, as the surrogacy story is not satisfactory to Charles, with no further clarification from them, or a Doctors verification. The name of the Doctor they said delivered A, has been denied by the Doctor's husband. The hospital said a male was born at that time, but never said it was "delivered of " Markle. Home in two hours, & the birthing story? It takes that long to prep a post birth 40yr. old mom & child for discharge & drive1.25 hours home. Sorry, no.

Hi Nonny,

There are so many dodgy details around both births, as you have said. I am hoping that one of the investigations that Lady C mentioned is about the surrogacies and that some announcement about them will be made soon. I believe there was something said or implied from the palace that the titles are not retroactive, so the children did not get them automatically when Charles became King. That may be why Meghan is fussing over this so much.

As far as I am concerned, if there is no medical team to sign off on the birth of a royal child then it should not be in the Line of Succession. I need proof that the child was born from the body of the wife at the time of the birth, not three or five years later. Sometimes I wish that the Royal Family never did away with the requirement that the birth of each child be witnessed by a number of politicians. However, it was removed, and now we have the modern version of the baby in the bedpan debacle that started the requirement in the first place.

That discharge and home in two hours is completely unbelievable, as is the water birth after an epidural and all the other details Harry and Meghan have provided about the births. They more they speak, the more obvious it becomes to me that Meghan has never given birth, had a miscarriage, or been pregnant.

[xtinyslip]

MATT WASN'T PROUD OF EVERYTHING HE HAD DONE TO GET SO MUCH AS HIS LITTLE TOE INTO MEDICAL SCHOOL. he wasn't even completely proud of what he had gotten out of it but a paramedic was as close as he could get to being a doctor with the money he'd been able to produce at the time. even with all the jobs he'd been working, all the dodgy jobs he'd pulled extra on the side -- there had been no way he was affording medical school long enough to become the doctor he'd always wanted to be. STILL, paramedic was a damn lot better than just falling into line like his big brother had and becoming a cop just because their father demanded them too. FINN PEDERSON WAS NOT GOOD FOR ANYONE. he certainly wasn't good for matt who had only just managed to get clean. the first of many times he'd fought his drug habit and won. he didn't want to go back but this guy? he was like a walking pharmacy and it's all matt could see when he looked at the other. he hated it. "the police are really deep up in my shit this time. it's been months and they've only just signed me back off so i can go back to work. WHATEVER IT IS YOU WANT? go knocking on someone else's door. come on pederson, you and i both know i've done enough man. i serously can't do anymore." @lcvenderhcze

[fruit-salad-ship]

I’ve been thinking bout arcane au and the way it’d pan out a bit more so bare with me I’m here for this one, it’s a little special interest area.

So peach was once a topsider like grey, she studied and grew up in Piltover, and became a successful doctor at a young age, destined to do a lot of good for people. She however was lacking is bed side manner, her people skills sucked, and while she could sew you up in a jiffy, and fix ailments with tonics and medicine, her ability to make people feel comfortable and cared for just fell short. To work around the issue she found a partner, someone who was more front of house, trained as a nurse, not a doctor. This friendly face made her small practice reputable, she found great success, built a reputation. Together they were on track to a bigger location, to help more people in need. Unfortunately her staff became complacent, and took a patient in to perform a standard procedure peach was known to successfully complete regularly. This was not her job, and she should have never done the job. The patient died and the blame fell to peach, her employee pinned it to her boss, and dodged taking the fall. Peach had her licence revoked and merits stripped, and her life fell apart, coming to be known as a failure in her field. Her life drifted to the lanes where they did not care about qualifications so much, if you could help people, that’s all that mattered. She was hired by another doctor who trained her in less practical methods, combining traditional practice with more…back alley.

There she stayed, getting caught up in the fear of the location, she didn’t belong, and people saw it. So she turned to shimmer, mild micro-doses, figured if anyone could control the symptoms it was her right? Wrong. She slipped into it, and realised her choices were being altered because of it. Her lack of control angered her, no more would she be the one being pushed around. She gave up the drugs, had the worst cold turkey she’s ever gone through, and probably ever would, and got far fitter to fill her time. The anger never left, and her time was spent fighting under bars for extra cash after her shift. As she grew in size less people messed with her, word spread that she was a doctor, and so she experienced less trouble for that too. The respect of the lanes found her, and her cold and sarcastic bedside manner fit the location perfectly. She still longs for the old days, to be above the smog and dirt, saving every penny she can for a ride out of the area. When hextech developed their speedy transportation gates, it felt even more achievable to leave one day.

Plum learns of peach’s desire to leave and doesn’t wish to lose the doctor in her pocket, mostly because she’s grown fond of her, but also because a medic is a rarity. She sabotages any steps peach makes to leaving by pulling strings and using her power. Eventually peach is in so deep with her evil deeds, getting caught up in bad situations and dodgy deals that she’s not able to leave. Peach is alerted by grey that plums been seen with some dealers, and so peach goes to her boss’ home and questions her. Plums strung out, looks like she’s had a rough night, and it’s unmistakably a come down, peach knows it first hand, and has seen many patients with the same symptoms. Calls plum out instantly, gets in her face and angry. She’s become fond of the lane royal, knows she’s bad news but it’s hard not to find her oddly compelling. Plum argues back, how could peach possibly know what it’s like? To be small, to feel weak? The more she shouts at the doctor, tries to rationalise her decisions to use shimmer, and eventually, after enough hostility, peach snaps, grabs her little companions arm and gets right in her face. Tells her the truth, that she was once smaller, and very hooked on the stuff. Their heart to heart is not believed, plums sceptical, and doesn’t believe it until peach shows her, the whole chunk of her hip and side scared and discoloured thanks to the drug. Proof. Plum shuts up and sits down. Peach ends the confrontation with an offer, come to her practice, get free of the junk. It’s not needed, she’s plenty strong without it.

Plum does, sheepishly turns up after a day, starts the process of pulling shimmers claws out of herself. It’s not fun, a messy, uncomfortable, awful process. But peach is there every step of the way, doesn’t leave her alone, no room to touch it again, not losing her to it.

Peach in this au is about 6 years older than the other two, and for that reason alone both grey and plum take to calling her Dr.Mommy, it started as a way to annoy her, but ended up being weirdly appropriate. Both parties have issues in that area, and look at her like an authority figure of sorts. They’ll get drunk and stand at street level howling up at peach’s apartment until she comes out onto the balcony, a woman who spends her free days in nothing but underwear and an open kimono. They demand drunkenly that she let them in, to which she throws shoes at them to try to get them to leave. As soon as she goes inside plum scales the side of the building, sneaks to let grey in, and they jump into Docs bed without hesitation to bother her.

This care costs extra.

[connectormedia]

Home Doctor

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Living a busy life often means neglecting our health until a minor ailment snowballs into something more serious. With packed schedules an...Draft 1

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