#Risks of Robotic Surgery

[healthcare-gomedii]

Cost of Robotic Surgery in India

The cost of robotic surgery in India ranges from $5000 to $7000. Depending on the condition, the price can reach $13,000 but not more than this. India offers robotic surgery at one-fifth of the cost compared to countries like the UK and the USA. Although the range for robotic surgery is slightly above the traditional open surgery, the price fits well in the patient’s preferred range in India.

[drsameepsohoni]

Key Features of Robot System Used By Dr. Sameep For Artificial Joint Surgery

Here find, Key Features of Robot System Used By Dr. Sameep For Artificial Joint Surgery. Advantages and Disadvantages of Robotic Knee Replacement. Risks of Robotic Surgery. Types of Robotic Knee Replacement.

[horny-marbles]

Hi Beautiful!! I’ve been following your work and I love it soooo much :) Could you possibly do some sort of smut with EJ? My idea is the female reader convinced him to get a matching eyebrow or tongue piercing with her, and she’s the one piercing him? Or if you wanna mess the concept , I’m totally cool with that! Thank you so much, hope you have a lovely day <3 (sorry if that didn’t make sense, English isn’t my primary language)

hi angel!! thank you so much teehee 🫶🏻🫶🏻 this is so fucking hot and fun, pierced/body mod jack owns about 80% of my brain and the entirety of my heart, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it hehe <3

Balltongue (Eyeless Jack x F!Reader)

CW: needles and piercing tongues duh, unsafe piercing handling, dry humping, oral (f receiving and giving), sloppy toppy fr, throatpie :P

word count 3.9k

You weren’t even sure how you got him to agree. You begged. Bargained. Maybe pouted a little. Maybe muttered "please let me pierce you so we can match" every time you sucked his dick, thinking that if you caught him off guard he would relent. He didn't.

But after a month or two of stubborn, stonewalling deadpan refusals - based on medical risks he listed to you more times than you could count - and attrition warfare, Jack finally caved with this heavy, world-weary sigh like he's doing something awful instead of agreeing to be hot and slutty for you.

Which brought you here, perched in his lap on his bed, thighs bracketing his hips and the mattress creaking under both your weight and his patience. Elbow deep in prep like you’re about to perform minor surgery instead of pierce his tongues; a pair of his gloves snapped tight on your hands and a tray of tools laid out beside you like you know what the fuck you’re doing. Which, let’s be real, you kind of do. You pierced your own tongue months ago. It healed by the time he resigned. Perfectly centered? No. Hot as fuck? Absolutely.

Jack, for his part, looks like a man walking calmly toward the gallows. Not that he’s anxious, just unimpressed. Still steady on his idea that this is unnecessary trauma to a perfectly functional part of the body. But here you are.

“Remind me again,” he muttered before spitting out the mouthwash in the same cup you handed him, grimacing like the taste offended him, “why the fuck I need three piercings when you got one?”

"I have one tongue, babe," you grinned, "you're the freak with a trifecta of slimy muscle in your mouth. It's only fair."

"What's fair," Jack grunted, leaning back against the headboard with a flat look, hands heavy on your thighs like he was bracing for execution, "is anatomical equality."

"Exactly. That's why you're getting three," you quipped cheerfully, leaning over him with the piercing needle hovering close to his face. "Stop glaring at me and stick one of them out."

"I don't have eyes," he exhales through his nose, the sound low and even more annoyed than usual. But he tips his head back obediently anyway, throat bare, mouth opening like a drawbridge lowering with military precision, offering the first tongue with a robotic kind of patience.

"I can feel it," you huffed a laugh, adjusting your position with a small roll of your hips, just enough for your heat to rub into his lap. He doesn't comment. "Ready?"

"No." he muttered, blank, but he didn't pull away.

You even went as far as to flip it up to check the placement of the veins on the bottom - real proffessional - before placing the tip of the first needle on the seam in the muscle and pushing through. Jack didn't even blink. His hands tightened on your thighs when the needle sliced through tissue, but there was no sound and no protest. Just that slight pull where skin meets metal, and then a quieter exhale when you thread the bar through.

You pulled back to inspect your work before he retracted his tonge and clicked the piercing against his teeth to check the new weight, and the throb between your legs was near instant.

"You already look so fucking hot," you bit your lip, tossing the needle in the trashcan at the foot of the bed without taking your eyes off his mouth, "you okay?"

He paused, and you swore you could feel his cock twitch under you, hardening. Or maybe your imagination was starting to get away from you with the mental image you conjured up; his mouth between your legs like he's nosing into fruit, piercing balls rubbing over your folds, catching on your clit, like having more to work with meant using all of it.

"Ask me when you're done assaulting all three."

You reach for the second tongue, knees planted firmly into the mattress, barely controlling the urge to grind down on him again. He extends it with a slight roll of his jaw, letting the others stay curled behind his teeth. You admire the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the muscle moving in his jaw, how together he looks even now, like no matter how turned on he gets, no matter how wet you’re getting on his lap, he’s not gonna crack until he wants to.

This time, his hips jump under you when the second needle goes in. Just a reflexive jolt. But it’s enough. Enough to make your cunt pulse around nothing and to make you bite down on your bottom lip, the curve of your mouth twisting up around it.

“You’re being such a good boy for me,” you croon mockingly, leaning in so your breath ghosts over his mouth. “So quiet. So obedient. Is it turning you on baby? Letting me sit in your lap and poke holes in you?”

You quickly give up the restraint you barely had to begin with and you grind down again, slow and deliberate, dampening spot on your crotch rubbing right against the thick press of his cock under you, now rock solid.

The second needle is still threaded through his tongue when his brows furrow - deep, offended, like you just personally insulted him. And maybe you did a little. He's sitting here with his tongue pinned by a glint of steel and you're dry humping instead of finishing the job. The nerve.

But he can’t say shit. Literally. So instead, his palm smacks firm and sharp over your ass, fingers curling tightly in the aftermath, claws stinging where they poke through your leggings. Not playful. Not punishing. Just directive.

Your breath catches, stomach tightening in knots. “Jesus,” you mutter, laughing a little, “Okay. Impatient.”

You hold the barbell up to his mouth like a lollipop, gently guiding it through the second tongue as you hum, voice thick with syrup and bite, "Can't wait to feel these on my pussy, baby."

He doesn't react, but he does breathe heavier through his nose. Barely. But you catch it, another sharp throb under you. You glance down and smile, sharp and vicious. You keep going, because you fucking got him. And how could you turn down the opportunity to rile him up when it presents itself?

“Thinking about how it’s gonna feel when I sit on your face,” you murmur, soft and sultry as the barbell slides into place, “how you'll make me cum all over your mouth with these decked out babies."

Jack’s hands twitch against your hips like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He just exales again, slower this time, and flexes his fingers. You can feel how wound up he is, tension coiled tight under his skin like he's moments away from going off like a firearm.

He sticks out the third tongue on command, calm again, like he’s not actively dying to pin you down and fuck you stupid. When it slid forward, it trembled slightly at the tip.

"Aw," you crooned softly. "This one’s scared."

"No," he croaked flatly, "it's smarter than the other ones."

You snorted and leaned closer, mouth brushing his ear. “Want me to fuck it better after?”

His chest moved with a shallow breath, sharp and controlled, voice holding a hint of bite. “Pierce it.”

The third needle went in harder - the muscle more dense, tense - and he moaned. Just a little, low and choked. Not dramatic, but genuine. It slipped out of him like it wasn’t meant to. Just a flash of pain, edged in something that sounds dangerously close to pleasure.

Your grin is instant. “Oh?” you tease, breath warm and fanning over his tongue as you screw on the last ball. “You like pain now?”

He doesn’t answer.

His hand fists into your hair, palm wide and hot against your nape, and drags your mouth to his without a sound. No warning, no question. His lips crash into yours like he’s been starving for it for hours.

You struggle to slip out of your gloves, rubber sticking to your skin, catching on your thumbs in the haste, and kiss him back with everything in you, sterile tray forgotten, needles and pain and aftercare all abandoned because fuck.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging, and the kiss turns molten fast, sloppy wet and needy. You can taste the faint metallic tang of blood, metal clinking faintly as your piercings clash, his hot breath puffing over your upper lip as he hisses with the fresh sting.

It's not long before you’re grinding again, no longer teasing, just needy, quick friction, his palms kneading at your ass, guiding the motion of your hips against him like he's sculpting it, perfecting it.

You’re soaked through. You feel it, damp heat clinging between your legs, begging for attention, the way it smears over the rough front of his pants with every motion. Jack keeps you moving, pressing you down, up, down again, grinding you into the shape of his need like he’s etching it into memory.

When he drags one of his tongues along your neck, you shudder. The muscle is slick and warm, still throbbing from the needle, and the ball drags slow and shaky over your skin, leaving a trail of spit and heat that makes your knees tighten around his hips. He doesn’t moan. Doesn’t groan. But his hands grip tighter when he tastes the sweat there, claws flexing like he’s anchoring himself.

“F-fuck,” you breathe, voice already wrecked.

He hums against you, lips open and plush on your throat. Then he’s moving, lifting your shirt, not ripping it, not frantic, but hurried. Hands steady, movements smooth but impatient.

“You’re smell like you're fucking soaked,” he mutters, voice low and frayed at the edges, slightly slurred around the new weight in his mouth. “Are you a sadist now? Getting wet while you pierce me?"

You grin. “Can you blame me? Fucking listen to yourself, baby."

Jack growls, quiet and breathy like a broken exhale, and suddenly he’s pushing you back. His thumbs hook into your shirt and he bunches it under your arms, then it goes flying somewhere behind you. He gets your bra up fast, one hand groping your tit while his mouth descends, tongues and lips and that raw, new pressure from the piercings all swirling around your nipple until you arch and moan right into the crown of his head.

It’s so wet. Lapping, licking, sucking, each new flick from his tongues leaving trails that cool too slow, making your skin burn. He sucks a little harder - sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud just once - and when your breath stutters and hips buck, he grins against your chest, all teeth and silent heat.

He moves down, lips dragging over your sternum and down your stomach, tongues flicking in tandem, tasting every inch of skin like it matters.

And as you lift your hips off the bed like instinct, to help him get to the main course faster, he licks a slow stripe over the crotch of your leggings. Straight through the soaked fabric where it sticks to your pussy.

You jerk in surprise. “Oh my- fuck-”

“You taste desperate,” he says simply, monotone as ever. Like his aching cock isn't sandwitched between his stomach and the mattress, hips rocking where the friction's mounting

He presses his face in again. The heat of him radiates through you like a furnace. His tongues spread as they lap, tasting slick through cotton, brows twitching with a low grunt when the piercings catch into the seam, sending a flash of sting through the muscle. He doesn't seem bothered though.

“You’re such a fucking pervert,” you whisper, but you’re laughing, breath hitching as he noses into the curve of your pussy again. "You're gonna get an infection."

"Should've given a shit when you were riding me five minutes ago."

You can almost hear the eye roll in his voice as he yanks the waistband down to your knees with firm finality, claws scraping the outside of your thighs, and he exhales right over your cunt - drenched, flushed, throbbing in the open air.

His mouth drops to it like he’s starved.

You gasp the second his tongues make contact, not just from the heat of him, or the obscene way he moans into you like he needs it, but because fuck, those fresh piercings burn as they drag over your folds.

The metal’s cold at first, sharp pinches of chill against slick heat, but then it’s just sting. You twitch when the bead of the bar in his middle tongue bumps against your clit, just a little too firm, and you flinch, more from shock than pain.

“Jack- fuck,” you breathe, hips jolting.

He huffs against your cunt, an actual scoff that vibrates through you, like it’s fucking offensive to him that he doesn’t have total control over the movement. Like his own pain is an inconvenience he’s choosing to ignore out of spite.

He's always so precise. So devastating. But now he’s raw and a little unsteady, dragging the ball of a barbell over your clit again and missing a bit. Slips too far to the side.

You laugh, a breathy, broken chuckle that barely escapes your lips.

“Ohhh, baby,” you coo, drunk on it, “what’s the matter? Not used to the new hardware?”

His hand slams up across your chest, hot and firm and absolutely done with you, and presses down on your throat. Holding you down, fingers splayed under your jaw in a firm warning.

Then, he spits right on your pussy. A fat, wet glob lands just above your clit and trails down, hot and slick and disrespectful. And he's back on you with a vengeance.

He doesn’t slow this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just dives in, two tongues pushing inside you with a wet squelch that punches the air from your lungs. Middle tongue licks you from slit to clit, flicking in messy, aching little swipes, metal catching on your clit, just barely, but enough to make your vision spark. Cold metal followed by heat and saliva and the scrape of textured flesh, enough to make your toes curl.

“Jack-”

You choke on his name and the hand on your throat tightens enough to make you feel your pulse against it. The other runs hot and wide over your stomach, down your thigh, then presses under your knee and hauls your leg up, opening you with no mercy. He plants your thigh over his shoulder, locking you in place.

His brows twitch with effort, mouth full of cunt and face buried so deep it’s like he’s trying to breathe through your clit. He groans when your walls flutter around his tongues, and the sound makes your thighs shake like it's rattling your soul. Each movement of his mouth is sloppy, uncalibrated, but it doesn’t matter. The heat, the wet, the way he’s fucking you with two tongues and torturing your clit with the third, piercings dragging over every soft spot- you cum without warning.

It hits like a fucking grenade going off in your pelvis. You cry out, fingers locking in his hair as your thighs clamp around his head. Your cunt clenches helplessly, fluttering around his tongues, grinding into his mouth and nose with desperate, twitchy movements.

He doesn’t stop. You twitch, you sob, you whimper, and he just holds your legs up and your throat down and slurps through it, drinking it in like it’s holy.

He groans as he pulls back once your voice finally breaks on his name and your nails scrabble at his shoulders, licking his lips like he’s trying to soothe the sting - but you can still see the way his jaw tightens. Still feel the heat of it on your thighs.

“Fucking-” he mutters, voice hoarse, gruff, still wet with you. “Hurts like a bitch.”

You huff a laugh, fucked-out and breathless, legs still twitching. “Yeah? You’re the one who kept going.”

He runs a hand through his hair - messy and damp with sweat. His mouth twitches, not a smile, but something halfway between annoyed and pained. “If I get sepsis, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You’re gonna die with your face buried in pussy?” You grin, still panting. “What a way to go.”

He doesn’t even respond. Just unzips his pants and grips his cock at the base once it's free, hard and flushed, and gives you a flat look.

“Come suck this dick.”

Your whole body reacts,knees already folding under you as you crawl between his legs. The mattress creaks beneath you both, the air still thick with sex and heat and that sharp tang of metal and alcohol. Your tongue flashes over your lips as you settle on your stomach between his thighs, elbows propped and ready.

You curl your fingers around the base of his cock, thick and heavy in your palm, and lean in.

Spit hits his tip before your mouth does. You drool for it, tongue flat and spreading slick along the vein on the underside, swirling just under the crown like you’re kissing it. Then you flatten your tongue and drag your piercing right over the slit, collecting pre-cum and humming at the taste.

“You’re fucking leaking,” you murmur, voice all sugar and spit. “Like you liked eating pussy with those things.”

He grunts. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

You hum and open your mouth wide, taking him in deep, wet, hot, sloppy from the start. You don’t bother being pretty about it. You drool around him, eyes fluttering as spit pools at the corners of your lips and drips down to his balls.

Your free hand cups them, slick with your own spit, and you pull them into your mouth too, rolling your tongue around one, then the other, morning high and sweet like they’re candy. His hand sinks into your hair, gentle only for a moment.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rough and low.

You pull back with a wet pop, smear your tongue up his shaft, then flick it hard against the head again. The metal of your piercing taps his tip just right and he groans low in his chest, hips flexing up to chase your mouth.

“You like that?” you breathe, licking slow and wide over him. “Feels good with the piercing, huh?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, deep and strained, “like getting head from a fucking rattlesnake.”

You laugh against his cock, and he growls again, like it’s offensive that you’re laughing while you’ve got his dick in your mouth.

He leans over you and slaps your ass once. Loud. Sharp.

“Lift it.”

You blink up at him, smile tugging your lips. “You can’t even see it.”

He shrugs.

"I can imagine it.”

Still, you do it. You arch your back a little, tilt your hips so your ass is up and your legs are spread, letting him imagine the mess between them. Because he knows exactly what it looks like when you’re like this. Helpless. Hungry.

He fists a hand in your hair and guides you back down, slow.

“Open up,” he rasps. “Show me that filthy mouth.”

Your lips are already swollen, chin soaked, hair a mess as you glance up at him with that smug little glint, but you obey. You always obey when he talks like that.

You roll your tongue out slowly, lewd and lazy, the ball of your piercing glinting with spit, strings stretching from your teeth down to your chin. Drool leaking, soaking the sheets under your tits. You're grinning, humoring him, teasing, even though he can’t see the sight you’re giving him.

Doesn’t matter.

Jack feels it. The heat of your breath, the hunger in the way you whine a little under your breath just from holding still, waiting for him.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rough and low, “just like that. My pretty cockdrunk slut."

He slaps his cock down on your tongue, thick and hot, over and over. Drags the tip over the metal to feel the obscene slide of it, lips parted and bitten, and shoves himself into your mouth.

“Open,” he snaps, voice low and taut with restraint that’s already slipping.

You choke instantly, mouth crammed full, his cock hitting your throat before you’re even ready , but he doesn’t stop. He fists both hands in your hair and uses you, fucking your mouth like it’s just a hole to bury himself in.

You can barely breathe. Sucking in what little air you can through your nose between each harsh thrust of his hips. His hips drive forward again and again, slapping against your face, your nose mashed into the now damp, trimmed thatch of hair at the base. You gag, spit gurgling in your throat, leaking out your nose and dripping onto your chest, but you stay there. Because you fucking love it.

Love the burn of the stretch, love the animal growls you suck out of him, love the way his usually emotionless face contorts in pleasure for you — so deep it looks like agony.

He knows you love it.

His grip gets tighter, claws scraping scalp.

“Take it,” he snarls, voice cracking. “Take it like you fucking mean it, sweetmeat, c'mon-"

You gurgle a moan around him, useless tears stinging your eyes as you look up at him through your lashes, throat tightening in response, and that's what gets him.

He thrusts in deep, deeper, stays there.

You feel the twitch first.

Then the burn.

Then the flood, thick and hot, salty, gushing straight into your throat.

You choke, swallow, slobber running down your chin in fat ropes as he fills you up. A guttural moan tears out of him, something feral and fucked, and his hips shake with the force of it.

He doesn’t pull out until he's sure you're not breathing.

Then he yanks you back by the hair, wet strands clinging to your cheeks, your mouth falling open on instinct to gasp for air, spit and cum trailing out in shiny ropes, and with a gentleness you never expect no matter how many times you see it, his claws rake through your hair to push it back without as much as grazing your skin.

The following weeks? Hell.

Jack didn’t get a tongue infection. He got three. His entire mouth was a battlefield. No amount of salt water gargles were saving him from that fate. By the end of the week, he was grunting through swollen tongues, crusted studs, and the kind of fever that made his skin clammy and his will to leave nonexistent.

You made the mistake of laughing the first time he tried to growl at you and it came out all gurgled and wet, and he flipped you off so hard his wrist popped.

Still, you helped him clean the piercings. Blended his organs into chunky soup he grimaced at every time, somehow more revolted than you.

He healed, of course. Bitched and sulked through the worst of it. Refused to kiss you for a week.

But he didn’t take them out.

[evildilf2]

Hey guys, my friend Ayiko recently got diagnosed with colon cancer and needs help paying for his cancer treatments.

“*grey freeze frame* i’m sure you’re wondering how i got here—and for those of you who don’t know, i’m Ayiko, a 22 year old queer artist and musician. I’ve always been a creative, from theatre to a film major. My dream is to keep creating, to keep telling stories, to keep sharing my art with the world and with your help i’ll be able to continue with what i love, with my passions. On the night of February the 6th, what was thought to be a routine doctor visit for severe stomach pain turned into an in-patient hospital stay. A CT-Scan revealed the source of the pain was from a rare telescoping and entanglement of the intestines, known as Intussusception. After a successful colonoscopy relieved the pain, it also revealed a lump that was removed during the procedure. Further testing by the pathology department discovered that not only was the lump cancerous but there were additional tumors that were inaccessible without open surgery. The cancer had grown into 5cm tumors and had spread to some lymph nodes. On February the 17th i went under the knife(or in this case a laser) for a robotic colectomy to remove the remaining cancer. There was very little risk in it spreading and it was one of the least aggressive cancer of its type(Neuroendocrine Tumor of the Gastrointestinal Tract). After the surgery, i will be unable to lift more than 10 lbs or walk for long periods of time, which has left me unemployed. Now in post-recovery, i gently ask the community to rally behind my family and i as we face the financial burdens of hospital bills. As a first generation immigrant i am also aware of the family back home that my parents have to look after too(in fact my father is going to visit Uganda in less than a week). That’s why we would greatly appreciate donations of any amount, as i continue my recovery and face the possibility of chemotherapy. Just sharing the link can go a long way. Thanks for reading!” -Ayiko @pretty-roach

Currently donations are at 1.2k out of a 20k goal- any & all help is appreciated, please reblog to circulate.

[quiinncherie]

My 2 cent thought because I just noticed Tecna’s robotic arm in the older poster about why I am against the Tecna is a “cyborg” concept:

Everyone is probably aware of all the ruckus caused by Al in the creative fields. And contrary to popular belief, they are not that smart. Al doesn’t have the ability to think or feel any emotion at all! They give excellent results from complicated mathematic equations but they do not have the ability to think like a human. There are structures, models aiming to replicate the human’s neural network, but at the end of the day, AI cannot think like a human’s brain. So I genuinely hate this concept that Tecna should be a cyborg. Yes, she is rigid and too logical sometimes, but all geniuses are a bit weird like that. Most super smart people have troubles with social norms and that’s ok. She doesn’t need to be a robot to have problems understanding her emotions. In fact, as shown in season 1 and 2, she has very strong feelings for fighting against evil like when she got mad at Timmy for not risking his life with the Trix. She acted out of emotions a lot especially in the first season: barging in doors, confronting the Trix head on, chasing down the professor that she suspected to be the bad guy, etc.

So no, I hate the concept of Tecna being a cyborg. If you want to say something along the line of what if replacing her limbs for advanced robotic parts to be more efficient would make sense for Zenith, well have you heard of prosthetic failures? Trying to force anything unnatural is always inconvenient and not worth it unless you have to. Even mundane things like beauty surgeries involving injecting things inside your body has side effects, sometimes horrible side effects that may threaten your wellbeing. And for Zenith to be so advanced in technology, I think they must have some line they don’t cross in terms of using tech in their lives.

Now of course, if it’s because she lost her limbs in battles and has to get a prosthetic then yeah, sure (emphasizing on the “has to” part). But if it’s just you guys failing for the propaganda that inanimated objects or Al can have feelings then no, thank you.

[oddly-specific-hermit-headcanons]

My personal Hermit doctor headcanons, since I’ve been seeing some other people do them.

First of all, wounds that would be life threatening or generally just really bad (broken back/neck, major organ damage, loss of limb, etc) will heal up after respawn, so the Hermits don’t usually have to worry about it. This is also helpful when it comes to donating things to Cleo (whether it be for herself or their armor stands) or for when Jevin needs a few extra bones. On rare occasion the injury won’t fully heal, but it’ll typically be minor enough to be easily treatable by a doctor. Anything that isn’t super major (or an illness) doesn’t go away after respawn, since they’re still treatable without it.

Now, on to the actual doctors.

Doc: Actually has a full medical degree, and is the usual person the other Hermits go to for injuries, illnesses, and any standard checkups. Broke a bone? Caught a bug while on another server? Doc’s got you covered. And when it comes to their local robot or animated mannequins he has plenty of experience with robotics and crafts. He also keeps note of anything special individual Hermits need when it comes to their health.

Gem: She has plenty of medical training, and is very knowledgeable when it comes to fixing up injuries with limited resources. Her neighbors usually go to her for broken bones and flus when Doc’s too busy. She also knows a lot when it comes to something like ripped fins or strained wings.

Cub: Not (legally) trained in anything medical, but who cares about legality? This is Hermitcraft! Not the first person you’d want to go to for your injuries or ailments, but he’s happy to help when needed. He also knows pretty much everything when it comes to Scar’s health and medications, and for some reason he’s really good at performing gender affirming surgeries.

Cleo: She can’t do much when it comes to anyone who isn’t dead, but if you need stitches or a quick limb reattachment she’s got you covered, just don’t be alarmed that the stitches are done with crafting supplies. She also helps Joe out with Juppet injuries and their craftsmanship comes in handy when it comes to anything Keralis or Wels need. They also help out Etho when he glitches really badly and needs some replacements.

Hypno: First off, don’t go to him for health care. Second off, he’s going to need something in return. On occasion it’ll be something like a gold coin or rare artifact, but it’s always a risk that it’ll be your soul. And you don’t want to sign any of his IOUs. Even if you manage to get anything out of your appointment without selling your soul away, you might still end up cursed. He can do top surgery, though. He actually did his own, even though you shouldn’t take his word for how safe that was.

Zedaph: If you’re going to Zed for medical care, you should stop and think about how crazy you’re being. Technically, he can do doctor stuff, but only if you want doctor stuff of the mad scientist variety. And while he could give you an x-ray for that broken bone, he’d prefer to use you for some unethical experiments, instead. He also shouldn’t be trusted with any sort of medical equipment, that’s how the surprise vivisection happened. Also, no one tell Impulse about the surprise vivisection.

.

[sexhaver]

why does so much robotfucking hornyposting on this site revolve around opening up a computer/robot/android and rooting around in its internal wiring WHILE IT'S ON? do yall not value your fingers? at least integrate proper lockout/tagout procedure into your fantasies. and then there's the issue where letting someone literally open you up and stick their hands in your organs carries a pretty high risk of straight up dying, especially if that person's only medical/technical qualification is being horny about it. that's like letting a grindr hookup with a surgery fetish but no medical education whatsoever perform an appendectomy on you

[fearwasalwaysanoption]

Mouthwashing Fix-it

supplement to these posts

very long explanation under cut (content warning: mentions of surgical procedures, stillbirth, and suicide attempts)

Curly- Skin grafts, rehab, right eye removed due to extensive damage. Has to take immunosuppressants for the rest of his life so his body doesn't reject the massive amounts of synthetic tissue. Eyelids were restored but have to be manually opened and closed, uses eye lubricant drops for any additional dryness.

Took the brunt of the blame for the crash, now a permanent stain on his reputation. The publicity of the incident died down in less than a week, but still makes it hard to find work (especially with his disabilities). Massive survivor's guilt and internalized ableism. Now that he can do most things himself, he hates asking for help. He doesn't want to seem weak, he wants to seem in control.

Hops around from job-to-job, typically in a management position but leaves once it becomes too familiar.

Anya- Treated with acetylcysteine, but liver damage was too extensive and had to be replaced robotically with a synthetic one. Embryo died in utero from paracemetol poisoning and was removed. Also has to take immunosuppressants so her body does not reject the new liver.

Somehow acquired a job at a clinic despite not at all having the credentials and is dreading the day they figure that out. In the meantime living paycheck-to-paycheck and swimming in debt.

Went through one painful and traumatic suicide attempt and would not want to take the chances of having to go through that again. Still incredibly anxious and not in a good place but clings to that hope she can get herself out of this rut. One of the only things keeping her going is the knowledge that she is helping people and in some little way making life better.

Daisuke- Skin grafts and extensive biodegradable stitching, especially in his face. Minimal reconstructive surgery to fix his nasal passage. Right eye is completely opaque from traumatic injury.

Not as joyful as he used to be, a lot more dark humoured but retains his optimism. Cautious, has matured quite a bit and is just trying to live his life. The collective trauma from the Tulpar makes it hard to connect with his peers and he only really wants to hang out with his former crew. Trying to make a name for himself and do something with his life, co-founded his and Swansea's independent mechanic business.

Does more manual labour on the side to help keep the business running.

Jimmy- Bullet and bone fragments removed, entered zygomatic bone barely avoiding the eye and exiting through the left mandible. Damaged tissue and teeth removed, in a coma for several months with reconstructive internal surgery to his skull.

Charged with attempted murder, reckless endangerment, and sexual assault. However the court deemed him unable to stand trial and committed him to a psychiatric institution for high risk individuals. Has been sent to solitary more times than he can count or cares to and is on suicide watch.

He's forced to take antipsychotics and has no control over anything in his life besides doing what he is told so he can get the hell out of this place. In the meantime he can reevaluate and be alone with his thoughts (a punishment i would not bestow upon my worst enemy).

Curly and Daisuke visit him sometimes because they still genuinely care about him and want him to get better. But their visits get less and less frequent every time. When they finally stop coming... who will he have left to blame for his circumstances?

Swansea- Bullets and fragments removed, right eye was too badly damaged to save and was removed. Clavicle plating applied to help solidify the shattered bone.

Similar case to Daisuke. Owns the independent mechanic business as well as doing random jobs to get more money. Family life is in pieces and is on the brink of a divorce with his wife but too drunk to really care. Preoccupies himself with work and alcohol to forget his miserable situation and money troubles. The only thing keeping him from drinking himself to death lying in a gutter is that he'd leave such a burden on Daisuke that the kid does not need any more of.

[sober-stupid-shithead]

Had this idea on the mind that Ratchet has to eat a mini!Optimus to warm him up :3 kinda like that time he almost died of cold in the TFP show. So, willing pred, unwilling prey :3c

I hope this inspires you some!!!

👍

WOO! FINALLY FINISHED THIS ONE! I'm sorry it took so long, but I'm preparing to be VERY busy this year. Tysm for the ask though, its a super cute idea :3

I went a little bit emotional with this? Ratchet and Optimus just make me wanna throw up sobbing because I love them so much and their relationship is so complex. I apologize if it's a little out of character for that reason, but I think I did pretty good. Also the prompt behind what got him nommed makes NO sense but just pretend ok 💔 (also healing stomach trope how I love you)

(CW: vore, mild description of robotic injury, unwilling prey, safe/soft)

Ratchet just knew this mission had been a mistake. Too many risks, not enough information. But of course Optimus had insisted, and now look where they were.

They hadn't had enough time to decipher the coordinates of the next relic Megatron was after before it was already too late. In a mad dash to destroy the massive cannon that had been uncovered, Optimus decided to go alone in fear of needlessly endangering his teammates. He had of course instead needlessly endangered himself in the process. He had mass displaced himself to be able to sneak onto the Nemesis and dismantle the weapon from the inside.

Fortunately, despite how stupid the plan sounded it had worked. Unfortunately, Optimus had been found by the Decepticons and only managed to escape via jumping off the ship and down into the tundra plains below. His smaller size had made him much more susceptible to the cold, and his injuries only added to that. He was in near critical condition.

"Bulkhead, out of my way!" Ratchet yelled as he barreled through the base, a tiny Optimus cradled in his arms. He hadn't wasted a second of time once the ground bridge was open. He had a job to do and nobody would get in his way, accident or not.

He laid his leader down on the operating table and quickly swiveled the lamp usually used for surgery close above him, hoping the heat from the light would help keep him warm. He waved his servo over the frozen mech to scan his chassis, and… the injury report wasn't good. His chassis was dented in, several enegon tubes had ruptured, and his body was at far too dangerous of a temperature.

"Ratchet…" The small Prime murmured, optics flickering as his systems were struggling to stay awake.

"Don't waste the energy, Optimus." The medic snapped back, tapping furiously away at his monitor to figure out the best way to deal with all this. As greatly worrisome and dangerous as his injuries were, they were all well within the realm of fixing for a mech as seasoned as Ratchet, the problem was his size. Optimus didn't have the energy to revert his mass displacement, and even if he did he wouldn't be able to while his systems were nearly frozen solid. They needed to heat him up and fast.

For a moment the medic stalled. Nothing in the base would be able to heat Optimus up in time without hurting him. No form of fire would be safe while he was leaking energon, and no entirely safe alternatives were at all close enough to a Cybertronian's internal temperature…

A Cybertronian's internal temperature.

Maybe all was not lost.

He had tried it a few times before when their human allies needed first aid, but he'd never done it to one of his own kind before. There were a lot of preliminary tests that should be run before he could make sure the idea was totally safe, but they didn't have the time. He would just have to try it and see how it went. And ignore how guilty he felt for making an injured Optimus Prime be his test subject.

Ratchet halted his typing and stared at the holoscreen for brief second of hesitation. He sighed with resignation and looked over his shoulder to where his tiny leader lay. "I need to stabilize you as fast as I can so you can revert your mass displacement. Optimus… I'm sorry, but this is for your own good."

He stepped over to the medical slab and scooped him up onto his servos, faceplate creased with worry. He was freezing to the touch and so, so small. It was uncomfortable to see a Prime in such a vulnerable position.

"Old friend… What do you mean?" Optimus said in a soft, raspy voice. It was obvious he was straining to even be heard.

"Just relax, Optimus. You'll be alright." Ratchet hushed, bringing the tiny leader up to his face. He wanted to explain more, but they really didn't have the time. Instead, he simply opened his mouth and gently maneuvered Optimus's pedes onto his glossa. He was so cold that the medic nearly flinched in discomfort, but he didn't stop. He did his very best to be careful when moving such a small, injured body, but he knew it couldn't have felt great. The short moment of shocked silence between the two didn't help his rapidly mounting guilt either.

"Ratchet, I do not-"

Optimus was silenced by two comparatively massive jaws closing around him. Ratchet froze for a second, metaphorically swallowing down his panic and trying his best to not yet swallow down his own Prime. He knew one of the other team members was probably looking on in horror, but he tuned it all out. Only one mech mattered right now. Optimus was so cold against his glossa that it made his denta ache. The medic purposefully increased his oral lubricant production to coat the mech in the warm, protective substance. He could feel tiny servos weakly pressing against the roof of his intake, but he ignored the sign of protest and tilted his helm back.

He didn't want to accidentally make Optimus's injuries worse with the strong metal muscles in his throat, so he simply relaxed and let gravity guide his patient down. It was very strange, but he was mostly used to it. He closed his optics with an exvent of relief, a familiar feeling of protectivness wafting over him as the mini mech slid slowly into his tank. Only when he was sure Optimus had made it far enough to his destination did he swallow the leftover saliva and open his mouth with a sigh. There was another brief second of silence between the two, and a slow dropping sensation let him know Optimus was laying down once again.

"I apologize for doing that without warning, but it was the quickest way to warm you up… I hope you can forgive me." Ratchet murmured, instinctively placing a servo over his middle. He turned on all his internal scanners and flipped on a live feed, keeping the window open in the corner of his vision to keep an eye on how Optimus was handling things.

"It is… Alright." The Prime sighed, too exhausted to even care at this point. He was safe enough to recharge and heal, and that was all his aching processor cared about. Through the feed Ratchet could see him shutter his optics and relax into the soft mesh snugly hugging his frame. The internal fluid levels slowly rose until it was halfway up his shoulders, soaking all his major injuries.

Another massive wave of giddy relief washed through the old medic as he read the readings from the scanners inside his tank. All wounds were sealing off because of the healing agent in his stomach enzymes and his temperature was rapidly rising. In a few hours he would be able to retrieve him for aided mass displacement and surgery. Thank Primus himself.

"D-Did you just… Eat him!?"

Ratchet whirled around in surprise to be met with an even more shocked Smokescreen. He sighed again, this time in exhaustion. Time to explain himself.

[ahamkara-apologist]

Crossposting this over from Bluesky almost verbatum bc its Late but I can't stop thinking about Revenant so this goes here too. I really really love the little worldbuilding detail about the Eliksni being so technologically advanced, yet still relying on apothecaries for medical care because of how long-lived they are; this makes sense to me is mostly bc technology advances exponentially fast while medical development builds very slowly and cautiously, oftentimes with great reluctance to move away from what already works. There's a much higher risk factor regarding faliure one vs the other, and more limitations placed upon medicinal advancement by default, so it makes sense that a long-lived artisan race would have been leaps and bounds ahead in robotics and digital tech while still sticking to ancient medicinal techniques. It's not about innovation, it's about improving what already works, and a long-lived people are more likely going to want to stick with the safety net of reliable, known medications vs racing to get better tools because they're perpetually aware of just how much their current ones can be improved.

Additionally, when age isn't a limiting factor, innovative engineers can continually build and expand on their prototypes/ideas to develop new, effective tech easier, but it also means that the apothocaries would also build on their old, traditional medicinal knowledge, leading to a preservation of the more ancient rites of using tonics. The means of advancement are on two different paths/development curves. Then you've also got the fact that the Eliksni seemed to have a different, positive cultural view on gene editing (aka eco-Splicers), so that means herbs could be edited to be much more potent and effective much more quickly, thus maintaining the tonic system vs advancing drug development into different delivery mechanisms to work around those limitations. You don't find an alternative or a workaround, you just smash through the wall limiting you in the first place by editing the plants themselves to yield what you need directly. It's like how mammals went through a huge phase of adaptive radiation to fill in all the different niches left behind by the dinosaurs after the Cretaceous extinction, but crocodilians retained roughly the same bodyshape they had for millions of years, just tweaking it a bit to fit the newer circumstances- if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Biology likely also played a factor as well. If the Eliksni had a lower body temperature than humans do, then they may be more tolerant to bacterial infections on account of simply being poorer hosts (or they're less suceptible to infections outside of parasites deliberately evolved to live in them). Our very warm, nutrient-rich mammal bodies mean that bacteria can multiply rapidly, but if the Eliksni were conditional ectotherms (or just had lower body temperature), then bacteria would likely multiply at a slower rate, giving their immune system more time to recognize and eliminate the threat before reaching a point where medicine is needed. Being able to moult/regenerate limbs also drastically simplifies the healing process. Ecdysis is a very effective tool to cure wounds or shed external parasites, and if a limb gets infected, it may be the safest/easiest option to cut it off with sterile tools and regrow it rather than risk the bacteria spreading to the rest of the body (though it would be ether-costly). If it's too damaged to regenerate properly, then the rapid technological advancements with prosthetics + higher neuroplasticity from limb regeneration also make it much easier to treat infected limbs by Simply Not Bothering and chopping them off. This means that stuff like reconstructive/restorative surgeries might be less advanced than our own, simply because there was no real need for it. I do think that vaccines would have been a thing, because it's always much better to prevent than to cure, but tonics would have remained the most viable option for getting medicine into an Eliksni, esp. if they did stuff like bolster bone regeneration or limb regrowth. Hence, the very wide range of specific tonics at different potencies being used to cure various ailments, and the copious amounts of artificial limbs on Eliksni survivors, even accounting for the whole 'we-fled-our-apocalypse-and-promptly-waged-war-and-destroyed-the-last-vestiges-of-our-old-civilization' shtick

I don't know how Eido's tonics turned us into chickens, however. Or plants. Or frogs. That one I'm going to rule out as a guardian-induced confounding factor on account of their paracausal nature, bc I don't think there were chicken-transformation tonics on Riis XD

[healthcare-gomedii]

Robotic Surgery Treatment in India

Robotic surgery has revolutionized the medical landscape Robotic Surgery in India, providing patients with safer, more precise, and minimally invasive treatment options. Embrace the future of healthcare.

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 9

[Prev] [Next]

ou had barely gotten out of bed in the days that followed your emergency room visit.

You could barely even look at your husband.

This was far beyond Law’s realm of expertise, and he was quickly growing more and more concerned about your wellbeing.  You were barely eating, choosing to spend your days in bed with your head buried in your pillows as if you were trying to disappear completely.  It was incredibly generous that your boss had allowed you such ample time off, but Law knew for a fact that this self-isolation was going to do nothing but exacerbate the cycle of depression that your miscarriage had brought upon you.

Law swallowed a lump in his throat.

Miscarriage.

The word seemed so grim even prior to meeting you.  Now it held an entirely new meaning.  Miscarriage was what led to his wife spending her days alone in their bed, trying desperately to fall into a deep slumber to escape the crushing reality.

Shachi and Penguin had practically moved in with the two of you, helping to cook, clean, and take care of Bepo while Law was at work.  Neither of them had spoken to you, and Penguin hadn’t even looked at you in the days since you came home, no longer pregnant.  It was as if everyone in the apartment was afraid a single breath would shatter you like a pane of glass, tiny, glimmering pieces of a stabbing despair that were impossible to clean up.

Even your boss had come by, two days after you were forced to leave the office to go to the ER.  She had stopped by your apartment with a small basket of goodies as a condolence gift, and while she acknowledged that a few bars of chocolate was probably the least effective medicine for what you had endured, she expressed the desire to make sure you knew that the entire office was rooting for you.

When Shachi placed the small basket on your bedside table, you didn’t even move.

Law was starting to get more and more concerned about the risk of bedsores your constant, curled-up position might expose you to.

Even worse than bedsores, however, was the fact that Law still had to work.  Heart and lung diseases didn’t simply disappear just because you had a miscarriage, and as much as Law’s own heart broke whenever he had to slip on his shoes to leave, he needed to continue his job.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly thinking about you, however.

—

Law’s colleagues often joked that he operated like a robot when arriving at the prep theater.  The way he donned his surgeon’s scrubs and coat was the same way every single time: left arm into the coat, followed by his right, a 180 degree counterclockwise turn so his attending could securely tie the back, followed by his left hand glove, right hand glove, and then a second left glove, and a second right glove.  He had also developed the habit of placing his cell phone in the care of his circulating nurse, should any calls come from you at home.  It wasn’t quite allowed, and it definitely strayed from his own personal philosophy of a hyper-focused operating room environment, but he couldn’t help himself.  Despite this, Law’s second-nature ability to perfectly replicate operating theater etiquette did bring some level of calm to the entire surgery team, especially on days like today.

The cardiac team was about to undergo an estimated 6 hour coronary bypass surgery.

This was just the event Law needed to break out of his mold and return to life as it was about ten days ago.  For the first time since your emergency room visit, Law wasn’t thinking about you.

“Patient is a 45-year-old caucasian male with severe coronary artery disease.  He has experienced two heart attacks prior to this surgery.  We will be undertaking a triple bypass operation.  I understand this is a very daunting task for some of you, however you are expected to remain calm and do your work as you normally do.  Nothing about this particular surgery is any different than any other open heart surgery, just remember this.”  Law explained the procedure to his team in a very bold, emotionless voice.  

The operation began.

The lights in the room were dimmed slightly to allow for better focus from the overhead lamps onto the exposed portion of the patient’s abdomen.  Beside the table, a large machine that would be operating as a temporary heart for the patient was prepped.  The entire team was laser-focused on the patient, Law’s stern, strict aura seeming to radiate outward and affect the rest of his staff with a quiet, pensive attitude.  It wasn’t often to have idle chit-chat during operations considering the stakes at hand, however today seemed particularly tense.

Law led the procedure with a deft hand.  He expertly instructed his assistants with the suction and cauterization as he carefully opened the flesh of the man.  A saw was used to cut through the sternum and expose the pericardium.  Bleeding was carefully controlled and a fast-acting antibiotic paste was used throughout.  After approximately 20 minutes, the patient’s beating heart was fully exposed, the chest cavity held open by metal tools and a frame to fully support the operating window.  

The first cannula was placed into the aorta when Law’s phone began to buzz from the circulating nurse’s coat pocket.  She was standing away from the rest of the team and pulled the device out of her pocket to view the caller ID.  The focus wasn’t broken from the rest of the operating team.

“Silence it,” Law uttered, ingrained in the action of attaching the catheter to the air-tight bypass tube.

“It’s your wife, Doctor,” she awkwardly mumbled.  The phone continued to buzz.

A few awkward glances were tossed around the operating table.  Law simply kept his head down, beginning to search for the right atria to place the second cannula.

“Doctor?” she called again.

“My passcode is 0517.  Just text her and ask her what she needs.”

The anesthesiologist smiled, though it wasn’t visible below his mask.  “Isn’t that your wedding anniversary?”

The assistant holding the cauterizer cooed from across the table.  “Aww, that’s so cute!”

“I hope my husband is that sweet,” sighed the attending nurse.

Law grumbled.  “I’m inserting the venous cannula.  Attention to the patient.”

The room immediately snapped back to intense focus.  Behind them in the corner, the circulating nurse had unlocked Law’s phone and was navigating to his texts, being careful to avoid glancing at any pictures or messages he wouldn’t have wanted her to see.  She found your messages and began typing.

—

Your phone buzzed.

Baby~~<3

Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he told me to text you in response to your call.  Is there anything I can help you with or tell him?

You sighed, figuring that was the reason he hadn’t answered his phone.  Beside you, Shachi leaned over and gazed at the screen.

“Hey, can’t knock him for being focused!” he chided, nudging your shoulder.

Sitting with your legs crossed on the couch in your living room, you couldn’t fight the proud grin that formed on your face.  “That’s true… I’d much rather him ignore my call than lose focus on a patient.”

Penguin was in the kitchen, an apron wrapped around his torso as he pulled a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of your oven.  There were already four other trays cooling on the linoleum countertop.  “I think it’s cute that he gives his phone to his nurse in case you call.”

“He probably does that for any incoming call,” you scoffed.

“Nope, he definitely only started doing that for you,” Penguin called back.

Shachi had stood from the couch and not-so-stealthily approached the counter, reaching his hands out to snag a few cookies while they were still warm.  “It’s true, once I called him during an operation without realizing and he didn’t respond for eight hours.  When he finally did call back he was like, ‘Sorry, I got caught up with something.’  Like, dude, you’re a heart surgeon.  I think I could figure that out.”  He plopped back down next to you, passing you a cookie from his hand.

Holding the sweet treat in your teeth, you looked back down at your phone, tapping the text window to begin typing.

—

Law’s attending nurse felt another buzz in her pocket.

Wifey

Omg, im so sorry to interrupt!  Can you just tell him to call me back when he gets a chance?  Tell him its no rush, either, i dont want him to stress LOL

Wifey

Thank you for your hard work, i hope hes not pushing you guys too hard <3

The nurse smiled, replying to your message and placing the phone back in her pocket.

—

Six and a half hours and a very cramped right hand later and Law was finally sitting in the break room with a microwaved dinner of some orzo dish that Penguin had made a few days prior.  He ran a weary hand through his unruly black hair, slightly greasy from the sweat that had accumulated under his surgical cap.  Taking a small mouth full of his dinner and taking advantage of the late-night silence in the break room, he finally opened his phone and tapped on your name, ringing your number.  It was nearing 11:00PM, so he doubted you’d even still be awake, but it was worth a shot anyway.  If anything, it would probably be Shachi or Penguin that would pick up.

The dial tone rang twice before a faint click sound reverberated through the receiver.

[Hi, baby!]

Law’s heart rate doubled its pace at the sound of your voice.  Your voice that he had sparsely heard the last 10 days.  He suddenly wished more than anything that he could end his shift early and race home to see you.

He swallowed his spit.  “Hey, darling, you called me during a surgery, I’m sorry I missed you.”  He truly was sorry.  He felt absolutely terrible about leaving you waiting for six hours, despite his stern and pointed attitude throughout the procedure.  Duty does call, in the end.

[Never apologize, Law, I understand.]  He could hear your exhaustion through the speaker.  [How did it end up going?]

Law pushed his orzo around with his spoon.  “It was a great success, it’s been a little bit since my team and I have performed any sort of coronary bypass surgery, so I think everyone was pretty relieved when it was finally over.”

[That’s incredible…]  You sighed into your end of the line, your airy tone giving away the smile you surely wore across your lips.  [I’m really happy it went well.]

The black-haired man simply hummed.  “Was there something you were calling about earlier?”

[Yeah…] you affirmed, however your voice suddenly adopted a more far-away flavor.  [I wanted to know if you were free this coming Friday.  Dr. Robin gave me a call earlier today and said she wants to get me in for a diagnostic consultation.  I… I don’t really want to go alone anymore.]

Law’s heart sank at the way your words sounded so little.  “I’ll check my availability for you.”

[Thank you, baby…]

“Darling, are you going to be alright until I get home in the morning?”  Law slowly felt his appetite waning as his anxieties about your current state at home were dawning on him.  “I have all day off tomorrow to spend with you, and we can talk about anything for as long as you want.”

[I’ll be alright, I promise.]

“You really promise?” Law confirmed.  It wasn’t like you to be so brief with your words, but at the same time he knew these circumstances were well past the realm of reason.

A dry chuckle bounced through the receiver.  [I really promise.]

Law drew in a deep, heaving inhale through his nostrils.  “Baby, I love you.  I’ll see you in a few hours, alright?”

[I love you too, Law.]

[deafaq]

What kind of technology do you think would help d/Deaf / HoH people in the future? Should there be more research into improving hearing aids, or making real-time captioning glasses, or maybe AI that can translate sign language instead of a human interpreter? What would be super useful if it existed?

Hello,

hearing loss is very varied, as are the types of communication people use. As such, I wouldn't focus on one single technology, since it wouldn't fit all deaf people.

Hearing aids can't be much improved, imo - they work on making sounds louder for existing hearing. They can be fine tuned, but they are more akin to glasses. The biggest issue with hearing aids isn't technology, but their price - they often aren't covered by insurance and as such, remain inaccessible for lot of people. There is also a significant stigma about their usage, esp for people who lose hearing later in life and discomfort with using them. I think that should be the priority.

Cochlear implants are a hearing device which can still be improved and does keep improving every year. Ideal end goal would be hearing identical to natural hearing and smaller size of implant. Current implants do work well, but sounds from them are different compared to "ordinary" hearing (more robotized, less fine) and they are still fairly big. Of course, you can't make them too small, otherwise you wouldn't be able to operate them. And same as hearing aids, price remains a problem - not just price of surgery and implant itself, but of batteries and upkeep.

I would honestly love real time caption glasses! They do exist in some way nowadays, but not in any practical form. One of the biggest issues is that automatic caption is still pretty... hit or miss. Especially in louder environments, extra especially if your language isn't English. I do think its a neat technology that could be useful, but we are far from its ideal existence. (not to mention, problems with privacy, connection to internet, how to power them, price, etc etc.)

There already has been some attempts into artificial interpreter, but nothing really workable. Big issue is that you need both technology that produces very fine tuned movement of all top parts of body (including face expressions) and is able to capture movement and recognize movement. Another issue is that you would need to have a workable library of all signs in a specific sign language. ASL is probably the closest to it, but it would need to be likely captured for that technology specifically and that's insane amounts of work. Unlike with written English, you can't just scrape internet for signs - they are in various video forms, differ slightly, lot of signs aren't on internet at all... To have AI interpreter, you first need to have a great, indexed sign language dictionary and that doesn't really exist at the moment.

(there are various online dictionaries but their quality... is in my opinion not up to par for this)

The biggest problem often isn't technical limit of technology itself, but the amount of time and money it would need for these technologies to exist. That's why cochlear implants get most "updates", bcs its funded by big medical companies and it brings lot of money.

In ideal world, I would love to have all of these technologies. If you focus on just one, you risk leaving part of community in the lurch. Not all deaf/hoh people use sign language. Not all deaf/hoh people want or can use hearing aids or cochlear implants. Not all deaf/hoh people are good readers (either due language issues or additional disabilities).

Hope this helped,

Mod T

[moonlight-coffeebean-147]

Doodle Dump: Watts Madworx

My lad based on the Mad Doctor. The sixth member of the Ramshackle dorm (Usagi and Grim count as one member lol). He’s the absolute definition of a mad scientist. Some folks are friends with them. Others are absolutely terrified of him. Now here’s a doodle dump of the madlad themself.

One of their main quirks is that he has a deep fascination with the non-human mages that attend Night Raven College. This includes the beastmen, the merfolk, the giants, the faes, etc. Due to being isolated for so long, he has never come into contact with any other mages other than their family. Thus one of his main goals is to conduct his own experiments at NRC and to a certain extent RSA. He’s also got a severe case of cuteness aggression, as well as odds ways of expressing their love and friendship. Basically to Watts “I want to dissect your brain” and “I want to cut you open” is their way of saying “I want to get to know you better”. “I want to live in your skin” is “I love you” to them 💀. For the most part they mean well and just want to be friends with everyone despite most of his words coming off as threats 😭.

One hobby of his is that they love to modify stuffed animals in order to fit their own vision. He would never experiment on live animals as that would be too much for him. According to him, it would be cruel and unusual to experiment on those who cannot give say into whether or not they want to be part of it. Basically if you tell him that you don’t want to be a part of their experiment, they’ll usually respect that. Of course this plush is a reference to the Mad Doctor’s debut short, just a more morbidly adorable version. Though with that said…

He has asked Jack, Elias, and Beck if they ever wanted to be a part of an actual experiment like that. (Though lord knows where Watts would find a chicken beastman)… the answer was a unanimous no.

One of the inspirations for Watts’ personality was Hange from Attack on Titan. And I feel like he’d have the same excitement when seeing giants like Gareth and Billy. On another note, I feel like Billy would be the only one immune to Watts’ experiential ask attempts. To Watts he’s too adorable to be experimented on 💀. Though Billy is not immune to the cuteness aggression comments from him.

This leads to where Watts lands when talking about core scale. To me, Watts would be a perfect prey… under different circumstances. He’s a willing prey, but in terms of if the predator is okay with being literally dissected from the inside. Add to the fact that Watts never leaves the dorm without a scalpel or one of their tools, to eat him would absolutely be a pred’s biggest mistake. This leads to most of the pred students to be absolutely terrified of Watts despite him literally begging to be eaten. It is just not worth the risk to them 😭

Cue the funny chase sequence. This doodle I honestly do want to turn into a full piece. That way I can draw some lads that he’d be chasing. So cute yet oh so terrifying… don’t ask where they got the bone saw.

One another note… Watts is transmasc and goes by he/they. I don’t exactly know how hrt would work in this world or if it would be like a potion one would take to change one’s gender permanently since that’s normally a thing within fantasy settings, I personally go with the latter. But either way, Watts did their own top surgery even before finding out potions were available. I think that one of things he wanted to used their inventions for was to improve their life… that includes looking more masculine. He does make other kinds of inventions and robots though. But either way, now he’s got some scars and the pride of saying they did their own top surgery. Usagi certainly thinks it’s cool at least.

One of Watts’ best friends outside of Ramshackle is Rook…. Chernabog help all the students. If you’re vigilant enough you’ll be able to tell and see the both of them spying on the other students ^^

And that’s the end of another doodle dump. I’m really happy with Watts and can’t wait to do more with them in the future. For our last doodle. Finger guns. Watts is fairly chill once you get past his eccentricities.

Watts, Usagi, and Beck(Mentioned)- Me

Billy and Elias(Mentioned)- @twistedtummies2

Gareth- @twistedbrainrot

[gigglebone6]

ithink this is what tumblr would be like in the dogman universe: a simulator

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

can those villain asshats get control of those goddamn monsters i have lost literally every single fucking thing thanks to those brainless pieces of shits last week a fucking T-REX SKELETON destroyed my fucking HOUSE and everything around it

🪻 inmylane-1999

how are you able to say those words

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

what words?

🪻 inmylane-1999 the a word, f word, and s word

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

oh i see you're one of the Collardale inhabitants. screw the fuck off your town is a CURSE

🪻 inmylane-1999

what did i do? :(

10 notes

🪰 greenweirdthingwithteeth follow

hnstly i dont get y Daryl hangs arnd that pig guy hes rlly mean & bad

🐊 piethrowingboss

didnt u help us go after him when he ditched us after the mini jail broke 2 bits?

🪰 greenweirdthingwithteeth follow

yeh butt hes still rlly mean & i was a lil moar concerned 4 Daryl

🐊 piethrowingboss

ohhhh kk

5 notes

🐕 zupabuddiezthezenutz

zomg did u guyz watch that new mini-documentary w/ Petey The Cat n Zarah Hatoff??? that waz tragickk..

#holy shart i have so much moar respect 4 him now..

6 notes

🔄 24hotdogsatyourdoorstep reblogged

🌆 icareforyou follow

still dont know why people are supporting Petey Duckhat just because of that documentary, didn't he terrorize the city for more than a month or two?? ntm he quite literally MUTILATED Officer Knight and Greg The Dog's bodies bad enough with that bomb to where they had to become that sick and horrible abomination i have to stomach through seeing on the news every week.

😀 randomcivillian-956 follow

i know right?? like hes genuinely a horrible cat but people are supporting him for no other reason other than "oh hes a victim!!" like shut the fuck up and grow up.

comicpanel-deactivated-98325749857

op i wouldn't say DogMan is sick and horrible, he seems to be in great condition despite such an accident and hard surgery to conduct, and looks perfectly happy. while i don't support Petey Duckhat either, you took it a step further and suggested that DogMan is currently in conditions horrible enough to render him an "abomination".

🌆 icareforyou follow

dont you post tips for fucking evil monsters on your blog.

#LMAOOO dude was SLAUGHTERED so hard they deactivated #redogs

1,509 notes

🌭 24hotdogsatyourdoorstep

walking on the street with a small can of living spray in my pocket and the nearest cop explodes into blood guts and viscera

10 notes

🦷 bigmonsterinyourheart

okay i get that Dr. Scum is a real and kinda sucky person and all that but his labcoat kinda fucks!!

0 notes

✨ lookatthestars

Hot take or whatever but I don't think we should trust a guy who gets really distracted by squirrels and balls and a kitten who could easily get hurt to protect our city. Lightning Dude IS one of the better options as they ARE a highly durable and strong robot, but The Bark Knight and Cat Kid maybe aren't our best bets, they could get hurt easily and aren't exactly professionals.

Don't get me started on the Friendly Friends, I don't think we can trust two guys who JUST left the same exact trio that was responsible for that marshmallow factory's destruction (which left many injured, some DEAD), what if they're pretending? Also the bugs could easily get killed, they're small and fragile, the most work they can do without a high risk of getting smashed is spying on villains.

Commander Cupcake's a different story, as I'm pretty sure that guy only helped out, like, 3 times.

#anti-supa buddies #anti-friendly friends #twinkle twinkle little star

15 notes

🪁 lalalalala89

dude imagine if we were in a book rn and ppl were posting on tumblr abt us

0 notes

🎠 supastarr

remember, calico trans toms are perfectly valid! even cis toms can be calicos, and fur pattern doesn't determine exact gender, especially with fur dying technology nowadays! :)

506 notes