#medical prefixes

[er-cryptid]

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[komae]

Answer Key in comments

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

still think the coolest thing gallifrey does is the concepts that are like. medical thing + word thing. like elective semantectomy and abridgement syndrome. theres another one i think but i forgot. thats the absolute coolest thing. history = biology. they write themselves into it

[elliespectacular]

Do you still have that Jellicle name generator saved anywhere? Some friends and I used it for our OCs and it was an absolute blast!

The name I got was Callio the convivial cat, which is short for Calliope, who I played in Xanadu. She has a whole costume and everything now!

Even if you don't have it anymore, tysm for making it ;-;

Xanadu mention! Also I do still have it saved! This one is revised a little and I might make more changes later, but here it is in text form:

Jellicle Name Generator

This will give you a name that is relatively in-line with the naming conventions seen in Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot and later adapted into the musical Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber - and unlike those shitty "last name and your birth month" name generators, this one won't doxx you in the process.

Before we begin, a bit of terminology we'll be using: - Portmanteau: Turning multiple words into one word linked by a sound or letter. Compelling Television = Compellevision. Punk Squid = Squnk - Smoosh: Combine words by simply removing the space and (optionally) changing the word positions. Country Jester = countryjester - Prefix: Goes before the name, like Mr. or Captain - Suffix: Goes after the name, like Jr. or The Great - Cat-like term: Something associated with cats. Meow, Whisker, Bell, Claw, Scratch, etc.

FIRST: Roll a D20 to determine your base name

An uncommon person’s first name

First syllable of a common last name + a unit of measurement. Portmanteau 'em.

Short, dangerous noun + a non-dangerous profession. Smoosh 'em.

Two Latin words. Portmanteau 'em.

A simple present-tense verb + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Cat-like term + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Combine two short nouns, then add "-er" "-ie" or "-est" to the end.

Think of an actor you like. Shorten their first name to its shortest nickname.

A medical term spelled incorrectly.

A food you liked as a kid + a pretentious word. Smoosh 'em.

A figure of legend/myth. Remove one syllable and any spaces.

An older person's first name that isn't common today.

Last name of a historical figure + a silly word. Portmanteau 'em.

A kids' name with 2 or more syllables + that name again without the first syllable + an onomatopoeia. Portmanteau 'em if you can.

A silly word + the first name of a former coworker. Portmanteau 'em.

A kind of public event + a cat-like term. Smoosh 'em.

Something from ancient history. Shorten what you came up with into a single word.

Something you do when you're nervous. Take that verb and add "-er" to the end to make it a noun.

Silly word + hostile-sounding verb. Portmanteau 'em.

Two silly words with 2+ syllables each. Smoosh 'em.

SECOND: Roll another D20 for flavor

Before you roll, consider how your name sounds without any additional flavor. If it's fine on its own, feel free to leave it as-is. Otherwise, roll on!

Suffix - An upsettingly average last name

Suffix - Think of a hobby. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - A short adjective

Suffix - Think of an adjective. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Choose Mr. Mrs. Ms. Mx. or something similar

Suffix - Think of a color. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Any one-syllable word. Repeat the word a second time, adding or replacing the first consonant with that of your base name.

Suffix - Think of any non-proper noun. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Suffix - it's the word Cat

Suffix - it's the word Kitty

Suffix - it's the word Kitten

Prefix - Choose "Sir" "Madam" "Captain" or something similar

Prefix - Choose "Lord" "Lady" "Noble" or something similar

Prefix - His/Her/Their Majesty (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - His/Her/Their Grace (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - Mc

Prefix - Van

Prefix - Von

Prefix - De

Suffix - Any cat-like term

And you're done!*

*This is as much a creative exercise as it is a "generator" so feel free to mess with the formula and/or let your result inspire something more original. Add multiple layers of flavor if you want. The rules are not rigid. I recommend generating a few names and picking your favorite!

[luimnigh]

I was in the Hospital last night (not for me, and everything is fine for the person I was there for) and I noticed that the word they use in Irish for "Resuscitation" is "Athbheochan".

Which translates as "revival", so close enough on that front.

Though are other ways to read "athbheochan".

The most common use of athbheochan I saw in school was that it also means "Renaissance". You probably don't want to end up in the Renaissance unit of a hospital, that sounds like a Horrible Histories sketch.

But breaking it down into it's constituent pieces has some other fun ways to read it.

"Ath-" is a fairly flexible prefix in Irish. It can mean "Re-", second, old, rejected, "ex-", returned, later and after.

"Bheo" comes from the verb "bheoigh", and means "alive". But also mean "live" as in broadcasting, "freshen" or "liven", and also "animate" both in making something move and in the cartoon sense.

And "-chan" is a suffix that nouns verbs.

So while none of these are official translations, you could read the "Athbheochan" Unit as the "refresh" unit (a Powder Room), the "rerun" unit (the BBC iPlayer, or the channel Dave), the "ex-alive" unit (a morgue), the "later-alive" unit (which presumably gives medical assistance to time travellers), the "afterlife" unit (which clearly specialises in Ghost Medicine).

But given that "beochan" does officially translate as "animation", "athbheochan" would literally mean "reanimation".

Must be where the necromancers work.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

2 and 4!

If you were to write a book (or make other media!) involving disability, what kind of book would you write?

Is there any popular disability theory that you disagree with?

2. book (etc) on disability

ooooo!!!!! feel like much would be like tumblr posts tagged as loaf screm. but more polished! with personal anecdotes but not autobiography - life too weird n not ready tell it all n be scrutinized. would have more societal analysis (like loaf screm tumblr posts) than only memoir about self, but would have live experience weave in narrative so much that not just world analysis.

want talk about much of same thing as tumblr: existing as nonverbal full time AAC n wheelchair user, I/DD, n regression. what it like not be able mouth speak, what it like not be able communicate via language irl majority of time. what it like losing your abilities n feel like stuck in limbo of not belong anywhere bc you not born this way but also you not stay way you born. the exclusion by so many people even people of own community. the disavow n throw under bus n punch down of disability community. how there more than one disability community. how privilege play into disability. so many things.

it something really! really want do!!! fantasized many many times!!! it unrealistic in moment but! maybe some day!!!! shove down people throat force world hear me >:)

.

3. disability theory disagree with

this mix of theory itself n how people talk about n use it… but social model.

many people say social model say you only disabled bc society n… that not exactly right. because social model define word bit differently n separate effects of society on you n call that disability, from effects of own body on you n call that impairment. so can’t summarize it as “only disabled by society” when by disability you use common definition of experience in world AND in own body.

but in mean time. my experience of society & my experience of own body mind, not separable. nor want separate them n only call one part disability. because if look at etomology look at prefix look at construction look at dis+ability, my body mind dis my ability too.

n disagree with people who only know of medical n social model n so call social model perfect thing in world n try apply it for everything everyone n call medical model useless n oppressive for all n shouldn’t be used for all.

biopsychosocial model my beloved. but also there so many more disability models beyond these 3! n people experience so wide, no one model going be accurate for everyone in all situations!

n also giving social model a L for phrase itself so terribly.

another thing is disability studies n thus disability theory, suffer from much same problem as talk about on tumblr of social media community. it an echo chamber it elitist. it make you think you write another complicated incomprehensible theory article that keep repeat yourself in most un-plain language ever is you be hyper aware of societal power n solving it.

scholarship n theory have its uses n learn lots from it n use many ideas learn from it in own advocacy here (even if it just 1% n force to throwing away 99% that didn’t understand), but need stop treating like it will single-handedly save world n it itself so woke it so free of problems, that it n authors isolated from societal power dynamics. n other jargon used. especially if those theory stay at theory n not get read n used in practice down on ground by people who do direct work. which, honestly, sound like some of you (academics) aren’t exactly try make this happen you trying keep it locked gatekept bc you keep write incomprehensible things

ask game

[kindred-spirit-93]

i swear i was studying

i find it hilarious that 'ody' is a part of the prefix for pain (odyno). polites being the medic was the one to break the news.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Ao3 | 3.6k Words | Freelancer's POV

Gabriel Shaw raised his son in this fire house, in this office as Captain. And Asher’s dad was his lieutenant. And Milo’s dad was the beat cop who would divert his route to clear a scene when he heard the 10-19 was on a call. The house was fill of lineage, full of families of firefighters and their sons.

It was a lineage that you weren’t a part of.

_

Firefighter/EMT au. Darlin is still the black sheep. Quinn is still a problem. Sam is still a healer, of sorts. He still heals them, in a way.

TW: blood and injury, medical talk, burn out, passing out from exhaustion, generally dissatisfaction when receiving medical care, refusal of medical care

It was the winter after you flunked out of medical school and you were buttoning up the starched, navy EMT uniform shirt that you’d received a few hours before. Gavin thought that this was a good idea when you’d pitched it, but not for the reasons you’d brought up. You originally wanted to be an EMT as an appeal to your mother, who had, upon your withdrawal from school, languished that her youngest was as much of a disappointment as their older siblings. 

Your sister was a school teacher. Your brother was an artist. By ‘disappointment ,’ Mom meant ‘ not a doctor or lawyer .’

But you couldn’t stay in med school. You tried, you did. You took yourself as far as you could go. You pushed, pushed, tried so fucking hard. You didn’t sleep, skipped meals and social hour and ignored your phone when your friends called. And you were perfect. Straight A’s right up until the end. 

And then Damien found you on the floor of your kitchen at the end of finals week. You’d burned as long and as bright as you could, but by the end, all you were was burnt out. 

Your boys dragged you kicking and screaming to unenrollment. 

Two months later, Gavin insisted that you do something. Not for the money, that wasn’t an issue. What he’d already earned off of his OnlyFans could carry you two for the rest of your lives, let alone what he was yet to make. When you two got serious, Gavin made it clear that you didn’t have to work, that you could leave school and chase a passion, chase a dream. But all you had was medical textbooks and the hazy vision of being a surgeon of some type some day. You wanted to put that prefix in front of your name, hang up your diploma in the living room so everybody could see it. 

You didn’t know if you loved medicine. You thought that you probably just loved a job well done. 

Your hair was a mess. You smoothed it down in the little mirror affixed to the door of your locker. You caught sight of your surname embroidered in gold on the breast of your uniform shirt. Sam had gotten it done the day after your interview. Vincent said that he’d never seen Sam be so sure of something so fast. 

It was no use staring at your reflection. You’d always find something to tweak if you squinted hard enough. You shut your locker and made your way out of the bunk room. 

Station 10-19 was nice, very nice. A huge locker room, individual shower stalls, full sized beds with pressed white sheets. The kitchen had two ovens, a huge fridge, and the biggest pantry you’d ever seen. The firehouses you’d visited while getting certified were much smaller, much less impressive. All of this must have cost a fortune. 

“Shaw’s a master of budget balancing,” Vincent had told you that afternoon during your tour. “I swear, the dude spends hours sitting in his office crunching numbers. It’s honestly a little worrying.” 

You’d met David Shaw in your interview, but Sam Collins was your direct report. Shaw was a big dude, but after meeting a few of the other firefighters, you just started considering yourself scrawny. The whole firehouse was full of mutant giants.

Everybody was nice, but Vincent acted like he’d just gained a new best friend when he’d introduced himself that afternoon. He was a tall, slender man with bright gray eyes and a sharp smile. You recognized his last name, Solaire. His dad was the chief of surgery at Daliah General, the only level one trauma center in the area. It was your top pick for your residency. 

Solaire wasn’t a common name, but if Vincent was the son of a two time Harper-Avery winner, he didn’t show it. He moved with a cool confidence, and seemed to have that same confidence in you. He spoke to you like you knew what you were doing. Which, to be fair, you did. You just weren’t used to people treating you like it. 

“Don’t let Sam’s grumpy attitude fool you,” Vincent grinned as he led you towards the ambulance. “He’s a softy. A bit rough around the edges, but soft for sure.” 

You couldn’t imagine Sam Collins being soft, but you smiled and nodded anyway. Vincent showed you where everything was on the bus, and then reiterated the few things that you would likely actually use. The compression machine, the heart monitor, the AMBU bag. 

When the first code blared in your ears just as Vincent finished shoving everything back into their assigned cubbies. He grinned and patted you on the back, jumping up to the front and hopping on the radio as he revved the bus’s engine. 

Sam made his appearance a few seconds later, hopping into the bus and pointing you towards one of the two passenger seats in the back, strapping himself in. He nodded for you to do the same. 

It was quiet for a long time. Vincent called a few things into the radio before shouting back to Sam. 

“Single vic, third story apartment. Not sure the extent of the injuries. Landlord just found a blood trail.” 

“Let’s prep for a GSW and a laceration.” Sam replied. He grabbed for a few things within reach and threw them into his jump bag. “BleedStop’s over your head, Probie, grab me a few.” He held out his hand. It took you a second to realize he was talking to you. You jerked and reached up blindly, coming back with a few red and white packages. 

“Are these standard issue?” You asked softly, flipping one over in your hand. You heard Vincent laughing from up front. Sam grinned. 

“You were in medical school?” Sam asked after a few minutes. You nodded. “Internal medicine, peds…”

“Surgical.” You answered his unasked question. You ducked your head, looked away. Sam was quiet for a long moment. “I was four years into my residency when I called it quits.” He said. When you looked up, he was focused on the computer output, a pinch in his brow. You didn’t dare ask a question, break his concentration, but something in your chest eased. 

After roughly three minutes of sirens wailing and lights flashing, Vincent pulled up outside of a dilapidated, five story apartment building. This was the sort of street that you would refuse to let Gavin walk down alone, the sort of area you wanted Huxley next to you in. You shivered and kept close to Vincent as he loaded a jump bag on each of your shoulders. 

“It’ll be bloody.” Sam cracked his neck in anticipation. “Just keep your cool. You don’t gotta do much this time around, Probie. Watch the two of us closely and try to keep up.” You nodded sharply and followed him into the building. 

The landlord was waiting for you in the lobby (if this could be called a lobby). He was a short, round man with more bald spot than hair. He was tapping something out on his phone, the font blown up to such a big size you could read his message from this distance. You politely avoided looking at it, instead planting your gaze between his bushy eyebrows and trying to carry an air of confidence about you. 

“Finally,” he huffed, attaching his phone to the little plastic holster on his belt, “took you guys long enough. It’s upstairs, third floor.” He slammed a set of keys into Sam’s hand and turned on his heel, retreating through an office door. You heard the lock slide in place before any of you could say anything. 

“We’ve got the fastest response times in Dahlia.” Sam shouted after him, his face twisted up with annoyance. “Come on,” he turned towards the elevator and took a deep, calming breath. His rugged features somehow looked more handsome when pinched with frustration. The line between his eyebrows was present even as his face relaxed. 

The elevator doors opened to a pool of drying, congealing blood. Vincent whistled, shaking his head. 

“Dude,” he had the nerve to laugh, “these people really don’t like being alive. Whoever this is should have gone straight to the hospital.” The three of you piled in, stepping carefully around the blood. It resulted in you being awkwardly pressed against three separate walls. Vincent stretched to press the button for the third floor. 

“Look at where we are.” You waved your hand around the concerningly rickety elevator. “If they can only afford to live here, I’d bet they don’t have health insurance either.” 

Vincent’s face slackened in confusion, as though that thought had never occurred to him. 

“Dahlia Gen has a free clinic for that very reason.” Sam said. The elevator groaned and he caught the handrail nervously.

The blood trail continued when the doors opened, leading you straight to the vic’s apartment. The door was painted a sloppy brown color, the latest in a long line of landlord-specials. It was peeling around the corners, revealing white, beige, yellow, green…

Sam inspected the door for a few seconds before leaning into his radio. 

“Engine Two to Dispatch, confirm no PD?” He kept his voice low. His radio crackled as a voice called back. 

“Confirmed, Engine Two.” Dispatch replied. “Paramedics were the only ones called to the scene.” Sam sighed softly and scratched his head. 

“Cap?” Vincent asked. 

“Proceed with caution.” Sam replied. “You two stay behind me. We don’t make any moves until we see what we’re dealing with.” 

Sam stepped up to the door and knocked hard, three times, with the side of his fist. “DFD,” he shouted, “Paramedics, open up!”

There was no reply. 

“Hello!” Sam called again. “Paramedics!” 

Something shifted behind the door. You heard a curse, a stumble. Sam backed up and herded you and Vincent away from the door. 

It swung open wide. The apartment inside was dark and barren, like somebody had just moved in. A slumped figure was leaning against the doorway. You could see where the bloodtrail was coming from. Their hand was pressed firmly against their side. The steady drip of their blood against the floor made your stomach turn.

Were you really ready for this? Maybe medical school wasn’t so bad. 

“What?” They growled. Their shoulders were tensed and drawn up to their ears. 

“Jesus.” Sam breathed. He was stunned into silence for a moment, but only a moment. He jerked and then moved slow, indicating his movements boldly, so as not to surprise them. 

Even hunched over and bleeding, they cut an intimidating figure. Clad in a pair of ratty sweatpants and a muscle tee, you could see every inch of lean muscle and scar tissue that made them up. They were as tall as most of the firefighters in the 10-19. You thought they’d fit right in against Lieutenant Talbot’s frame, that they could hold their own in a fist fight against Captain Shaw. 

“You can leave.” They spat, their teeth lined with blood. They had something wild in their eyes, and you were concerned for a moment that they would lash out at Sam to get him away. He held strong, though, didn’t back down or look away. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re bleeding.” He pointed to their hand and cocked his head to the side. 

“This is private property.” They gritted out, close to a growl. 

“Private property owned by your landlord.” Sam nodded. “Who called us. You gonna bleed out on your feet or are you gonna let us in?” He put a hand out to steady them as they listed to the side. They jerked away from him. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” They snapped, curling in on themself. 

“Well, excuse me for trying to help you!” He held his hands up in surrender, telegraphing his movements even as he griped. “Keep barkin’ at me like that and I’ll let you bleed out.” 

“Yeah well, my bite’s much worse.” They managed. They had gone a bit green and, when Sam reached for them again, they didn’t protest. 

“Well, ain’t you just darlin’.” Sam drawled. His face had gone serious, his focus pulled to the blood dripping down their side and the leg of their pants. “Come on, let’s get you sat down before you fall out.” 

Sam started steering them towards the patch-covered couch that sat in the center of the room. The apartment was a studio, although even that felt like a generous description. It was, really, a dingy, gray box. A sink sat dry in one corner next to a mini fridge and a poor excuse for a counter space. There was no bed, just the dirty, brown couch that looked as though it had been pulled from off the curb. A large section of the lumpy middle cushion was darkened with blood. There was one window that you didn’t think even you could fit out of, let alone your hulking patient. A shadeless lamp sat on the floor in the corner opposite the sink, casting the room in stark, dramatic shadow. 

Sam deposited your patient on the couch, where they collapsed in a heap of muscle and blood. He snapped on a pair of white gloves and held a hand out to Vincent, who snagged a jump bag from your shoulder and supplied him with the gauze he was apparently reaching for. It would be difficult, you thought, to keep up with them at first. These two seemed to be so familiar, so connected that they didn’t have to talk to know what the other needed. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Sam asked, raising his voice to try and cut through the buzz that blood loss left in the ear. “And where you are?” 

“I’m fine,” your patient groaned, shoving at Sam as they tried to sit up again. 

“Hold still .” Sam used his forearms to press them back into their couch without contaminating his gloves. “You’re gonna tear your stomach right open if you don’t ease back.”

“You need to work on your bedside manner, Doctor.” The patient grinned. Their face had gone sheet white. 

“Well, good thing I’m not a doctor, Darlin’.” He replied. Actually, you thought, he was. If he had been in his residency, he would’ve had to have a medical degree. He was a doctor, license or not. 

You reached for the BleedStop you’d stashed in the bus just as Sam’s hand swung back again. When you clapped the pack down in his palm, he turned, surprised. Vincent bumped your shoulder with his, smiling broadly.

“This is gonna sting.” Sam informed them before dumping the BleedStop over the wound and packing it with gauze. They shouted, short and hard, as they clamped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder. Vincent jerked as though to pull them off, but Sam shook his head sharply. Vincent backed off. “Saline,” He said, holding his hand back to you. You dug through your bag quickly before finding a pint of it. Vincent supplied a large syringe. 

Watching Sam work on a patient was like watching an artist paint. He had an intense air of focus about him, and his whole face lit up when he bent over the wound. He watched with rapt attention as the bleeding slowed and clotted. After a few minutes, he pulled a syringe full of saline from the bag and rinsed out the BleedStop. 

It was a stab wound, surrounded by ugly, red and purple bruising. It looked as though someone had punched the blade into them. 

“Can I lift this up?” Sam asked, indicating their shredded and blood-blackened shirt. They nodded sharply once. You watched as their steely face crumbled a bit as Sam touched them. Their bottom lip trembled. “Hey,” Sam said softly, freezing until they met his eye, “it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He said it like it was true, like there was no doubt about it. 

In the end, despite the stab wound and the slash on their thigh and the obviously broken ribs and their split lip and their bloodied knuckles, they refused to go to the hospital. Sam spent fifteen odd minutes arguing with them. Honest-to-God arguing, shouting, cursing, lecturing. You thought that was probably against protocol, but he was��right, so you weren’t going to snitch to Captain Shaw about it. The stab wound was concerning enough. The broken ribs were dangerous. One bone fragment, one twist of the skin to make it a compound fracture, one stutter of their lungs in just the wrong way. It could all prove deadly. They let Sam use suture glue on the stab wound and the cut, let him dab anesthetic against their knuckles, let him press a cold compact into their ribs. They didn’t let anybody else touch them. 

“There is a free clinic at Dahlia Gen.” Sam reiterated one last time as they hurried you out of the door. “If you start bleeding or have trouble breathing,” he patted around his uniform until he supplied a scrap of paper and pen from his breast pocket. He scrawled out a phone number and handed it over. Their fingers spread red across the crumpled, white paper. “Please call me.” 

The door shut hard in your faces. 

You made your way back through the blood stained halls. Sam turned the keys in to the landlord. You walked out into the crisp, winter air. 

“Are they all like that?” You asked as you took several deep breaths, free from the iron tang of blood that had permeated their apartment. 

“No.” Sam shook his head sharply. 

“It’s mostly drunk people.” Vincent assured you. 

“And kitchen knife incidents.” Sam chimed in. 

“And cardiac events.” Vincent nodded, hopping into the driver’s seat. You settled into the back of the ambulance with Sam and studied your hands. There was blood on the cuff of your uniform. Sam huffed and reached under his seat, pulling out a fresh uniform shirt. 

“Here, Probie.” He said. 

“Does it get easier?” You asked all of a sudden as you took the shirt from him. Sam smiled. 

“The blood?” He asked. “Yeah. Yeah, the blood gets easier. But not much else.” 

The two of them were right. Somewhere along your drive back to the 10-19, you got a call for a possible cardiac event that turned out to be an anxiety attack. You held the hyperventilating kid’s hand, walked them through breathing exercises you’d learned for Lasko while Sam assured their mom it was nothing to worry about. Straight from there, you got a call for an older woman, Mrs. Henrick, who claimed she fell and broke her hip. She was apparently a widow and a frequent caller. She just wanted Sam to put her kettle on and to ogle at Vincent for a while. He was impressively obliging, and matched her flirting one for one. It was a few more hours of just that; bouncing from call to call, emergency to emergency, but nothing quite like that first one. 

It was nearing dawn by the time Engine Two was finally cleared to return to the 10-19. You were just this side of exhausted, the adrenaline that kept you pushing through the night long worn off. Vincent walked you through the breakdown of the bus. Checking off the medical supplies one by one on your little inventory sheet was almost meditative. It lulled you towards the rest you knew was coming. You were on call for the next twelve hours, and then you’d be off for another twelve. You longed for that plush bunk room and the reprieve a few hours of rest would give you. 

Captain Shaw was in the kitchen when you and Vincent clambered in. He had looked so severe when you met him in your interview, clad in the navy button down of his daily uniform. He must have been getting on duty, because now he was wearing a tight, heather gray t-shirt with the Dahlia Fire Department logo emblazoned across his back. The shirt was stretched across his chest and arms, giving you a full view of his musculature. Sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting his dark features in warm, welcoming light. He was handsome. You couldn’t wait until you had an excuse to introduce him to Gavin. He’d have a field day with a man like David Shaw. 

“There can’t be that much blood in the human body,” he rumbled into his coffee cup. Sam laughed from his spot across the large, family style dining table that filled up most of the floor space in the room. There were pans out near the six burner stove; sausage, bacon, some weird looking strips of what must have been a vegetarian substitute. There was a plate stacked with pancakes, another stacked with waffles, and a bowl filled with sliced fruit. Two cartons of eggs were waiting, untouched, next to the stove. 

“You would be surprised how much a person can bleed and keep going if they have the will power.” Sam shrugged. He was flipping through a pile of paperwork, probably the releases from their calls tonight.

“Captain Shaw cooks every morning.” Vincent indicated towards the feast on the kitchen counter. “You should eat. Once morning shift gets in, it’ll be gone.” 

“And they refused transport to the hospital?” Shaw scoffed. 

“Yup.” Sam popped the ‘p’ in his mouth, shaking his head. He handed over a file from the top of his pile to Shaw, who flipped through their release form with only a bit of interest. 

His dark eyes flicked over the page once, and then widened. He sat up straighter, bending to get a better look at it. His eyes landed on the bottom of it, where your patient had printed their name next to their sloppy signature. 

Shaw’s coffee cup shattered in his hand, sending shards of ceramics and hot coffee all over him, the table, and the offending report.

[wordsmithic]

▣ ━ 10 Visceral Greek Words ━ ▣

Please note that the full and/or root words mentioned here, like most Greek words, are still in use since antiquity. As a Greek speaker, I love sharing my interesting language with people like you!

1. σπαράζω (sparázo, v)

To tear apart with nails and teeth, to tear to pieces, to rend, to lacerate. Metaphorically: to grieve deeply, to convulse, to break (to be crushed, or overwhelmed with sorrow or grief)

2. ανατριχιαστικός (anatrihiastikós, adj)

Hair-rising. Metaph: Creepy, spine-chilling. Implies hair standing up due to fear or thrill. (only used metaphorically)

From ἀνά (up) + τρίχα (hair)

3. αποστήθιση (apostíthisi, n)

Taking something from the chest. Metaph. Memorization by heart. Committing something "from the chest," symbolizing internalization. (only used metaphorically)

From από (from) + στήθος (chest)

4. μαίνομαι (ménome, v, intransitive/self-contained form)

To be mad, angry, to rage, raving, out of one's mind. Comes from μάω (to have intense desire)

μνάω- μαν- roots are connected to actions of the mind (learning, μανθάνω, remember – μνέω, μνημονεύω, foresight, guessing – μαντεύω, mania/losing control - μανία). You probably know Dionysus’ maenads (μαινάδες). Their name loosely translates to “they who are overwhelmed by intense desire”. Even μούσα (muse) is speculated to come from this linguistic root.

Greek phrase example: Η καταιγίδα μαίνεται = The storm is raging

5. αδηφάγος (adifágos, adj, - “d” as “th” in “the”)

Voracious

From ἅδην (a lot, quite, to the point of satiation) + φαγεῖν (eating)

6. ξεκαρδιστικός (ksekardistikos, adj, “d” as “th” in “the”)

Heartwrencher. Metaphorically: Hilarious (only used metaphorically) It comes from the sensation of laughing so hard it feels like your heart is coming out.

From ξε- (prefix meaning "out") + καρδία (heart).

7. αχώνευτος (ahóneftos, adj)

Indigestible. Metaphorically: Unacceptable or unbearable (mainly used metaphorically). Refers to difficulty in mentally or emotionally processing something.

From α- (not) + χωνεύω (to digest, assimilate)

8. κοψοχολιάζω (kopsoholjázo, v)

I sever someone’s bile. Often used metaphorically to represent intense fear or emotional distress, and fright that causes a visceral reaction.

From κόβω (to cut, to sever) + χολή (bile)

9. μελαγχολία (melanholía, n)

(Condition of) Black bile. In ancient medical theory, it described a condition caused by an excess of black bile, thought to result in a gloomy or depressive mood. Today is used to describe a contemplative or poetic state of emotional reflection tinged with sadness.

From μέλας (black, dark) + χολή (bile, gall)

10. καθηλωτικός (kathilotikós, adj)

Nailing down, pinning. Metaph.: Gripping, captivating. Also used in the context of nailing Christ to the cross (καθήλωσις).

From κατά- (against) + ἧλος (nail)

▣ ━ My masterpost with similar posts on Greek Language ━ ▣

[gay-otlc]

"Trans people can be heterosexual, but they can't be straight" is a stupid fucking take because not only does it misgender transhets, it's also just not the way language works.

The argument tends to be that "straight" refers to having a "normative" or "socially acceptable" sexuality, which heterosexuality tends to be seen as, but isn't in the case of transhet people.

It's true that "straight" has historically been used that way. For example, Transgender Warriors (1996) includes the line "The trans population is a reminder that not everyone who is heterosexual is straight!" (page 92). At this point, straight had a meaning that was distinct from heterosexual, with straight meaning "not queer" and heterosexual meaning "attracted to the opposite gender."

However, straight (in reference to sexuality) and heterosexual have both had a lot of different meanings over time, and it's pretty stupid to pick one at random and go yes, this is the true correct meaning.

The terms "heterosexual" and "homosexual" appear in a letter by Karl Maria Kertbeny in 1869. Homosexual refers to erotic acts between two men or two women, and heterosexual refers to erotic acts between women and men. But Kertbeny still considered heterosexuals to be degenerates, as they engaged in nonprocreative sexual acts. (The Invention of Heterosexuality, pg. 33)

In 1892, Dr. James G. Kiernan used the word "heterosexual" in a Chicago medical journal. In this case, heterosexual referred to people who felt "inclination to both sexes." The hetero- prefix didn't refer to being attracted to a different gender than one's own, but to being attracted to two different genders. (The Invention of Heterosexuality, pg. 21)

Then, in 1893, Richard von Krafft-Ebing published Psychopathia Sexualis, where he used the term "hetero-sexual" to refer to sexual desire or "sexual love" between men and women, and is used to mean a "normal" sexuality. (The Invention of Heterosexuality, pg. 22)

In 1901, a medical dictionary defined "heterosexuality" as "Abnormal or perverted appetite toward the opposite sex." (The American illustrated medical dictionary, pg. 300)

In 1923, Merriam Webster defined "heterosexuality" as "morbid sexual passion for one of the opposite sex." Then, in 1934, the definition was changed to "manifestation of sexual passion for one of the opposite sex." (Merriam Webster's New International Dictionary, pg. xcii; Webster's New International Dictionary Second Edition, pg. xcvi

For much of the early history of the term "heterosexual," it was used interchangeably with the term "normal-sexual." (Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexuality, pg. 14)

The use of "straight" in reference to sexual orientation was defined in the 1941 book Sex Variants "To go ‘straight’ is to cease homosexual practices and to indulge--usually to re-indulge--in heterosexuality." It didn't refer to people whose innate sexual orientation was to be attracted to a different gender than their own, it referred to "ex-gays," or gay people who had recloseted themselves. (Origin of Everything, around 2:56)

From there, "straight" evolved to mean non-queer (as we saw in the Transgender Warriors quote), and now it's pretty much synonymous with heterosexual, being attracted to a different gender/the other binary gender from your own.*

*this isn't a perfect definition ofc because no sexuality can be defined perfectly, but it's better than "opposite gender"

So, over time, straight has meant "ex-gay," recloseted gay, non-queer, and heterosexual (as we know it today), and heterosexual has meant degenerate attraction between women and men, bisexuality as we know it today, abnormal/perverted attraction to the opposite sex, normal sexuality, and finally, attraction to a different gender/other binary gender.

And with all those meanings, it's kind of ridiculous to insist transhets are heterosexual but not straight based on just one of the many ways each word has been used. I could just as easily say that transhets who identified as gay before transitioning are straight because straight has been used to mean "ex-gay," and cishets who have never identified as gay aren't straight. Or that cis people attracted exclusively to the opposite binary gender aren't heterosexual, because heterosexual has been used to mean attraction to two different genders.

All that aside, both "heterosexual" and "straight" came into use with cis as the assumed default, without making the distinction between gender identity and sexual orientation that we have today. Transhets have no obligation to adhere to the definitions of either of those terms that operate under the assumption that everyone is cis.

And again- saying that transhets aren't straight is misgendering us. That should be the only thing that matters, but since clearly it doesn't, maybe it'll matter that enforcing "normative (cis) sexuality" as a universal definition for straight is bullshit.

[eerieeccentricities]

Your Love is a Vice Grip

Il Dottore X fem!Reader

(A/N: This is a fic I've been playing around with for about 6+ months. Definitely needs a lot of edits and work done to it, but I just want it posted somewhere I suppose. Haha!)

(tw: Blood, Injury, bad workplace environment, foul language, confrontation, slight physical aggression, 18+ ONLY!!!)

DO NOT REPOST!!!!

Summary: Just another cog in the machine. That was all she expected to be. That was all she wanted to be. Anything more than that and her life would be on the line, more so than it currently was anyway. Being a part of an organization such as the Fatui always carried risks, but the pay was good, and the only thing she had to worry about was the eccentric Doctor’s occasional outbursts. Keep her head low and don’t get in the way of the 2nd Harbinger, easy enough, right? She thought so….until she found herself on the bleeding end of one of those outbursts. Suddenly, she can't seem to shake him, and she begins to wonder if it is what lies on the inside of these reinforced walls she should fear instead.

Medical Terminology: Prefix - Hema - Blood

‘Shit…’

She was bleeding. Quite profusely, at that. She watched only momentarily as the carmine liquid dripped down her gloved hand, which was now shredded beyond use, and onto the pristine white tiles below, reflecting on what had just transpired. 

It was her damn reflexes essentially, a grab at something that was thrown in her general direction, a moment of instinct before thought. It was laughable, considering thought was supposed to conquer all in a place such as this. To be a researcher, a scientist, who could still not overcome something The Doctor would surely see as ‘primitive’ was an unspoken folly amongst those here.

She squinted, now noticing it wasn’t just her blood that was dripping to the floor. Whatever it was she was attempting to catch was filled with something of an azure blue color, and that something was mixing with her blood and seeping into the open wounds. While it didn’t burn, it did leave a numbing coolness wherever it trailed, and any chemical reaction on human skin was always a cause for concern.

Regardless of her instinctual stumble, she needed to follow procedure and take the correct precautions now. Thick soles crunching the forgotten glass below, she hurried to the wash stations, arm held out to avoid getting the unknown substance on her person any more than it already was.

Ideally, a quick scrub in the sink would work, she’d rather avoid the emergency showers if at all possible. Although it did technically have a curtain, the thing was flimsy at best, and she would rather avoid stripping in front of her colleagues with only a plastic drape no thicker than a sheet of paper between them. 

Especially now of all times, when The Doctor, the Prime himself as indicated by his signature mask, decided to grace them with his ever-fleeting presence. While this was the primary laboratory it was still a rarity to see him, and not one of his segments, overseeing the ongoing operations here. 

 Each lab was dedicated to a specific area of research, the main branch, this branch, focusing on Cybernetics and Biological Enhancements. Also known as the birthplace of many, if not all, of the segments currently wandering all corners of Teyvat. Seeing Ruin Guard parts and other machinery scattered amongst that of biological specimens was the norm, ideas and experiments of them all working in tandem was the goal. 

It was a productive and, dare she say, quiet atmosphere to work in. Especially for those who worked on the machinery portion of the lab, like herself. 

Well, it was usually anyway. The presence of the Harbinger could only mean one of two things, there was a meeting that called for the Harbinger’s presence, or there was an experiment that garnered his attention and required their subject specialties.

She deeply hoped it was the former, as the latter would mean a much longer stay, overseeing and criticizing anything he deemed incorrect or foolish had a chance of ending in outbursts consisting of thrown objects and verbal lashings.

 Like today, the fading memory of his livid voice to a colleague close to her own station easily told her that something didn’t go as planned. That something failed. Failure wasn’t something he took lightly, and this failure ended in her being an indirect victim of his, dare she say, tantrum. 

 Rumors came to mind of those he deemed stupid being turned into test subjects themselves, thoughts of him ‘finding some use out of their miserable existence’ didn’t easily leave the brain. In fact, it clung to it, a reminder to not fuck up lest one could find themselves strapped to the surgical table at a moment's notice.

 A part of her wondered if she might see this rumor come to fruition with her own eyes soon, to walk in tomorrow morning with the vaguely familiar body of her coworker stripped of name and so kindly gifted a subject number. 

Even if that were so, it still wouldn’t matter, not in the long run anyway. They would soon be replaced and work would continue as normal, as it always did. Just another broken cog replaced.

Approaching the wash station, the tattered glove was quickly stripped and tossed into the closest biohazard waste bin, the other staying on as it wasn’t damaged and could still provide ample protection from the painful scrubbing she would have to endure on the other. 

Her eyebrows twitched for just a moment before relaxing once again, the stinging pain was starting to set in now, but she couldn’t bring any more attention to herself than she knew she already had. Even the slightest hint of weakness could be one's downfall in a place like this. Between the competitive nature that festered in the labs and The Doctor himself, any sign of weakness was not unlike that of prey being fed to a pack of starving wolves.

Preoccupied with getting the faucet on and preparing the correct cleanser, she failed to notice the ‘tink’ing of metal on the tile quickly approaching, following the mixed blood trail she inevitably left in her rush.

It wasn’t until a vaguely familiar gloved hand grabbed her wrist, pulling it back with such force she feared for a moment her shoulder may have been pulled from its socket, that she even noticed a presence even close to her. Looking back to the cause soon made her blood run cold, the mask of The Doctor leaning in, lips twisted in a snarl. 

“What was that?” His hand tightened into a bruising grip around her wrist, the odd mixture of red and blue staining his own bicolored gloves as he relentlessly squeezed. The gruffness of his angered voice with the gritting of his pointed teeth ever threatening, a reminder as to why she was one of the few who preferred to stay under the radar. While raising in the lab ranks came with its perks, mainly a huge pay increase, it also came with downsides. The wrath of The Doctor being the biggest.

“I…” She started, mentally kicking herself when her hesitation was noticed, as evidenced by his low growl. “ I apologize, sir.” She made sure to say it clearly, making it a point not to falter this time. “I was following lab procedure.”

“Do you take me for a fool? Or are you that dense? You know that’s not wh-!”

A reverberating slam of metal on concrete echoed through the large lab, the light from the hallway invading the natural darkness of the area. The intrusion silenced even The Doctor from his tirade, though the clenching of his teeth indicated the interruption made his mood drop even lower. 

In the middle of the large double doorway stood The Knave, her monochrome coloring stood out like a ghost, her red ‘X’d eyes landing on The Doctor before her face twisted into a sneer.

“What is it?” The Doctor called over his shoulder, annoyance dripping like venom from his voice alone. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“The meeting has been called to order,” She stated, brows furrowed. “Yet you are still here dilly-dallying like a child refusing to leave the playground. ”

“Her Majesty-” He started before being abruptly cut off by the 4th-ranked Harbinger.

“-will not tolerate another absence, Doctor.” Then she was gone as quickly as she arrived, the clinking of her dangerously pointed heels down the hallway the only indication that the Harbinger was even there to begin with.  

“Tsk.” He threw her wrist down as if even touching her was a taint to his person. Shifting his heels, he turned to the door before glancing back over his shoulder. “I’ll deal with you later. Both of you.” He finished before he, too, disappeared down the hallway.

[er-cryptid]

Pulmonology Combining Forms

Patreon

[komae]

Answer Key in comments

[rory-multifandom-mess]

Idea; Thad and the MD Gang as Cybertronians during the Golden Age, pre-civil war

This is a really good idea but i’m really bad at coming up with Cybertronian names.

I can see Lizzy’s name being something along the lines of Glamour. Her alt mode would be something sleek and something other bots would consider sexy. I can imagine her being something of a celebrity like IDW Blurr, but like… She’d be a cybertronian model with body guards and everything, especially as the Decepticons become more and more of a threat as they edge toward the civil war.

THIS ENDED UP REALLY LONG BECAUSE OF BRAINSTORMING. More under the cut including lore that I thought of on the spot !!!

Thad would also be something of a celebrity for not only good looks but also sports, like maybe he’s one of the best Cube players (that sport Hot Shot was obsessed with in Rescue Bots Academy.) His alt mode would be some sleek sports car. His agent(s) (and Lizzy/Glamour) would try to tell hm to get bodyguards once the Decepticon threat starts to get bigger, but he’d deny it. One traumatic experience later… Anyway. Maybe his name would originally be Glitz since him and Lizzy/Glamour are twins, but then he’d later change it to like… Starblitz popped into my head. Or like, Shootingstar... Nah, Iike Starblitz more.

Uzi… hmm. She’d either be a mnemosurgeon like Chromedome (memory surgeon, basically), or a Metallurgist like Swerve was. NO NO WAIT. She’s a weapons expert, like Brainstorm, with a passing interest in other sciences like Mnemosurgery, Metallurgy, mechanics, and engineering. And maybe some medical stuff because she likes knowing how cybertronians tick. So she dabbles in a lot of stuff and is a little unhinged. I imagine before the war breaks out she was mostly looking into mechanics, but when the Decepticon threat starts rising and tensions start to grow, she switches to making weapons n’ whatnot. And once the war breaks out, through unknown means, she kinda turns into like… a techno-organic and her alt mode goes from vehicle and forced into bat. Her original name would be like…. uuuh. Mechawire maybe, as a nod to her love for mechanics and stuff, or… maybe something with Smoke. Sautersmoke. Something like that. I told you, horrible at names LMAO. Anyway, once she turns into a Technoorganic, her name would change. Something with bat in it. Mechabat would be the easy way out

I feel like Doll’s name would be easy. Keep the Doll part and add a prefix/suffix. Like uhhh. Sirendoll or something. I could also see Eclipse being a good name for her too. She’d have Skywarp’s cool teleporting ability and she and Lizzy/Glamour would be girlfriends <3. At least until Doll/Eclipse dies in the war/while tensions are rising. Maybe…. maybe there’s an assassination attempt on Glamour, but a bodyguard tackles her out of the way, leading to the bullet meant for her to hit Eclipse in the spark instead. Yeah Glamour is gonna be going THROUGH it in this AU/Crossover

Now for the Dissassembly Drones + Cyn :3

So I think they’re all originally, yknow, normal bots. N, V, and J would all be bodyguards, and Cyn would yknow, just be a normal sparkling figuring out what she wants to be when she gets old enough. And, get this. She wants to be a body guard, like her big brother (N), because she looks up to him.

J, aka Codeblue (the color is important later), would be assigned to a senator to protect.

V, aka Blackrose, would be assigned to protect Glamour. (I imagine she’d be the one to tackle her out of the way of the assassination attempt)

N, aka Goldenreciver (get it? I’m so clever), would be like, jumping assignments. All of the bots who get assigned with him, from senator to celebrity to other people of significance, complain that he talks to much or is too friendly— basically they don’t trust him to do his job (hello self worth and self image issues)

and Cyn, who I’m just putting her here for her name, would be Syntax. Because it can be shortened to Syn, so it’s close to Cyn. I’m so clever.

Anyway. These four know each other, but their relationships are similar to how they are in canon. Goldenreciever loves Syn like a sister and she loves him like a brother, Goldenreceiver and Blackrose have MASSIVE crushes on each other, though Blackrose kinda finds Syntax weird, and Codeblue just Hates All Of Them (its a front) and is specifically incredibly rude to Goldenreciever. And they all have the same personalities as they did in the manor. While Blackrose is incredibly shy and softspoken, she’s a damn good bodyguard

But WAIT. There’s MORE.

When the civil war broke out, the Deceptions (probably the seekers) separated them from their assigned people and kidnapped them, including Syn.

For Goldenreciever, they like... half shadowplayed him. They cleared all of his memories, but they let him keep his personality. Because of Blackrose and Codeblue.

They almost Shadowplayed Blackrose and Codeblue, but the two of them struck a deal. If they pledge their allegiance to Megatron and Megatron alone, they would keep their memories and everything, and N could keep his personality and be allowed to stay relatively normal. That's right! Much like canon V, Blackrose's personality doesn't change because of tampering, it changes because of trauma!! Anyway, Codeblue would tell you the only part of the deal she cared about was to keep her own memories safe.

And then there's Syn. They completely shadowplayed and empurata'd her, basically giving her the IDW Senator Shockwave treatment. From friendly happy fembot to menacing and terrifying and unforgiving and deadly. Her design would likely be akin to TFP Soundwave, though her head would resemble the Solver cameras we see in Murder Drones

They each get name changes, repaints, and alt mode changes (mostly Jets) after their procedures. Goldenreceiver -> Skydemon (Because I think it would be incredibly silly if there was a Decepticon called Skydemon and he turns out to just be incredibly silly and naive. Deadly, but friendly. y'know.) Blackrose -> Rosethorn Codeblue -> Codered (see I told you the color was important)

And for Syn?

Her name changes to SOLVER.

BOOM MIC DROP.

Ok that's all for now. I need to lock in on school work. More later. Maybe. No guarantees.

[trans-androgyne]

So Perisex / Endosex / Dyadic ( and the lesser known Juxtasex ) are all roughly synonymous for "not intersex", they just have different prefixes and some Intersex people prefer them over others for different reasons.

Some Intersex people prefer to use Perisex / Endosex / Juxtasex over Dyadic because they believe it might potentially reinforce the sex binary ( since Dyad means "a pair; a group of two things" ) but the general consensus is that you can use whichever term is most understood where / when you're discussing Intersex issues and Intersexism since they all translate to "not Intersex" at the end of the day.

I'm sure you've gotten recs before but some good Intersex-run Intersex-focused blogs are

intersex-support ( information mainly for intersex people but it can be helpful for perisex folk as well )

status-quo-hater ( the most active blog discussing intersexism, especially among trans / perisex altersex communities, that i personally know of )

ipso-faculty ( runs quite a few intersex community spaces and makes informative posts )

interarchive ( for looking up specific intersex identities or asking questions about terminology. will hunt down coining posts and sources if you're interested in that kind of research. )

interactyouth ( the official blog of the interACT organization, which has great resources on their site! )

queercripintersex ( similar to ipso-faculty! great blog )

intersex-questions ( similar to intersex-support! also great )

intersex-culture-is ( not very active anymore but a lot of very personal confessions and experiences that we've shared are on there, including a lot I wish the perisex trans / perisex altersex communities would acknowledge regarding things like TME/TMA, AGAB, and other dichotomies as well as medical abuse. )

This is so helpful, thank you so much!!!

[viaviv124]

Adding on my offer to beta read specifically the german in tf2 stuff, i'll also correct some common mistakes i've seen in this post!

Frustration & Insults

You cannot just freely translate "fuck" and put "Fick" instead. While the translation of the word is correct, the context isn't. In germany we don't use the word like that in frustration. If you're a very vulgar person you might say "ficken, alter!" but that's not commonly used, mainly by teens. I'd say you opt for one of the following: Scheiße (shit), Verdammt (damn/damn it), Verdammte Axt (literal translation would be "damned axe" but it's just a more frustrated "damn it"), Gottverdammt (god damn it). There's more words but these are the most common by far.

For insults in general, most you google should be fine (allthough i suggest googling specifically for german insults instead of google translating them), but i'll clear up two mistakes in the game itself that happend due to the VA not being german. "Dummkopf" for example. The singular word is fine but the game puts the plural as "Dummkopfs" which is wrong. You don't put words in plural by adding an "s" in german. It'd be "Dummköpfe". Another case of a german insult in the game is "Schweinshunds". "Schweinehund" is the correct singular form and the correct plural is "Schweinehunde". "Schweinshund" would be the word but with a dialect but i'm not going into all that now. (Also for everyone who doesn't know: the word effectively means "lazy bastard")

I'd be happy to teach more german insults if required because it's fun but this is getting too long anyway lol

Pet names

Don't frankenstein words together you put into google translate independantly. Yes german consists on randomly combined words but especially with pet names these words have gender depending on who you talk to/about. What i've seen a lot is "Mein Lieb" and that's just wrong. If you want to say "my love" it's "Mein Lieber" (male) or "Meine Liebe" (female) and even then that's not correct. It's something you tend to say in a dismissive, mocking/sarcastic or scolding way. "Mein Geliebter" (male) or "Meine Geliebte" (female) would work for my love but that word isn't something you use casually in every day conversation. It's a very high expression, often used in poems or songs. Likewise, please don't freely translate the pet name "love" as "Liebe" or "Lieb".

A few casual and common german pet names you can choose from are:

Schatz (treasure)

Liebling (love)

Hase/Hasi/Häschen (bunny)

Maus/Mausi/Mäuschen (mousy)

Engel/Engelchen (angel)

Täubchen (dove)

Bär/Bärchen (bear)

Spatz/Spätzchen (sparrow)

Kleine/Kleiner (little one)

Große/Großer (big one)

As you've seen, some words are cutie-fied by adding an "i" or a "chen". And generally words ending in "e" are grammatically feminine while words ending in "er" are grammatically masculine (note: just specific for the words given in these examples!! German grammatic rules are complex). You can also prefix every word with "Mein". (on that note: if you put "Mein" in a sentence, even if it's the only german word in it, put the whole sentence in a translator first to see if you need "Mein", "Meine" or "Meiner". Someone who doesn't speak the language sees very little difference but to someone fluent it can change the vibe of the entire sentence depending on the situation.)

Of course you can also be creative with your own pet names, but then please if you translate it put it in a sentence to see how it works. Sometimes just putting "my" before the word is enough!

Now something i've seen in NSFW specifically (if you dont care about that you can skip that paragraph dw) was the expression "guter Junge" or "Mein guter Junge". Which- please don't. It's very uncomfortable to read. While "good boy" can be sexy in english, in german it's (at least to my knowledge) really not. It's how you refer to children. German dirty talk always sounds incredibly cringe to me personally but if you really want to write parts in german and want Medic to say dominant lines like "good boy" please opt for using "brav/braver" instead of "gut/guter". Both words mean the same thing but entirely different vibe.

All in all german is a language that thrives on the mere vibe of a word, especially with insults, as well as the gender of the word as it's a gendered language. Please don't just translate singular words and mush them together. Use them in a few sentences beforehand to be able to see how the word behaves in different situations, because german grammar is a pain in the ass.

I hope this could help a little and if there are any questions or anything you'd want me to proof read, please don't hesitate to reach out!!