saline drip

Deep

Originally posted by suhyoungho

Genre: Smut, Fluff(?)

Warning(s): explicit sexual situations, choking, language


Deep: penetrating; profound; intense; saturated. His voice—gravely and baritone. His emotions— overwhelming and immersive. His body—penetrating; permeating; piercing deep, deep, deep within your own; the base of his thick and heavy cock smothering and smearing and gliding over your lower lips, his languid thrusts mocking your labored breathing.

In and out. In and out. In and out— the soft squelching of your sticky substance, gradually leaking from your joyously clenching hole. Massive and heavy, his hand— caressing and stroking your tender throat, his fingers massaging the sensitive sides, constricting your airflow, fueling your flame. Eyelids heavy, pupils dilated, eyes locked, an aspectabund painting, reflecting, mirroring— penetrating; profound; intense; saturated. So, so many emotions.

Your breath stutters and his head lowers, his lips mesh against your own, his nostrils spreading as wide as your weak legs, releasing a breath logged deep beneath his lungs. His tongue balters, clumsily and passionately dancing against your own; the rough texture enticing and welcoming. Swollen and bruised your lips part, a sincere smile faltering from his face, contorting into a concentrated frown as hips pick up pace and rut against your own. His hand leaves your neck, and both paws find solace at your ankles, shoving your feet next to your head.

A husky “hmmmm,” vibrates from his throat, the head of his veiny obstruction slithering against your walls, heavy and hushed whispers slipping pass his lips, a lullaby that caresses your eardrums: “My baby girl takes my cock so well.” Liquid lust pools down to the bottom of your stomach. You whimper and moan, his right hand abandoning your ankle to crowd your pleading clit, furiously gliding his hand back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth.

“My pretty girl is close?”  A question that need not be answered, but is unwillingly so, your head nodding against your own volition, your fingers clinching the nape of his flushed neck, pulling him down to press against your person. He lays his body flat against your own, the fingers of both hands intertwining between the strands protruding from your scalp, his pelvis smothering your vulva in intense heat, his hips taking care to slide and swivel and swirl across your roused clit.

One word—penetrating; profound; intense; saturated—tipping you over the edge, releasing you, freeing you, shifting you from one state of being to another, mastering his lips and echoing behind your eyes: “Cum.”

Disoriented and disheveled, overwhelmed and scatterbrained, fragments of cohesiveness falling from your drooling, salivating mouth. “Juhh—Jay—John—Fuck! Johnny!” A tight clenching of your hair, the jutting and rutting of his hips, the muffled smacking of his balls against your ass, a husky and resonating “fuck!” and then, deep, deep, deep inside your tight, suffocating walls, an ocean of white emotion and stimulation and love, crowds and crams and saturates your hungry sopping hole.

Saline droplets drip from his nose, and your hot breaths intermingle. Your eyes relax and shut close, your forehead smooths out its wrinkles and a smile uncontrollably adorns your flushed face. His hands release your hair and slide beneath your back to envelope your overheated frame, melting his body into your own.  Tiny compared to his own, your fingers lace through his sweaty hair, massaging their way down his neck and all the way down to trace over the vertebrae of his spine. The calm after the storm, the relief after an exam, the soothing after an itch. Relaxation. Peace. Contentment.

A soft vibration, an unintelligible phrase tickling your neck. His words are muffled, but you can discern, an effervescent chuckle prefacing your truthful and heartfelt reply. “I love you, too, Johnny.”

Deeply.  

© 2017 TOUCHEFRAPPE

don’t look back in anger (otayuri, 2.5k, teen) :: 

 [life lesson: if some dumb-dumb actually tags you in a callout post on tumblr and says shitty, baseless things about you, don’t engage them.  write petty fic about otabek and yuri as grandpas who live on mars instead!!  you’re welcome.]


At age 54, Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki became one of the first successful test subjects for a series of anti-aging surgeries.  At 37, he had a knee surgery and received hair plugs, but the first in a series of operations at 54 gave him joints and muscle and organs of someone forever young.

Yuri had grimaced at the holoscreen when the news broke, having seen too much of Victor’s face to last several lifetimes.  “I bet he has a robodick too.”

“Yura,” Otabek had said, both fond and resigned from across the dining room table where he was dissecting a grapefruit half.  

At age 87, Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki went out in a blaze of glory deep-dicking his husband (“robodick,” confirmed BuzzfeedMars) on a solo flight to their summer home on Venus, when his elbow slipped and he managed to undo the ship’s airlock.  Neither he nor Yuuri had looked a day over 40.

Yuri’s let his body age. He’s still in good shape for 82; he does water aerobics with a group of old ladies every Tuesday and Thursday, and the atmosphere on Mars has naturally benefited his bones for the past three decades.  But he and Otabek have always been purists otherwise, letting nature take its course with their bodies and never giving into the temptation or philosophy of synthetic body maintenance.  There’s a small, petty part of him from his youth that remains, the purest part of himself that celebrates his body as the ultimate defeat of Victor Nikiforov.  He revels in his own skin, and in Otabek’s, and the thought that when death comes to them in old age they won’t have cheated it, but earned it somehow.  Victor and Yuuri’s parts were supposed to last them until 2089, and by then, who knows.  The idea of them fucking their ancient asses all over the goddamn galaxy still stirs something ugly in Yuri.  

Until Otabek gets sick.  Like, really, really sick.  And he keeps getting sick.  Bladder infections and kidney infections and pissing blood and choked up catheters and too many nights in the hospital instead of their estate, and suddenly there’s a question that goes unspoken between them.

“You’re killing yourself,” Yuri says finally after their third trip to the ER that month.  Otabek had a temperature of 40 degrees and collapsed in their greenhouse.  

“Or I’m just dying,” Otabek says.  “I’m old.”

“Bullshit,” Yuri says.  Otabek still skates sometimes on weekdays when the rink is empty, because he was blessed with superhuman cartilage in his knees and the back of a titan.  He just does simple laps to relieve stress while Yuri watches from the stands, long since given up the ice out of self preservation.  But Otabek has never had to, because Otabek has always been healthy and strong.  There’s nothing else to be said or done, because, “bullshit, you’re not allowed to die.”

 “I don’t think that’s how dying works,” Otabek replies.  He’s smiling and there’s acceptance in the smile that feels damning.   

“Fuck you,” Yuri says.  “The doctors have given you dozens of options.  There’s– technology, there’s–there’s–”

 “I thought you didn’t believe in that,” Otabek says.

 “Don’t let my pride kill you, Christ, Beka,” Yuri says, feeling impossibly young even with his knobbed knuckles and crooked fingers wrapped around Otabek’s own, mindful of the saline drip and hiding the biggest of his liver spots.  “If you don’t live through this, I’ll kill you.”

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2

Following the death of their 4-year-old foster son Andrew Burd by toxic salt overdose in 2006, Hannah and Larry Overton were arrested for murder.  Prosecutors claimed that the boy’s death was caused by Hannah forcing him to drink water laced with Cajun spices by way of punishment, and asserted that even when Andrew started to vomit and lose consciousness, the couple waited almost 3 hours before taking him to hospital.  The jury agreed, and Hannah Overton was sentenced to life without parole.  In a separate trial, her husband Larry was charged with criminally negligent homicide, to which he pled no contest and received 5 years deferred adjudication.

However, in 2011, Hannah’s lawyer sought a new trial on the basis that the massive levels of sodium in the boy’s system reported at trial were far greater than the recorded levels at the time of his admission to hospital, where he was given a saline drip as part of the efforts to save his life.  Furthermore, Hannah’s defence lawyers at her original trial failed to call an expert witness who, when interviewed under oath, testified that Andrew had not been poisoned, but had accidentally caused his own death due to his insatiable appetite, a symptom of emotional deprivation syndrome.  In 2015, after 7 years in prison, all charges against Hannah Overton were dropped, and the mother of 5 was released.

1000 Follower Ficlet #7

T.he incredible @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse requested a special bonus not-on-the-list prompt that I just could not resist!

You know just how to push my buttons to get away with murder in the best possible way.

Fandom: Star Trek AOS.
Pairing: Leonard McCoy X Reader.
Prompt: Working an Emergency with Him.
Rating: All ages.
Words: 1296.

Originally posted by hellyeah-karl-urban

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Scottish Inventions (In brief)

So I’ve been asked if I can write a wee bit about Scottish inventions and discoveries and this subject is pretty cool. I’m going to preempt anyone who goes off on one about Scotland’s imperialistic past or whatever. There’s only so many times I can say I recognise it. So I’ll be mentioning various military and weapon inventions too.

So Scottish inventions. As it turns out, we’re not too bad at getting shit done. (Please be aware that I will joke about some of these and that’s not to say that the world owes Scotland or that another country wouldn’t have invented them)

Gonna start with some of the more famous one.

1. Scotland invented Penicillin. Sir Alexander Fleming invented Penicillin in 1928 and it still has a core use in modern medicine. He initially struggled to get Penicillin mass-produced and it was only in 1930 that Penicillin cured its first patients of eye infections.

2. We invented the Saline Drip in 1831, Thomas Latta developed this in Leith. He developed this during a cholera epidemic.

3. Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone. Now it’s a common myth that the first words spoken on the telephone were “Watson, come here, I want to see you.” It was actually “Send nudes pls”

4. This’ll get a few laughs, Scotland invented the Bank of England. It was created by William Paterson, a Scots trader and banker.

5. We fucking invented Irn Bru. That’s all I have to say on that. The nectar of the gods was developed and refined in Scotland.

6. John Logie Baird invented the television. Yeah, without us, no Netflix for you. No Rick and Morty marathons, no Walking dead, no NOTHING.

7. William Cullen invented the refrigerator. Of course that eventually led to meaning fuck all because as a student I don’t have anything to actually put in the fridge.

8. Scotland invented the Ghillie Suit. Perhaps the coolest looking piece of military clothing. You may have seen the Ghillie suit in those various prank videos where people pretend to be bushes and jump out at folk. Or you remember the classic Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare as you worked your way through the ruins of Chernobyl. The interesting thing being that the name derives from the Gaelic ‘Ghillie Dhu’, a faerie who had clothes of moss and leaves.

9. We invented the oil refinery. James Young discovered the process of paraffin from coal. This laid the foundations of the modern oil industry.

10. We invented the first pedal-cycle and we also invented golf. Pretty cool.

11. James Watt made great improvements to the steam engine and Henry Bell created Europe’s first passenger steamboat…See, the Scots were steaming all the time. Nothing has changed.

12. Grand. Theft. Auto. Well, I’m not entirely sure about the crime. Although if you’ve been to Glasgow it could be argued. But no I’m talking about the video game. Scotland is home to Rockstar Games, makers and creators of many video game fan favourites.

That’s all I’ve got for now. The length and breadth of Scottish inventors and innovators is huge. My dad is one of them, but revealing what he’s created would make it all too obvious who I am. There are loads more but I’d need to give them a solid read to make head or tail of any scientific discovery.

That was an awesomely interesting question so appreciate it.

anonymous asked:

an AU where Will and Nico had a fight and broke up and Will never found out about Carter's existence since the kid grew up in the underworld until he overheard a few demigod souls talking about camp and idk he managed to sneak out and find his way into camp but then since his body isn't used to living in the surface he got sick and Will was the one who had to take care of him and Will can't explain it but he feels overprotective over the kid and then here comes Nico and uh oh. I need it. Please.

I really like this scenario


Looking back on it now, Nico realized that the decision he made in the heat of a fight with his was-fiancé was not a good one. Most people used having a baby to bring crumbling relationships together. Nico? He had the kid and never told Will about it. He used it to get away from Will.

To be fair, the child wasn’t Will’s fault. It wasn’t why Nico and he decided to split, it was simple because they were no good together. Will needed someone who wasn’t selfish and lonely, and Nico needed someone who wasn’t going to work a twenty-four hour shift twice a week. They both wanted different things and had different goals. It was a wonder they had even stayed together long enough to get engaged, let alone have a baby.

No, none of that was little Carter’s fault, so Nico decided to keep him a secret. He raised their son in the Underworld, away from Camp and away from the surface world and other people.

In hindsight, that was a really bad idea.

-

Will routinely visited Camp Half-Blood one weekend a month, just to check up on everything and to help out his young siblings that ran the infirmary. He was usually only there for a few hours, unless a serious case came in that needed his skill.

On a particularly slow Saturday, one of Will’s siblings brought in a small boy. He was perhaps eight or nine, and he was as pale as a ghost. “What happened to him? Who is this?” He couldn’t understand why the raven hair or the small, button nose seemed so familiar to him, but he pushed the feeling away to focus on the kid. He didn’t seem to have any outward injuries, no bleeding or bruising, but his skin was burned all over. He turned to his sibling for an explanation.

“We found him just outside the boarder. Literally just on the other side. He must have been about to cross it when he passed out. No one knows who he is. No one’s seen him before. He must be a half-blood though to get through the barrier.” Will didn’t want to think what would have happened to him if they had brought him across the border and he was mortal.

“Let’s take care of these burns and get him on a saline drip. I’m sure he’s dehydrated. We can ask questions later.” For some reason, when one of Will’s younger brothers tried to take the kid and put him on a bed, Will held onto him a little tighter before realizing what he was doing and setting him on the bed himself.

There was something strange about that child that drew Will in and made him want to protect him.

-

“Will?” Nico had stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his ex-fiancé in the infirmary, tending over Nico’s son. Nico and Will’s son. Only, Will didn’t know that. Carter looked half dead, and after sneaking out of the Underworld and getting up to the surface, he was half dead. His skin was peeling off in large, red patches from sun burn, and the IV that was put in his elbow had already caused a dark purple bruise to snake up his arm. Nico was incredibly lucky that Carter even made it Camp before dying, and that someone had found him. Hades must have been looking out for his grandson.

Nico felt his throat close up when Will turned to him. “Nico?” He looked shocked, his eyebrows shooting up above the rim of his glasses. “What are you doing here?” Nico wanted to ask Will the same question, but clearly, he was working in the infirmary.

“I’m here for him,” Nico nodded towards his son, who he hoped was only sleeping. “Carter.”

Will looked surprised again. “Oh? Is he someone you know? A relative or a demigod you found?” Nico wished the answer was that simple. He and Will had parted on civil terms, hell, they were still friends, it was a mutual separation, but that didn’t make it any easier to tell Will that Carter was their child.

Taking a deep breath, Nico steeled his nerves. “He’s my son.” If it were possible, Will’s eyebrows shot up even higher. “He’s our son.”


I really liked writing this one

How is it possible for someone to be so supportive and so damaging all at once?
I used to sleep at your house when it was too loud inside my own head for me to sleep at my own
Now I wake in a cold sweat in a college dorm room and the ghost of you drips, saline, from my skin.
You were the poison and the antidote and I guzzled them both down
as eager to kill myself as I was to get better.
I remember the way your words poured acid over anyone who dared to express their humanity through art.
I remember being confused at how you could write me the most beautiful poems,
but laughed at the song lyrics I loved because they made me think of you.
“So edgy.” “So brooding.”
Woe unto those who relied on vague lyrics to get them to sleep at night!
Death to the poets who wrote anything at all before they had fully mastered the craft!
It took months of you being gone from my life for me to enjoy myself without feeling stupid
Still even now all it takes is the slightest word from anyone, the smallest change in tone,
And doubt is all I know.
A mere taste of the self-professed insanity I used to mainline
Have you ever told someone your version of events,
what you were sure was the truth,
only to have them say you were crazy?
For the rest of your life you are never entirely sure of anything.
Your autobiography is reduced to a disjointed series of maybes.
I used to wish like hell that there was a pill I could take that would reattach me to reality,
some chemical way to ensure the accuracy of my memory.
I have no idea what happened anymore.
Sometimes I’m not sure I even know what’s happening now.
And the worst of it is I can hear your voice even as I write this poem.
“It’s good,” you’d say, “but a bit too angsty.”
Familiar

Pairing: F!Ryder x Liam
Rating: A bit NSFW
Summary: Kadara may not be the best place for a second date, but in the Heleus cluster sometimes you have to work with what you’ve got. (NSFW bits under the cut.)


Kralla’s Song wasn’t the sort of place Liam would have preferred to take a girl for a date. But they were on Kadara anyway, and Grace had been giving him those hopeful looks ever since their sort-of date on Aya, and hey, at some point you just had to say fuck it, right? So yes, Kadara as a whole was a shite place for a date–for just about anything, really–but it was the best he could do, and he couldn’t bear those looks anymore, Grace’s eyes all big and scared like she was half convinced he’d changed his mind about her and just hadn’t bothered to tell her yet.

He hadn’t done. Changed his mind, that was. It was just that whenever he tried to think of something he wanted to do, somewhere he wanted to take her, all he could think of were places in London, and then he got sad and had to stop thinking.

And see, there he was, thinking about it again.

Liam threw back the rest of his drink, swallowing the unwelcome images of home along with it.

He wasn’t sure what Umi had been serving–Grace loved asking bartenders to surprise her, especially after being advised not to–but it tasted like candy and hit like a freight train, and Liam was tremendously drunk by the time his favourite Pathfinder pulled him onto the dance floor.

There’d been a time–possibly this morning?–when Liam had scarcely believed the grave accounts of Grace’s alcohol-fueled sex mistakes. Grace Ryder was shy and awkward, couldn’t flirt to save her life, and turned into a blushing, stammering mess when he had his shirt off (which he’d started doing far more often because Grace was so damn cute when she was a blushing, stammering mess, but nobody save Jaal knew that, which was precisely how Liam intended to keep it). The idea of the girl he knew embarking on even a solitary walk of shame bordered on ludicrous.

Drunk Grace, it turned out, was a different beast entirely. 

She backed up on him, swiveling her hips in time to the music, and he curled his hands around her waist. It was a familiar thing, a soft body winding against him as too-loud music reverberated in his chest, and Liam closed his eyes. Slightly different music, slightly better beer, and this might have been a London bar. This might have been a London girl–some English rose who glazed over when he talked about old movies and didn’t spend half her time poking through crumbling ruins and trying to befriend any wildlife that didn’t immediately try to eat her.

The location could definitely have been improved upon. 

The company, though? Not in a million years.

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Aftershocks Part 3

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Characters: Reader, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers 

Warnings: Medical setting, eating difficulties, PTSD 

Word Count: 1838

Summary: Y/N is having trouble recovering after her rescue, Bucky pays her a visit and tries to help. 

Authors Note: Yeah! Finally we get to some solid Bucky stuff. So this is mostly just fluff, but god a love quiet angsty Bucky fluff. I hope you all enjoy it. Also incase you’ve missed the earlier stuff, look below. 

Aftershocks: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 8b, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10b, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Post Credit Scene


“I don’t know what to do” Steve continues, exasperated, “She’s been awake for a week, she was doing well when she first woke up. Then they removed the feeding tube and all of a sudden her blood work was riddled with issues. Iron deficiency, low insulin, low blood sugar. She’s shaky and pale and her cheeks are just as hollowed out as when we rescued her.” 

He breathes, frustration and worry evident on his face, “She’s supposed to be getting better Buck, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to help her. Coulson and Stark think it’s a good idea for her to stay here, Coulson says it’s safer, and Stark claims he needs her skills to hack a few choice files from hydra, but I… I just don’t think it’s a good idea, she just keeps getting worse rather than better”

Steve looks at his best friend, desperation in his voice. Bucky stares back, thinking slowly, “She’s not eating” it’s not a question, just a statement. “Yes she is,” Steve insists, “not a lot, I’ll give you that, but her plate is always picked at and she says that she’s eating.” “She’s not eating” Bucky repeats shaking his head, eyes falling to the floor, a sadness creeping onto his stern face. 

“How do you know?” Steve asks, his concern now for his best friend. “You don’t want to know.” Bucky says looking back at Steve, his mind swims with memories of his own days with hydra, before Steve found him, his eyes sting as he looks away, unable to meet Steve’s concerned and questioning gaze. “I’ll pay her a visit, see if I can get her to eat, ok Steve?” Bucky asks, clapping his hand against his friends shoulder, holding it firmly as he cocks an eyebrow with his question. “Okay, “ Steve responds with a weak smile, “thanks Buck, I appreciate the effort.”

_____________

You sit in your white room, still connected to an IV, picking at the plate of food in front of you. It smells delicious, your stomach rumbles making you acutely aware of its emptiness. Just as you consider taking a bite, the overwhelming wave of nausea that follows the hunger pain hits you, causing you to dry heave slowly and breathe heavily as you fight for control again. 

The cycle continues for a few more moments before a low voice interrupts your quiet struggle, “You going to sit there making food art or are you actually going to take a bite?” You jump, startled by the sudden presence of the large, longhaired brunette with the metal arm, leaning calmly against your doorframe. “I’m not really hungry” you lie, barely louder than the grumble of your stomach, as it contradicts your words. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, clearly hearing the protests emanating from your abdomen. “Cap’s worried about you,” he says, sauntering into the room. You can’t help but notice the way his hips sway slightly with every stride, his shoulders broad and stiff, trained to his perfect posture, making his intimidating form seem even larger than you remember. 

You curl in on yourself slightly, unsettled by this super soldier being so near to you, “he says your not eating.” Bucky continues, coming to a stop at the foot of your bed, eyes fixed on you, he leans calmly against the wall behind him. His arms fold across his chest, forcing the definition of his arm muscles into sharp relief as his biceps strain against the constraints of his t-shirt 

“I’m eating,” you respond defiantly, “I’m just not very hungry” he raises an eyebrow at you, staring at you hard, holding your gaze. You can’t help but notice the intense and piercing nature of his blue eyes as a strand of brown hair falls into his face. He suddenly jerks forward, uncurling his arms and pushing the hair from his face. 

Wordlessly he moves quickly to the table placed over your bed, causing you to recoil slightly at the close proximity of his body, your movement does not go unnoticed by him, however he seems unphased by your reaction. He slides his metal fingers under the lip of your food tray and picks it up in one swift motion. Turning, he strides out of your room with the tray and without another word. 

You stare at the empty doorway that the man just left through, confused by the interaction as you feel your muscles relax and your body uncoil from its defensive position. A handful of minutes pass, and just as you settle back into a comfortable position, the man comes striding back into your room a spoon in one hand and a cardboard rectangle in the other. 

He places the spoon on your table, ignoring your startled reaction as he begins to rip open the cardboard packaging and pull a small jar of applesauce from within. He pushes his right thumb down on the tin foil covering the container and you hear a small pop as the foil gives way under his pressure; he peels off the cover, discarding it in the wastebasket beside your bed. He inserts his thumb in his mouth, absentmindedly, sucking off the small amount of sauce that had gotten on it. 

You gape at him, transfixed by his movements until his eyes flick back to yours, the twitch of a smile forming on his stern face as he takes in your expression. You become aware of his eyes on you and you feel heat rise in your cheeks as your face flushes and you brake his gaze turning away to glance at the heart monitor, betraying your slight panic with it’s quickening beats. 

He moves slowly, placing the open applesauce on your table, next to the spoon, he then sits in the chair at the side of your bed. He exhales as he relaxes back into it, eyes remaining fixed on you. “Eat.” He says, motioning to the container in front of you. “I’m not hungry, I told you.” You say quietly, avoiding his gaze, acutely aware of the hollow feeling in your stomach. 

He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes close and his head drop down, his forearms resting on his knees, as he leans forward. You could hear his sharp exhales and once again became aware of the impressive build of the brunette as his broad shoulders rise up and down. You begin to bite your lip, remembering the feeling of being pressed to that chest when he lifted you from the ground a week before. Your thoughts are interrupted as his head snaps back up, eyes meeting your gaze, the flicker of a smile ghosting across his face as he drinks in your expression. 

“You won’t throw it up,” he says slowly, gaging your expression, the flicker of fear that crossed your face did not go unnoticed by him, “your stomach will absorb most of it before the reaction will kick in. It will give you the starter nutrients you need to get back on track, then we’ll move you to yogurt, it has something called probiotics” you stare at him, tense, unable to move. 

He watches you “Just eat slow, it’ll stay down” he stares at you, eyes digging into yours, “I promise.” He finishes, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, giving a small nod of reassurance. You take the container in a shaking hand, picking up the cold spoon with the other; he nods at you, egging you on. You take the first bite of the cold applesauce, feeling the flavor wash throughout your mouth, enjoying the sensation of your taste buds coming to life once again. 

You take a few more tentative bites, moaning slightly as you swallow it down, feeling satiated for the first time in weeks. The man watches you as you eat, a smirk stretching across his face, his eyes relentless in their appraisal of you. 

You finish, licking the small jar clean, hearing a small chuckle from him as he stands beside you, taking the empty jar from you to discard it in the wastebasket. You resist the urge to snap your arm back as his cold metal fingers graze your hand. “Good girl” he whispers quietly, more to himself than to you. 

You feel a small flip in your stomach, not connected to your meal at all, but to the praising words he just spoke. He looks at you for another moment, expression unreadable, then turns away to rummage in the drawers for a small syringe and a clear vial. 

Pulling the liquid from the vial with the syringe, he walks forward to your IV, moving to inject it into your saline drip. Your hand flies out, grabbing his right arm as it extends forward, syringe in hand, “What are you doing?” you demand, fear in your voice. You can tell by the stiffening of his body and the flexing of his muscles under your hand that this man was not in the habit of being touched, his gaze is hard as it moves from the IV to your face, but softens as he registers the look of concern and fear on your face. 

He relaxes under your touch, placing his free hand over yours as your nails begin to slightly dig into the flesh of his forearm. “Relax Y/N,” he soothes in a low, kind voice, a tone that you had not yet heard from the young man, “It’s just a Zofran injection, it will help with the nausea and help you keep down your meal” “Oh.” You respond, feeling foolish for your concern. 

Of course he wasn’t giving you anything dangerous, he had just rescued you and now fed you, why would he try to kill you. You mentally scoff at your own absurdity. “Bucky, by the way.” He says, eyes focused on the injection “What?” you question, confused as you pull yourself out of your scolding thoughts and back to the man in front of you. “My name…” he continues, checking your vitals now, almost purposefully avoiding your gaze, “you can call me Bucky” 

His eyes now make contact with yours, something shining in them that wasn’t there before, an expression that you can’t quite discern ghosting across his face. He shifts uncomfortably under your scrutiny, “You should probably get some rest,” he speaks quickly with a touch of nerves under his tone, “I’ll leave you to it.” 

He finishes, nodding as he breaks your eye contact and moves hurriedly towards the door. “Bucky,” your small voice catches him, causing him to halt in his rushed exit and cock his face back over his right shoulder, raising an eyebrow, a small knot forming in his stomach at the sound of his name being said by you, “thank you,” you finish quietly, your tone heavy with gratefulness. 

You see a small smile pull across his face as he turns away from you and walks out. “Anytime doll.” He whispers quietly to himself as he walks away from you.

belated wip wednesday (otayuri)

teaser, because welcome to the madness has me shook :: 

At age 54, Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki became one of the first successful test subjects for a series of anti-aging surgeries.  At 37, he had a knee surgery and received hair plugs, but the first in a series of operations at 54 gave him joints and muscle and organs of someone forever young.

Yuri had grimaced at the holoscreen when the news broke, having seen too much of Victor’s face to last several lifetimes.  “I bet he has a robodick too.”

“Yura,” Otabek had said, both fond and resigned from across the dining room table where he was dissecting a grapefruit half.  

At age 87, Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki went out in a blaze of glory deep-dicking his husband (“robodick,” confirmed BuzzfeedMars) on a solo flight to their summer home on Venus, when his elbow slipped and he managed to undo the ship’s airlock.  Neither he nor Yuuri had looked a day over 40.

Yuri’s let his body age. He’s still in good shape for 82; he does water aerobics with a group of old ladies every Tuesday and Thursday, and the atmosphere on Mars has naturally benefited his bones for the past three decades.  But he and Otabek have always been purists otherwise, letting nature take its course with their bodies and never giving into the temptation or philosophy of synthetic body maintenance.  There’s a small, petty part of him from his youth that remains, the purest part of himself that celebrates his body as the ultimate defeat of Victor Nikiforov.  He revels in his own skin, and in Otabek’s, and the thought that when death comes to them in old age they won’t have cheated it, but earned it somehow.  Victor and Yuuri’s parts were supposed to last them until 2089, and by then, who knows.  The idea of them fucking their ancient asses all over the goddamn galaxy still stirs something ugly in Yuri.  

Until Otabek gets sick.  Like, really, really sick.  And he keeps getting sick.  Bladder infections and kidney infections and pissing blood and choked up catheters and too many nights in the hospital instead of their estate, and suddenly there’s a question that goes unspoken between them.

“You’re killing yourself,” Yuri says finally after their third trip to the ER that month.  Otabek had a temperature of 40 degrees and collapsed in their greenhouse.  

“Or I’m just dying,” Otabek says.  “I’m old.”

“Bullshit,” Yuri says.  Otabek still skates sometimes on weekdays when the rink is empty, because he was blessed with superhuman cartilage in his knees and the back of a titan.  He just does simple laps to relieve stress while Yuri watches from the stands, long since given up the ice out of self preservation.  But Otabek has never had to, because Otabek has always been healthy and strong.  There’s nothing else to be said or done, because, “bullshit, you’re not allowed to die.”

“I don’t think that’s how dying works,” Otabek replies.  He’s smiling and there’s acceptance in the smile that feels damning.   

“Fuck you,” Yuri says.  “The doctors have given you dozens of options.  There’s– technology, there’s–there’s–”

“I thought you didn’t believe in that,” Otabek says.

“Don’t let my pride kill you, Christ, Beka,” Yuri says, feeling impossibly young even with his knobbed knuckles and crooked fingers wrapped around Otabek’s own, mindful of the saline drip and hiding the biggest of his liver spots.  “If you don’t live through this, I’ll kill you.”

The road less traveled
Gritty and graveled
Kicking up dust
Elsewhere…or bust
Freudian slip
Need a saline drip
Dropkickin’ tumbleweeds
Olly olly oxen freed 
Sacred burial ground
My lost baggage found
Walmart parking lot
X marks the spot
The only treasure
Is quickie pleasure
Grab and go
Whoops…too slow!

Bucky² (Part 6)

Summary: You’re a mutant with the power of dimensional, spatial and time manipulation, meaning you can travel to and from dimensions, spaces and different times with ease. But one day, when you’re coming back from a particularly long mission, you brought something back that should never have come with you in the first place.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that Marvel has created and I certainly don’t own Sebastian Stan.

Warnings: Sickness, fluff, major character upheaval!

40′s!Bucky x Present!Bucky x Reader


Originally posted by mybuchanan

Y/N’s POV:

I coughed softly, patting my chest and everyone jumped toward me as if I was about to spontaneously combust. I sigh. This happens every time. “How much time have we got?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry-” Steve speaks but Tony cut him off.

“and you shouldn’t have to worry about it-” Tony was promptly spoken over by Bruce.

“yeah, we can handle this-” Nat interrupts him.

“you have nothing to worry about-” Thor easily uses his booming voice to get his point across.

“so that means you stay in bed and focus on getting better-” Clint has to yell to be heard over Thor.

“under any circumstances-”

“we can wait for you to heal-” Sarge is clearest as they are both by my sides as Happy Feet finishes his sentence for him.

“and recover and-” He’s screamed over by Wanda.

“we will deal with the rest-” Wanda’s voice is nearly lost in the commotion.

They started falling over themselves, talking over each other and getting louder by the second. 

Oh, my head.

SHUT UP!” I roar, clutching my temples. My scream echoes through the room and peaceful silence is the only thing that remains. “Jesus, Lord Almighty, you people are loud.” I groan in pain.

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“Good boy, just relax… I know you’ve experience a lot of pain. This will help. Within just a few minutes this will mix with your saline drip and it’ll put you into a nice long sleep. You’ll feel no more pain baby boy I promise you. The sleep you will drift into will be eternal I’m afraid sweetheart, but it’ll take about 20 minutes and will be completely painless. I am going to administer this and then I’ll stroke your penis until is becomes hard. I’ll get you to the absolute edge of orgasm, where your penis is dripping wet with pre-cum.. based on the dosage, by the time I get you on the absolute edge I’ll have about 8 minutes to hold you there before I increase the pressure of the masturbation. At this point I will pull your foreskin back and forth extremely hard and violently causing you to ejaculate very hard and giving you an immense amount of pleasure as you drift off into an eternal painless sleep. I’m sorry it’s come to this, but please just enjoy your last moments.”

After-Party

Pairing: pre-F!Ryder x Liam
Rating: R for language
Summary: Grace is severely hungover after Sloane’s party. Lexi greatly disapproves, but manages to squeeze some good trolling in.


“I’m gonna die.”

“The theatrics are hardly warranted, Ryder,” Lexi said briskly as she adjusted the flow of the saline drip she’d just attached to Grace’s arm.

Actually looking at Lexi would have required lifting her pounding head from the clammy cradle of her palms–a surer recipe for vomit there was not–but Grace knew that tone. Lexi was totally making her judgey doctor face.

Well, fuck her.

Except not really, because Lexi was the Curer of Hangovers, and this morning she was the only thing standing between Grace and a day spent hugging the toilet bowl and praying for the sweet release of death. So Lexi was pretty great, actually, judgey doctor face or no.

Fuck Reyes, though. Umi, too.

The med bay whooshed open–had the doors on this ship always been so loud?–and Grace groaned. “Unless you have a bloody mary in your hand, you shall not fucking pass.”

“Aww, c’mon Ryder. The lack of tomato juice isn’t my fault.”

Grace jerked her head up at the sound of Liam’s voice, immediately regretting it as the room spun and her guts roiled. She inhaled sharply through her nose, willing herself not to throw up. Liam shot her a smile that could have powered entire solar systems, and her heart fluttered frantically as blood rushed to her cheeks.

“How you doing, champ?” he asked.

“Reyes is not my friend.”

“She’ll be fine,” Lexi said, pressing a waste bin into Grace’s hands because she was apparently fucking psychic, because of course she was. “Having hopefully learned an important lesson about chasing ryncol with half a bottle of whiskey.”

Liam chuckled. “What, and she’s still standing? You’re a badass, Ryder.”

Grace grinned weakly, not totally sure if her lightheadedness had more to do with the hangover or his eyes. “It wasn’t my best night. But I also didn’t fuck anyone, so y’know, that was a new and exciting chapter in The Adventures of Drunk Grace.”

Bitch, did you actually just say that out loud?

Liam threw his head back and laughed. “Well, feel better. Loads more pathfinding to do.” He threw her another of those smiles and disappeared with a second whoosh of the med bay door.

“Dr. T’Perro,” came SAM’s voice as the door slid closed, “I have been reading a number of anomalies in the Pathfinder’s vital signs. It would perhaps be beneficial to perform a scan to rule out an underlying condition.”

Lexi pursed her lips. “There’s no underlying condition, SAM. Ryder’s just extremely hungover.” She shot Grace a sidelong glance, her expression turning almost sly. “And in love.”

Grace’s cheeks burned. “Hey, do I go around telling everyone your business?” she demanded.

And promptly threw up.

Sooo my friend @outtacommission had this great idea about Yuuri with pneumonia… I had too much fun with this, lol. I think everyone knows I’m the hurt/comfort queen. My first Yuri on Ice fic, hope it isn’t too bad!!

•••••

“Yes, Victor, I’m sure.” Yuuri said, for the final time. “It’s just a cold.” He sneezed, muffling it in the sleeve of his sweater.

“Alright,” Victor sighed, almost as if it was painful for him to say. “Only if you’re absolutely sure. Make sure you’re properly hydrated, and try to avoid being on the rink—you’ll just exacerbate your cough.” Victor insisted over the phone, voice muffled as Yuuri shifted his position on the couch, drawing the blanket closer as Makkachin settled at his feet.

“I’ll take a day off, don’t worry. Makkachin and I are just going to rest for a little bit. Be safe.” Yuuri responded, smiling to himself despite the fact that Victor couldn’t see it.

“Ah, of course. Rest easy, love.” He blew a kiss into the phone, and Yuuri rolled his eyes. Just as he was hanging up the phone, he was shaken with yet another coughing fit, hacking until he dislodged the gunk in his lungs, spitting it into a tissue with a grimace.

Maybe a little worse than a cold, if the rattling of his chest was any indication, but surely some fluids and rest would do him good.

•••••

“Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” Victor asked, voice nervous.

“I’m sure.” Yuuri replied, for the thousandth time. His voice was raspy, his fever low grade. He’d sent Victor a photo of the thermometer displaying his fever a couple of hours ago, and he’d received the call about 7 am Victors time.

Victor had been out of town for about a week, now, Yuuri staying back at his apartment in Russia. He was in the states doing training camps for Yuuri’s old rink, but when he’d offered to take him, Yuui insisted that he stay back to keep on top of his own training.

It hadn’t done him much good. He’d trained for a day or two before his cold had begun acting up, and he’d been going downhill since. The absence of his fiancé was definitely taking it’s toll. Yuuri was sick and lonely.

Coughing wetly into his sleeve, Yuuri heard Victor sigh.

“Yuuri. You don’t sound well. I’m going to call a doctor.” Victor said. “Maybe I need to come home.” He said, the anxiety clear in his tone.

“No, Victor, no—” Yuuri said quickly, pausing to cough into his sleeve. “I’ll be okay. If my fever gets worse, we can call someone.” He assured.

Victor wasn’t so convinced—Yuuri’s voice was nearly gone, his breaths rattling in his chest, his fever low but enough to be a concern. He’d been getting steadily worse.

“I’m going to go take a shower and get some medicine, okay? It’s bedtime over here, anyways. I’ll call you later.
I love you.” Yuuri said, finalizing the conversation.

“Alright.” Victor finally conceded. “Text me once you’ve finished your shower and gotten back to bed. Eat something.” Victor said. “I love you too.”

•••••

When Yuuri didn’t text him and didn’t answer his call, Victor assumed he’d fallen asleep.

Yuuri’s fever had gotten progressively worse, leaving him dizzy after his shower, and all he could manage was to pull on some clothes and drag himself to bed. It was too big, too empty, and all of the sudden, he felt himself getting teary eyed.

He wanted Victor to come home. He didn’t want to be alone.

Misty eyed and overwhelmed, Yuuri began to cough again, so hard that it rattled his entire being. His throat stung, his chest ached, his breaths uneven and shaky.

Sleep claimed his with ease, quickly, drawing his fever addled mind into unconsciousness.

•••••

“Yurio, he hasn’t answered his phone since last night.” Victor said, chewing on his lip as he paced back and forth in his hotel room. “It’s 10 o'clock there, he never sleeps this late. Please—”

“If you’re so worried, check on him yourself.” Yuuri said, arms crossed over his chest from his position on the couch.

“Yurio, please. I’m serious, he’s ill and I should have sent him to the doctor sooner. He may just be asleep, but—” Victor paused. “I’ll choreograph another routine for you, I’ll do anything. Just go check on Yuuri. Please.”

The desperation in his voice was too much for Yurio to take. “Okay, fine. You owe me, Victor.” He grumbled, standing from his seat and tugging his shoes on, throwing his hood over his head. “If I get there and Katsudon is just sleeping, you’re both screwed.

His sigh audible, Victor hummed his assent. "Thank you, Yurio. Call me once you get there.”

Hanging up his phone, Yurio shoved it into his pocket, heading toward the door. Victor’s apartment was a 10 minute walk at most, and he hadn’t gone on his morning jog, anyways. At least there was something in it for him.

•••••

When Yuuri woke up, it was to an anxious voice and the rough shaking of his shoulder.

Eyelids fluttering, Yuuri struggled to get a grasp on what was going on, his vision blurry and hearing spotty as he tried to figure out the words.

“Wake up, dumbass, tell me what’s wrong!” Yuri Plisetsky was bent over the couch, his usual expression pinched and worried.

Turning on his side, Yuuri hunched over and began coughing, deep and wet, choking on fluids and struggling to breathe. It felt like something heavy was on his chest, restricting his breathing and making him dizzy. He felt like he was boiling inside of himself, his skin crawling, drenched in a cold sweat.

“You’re freaking me out!” Yurio said, shaking him again. “What’s wrong?”

Yuuri wheezed, trying to breathe in. “Just… a little s-sick…” he rasped pathetically, unable to focus on his face. “Hurts to b-breathe…” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You—you look blue, or something.” Yurio said. “And you’re on fire. I’m calling an ambulance.” He said, standing up and pulling out his phone, pressing in the numbers before Yuuri could even argue.

Only just able to hear Yurio’s frantic conversation over the ringing in his ears, Yuuri tried to push himself up on his arms, his entire being trembling with the effort. How had things gone downhill so quickly?

Struggling onto his elbows, he tried to ease the pressure on his lungs, gasping like a fish out of water as Yurio grabbed his sleeve and hauled him into a sitting position.

“God, Victor is going to freak out,” Yurio cursed, shaking his head. “The ambulance will be here in a minute. Just—just breathe, okay?”

The next several minutes were spent just like that, Yuuri struggling to breathe properly and Yurio sitting closer to him than he ever had before. Things had to have been bad if Yurio was still holding him up.

After that, things began to blur together.

The paramedics arrived, Yuuri was put onto a stretcher, and they took him to the ambulance. Yurio was quick on his tail, jogging to keep up and climbing into the back of the vehicle.

Sitting at Yuuri’s side, Yurio tapped his foot, unsure of what to do as the paramedics strapped a mask over his face and began getting an IV set up.

With alarm, Yurio noticed how out of it Yuuri was, his eyelids fluttering, pupils unfocused. His breathing was coming in shallow pants, his face void of color.

Dialing Victor’s number, Yurio crossed his arms and tried to keep his own breathing in check, his stomach in knots.

“Yeah, Victor? We’re… we’re going to the hospital.”

•••••

It was a handful of hours later when Victor arrived at the hospital, frazzled and exhausted and straight off of an airplane, his suitcase clutched under his arm.

A nurse was quick to direct him to Yuuri’s room, thankfully in the corner of the general care facility and not the ICU.

Victor burst in, his eyes wide and scared, to find Yuuri propped up in bed, mask hooked around his ears, his eyes half open and flickering away from the TV when the door was thrown open.

Despite the fact that he’d looked pretty okay when Victor had first come in, Yuuri’s eyes almost immediately welled up with tears. Dropping his bag, Victor ran over, wrapping Yuuri in his arms and squeezing him gently, gathering him closely and stroking his hair. “Are you alright? What have the doctors said, how are you feeling?” He asked, pulling back to gaze at his fiancé.

“I’m alright.” Yuuri said, though his voice was only just above a whisper. “They said I have pneumonia, but since Yurio took me here so quickly, some heavy antibiotics should help and they won’t have to drain my lungs.” He smiled, wobbly, at Victor, before wrapping his arms around him from the bed. “You didn’t have to come all the way back, I’m okay, now.”

Victor held Yuuri close, shaking his head as his gaze strayed to the machines in the room and the saline bag dripping into his IV. “Of course I did. I would never just leave you here alone.”

“That’s my cue to leave.” Yurio grumbled, getting up from the chair next to the bed where he’d been sitting, hands shoved into his pockets.

Victor pulled away from Yuuri, stepping aside. “Thank you, Yurio, really. If you hadn’t found him—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He grumbled, glaring at the ground. “You owe me even more since your dumb boyfriend traumatized me.”

“Sorry.” Yuuri said sheepishly from the bed. “Thank you, Yurio.”

Huffing, he bumped Victors arm on his way out, shutting the door behind him.

Finally, Victor returned to his previous position, sitting himself on the edge of Yuuri’s cot and adjusting the blankets. Gently lifting the mask, he pressed a quick kiss to his lips, before putting it back where it belonged. “You scared me.” He said, honestly, as he laced their fingers and ran his thumb over where the IV protruded from his hand. “I sincerely hope you haven’t been on the rink lately, but I’m not going to push. If it happens again, you will not be skating competitively again, understand?”

Yuuri nodded quickly, nervously. “O-of course. Yes.”

Victor sighed, smiling. “Alright then. What are we watching?” He asked, shrugging off his coat and sitting against the pillows, opening his arms for Yuuri to snuggle up. He responded eagerly, settling into Victor’s side and resting his head against his chest.

“I’m actually not sure.” Yuuri admitted. “They put the subtitles on but I left my glasses home and can’t read them well…” he said, squinting at the screen.

“Don’t squint, that’ll just give you a headache. I can translate for you.” He said, simply. Yuuri nodded, smiling a little.

It didn’t take much of Victor’s soothing voice and the hand rubbing up and down his arm to lull Yuuri to sleep. By the time a nurse came in to check his vitals, they were both asleep, Yuuri worn down by illness and Victor from jetlag.

Despite her better judgement, she left them to rest.

The Truth missing scene

I wrote an angsty missing scene for The Truth. This scene has been hounding me for weeks, so I finally got around to writing it out.  

Thank you to @kateyes224 for being my beautiful beta. 


The apartment is completely silent save for the shuffle of John’s shoe scraping the linoleum in the kitchen as he leans against the counter.  The air is thick with a nervous tension as Monica sits with Gibson at the kitchen table, the table where she and Mulder had sat just months before bickering over the details of a case.  

Numbness would be a welcome feeling in this moment, one she wishes she could find and hold on to.  If she were numb, she could easily pretend that this was all a nightmare, and that the threat of him spending the rest of his life in prison wasn’t precariously dangling before her.  It would be too easy to convince herself that she is sleeping in bed, her subconscious running amok in her dream state, rather than perched on the end of her couch clutching a throw pillow like her own life depended on it. She would wake up with a tear soaked pillow, chastising herself for allowing her fears to penetrate the few hours of slumber her body and mind so desperately needed.  She would send him a quick, encrypted email to make sure he’s all right, only slightly embarrassed that her words were laced with loneliness and longing.  

Instead, her muscles ache deeply with exhaustion, reminding her that she is, in fact, awake and present in this moment.  This is real.

Please Lord, she pleads silently.  Please spare him.  Have mercy on him.  Have mercy on me, I can’t do this alone.  Please, Lord, I beg of you.  Have mercy.

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The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth [Chapter Eight]

Summary: Although the Association of Supernatural Species (yes…A.S.S.) brought together all the various magical beings for conferences they didn’t much mingle. At least not until Phil met Dan. Pastel!Vampire!Phil and Punk!Fairy!Dan

Warnings: Violence, smut, noncon touching in later chapters.

Title is from A Midsummer’s Night Dream

Master list of Previous Chapters

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Useful things I learned from my trip to the ER

Just some things I intend to keep in mind if I need to write emergency room scenes in the future:

  • The ER rates people who come in on a 1-5 scale depending on the severity of their problem. 1 being ‘holy crap this person is dying’, and 5 being ‘there is no reason you needed to come in to the ER. (Incidentally, coming in with unexplained chest pains is rated a 2, because you may not be actively dying, but that could change quickly).


  • IVs are used for more than just saline drips and morphine. They are the easiest way to draw multiple blood samples without having to poke a person multiple times. Even if you’re not hooked up to a drip, the IV will remain inserted in case medicine needs to administered to the bloodstream or more blood tests need to be done. These can be forked so there are two places to insert a needle.


  • Moving your arm with an IV in it is super uncomfortable. Not very painful, but very uncomfortable.


  • If you aren’t careful when moving your hand around, you will set off an alarm, because there will be a pulse ox (short for pulse oximeter) on one of your fingers to track your pulse and O2 levels. And when you move your hand, you may dislodge the pulse ox and it will freak out because it suddenly thinks you have no pulse.


  • The combination of the two above points makes it very hard to do anything that requires any level of dexterity.


  • The electrodes used for other monitors are made to stay on. This mean it really sucks when you’re actually ready to take them off. They will leave residual stickiness. There can be a bunch of them, but there are usually at least a pair on your ankles, and another on your shoulders. And if you think you’ve taken them all off, you’ve missed at least one.


  • The two most frequently ask questions are “What is your name and birthdate?” and “Would you like a warm blanket?” On the other hand, you probably won’t be given any water unless the nurse has confirmed with your doc that you don’t need any more blood tests.


  • Once the initial round of tests have been completed, it is boring as hell in the ER. So much waiting in an empty room. So much. If you’re lucky, you’ll find at least one channel on the TV playing shows you actually like.


  • You may be taken for a test before being told why you need it.


  • CT scans really aren’t all that bad, especially if they’re the open ring design. You just have to hold your breath for a few seconds while it scans you. And the whole process can take less than 5 minutes total sometimes.


  • The iodine contrast used to make your blood vessels show up clearly on a CT scan, on the other hand, is bizarre! It goes into your blood stream via that handy dandy IV, and in just a couple of seconds heat washes through your whole body like a hot flash, you can taste metal in the back of your mouth, and it feels like you need to pee all of a sudden. You’re supposed to drink a lot of water afterwards to flush it out of your kidneys.


  • It is scary when your bloodwork comes back abnormal.


  • The doctors in the ER are looking specifically for any life threatening problems. If there isn’t an identifiable life threatening cause, they probably won’t be able to tell you what caused the symptoms.


Pluse an additional (and truly frightening) thing I learned from what lead to the ER visit:

  • One of the most absolutely terrifying feelings in the world is when you can’t get your body to respond the way you need it to. Especially if you can’t open you medication bottle. Even more so if you lose you sense of balance and go careening in the walls and toppling to the floor because you suddenly cannot walk. This is even worse if your vision starts going in and out and feel like you’re fighting to stay conscious.
D is for Dehydration (4/26)

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)
Pairing: 
 ReaderXBones
Prompt: Fic 4 of 26 in the CMO’s Log – A to Z series.  Click here for a listing of all the fics in this series!  D is for dehydration.  This fic is academy-era AU.
Word Count: 
1711
Warnings:
Banter, lots of banter.
Rating: Teen+.
Author’s Note: I had a lot of fun with this particular reader-character.  Enjoy!

D is for Dehydration

You swear as your sustained combat tactics instructor calls your name sharply, signaling you with a wave of your hand.  You glance at the monitoring band around your wrist, fuming at the red color it’s lit up in, betraying you.  Jogging off of the field, feeling suddenly dizzy, you join your instructor, coming to stand at attention before them.

“Cadet Y/N, report to medical,” your instructor says firmly.  “You’re out for this round.”

You protest, gesturing to the battlefield behind you, strewn with the slumped forms of training cyborgs and fellow cadets alike in various states of functioning.  You’ve outlasted 90% of your class, and you’re not ready to call it quits until you’re the last one standing.

“With all due respect, sir, I’m fine,” you pant, bending forward to plant your palms on your thighs as you catch your breath.

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