surgical scalpel

The Daughter of Hades - rewrite // p2

summary: you thought your close friend and long time crush James Buchanan Barnes was going off to war, but it seems you would be the one to battle all types of war from being a weapon for a dangerous organization known as Hyrda, to fighting a war with your own mind.

pairings: Bucky x female reader

warnings: injections, angst  there’s probably more but its too specific to list 

thoughts are in italics

A/N: so here’s part 2! There’s no Bucky in this part but I’m sure he’ll end up as a cameo in part three

part one

Originally posted by pamelabridget

1945, Siberia

A cold surface and a light chatter stirred you awake from your sleep. When you opened your eyes you were met with a blinding light directly above you. As you surveyed your surroundings, the room you were in did look like a hospital, just as the man said. There was an IV attached to you and also a heart monitor. However when you looked further into the detail of the room, you had second thoughts on where you were. To your right was a table that had scattered paperwork and files covering the structure. To your left, a medical trolley with various equipment on it: scalpels, pliers, surgical scissors and needles with thread still attached. Behind that was another trolley with a layout of syringes. The whole room was covered in pristine white tiles that reflected every ray of light, with the exception of the door which was a rusted metal.

As you looked down at yourself you noticed you weren’t in the the dress you wore last night, but in black joggers and a black tank top. The pain in your left arm hadn’t subsided and you were positive it was still broken. Yet the cuts were stitched up and cleaned as well, hence the needle and thread on the trolley.

When you tried to sit up, you were only able to lift your head, due to the leather restraints on your wrists, arms and ankles that were attached to the metal table you were lying on. A doctor in the corner of the room noticed your movements and came to check on your vitals. At a closer distance you saw that he was the man from last night; now he was sporting a gleaming lab coat instead of his grey suit. He still wore the same round glasses.

“Y/N! How lovely it is for you to be awake!” His tone wasn’t as enthusiastic as it might have been but his face lit up like July, which made you immediately weary of him. Also, how did he know your name?

As he moved to the left of you, he rolled the trolley of surgical appliances away and brought the one with syringes closer. “You have been unconscious for a week. We fixed up your arm but unfortunately there was nothing we could do with the broken bone. That nasty cut on your head is also sealed.” You subconsciously wanted to feel your forehead to check, but struggled with the restraints. Why am I restrained in a hospital, I’m not crazy? This may not be the kind of hospital I thought it was.

“How rude of me. I am doctor Arnim Zola.” He interrupted your thoughts with a small smile.

No need for pleasantries, he already knows my name somehow.

He held up one of the needles and tapped it gently.  It contained a thick black liquid that oozed from either side of the tube when it was moved. The other tubes left on the trolley contained different colored liquids of different densities; the tubes were also different sizes. The smallest was filled with a transparent blue and the medium filled with a clear substance. The largest being the black filled one in Zola’s hand.

“I hope you don’t mind but we are going to have a few guests with us today.” As if on queue, a line of doctors in similar white coats entered the room who were then followed by two men in black gear. And don’t think you didn’t notice the guns in their belt holsters.

Having not said anything this entire time you thought it was only pilot to say something. You turned your head left to Zola, “What kind of doctor are you?” Your voice was hoarse from not speaking a whole week.

“An experimental one, darling. One that will make a difference.” He put down the syringe and glanced at you quickly before turning to your new guests and addressing them of the situation, not that you were paying attention but it would’ve done you a great deal to listen to him.

“My friend Y/N here, is a very promising subject and is perfect condition for each test.“ Tests? What tests? 

Zola picked up the small, blue syringe and showed it off to the other doctors, "Serum one: stage one of enhancement.”

When it was injected, your body started burning all over; it felt like your skin and muscle fibers were being stretched pass their limit and you would suddenly snap. With each passing second the pain grew stronger and further throughout your body. The pain lasted a total of one minute before abruptly stopping. You lay on the table feeling different in ways you couldn’t explain yet.

Zola held the second, clear syringe up high proudly, “Serum two: protection.”

Once this liquid was inside you there was no pain involved, but for thirty seconds you involuntarily tensed on the table and the weight of your own body grew too heavy for you; while Zola explained what was happening the weight suddenly floated from you leaving you feel like your original weight.

The final, largest syringe was now in front of your face like a comparison to how it was almost the same size as your head; the black substance inside of it slowly bubbled.

“Serum three: stage two, the final stage, of enhancement. There is no predicted way in how this serum will react with the subject, but previous tests show a unique change unlike any other with each subject.”

As the needle enters your left arm, you look on only in confusion, pondering what affects this serum could possibly have on you. You tried your best to hide your fear - but then it started. It felt like you were burning from the inside with a thousand needles pricking at your heart. You couldn’t help but let out a blood curdling scream that echoed through the whole room and could probably be heard from outside. As you lay there in agony, Zola and the other doctors began taking notes.

You continued to scream and howl as much as your tired lungs would let you; your knuckles had turned white from how hard you held your hands in fists. Blood trickled through your fingers as your nails cut into the palm of your hand. Every face in the room looked on stoically at your helpless figure. Then an even stronger wave of pain took over your body.

The pain in your left arm was growing stronger much faster than the rest of your body, but because it was still broken you couldn’t do anything about it. Suddenly, a loud crack is heard from your arm and you scream even louder. Just like that, your broken arm moved in reverse and snapped back into place, every fracture and piece melding together to from a healthy bone.

Your body writhed and struggled relentlessly, the leather burning whatever part of skin it touch as you attempted to wriggled free of them. It was excruciating; you were certain death was knocking at your door.

Medical equipment and sheets of paper started flying around the room in a destructive circle; the white tiles on the floor below you had started to form into rot and spread like water on a sponge. Then it abruptly stopped; everything in the air immediately fell to the floor and the rot on the tiles retracted to a point where it disappeared completely.

The wave of pain stopped as quickly as it started. You panted heavily and your eyes fluttered closed in relief that the pain had ceased. As you lay there, you were faintly aware of your restraints being untied.

Experiencing such a high level of pain in such a short period of time pushed you passed your limit; or any human’s limit for that matter. The last thing you hear before slipping into unconsciousness, was the thunderous applause of the men around you.

You were awoken by a metal pole clashing against your cell bars. Cell bars? Why am I in a cell? You shot out of the makeshift bed you had on the floor; the sudden movement causing your head to pound unbearably. The area surrounding you was dark and shadowy apart from the dim lights in the hallway. Through the bars two guards snickered at your groggy silhouette; however when you stepped into the light, their gazes fell to your left side and they immediately ceased the smirks. Even when you were leaning against the bars their gazes lingered to your left, but to be quite frank you weren’t interested in what caught their eye, but what the hell was going on.

Footsteps started echoing from the end of the hallway but you ignored them and settled your eyes on the guard to the left. When he noticed your stare he was taken aback by the look of death in your eyes.

“Y/N, good afternoon,” Zola greeted, before freezing and looking at your left side in awe. “Fascinating” he whispered. What is it with people and my left side? You finally gave in and looked at yourself, but it was too dark to see anything, even with lights in front of you.

Zola snapped back into reality and looked at you with a smile. “It is good to know you are well, I would like to take you somewhere.” Without waiting for a response or the door to be opened, he walked off down the hallway.

The guards came in and gripped you tightly on the shoulders; you wanted to resist but judging by the eerie atmosphere and the attire of the guards, it seemed best to comply.

They took you to a small room, sat you down in the chair and cuffed you to the metal table in the middle. There was a two-way mirror to your right. They didn’t tell you that but your parents had taught you things like this for some reason.

Zola entered with two files on hand and placed them on the table. He opened them to the first page that showed the basic statistics of the two people in the file. “Do you know who these people are?”

He turned the files so that they were facing you. The first things your eyes went to were their pictures; it was a man and a woman, who didn’t need their names said for you to instantly recognize them. Your parents.

They had always said that their job was too dangerous for you to know too much; but if these people, Hyrda as it said at the top of the folder, if they have your parents something was definitely not right.

“Why do you have files of my parents?” You feared that Hydra had tortured them, or even worse killed them; which made you think over what fate was waiting for you.

“They have crossed our path on many occasions; we needed to know who they were. Do you know what they do for a living?”

“I don’t know.” You said truthfully.

Zola squinted his eyes and hummed in sarcastic approval, he didn’t believe you but you knew near to nothing about your parents.

“Do you know where they are now, darling?”

“No but they better not be here, sweetie.” You spoke through gritted teeth and your fists clenched to the point where they turned white.

“And why is that?” He slouched backward into the seat, clearly not phased by your aggressive tone.

“We’ll both find out what you did to me in that lab.” You lowered your voice and lent forward across the table, trying to make yourself larger and intimidating. To this, Zola’s muscles tensed at the thought of his own experiment turning against him; also the fact that he had no idea how the serums had reacted with you and what you were capable of.

He collected the files and stood from his seat. “I’ve heard enough for today.” He nodded to the two way window and as he left, two guards entered and uncuffed you from the table.

They took you to a large concrete room with damp walls, a contrast to the gleaming white that covered the rest of this place. In the middle of the room stood Zola, who lent against a table with assorted plants on top. You were shoved to stand next to him, while the two guards stood behind the both of you. There were also guards laced on the sides of the room with much larger guns than your two new friends.

“You may be wondering what I did to you yesterday; to be honest so am I.” Zola laughed to himself, but you gave him an unamused glare which he realized and his face dropped immediately. He turned to the table, “I want you to concentrate all of your energy onto these plants.”

A tingling sensation started moving through your body as you concentrated all of your energy towards the plants. Your eyes had turned into an obsidian black with flares of blue flickering within them. You weren’t thinking of anything in particular, but you expected them to burst into color and flourish. As you stared at the plants before you, nothing of particular interest happened to them, they sat there unaffected. You reached out to them, hoping this may coax your new powers, whatever they were, into working. You released a breath you were holding and relaxed your tensed muscles; you were afraid there would be consequences to the lack of ability shown. Maybe it didn’t work on me? 

Zola muttered to himself as he took notes in a red book. Before you had a proper chance to do anything, you were being pulled through a door different to the one you entered in.

This room was much smaller, much like a conference room, yet with no table and chairs and just as dirty and damp as the previous room. Two people were on their knees in the center, their hands were restrained behind their back and a black bag covered their head; a guard stood behind each of them. The other guards from the previous room entered and laced the walls, studying your every move.

“These two have some intel that we need and are so far not cooperating; I want you to extract it from them.” Zola entered the room and stood to the side, a woman with platinum blonde hair trailed after him.

“Why should I do anything for you?” The two guards that had brought you here had now left and shut the door behind them; while you glared at Zola, the blonde woman circled you slowly. There was an uneasy feeling in the back of your mind, like someone was there, reading you.

“If you do not help us, you may only see your parents one more time.” You didn’t want to do anything for these people, you have no idea who they are and they don’t seem to be doing any good. However you didn’t want to risk the lives of your parents. No. I would rather die than help them.

“If you would rather die, that could be arranged.” The blonde woman spoke up from the corner. She smiled at you sweetly and winked. You stared at her with your mouth agape.

“How the hell- can you read my mind?” That’s what that weird feeling was, she was reading your mind.

Zola coughed and grabbed your attention, “Celest is someone who went through the same process as you; where she has the ability to read minds and also control them, you can…well that’s what today - and the rest of your stay is about.” To many questions needed answering all at once, you were frozen in the spot and staring at the wall; your heart rate and breathing had started to increase. “Celest, help the girl.” Zola gestured towards you and she stepped closer.

Suddenly, a powerful force took over body. Your muscles tensed, locking your arms by your side and your knees gave way. Celest was standing behind you and had her hands stretched out around you as a glittering force field shimmered from her hands and sealed you in the bubbled like prison. The feeling in the back of your mind started again and you knew it was Celest who was searching through your thoughts.

“Get out of my head.” You shouted.

Then there was a sudden rush of power moving through your body, you overpowered the force Celest was holding you with and managed to lift your arms, then there was enough power to stand as you dragged your legs up to support yourself. A small blue fire started flickering around your hands and you could feel the power flowing through your veins. You shouted at the top of your lungs and an even stronger force blasted away Celest’s force field and sent her flying backwards. The guards around the room raised their weapons but Zola dismissed them in a different language.

Zola looked at Celest and then nodded in your direction. Celest quickly brought her hand up and sent a beam of white light to your head, you collapsed to your knees once again, but his time you were free to move, yet something wasn’t right. Suddenly there was a painful sensation in the back of your mind. It felt as if someone was ripping you apart; slowly, to make sure you felt every inch of the pain, then violently tearing at you to speed up the process. It moved from the back of your mind to the front, like your mind was an exploding planet and the waves of explosions rippled through your head.

Your head and lungs were burning as you clawed at your hair and screamed in agony. This pain was just a bad as the serums Zola injected you with. Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more the pain stopped. You could hear the sound of muffled footsteps around your figure as you panted on your hands and knees.

You weren’t afraid. You weren’t worried. You weren’t in pain.

You felt boiling. You felt angry. You felt malicious.

You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know who you were.

You were no longer you.

tags: @that-sarcastic-pisces, @writings-of-a-british-fangirl@38leticia, @skeletoresinthebasement, @bxhyx, @theboldandthebootyful, @agentsinstorybrooke, @imamoose, @puffedchoco, @lost-in-the-stories, @marvel-seb

part one

A/N: i want to thank everyone who gave part one of the rewrite so much love, i really appreciate it thank you all😊
How an abortion saved millions of lives
In 1962, Leonard Hayflick created a cell strain from an aborted fetus.

The woman was four months pregnant, but she didn’t want another child. In 1962, at a hospital in Sweden, she had a legal abortion.

The fetus — female, 20 centimetres long and wrapped in a sterile green cloth — was delivered to the Karolinska Institute in northwest Stockholm. There, the lungs were dissected, packed on ice and dispatched to the airport, where they were loaded onto a transatlantic flight. A few days later, Leonard Hayflick, an ambitious young microbiologist at the Wistar Institute for Anatomy and Biology in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, unpacked that box.

Working with a pair of surgical scalpels, Hayflick minced the lungs — each about the size of an adult fingertip — then placed them in a flask with a mix of enzymes that fragmented them into individual cells. These he transferred into several flat-sided glass bottles, to which he added a nutrient broth. He laid the bottles on their sides in a 37 °C incubation room. The cells began to divide.

So began WI-38, a strain of cells that has arguably helped to save more lives than any other created by researchers. Many of the experimental cell lines available at that time, such as the famous HeLa line, had been grown from cancers or were otherwise genetically abnormal. WI-38 cells became the first ‘normal’ human cells available in virtually unlimited quantities to scientists and to industry and, as a result, have become the most extensively described and studied normal human cells available to this day.

Vaccines made using WI-38 cells have immunized hundreds of millions of people against rubella, rabies, adenovirus, polio, measles, chickenpox and shingles. In the 1960s and 1970s, the cells helped epidemiologists to identify viral culprits in disease outbreaks. Their normality has made them valuable control cells for comparison with diseased ones. And at the Wistar Institute, as in labs and universities around the world, they remain a leading tool for probing the secrets of cellular ageing and cancer.

fanchonmoreau  asked:

"You're certainly entitled to your opinion on the relationship, but it's not going to change anything."

“You’re certainly entitled to your opinion on the relationship, but it’s not going to change anything,” Stella says, words cutting through the air with the surgical precision of a scalpel, words  meant to wound. 

Reed wants to tell her that Tom Anderson’s no good for her, not clever enough to keep up with her mind, hands not gentle enough to touch her hair and skin. “It should have been me.” The words sputter out, water bailing from a sinking ship. 

“I would have liked it to have been you.” Stella’s hand hovers an inch from her face–she looks like she is about to caress her hair, but doesn’t. “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?”

“I didn’t want you to know. And I wanted you. I still want you.”

Stella smolders back at her–a look so steamy it could make a nun’s knickers catch fire. And then Stella’s lips are on hers, coaxing out moans, teasing her open with her tongue–she keeps Reed’s mouth too busy to speak of Croydon or Tom Anderson again. 


Uh… heya.

Sayoko Uehara’s Persona, Kishimojin

Kishimojin is the Japanese name of a Buddhist deity originally named Hariti in India.  She originated as a vengeful Hindu deity known for eating children, but she converted to Buddhism when Buddha taught her a lesson.  She herself was the mother of many children, and when Buddha hid one of her children she became overwrought with grief and finally understood the pain she was putting other mothers through.  She then became a Buddhist deity of child rearing and child protection and now only eats pomegranates.

I jokingly refer to her as “the one who used to eat babies but doesn’t anymore,” and I thought that was kind of a good parallel for her Social Link, sort of, going from preying on someone much younger than her then turning around and becoming a force for good.

But, hoo boy, her design.  You can see in the bottom left I had a very different design at first–it was a weird pregnant looking thing.  I had that design mostly finished and ended up hating it so much that it was partially responsible for why I took such a long break from this (on top of just feeling burnt out).  So when I went back I decided to start over.

The number one thing I knew I needed to retain from Shadow Sayoko was the empty face, which carried through all depictions, though now it bears an eye.  Another design I had in mind through all of them was something that resembled a nursing bra, as I wanted to transform the figure from a sexual one to an overt mother figure, and that was the best I could come up with.  One last aspect I retained through all was the horns being covered in wrappings–much like Hariti’s SMT designs she’s covering up her demon past.

It’s when I gave her a giant pomegranate to hold like a baby wrapped in a cloth did I finally find the “all wrapped up” design I got here.  Colors also took forever to decide on.  The earlier pregnant concept was hot pink, no fooling.

Weapon wise Sayoko has a medic bag.  My concept is that she wouldn’t hit things with the bag, but rather that she would attack by pulling things out of the bag and maybe, I dunno, throw them at the Shadows.  Like scalpels and surgical scissors and stuff.  And for criticals she’d poke them with a syringe!  It was cool sounding in my head.

So yeah, I want to apologize for not doing anything of note for like, a year.  But as I said before I was seriously burnt out.  But I feel a second wind coming on, I think.  Not too many more to do anyhow.

Go here to compare to Shadow Sayoko.

After Sherlock and Mycroft’s game of Operation in The Empty Hearse, it has been suggested that the BBC should market a special Sherlock edition of the game. So I put my thinking scrubs on and produced my own design for this surgical sensation. Scalpels at the ready, folks, because the game is definitely on…

Sanvers vs. Cadmus

Maggie is kidnapped by Cadmus, but instead of torturing her for information about Supergirl, they do something much worse: they make her watch them hurt Alex.

Not based on a prompt, just based on my more difficult thoughts and conversations with @thesameenshaw. Heads up: this gets very bloody and torturey, but of course our girls will be just fine. Once again, I am not Jason Rothenberg.

She doesn’t know how she got here, but she remembers falling asleep last night with Alex’s legs wrapped around her body, with Alex’s breath tickling her neck, with Alex’s steady warmth seeping through her own skin.

Now, her skin is cold, and now, her skin is damp with her own blood, because now, she’s strapped to a freezing metal table, still in the boxers and Alex’s Stanford sweater that she fell asleep in last night.

Now, her eyes scan the high, concrete ceiling above her, and she swallows panic.

Now, she tests the limits of the cold hard straps digging into her wrists, her ankles, her forehead. Securing her, immobilizing her.

Now, she takes a shuddering breath and now, she realizes with a sickening swoop in her stomach that this must be Cadmus, because now, the ringing of stilettos on stone ground is echoing off the walls and off the trays of surgical equipment resting at the ready next to the table Maggie is strapped to, too close for comfort but not close enough for her to get at. Even if she could break through these damn straps before the sound of heels stops as a woman steps into her limited line of vision: a woman she recognizes as Lillian Luthor.

Maggie uses the length of the serenely smiling woman’s forearm as a gauge, as a measuring stick, to take stock of the dimensions of the room, running estimates in her head, how many feet high the ceiling is, how many paces across the room might be, where the dim light is coming from, and dammit why do they always take you to a room with no windows? Can’t they slip up on that detail just once?

“Finally awake, I see, Detective,” Lillian croons, and Maggie glares, refusing to flinch away from Lillian’s fingers as she reaches down to stroke Maggie’s cheek with her fingernails. “You seemed quite… shall we say… affected by the strain of gas we used to ensure your cooperation in coming here this morning.”

“The hell do you want, Luthor?” Maggie’s voice shakes a lot less than the inside of her stomach is, and she takes grim satisfaction from it.

“Oh dear, you’re right, where are my manners?” She gestures behind her somehow both theatrically and primly, sweeping the room with her hands. “Welcome to Cadmus, Detective Maggie Sawyer.”

“I didn’t ask where I was. I asked why I’m here.”

“Because my attempts to reign in Supergirl have failed so far, you see. And you’re going to tell me how to succeed.”

Maggie blinks and Maggie tugs at her restraints.

“How the hell should I know?”

“Oh, because you know her, dear, don’t you?”

Maggie says nothing as Lillian flashes photos of Maggie by Supergirl’s side in the field, of the cockeyed grin Supergirl is giving her as she fills out some paperwork; of the way Maggie rolls her eyes affectionately as Supergirl takes off in an absurdly giddy, absurdly showy way.

Maggie says nothing because her throat is closing up, and she says nothing because Lillian’s eyes are studying hers and she wants them to find absolutely nothing.

“I’m NCPD. NCPD works with Supergirl.”

“But this doesn’t look like a casual, detached, professional relationship to you, does it, Detective Sawyer? And that is your job, isn’t it? Piecing together people’s motives, studying them and discovering what hides underneath?”

Lillian drops the photos on Maggie’s stomach, and Maggie hisses in discomfort, in a jolt of added fear, in a well-concealed but rapidly growing panic.

The director of Cadmus chuckles softly and strides across to the tray of surgical instruments next to the table, and Maggie swallows vomit and swivels her eyes to follow Lillian’s hands, carefully and considerately selecting a gleaming scalpel and bringing it closer for examination. Maggie slams against her restraints again, and Lillian tuts.

“Now now, dear, that won’t do. But we will get you to talk about Supergirl. Or, should I say, Kara Danvers?”

Maggie wishes for heat vision and Maggie wishes for super strength, because she’s been angry before, she’s been furious before, but she’s never wanted to attack someone like this.

“I’m not giving her up,” she tells her, even as Lillian steps closer to the table, even as Lillian is eyeing her like a piece of meat to carve before family dinner. Like she’s already been murdered and won’t feel the pain of the cuts. But she will, she will. She will.

Lillian tuts again. “Oh. Well, that is sweet, dear, but I am curious – we are a research facility, after all, and I understand you’re a scientist yourself, won all the regional Intel competitions in Blue Springs, and even placed second and, was it third, in your junior year, at the state competition in high school, so I’m sure you’ll share my scientist’s curiosity – are you refusing to give up Supergirl for the sake of her alien self? Or for the sake of her very human sister?”

What’s left of Maggie’s stomach plummets as she sets her jaw and glares up into the eyes of the woman holding a scalpel dangerously close to her chest.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Bless,” Lillian coos. “Well, if you truly don’t know her, then surely it won’t bother you if she takes your place?”

Lillian bends quickly and releases the bottom legs of the cold, metal table Maggie’s strapped to, so that she clangs down into a near standing position, her head pounding terribly from the slamming, from the ringing, from the pure and utter terror growing in her core.

Because now, she has a perfect view of the half-sedated woman Lillian’s men are dragging none-too-gently into the room.

Her throat nearly bleeds when she yells. “Alex!

“Oh, so you do know her. I thought as much. Good. Now the real experiment can begin.”

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[001] Ash

MidoAka Month: [6/4 - 6/6] : Firsts | Lasts -> Last meeting.

Pairing: Midorima/Akashi
Warnings: Major character death, angst
Word count: 2889

The world was an eerie place for what it lacked.

Nijimura’s case was the first to make him realize it, and Midorima witnessed and experienced the fall of the Generation of Miracles; victims of time. It’s sad, really.  From the beginning, he was well aware of change, of inevitability, of fate.

He sauntered over what was left of his high school years, little by little, and dismembered them. The years within Shuutoku’s clutch had been short, too quick for his liking, but in the times he allowed himself to breathe, he contemplated his own role in this recurring tragedy. The Miracles’ roles. How their stories would gradually unravel – and perish. A basketball would be left in its wake, polite and immobile; a reminder of how quick a fire spreads. Midorima would be lying, however, if he said it wasn’t disconcerting to prod the wounds Teikou inflicted. 

‘Man proposes, God disposes.’

As it suggested, he believed in hard work and dedication and the possibility of altering an inevitable outcome. He obtained lucky items every day, taped his fingers, prayed, studied, all to the best of his ability. It hurt him to think that this would be in vain. That he’ll probably die trying. Once he found comfort in remembering fictional stories, courtesy of his childhood nurturing, of a world where man could reach the stars.

Even with the sharp precision of a scalpel and surgical scissors of an aspiring doctor, he’ll never be able to dissect such a lifetime.

Akashi asked him for scissors once, and Midorima wondered if man fell like Akashi, too.

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Coating Makes Steel Tougher, Keeps Microbes From Sticking

More and more objects are getting superhydrophobic coatings that make liquids bounce right off. Surfaces with complex nanoscopic structures that prevent wetting will soon be deployed on wind turbine blades and aircraft wings to prevent ice from sticking, and even concrete is being doped with superhydrophobic compounds to help it last decades longer.

Much still needs to be done, though, to strengthen these coatings because any damage can remove the ability to repel liquids. Such an advance is hugely important since there are potentially life-saving healthcare applications if this hurdle could be overcome with a stable, nontoxic coating for steel. Just imagine if implants, scalpels and other tools used on patients had a surface impossible for infection-causing microbes to cling to.

Now, Joanna Aizenberg and her colleagues at Harvard’s Wyss Institute for Biologically Inspired Engineering have demonstrated a possible solution. They’ve been able to coat stainless steel with nanoporous tungsten oxide, which repels all liquids. What’s more, the surface is extremely tough, maintaining superhydrophobicity even after being scratched with sharp steel objects and diamond.

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A Room

Ectoplasm kisses my fingertips, fills my nose, my lungs. Sound, like always, is muted and distorted behind four inches of bulletproof polycarbonate. And, like always, all I can hear is a pulsing hiss from the electric pump. A pneumatic pfffshhh, pfffshhh, pfffshhh as ectoplasm is churned, extracted, and replenished.

My eyes remain closed, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see. I can feel my world humming along around me right outside the polycarbonate, as well as all the items contained within it. My world consists of a room with four walls, one door, three desks and five chairs, one framed photograph, two computers with two keyboards and two mice, various metal instruments including (but not limited to) scalpels, surgical clamps, scissors, pens, paper, fourteen pencils, a roll of gauze, this machine, this tank that I live in, the wires and tubes running through it, through me, keeping us going, and two human beings—— I screech to a halt.

Two anomalies. A pang of nervousness shoots through me. I don’t like change. I’ve learned in my brief life that change never bodes well. I feel their matter, their atoms. One is female, the other male, young, mid-twenties. Not Him, then. Strangers. I go through my options and decide that playing dead is my best one.

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“Mortem?…I-I got you something when I finished packing up my stuff from my old house…I hope you like them.” Mortis smiled sweetly as he handed Mortem a long and flat black box. It was hard and free of any damage and the inside consisted of different scalpels and surgical tools that were lined up and kept in place by little black latches. Each tool had a full red plating and the inside of the box was lined with clean white plastic, perfect for getting bloody.


this is a post about how rose benjamin is amazing because

silas is all big blustering words and declarations, political machinations and stories stories stories, and jack is a wildfire of action and guns and eyebrows and bloodthirst, and michelle is a single act of kindness saving an entire city

(what a terrifying fucking family) 

rose benjamin is a surgical scalpel to the throat. rose benjamin is efficiency, and cleanliness, and one small, careful devastation instead of an onslaught of violence. rose benjamin is that first falling domino. rose benjamin is brutal.

because rose benjamin’s most devastating and perfect act of sabotage in this entire season is not organizing the robbery of david’s apartment or having katrina ghent killed or even convincing her daughter to let the father of her unborn child hang, but just the simple act of organizing for the crown to be stolen before jack’s coronation


so her act of having the crown stolen at PRECISELY the right moment in PRECISELY the right way so that jack is literally a false king is a perfect psychological blow - she honed in on jack’s insecurity and capitalized on that, showing him that he might have his uncle’s guns and his uncle’s men, but still the people in the palace are loyal to her and only to her even on threat of death. she made his inner psychological turmoil - ’you are not the one he wants’ - a physical reality through one simple act and shattered the image of the kingdom that she had built at the exact time it needed to be shattered

so she can build it again with the king that she chooses

so this is a post about rose benjamin