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gyllenhaalstories · 2 months

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FREAK LIKE ME — ELWOOD DALTON x PLUS SIZE! READER ❤️‍🩹

summary: what doesn't kill you makes you freakier, amirite?

warnings: blood & injury, smut (mild blood kink, praise kink, blowjob, nipple play, titjob). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2120

gifs credits: @/tay-swifts (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: me? writing for dalton again? groundbreaking. ❣️🩹 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"Hey, Doc," Dalton smiled. "Do I need surgery?"

You walked away from the sink, holding your clean hands in the air as to not soil them. "Sorry." Your chin pointed at the counter. Dalton climbed on it, next to all of the medical supplies, while you sat on a chair in front of him. "You're a lost cause."

"That's a rough diagnosis." He shrugged lightly, his smile widened when you took a closer look at the old bandage.

You sighed and only then his smile faded a bit.

"I tried." He answered before you could reprimand him.

You had told him to be careful and avoid abrupt movements, you could not have asked something more impossible than that.

"They started it. I had to end the fight and... Yeah." Another shrug, but this time he winced when you detached the bandage off his skin. The feeling of the glue pulling at his skin and the wound exposed to the air reminded him it was not all fun and games. He forgot about that reminder pretty quickly.

You disposed of the old gauze and started to clean the stabbing wound. You liked to do most of those tasks in silence, focused on taking care of your man.

The silence left more space for Dalton's noises to be heard. The winces, whimpers and gasps echoed loudly in your mind while you patched his wound. There were moans too. Lots of them.

When you first helped him out with his situation, having failed to convince him that nurses were better suited for the task, you figured the moans were just how he expressed his pain.

Maybe it truly was his way to express it. You thought that when you got hurt for as long as he did, the reactions were numbed. Instead of a scream, that was what he would do. You were not wrong, only you were not exactly right.

Because Dalton loved the pain, in a masochist type of way that you still had trouble to understand. He said multiple times before how he liked "to pay for it".

You had never questioned him further. You had never explored this further. Maybe, just maybe, you could entertain this part of him...

"Hey, you good?" He noticed how you stalled, there was concern and worry laced in his voice.

You cleared your throat, realizing that you were lost in your thoughts. "Yeah. It's just..." You scrambled for an answer and pulled open the wrapping of the new bandage. "It looks gnarly."

"You should see the other guy." Dalton scoffed, but suddenly he flinched with his lips curled up and face scrunching. He waited for a second or two, then he breathed out. "Oooh, that hurts."

You watched his reaction closely while you pressed your hand on the bandage, hoping this one will last for longer than a few hours.

His eyes locked with yours. He smiled, again. "I'm not complaining."

You stroked your thumb over his skin while he enjoyed the moment, not pulling away just yet.

His body relaxed, getting used to the pressure against the lesion. Oh yeah, he was loving it.

You stood up and he was visibly disappointed. You were not gone for long, you washed your hands and joined him by the counter again. "You're a freak. You know that, right?"

"I'm aware." He wore that title with pride like a champion's belt.

You pulled your shirt above your head and disposed of it on the floor. You held Dalton's gaze while you knelt down in front of him. Your shirt serving as a thin pillow for your knees.

He stood up, immediately searching for something better that would not hurt your body, but your hands were already busy unzipping his jeans.

You took in the view of the striking contrast between the white bandage and his tan skin. You drank in the sight of Dalton towering over you while your eyes explored his abdomen and chest, all the way up to his face that was painted with a layer of curiosity.

But mostly lust. He watched you struggle to pull his free his cock from his clothes. "Good job." He praised you when you peppered kisses over his semi hard cock.

You stuck your tongue out and licked a few long strands along his shaft before you took him in your mouth.

Dalton's grunts got louder as he got harder at the feeling of your tongue teasing him. "I told you..."

You pulled your head back and twirled your tongue around his tip. You looked up at him and batted your eyes with a hint of innocence that made him smirk.

"It's better when you do it instead."

You knew he mostly referred to his aversion to hospitals (and pain killers), but the way he started to slowly push his cock deeper into your mouth confirmed his words had a double meaning.

He loved what you were doing right now, he loved how you turned him on with just a touch, but he also loved the attention and care you poured into your actions and into making sure that he was as safe as he could be. Not many people cared about him, at least not after the events. All he needed was you.

He snapped you back to reality when he made you gag around his cock. You pulled back, hands leaning on your thighs while you tried to breathe through the coughing.

"It's okay, breathe slowly. You can do it." He walked you through every step of the process so you did not panic at the sudden lacks of oxygen. "I know, it always takes you by surprise but you love it, don't you? I love it too." He spoke, softly, and he presented his tip to your shaky chin. He gathered some of the spit and your lips parted open for him. "I love it when you gag on my cock."

Another harsh thrust hit the back of your throat and tears pooled in your eyes. You held on his strong thighs instead and, somehow, that helped.

"I love it even more when you cry like this. So beautiful." He placed a gentle hand on the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. You melted against his hand, but he used this sweet gesture to set the pace.

Your head bopped back and forth on his length, each time you took him better and deeper. You felt a bit less scared of the gagging, though it happened plenty of times. You figured out a long time ago that you would never get used to just how big your man truly was.

Dalton began to properly fuck your face, never pulling you too far away from him. He loved to feel you struggle around him. He loved to feel your hands try and grasp at something, anything, to help you stay focus and not push him off. He especially loved the way you pressed on his wound.

You earned the loudest moan you had heard from him today. So, you increased the pressure of your palm against the bandage and you toyed with his pain tolerance that was terrifyingly high.

Dalton played with you instead. He tested just how much you could take, keeping his cock so deep that your nose brushed over his shaved skin and that your chin touched his balls that were now covered in spit.

He gave you breaks to catch your breath and you smiled at him every time. He told you, over and over again, just how pretty you looked for him down there until your cheeks warmed up from all the praise and compliments.

So he shoved his cock inside of you again, with a newfound sense of urgency. He was getting close and you could feel it by the way he throbbed heavily in your mouth. You could hear it, too, with the melody of grunts and moans that he made. Dalton lost a bit of the mercy he was known to save only for you. He was chasing his own high and you happily let him.

Your left hand rested on his waist, nails digging into his flesh as you tried to take his pounding. On the other side, you kept pressing his wound. The more he winced and he scrunched his face in pain, the more you knew that he was enjoying himself.

It took more tears on your face, more muffled moans around his cock and a few more thrusts for Dalton to cum in your throat. So far down, you had no choice but to swallow his load. He pulled out, slowly, and smiled from ear to ear at the mess of spit and cum that covered both your face and his cock. He nodded briefly, giving you permission to clean up the mess.

You earned another good job, spoken in that soft voice of his that made your brain melt into a puddle. Just like you did at the beginning, you left small kisses all over his body. You focused on his defined v-line and puffy abs while working your way up.

Dalton helped you to stand up, guessing that all this time spent on your knees might have hurt a bit. "Easy, easy. I got you." He supported your arms until you were back up on your feet, then he insisted you sat down.

You did not protest, you were at the perfect angle now. You wrapped your arms around his waist, dragging your hands across his skin. You brushed over the bandage, only then noticing a touch of red through the material. You pressed a kiss in the valley between his pecs.

Kisses that continued until a faint grunt emanated from Dalton's mouth.

You wrapped your lips around his small nipple, your tongue twirled around it. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling, too.

Dalton pressed his body against yours when you gave the same treatment to the other sensitive bud.

You licked, sucked and nibbled on his nipples just the way he liked it.

He melted in your arms, your warm breath tickled the skin of his chest. It was still crazy to you how such a strong man could barely resist the gentle touch of your lips.

Soon enough, you left his chest as drooly and messy as his cock. That did not stop you, you were fuelled by all of his little reactions.

Heavy breathing, high pitched moans, his hips jerking forward. You loved everything that he was giving you.

You could feel his bulge pressing against you and this was the only reason that convinced you to pull away. You wanted more of him, you wanted to feel him so bad. As if he could read your mind, Dalton cut you off.

"You think you can give me all this attention," Dalton took a deep breath. "And I won't do the same to your pretty tits?" He leaned forward, crashing his lips against yours with a hungry kiss while he took the opportunity to let his hands wander over your skin. He caressed his way from your neck and down on your arms until his rough hands landed on your hips. He squeezed your flesh for a moment before moving upwards to fondle your breasts, only then being reminded of the presence of your bra that he unhooked effortlessly.

"But Dalton," you whined, watching your bra land on the floor. "I need you." He groaned, encouraging you to keep using your words. "I need you to fuck me, please." He hooked a finger under your chin, making you look up at him. "Please."

"You know I can go for a third round." He scoffed, amused by the way you insinuated that this moment you shared would end so soon. Then, his voice dropped lower, his ocean blue eyes appeared darker. "I can go for as many rounds as I want." He rectified himself.

You moaned sinfully, watching him stroke his cock to full hardness again.

"Hold them, yeah, just like that." You pressed your tits together, he pushed his cock in the small gap between them. Spit fell from your lips and dripped down on your chest. "That's my good fucking girl." He used the spit as lube and started to fuck your tits.

Not once did his eyes lose sight of you, your face turned him on just as much as the feeling of your tits on his sensitive cock. "You're a little freak like me, huh?"

His gaze fell down to your chest, he grunted again at the sight of his precum glistening on your skin. You looked at each other with lustful eyes. Dalton smiled. "If only you knew."

#jake gyllenhaal #elwood dalton #jake gyllenhaal smut #elwood dalton smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal x reader #elwood dalton imagine #elwood dalton fanfic #elwood dalton x reader

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cinebration · 2 years

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Bewitched (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

hii, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic with a pride and prejudice quote?? thank you so much!! ♡ Quote: “You have bewitched me…body and soul.”—Requested by @folklorecavill

I apologize for this feeling a little OOC, but I tried!

Warnings: none

Gif Source: henricavyll

Sherlock found himself on your doorstep once again, calling on you.

It wasn’t until you descended the stairs and entered the receiving room that he suddenly froze, the feelings that had driven him to your door immobilizing him. He wanted nothing more than to flee and at the same time stay to enjoy your presence. The feelings were both unusual and regular—unusual because as a man who took great pride in divorcing emotion from reason, it was irregular for him to be so arrested by feeling; regular because it only ever seemed to happen around you.

The furrow between your brows reappeared. “Mr. Holmes. How may I help you?”

Sherlock swallowed thickly, words lodged in his throat. A distant part of himself regarded his reaction with distrust bordering on horror. He was Sherlock Holmes. Speechlessness was not in his being.

The furrow between your brows deepened. The sight of it struck of a chord of distress within his chest, ratcheting up the mounting alarm he felt.

It was too much.

Words swam up his throat suddenly, and he blurted, “You have bewitched me!”

You took a step back, disconcerted by the unschooled outburst. Sherlock withdrew into himself, struggling to compose himself as he heard his own words echoing in his ears. He did not believe in superstitions, they being instruments for the uneducated masses to process that which they did not care to understand, but he had dared to say bewitched as though it were true.

It had to be, did it not? How else to explain his uncharacteristic behavior? The whirlwind of feelings buzzing beneath his skin and making him physically ill?

Moderating his voice as best he could, he repeated, the words springing to his lips and spilling over through a thick throat, “You have bewitched me…body and soul.”

Surprise transitioned by increments into disbelief, followed by cautious optimism. You glanced away demurely, pausing to gather a response.

Sherlock’s heart thudded in his ears. He tried to bat the feeling away, hating how beholden he was to your response, whatever it was, his stomach twisting.

Deliver me from this torment, he thought, pleading. What fresh hell was he being subjected to?

“You mean to say you think only of me?” you asked carefully, not meeting his gaze yet.

“Like a lesion on the brain,” he answered. The words did not strike him as anything but true.

You laughed. “A lesion on the brain, yes.”

He frowned, hesitating. He could hear Mycroft chastising him—not merely for fumbling social interactions but for even succumbing to a woman’s charms in the first place—and the ghostly sound of his brother’s voice in his skull nearly made him storm from the room, embarrassment and shame working to displace the other feelings he had. Shaken by the emotions, he struggled to remain steadfast. Pursuing killers down harrowing avenues had never instilled such trepidation within him.

“And if I told you the same?”

Sherlock glanced at you sharply, his brow furrowing. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I think of you too often to be…salubrious,” you said, a note of laughter chased by distress in your voice. “As you said, a lesion on the brain.”

Hope fluttered in his chest, making him sick even as he felt himself chasing the feeling.

“In that regard, I suppose you also have bewitched me…body and soul.”

Silence stretched in the quiet room, so complete that Sherlock was sure you could hear the thundering of his heart.

“I…I’m afraid I do not know how to proceed,” he managed to say. He had never found himself in such a predicament.

You smiled lopsidedly, then drew near him. Your hand reached out to brush his, first the back of your knuckles against his, then your fingers twining with his as he responded in kind.

“I’m not sure how,” you murmured, “but we can learn together, can’t we?”

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Henry!Sherlock #Cavill!Holmes #Enola Holmes #requests

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vampsquerade · 2 years

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Requests Rules (Current Status: Open)

Characters Per Request for headcanons: Maximum of 2.

Characters Per Story: Maximum of 4 (all characters will be partners with the reader; exceptions can and will be made if i like it enough).

Characters Per NSFW Alphabet: Maximum of 1

Characters Per SFW Alphabet: Maximum of 1

Please be as specific as you can when requesting as it helps me with my writing

Please specify whether you want headcanons or an x reader, so I don’t accidentally write something you didn’t want

Requests are now open for a short time! Please just read my rules and request accordingly!

Characters I’ll Write For: Rainbow Six Siege/Extraction and Call of Duty. This may change later on, however, once I feel like branching out!

Rainbow Six Siege/Extraction:

Chul Kyung “Vigil” Hwa

Olivier “Lion” Flament

Erik “Maverick” Thorn

Jordan “Thermite” Trace

Miles “Castle” Campbell

Gustave “Doc” Kateb

Gilles “Montagne” Touré

Julien “Rook” Nizan

Saif “Oryx” Al Hadid

Dominic “Bandit” Brunsmeier

Elias “Blitz” Kötz

Marius “Jäger” Streicher

Sébastien “Buck” Côte

Håvard “Ace” Haugland

Mark “Mute” Chandar

Mike “Thatcher” Baker

James “Smoke” Porter

Seamus “Sledge” Cowden

César “Goyo” Ruiz Hernández

Masaru “Echo” Enatsu

Liu Tze “Lesion” Long

Collinn “Warden” McKinley

Aleksandr “Tachanka” Senaviev

Maxim “Kapkan” Basuda

Timur “Glaz” Glazkov

Shuhrat “Fuze” Kessikbayev

Ryad “Jackal” Ramírez Al-Hassar

Call of Duty:

John “Soap” MacTavish

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Captain John Price

Phillip Graves

Talon

König

Hong-jin “Horangi” Kim

Zhiqiang “Zimo” Wong

Jesus “Chuy” Ordaz

Enzo Reyes

Sobieslaw “Gromsko” Kościuszko

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Sebastian “Krueger” Krueger

Hans “Golem” Blaustein

Benjamin “Otter” Lee

Jackson Wyatt

Valeria “El Sin Nombre” Garza

Alejandro Vargas

Alex Keller

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

Sergio “Morte” Sulla

Vladimir Makarov

Thibault “Riptide” Lefebre

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski

What I Will Write:

Fluff

Light Smut (Vanilla)

Heavy Smut (Hardcore: dubcon, consensual non-con, and somnophilia are allowed under the circumstances that you explicitly specify that reader in the scenario will be consenting to it. if you aren’t comfortable requesting or reading that there will be time for you to scroll away. Doing this has helped me with my trauma.)

Angst (good, neutral, and bad endings)

NSFW Alphabets

SFW Alphabets

Character/Reader: Friends to Lovers

Character/Reader: Enemies to Lovers

Sick Character or Sick Reader

Gender Neutral, Female, and Male Readers

Mental Health (c-PTSD, Depression, Insomnia, and Anxiety will be the only ones I write about because those are of the few things I have been diagnosed with. I am not romanticizing these at all, keep that in mind)

Omegaverse (Alpha/Beta/Omega Character or Alpha/Beta/Omega Reader)

Monsterfucking

Multiple Partners (Exceptions will sometimes be made if I like the prompt enough)

Substance Use (only weed and alcohol)

Cheating and Toxic Relationships (My therapist has recommended I try to write stuff that helps ease off the trauma I’ve gotten from these)

Stalking

What I Will NOT Write:

Incest

Blatant Rape

Domestic Abuse

Child Abuse

Animal Abuse

Racism

Transphobia

Homophobia

Torture

Comforting Self-Harm (I used to allow this one but I’ve been in therapy for this for a good while now and it will trigger a relapse if I ever write for it again. Very slim chances of me writing for prompts like these ever again)

Suicide (Very, very, very slim chances of me ever making an exception for it)

Any obscure or gross fetishes/kinks

Character/Character (Exceptions can be made for this though!)

Pregnancy (I never properly addressed or clarified any of this and would like to apologize for what it was previously listed as. I am avoiding fetishization of anybody who can get pregnant because I have received 2 asks by the same person back in August and as you can tell, I never wrote them because they were offensive fetish prompts centered around stereotypes. There are no exceptions for this one)

Thank you very much for requesting!!

#fic writer #request blog #request rules #fic blog #r6s #rainbow six siege #r6e #rainbow six extraction #cod #call of duty #fanfic writing

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helthcareheven · 19 days

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Glowing Precision: Redefining Healthcare with Advanced Imaging Reagents

Introduction

Medical imaging reagents play an integral role in diagnostic imaging procedures by enhancing contrast in images and rendering physiological processes more visible. These reagents are designed to selectively accumulate in targeted tissues or organs and illuminate areas of medical interest when exposed to various imaging modalities such as MRI, CT, ultrasound, nuclear medicine, and optical imaging. By improving image contrast and diagnostic precision, medical imaging reagents transform patient care pathways and outcomes.

Types

MRI Contrast Agents

MRI contrast agents, commonly referred to as MR contrast or MRI dyes, are designed to alter the relaxation properties of surrounding water protons and increase the signal intensity of targeted tissues on MRI scans. The most widely used MRI contrast agents are gadolinium-based, consisting of the gadolinium metal ion chelated to a ligand molecule. They shorten T1 relaxation times and appear bright on T1-weighted MRI sequences. Examples include gadobutrol, gadoterate meglumine, and gadoteridol.

CT Contrast Agents

Intravenous iodinated contrast media is routinely used in CT imaging to enhance visibility of blood vessels and internal organs. Iodine has a high atomic number that strongly absorbs X-rays, producing bright areas on CT that demarcate the administered contrast from surrounding soft tissues. Common iodinated CT contrast agents include iohexol, iopamidol, iomeprol, and iodixanol. Some newcomers like gadoxetate disodium can be taken up by hepatocytes and serve as both CT and MRI contrast agents.

Radiopharmaceuticals

Nuclear medicine imaging relies on radiopharmaceuticals – compounds containing radioactive tracers that emit gamma rays or positrons. When injected or inhaled, they accumulate in specific organs or tissues based on physiological properties. Detection of tracer distribution yields functional and molecular information about biological processes. Example radiotracers include technetium-99m for bone scans, fluorine-18 FDG for PET, and xenon-133 gas for ventilation imaging in the lungs.

Ultrasound Contrast Agents

Microbubble-based ultrasound contrast agents are capable of greatly enhancing ultrasonic backscatter when intravenously injected. Made up of inert gases enclosed by restrictive elastic membranes, they oscillate and expand/contract when exposed to ultrasonic waves, appearing as bright echoes on ultrasound monitors. Leading agents are sulphur hexafluoride microbubbles (SonoVue) and perflutren lipid microspheres (Definity).

Optical Imaging Agents

A variety of fluorescent, bioluminescent, and spectrally-encoded probes have utility in optical imaging modalities. Near-infrared fluorescent dyes like indocyanine green enable visualization of blood flow and perfusion. Bioluminescent proteins like luciferase and fluorescent proteins like green fluorescent protein (GFP) act as genetic reporters and cell/molecular tracers. Advanced agents include activatable probes that change signal properties upon enzyme cleavage or binding specific cellular targets.

Application of Medical Imaging Reagents

Every year, tens of millions of MRI, CT, ultrasound, nuclear medicine, and related imaging tests are performed globally guided by medical imaging reagents. Their targeted accumulation improves detection of disease and expands clinical applications. Some key uses of imaging reagents include:

- Diagnosis of cancers, infections, and cardiovascular/neurological conditions by exploiting differences in vascularity, tissue permeability, metabolic activity.

- Guidance of biopsies to suspicious lesions identified on enhanced scans for definitive diagnosis.

- Assessment of treatment response to therapies like chemotherapy, radiation therapy, ablation via changes in enhancement patterns before and after intervention.

- Angiography to analyze blood supply to organs and detect abnormalities in vasculature like stenosis, aneurysms or arteriovenous malformations.

- Evaluation of organ perfusion, function and blood flow to assess conditions impacting the liver, kidneys, heart and brain.

- Cell/molecular imaging research exploring disease pathogenesis at the cellular/genetic level using targeted probes and animal models.

Impact on Patient Care and Outcomes

Medical imaging reagents have completely transformed modern medical diagnostics over the past few decades. Some of their major impacts include:

- Dramatically improved detection rates for cancers and other abnormalities by making lesions more distinct on scans. This aids earlier diagnosis when treatment is most effective.

- Enhanced precision and specificity of scans. Imaging reagents home directly to targets of interest rather than depending on non-specific changes in anatomy.

- Guidance of minimally invasive image-guided procedures like biopsies, ablations and surgeries with greater accuracy due to improved visualization.

- Ability to serially monitor treatment response in oncology, reducing unnecessary treatments and costs when response is poor. Earlier switching to alternative strategies.

- Safer alternative to invasive diagnostic tests as scans don’t require tissue sampling. Less risk of complications.

- Widespread use of CT, MRI, ultrasound avoids use of x-ray-based modalities in children and pregnant individuals for radiation safety.

In summary, medical imaging reagents play a pivotal role in modern medical practice by supporting non-invasive diagnosis, guidance, and management. They continue to evolve, ushering new diagnostic and therapeutic capabilities.

#PrecisionImaging #GlowingTechnology #NextGenReagents

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ivanreycristo · 11 months

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Ya tenemos el num 23 de GRAN SLAMS de JOKER el único TENISTA que le ECHO HUEVOS durante el COVID y que supuso lo más seguro NO GANAR EL OPEN DE AUSTRALIA [el q más veces lo gano con 9] para favorecer a NADAL [=NAVIDAD en Catalan] ..quién sabe si TODO ESO Q INCLUYE EL COVID le costó SU LESION Y la MUERTE de su SUEGRO a temprana EDAD y no poder disfrutar de su NIETO..tras Acumular una FORTUNA inmobiliaria..lo q si tengo CLARO es que BARRIO BARROS [=Modelo Brasileña] en las Inundaciones de su MANACOR NATAL [cuyo museo ferroviario visito mi "amigo" JUANMANUEL LOBATO PALOMERO día de mi año 42=28_11_13 q vi a THE WATERBOYS a la RIVERA del MANZANA+eRES o sala RIVERA y al dia siguiente a JARABE DE PALO o malogrado PAU DONES en sala PENELOPEz =CRUZ..tras beber en BAR LA BLANCA PALOMA de calle ESPIRITU SANTO donde fue encontrado muerto EL DROGATA Enrique URQUIJO de LOS SECRETOS y de LOS PROBLEMAS..empezando con REALIDAD o SUEÑO del cd DEPENDE] y dono un MILLON DE € de los q le sobran o para comprarse otro YATE y atracarlo en PORTO CRISTO

Gran Slam número 23 de DJOKOVIC facilitado x la lesión de otro español como ALCARAZ ..VIVA SERBIA y PUTA LA SobERBIA DE ESPAÑA

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nestbox16 · 2 years

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Epirubicin Additionally Cyclophosphamide Followed by Caramboxin As opposed to Epirubicin In addition Docetaxel As well as Capecitabine As Adjuvant Therapy for Node-Positive Early Cancer of the breast: Is caused by the GEICAM/2003-10 Review

Lesions on the skin were confirmed by both histopathologic evaluation or follow-up with a minimum of A couple of years. For Animations Mister spectroscopic photo, a point-resolved spectroscopic collection (duplication occasion msec/echo moment msec, 750/145; industry associated with look at, 12 X 14 X 12 centimetres(Three); matrix dimension, Twelve A 12 A Twelve, interpolated to be able to Sixteen a 07 A Sixteen; buy occasion, 11 min's 18 seconds) was utilized. The maximum Cho SNR ended up being examined in most lesions as well as linked together with the histopathologic outcomes. Results: Thirty-two cancerous and also 12 benign skin lesions had been confirmed in 43 individuals along with histopathologic assessment. 7 people without biopsy underwent image resolution follow-up. Inside 31 regarding 32 (97%) cancerous and also 15 involving 20 (53%) not cancerous wounds, Cho was recognized. The average Cho SNR inside dangerous lesions had been 5.6, weighed against 2.3 in not cancerous lesions. Using a Cho SNR threshold degree of Only two.Half a dozen, Three dimensional MR spectroscopic image supplied any sensitivity involving 97% plus a specificity involving 84% for the distinction #Link# involving civilized as well as malignant busts lesions. Conclusion: With 3T, 3 dimensional MR spectroscopic photo produces high analytical awareness and #Link# nature for elegance of civilized along with cancerous breast lesions within sensible rating times. This technique enables the review regarding heterogeneous and multicentric breasts malignancies and makes easier order preparing. (H) RSNA, Next yearCrosslinking junctions involving vulcanized all-natural rubber ended up examined simply by solid-state NMR spectroscopy furnished with the field-gradient high-speed magic position re-writing probe. Resolution regarding H-1 and C-13 NMR spectra along with correlations involving H-1 along with C-13 with the vulcanized normal rubberized were looked into by one- as well as two-dimensional sizes, such as inverse link proportions. The amount of replacing in the carbon atom with the crosslinking junctions was firm through solid-state NMR spectroscopy. Crown Copyright (H) 09 Provided by Elsevier Limited. Just about all protection under the law set-aside.ObjectiveTo establish the risk of unwell leave and work impairment in relation to rheumatic illnesses as well as cardio comorbidities amid working folks. MethodsEmployees (d Equals 12,A hundred and forty) via 45 companies within the Netherlands were prospectively followed up coming from 1998-2008. Types were used #Link# to guage self-reported ailments and also job standing. Firm data supplied individual sick and tired abandon info for your initial Only two.Five years of followup. For a chosen sample of the cohort (50%), verification of self-reported diseases ended up being looked for by way of hospital record linkage. Poisson regressions and Cox relative hazards designs have been used on decide the outcome associated with each self-reported along with confirmed conditions about sick and tired abandon and work disability, respectively. ResultsThe length of time along with regularity regarding sick abandon were improved in operating people who have self-reported rheumatic as well as heart disease (P < 2.

#Sorafenib #Temozolomide #Caramboxin

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tauruscookie · 4 years

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He said yes! Finally!!

#rainbow6 #rainbow6siege #rainbowsixsiege #r6community #rainbowsixgame #rainbowsixsiegefanart #Lesion x Echo #rainbowsixsiegelesion #rainbowsixsiegeecho

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zofia-bosak-and-friends · 5 years

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Lesion x echo? owo

This is an interesting one. I think that they suit each other very well. I’ve never even thought about this pairing before! Overall, I like it.

#r6s lesion #r6s echo #lesion x echo #lesion/echo #ship

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spacecreatorart · 6 years

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Aaaaand another bunch of requests with nothing but shipping stuff.

Mostly R6S and one from The Evil Within (please dont beat me if I didn’t get something right, I barely know this game)

Im going to take a nap now. Or two. And eat something. God, my cold is exhausting.

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azerowo · 6 years

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A kiss~

#rainbow six siege #r6s #echo #lesion #lesion/echo #lesion x echo

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kapcan-blog · 6 years

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More sketches from today and yesterday. Also I bought Lion yesterday (after I bought Finka which I absolutely love) but I must say that he isn't as great as I expected but thats mostly because he doesn't really fit into the category of characters I normally play but his background story is absolutely great so I don't really mind.

#rainbow six siege #echo #lesion #glaz #twitch #lion #fanart #Ubisoft #r6s #i'm sorry but I really like lesion x Echo lmao #thermite is not an operator anymore he begun his modeling career #I spelt nuking wrong whoops.#my German ass isn't sorry

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btsydtrash · 3 years

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Euphoric Endeavours [5]

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni reader yn

(AN: Hi, all! This story is actually already posted on AO3. But! I want to try and grow a little community on Tumblr, too. So, I decided to post it on here. I have almost 50 chapters of this story up over there, so I’ll slowly be adding them onto here too. I hope that you like it!)

also, i don’t have a tag list, but if you follow/put notifications, you’ll get alerted. tysm loves!

find me on twitter word count: 1.5l

(angst / smut / fluff / gore)

Chapter 5 - Solace

Rushing through the front doors of the hospital, sweat dripping down your temple, you nearly collide with a passing nurse, who you grab by the elbow and ask, “M-My f-friend. I got a c-call… S-Surgery?”

The nurse stares down at you, confusion overtaking her features, before understanding blossoms mere moments later. She echoes, “Your friend is in surgery?”

You nod, wildly, and with shaky hands, you take out your phone. “M-My friend.”

Gesturing to the picture on the front screen shows you, Young-mi and Mei Li, at your last girl’s trip to Mei Li’s hometown, dressed in traditional, vibrant yukata during a summer festival in Japan.

She asks, kind eyes taking in your trembling form, “Her name?”

“Mei Li,” you tell her, legs feeling like jelly. “She’s nineteen, a freshman.”

“Come with me,” she says, gently leading you towards the nurse’s station. She spends a couple of seconds tapping away at the screen, before she tells you, “Your friend just came out of surgery and is in her recovery room.”

You plead, “What happened to her?”

“I can’t give that information,” she says, apologetically. “Her doctor would be able to inform you about the specifics of her injuries.”

“Which room?”

“405, bed 6,” she informs you and after a lax bow, you rush off, taking the elevator to the fourth floor.

You had already sent Young-mi a text about the call you got – apparently you were Mei Li’s emergency contact, considering her parents were both back in Japan and she had nobody but her housemates to rely on – but she was still at work, and would be until after midnight. You didn’t know how you were going to cope by yourself.

Biting your nails as you shuffle down the hallway, eyes scanning the door numbers until you find the appropriate one and you almost burst into the room. The only thing that keeps you restrained is the fact that there are other people around her, in their own beds, recovering from a medley of injuries and illnesses.

Spotting her bed right at the end of the room closest to the window, you notice the gurney is hidden from sight by a blandly decorated curtain. After exhaling, sharply, you draw it back with trembling hands, to see Mei Li, slumbering. Her skin is clearly pale and tinged with grey, bruised already blossoming across her exposed skin, hidden beneath the scrubs on her shoulders. You spot all sorts of insertions leading to an IV drip and the heart monitor to the left of her, and the sight nearly brings you to your knees.

The doctor doing rounds steps into the room and takes stock of you – your quivering hands, your tear-streaked face, your ruddy cheeks – and asks, quietly, “Are you related to this patient?”

“She’s m-my housemate, I’m her e-emergency contact,” you explain. He notices how unsteady you are and offers you a seat. Dropping into the chair, you lean your forehead against the edge of the bed, careful to avoid Mei’s legs, and turn to look at her, unable to tear your eyes from the bandaged injuries to her neck and chest. “What happened to her?”

“She seems to have been a victim of a canine attack,” he says, carefully checking over her chart. “There were heavy lesions to her throat and chest area, deep bite marks that almost severed the arteries in her throat, but thankfully, it wasn’t deep enough to cause long-lasting damage to her vocal cords. The breathing machine is there just to help her through the night while she’s unconscious.”

You swallow, feeling the final vestiges of adrenaline leave your system, and you slump in your seat, like a puppet after it’s strings get cut. You ask, rubbing at your eyes behind your glasses, “When is she going to wake up?”

“Once the anaesthesia works itself out of her system, she’ll wake up on her own. It could be a few hours, though,” he tells you. “She was signed in by someone with the name Kim Namjoon. Do you recognise the name?”

Kim Namjoon? One of the Bangtan Boys? Vaguely, you remember the junior having the same name, but you can’t imagine why he’d have helped your friend, or why he would’ve been out so late at night. Shaking your head free of those errant thoughts, you turn to the doctor and reply, “I-I think so. He- He was the one who brought her in?”

The doctor nods. “According to these notes, yes. He brought her in, waited until her surgery was done, paid the fee and left.”

You feel small and pathetic but knowing that her fees had been covered fills you with a brief sense of relief, as you don’t know how you would’ve helped cover it after the fact. Pushing some hair behind your ear, you enquire, “Did he leave a contact number?”

“No, once we contacted you, we didn’t need his information besides his name,” he tells you, tucking the chart back in place at the end of the bed. “Shall we contact her parents?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll let them know,” you reply. “I’ll stay with her until she wakes up. Thank you, doctor.”

He nods, the two of you exchange bows and he moves on to the next patient, leaving you to your whirring thoughts.

Shakily, you reach out to grab her hand, knitting your fingers together, but her face doesn’t so much as twitch in response, and while you’re disappointed, you can’t help but be a little comforted by the fact that she’s asleep and away from the pain of the injuries scattered across her body.

The shock has finally started to wear off, and you feel yourself becoming drained, the adrenaline leaving your body, but your nerves are still primed and alert, leaving you exhausted and wobbly.

Mei Li has always been a scaredy-cat, so you can’t imagine her approaching a dog big enough to caught so much damage to her body willingly. It just doesn’t fit her character. There are too many parts of the story that are missing, too many gaps that only Mei, and you suppose Kim Namjoon, can fill, and it’s giving you a tension headache.

A couple of hours pass before Young-mi’s terrified call comes through, and as concisely as you can, you explain the situation and she promises to be there as quick as possible. It doesn’t take long, and you worry that she had ignored some traffic laws to get to the hospital as far as she could.

As soon as your eyes land on her shaken form, you let out a low cry and break down in her arms. Instead of disturbing the other patients, who have long since fallen asleep, the two of you step out into the hallway and cry in each other’s arms.

“It’s already so late,” she mumbles, a few minutes later, once you’ve both been reduced to sniffles and red cheeks. She squeezes your hand once and asks, quietly, “Don’t you want to go home? I’ll wait until she wakes up.”

“You’ve been at the diner all evening,” you tell her, shaking your head. “I’ll stay, you go home.”

“Not to be annoying, but you look terrible, YN,” she tells you, pushing your hair back. “Go home, shower and change.”

“I showered before I came,” you reply, defensively. “I don’t smell bad, do I?”

“No, but you just look…” she breaks off, grimacing. “You look like you need a breather.”

“What I need is a cigarette,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes in frustration. She gives you a venomous glare, to which you hold up your hands and say, “I told you I quit.”

She holds your hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “Go home, YN, and get some sleep. I’ll call you as soon as she wakes up.”

“I don’t want to leave her,” you state, staring at the door in front of you.

She shakes her head. “I don’t have classes on Fridays, so I can stay. Please, you look like you’re about to keel over. You’re worrying me more than Mei is right now. She’s safe, she’s recovering, she’s okay.”

Letting out a long-winded sigh, you eventually concede to her demands. She gives you a gentle smile before shoving some bills into your palm and telling you to take a cab. She tucks some of your stray hair behind your ear and says, seriously, “It’s too late at night for you to be taking the late buses.”

After kissing Mei on her forehead and making Young-mi promise once more to give you a call, you find yourself in a cab, driving down the roads towards your shared apartment in Hongdae. Staring out into the blanket of darkness that has cocooned your city, you feel something twist and turn inside of your chest - intrigue, curiosity, fascination.

The tail-end of an errant thought catches your attention, turning quickly into a badly-formed plan. Determination blooms in your chest, and in resolution, you set your shoulders and lean forward, to tell the cab driver to change directions.

“I have to see somebody about something serious, so if you could drive to this address quickly, I’d appreciate it.”

- end -

Masterlist / Chapter (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15)

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 3 years

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If I Go, I'm Goin' On Fire - Part 2 (Rick Flag x OC)

Summary: Trapped in her Sight, unable to pull herself out, Delphia tumbles through visions of the future that she does not want to see. But what if there was someone, somewhere, who could help her before it was too late?

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC / Squad Family & OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 3513

Warnings: ANGST (like I'm so sorry), multiple character death (not canon tho), canon-typical violence, gore (blood, burns, gunshot wounds, a singular car crash), various weapons mention, suicide mention

Timeline: April 2022

if i go masterlist

A/N: I'm even more terrified to post this one it's so different and sad and please like it i beg you

Whiteness. Like a cold, icy, baron landscape with no end and no sun. Wait — when did this happen? Hadn’t she just been standing in the front garden, waiting for Abner with trowel in hand? No matter. Must have been an accidental slip.

Delphia concentrated, tried to focus on her self in the present. In the back of her mind, tugging at her like a forgotten dream, she heard Abner’s voice:

“It’s me — Abner. Er….We gotta get weed-eating so if you could just stop doing that now that’d be cool.”

Yes, go towards that, she prompted her mind as she felt — like a ghost on her flesh — Abner shaking her shoulder.

The whiteness faded from her vision like dissipating smoke. But she wasn’t back in the front garden with Abner.

She was in some abandoned warehouse. Drab and dark and dilapidated, lights from a bustling metropolis shining through the broken windows. Most definitely not their country house in North Carolina. There was water dripping somewhere. The drip drip echoing off the glass and concrete walls. There were old crates and wooden pallets tossed about the large open room. Tarps draped over certain areas like they hadn’t even finished building the place before deciding to call it quits.

“What the fuck?” Delphia mumbled to herself.

Why had she not gone back to the present? To her actual body? She tried to concentrate again but it was as if that entire world was blocked to her. She could no longer hear any noise at the back of her mind or feel the ghosts of those around her physical form. A sickening feeling dropped low in her stomach.

Was she stuck here?

A howl of pure anguish ripped through the quiet of the warehouse. And after nearly jumping out of her skin, Delphia edged slowly towards the noise. Unsure if she even wanted to see what was happening in this future. But then she saw a white and polka-dot patterned costume hanging mid-air and she froze.

Abner.

No, no, no, no. She didn’t want to see this. Not this. He was strung up from the ceiling. Hands and feet clamped up in metal shackles. The dots. Oh, God. That interdimensional virus — it was eating him alive. With his hands and feet covered, he had no way to expel them. They were burning away at his flesh from the inside, creating colorful acid-burn lesions all over his body.

“Why are you doing this?” Abner shouted as he wreathed.

“I like to call this — “ A man with a beard and perfectly coiffed hair stepped out of the shadows. “Prodding the bear. Your little super family has become a ripe pain in my ass. And you — you just so happened to be the easiest one to capture.”

“They’ll come for you, you know?”

“Oh, yes, that is the plan.” The man nodded. “For them to come seeking revenge and I’ll pick them off one….By….One.”

“You plan fucking sucks,” Abner laughed before groaning in pain again.

The man cocked his head to one side. “And why’s that?”

“Because — “ Abner picked his head up from his chest and stared down at the man, full of malice and determination. “How do you plan on living through killing me?”

Delphia watched, horror-struck, as the glowing dots beneath Abner’s flesh grew and multiplied. As sweet Abner, so quiet and caring, screamed in agony. No — he was doing this to himself. To stop the bearded man. But still, Delphia couldn’t stop the protest that fell from her lips just as the dots exploded from Abner’s flesh. The warehouse began to fall apart — support beams melting and tarps caught on fire. There was no sign of the bearded man or Abner. Even the very shackles that held her friend in place were gone, reduced to molten metal.

“No, no!” Delphia screeched as she looked around desperately, “Get me out! I want out!”

Her mind couldn’t focus. Wouldn’t focus. It was only this future she didn’t want to see and the pained grief that gripped her heart. This couldn’t be Abner’s future. It couldn’t be. He was safe in the squad house with a good job and plenty of books to keep him occupied. What had made him put on his suit again? Who was this bearded man who wanted him dead? Who was this super family that he had mentioned?

That was, until she felt a distant but sharp slap against her cheek. Delphia put a hand to her skin that stung like a distant memory. There was a similar sensation against her other cheek.

Then Harley’s distinct voice at the back of her mind as she stood in a burning room: “Dee? This ain’t a time for playin’ games. You gave Abner and me a good scare — so you can stop now. Very funny. S’a good prank.”

Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Harley. The house. Of course Harley slapped her. Harley. Harley. Delphia screwed her eyes shut. Yes! Whiteness. But then she heard the loud rumble of a car engine.

And when she opened her eyes again, she was sitting in the passenger seat of a speeding sports car. Sliding through the streets of what looked like Gotham at breakneck speeds. Delphia gripped the door handle tight even though she was in no true danger. Though it certainly felt like it as the car drifted around a sharp corner. There was a cackle from the driver’s seat. Delphia snapped her head over to see Harley at the wheel, a wicked grin stretching her red-painted mouth and a fury in her eyes.

But this wasn’t the Harley Delphia knew. This Harley was manic, even more than usual, with short-cropped pigtails dyed red and black. With new tattoos and fresh bruises on her face. She was escaping something. Delphia just knew it.

“You can’t catch me!” Harley sang out the window as she chucked a live grenade behind her car.

Delphia watched, dumbfounded, as the grenade went through the slipstream the car created and went under one of three vehicles that were following them. It exploded with a ball of fire and shrapnel. Sending the car up into the air to land on its top with a sickening crunch.

“Holy shit!” Delphia yelled.

The other two vehicles remained hot in their pursuit, however.

A cellphone began to ring over the din of the engine and Harley picked it up with a smile. “Oh, hey Flag.”

Rick.

“Yeah, I made ‘em pretty mad. You guys ready and waitin’?” She looked behind her at the following cars. “I’ll be there in twenny seconds.”

But then Harley slammed the gas through a red light intersection. Not even noticing the incoming semi-truck honking his horn. Thinking that she could make it. Delphia braced for impact, her shoulders scrunching up around her ears and a scream echoing around her skull. One that couldn’t possibly be heard as the truck rammed into Harley’s side of the car.

Glass flew in every direction. Tires slid against concrete as the truck tried to come to a screeching halt. Blood spattered across the spiderwebbed windshield. And all Delphia could do was sit there and watch as Harley’s skull caved in and her heart stopped beating. A wicked smile still etched into her face.

A strangled, desperate cry cracked like a whip from Delphia’s mouth as the car and truck finally came to a stop. Harley’s lifeless and limp body laid right beside her. All horrible and mangled and blood-soaked. With ragged, groaning breath, Delphia slid through the car door and out into the street.

This couldn’t be. This couldn’t be it for Harley Quinn. She swore against a life of crime. She — She had a job she loved, she was planning her bachelorette party, she was happy and free. Not driving speeding cars through Gotham being chased by goons. Delphia fell to her knees, unable to look away from the horrific scene. She didn’t want to see this. Didn’t want to see this tragic end.

“Please stop,” she whispered, trying to concentrate on the present, tears streaming down her face, “Please make it stop.”

“What a lucky accident, eh boys?”

It was the bearded man. And from the looks of him — he had survived the warehouse explosion with Abner. His beard and hair only growing where his glistening burned skin would allow.

When the scene blurred and changed again, this time to an underwater landscape, Delphia gave up. She felt like her insides had been scooped out. All hollow with nothing left. She had been able to stand seeing all that death before because, at the end of the day, she could leave those visions of the future behind. She could come home at the end of the day to her warm apartment. To Rick. With his kind, gentle eyes and loving arms that made it all seem like forgotten dreams. But this. There seemed to be no way out of this. No matter how hard she tried, the visions wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop seeing the deaths of those that she loved most.

She was trapped. Just like her biological mother all those years ago. Her greatest fear come to life.

Defeated and tired and full of an ache that she couldn’t prescribe to anger or fear or sadness, Delphia curled up in a ball and hid her face in her arms. It was better to only hear the visions than to see them. A tactic left over from her childhood when she had so little control of her powers. To only listen as Nanaue was murdered by a man wearing an orange and turquoise suit. As Cleo was left alone to die in the streets of an unknown city. As DuBois was shot dozens of times in the middle of a forest where no one else would see.

But then, quite suddenly, she was laying on a hardwood floor. Wait. She knew this hardwood floor. Delphia sat up instantly. Yes, she was right. She was back home! There was that familiar set of stairs and the white-painted foyer that she only finished decorating last week.

Was she back? Was she really and truly back? Hope lifted in her chest like a flower freshly blooming. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she rushed from the foyer to the living room.

Rick was sitting on the couch. Yes! She was back!

Delphia opened her mouth to call his attention, to rejoice with him. But all sounds and feelings of joy died in her throat when she noticed the state of the room. There was dust coating all the pictures on the mantel. The couch was tattered and stained. There was a white cloth over Rick’s favorite armchair. And Rick….

He looked thin. Worn and beaten. His sunken eyes looked puffy with tears. His beard had grown out. And in one hand he held a nearly empty bottle of whiskey and in the other, he had a crumpled photograph.

No. She wasn’t back at all.

“Rick?” she whispered quietly as she approached him.

“Dee,” he mumbled, jaw quivering, “I’m so sorry.”

He was looking at the photo in his hand. Delphia edged just a bit closer. It was her in the picture. She could remember when it was taken. Their vacation to the beach a few years back, before she had gotten so burned she had to stay inside for the rest of it. In the photo, she was sitting on a rock, sunhat held on her head due to the wind, red hair going every which way and a smile bright on her face. She remembered Rick telling her that it was his favorite picture of her. She remembered seeing it folded up in his wallet from time to time. It made her smile every time she did. But now it only made it feel like she’d been shot straight in the chest.

Rick straightened up, dropping the whiskey bottle on the floor as he tucked the picture away in his shirt pocket. He must have heard something that she didn’t. Delphia turned to see a group of men in black military uniforms, rifles raised and pointed at Rick, walk into the living room. And from behind them, in strutted Amanda Waller.

“Waller,” Rick scoffed as he settled back into the couch, “Shoulda known.”

“Glad to see I didn’t take you by surprise, Colonel.” Waller smirked.

“Why’re you here?”

“I made a mess.” She shrugged, looking around at the house. “I’m here to clean it up.”

Rick stood to his full height. Still so intimidating and strong looking despite his current state. “You call what you did a mess? You killed her!”

“I didn’t kill Delphia Holman, Colonel. You’re the one who did that by getting her pregnant.”

Delphia placed a protective hand on her belly. No. It couldn’t be.

“You’re the one who didn’t say anything — who didn’t tell her that — that having a baby would kill her. You knew and you said nothing.” Rick stepped closer to Waller, a fire in his eyes like Delphia had never seen.

“I knew that was what happened to her mother. I did not know that would happen to Delphia.”

Rick snapped. With one step he had Waller’s throat in his hands. The armed guards swiftly reaimed their weapons. But Waller told them to stand down with a flick of her wrist.

“I could kill you. Right here. Right now,” he hissed between his teeth.

“Hasn’t that been your plan, Colonel? Isn’t that why you sicked all your deranged dogs on me any chance you got? Shaving them down until there was nothing left. Just you in this big ole’ house.” Waller narrowed her eyes and smirked. “And besides — she made you too soft to kill.”

Rick tightened his grip. His voice came out mangled, like a broken thing too weak to stand. “I loved her.”

“I know.”

Waller pulled a pistol from behind her back. And before Delphia could even blink, pressed it under Rick’s chin and fired.

“No!” The word was yanked from Delphia’s throat violently.

His blood and brains went so high it spattered the fucking ceiling. The entire top of his skull was blown out into little pieces. Rick fell back to the floor with a deafening thud. Hazel eyes wide open.

“No, no, no, no — Rick!” Delphia cried.

She scrambled to the floor, holding his head between her hands. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen those lifeless eyes staring back at her. But she couldn’t run from this. She couldn’t go back to a Rick filled with life this time. Her hands trembled as she stroked his cheeks. She couldn’t feel the flesh and hair of his physical body. She couldn’t feel him. All she could do was weep and beg herself to be released from this hell.

Shaking, she watched as Waller wiped her fingerprints from the gun and placed it in Rick’s hand. Then she said casually to the rest of her team, “Fix the blood spatter — and put gun powder residue on his hand. Rick Flag killed himself alone in this house after the tragic death of his fiance and unborn child. Make it happen, people.”

Then Waller walked out. Delphia looked back at Rick’s unmoving chest. At the blood there and the imprint of his dog tags through the fabric. He gave those to her for her to wear once. When she first moved into his apartment and he was going away on his first mission. Apparently, after her death, he had taken them back. Every breath was a burden — a wheeze or a groan. There were no more tears. Only a sorrow so whole and all-consuming that even the truly wretched wouldn’t wish it upon their enemies.

The guards — with ARGUS stitched into their tactical vests — closed in on Rick’s body.

“No! Get away!” Delphia barked, all snarling teeth and wicked rage as she curled herself around Rick’s form.

And something happened then that Delphia didn’t notice. A white ether, like flashing smoke, emanated from her. The guards immediately jumped away from the body, looking around at one another in horrified confusion.

“The fuck was that?”

It was all too much. All of it. It was as if a darkness was welling up inside her. A hatred. A sorrow. An impossible terror. It rose up and up her throat until it escaped from her in a scream. Blood-curdling and ringing in the guard’s ears.

So loudly they clapped their hands on either side of their heads in hopes to make it stop. The white ether exploded from her again in a thick ring. The guards gave a shout of surprise and fear. And then to Delphia’s eyes — it was all whiteness again.

Delphia sat up and looked out over the expanse. The neverending white. So this was her fate. Her mind to be stuck in visions of the future while her body withered away. While the child she carried inside her faded along with her. Which would then cause the deaths of everyone that she knew and loved. A future set in stone, it seemed.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she cradled her barely formed baby bump in her hands.

“I’m so sorry — little one,” she whispered shakily, “You didn’t deserve this.”

However, the whiteness was beginning to fade. As if she were being moved through some invisible tunnel. The edges going from pure white to grey. And suddenly, she was somewhere else. But like nowhere she had ever seen before.

It was definitely a room. That much she knew. With grey, metal walls and floors that danced with ripples of light like reflections of a crystal clear pool of water. Delphia looked up and yes. There was a glass panel in the ceiling with water on the other side. What was this place?

“We’ve been expecting you, Delphia Holman,” a deep voice spoke.

She looked towards what could only be the front of the room to see four creatures sitting before her. Four aliens. They looked near enough to humans. The only difference being their pure white skin, flat noses, and scaly ridges all along their body. Delphia was too shocked to form any words.

“You just destroyed your first timeline. How does that feel?” another of the aliens asked.

“I — “ Delphia cleared her throat awkwardly. “I what?”

“With your power, Delphia Holman, you have destroyed a timeline for this dimension. Made all that occurred on it from a certain point forward cease to exist.” The alien who spoke narrowed their eyes at her. “Are you aware that you’ve done this?”

“N-No.” She got shakily to her feet.

“How were you feeling just moments ago when this event occurred?” The first alien questioned, waving their hand in front of themselves, drawing a piece of white ether with it — looking at the mist as if it could tell them something.

“Sad,” Delphia instantly replied, “Alone. Scared.”

“Makes sense.” One of them nodded. “These are strong emotions — strong enough to bring about such an event in someone with…Latent powers.”

Latent powers? The fuck?

“No — no. This just proves that humans are too emotional to have our abilities. We never should have allowed our kind to stay with them.”

“I agree. Our power is too great for such a sub-standard race.”

The first alien to speak, seemingly the leader of the group, smiled down at Delphia. Though it did nothing to comfort her in her mounting confusion. “I believe the humans to be the perfect heirs to our power.”

“Um, excuse me?” Delphia piped up before their bickering could go any further, “I just — um — who are you? Where am I? And can you get me back to my body?”

The lead alien smiled again. “We are the Lords of Time — an alien species that visited your planet some time ago to bestow our ability to see and wield time itself onto the people of Earth. You are on our ship, wheeling through space.”

“We can see you and speak to you because we exist both in the present and the future.”

“We came to Earth seeking a species that could possess our abilities with all fairness and a lack of prejudice — not wanting to use these powers for their own gain. We are the only four left of the Lords of Time.”

“And yes, we can turn off your Sight — as you call it — and put you back into your corporeal form.”

“However,” one of them spoke with a glare, “You must prove that you are worthy to have these powers. If you do not prove yourself we will send you back to the abyss and let you rot there. Killing off the last of your bloodline and allowing us to start anew.”

Delphia had no further questions. Only one simple utterance to make:

“Shit.”

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installments of this series, please let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother

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nectarous · 3 years

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━━ shigaraki x f!reader.

[tags: wound play, gore, blood, quirk use.]

[wc: 1.3K]

⇦ love thy neighbor masterlist.

tomura has taken to watching you through the cracked peephole, unconsciously scratching at the raised scratches in the pine door and the thin skin of his neck. there’s a raging hush, an annoying itch that’s simultaneously caused and soothed by you.

you only live here because of how cheap it is. this apartment is worse than a shithole, and if he wasn’t a criminal he wouldn’t step a hundred feet of the property. stains and scratches, no actual maintenance, and a stench that pervades the entire place. but it’s cheap, the landlord doesn’t ask questions, and it’s the only place a lowly student like you could afford to live by themselves. you definitely work as a nurse or a medical student of some sort, shuffling inside after midnight in stained scrubs and a hunch in your back, looking like you’re one push away from collapsing onto the scuffed up floor.

your quirk’s interesting to him; the complete opposite of his. while he destroys, yours is a remedy. he's watched the neighbors come knocking at your door for months, asking you to heal anything from scrapes to burns. he watches in aroused revulsion at the flaxen glow of your fingers as you brush them over patients.

he needs you to pay attention to him. he wants you to look at him the same way you look at the kids shyly asking you to remedy bruises from tripping at the playground, or the tired smile you give to the hooker next door when you help lessen the ache of her cunt after a busy night. he wants to feel the glow of your fingers, fixing him up.

plain, but annoyingly eye-catching. tomura found the swollen, blackened circles under your eyes pretty; the way you didn’t care about blood stuck underneath your nails and your naivety at helping just about anyone.

if he doesn’t approach you right now he’s probably going to scrape through his skin.

there had to have been red flags, silent warnings in the way he silently pushed his way past you inside your lowlight studio, the way his eyes danced over the mail thrown on the coffee table while he stuck out his forearm, a thin red line oozing from wrist to elbow. silent request for help.

the leathery, worn-out hand that normally protectively cupped his face is odd and gruesome, like a leash holding back. somehow, the decaying smell’s worse than the hallway. he plops down onto your ratty couch without permission, toeing off his red sneakers onto the ground before he’s sitting cross-legged. almost like a child.

neither of you talks. he’s staring at the deep-set lines of stress under your eyes, you’re focusing on drawing enough vitality left in you to heal the superficial cut. the delicate touch you have on his forearm prickles into his bones, burns just a bit. he watches the way your fingers brush away the congealing blood from his arm like you’re stitching the skin back together.

your quirk feels good.

it only takes you a couple of minutes to heal him to the best of your ability, but it only took him a few seconds to decide he wants to feel more.

you try to usher him out, the annoyance that he’s forced his way into your apartment settling in. but he’s grabbing you, pulling you down so your knees clumsily knock into the side of his thigh, and he’s looking at you with such excitement, a childish elation stained with something sinister that makes you want to inch away.

something is telling you that you wouldn’t like the outcome if you tried that, though.

“can you do anything bigger than cuts?”

he’s fidgeting, digging into the pocket of his jacket before pulling out a folding hunter. a rusty, stained pocket knife with drying flecks of pulpy blood, a chipped handle, and no obvious maintenance, that’s being forced into your hand, and before you can even shout out in panic he’s tucking his shirt up under his chin, grabbing your hands around the handle.

he’s making you stab him.

the dread looks even prettier on you, makes a burn in him light up, especially paired with how you’re whimpering in confused fright.

the trembling of your hands makes the knife cut deeper, wider, until the bolster presses flush against his stomach. until his blood spilling cataracts over the scabbed-over lesions in his torso and the webs of your skin and it stains the air in a coppery invasion.

he’s breathing heavy, almost like he’s turned on by a six-inch blade buried in the sickly flesh—holds you like this for a while, the incomplete grip on you trapping you close to him.

you don’t want to be here anymore. you can feel yourself floating away, you’ve never felt this much blood, you’ve never had someone who wanted to be hurt, it's scary. the ringing of your ears, the vacant look in your eyes. only the shell of you is present.

it’s okay. he’s almost giggling, lips cracking and splitting apart as they pull back into a juvenile grin, blood soaking down his chin and down his stomach. it's time to heal him now.

the knife isn’t in him anymore. your shaking hands are dropped unceremoniously into his lap while he tosses it on the ground and tries to wipe the blood onto the weaved gray of your couch. if you were in the right state of mind, you probably would make a run for it, but you’re frozen. there’s no fight or flight in you.

he’s shoving your hand back underneath his sticky shirt. he's not fully grabbing onto you, you notice vaguely, a deliberate pinky resting inches above your skin. the oddly delicate way he’s holding you would have made you laugh under any other circumstance.

digits bump into the sides of the fleshy gaping hole before fingertips sink into the wound, the squelching of bubbling blood louder than your heavy breath of fear, his hisses of rapturous agony sanguinating over you in redhot waves of disgusted curiosity. the sight’s gruesome, bright crazed eyes rolling into the back of his head, neck straining with every grunt, clawing at your skin and the ruined couch cushion.

he’s hemorrhaging out, but he’s obviously enjoying it, and it’s *beautiful* as much as you don’t want to admit.

your quirk starts up uncontrollably, reacts to his pain, you can see the faint yellow glow from your fingertips even buried into the bloody lesion before it starts to pull energy from you. the ripped muscle fuses together around your knuckle deep fingers; you can feel each fiber being melded together again.

healing around your fingers hurts more than it did being stabbed, the foreign digits slowly being pushed out of the injury, the treatment stinging like salt and acid.

you’re horrified to see the erection straining against his pants, eyes tracking the sliver of skin peeking through his clothes ruddy red. his eyes are rolling back in such serenity, it’s blanking your head out, makes you throb hot.

“hey, does your quirk work on you?” it’s not a question, it’s more of an assertion, and before you can formulate an answer in your head, he drops the final finger around your wrist.

bile and screams crawl up your throat as the maudlin scent of decay clog up your nose. it stings at your nerves almost as much as his quirk breaks you down, the scent of death and wreckage burning your skin.

you can’t see your fingers dissolving, mixing with the sticky blood underneath his shirt but the pain is still just as sharp; you can feel the bones disintegrating and tissue being ripped apart, the putrefying agony crawling up up up, eating away at skin and flesh.

the whole building echoes with the wails of sorrowed, agonized fear.

good. he wants you to sing.

#shigaraki x reader #yandere shigaraki #yandere bnha #tag:[gore]#tag:[noncon]#tag:[blood]#thank u grammarly for proofreading #bc i did not

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