Rhubarb

Hello, yes, this is Dogtor speaking.  Please hold, we have a red dot emergency.  CATCH IT IT'S GOING UP THE WALL!

[dogtorbones]

Darkling/OC (Modern Woman in Grishaverse)

Welcome to my brain on decongestants.  And google translate.  Lol sorrynotsorry.

Sofie is scrambling to her feet before her brain registers the screaming.  She’d fallen asleep in one of the ER patient beds at the end of a brutal 20 hour shift.  She should have made it to the staff room, there was peace and quiet there at least.  Well, more than the screams of incoming patients.

She pushes her way through thick curtains and blinks in the peculiar light.  She registers canvas, men running, mud and boots and agonising screams.  She pushes everything to the side and runs towards the commotion.  There’ll be time enough to figure out what the fuck kind of prank this is later.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

Continuing because I’m still doolally on decongestants.

Sofie is cuffed and tied down in a tent, a guard snoozing at the door.  Her hands begin to crunch as the blood dries and flakes off.  It’s a deeply unpleasant sensation, but not half as unpleasant as being marched at gunpoint by raving fucking lunatics.  So she sits on the uneven ground in her scrubs and wonders how it got so fucking cold.  Mud has worked its way into her crocs and through her socks, squelching between her painfully cold toes.  Judging by the way her teeth are chattering, she’s going to have a serious problem with hypothermia shortly.  The adrenaline of the surgery is wearing off now, and thus the peripheral vasodilation.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

“Does anyone remember how long the march is from Kribirsk to Os Alta?  I seem to recall by horseback / carriage it was a 1-2 day ride at a decent clip, so 4 days sound about right?

Sorry I also don’t know what 1800s Russian military had as liquid rations.  I’m assuming water supplies aren’t the cleanest, so alcohol it is.

An old and patchworn uniform is thrust into Sofie’s arms, socks and boots dropped on top, one heel colliding with the bridge of her nose.  “Ow motherfuck,” she hisses, but she gratefully dives into the tent to scramble into something clearly warmer than her cotton scrubs.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

I’ve come to the conclusion that I fucking love decongestants.  I CAN BREATHE!  I will never stop taking my antihistamines again.  Mainly because, fun as it is to be high on decongestants, it makes hard for functioning.

By day two Sofie is no longer paying attention to the passage of time.  It is all a haze of misery and pain, each step lancing up her legs.  She hasn’t taken her boots off since she put them on.  They pinch now, her feet swelling up in response to the constant damage to her skin.  At every rest she collapses and catches whatever sleep she can, aided by whatever is in that godawful canteen Squish-Nose gives her.  Her stomach cramps painfully and threatens to bring her latest swig back up.  What passes as “food” is insufficient in both nutrition and quantity, and her body tells her in no uncertain terms that this is even worse than what she lived on as an impoverished student.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

So I’ve been pretty much sick since I posted this, but the good news is the second lot of antibiotics is working to nuke the sinus infection!

This is brought to you by maple chicken wings and pork belly poutine.

TW: Surgical violence.

The world disappears in a clag of fever, and in the thinning windows of lucidity Sofie knows things are getting worse. She hears voices, sometimes, guttural and quiet. She feels damp and cool on her forehead but never sees a person. She burns.

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

Caution:  Author is loopy on drugs (again), and yet she regrets NOTHING!  

We’re gonna be taking a tentative dip into someone else’s brain this time, because I didn’t like how the last chapter ran.  So this is ... instead of the last chapter.  TALLYHO!

Also yes wording is deliberate.  Just roll with it.  It’s my brain doing things it thinks is fancy.

It is ... pleasant, the Darkling thinks, to have the Sun Summoner around.  Her power, the precise antithesis of all he is, grates against his senses.  The rents her light rips from him are exquisite agony.  She is at both bigger and smaller than he expected: she herself is mousy, peeking out every once in a while for a cautious look and maybe a shy smile, then hiding again; her insides are infinite.  

It is to his great surprise, then, that a runner finds him and hands him a note that says, in a polite but firm manner, that he has a prisoner here and if he could please come and decide her fate before she expires.  He had entirely forgotten about the woman and her rough language, medal bright eyes and strange garb.  He rubs his thumb and forefinger together.  Best deal with her now, while he has a free moment to attend to it.

He motions to Ivan.  The red monolith falls into step behind him.  

The presumed interrogation room they are guided to is grey and utilitarian, and it is mostly clean, except for the mess of cloth and mud and sweat in the middle of the floor.  

They hadn’t even put her on a chair.

The sickly sweet odor of rot hits his nostrils and he has a sudden insight into why they didn’t put her on a chair.  She was lost to podvergat'sya omertveniyu.  The Darkling’s nares twitch upwards in a grimace.  “Put her out of her misery,” he instructs Ivan and leaves.  What a waste of resources, even if it was resources allocated to the otkazat’sya.  He blows past their ‘escort’ before he hears Ivan speak.

“Moi soverenyi!”  There is a note of alarm in Ivan’s voice.  The Darkling retraces his steps with an internal sigh.  The cloth of his kefta scrapes against the pads of his fingers.  

Ivan glances back at him with raised eyebrows and drawn lips, then back at the twitching thing on the floor.  “I cannot,” he says, eyebrows crumpling downwards at the admission.  

The Darkling blinks.  “What do you mean by ‘I cannot’?” he asks smoothly, hands tightly clasped against his lower back, shoulders angled imperceptibly towards Ivan.  Ivan looks back at him, face once more schooled into his usual lour.  

“I cannot affect her, moi sovrenyi,” he eventually says.  Now it is the Darkling’s turn to raise his eyebrows.  “I can sense her heartbeat, the circulation of her blood, but it is muted somehow.  I cannot touch it.”

The Darkling looks down and frowns.  It’s in the foetal position, sweat staining the oversized otkazat’sya cloth.  He allows a tendril of himself to unfurl and brush against one arm.  The sense and sensation as he passes through the arm is viscerally abhorrent and he recoils bodily.

“Moi sovrenyi?” Ivan queries as he stares at the thing, uncomprehending.  

“Check its pulse,” he says, not taking his eyes off it.  When Ivan’s hands move, he throws out his hand: “manually.”  Ivan gives him a blank look before kneeling down and turning over its wrist, pressing his fingers to the divot beneath the thumb.  “It is fast and thready, but it is there.”  

The Darkling reaches out again, this time with more substance.  He braces for the sensation and still nearly retches when he passes through her, nerve endings jangling.  He stares at her for a while longer.  

He spins on his heel.  “Have her cleaned up and brought to the Little Palace,” he barks over his shoulder.

“Da, moi sovrenyi.”

[currentlycryingaboutlancelot]

“yes, I’ve been wanting to read that!” I say with complete earnestness, as I proceed to ignore every opportunity I have to read it

[pelahnar]

“I’ve been meaning to read/watch/listen to that, but the stars are not in position, so I can’t do it yet”

[nepobabyjimkirk]

Anyway I’m back on my “Scotty and Bones should be friends” bullshit. One time Scotty walks in on Bones looking at his PADD and repeating words out loud and Scotty’s like “mate what are you doing?” and Bones is like “oh I’m learning Vulcan but intentionally badly and with an exaggerated Southern accent so I can piss off Spock” and Scotty, who’s still fresh off Spock’s “you mean they disappeared in a manner not consistent with the usual workings of a transporter” comment and who recognizes the frustrating comedic potential of learning Vulcan with a Scottish accent, pulls up a chair and immediately joins him

[dis-is-history]

“You really wanna head back out there, huh?”

[dogtorbones]

OH GOD THIS!  THIS!  FUCKING PUT SOME FUCKING HEADPHONES ON RIGHT NOW AND LISTEN TO THIS AND WATCH THIS AND FUCKING FEEL!

[dogtorbones]

Darkling/OC (Modern Woman in Grishaverse)

Welcome to my brain on decongestants.  And google translate.  Lol sorrynotsorry.

Sofie is scrambling to her feet before her brain registers the screaming.  She’d fallen asleep in one of the ER patient beds at the end of a brutal 20 hour shift.  She should have made it to the staff room, there was peace and quiet there at least.  Well, more than the screams of incoming patients.

She pushes her way through thick curtains and blinks in the peculiar light.  She registers canvas, men running, mud and boots and agonising screams.  She pushes everything to the side and runs towards the commotion.  There’ll be time enough to figure out what the fuck kind of prank this is later.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

Continuing because I’m still doolally on decongestants.

Sofie is cuffed and tied down in a tent, a guard snoozing at the door.  Her hands begin to crunch as the blood dries and flakes off.  It’s a deeply unpleasant sensation, but not half as unpleasant as being marched at gunpoint by raving fucking lunatics.  So she sits on the uneven ground in her scrubs and wonders how it got so fucking cold.  Mud has worked its way into her crocs and through her socks, squelching between her painfully cold toes.  Judging by the way her teeth are chattering, she’s going to have a serious problem with hypothermia shortly.  The adrenaline of the surgery is wearing off now, and thus the peripheral vasodilation.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

“Does anyone remember how long the march is from Kribirsk to Os Alta?  I seem to recall by horseback / carriage it was a 1-2 day ride at a decent clip, so 4 days sound about right?

Sorry I also don’t know what 1800s Russian military had as liquid rations.  I’m assuming water supplies aren’t the cleanest, so alcohol it is.

An old and patchworn uniform is thrust into Sofie’s arms, socks and boots dropped on top, one heel colliding with the bridge of her nose.  “Ow motherfuck,” she hisses, but she gratefully dives into the tent to scramble into something clearly warmer than her cotton scrubs.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

I’ve come to the conclusion that I fucking love decongestants.  I CAN BREATHE!  I will never stop taking my antihistamines again.  Mainly because, fun as it is to be high on decongestants, it makes hard for functioning.

By day two Sofie is no longer paying attention to the passage of time.  It is all a haze of misery and pain, each step lancing up her legs.  She hasn’t taken her boots off since she put them on.  They pinch now, her feet swelling up in response to the constant damage to her skin.  At every rest she collapses and catches whatever sleep she can, aided by whatever is in that godawful canteen Squish-Nose gives her.  Her stomach cramps painfully and threatens to bring her latest swig back up.  What passes as “food” is insufficient in both nutrition and quantity, and her body tells her in no uncertain terms that this is even worse than what she lived on as an impoverished student.  

Keep reading

[dogtorbones]

So I've been pretty much sick since I posted this, but the good news is the second lot of antibiotics is working to nuke the sinus infection!

This is brought to you by maple chicken wings and pork belly poutine.

TW: Surgical violence.

The world disappears in a clag of fever, and in the thinning windows of lucidity Sofie knows things are getting worse. She hears voices, sometimes, guttural and quiet. She feels damp and cool on her forehead but never sees a person. She burns.

Something touches her leg and every nerve ending lights up and she howls, spine bowing despite the hands and bruising grip. She retches up into the palm on her chest, stomach empty and oesophagus burning with gastric acid. It is a candle to the all consuming flame in her leg. She hears shouts, more hands, bigger weight across her torso.

Bone deep grating that has her convulsing, eyes rolling into the void.

She doesn't know when her fever breaks. It could have been days, weeks, or months later. Her joints ache, her abdomen feels hollowed out, and her skull over-full. An ice chip is pressed between her lips and her stomach cramps.

She doesn't open her eyes that day.

She does, however, eventually open them, some consciousness cycles later. The room is dimly lit by embers in the hearth. Her eyes slip closed and she is lost once more to oblivion.

People come and go as she dips in and out of illusive wakefulness. She cracks an eye when she hears voices. Nebulous forms of black and red move faintly in the periphery of her vision. Her lips crack as they part and she manages a breath of a sigh. The voices stop. She turns her head as her eyes focus on the two men standing at her bedside.

"Idi spat', malyshka," the man in red says with soft eyes. Her gaze flicks to the man beside him, the man she'd previously seen with the swishy cloak and the dramatic exits. She tries to lower her eyebrows in a glower, but they ignore her request. Still, he blinks first, irises like melted tar.

Her eyes fade out as they leave, close to their backs framed by the doorway.

[mcgregor]

Billy Russo and his shoulder tic

[bpdeadpool-deactivated20240320]

He’s a great actor bc he probably introduced this “tic” as a reminder of his character having his shoulder broken by his abuser as a child :((

[mudkipper]

[pensandthings]

Why do you hurt me like this

[dogtorbones]

SURGERISING

Great news, my surgery has been booked for 1 September!  Recovery time to functional wrist is about 6 months (probably a bit more) which means I can continue with my vet degree next year and hopefully graduate in 2023!

So status quo here: I will disappear for months on end and reappear with a chapter or two and then disappear again LOL

Just wanted to say the big fics haven’t been abandoned, only on hiatus because of life fuckery.  The Rogue One crew will have their full story told.  So will Rose’s journeys through SHIELD.  Because after nearly 3 years, it finally feels like my brain is coming back to me.

[demondarlington]

“I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.” 

literature posters; persuasion by jane austen

[valtsv]

yeah i use this pro gamer technique called "hitting every single button frantically with my little raccoon hands until something happens" you probably wouldn't get it it's really advanced

[lightcomingthroughthedarkness]

I really feel like Television should enter an era of allowing happy endings. That’s not to say characters can’t suffer along the way or that storylines can’t be “dark” but I would really like to see stories end on hopeful notes. I’m so sick of every story having tragic endings, especially considering the world we live in right now. Call me naive, I don’t care, but hope breeds hope. Love breeds love. Happiness breeds happiness. Allowing our characters to overcome and find the light in the end is powerful. Allowing characters to be happy is brave because happiness is not boring. I feel like we’re surrounded by dark stories in fiction and in reality and I find myself wondering where’s the hope and happiness.. is no one overcoming the darkness?

[mxflint-original]

As Terry Pratchett said:

Why does the third of the three brothers, who shares his food with the old woman in the wood, go on to become king of the country? Why does Bond manage to disarm the nuclear bomb a few seconds before it goes off rather than, as it were, a few seconds afterwards? Because a universe where that did not happen would be a dark and hostile place. Let there be goblin hordes, let there be terrible environmental threats, let there be giant mutated slugs if you really must, but let there also be hope. It may be a grim, thin hope, an Arthurian sword at sunset, but let us know that we do not live in vain.”

[foolforshera]

That Terry Pratchett quote? It’s like the guidepost for my writing.

[sarenraegalpaladin]

not characters to die for but characters TO LIVE FOR

[neoyorzapoteca]

The Woman Dies | Aoko Matsuda | Granta Magazine

[buzzfeedphoto]

These guys agreed to get undressed to address body positivity in the media. No studio lights or beauty retouching required.

📷 @taylormillerphoto

[angryinkeddrunk]

YES YES MALE BODY POSITIVITY

[feminism-and-anecdotalism]

Thank you. Especially to the guy with the acne. Lots of people have acne on the chest and back, but almost no one ever acknowledges that. Young children that just start going into puberty need to know this is normal and not something to freak out/ be embarrassed about. Body positivity in the media helps so many people with self esteem issues.

[cmdthenerd]

OH MY GOD AND A MASC NONBINARY PERSON?! YES YES YES YES THANK YOU

[quietpinetrees]

[starship-goldfish]

Our good friend @quietpinetrees has brought his microfiction to tumblr and it is achingly beautiful.

[andisupreme]

oh this is gorgeous

[twinsfawn]

run faster then bitch

[ti0mumu]

[spiroandthelacktones]

Also

[aeide-thea]

[text in image: #if u read the article #she hasn’t even lost yet #she just assumes people she struggled against #are trans #like #she literally just invents hordes of trans students competing in women’s sports]

the tags above actually aren’t true, and i think we can, and should, dispute this argument without misrepresenting it: the op-ed in question states that chelsea mitchell “lost four women’s state championship titles, two all-new england awards, and numerous other spots on the podium to transgender runners,” and “was bumped to third place in the 55-meter dash in 2019, behind two transgender runners,” although i have to say i find the choice of verb there pretty fascinating—‘was bumped,’ mitchell writes, as though she were a royal who’d been demoted from the position she believed to be her birthright, and not merely a runner who hadn’t run fast enough that day to earn it.

really, i think a more salient point here is one i’ve seen others make before, which is that ultimately, biological advantages are the name of the athletic game—as someone who’s 5′6″, i was never going to have the mechanical advantage of rowers who were 5′9″, 5′11″, even 6′ in some cases. that’s just physics! should i have turned around and said, the women outperforming me don’t count as women, they’re too tall and i’m going to sue to have them excluded from competing with me on that basis? what a gross, pathetic move that would have been.

as one of the trans girls who beat mitchell in that 2019 race, andraya yearwood, observed at the time: “one high jumper could be taller and have longer legs than another, but the other could have perfect form, and then do better,” she said. “one sprinter could have parents who spend so much money on personal training for their child, which in turn, would cause that child to run faster.” there are an enormous number of factors that shape athletic performance, and very few of them correlate directly to so-called ‘biological sex’—i’m AFAB, and plenty of cis men are shorter or slighter than i am, including classmates i had in high school.

but if we’re talking about testosterone, which tends to be at the heart of athletic gatekeeping: both yearwood and terry miller (the other trans girl mitchell is subtweeting) had started HRT before ever lining up against cis girls, and had, according to court documentation submitted by the ACLU, “circulating hormones… comparable to the hormone levels of non-transgender girls.” what’s more, as the ACLU motion further specifies, neither yearwood nor miller were undefeated in their track careers, nor did either have dominant race times among high school girls nationally—in fact, mitchell herself beat both yearwood and miller at the connecticut state championship in 2020! so clearly the supposedly-insurmountable advantage enjoyed by transfeminine athletes is in fact wholly surmountable, and arguments to the contrary nothing but petulant, entitled prejudice.

but enough of all this—let’s end on a sweeter note. here are miller and yearwood in 2019, at an awards ceremony honoring them for their courage:

much love to them. <3

[f1rstperson]

@geekandmisandry​ the tags aren’t entirely correct so here’s a helpful addition with a lot of info that is also supporting and boosting the trans athletes who are being trashed originally.

[menecio]

If I hear anyone say that “Vulcans get drunk on chocolate because they can’t process glucose” one more time, I’m gonna kick y’all in the ass.

A lot of foods that Vulcans ingest have glucose—anything with carbs has glucose! This means cereals, baked products, legumes, pasta, and even fruits and vegetables. Chocolate makes Vulcans drunk due to something only found in cocoa, not glucose, else they’d be drunk from eating even a grape, one of the fruits highest in carbs at an average of 17g each.

So why does chocolate make Vulcans drunk? Well, chemically, we can find phenethylamine in chocolate. Also known as the ‘love drug,’ it stimulates the nervous system and triggers the release of endorphins (let’s assume it has the same effect of Vulcans as it does on Humans).

But as much as I’d like to say Vulcans get drunk on love, phenethylamine isn’t exclusive to chocolate either. So what makes Vulcans drunk is probably a combination of this chemical with something else.

And do you know, from what I’ve researched, what chemical combo is present in chocolate that isn’t anywhere else? Phenethylamine and caffeina. Which makes perfect sense. Alcohol makes Humans and most other species lose their inhibitions. Vulcans are all about emotional control. Ingesting the ‘love drug’ along with a stimulant could and does make their asses get toasted.

Which, when you think about it, probably causes Spock to be super hyperaware of the chemical components in his food so he doesn’t accidentally ingest phenethylamine and caffeina together during his meals. People probably think he’s a hella fastidious eater, or that it’s a cultural thing, or that his metabolism can’t process certain chemical combinations. The second and third hypotheses are closer to the truth, but he will neither confirm nor deny.

[anxietyproblem]

[thewinterclown]

SEBASTIAN STAN as Bucky Barnes in THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021) 1.02 “The Star-Spangled Man”