#physician survey

[hislop3]

Friday Feature: Back to the Future and Care Rounds

TGIF! A frequent reader sent me a note earlier in the week and asked if I would drop in more clinically oriented stuff from time to time. I asked for details, and she said stuff “that is germane to patient care and operational improvements – QA/QI stuff”. So, today’s post is by request, sort of. I ran across a little case study piece from Sound Physicians about their work in a North Texas…

[nanamiscocksleeve]

Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.” 

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 

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[passive-income-for-doctors]

How to Earn Extra Money Working as a Physician

Although it can be stressful and time-consuming, being a doctor is a rewarding and meaningful profession. There are several side jobs for doctors that you can check into if you're seeking for methods to supplement your current income. We'll look at some of the finest options for doctors to get extra money in this blog.

Consulting is one of the most common side businesses for doctors. You have a plethora of information and experience as a doctor that can be beneficial to healthcare businesses and organisations. You can supplement your income while sharing your knowledge and advancing critical research and development in the healthcare sector by offering your consulting skills.

Being a medical writer is another way to make extra money. Writing medical content includes producing articles, blog posts, and white papers for healthcare organisations. You have a thorough understanding of medical subjects as a doctor, and you can use your knowledge to produce useful and interesting content of the highest calibre.

Consider working as a telemedicine provider if you're seeking for a more adaptable side career. Remote patient care is known as telemedicine, and it entails using technology like video conferencing to deliver care. This can be a terrific opportunity to make extra money while also giving patients access to care who might not otherwise have it.

Medical billing, medical coding, and medical transcription are examples of additional side jobs for doctors. Working with medical records calls for precision and close attention to detail in these positions. Even while they might not be as lucrative as consulting or writing for the medical field, they can nevertheless be a reliable source of additional money. In conclusion, there are many side jobs available for doctors that can help you make extra money outside working in your primary care setting. There are numerous ways to use your experience and skills to generate additional revenue, regardless of whether you decide to work as a consultant, medical writer, telemedicine provider, or seek other options. So why not look into your possibilities and start making extra money right away?

[mdforlives]

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[escespace]

Merlin and Arthur but someone help me I can't get it out of my head:

A threat, Merlin is going to face it, Investigate, fight, yadyadayada... The only solution is to make a deal that, in exchange for keeping Camelot safe for another day, Merlin must give up all the memories of his most precious person.

Obviously after running out of memories of ☆Arthur☆ He doesn't understand the importance of returning to Camelot, why is he still there if Gaius has taught him almost everything he can, Even kilgharrah isn't there anymore. For some reason, moreover, he feels that he often causes the poor physician more problems that should be... And all this without mentioning that before he wanted to see the world, he wanted to explore, to know and who knows? He might even make a name for himself... At least that's what he dreamed of as a child.

Again, why is he still in Camelot?

THEN HE GOES. JUST LIKE THAT

The next day Arthur can't find Merlin anywhere and we all know how he gets. He searches for him, he stresses, he screams... But it is not until night comes and he speaks with Gaius that the old man breaks his facade and Arthur notices the concern, that something is not right. He presses and presses until Gaius finally admits that he hasn't seen Merlin since the previous evening, that Merlin didn't sleep there and that he didn't even know where Merlin had gone.

It is canon that Arthur would immediately lose the marbles. As prince regent he order a wanted party. Nothing can stop him because *the power of the script*

Weeks go by with no sign of Merlin. Search efforts are dwindling as there are other priorities These priorities include certain strange occurrences in border villages.Some of these strange occurrences include a group of knights who were defeated by an entity they failed to see or recognize when they went to pick up an accused sorcerer. In addition, in the town next to that one, an entire family suspected of magic disappeared.

The council agrees that action must be taken or the people will begin to see those signs of weakness when it comes to responding to the law, with a sick king and having faced a mini conquest (I don't remember the chronological order of certain events, apologies); They must make it clear that Camelot is still the same as always...

Then, by the power of the script, the prince argues until he is the one who is designated to command the patrol of knights who will go to the villages in question (for honor, to make the people see him as a prince who executes his own orders or whatever)

Between surveys in the villages, some talks with peasants, follow clues... GUESS WHO THEY FIND?

Merlin has been wandering here and there, posing as a herb seller (because that must be good for something), Coincidentally, he has not left that specific town where the suspicious events occurred (he is that stupidly confident)...

He seems to vaguely recognize the knights. One of them he met in a tavern, another fighting a griffin, another is the brother of someone he met who-knows-where; and the other... He can't remember where he knows him from. That makes him feel strangely dizzy, there is a pressure in his head and there are pits that he does not want to question himself.In all this, Arthur does not stop shouting a thousand and one things at him. How stupid he is, how careless he is, how much work he has put in the backlog while touring every tavern in Albion...

Then Merlin says the three words that put Arthur's world Heel over head:

«who are You?»

[lifewithchronicpain]

Physicians are using excuses to intentionally dissuade people with disabilities from their practices, researchers say in a new study exposing just how pervasive discrimination against this population is in health care.

In focus groups, doctors described making strategic choices to turn away individuals with disabilities. They reported telling patients with disabilities that they would require specialized care and that “I am not the doctor for you.” In other cases, physicians said they simply indicate that “I am not taking new patients” or “I do not take your insurance.”

The findings come from a study published this month in the journal Health Affairs. It is based on focus groups conducted in late 2018 by researchers at the Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine, the University of Massachusetts and Harvard Medical School with 22 primary care and specialist doctors who were selected from a national database.

Many of the participants described accommodating people with disabilities as burdensome and some used outdated language like “mentally retarded.” Doctors frequently indicated that individuals with disabilities account for a small number of patients, making it hard to justify having accessible equipment. They also had little knowledge of their obligations under the Americans with Disabilities Act, with one suggesting that the law works “against physicians.”

The latest study builds on findings published earlier this year from a survey of 714 doctors that was done by some of the same researchers. Just 56% of physicians who participated in the survey said they welcome people with disabilities at their practices and only 41% indicated that they could provide such patients with a similar quality of care to others. Meanwhile, more than a third of doctors queried said they had little or no knowledge of their legal obligations under the ADA.

“Taken together, the focus groups and survey responses provide a substantive and deeply concerning picture of physicians’ attitudes and behaviors relating to care for people with disabilities,” the study authors note.

The findings suggest that bias continues to greatly influence health care more than 30 years after passage of the ADA, which prohibits discrimination against people with disabilities, including in medical services.

Tara Lagu, a professor of hospital medicine and medical social sciences at Northwestern University and an author of the study, described the doctors’ attitudes toward the ADA in particular as “upsetting and disappointing.”

“Our body of work suggests that physician bias and discriminatory attitudes may contribute to the health disparities that people with disabilities experience,” Lagu said. “We need to address the attitudes and behavior that perpetuate the unequal access experienced by our most vulnerable patients.”

[ravings-of-a-mad-scientist]

Workaholics Anonymous 

Science Major: Man, I sure wish I had time to enjoy college but I have so much studying and homework to do. At least I'll get an easy high paying job after, right?

Physicist: I think I have a pretty good work life balance (does not, actually) and I think my grad students should have the same work life balance (which is not having that)

Astronomer: I work *about 40 hour weeks, but sometimes there are hours are in the middle of the night 'cause, y'know, stars. But who needs a consistent sleep schedule, really? Not me. I got Redbull.

Geologist: Sometimes I get to spend 15 hours a day wandering through the desert in severe weather conditions looking for cool rocks! also I have to like survey the land or whatever so I can get money

Chemist: Oh, you know, my PI only lets me see my family at night for dinner, then I have to come back and sleep in the lab, but overall I’d say I’m not too stressed.

Physician: Well, I had to work really hard, so why shouldn't everyone else have to work even harder? I'm sure the patients could only benefit from everyone being sleep deprived.

Biologist: I work so much I don’t even remember the last time I wasn’t working.

Science Major: huh?

Biologist: I MUST OBSERVE THE CRAB AT ALL TIMES. I OBSERVE THE CRAB EVEN AS WE SPEAK. IF I DO NOT PUBLISH 60 PAPERS ON CRAB BEHAVIOR BY NEXT YEAR MY COLLEAGUES WILL SENSE MY WEAKNESS AND DEVOUR ME ALIVE, LIKE A PACK OF STARVING CRABS

Computer Scientist: Um… I work from home for at most 8 hours a day then play video games

Biologist: *licks lips*

Computer Scientist (Game Dev): I would murder you if I wasn't so... oh there I go- *passes out from exhaustion (hasn't slept or touched grass in five years)*

[throwaway-yandere]

𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗/𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖑𝖊 [Yandere Prince!Scaramouche/Reader]

A/n: After reading so many tyrant otome isekai manhwas, I thought I should give writing one a try... This story ended up being a bit more “real”(?) than OI. And I forgot the isekai part LOL. Love this fic a lot because the (L/n) family says the most banger lines. They spitting facts. Anyways, welcome to another throwaway-thursday, enjoy this one, @vennnnn-diagram because... lol.

Unreliable Synopsis: Exiled in Watatsumi island after publishing two anti-colonial novels outside their homeland, the famous reformist writer and physician (L/n) (Y/n) faces several familial deaths— and it all leads back to one man...

Content Warnings/Tags: Yandere themes, mentions of miscarriage (note: this is because this is very loosely based on a real life hero's biography), "lovers" to enemies, angst, character deaths, church corruption, politics, etc. Prioritize your mental health. The fic is meant to be a bit dark. You can listen to this song for the vibes 💖

"Are you going to Watatsumi Fair, Niwa?"

"Well, of course! The Lector works hard to make sure it's grander each year."

"Our Lector… I hope (L/n) is doing alright. It must be incredibly heartbreaking to lose a newborn son under three hours…"

"Indeed…"

It’s the 19th century and the streets chatter on about the upcoming festival. Seri, mitsuba, yomogi, and shiso— murmurs of food and spices exchanged at the Watatsumi Fair circulated. However, these four wonderful things wouldn't be there without a certain exile transforming the island into a thriving island: Lector (Y/n) (L/n).

Prince Kunikuzushi's most esteemed “rival”.

You were an exemplary philosopher and ophthalmologist who published two novels abroad that reflected Inazuma's social issues and military abuses. Of course, you were born in a noble clan. Only the wealthy can study outside Ritou and attain higher education beyond the basic arithmetic and religion Inazuman Colonizers gatekept your people with. You were slaves.

But these colonizers feared educated colonies would demand rights; hence, after publishing those eye-opening novels, you became Public Enemy #1. Charges against you were not absolved, but Inazumans could not execute you upon arrival. You were not a revolutionary, but a pacifist reformist. You made the government and clergy's behavior known worldwide, hence the military banished you to Watatsumi— another Inazuman colony and barren land. 

Assured that you've done nothing wrong, you stayed in Watatsumi. With nothing but your firm beliefs, your days of exile were your most productive. Using your skills as a physician and some wits on land surveying, you've improved Watatsumi’s quality of life in under 6 months. 

You're far from home with little spare change, yet you provided medicina gratis. With you, you’ve helped open the people’s eyes. 

You lived under the scrutinizing eyes of the Queen, yet you erected streetlights in each dark street. With you, you’ve helped the people see in this dark age. 

And most importantly, you have established Watatsumi's first school.

With you, the people understood the truth of their situation: they had been living under a tyrant’s rule for the past few decades.

And all you asked in return was for the people to help you in your ventures to improve the island's agriculture and spices.

How can the people of Watatsumi not love you for this martyrdom?

“(L/n) is organizing a secret rebellion association planning to overthrow the government”. That was the Queen’s grounds for exile, including false testimonial and documentary evidence. It was obvious that your books were in strong opposition to the current Inazuman Government.

Hence, Archbishop Sangonomiya Umiko was incredibly fond of you.

"I still believe I am innocent of the crime of rebellion, illegal association, and sedition. All I did was publish two novels!" You hummed. "When the Shogun calls for my execution— and she will— do immediately ask for my body. They will likely throw it wherever they please. Worse, Kunikuzushi might use me as his doormat." 

The Archbishop laughed. "I can see that. His Highness does fit that character."

You and Umiko sat far from the festivities. Sangonomiya Umiko was neither friend nor foe. She is the current leader of Watatsumi Island, but she is restricted by the commands of the Queen and her children. Umiko cannot even preach about her true faith, hiding her birthright as the Divine Priestess and instead donning the title foreign title of Archbishop. Even with friendly demeanors, there’s an unmistakable grim air on both your faces.

No passerby would mistake this meeting as a romantic date. You have a wonderful spouse waiting home, appearing as crest-fallen as you do now. 

… But "Spouse" is a rather loose term. You and your partner were forbidden to have a wedding. Prince Kunikuzushi would not allow an exile to marry and no priest would disobey him. Hence, you and your lover decided to merely promise to the God you believe in that you'll remain loyal to one another. That faith and loyalty brought about a prematurely birthed child— who only had three hours to live until his breath was cruelly stripped away…

And historians would attribute your son’s death as a cause for your morbid obsession with your own future execution.

"Kunikuzushi is a personification of what's wrong with the Inazuman Empire," you said casually. "He will be the core of what causes the revolution, not I."

Umiko did not miss the way you addressed the Prince. You spoke without honorifics, an aspect in both Watatsumi and Inazuma's language that is evident in everyday conversations. Most revolutionists emphasize his high station with hatred. You emit those titles and call him by name.

As though it was a habit.

As though you were once friends and more.

"Lector (Y/n), do watch your tongue," she shook her head. "The walls have ears."

"And what if the walls have eyes and ears? They shall see and hear my innocence." You sipped your tea before you snapped your fingers with a grin. "Oh, and do me one last favor. When they'll let me face my executioners, armed with polished guns and a shoveled ground:"

"Only the guilty are shot in the back. Let me face the firing squad and spare my head so that I may die facing the heavens."

A glimpse of (h/c) hair ran past in the streets of Inazuma City, carrying a child in his arms. The child was injured but otherwise “fine”— as fine as children could be amidst the rains of ashy woods and turbulent fires. The city capital reeked of gunpowder and a nauseating metallic scent. The (h/c) haired man may not have any blood relations to the person whom they’re protecting, nor does he know her name, but he held onto the 8-year-old dearly. 

Despite the chaos that surrounded him, your older brother cannot help but think of one hopeful thought:

With the recent loss of (Y/n)’s son, maybe they’d be willing to adopt this little girl as my new niece? 

But all that ended abruptly when a loud voice resonated throughout the streets.

“DON’T LET A SINGLE ONE OF THEM ESCAPE. NO SURVIVORS!”

Prince Kunikuzushi stood proud in the middle of it all. With calm finesse, he ordered the generals to order their soldiers to kill without a hint of remorse. His eyes were dull. All he knew was that his mother wished for the death of revolutionaries hiding in the capital. Whether these rumors were falsehoods or not, the Queen did not care. Fear is the family’s greatest weapon, bloodshed is nothing to them.

Death is nothing for a mother's puppet like him.

The Prince truly didn't have any care for this war. He's only following orders under the reward that he'll be able to have you. It was the Queen's promise, and she had always been relentless in any pursuit of honor and glory.

In return for his familial services, Queen Ei might consider his proposal. The royal family dreaded the death of their former matriarch, Makoto, and the prince showed no attraction to any of his valid consorts. Should he show loyalty to the end, the Queen will allow him to marry anyone to his liking.

That's why he's putting up with this.

He looked at the horizon, seeing nothing but fire instead of the deep ocean.

Why did Watatsumi have to be so far away?

Why did you have to be a sea away?

As fate would have it, a young soldier spotted the two. A hunt between two red-tagged innocent civilians and a greenhorn murderer commenced. Limping slightly, your brother attempted to push down restaurant chairs and other outside furniture in hopes he’d lose track of them.

The soldier did not know that the person he was tracking was your older brother.

Had he known, he would’ve left him alone.

And as much as fortune favors the bold, it was not on your sibling’s side.

The soldier fired his first reckless shot and hit its target.

Your brother stumbled, holding his stomach. He gasped, coughing as he subconsciously let the child go. But he did not fear for his life, but hers. He knew that the child was asleep on a park bench when the horns rang for danger. She was homeless with nothing but bedclothes and a short makeshift blanket, and now she’ll be forced to witness a traumatizing scene.

Poor child… You must be frightened…

I hope…

Your brother remains adamant that the child must live, even as the barrel of the enemy's rifle is pointed at his chest. A look of stern determination, mixed with fear, can be seen in his eyes as he stands his ground despite the threat of death.

That (Y/n) will raise you right…

“S-Scaramouche’s crown's resplendent band shows no natural light. The ocean's glimmer elucidates more hope than your vile scarlet battalions could ever hope for!!!” Your older brother yelled, weakly hiding the child behind him.

The soldier cocked the barrel against his forehead.

“There is no emprise to plundering, to murder and genocide—” he continued, coughing blood at the corner of his lips. “You will all be remembered in history as those who had foolishly paraded without genius. Death has a more ambrosial scent than a life of servitude under your heels.”

SHOT!!!

…

…

“M-Mister?... M-Mister?! MISTER!!!”

The child screamed as your brother fell to the ground. With the remaining humanity the young soldier clung to, he turned a blind eye towards the little one crying silvery tears. Truth be told, the new soldier himself had forgotten what it was he was fighting for. What was the point in this death, this pain, if not to harm both sides? But a good soldier does not question his orders and he leaves the child without a word.

She did not know his name. She did not know his status as a (L/n). She did not know he was the older brother of the famous physician (Y/n) (L/n). She did not know he was a martyr way before his true death.

But she still held his corpse with abandon. His body heat was slowly growing cold. Though her stature was short and small, her tears were heavier than her heart could manage.

(L/n)s may meet horrid ends, but Fate grants you all one last wish.

You all have the privilege of dying whilst facing the heavens, and that is the final honor your brother can carry with him in his passing. 

“My dear, a letter arrived,” your spouse spoke. “It came from your mother…”

It was deep into the night and you had just fixed yourself up for bed, but you’re not one to turn down letters. Perhaps your old friend from Opera Epiclese had sent you a reply? Igniting the nearby lamp, you lovingly kissed their hand before taking the letter.

“Thank you, love,” you cooed. “I’ll surely be writing a letter back, so why don’t you rest before me? I shall accompany you later.”

Leaving them with a blush, you shut the door behind you. Despite the struggles in your relationship, your love for your gorgeous spouse will never disappear over the unplanned loss of your first child.

Unlike Kunikuzushi’s…

You entered the living room and closed the door behind you. A wise decision, given the contents that were about to crush the little mental stability you had left.

“My Dearest (Y/n), It is with a heavy heart and trembling hand that I take quill to convey news that no mother should ever have to write down. As I write these words, tears splotch the paper, and each stroke of the pen is a painful reminder of the sorrow that has befallen our clan. My dearest child, it grieves me beyond measure to inform you that your beloved older brother, (B/n), has departed from this world. The weight of this solemn news rests heavily upon my shoulders, and the burden is almost too much to bear. The tragedy unfolded in the heart of the capital, where (B/n), in an act of unparalleled heroics, sacrificed his own life to save that of a young girl during a merciless ambush. His valor shone through, but the cost is another pain you must bear after the death of your own child. Oh, my (Y/n), the pain is unbearable. I wish I could shield you from this heart-wrenching truth, but I believe in your resilience. The thought that you are in exile, far from my comforting embrace, only adds bitterness to my heart. The cruel hand of fate has robbed you of the chance to bid a final farewell to your dear brother, to stand beside his resting place and pay tribute to his funeral. The distance that separates Ritou and Watatsumi feels insurmountable, and I ache at the thought of your solitary grief. I hope your spouse shall accompany you in these troubled times. In these dark hours, know that you are not alone in grief. Though separated, we mourn the loss of a beloved son and brother, the heir of the (L/n) clan. May time and the tender embrace of cherished memories bring some measure of peace to your soul. With all the love a grieving heart can muster, Mother”

As the ink on your mother's heartbreaking letter crumpled with sorrow in your heavy trembling grip, a weighted silence filled the room. The words she penned— each a painful jab to your psyche— threatened to spill tears you've fought so desperately to hold back for weeks since you didn’t want your spouse to worry.

Before you can succumb to weeping on the floor with a contorted expression and writhing body, the door opens, disrupting your peace. 

Prince Kunikuzushi, adorned with his mother’s feather and opulent regalia, strode into your humble abode with an irritating aura of entitlement. His presence, a stark contrast to the mourning atmosphere, successfully transformed your grief into weaponized spite.

"Still holding another Watatsumi Fair, are we?" he sneered, disdain dripping in every word. The callousness in his eyes and “indifference” to your mourning made the air all the more sharper.

“Why are you here, Your Highness?” You spat out. “Had your clow— soldiers failed to entertain you?”

“They are nearly as boring as your spouse in bed.” He snarled. “And I wager that their lives last longer than they do.”

You bit your tongue. Your spouse had made an effort to teach you not to reply to any insult he had towards them, and you had done decently enough to honor their wishes by merely scowling at the royal instead of equipping any nearby blunt weapon.

“Allow me to ask again,” you forced yourself to be cordial. “What are you doing here, Kunikuzushi?”

The prince clicked his tongue.

“Do I not have the authority to visit you?”

“You do,” you said. “But you do not have the right to barge in as you please, much like how Lord Hiroshi shouldn’t have decided to conquer my homeland Ritou and decide to claim it as Inazuman property for your mother’s ever-so-eternal happiness.”

“He was only claiming what is rightfully ours.”

Prince Kunikuzushi looked over at your bedroom door. You took large steps forward, blocking his way. You won’t allow him to disturb your lover’s good night’s rest.

He frowned.

"You should have been mine," he muttered softly. 

You hated this about Kunikuzushi the most. He speaks with audacity that knows no bounds as he criticizes your spouse, but would sound the most pure when addressing his own emotions. “You should’ve said yes. You should’ve ruled these nations with me, and more. But you threw it all away and for what? Fragile patriotism? You are defending an island that will suffer the same fate as your beloved Ritou.” 

In the eye of this tempest, your mother’s burning words fuels a fire that burns brighter than any royal decree. 

"You speak of love and marriages," you seethed, voice cutting through the tension, "but you know nothing of the bonds that truly matter."

…

…

…

As the realization dawns upon him, his arrogance wavered. 

He had not realized early on that news about your brother’s death had reached you already.

"An accident," he stammered, attempting to deflect blame. "If I knew, I would have spared him in that ambush. I’m not an All-Knowing God, so it’s genuinely just an accident."

With a chilling calmness, you locked eyes with him. "That wasn't an accident— our previous affairs were an accident. What you've done was murder." 

Your words hung in the air, leaving no room for denial.

“I love you,” the prince spoke in near-whisper. “You know better than anyone that I would never do anything to hurt you this bad. You know that I am the voice that called for your exile instead of execution. I never would’ve asked for his death.”

His claim was also true. 

You knew you were the only person who he had fallen for his whole life. You knew because when you were studying abroad, you had strange chance encounters with him. You knew because he was mildly stalking you and would’ve for a long time had you not offered a seat in the library. You knew because he had been a difficult person to court, always bottling his own emotions and lashing out in retorts you had dubbed “adorable” at a time. You knew because he had told you himself years ago that…

"You are insufferable. And yet, I find myself inexplicably drawn to your company. It's horridly vexing. Your presence lingers in my thoughts long after you've departed, like an annoying insect. I must confess, despite my best efforts, I find myself rather fond of you too— ridiculously enough."

... But what you didn’t know during your studies in Fontaine was that Kunikuzushi was the son of the Queen you despised and wrote articles against in editorial jobs to earn not only spare cash but the enlightenment of your people back home. What you didn’t know was that the prince had been sent by his mother to monitor your actions.

What you did not know came to haunt you on your way back home. 

So you rid yourself of these memories and cornered him into a wall, a hand just behind his head. The sound of your hand slamming made the intimidating prince flinch, and he trembled at the dullness of your eyes.

“And yet whose orders was it? Whose order was it to ensure there would be no survivors in that location? WHOSE WAS IT, KUNIKUZUSHI?! ANSWER ME!!!”

Your spouse called your name from the other room. “(Y/n), is everything alright?”

With their voice, your anger faded slightly, yet your breathing remains loud and manic. “I’m alright! Do not leave the room, dear!”

“Scaramouche” took that as an opportunity to digress.

“I saved you from death before. Do not forget that.” His face hardened. “In case you've forgotten, I'm no saint. Many people will want to seek me out and settle the grudges they've built against me, and what better way to avoid that than to route those future seeds of rebellion?” 

The prince took your hand off the wall.

“Mother had enough, she sees no reason to hold back against those who rebel and she had filed an order to reopen your case. And if my blood and hers are the same, I guarantee you that she will only provide you with the worst defense attorney possible. You will surely receive the death sentence.”

He placed your hand on his chest, gripping it so desperately tight to the point of it hurting.

“So choose me,” Kunikuzushi mumbled. “Choose me, and save yourself. Do not follow your brother’s path. Choose me. I’m your only option.”

And heavens above, does he take delight in that.

You met his gaze with a resolute determination. 

"I appreciate your offer," you replied, your voice steady, "but I refuse. My brother's legacy, as tarnished as it may be, deserves justice, and so do I."

A flicker of frustration passed across Kunikuzushi's face. 

"You're being naive," he retorted, the desperation in his voice taking a sharper edge. "An arraignment is on its way. The military court will not deliver justice. It will devour you. I’m offering you a fucking lifeline, a chance to escape the inevitable."

“I won't tarnish my brother's memory by succumbing to the same shadows that claimed him."

Kunikuzushi's eyes, once filled with a glimmer of hope, darkened with frustration. "You're condemning yourself—" he argued, "—for an idealistic notion of justice that doesn't exist. You're a fool."

"Perhaps I am a fool," you admitted, "But I am a fool who is sure of their innocence. I am not a revolutionary, I only spoke and wrote of the truth. I will not compromise my integrity for the sake of expedience."

As you spoke, the defeat in Kunikuzushi's eyes began to settle. 

"You're determined," he snarled. "So stubbornly determined to die!"

"Perhaps," you acknowledged, "Choosing you would be an escape, but it would also be a betrayal of everything I stand for. And I…"

You smiled.

“I love my spouse,” you said. “And the child we made that was taken from me all so suddenly. Hence, I do not need your love, Prince Scaramouche.”

Kunikuzushi tensed up.

Your child was baptized by the Inazuman priests. 

And Inazuman priests serve the royal family and their constituents.

History’s eyes will speculate that Prince Kunikuzushi was the reason your child had died, that he had ordered your son's immediate poison upon birth.

And Kunikuzushi knows it to be true.

But you will never know that.

You will never know the full extent of what this man had taken from you.

With those words, you turned away from Kunikuzushi, leaving him and his offer behind. You opened the door and gestured for him to leave. Neither of you knew at the time that this would be the last night you’d spend in the comfort of your own home.

Before you knew it, you were writing your final farewells.

(Y/n) (L/n) was subjected by the military court on ████████ ██, ████ and was sentenced to death at six in the morning.

The people saw no justice for their hero, and your body was buried in Inazuma City. If it were not for all you and your clan had given, there would be no freedom in Watatsumi Island and Ritou. Had your brother not saved the young girl, she would not become the matriarch of the Yuna Clan, who led the first Navy in the revolution.

And had you not died in Inazuma City, there would be no Resistance.

But that was centuries ago. 

Divine Priestess Sangonomiya Kokomi sat on her desk, examining previous preliminary investigations. She racked her brain over the testimonies of the seven members of the military court, the judge advocate, the defense counsel, and the prosecuting attorney. The prince was right when he stated the trial would not be fair for you were forced to employ a Lt. Arataki as your defense. It was a prejudged trial. Despite the obvious assertion of innocence, you were still acquitted of your allegations of treachery.

It never fails to make the current Head Priestess feel sour over a 5 centuries-year-old case.

"In their last moments, (L/n) penned Watatsumi Fair and Canticle, two sonnets kept hidden in an alcohol burner." Kokomi murmured as she read. "Although the prince barred their spouse entry, several other family members and friends came to visit (L/n) with the Orobashi coral statue provided by the townsfolk. The sculpture was created for them during the aforementioned fair."

Are you going to Watatsumi Fair?

"In their Fontainian black suit, hat, shoes, and white vest, (L/n) walked calmly outside their prison cell to the execution site in Inazuma City. They've even checked (L/n)'s pulse and felt no irregularities. (L/n) were tied elbow-to-elbow despite their visible acceptance of fate."

"It was speculated that Prince Kunikuzushi was the last person whom they talked to, looking rather somberly with disdain. He spoke in a foreign language so only (L/n) and he knew of their conversation."

 

Seri, mitsuba, yomogi, shiso.

"But Archbishop Sangonomiya Umiko understood what he had said. Je t'aime, mon grand amour… ma première trahison. Roughly translated as I love you, my grand love… my first betrayal."

"Lector (Y/n) (L/n) was commanded to face the ground when the firing squad pulled the trigger, but they still tried to face their executioners. They fell to the shoveled ground, looking at the gray morning skies. They were buried at seven."

“From then on, the name Kunikuzushi changed its meaning to Country Destroyer— for he had successfully demolished the Inazuman Empire upon sitting on the throne through violent means. When asked about this, the King responded with:”

Remember me to one who lives there.

“I didn't desire the Empire that took away my (Y/n). I didn't crave any of it. As soon as I was coronated, my heart stopped beating. And so, I enticed the neighboring King Morax to crumble the very essence of the Inazuman Empire. What purpose do these soldiers have in life, when all they've done is obediently follow ruthless commands and snuff out the ones who hold my heart?

When it’s said and done, I will be empty— a blank slate, destined to wander the desolate corridors of a nation bygone.

Only to honor these filthy human emotions called “love” that never came to be.”

He once was a true love of mine.

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist <3): @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram , @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl @kitkareen

[the-kingshound]

15 "Is your learning curve a horizontal line?" from an usually cold but witty MC to Morien?

(I love your work btw, and I'm absolutely here for the simping going on on this blog)

(I am doing old prompts, starting with this one because today I woke up and chose violence)

"Morien."

Your name sign for them had taken quite a long time to be carefully decided, if only because you loathed to leave the physician with one that didn't, at best, represent them as a whole. Your hands sign it usually with affection, however now not even a drop of love can be found in your gestures now.

Morien looks up with bloodshot eyes, up from their lap where they are medicating their own hand, which had violently trashed half their bedchambers before your arrival.

"Is your learning curve a horizontal line?"

Morien's whole body stills. Dizziness adds to the pain in their hand and the more severe one in their stupid flaring knee. They think they interpreted your signs wrong for just a moment. But your eyes are cold, and serious.

So, they grip their cane until it hurts and they growl, "what the fuck did you just say?"

You look around, surveying with annoyed disappointment the broken glass and trashed clothes. "Perhaps you truly are stupid if you think doing this shit will one day work. Three days. And here we are again."

Nausea fills their stomach and it travels up their throat. The ringing in their ears is back. So much worse, this time.

"Get out," they rasp.

When you make no immediate move to do so, the physician grips the bloodied cloth on their lap and clenches their hand around it until the wounds reopen and blood spills again. They growl, voice cracking while they scream, "get the fuck out!"

They don't watch you as you do. Once the door is closed, leaving them in their own mess and anguish, Morien throws the cloth away, lifts up their hand to press on their mouth and cries.

[dirty-jammies]

💕🍰 A Treat for the Prince 🍮🦈

(Prince Sidon x Chubby!Fem!Reader)

You and Sidon attend a royal banquet. You're instantly drawn to the vast array of desserts, but your lover wants to indulge in something even sweeter...

Contents: bad dessert innuendos, body worship, breast touching/sucking, oral (fem recieving), multiple orgasms, overstim, vaginal sex, double penetration (Sidon has 2 dicks), rough sex, little bit of breeding kink, uhhh and our Prince loves thicc Hylian ladies!

(Notes: Here we go! The first of (hopefully) many Sidon x reader fics from yours truly!)

As King Dorephan gave his speech, you tried your best to pay attention, though your eyes kept drifting to the large display of food on the table before you. It was a celebration banquet for the citizens of Zora's Domain, so they went all-out. Celebrating Bazz's promotion to Sergeant of the Royal Guards, welcoming the new head physician for the domain, Yona, and, of course, honouring yourself as the newly-named official consort for the Prince of the Zora.

You glanced up to Sidon, who immediately met your eyes and gave you a smile. The title of consort was simply a formality, you and Sidon were already far, far closer than that, though that was a secret just the two of you kept. The bitemarks on your shoulders from last night were proof enough of that. You hid them well under a soft cloak that complimented your silk dress beautifully. It was a sapphire blue that matched the jewels decorating the Prince's armour. The fabric hugged your soft middle in a way that made the Prince's eyes keep running up and down your lovely form. You flushed under his gaze, and gave him a look that said "Later."

King Dorephan finished his speech and the room applauded. Everyone took their seats and you followed suit, sitting next to Sidon and smiling at the bountiful feast everyone could enjoy. Naturally it featured fresh seafood, but there were also several Hylian dishes to suit your palate. You took a little of everything, making sure you'd have room to enjoy the desserts you could spy off to the side.

Sidon took your hand under the table, "Is everything to your liking, my droplet?" He spoke softly, lest anyone hear the endearing pet name.

You hummed around a forkful of salmon marinated in herbs and stambulbs, "It's magnificent, my Prince." You smiled brightly.

Sidon matched your smile, "Wonderful! I'm glad you enjoy it," he gestured to some crab cakes on his plate, "I've never had these before, they're quite good! I never knew Hylian food was so rich!"

You laughed a bit and politely wiped your mouth with a napkin, “It shouldn’t concern you, my Prince, with all the swimming you do, you can indulge for a night.”

“I’m not concerned, and you shouldn’t be either,” Sidon brushed your leg with his own and you shivered at the rough texture of his skin, he leaned down to whisper to you, “I do so love watching you indulge in the finer things in life~” he slid another helping of fish onto your plate and you flushed.

Sidon sat back in his seat, as though nothing happened, and he turned to interrupt Muzu, who was beginning to say something like “What kind of royal consort is served by the prince!?”

You kept eating, enjoying the flavours of the different types of fish mingling with vegetables and herbs. Before long, the entree plates were emptied and cleared away, and plates full of decadent-looking desserts were brought out.

Sidon hummed, looking at the treats, “Oh my, I haven’t seen any of these, either! Let’s see, y/n?” you looked up as he said your name, “Which of these would you recommend?”

You swallowed, not having seen this many desserts in one place before. You surveyed the selection before your eyes caught on a simple white ramekin. You smiled and picked it up, “I think you’d enjoy this one, my Prince!” you set it before Sidon and handed him a spoon, “It’s called crème brûlée. It’s custard with burnt sugar on top.”

Sidon looked at the dish curiously, “It’s burnt… on purpose? Intriguing,” he went to scoop some out, and he grinned when the top crust cracked, “Oh! It shattered!” 

You smiled up at him as he tried a bite. You loved watching him indulge, too. He was always so worried about the Kingdom and his responsibilities, you always adored when he simply relaxed. You were very good at helping him relax, after all.

Sidon’s eyes widened, “This is simply perfect! It’s creamy and sweet, and the top is very crunchy and it has a different flavour entirely!” He hummed and looked at you, his eyes becoming half-lidded, “You know… this treat reminds me of you.”

“O-oh?” you felt your heart skip a beat at the heated look in the prince’s golden eyes, “How do you mean?”

Sidon ran his spoon through the silky custard cream, “It’s so sweet, and soft…” one of his hands squeezed your thigh through your dress, making you jump slightly. You could see his sharp teeth glint in the low candlelight as his low voice, only loud enough for you to hear, rumbled from his chest, “and so delightfully fun to break~” the spoon cracked the top of the brûlée and you felt a jolt go through your body as his claws poked into your plush thigh, no doubt leaving pinpricks in your dress.

“Is everything okay, y/n? Your face is positively red?” Sidon asked louder, feigning ignorance. You could see the cheeky, lusty look in his eyes still.

You cleared your throat, “I-I’m fine, thank you, my Prince.”

“Ah, I see the problem, you haven’t had any dessert yet,” Sidon laughed, “Go ahead, have whatever you’d like!”

You looked at the variety of the desserts still on the table, eyes being drawn to a personal-sized red velvet cake tiered with icing and wildberries. You smiled and set it in front of you, giving Sidon a coy smile of your own, “Hm, what a coincidence, this one reminds me of you.”

Sidon looked down at you after taking a sip of his drink from a tall glass flute, “Is that so, droplet?”

You licked your lips, “It’s red and rich and delicious…” you brought a forkful to your mouth and looked at your beloved through your lashes, “and I don’t know if it can all fit inside me.”

Everyone at the table turned your way as Sidon shattered the stem of his glass with the way his hand clenched. You hid your grin with a mouthful of cake, not caring about the cold liquid spilled on your lap. He covered his fluster with a cough and a laugh.

“O-oh! How clumsy of me! I spilled my drink all over y/n’s dress!” he laughed and took your hand, “It simply won’t do for my consort to be in such a state! Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Without another word (although with some cut-off protests from the other nobility at the table), Sidon whisked you away from the banquet and straight towards his (and your) quarters.

You giggled as he hastily locked the bedroom door behind him and fixed you with a lusty gaze.

“My naughty little minx,” he purred, caging you in against the bed, “You really know how to make me lose control.” He leaned down to capture your lips with his own and you moaned as you felt his huge hands run up your plush form, your dress bunching up at the sides, the silky fabric sliding up your body sensually, delighting the sensitive nerves of your sides and tummy. Your prince’s hands wasted no time and started feeling up your newly-exposed skin. Sidon’s tongue explored your mouth, the different flavours of caramel and berries mixing into an intoxicating sweetness.

“Sidon,” you breathed as he released your mouth, hands reaching up to undo your cloak. As the fabric fell away, the Zora let out a pleased rumble and started showering wet kisses to your shoulders and neck, “Ah, that feels so good!”

Sidon laughed roughly against your skin, “As sweet as that dessert was, I much prefer devouring you, my sweet~” He groaned as his hands dipped under your panties, getting two handfuls of your ass. You gasped as his sharp teeth grazed the tender bitemarks he left on you last night as he groped you roughly. “You drive me absolutely wild…” he panted, breath hot against your neck.

“Let me,” you put a hand on his chest and the prince pulled away just enough to let you completely pull off your blue dress, tossing it to the side. Sidon’s eyes were downright hungry as you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, leaving your top completely bare, “Come here?” you fell back on the bed, sandals coming off of your feet, and reached out to him, needing his hands on you again.

Sidon took a steadying breath and removed his cravat and armour pieces, watching you watch him with an equally greedy, needy desire. He set the pieces on his dresser and nearly launched himself at you. Your mouths met in a messy, desperate kiss, your arms around his strong neck and his hands exploring every dip and curve on your gorgeous, soft body. Your tongue ran over his teeth, and Sidon rumbled as he tasted some of your blood on his own tongue.

“So delicious,” he purred, moving down your body, trailing his long tongue down your body, leaving sucking bites all over your plush form. He lapped at your nipples, teasing the buds until they were stiff before pinching them roughly making you squeal. He grinned up at you, “Such a gorgeous reaction. I adore playing with you like this, droplet~” you squirmed in his hold, moaning in pleasure as he sucked dark marks into the soft, tender flesh of your breasts.

You were shivering in his hold, moaning into the cool air of the room. Sidon nuzzled into your belly, kissing right under your navel, once a part of your body you disliked, but that opinion swiftly changed when your lover told you how much he loved it.

Sidon held your thick thighs apart and grinned. Your face flushed hot as you realized he must be looking at your completely-sodden panties. He looked up, meeting your eyes with his own heated, golden gaze. You could see his teeth glint in his smile as he trailed his tongue up the sensitive skin where your thigh met your pelvis and he let out a rough growl as his teeth caught on the fabric of your panties, snapping the thin material and making you gasp. He repeated the action just as slowly and sensually, leaving your panties tattered and your pussy exposed.

“Mm, I love seeing you like this,” he breathed, hot breath washing over your most sensitive part and making you whimper, “This is by far my favourite treat in the world…”

Your head rolled back in the pillows and you moaned as Sidon’s thick, slippery tongue slithered up your pussy, collecting your juices and bumping into your hard little clit. You reached down and held Sidon’s head, gentle on the sensitive fins even as your mind went numb from pleasure. You struggled not to use your thighs to hold him in place, and he must have felt them quaking. Sidon groaned into you and used his hands to grope your thighs, bringing them to lock around his head. He pulled off enough to whine, “Please, please, my love! I love feeling these juicy thighs around me,” he smiled, grazing his teeth over your inner thighs, “I want you to hold me down until you cum for me~”

You cried out, thighs holding Sidon in place as he went back to work, teasing your lips and clit, with his tongue, slurping so loudly it made your face flush in embarrassment. Your prince was loud, too, letting out loud groans as he ate you, his hips grinding into the mattress beneath you. You gasped as his tongue finally slithered inside you, teasing your gummy walls and reaching deep, deep inside. You writhed in the sheets, Sidon’s hands holding your thighs around his head and keeping you where he wanted you. Your hips started grinding down on his tongue, urging it further inside. His teeth grazed your clit and your eyes rolled back, crying out as orgasm rippled through your body. Sidon moaned with you, his tongue held taught, letting you ride it through your pleasure. Your body went limp and Sidon pulled away from you. As you came down from your high, you looked at him and saw him lick his lips lewdly.

“So very delicious~” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened up, kneeling on the bed. You could see both of his cocks already starting to protrude from their slit.

You panted and readjusted yourself amongst the pillows, opening your arms, “Come here, my Prince,” you called with a lusty smile, “I want seconds.”

Sidon smiled and crawled above you, “Oh, my sweet little droplet, I’ll give you anything you desire,” he held up your hips to align with his claspers, the long, tapered, tendril-like lengths stretching up to tease over your sopping-wet lips, “do you know what I’m going to do to you, darling?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, pretending not to know exactly what he was planning. (hint: it’s the same thing he did last night, and the night before, and the previous morning…)

Sidon groaned as his hands started groping your sides again, moving you to line up his cocks with your pussy, “I’m not only going to fuck you,” the word was spoken roughly and it made your heart skip a beat. He never swore unless he was with you~ “I’m going to stuff you. I’m going to stuff you so full with my seed that you’ll be dripping with it, so full that you’ll become addicted to the feeling of being a sweet little depository for my cum.” He panted harshly, his hips grinding his cocks against you, bumping your oversensitive little clit and making you whine at the feeling and his filthy words, “Do you want that, my droplet?”

You nodded, feeling like you were losing your mind, “Yes, please! Please, Sidon, fill me up!” you panted, rocking your hips down. You cried out as just the tips breached your well-lubricated pussy.

Sidon snarled and grinned, holding your hips above the bed with his superior strength, “Get ready, darling,” He groaned as he slowly eased both cocks inside you, letting you adjust when they were halfway in, “Oh, gods, my droplet, you’re so hot inside!” he cried out.

You cried out and panted, adjusting to the twin lengths inside you. You could feel them squirming around inside you, looking for a place to hold you open as you were bred. The thought alone made you feel hotter and you nodded, needing Sidon to fulfill his promise and stuff you full.

Sidon eased his hips forward, his cocks delving as deep as they could go before they spread. You screamed and gasped as a second orgasm rocked your body. You whined and urged Sidon to keep going. The prince let out ragged breaths, letting out a rough groan as he was fully inside you, and he started pumping his hips, cocks drawing in and out, in and out, his hips smacked into your own, and he looked down at you, vision hazy with lust, as he saw your thighs, stomach, and tits jiggle with each movement, “Fuck, my droplet, my… princess! Fuck!” His eyes dilated, the gold of his irises barely visible as he lost himself to the pleasure. The lingering taste of your juices, your blood, your dessert on his tongue, the scent of you, powerful in this room from the nights you spent sleeping in the sheets, the feeling of your soft body welcoming him in, your hot, wet, tight pussy embracing his cocks and begging him to breed you, to fill you, to stuff you. It was all too much.

Sidon roared and moved, holding your legs up to your shoulders, and you could see him grin as he easily maneuvered you into a mating press. He started slamming into you, cocks flexing and reaching deeper than his tongue could, sliding against your sweet spot and teasing your cervix with every rough thrust. He leaned over you and he pounded you, hot breaths ragged against your neck as he growled more filth into your pointed ear.

“You’re mine! This body, all of this gorgeous body is all mine!

“You're so lovely, my sweet droplet! I need you, I need you so badly, all the time! I want you like this every day!

“My darling, I’m going to fill you up, you'll come un-done! Around me, and, and, unggh, I’m going to- going to-!”

You grabbed Sidon’s head and smashed your lips together, not caring how his sharp teeth cut your lips, tongues warring as he came. You gasped into his mouth at the feeling of his thick and heavy cocks unloading into you, his thick seed pouring into your womb as his chest rumbled against your own thundering heartbeat. One of Sidon’s giant hands came down and started roughly rubbing your clit, sending you over the end for the third time that evening. You whined and shuddered against him, toes curling in the sheets.

“My beautiful princess, my sweet droplet…” Sidon panted and held your cheek, “I love you so much…”

You held his hand and kissed inside his palm, “Oh, my Prince, I love you too, with all my heart…” your vision was bleary, but you could see how tender the prince’s smile was for you. Only for you.

Sidon lowered your legs and you whimpered, startling him, “Oh! Dear, I was too rough on you, wasn't I?” He looked ashamed.

You reached out and pulled him back against your chest, “No, you were perfect~” you giggled and kissed him again, sweeter this time. Sidon sighed pleasantly and licked up the dried blood on your lips.

“Everyone is probably worried about us,” Sidon said with a half-smile, “But I don't quite want to leave yet.”

You hummed, “Oh? And why is that, my Prince?” You teased and flexed around his cocks, still inside you, getting hard again.

Sidon purred and ground his hips into yours, “I don't think you're quite full yet~”

[covid-safer-hotties]

Study puts understanding of long COVID and vaccination into question - Published Sept 4, 2024

This article highlights why I haven't been celebrating about recent findings that vaccination reduces long covid:

We still do not have a solid definition of what long covid is.

We still don't know how long it takes some people to develop long covid: Some people develop long covid symptoms months or even years after infection.

Many are undiagnosed with long covid because of a lack of understanding in the medical community.

The reduction stated in initial studies on vaccination and long covid cited about 30% reduction: That isn't enough for me to take off my mask.

Dr. Ziyad Al-Aly has been somewhat off his game in recent months, giving in to hope and showing signs of pandemic fatigue. His desire to be done with the pandemic may be tainting what he writes, in my opinion. As there is no cure for long covid (and we still don't know exactly what causes and perpetuates it), it seems silly to suggest that vaccination is a long covid silver bullet while cases continue to skyrocket worldwide.

I'm a non-medical observer, but I keep track of the latest studies and news, so I'm not totally uninformed, but take this blurb with a gain or two of salt. I could be wrong, but it doesn't look that way yet.

A new study from researchers at the Mayo Clinic suggests that being vaccinated against COVID-19 does little to prevent long COVID.

The findings contradict what has become conventional wisdom in the last 3 years—that vaccines offer a chance to significantly reduce the risk of long COVID, or new or persistent symptoms 3 months or more after infection, most likely by reducing the severity of infection.

Melanie Swift, MD, MPH, was the lead author of the study, which was published in Open Forum Infectious Diseases. She said despite the current thinking that vaccines reduce the risk of developing long COVID, she wasn’t surprised she found no association.

"A lot of the early literature on long COVID was really defining long COVID through patient surveys," Swift told CIDRAP News. Swift’s study instead relied on participants having received a long COVID diagnosis from a physician after having a documented case of post-vaccination COVID-19 infection.

6.9% developed long COVID The study was based on the electronic records of 41,652 people aged 5 years or older with SARS-CoV-2–positive polymerase chain reaction (PCR) tests between February 2021 and December 2022 and a diagnosis of long COVID 30 days to 6 months following infection.

The average age of patients was 41 years, 55.2% were female, and 90.7% were White. At the time of initial infection, 9,744 (23.4 %) were vaccinated with two doses of mRNA COVID-19 vaccine, and 7,658 (18.4 %) had received more than two mRNA doses.

A total of 8.2% of patients required hospitalization for COVID-19, and most infections occurred during the Delta and Omicron eras (39.8% and 47.1%, respectively).

In total, 6.9% of patients were diagnosed as having long COVID, with no observed difference between unvaccinated patients, those vaccinated with two doses of an mRNA vaccine, and those with more than two doses.

Long COVID was associated with older age, female sex, and hospitalization for the initial infection. It was inversely associated with infection during the Omicron period, the authors wrote.

Swift said that vaccines still play a role in preventing long COVID. “If you don’t get COVID, you don’t get long COVID," she said. "It remains the most important medical tools in our arsenal by virtue of not getting COVID and severe COVID, but we can’t stop there and say ‘if you were vaccinated, you don’t have to worry about long COVID.’”

Confounding factors and health behaviors Clifford Rosen, MD, a senior scientist at the MaineHealth Institute for Research, has reviewed studies on long COVID and vaccines. He said the current study may be skewed because of its sample size.

"It’s a small cohort that is relatively homogeneous and likely has different healthcare behavior than other EHR [electronic health record] studies," Rosen said. Instead, he said long COVID studies done based on Veterans Affairs (VA) data offer a more heterogenous cohort.

Ziyad Al-Aly, MD, chief of research and development at the VA St Louis Health Care System and a clinical epidemiologist at Washington University, has been behind most VA studies on long COVID.

He just published a review of evidence showing that vaccination reduces the risk of long COVID. While the effect size varies by 15% to 70%, there is an estimated average reduction of 40% to 50%, almost universally.

He said he found Swift’s study surprising and said it likely suffers from one main confounding factor: The type of patient who seeks out a long-COVID diagnosis likely uses healthcare and is vaccinated.

Al-Aly said vaccination may help reduce some clusters of long-COVID symptoms better than others. Fore maple, his work has shown a "profound effect in pulmonary symptoms of COVID, and less on metabolic effects on long COVID.”

Though more research needs be done on long COVID and vaccination, Al-Aly remains confident that vaccines play an important role in reducing the risk of long COVID.

[violettduchess]

"doubt thou the stars are fire // doubt that the sun doth move // doubt truth to be a liar // but never doubt that i love (you)" x gilbert (or whoever you feel fits this best)

-revassierum

A/N: Gilbert won the poll so the first fic belongs to him.

This is the fic that comes before this one but I think that you can read this on its own.

Gilbert x Reader

WC: 2.3k

Full quote:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love you. I love thee, I love but thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. -William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act II, Scene II

His knuckles, hidden under his black leather gloves, are white as he grasps the cold gray parapet. His eye, red as a hellish comet streaking across a midnight sky, surveys the shapes he can make out below, the ones revealed by the twin luminance of moonlight and torches: the shadowy lines of the encampment tents in front of the castle; light winking weakly off the metal of soldiers’ helmets as they move around. Beyond them the ribbon of pale gray road that disappears into the imposing darkness of the treeline, so dark it drinks in all the light without leaving a single drop.

The road holds his gaze, has every ounce of his attention so thoroughly that he doesn’t react to the man who joins him, the one who is silent as he stares at Gilbert, his expression as stoic as the stone Gilbert’s gloves are so tightly clenching. 

After a moment, he speaks.

“Yes, Doctor?”

Walter reaches up, adjusting his glasses.

“The night is chilled. You should be abed, resting for what is to come.”

Few people in the world can speak to Gilbert in such a way, telling him what he should be doing. But Walter is one of them. The man who carries the weight of Obsidian on his broad shoulders doesn’t answer his physician but the tightness of his jawline is enough of a sign that he has heard.

Walter finally turns his head, his pale gaze following Gilbert’s line of sight until he too is looking at the place where the road vanishes into black forest. He remembers a whispered conversation with Roderich, hushed and hurried, quick as a sparrow nervously jumping from branch to branch lest it be snapped up by the jaws of some far-quicker predator.

“If I may speak freely….”

Gilbert waves a hand. “As if that would be something new.” Though there is a faint glimmer of humor in his voice, his gaze is as intensely focused as ever and he does not glance at the doctor.

“You sent her away. Quite….forcefully, if I recall the story.”

That gets his attention. He turns away, a movement as quick and sleek as silvery clouds sliding across the face of the moon.

Walter knows him well enough to read his face. He sees the miniscule flash of surprise in the depths of his crimson eye, the slight drawing of his shoulders. Anyone else would think Gilbert had no reaction. The doctor knows that this particular subject has just set off a cascade of emotion within the Obsidian leader.

“I won’t ask how you know this or else I would be forced to deprive Obsidian of its best healer.” Annoyance lines his words as he turns back to the parapet, as if he cannot help himself, as if staring at the line between the encampment and the forest is necessary. Agitation dances across the tight line of his shoulders, the straight rod of his back.

Walter clears his throat, stifling the urge to place a hand on Gilbert’s arm. 

“Rhodolite may be the enemy. But it is where she is safest.”

His statement is met with silence, as cool as the night breeze winding its way across the battlement, Gilbert’s black cloak dancing in its wake.

“I’ve taken my tonic. I believe your presence is no longer required tonight, Doctor.”

The dismissal doesn’t bother Walter. He knows Gilbert has heard him. His dark head bows in deference.

“Gute Nacht,” he murmurs, casting one last look at the man whose life he is charged with keeping safe. He may be responsible for Gilbert's body but there is no doubt that his heart is within someone else’s hands.

Gilbert waits until the doctor’s footsteps fade into the other sounds of nighttime, the ebbing murmur of his soldiers as they retire for the evening, the faint clanking of armor as guards patrol the grounds, the lone, mournful hoot of an owl. Only when he is certain he is alone does he allow his head to drop, eye closing for a brief moment.

There is little that escapes Gilbert von Obsidian. He is three steps ahead of everyone, always, the human mind a complicated puzzle he is adept at solving. And yet, when he sent you away from his tent, you with your starlight tears and petal-soft mouth, when he watched you flee, eyes as wild as a fearful rabbit, when he told you to return home to your roses and your pale-haired king…..he was not entirely certain you would listen.

The doctor is right. It was the more rational choice. But it was not the one that his heart wanted, the one it is still screaming for. You belong with him. You should be his. 

He has tasted you, knows the sound of his name when it escapes your lips on a wavering sigh of want. His teeth have sunk into the soft skin of your shoulder, his tongue has traced the line of your neck. He has felt the waves of desire as they ripple through your veins, all because of him. All for him. It is all he has wanted for so very long, all that has consumed him….

And yet he had smiled, sharp as the edge of his sword, and told you to run. Sent you away even as your scent of lavender and roses lingered in his tent, settled across his black mantle like a ghost unable to find peace.

What is he even looking for, out here in the night, as the tents darken one by one like candles blown out by the wind. You are halfway back to your kingdom of roses. You chose home and you chose Chevalier.

So why can’t he tear his gaze away from the darkening road?

It becomes a phantom as the torchlight dims and the moon excuses herself, stepping behind a barricade of clouds. And still he lingers, even as the night air turns cold and unwelcoming, and he feels his muscles contracting in response, struggling to support the cry of his heart to stay….just in case.

Teeth clenched like a beast on the edge of growling, he is about to turn and head inside when he sees it. A shadowy shape bursting out of the black treeline, a spectral horse and rider charging down the ribbon of road. 

And he knows.

The castle walls blur as he flies down the spiral stone steps, down down down and then out, past the startled guards. He is a tiger honed in on its prey, eyes flashing with resolve and hunger. 

You’re already off your horse, speaking in that voice to a soldier with his sword raised in your direction. You are, after all, a stranger who has just flown into their camp like a banshee.

When he arrives at the scene, the soldier immediately lowers his sword and drops to one knee. Gilbert does not hear any of his stammered words. Instead he reaches out, his gloved fingers closing around your wrist as he pulls you towards the nearest tent.

“Raus,” he orders the soldier who was just getting ready to bed down for the night. The word is iron, undeniable and final. The man gathers his things quicker than he ever has before in his life and exits, the tent flap falling closed behind him with a soft whooshing sound.

It is a simple foot soldier’s dwelling with an oil lantern still burning next to the untouched bedroll. The wan light throws your shadows across the thick canvas walls, moving like images inside a zoetrope. 

Gilbert is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath, but there is nothing unsteady about the way his eye, the color of wine in moonlight, is fixed on you. With trembling hands you push back the hood of your cloak, white with small red roses embroidered along the hem like drops of blood. Your cheeks are flushed with the urgency and speed of your ride. Your skirts and boots are splattered with mud.

“I know….you warned me to go and I started to.” Your voice is airy but uncontrolled, a tornado forcing its way past your throat. “I got just past the border and stopped at a tavern to rest the horse. Rhodolite soldiers were there, several tankards in, and they were bragging…they’re coming, Gilbert. At first dawn they’ll be here.”

You step forward, your hands reaching to gather the soft folds of his black cloak, fingers curling into it as it could steady you, a bulwark against the storm of information you need to tell him.

“They have weapons. They intercepted an Obsidian transport and they have guns.” He hasn’t said a word yet, hasn’t had a chance in the face of all the words you’re hurling at him but now you pause, searching his face. “Gilbert, did you hear me? They have-”

He finally moves, twisting his leather glove off his hand and tossing it aside fecklessly. The next thing you feel is the cool touch of his palm against your cheek, his fingers curling to cup your face.

“You’re here.” 

The words are husky, maybe because he is still catching his breath. Maybe because he can’t believe it.  Or maybe because he can and he’s basking in the confirmation of his prediction.

“I…..” You need him to understand the urgency of what you are telling him and yet his hand feels so good. The last time he touched you that hand was at your throat. Now it is cradling your face with a gentleness just as dangerous.

Your words drop to a whisper. “Gilbert…..they’re coming and they–” And then, as he raises his other hand to his lips, biting into the tip of his glove and removing it with his teeth, the truth hits you like an avalanche careening down a mountain. The encampment here. Gilbert occupying a castle so close to the border and not heading home.

“You already knew.”

And now he’s holding your face in both hands, the coolness of his skin paradoxically sending waves of something unbearably hot through your limbs. 

“But you didn’t. And you came back, risking everything to tell me.”

The world begins and ends in the red of his eye, the fall of dark hair across his pale forehead. Something inside you breaks, shatters like stained glass struck by stone. You reach up, curling your hands around his wrists.

“I….I couldn’t live with the thought that something could happen to you….I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to stop it, even if it meant-”

The rest is stopped by the savage press of his mouth against yours. He will not even allow you to finish that sentence. The grip of his hands tightens as he hungrily swallows any other words you wanted to say, as he drinks deeply from the gasps of your lungs and the moans of your throat. Over and over he devours you while still holding you between his hands, your own having gone slack at the very first kiss.

He kisses you until your lips ache from the crush of his mouth, the sting of his teeth. Your tongue is full of him, the rich, cool taste of him. It is the sweetest nectar, ambrosia as heady as the starlit sky. It leaves you spinning with satisfaction, dizzy with content. And yet, it leaves you parched, always seeking more and more and more of him as the hot winds of desire blow through your veins.

Gilbert is the one to break away, to gasp a lungful of air, feeling the absence of your lips as keenly as any ache. His eye burns like a singular star, swallowing up the darkness.

“Retreat to the castle.” His hands roam your body as he speaks the order, as if he can’t help but touch you even as he demands you to leave him. “The cellar is safeguarded. My men will go with you-”

You shake your head vehemently, capturing his hands in yours, holding them hostage in your own tight grip.

"I have turned against my country for you. I was ready to face whatever hell awaited me here if it meant keeping you safe.” Your voice is low, trembling as it skirts the bedrock of emotion in your chest. “I'm damn well not leaving your side now."

He recognizes a mind as sharp as his own, a will as iron. As much as he has craved your gentle heart, your kind spirit, those soft, beautiful parts of you, he is equally as drawn to the steel in your nerves, the forge of determination in your bright eyes.

He could have you sent away, dragged by his soldiers down to the underbelly of the castle where you would be safe. But as he reaches up, cradling the nape of your neck with one hand, he realizes you are right. After all, who could protect you as well as him? Who but him would trample the world for you? Would set the night ablaze before allowing anyone or anything to harm you?

One arm winds its way around your waist and pulls you close. He leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. His voice is hushed, but rough, gravelly with emotion.

"When all this is over, my brave Häschen, I will reward you.” He catches your earlobe between his white teeth, his heart fluttering at your gasp. “Over and over until your voice is hoarse with the sound of my name." 

There is no time to catch the breath his words have robbed you off. The distant warning of cannon fire fills the night and the encampment is coming awake, following the carefully laid-out plan in preparation for what is coming.

“Come.” And with your fingers linked with his, you step out of the tent together, into the foreboding night.

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @nightghoul381 @joiedecombat @ozalysss

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 1 EPISODE 14 || THE SEARCH ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Traveling openly—and slowly—along the main roads, we stopped at every croft and village and hamlet we came to. There he would make a quick survey of the local populace, round up anyone suffering from illness or injury, and bring them to me for treatment. Physicians being few and far between in these parts, there was always someone ailing to attend to. While I was occupied with my tonics and salves, he would chat idly with the friends and relatives of the afflicted, taking care to describe the path of our journey toward Beauly. If by chance there were no patients to be seen in a place, we would pause nonetheless for the night, seeking shelter at a cottage or tavern. In these places, Murtagh would sing to entertain our hosts and earn our supper, stubbornly insisting that I preserve all the money I had with me, in case it should be needed when we found Jamie. Not naturally inclined toward conversation, he taught me some of his songs, to pass the time as we plodded on from place to place. “Ye’ve a decent voice,” he observed, one day, after a moderately successful attempt at “The Dowie Dens of Yarrow.” “Not well-trained, but strong and true enough. Try it once more and ye’ll sing it wi’ me tonight. There’s a wee tavern at Limraigh.” “Do you really think this will work?” I asked. “What we’re doing, I mean?” He shifted about in the saddle before answering. No natural horseman, he always looked like a monkey trained to ride a horse, but still managed to dismount fresh as a daisy at day’s end, while I could barely manage to hobble my horse before staggering off to collapse. “Oh, aye,” he said, at last. “Sooner or later. You’re seein’ more sick folk these days, no?” This was true, and I admitted as much. “Well, then,” he said, proving his point, “that means word o’ your skill is spreading. And that’s what we want. But we could maybe do better. That’s why you’ll sing tonight. And perhaps …” He hesitated, as though reluctant to suggest something. “Perhaps what?” “Know anything about fortune-telling, do ye?” he asked warily. I understood the reason for his hesitancy; he had seen the frenzy of the witch-hunt at Cranesmuir. I smiled. “A bit. You want me to try it?” “Aye. The more we can offer, the more folk will come to see us—and go back to tell others. And word will spread about us, ’til the lad hears of us. And that’s when we’ll find him. Game to try, are ye?” I shrugged. “If it will help, why not?”

I made my debut as singer and fortune-teller that night at Limraigh, with considerable success. I found that Mrs. Graham had been right in what she had told me—it was the faces, not the hands, that gave you the necessary clues. Our fame spread, little by little, until by the next week, people were running out of their cottages to greet us as we rode into a village, and showering us with pennies and small gifts as we rode away.

“You know, we could really make something of this,” I remarked one evening, stowing the night’s takings away. “Too bad there’s no theater anywhere near—we could do a proper music-hall turn: Magical Murtagh and His Glamorous Assistant, Gladys.”

Cap 34 ~outlander

[blorbortion]

In a result that will ring familiar for many women, new research has revealed a massive disparity in how pain is treated.

Women being discharged from emergency departments in Israel and the US are far less likely to be given a prescription for pain medication than men, even when being treated for the exact same ailments or when their reported pain scores were exactly the same.

Out of 17,576 patients in one dataset, some 47 percent of men were dispatched with a prescription for an analgesic medicine, compared to just 38 percent of women.

This, according to a team led by psychologists Mika Guzikevits of The Hebrew University of Jerusalem and Tom Gordon-Hecker of Ben-Gurion University of the Negev in Israel, was consistent across all ages and ailments, and the prescribing doctors' genders, revealing an alarming sex bias in how seriously women's complaints are taken.

"We argue that female patients receive less pain treatment than they should, which may adversely impact their health," the researchers write in their paper.

"The findings underscore the critical need to address psychological biases in healthcare settings to ensure fair and efficient treatment for all."

Research in recent years has revealed an alarming bias in the way the world perceives women's pain. Laypeople are more likely to think that women are exaggerating their pain than men, and perceive that grimacing women are experiencing less pain than men with similar facial expressions.

Many studies have shown that women reporting pain are perceived as hysterical, emotional, imagining things, or even lying. And this has the potential to be a big problem when transmuted to a medical setting.

Research has found that women reporting chronic pain are more likely to be diagnosed with a mental health condition. Women wait longer for treatment in emergency rooms. Women are less likely to be prescribed postoperative pain management medication. And multiple studies have found that medical practitioners perceive women to be less, and men more, trustworthy when reporting pain, often based on surveys and virtual patients.

Guzikevits, Gordon-Hecker, and their colleagues wanted to examine real outcomes in clinical settings, so they made a study of anonymized patient data from hospitals in the US and Israel. They looked at factors such as the age and sex of the patient, the level of pain reported and the diagnosed ailment, how often the patient visited the emergency department, and what the patient was prescribed.

Their data included a total of 21,851 patients presenting at the hospital for pain, and the results were striking.

"Across these datasets, a consistent sex disparity emerges," the researchers write.

"Female patients are less likely to be prescribed pain-relief medications compared to males, and this disparity persists even after adjusting for patients' reported pain scores and numerous patient, physician, and emergency department variables."

This disparity in treatment could not be linked to any other variable than the sex of the patient, the researchers found. Given the wealth of studies showing a huge disparity in the way the pain of women and men are perceived, the researchers could only conclude that the reason for this disparity is bias.

In a further test, the team presented 109 healthcare providers with a scenario describing a patient with severe back pain, rated 9 out of 10 by the patient. Only the patient's sex differed, with all other scenario details identical. When the patient was female, participants rated the pain intensity lower on average (72 out of 100) than when the patient was male (80 out of 100).

The researchers also noted that there have been some studies that didn't find a bias. These studies were conducted on patients with a tangible, physical source of pain, such as a broken bone or an infection. For those studies in which a bias is found, the source of the reported pain is less tangible – abdominal pain, or a headache.

The researchers suggest that computerized decision-reporting tools that help prescribe pain relief, and educating health practitioners about gender bias, could help resolve this ongoing issue and ensure better health outcomes for all patients.

"Inadequate pain management is known to lead to unnecessary suffering and deleterious health effects, and also carries preventable costs for public health," the researchers write in their paper.

"The present research provides robust evidence for healthcare providers' sex bias against female patients in pain management. We identify the stereotypical perception of females' pain as one of the potential mechanisms underlying the bias.

"The findings join mounting evidence of discrimination against females in the medical system and in other areas. Undertreatment of females' pain bears immediate implications for the healthcare system and broad implications for society's attitude toward female pain."

The research has been published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

(emphasis mine, article NOT paywalled, more links in the linked article)

[fatehbaz]

"defending civilization against bugs"

lol the mosquito sculpture

---

Sir Ronald Ross had just returned from an expedition to Sierra Leone. The British doctor had been leading efforts to tackle the malaria that so often killed English colonists in the country, and in December 1899 he gave a lecture to the Liverpool Chamber of Commerce [...]. [H]e argued that "in the coming century, the success of imperialism will depend largely upon success with the microscope."

Text by: Rohan Deb Roy. "Decolonise science - time to end another imperial era." The Conversation. 5 April 2018.

---

[A]s [...] Diane Nelson explains: The creation of transportation infrastructure such as canals and railroads, the deployment of armies, and the clearing of ground to plant tropical products all had to confront [...] microbial resistance. The French, British, and US raced to find a cure for malaria [...]. One French colonial official complained in 1908: “fever and dysentery are the ‘generals’ that defend hot countries against our incursions and prevent us from replacing the aborigines that we have to make use of.” [...] [T]ropical medicine was assigned the role of a “counterinsurgent field.” [...] [T]he discovery of mosquitoes as malaria and yellow fever carriers reawakened long-cherished plans such as the construction of the Panama Canal (1904–1914) [...]. In 1916, the director of the US Bureau of Entomology and longtime general secretary of the American Association for the Advancement of Science rejoiced at this success as “an object lesson for the sanitarians of the world” -- it demonstrated “that it is possible for the white race to live healthfully in the tropics.” As Timothy Mitchell writes: “In 1915, the year after the canal’s completion, the newly established Rockefeller Foundation took over the mosquito campaign from the U.S. Army and launched a worldwide program" [...]. The [...] measures to combat dangerous diseases always had the collateral benefit of social pacification. In 1918, George Vincent, president of the Rockefeller Foundation, candidly declared: “For purposes of placating primitive and suspicious peoples, medicine has some decided advantages over machine guns." The construction of the Panama Canal [...] advanced the military expansion of the United States in the Caribbean.

Text by: Fahim Amir. "Cloudy Swords." e-flux Journal Issue #115. February 2021.

---

Richard P. Strong [had been] recently appointed director of Harvard’s new Department of Tropical Medicine [...]. In 1914, just one year after the creation of Harvard’s Department of Tropical Medicine, Strong took on an additional assignment that cemented the ties between his department and American business interests abroad. As newly appointed director of the Laboratories of the Hospitals and of Research Work of United Fruit Company, he set sail in July 1914 to United Fruit plantations in Cuba, Guatemala, Honduras, Costa Rica, and Panama. […] As a shareholder in two British rubber plantations, [...] Strong approached Harvey Firestone, chief executive of the tire and rubber-processing conglomerate that bore his name, in December 1925 with a proposal to conduct an extensive biological and medical survey of the interior region of Liberia. Strong found a receptive ear. Firestone had negotiated tentative agreements in 1925 with the Liberian government for [...] a 99-year concession to optionally lease up to a million acres of Liberian land for rubber plantations. [...]

Nearly all of the [Harvard tropical medicine] department’s expeditions were to industrial plantations in the making. […] [I]nfluenced by the recommendations and financial backing of Harvard alumni such as Philippine governor Gen. William Cameron Forbes and patrons such as Edward Atkins, who were making their wealth in the banana and sugarcane industries, Harvard hired Strong, then head of the Philippine Bureau of Science’s Biological Laboratory, and personal physician to Forbes, to establish the second Department of Tropical Medicine in the United States [...].

Strong and Forbes both left Manila for Boston in 1913. Strong began assembling a team of researchers and a course of instruction to take advantage of the increasing overseas presence of US firms. Forbes became an overseer to Harvard University and a director of United Fruit Company, the agricultural products marketing conglomerate best known for its extensive holdings of banana plantations throughout Central America. […] In 1912 United Fruit controlled over 300,000 acres of land in the tropics [...] and a ready supply of [...] samples taken from the company’s hospitals and surrounding plantations, Strong boasted that no “tropical school of medicine in the world … had such an asset.” “It is something of a victory for Harvard,” he argued. “We could not for a million dollars procure such advantages.”

Over the next two decades, he established a research funding model reliant on the medical and biological services the Harvard department could provide US-based multinational firms in enhancing their overseas production and trade in coffee, bananas, rubber, oil, and other tropical commodities. [...] As the expedition set sail for Monrovia, Strong wrote in his diary that he hoped their efforts would push the United States to “exert a more stimulating influence upon the development of the … country and its people” as it had in the Philippines, Panama, and Puerto Rico. [...] Harvard’s Department of Tropical Medicine was thoroughly entangled in the material relationships – transportation infrastructure, labor regimes, and commodity production – that were instrumental in advancing the interests of firms like United Fruit, Firestone Tire and Rubber Company, and the American Chicle Company as they transformed landscapes across the globe.

Text by: Gregg Mitman. "Forgotten Paths of Empire: Ecology, Disease, and Commerce in the Making of Liberia's Plantation Economy." Environmental History Volume 22 Number 1. January 2017.

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Hey mystery! Time to flex the big brain of yours with a science question. I’m sure that you’re familiar with the recent change in ages for Sonic and co. All of their ages were removed. So my question to you is how old would Sonic and his friends be since he’s now meant to be seen as TEENAGER?

Hello, my dear!❤️✨

This is a very interesting question. And I say that because it's a very... controversial (?) topic in the fandom at the moment. For those of you who are not familiar with the matter, the ages for many characters on their Sonic Channel bios were removed back in October (Bevan, 2022). Even characters like Vector and Rouge, who have notoriously been viewed as adults in canon, do not have a defined age anymore. This was a decision made by SEGA of Japan (SoJ) to keep the characters ambiguous with ages. For some characters, we can still infer that they’re strictly teenagers, like Sonic (Game Informer, 2022. 05:00 to 05:08). Maybe a little bit older, but not by much. It could range between 13-years-old to 19-years-old. It’s really up for interpretation with some fans, especially since the actors for the Sonic series are focusing on deeper voices.

Disclaimer:

I am more than happy to answer this question, but I’m afraid that I’m very limited on how I can answer this. Ages displayed throughout the series has always been a fickle thing. And that’s okay! I’m assuming that this ask is geared towards Game!Sonic rather than Sonic Wachowski, since his canonical age is 13-going-on-14 (Fowler, 2020). If this ask is geared towards me debunking the "age argument," then you might get a different answer. That, and I'm not gonna buy into the B.S. that comes from it.

The problem here is that I'm being asked to apply scientific logic to a fictional character. That's all well and good, but I'm limited in resources. That, and I'm making assumptions on how physiological traits work with an anthropomorphic animal. I'm basing my conclusions on human physiology. While this may seem logical for the ask, I don’t necessarily know how “fair." This would be considered more of a headcanon rather than a scientific explanation to your question. If there was more of an understanding of the Sonic characters’ anatomy, then I would be comfortable with giving a strong answer. They best that I can supply is a hypothetical scenario that might supply a content answer. “Content” meaning that’s it’s fine, but gives me enough wriggle room to debunk/empathize in the future.

I must also stress that an average does not mean the "perfect model." No singular person is the same. There is no such thing as normal. When I say that something is of average comparison, I'm translating it to a general starting point. I need a base to go on in order to build on top of my reasoning and data.

References:

For this ask, I will be looking at cranial structures and comparing them to both human, anthropomorphic animals (Sonic). Data that is generated to answer this ask comes from existing games, interviews with game developers, and anthropological research.

The methodology and techniques that I’ll be referencing comes from “Bare Bones: A Survey of Forensic Anthropology” by, Michael Warren et al. (2012). This is an excellent book that provides techniques and disciplines to criminologists, anthropologists, and physicians. The Smithsonian: National Museum of Natural History provides a sample of "Forensic Anthropology 101" in their free educational service HERE. I’ll also be referencing different case studies found in cultural anthropology journals. Hyperlinks will be attached in the in-text citations for view.

Methods:

I can answer this question using basic forensic techniques. There are a few different ways to determine an individual’s age when examining skeletal anatomy:

Cranial anatomy

The pelvic girdle (pelvis)

Femur

Mandible

Most archaeologists and forensic anthropologists will answer that the pelvic girdle is the best indicator for identifying an individual's age. The pelvis girdle consists of three main bones: hip bone (ilium, ischium, pubis), sacrum and the coccyx. With this, we look at the level of maturity of bone growth to make an educated guess. This can be identified by the bone's state of fusion. Depending on the identification of the individual, the pubis may fuse or grow robust. If the femur is present with the pelvis girdle, then the collected data becomes stronger. The femur is measured in height from the neck to the head, then the shaft alone to provide an idea of one's stature. All of these together create a plausible stature for one's growth and maturity.

The mandible is touch-and-go. I’ve shared in the past that teeth can provide an idea of an individual’s weight, social/economic status, stature, left/right dominance, and types of bite when chewing food. The state in which teeth grow in can give us an indication of age. This is just as good as observing one's age with a pelvis girdle. If not, maybe a bit better! However, this only works if there's a certain amount of teeth present and a record of growth is present. We look at an individual’s molars and premolars in order to determine a rough estimate in age. On average, wisdom teeth come in between the ages of 17 to 25 (Renton et al., 2016). Some are late bloomers, others are early birds. X-Rays can help us identify where the teeth are currently and provide a projection of when they'll appear. As long as there is recorded data on how teeth grow and when they come in, it's easy to determine how old someone is.

Finally, we have the calvaria. For the sake of sanity, I will be referring to this as the “cranial cap." This is the top crown of the head with four major bones that shapes the skull. These bones feature the frontal bone, two parietal bones, and one occipital bone. Along the top of the cranial cap we see these squiggles that separate the bones. These are called “sutures.” Sutures can be defined or barely visible due to the state of mend. Through maturity, these bones mend together to create one bone rather than four. These are not signs of damage done to the head, these are signs that show the state in which a child is growing (Warren et Al., 2012). Sutures are a result of an infant's cranial cap fusing together after being birthed. To put simply; the less defined they are, the older that one supposedly is.

OBSERVATION:

As explained in the “Methods,” section, the cranial cap and mandible appear to be a more logical choice when determining Sonic’s age. I am fortunate for the small crumbs given to me from Sonic CD (1994) and Sonic Unleashed (2008). Both of these provide a good picture of Sonic’s biological estimation on age range. I will not be referring to Evan Stanley’s interpretation of his skull. I do not feel that this is necessary, nor canon. This is Ms. Stanley’s interpretation of Sonic anatomy and fan art.

Mandible

Right before it's initial release, Sonic Unleashed's opening cinematic was meant to have a darker tone. Initially, the beta version of the scene depicted Sonic being electrocuted in his super form as he's infused with Dark Gaia energy. This scene was also meant to show his skeleton during the painful transformation. Screenshots of the scene are available online. One particular shot shows enough of Sonic's mandible to identify canine, incisor, premolars, and molars. The image above shows that at least ONE wisdom tooth (third molar) is present. Other signs of third molars is not visible due to angle of shot.

In the animated short titled "Night of the Werehog," we're given a good shot of Sonic opening his mouth and showing his fangs. Way in back are three molars (Image has been brightened and highlighted for view). Since one confirmed wisdom tooth is present in the shot, we could infer that Sonic is at least 17-years-old. Not fifteen. Seventeen is the average age for when we see wisdom teeth begin to grow in.

Cranial anatomy/Cranial Cap

In Sonic CD (1993), there is a particular scene where Sonic is electrocuted once again. [Fun Fact: one would not be able to see Sonic's skeleton if electrocuted, you'd see his nervous system instead.] Once again, players are able to see Sonic's entire skeletal system. The problem with this example is that it's pixelated art. Pixel art can range from being detailed works of art, or simplified icons that have symbolic meaning. The skeletal anatomy that we see of Sonic in the CD title is not enough for me to draw a conclusion on how old he is. It's merely a representation of a shock taking place.

For a better representation of a cranial cap, we should refer to the beta version of Sonic Unleashed once more. Sutures on Sonic's skull are a tad harder to make out in the image due to how saturated the scene is. A wonderful example of seeing Sonic's cranial suture can be seen at a side profile. The one closes to the sphenoid bone (eye socket) is a cranial suture. Again, this one is up for debate since the quality of the photo is poor. For the sake of sanity, we'll claim that this is a suture.

Examining the suture, we see that it's less defined. This does not mean that the sutures disappear completely. As we grow older, the bone fuses. If Sonic were younger, then the sutures would be more defined. Here, they've fused quite finely. This leads me to believe that he is out of the child phase (1yr to 12yrs) and into Adolescence (13yrs to 17yrs).

Femur & Pelvic Girdle/Pelvis

Generally, there's a model that can be used to display what a mature individual looks like compared to an adolescent when observing a pelvis girdle. Here, it's a bit harder for me to make an assumption because there's a lacking model of what adults and adolescents look like for anthropomorphic animals. This is a query that I've faced when trying to examine Sonic's skeletal anatomy. Of course, measuring a femur and weighing the density of bone could provide some insight on Sonic's estimated age (Shipman, 2018).

In a real world, that would require lots of money and an actual subject that is the equivalent to Sonic's height and weight (canonically, Sonic is 100cm tall and weighs 35kg). You'd then have to figure how much the bone density changes when someone stands up, sits down, lies down, and so forth. Plus, I don't know Sonic's level of body fat to even begin doing a simple calculation. It's a bit of a headache the more that this is tackled upon. That is a lot of data to collect for a talking blue hedgehog.

Measurements of the femur to the pelvis are fine and dandy, but the data is inconclusive. A simple measurement could be off by a single year or three. Once more, it's kind of hard to capture a crisp picture of the pelvis girdle and femur. I feel that gathering data from this perspective is inconclusive.

Discussion:

I must stress that this isn’t meant to be as in-depth or taken seriously. I must also stress that many social groups around the world have different approaches and cultural definitions to what it means to be a teenager. This is a common topic that I try to educate people about when it comes to cultural norms and social practices. Most western cultures consider that teenagers starting at 13yrs of age and ending at 17yrs of age before becoming a legal adult at 18yrs. Some western cultures even extend the age gap to 13yrs to 19yrs. Cultural and social teachings of how we define what is and isn’t a teenager could easily be defined as “adolescence.” We refer to this as adolescence, it allows us to have an extended age gap of 13yrs to 19yrs (Ember et Al., 2017). It all narrows down to how these practices and beliefs are taught within one’s community.

Some fans headcanon Sonic and his friends are growing older, others younger… or even stick with the Western interpretation of him being 15-years-old. Sonic's age has always been ambiguous, meaning that it's not narrowed down to a specific number. The query that I've faced is that there is a lack of official material that displays this easily. The information that I have shared in this post works on a plausible theory that he's older than 15. However, gaming manuals have almost always made it a point hat hes 15/16 (Sonic Heroes Game Manual, 2003). The point now is that he's a teenager. He will always be viewed as a teenager in this canon. To me, Game!Sonic is definitely older. He clearly shows characteristics of being an older version of himself (the strongest supporting evidence here being his teeth), but still within the range of being classified as a "teenager."

My goal here is to not enforce one way of thinking. The most that I can do is supply the data and leave you, the reader, to make your own conclusions. I hope that this answers your question, my dear.