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collaredsoldat · 2 months ago

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Gentle Hand.

summary: Soldat has a panic attack.

a/n: This was supposed to be posted before the other one I just posted, but I got impatient lol. So it might sound a little out of order, once I have all these parts out I'll put them in order. He's getting through it, you're being patient. Unedited. ;; wc: 3.4k

There were a lot of complicated things with Soldat.

Significant complications with his health, for starters, which caught you off guard given his status as a super soldier. You had initially assumed that his enhanced physiology would grant him a far greater resilience compared to an ordinary human, as had been proven with the likes of Steve Rogers. However, the treatment from HYDRA had somehow managed to infiltrate his system so profoundly and extensively that it had wreaked havoc on his entire physiological makeup, leaving him in a severely compromised state.

The issue of malnourishment was addressed through a carefully planned regimen of intravenous treatments, much to Soldat’s dislike. This approach was complemented by a gradual reintroduction to solid foods, a process that required meticulous attention and patience. The goal was to slowly accustom his system to regular nutrient intake without overwhelming his weakened digestive tract. Not to mention the fact that Soldat often refused food or that his body simply could not handle it, even in small amounts.

Honestly, re-feeding him was a whole other problem you had to tackle.

A similar strategy was employed to combat his severe dehydration and restore proper fluid balance. You also noticed that he experienced significant difficulty in swallowing, a symptom that hinted at potential damage to his esophageal tract or neurological complications affecting his ability to consume liquids normally.

Then, there were the myriad of wounds that covered his body. Stubborn injuries that had been persisting for a duration that far exceeded your initial expectations and caused you considerable worry. You found a small measure of solace in the fact that the majority of these injuries, while numerous, consisted primarily of superficial cuts and bruising.

Treating these wounds was far from easy. His behavior during treatment sessions mirrored a cornered wild animal, skittish and unpredictable, making each attempt at care a delicate and often extremely stressful. You didn’t want to stress him any further than he probably was in a stranger’s home, with a stranger, but you needed to at the very least keep the wounds from bleeding everywhere.

He lashed out at you with his metal arm, swinging wildly without any real force behind it. You could instantly discern that his actions were driven by sheer terror rather than malice. His eyes were wide with panic, darting frantically around the room, and it was evident that he wasn't actively trying to cause you harm. As you approached with the antiseptic and gauze, he bared his teeth in a defensive snarl and let out a feral hiss, his metal arm swinging once more in a desperate attempt to keep you at bay.

He had backed himself into the corner of your bathroom, the face he couldn’t go anywhere was frightening him just as much as you were. "Easy there, Soldat," you murmured, your voice steady and reassuring. "You're not scaring me. These wounds need to be cleaned and treated." Your words were calm and gentle, but they seemed to do little to soothe his frayed nerves.

In another display of agitation, he swung his arm downward, connecting with your tile floor. The impact was forceful enough to shatter the tiles into several jagged pieces, the sound of breaking ceramic echoing through the room. He fixed you with a glare that was clearly meant to be intimidating, but you could see right through it. His expression was a forced mask of hatred, a poor attempt at appearing dangerous. He was trying so hard to maintain this façade of aggression, but his fear was as obviously visible beneath the surface.

"Listen, Soldat," you said, your voice taking on a firmer yet still compassionate tone. "If you really wanted to harm me, we both know you would have done so by now. Your behavior isn't fooling either of us." You gestured to his injuries, your expression softening. "Now, please, let me tend to these wounds. If we don't bandage them soon, you're going to end up bleeding all over the place. That can't be comfortable for you. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't stain my carpet..."

His face held a stubborn, forced scowl, but also an undeniable air of resignation. He relaxed at your approach, albeit marginally, allowing you to come closer. Sharp, audible breaths exited his nostrils in rapid succession, betraying his lingering apprehension. You knew he was tense so you offered reassurance, "You're alright, I promise this won't hurt. We just need to take care of these."

Your words seemed to have enough of a calming effect as you carefully began tending to him, finally able to assess and treat his injuries. As the moments passed and he realized your true intentions were solely to help, not harm, his demeanor shifted. He became increasingly receptive to your ministrations as each cleaning session came, and he allowed you to clean his wounds and change his gauze without resistance.

But there was one thing you couldn't help but notice, and it was perhaps the biggest hurdle of them all. An almost violent aversion to certain actions and decisions.

To the outside eye, they appeared completely random, and they did to you too. At first.

Soldat refrained from doing anything, no matter how mundane, without first seeking your explicit permission. Something as simple as taking a seat or reaching for a glass of water seemed to require your approval.

At first this behavior confused you, but as you observed him more closely, you started to understand a little but more. HYDRA, while you knew very little of his experiences, did a number on his psyche. He was grappling with intense internal struggles, and in an attempt to cope with his sudden freedom, he was projecting his deep-seated need for structure and guidance onto you. By relinquishing control over even the most basic decisions, he seemed to find a semblance of comfort and stability.

This realization left you with mixed emotions.

On one hand, you felt a twinge of discomfort at being thrust into this unexpected role of authority. The weight of his dependence on your decisions was not something you had anticipated or necessarily desired.

Yet, on the other hand, you couldn't deny the visible relief and calm that washed over him when operating within these self-imposed boundaries. Witnessing how this dynamic seemed to provide him with a sense of security and ease, you found yourself reluctantly gave into.

Despite your internal reservations, you knew that this arrangement was serving as a crucial coping mechanism for him during what was clearly a difficult time, even if it had begun from something awful. So, setting aside your own discomfort, you made the conscious decision to lean into this role, at least for now.

Your primary concern was his well-being, and if this is what he needed to feel safe and begin healing, then you were willing to adapt and provide that structure for him.

His comfort level around you was noticeably increasing with each passing day. Gradually, he began to emerge from the bedroom where he had initially isolated himself, seeking out your company in subtle ways.

Your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him, acting as a source of reassurance in his new environment. He made a conscious effort to be in the same room as you, his actions betraying a growing desire for proximity.

He maintained a considerable distance for a while, positioning himself at the far end of whatever space you occupied. He often watched you, or sometimes he’d allow himself to nap, he never spoke. You chose to ignore him most of the time, not wanting to give him too much attention and spook him away.

Time progressed and you noticed a slow but steady shift in his behavior. Like a cautious animal gradually acclimating to a new habitat, he inched closer to you day by day. He continued his gradual migration until he finally felt secure enough to position himself right beside you.

One particularly lazy afternoon, he slowly made his way towards you, his steps heavy with hesitation. Upon reaching the living area, he carefully lowered himself onto the floor adjacent to the couch, his eyes fixed downward on the carpet. Eventually, his gaze lifted, settling on the television screen. He watched the program you had selected, you couldn't help but notice a glimmer of curiosity dancing behind his eyes, his engagement slowly growing with his surroundings.

You had tried many different offers and encouragement, but he refused to make use of any furniture in the house. The comfortable couch remained untouched by him, and the inviting bed you prepared for him went unused night after night. He had ripped the blankets off and curled up on the floor instead.

His reluctance to using the couch and the bed made you start to think. Had he been conditioned to believe that he wasn't allowed to use something as basic as furniture?

You remained silent, not uttering a single word as you observed him sitting there, seemingly without any discomfort. After a moment of hesitation, you decided to break the silence. "You know, you're more than welcome to sit up here with me," you suggested, your voice soft and kind. His head lifted ever so slightly in response to your words, his eyes glancing at you from under the bits of hair that fell over his face.

The soldier's gaze met yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of doubt and confusion. His frown deepened, etching lines across his forehead as if your words were spoken in a foreign tongue he couldn't quite decipher. You gently patted the empty cushion to your left, emphasizing your point. "Really, you can sit up here if you'd like," you reiterated, your tone warm and encouraging, hoping to dispel any lingering uncertainty he might have.

Several minutes pass and he doesn't budge.

You decide to just let him sit there if he wants to, observing his actions without comment. You didn't want to make him do something he didn't want to do anyway. So you turned your attention back to the show playing on the screen, watching she shitty adult cartoon full of jokes and clichés. But you had to admit, it was pretty funny. You felt something beside you, the subtle shift in the couch's cushions as his silver prosthetic makes contact. The furniture dips ever so slightly as the soldier cautiously lowers himself onto it.

His movements are painfully slow and deliberate, as if he's treading on eggshells, anticipating that you might suddenly change your mind or lash out at him at any moment. When he finally settles, his posture is noticeably stiff and unnatural, not to mention his obvious aversion to sitting flat on his ass like a normal person. His wounds and injuries were brutal, and you knew he didn't like to sit often. But right now it seemed like he was forcing himself to do so.

The discomfort radiates from him, filling the air with tension. He sits ramrod straight, muscles visibly taut beneath his clothing, and his eyes are wider than you've ever seen them, pupils dilated and darting around the room. It's as if he's desperately searching for potential threats or escape routes, his entire being on high alert. The sight reminds you of a cornered animal, teetering on the edge of fight-or-flight, barely containing the urge to bolt from the room at the slightest provocation.

"Soldat, it's alright. You're safe here. You can sit here, I said you could," you said in a gentle, reassuring tone, attempting to alleviate his visible anxiety. Your voice was recited soft and steady, hoping to create a calming atmosphere. Soldat still tensed up as you adjusted your position. His reaction was immediate and he recoiled as though anticipating a blow, his body language screaming of deep-seated fear.

His breathing became erratic, each inhale and exhale a struggle. His hands trembled and gripped the cushion with such force that the knuckles on his flesh hand turned white. It was clear he was desperately trying to maintain his composure in what he perceived as a threatening situation. The sight of his internal struggle tugged at your heart, you couldn’t believe something as simple as sitting on the couch could cause him to be this distressed.

‘Assets sit on the floor!’ A heavily armored combat boot collided with its nose, it heard a crack, felt the warmth of thick red ooze running down its face and throat, tasting the metallic flavored substance. The rusty tar. ‘Try to get up here again, and I will chain you up to that fucking stump outside. See if you can withstand below zero all night.’

Its handler really hated when it sat on the furniture. Used a bed. Used a chair. Its handler liked to threaten and hurt it.

He liked it to sit at his feet, like a good asset should. Be silent, be obedient, be subservient and pleasing for handler. Make sure he is satisfied and serviced well. Maybe then it will get to sleep? Maybe it would get a blanket tonight. Maybe it wouldn’t have to serve the team tonight.

Or not.

Concern etched across your features as you observed his distress. "I promise you, everything is okay," you reiterated, your voice laced with sincerity and compassion. However, as you shifted slightly to face him better, it became apparent that this small movement was what he had been unconsciously anticipating. The second you made that tiny little shift in the cushion, he leapt to his feet, his sudden movement causing him to stumble. His knee collided painfully with the coffee table, but he seemed oblivious to the impact.

Backing away from you, his eyes darted wildly around your apartment, resembling those of a cornered animal searching desperately for an escape route. There was panic in his gaze, his chest heaving with each rapid, shallow breath.

Unable to maintain his stance, he sank to his knees, his legs unable to support him any longer. His hands flew to his head, fingers entangling themselves in his long hair, gripping tightly as though trying to anchor himself to reality. His breathing had become so labored and quick that it appeared he was on the verge of hyperventilation, fighting for each breath as though he were drowning on dry land.

He cowered away from you as you approached him with worry, his body surrendering to you.

'Stupid fucking asset! Did they fry out all of your common sense, huh? I said NO sitting on the furniture!' Handler's voice thundered through the room, each word laced with venom and contempt. Its wet nose collided violently with his boot for the second time, the impact reverberating through its skull. A sharp, searing pain pushed into its face, and it wondered if a fragment of its broken nose had been forced inward.

Its handler seized a fistful of the asset's hair in a vicious grip and yanking, forcefully dragging it across the floor. The wooden planks, rough and splintered, scraped against its skin as it was hauled towards the dilapidated door of the safehouse. This ramshackle structure was their temporary refuge for the night, a necessary evil in the unforgiving Siberian wilderness. The biting cold of the subzero temperatures was a constant source of irritation for the American team, who were ill-equipped to handle such extreme conditions.

As its handler stepped outside, the asset felt the icy bite of a frozen chain wrapping around its neck. The metal was chilled to an impossible degree and seared its skin on contact. The unexpected pain elicited a cry of surprise and agony from the asset but it was cut short as the chain constricted, squeezing tightly and cutting off its air supply.

Panic set in as it gasped and clawed desperately at the unyielding metal, its lungs burning for oxygen. Just when unconsciousness threatened to overtake it, the pressure relented, allowing it to gulp in precious air once more. The asset's mind raced, recognizing the depth of its handler's fury in this brutal display.

Its handler secured the other end of the chain to an old tree stump barely visible through the snowbank. The makeshift anchor stood amidst piles of chopped wood, all buried under a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow. The wind howled mercilessly, its icy fingers clawing at both the asset and its handler. 'I'll come back in the morning,' he spat, the words barely audible over the roaring gale.

As its handler retreated indoors, the asset felt the blood on its face begin to crystallize, the crimson stream halting its flow as the subzero temperatures took hold. The relentless wind continued its assault, driving icy particles into every exposed inch of skin. With no other option available, the asset curled into itself, seeking what little warmth it could generate as it resigned itself to enduring the long, brutal hours of frozen misery until dawn.

At least it didn't have to service anyone tonight.

He remained motionless, neither pleading nor protesting.

Its handler hated when it begged most of the time. Sometimes he did like it, but it didn’t want to risk angering you by opening its mouth. No. It should only do that when its handler commands it. Otherwise, it was a whore.

In his mind, he braced for the inevitable feeling of your hand roughly grasping his hair, forcefully dragging him away to face some cruel punishment. How could he have the audacity? Sitting beside you on the couch, as if he dared to consider himself your equal.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. After several long, dreary seconds that felt like an eternity, he summoned the courage to steal a glance at you. His eyes were partially obscured by strands of unkempt hair, peered out cautiously. His breathing remained ragged and uneven, though he made a conscious effort to quiet it.

Its handler preferred silence, after all.

This thought, ingrained deeply within him, only served to heighten his anxiety.

"Soldat, breathe... it's okay, you're safe here." Your voice broke through the silence, gentle and reassuring, though tinged with a noticeable tremor as you witnessed his breakdown. "It's okay. I'm here. No one else but me. You are safe." You repeated these words, emphasizing them as you carefully lowered yourself to the ground beside him.

The soldier’s hyperventilation persisted despite your gentle efforts to speak to him. You remained undeterred and continued to speak, hoping that somehow your words would penetrate the fog of fear surrounding him.

Or the thick snowbank slowly freezing its skin.

"Whatever you're seeing right now isn't real, it's in the past," you explained, your voice soft but steady. "You're here, in my apartment. It's just us. No one is going to hurt you." You inched closer, gradually closing the distance between you and his huddled, trembling form on the carpet. Your movements were slow as you consciously made the effort to be careful and not to startle him further.

He heard you, the absence of pain confused him, but it also provided some soothing to his pure panic. You were telling the truth.

You weren't going to hurt him.

Soldat's gaze met yours once more, his eyes filled with a profound sadness as he gradually descended from the heights of his attack. His breathing, still irregular and labored, came in erratic bursts, each sudden intake of air punctuated by a noticeable hitch. To your shock, he began to inch towards you, his movements hesitant yet deliberate.

Under his breath, he emitted soft whimpers, struggling valiantly to maintain his silence as he had been engrained to do. His entire form quivered violently, reminiscent of someone caught in the grip of an intense chill, and without warning, he allowed his weight to collapse against you, seeking solace in your presence.

A muffled sound escaped him, barely audible as it was absorbed by the fabric of your shirt. Your arms encircled his trembling frame, careful in case he didn’t want you to do so, but you felt no resistance. As he muffled, your ears pricked and you carefully leaned your head down a bit. Your cheek gently brushed his forehead, your mouth close to his ear. "What is it...you can tell me." You whispered, waiting for him to speak again.

Given the other times he had spoken, you braced yourself for Russian, but those concerns dissipated like morning mist when he finally found his voice and spoke. His words were simple, he murmured out again, the admission barely above a whisper and surprised you when they hit your ears.

"I'm cold."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x you #captain america the winter soldier #catws #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shot #blythewrites⛓

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violetrainbow412-blog · 2 years ago

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Bolinus brandaris [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

and by public demand, part. 2

summary: Reid loves the gift you just gave him and the whole team can notice.

"Everyone ready to go back?" Gideon asked, taking a quick look at the jet to make sure all of you were there. You had an extortion case quite far from home, Miami to be exact, and you had a long flight back to Quantico, so the last thing he wanted was to forget someone.

Miami was a beautiful place that you would have liked to visit in other circumstances, that had nothing to do with crimes at all, since you had always felt a certain weakness for the warm climate, the sticky breeze, and the sound of the waves that were on the beach.

You had only had the chance to go to a mall to buy a new outfit, because yours had been completely ruined, while Morgan took advantage of the wait to buy an ice cream popsicle. It hadn't been a dream ride, but it was something at least.

“I feel like I could sleep for 90 hours straight,” you sighed, closing your eyes and falling into Spencer's side as usual. You two were the youngest, he was younger than you of course, so it was easier to connect with him than the other members of the team. You seemed to have similar interests and he was strangely comfortable with you.

“You would actually need to wake up periodically to expel fluids or you would risk bursting your bladder or even your bowels, because even though your digestive system shuts down when you sleep it only does so for a certain number of hours. Maybe you could sleep for 14 or 17 hours, which is what a baby sleeps, but 90 seems excessive to me even if you do not consume drinks or food before doing so”

"It's an expression, Reid" you laughed, but without the intention of making him feel bad for having answered you that way. Sometimes it was necessary to explain to him that you weren't being serious, as obvious as this seemed.

"You can sleep through the whole trip" he argued and although you still had your eyes closed you assumed that he had shrugged "I'll wake you up if you start snoring"

"I don't snore!" you defended yourself, playfully smacking him on the arm and hearing him laugh. Somehow watching him led you to remember a chain of events ending in the package you had carefully stowed in your bag and you almost jumped out of your seat the next second: "Wait, I just remembered something" you reported and went to the baggage area to rummage through your suitcase, taking just a few minutes to be back in your seat “I bought you this”

"Me?" he asked in disbelief. The others were on their own business enough to notice your conversation, making the moment a bit more private.

“I looked at it and just thought of you. Although I don't know if you're going to like it” you said shyly, handing him something wrapped in a paper bag with a store sticker on it. You had found the gift when you went shopping for your clean outfit and a part of you had been anxious all day to be able to give it to him to watch his reaction.

Reid looked at it curiously and handled it carefully, as if he were afraid it would fall apart in his fingers, until he managed to open it and took a piece of cloth from it.

"A scarf?"

“I saw you in one the other day and I thought you might like them. You know, you always wear your vests under your coats and your ties and you're always overdressed, but in a cute way” you laughed, while you pointed your hands at your body pretending to touch the pieces of his outfit "But it's okay if you don't want to wear it"

"No! I mean yes. I want to use it” he reassured you. Spencer held it out to look at it more carefully: it was purple, a stripe in the middle of patterned colored rhombuses intertwined with some embroidery of branches with leaves in black. "Did you know that the color purple is related to royalty because of how difficult it was to obtain the pigment before the Christian era? It is obvious that artificial dyes didn’t exist at that time, so everything they dyed the fabrics with had to be obtained from nature and that particular tone was quite difficult to obtain because it came from Bolinus brandaris, an extremely rare species of sea snail. To obtain 1 gram of this substance it is necessary to have 10,000 snails. And that gram was barely enough to dye a small piece. Its value and the difficulty in mass-producing it is due to the fact that the substance obtained had to be left to dry in the sun for a very precise time to be used later. Half a kilo of wool dyed in that color cost what would now be equivalent to around 300,000 euros,” he said, still holding the scarf as he rambled on. "It is also related to liturgical attire, it symbolizes power, wisdom, and is the perfect combination between the energy of red and the calm of blue”

“Oh yeah, I… I knew all that before I bought it, I didn't choose it just because I think purple brings out your eyes” you blatantly lied, making your friend laugh tenderly.

“What I meant to say is that I like it” he added, a little embarrassed by the smile and attention with which you had been observing him. You always did that when he wandered off, leaving him helpless and not knowing how to react.

"You said it has to do with wisdom, right?" you exclaimed and he nodded gently "Do you think there's some weird psychological reason why my brain knew that and linked it to you or was it just a coincidence?"

"Well, it's hard to explain..." he began to say, turning a little in his seat to be closer to you and begin a long explanation about the connections that our brain creates with things and people.

You were completely exhausted but you didn't have the heart to stop him from saying anything he had to say and you listened intently as much as your body would allow, until eventually you were lulled to sleep by the sound of Spencer's soft voice. When he stopped hearing your hums he realized that you had already fallen asleep and he moved your body carefully until you were completely reclining on the chair, so that when you woke up the physical pain of sleeping on the plane would be less. He, for his part, stayed in the seat next to you sheltered your rest, and at some point ended up asleep too.

The day after she came back from Miami, Spencer was already wearing the scarf you gave him. He had matched it with a brown coat, a vest in a darker shade of purple than the scarf, and a white shirt that together made him look perfect. Also, his well-brushed straight hair fell to the side and his tanned skin looked particularly clean.

You didn’t need to tell him anything because the smile you gave him when you looked him up and down was reason enough for him to be flattered and also proud to receive your approval. All day you watched him, a bit for the garment and a bit for the very pleasure of admiring him, and you noticed that he frequently checked that everything about him looked good, as if he was trying to impress you. Every time he spoke he avoided looking at you, only at you, but you couldn't take your eyes off him.

The day after that he used it too and the next day and the next, to the point where it was strange to see him go anywhere without it, as if it had become a part of him. After a week, while they waited in the boardroom, Elle finally had the courage to face the situation and ask Spencer why the particular choice for something for everyday use.

"It's that his girlfriend gave it to him" answered Morgan, before the brunette could say anything.

"What? No! Y/N is not my girlfriend” he said, completely embarrassed and making sure with his eyes that you weren't around to hear that.

"Oh, now I understand" JJ joined the conversation.

"You understand what?"

“You are always taking care that it doesn’t get dirty or stained”

"Yes, I don't like my clothes to get ruined"

"But more so if it's something his girlfriend gave him" insisted Morgan and in a fit that no one expected Spencer took a ball of paper and threw it at his face. That just got a collective laugh.

"I just like it. That's all”

"We all know you like her, Reid," added Hotch, who had kept quiet thus far and didn't even look up from the files. He flushed red to the ears as the rest of the team shared another laugh, and just seconds later you and Gideon walked through the door.

"Good morning"

"Good morning" answered the others, like school children before the arrival of a teacher. There was one seat left next to Morgan that Gideon took and that forced you into the only remaining chair between Elle and Spencer.

“Did I miss something interesting?” you murmured, leaning into him and smiling close to his face.

"No" he replied kindly, feeling your gaze drop from his eyes.

"Your scarf," you said, reaching out your hands to move it a little around his neck "It was out of place"

Everyone else, except for Gideon, shared knowing glances and stifled giggles as they watched the nervous way he thanked you. It didn't help too much that for the entire meeting you were completely distracted looking at your partner next to you, making the whole team wonder when the two of you were finally going to end up kissing.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía

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scientia-rex · 1 year ago

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Why does your body have different systems for liquid and solid waste?

Trick question. It doesn’t. Urine isn’t filtered off feces—it’s filtered from your bloodstream. Your kidneys rely on seeing a lot of blood flow, and they have intricate mechanisms for tightly regulating the chemistry of your blood. Kidneys are built to keep our blood within the very narrow range of acidity where we can stay alive. (Which is why “alkalinizing” diets are generally going to be bullshit.) They keep us from having so much salt that our brains stop working, or so little that our medullas explode. They regulate our potassium so that our heart doesn’t go into a fatal arrhythmia due to membrane instability. Kidneys do break down many chemicals, including NSAIDs (aspirin, ibuprofen, naproxen), but they have one fundamental job—keep our blood from making our bodies an unlivable environment. And they do that by using water from our blood to carry away whatever we don’t want at a given moment.

Bowels, meanwhile, handle food. After food gets churned to chyme in the stomach, it gets squeezed into the small intestine. The small intestine is very long but smaller in diameter than the large intestine. It has one job: retrieve nutrients. The digested-digesting-food slurry makes it way through the small intestine thanks to rhythmic, longitudinal muscle contractions called peristalsis. After about 30 feet of this, it reaches a hard turn into the large intestine in your lower right abdominal quadrant, where the appendix hangs off the main channel. The large intestine goes up to the diaphragm, turns about 90 degrees, runs across your belly at the top just under your ribs, and at your left side makes another hard turn down, hanging a right at the spleen to dive down the left front side of your belly and then back and down to your rectum and then your anus. The large intestine, also known as the colon, has one job: get water back out of the food slurry, now that the water has helped the body absorb nutrients by creating a lot of surface area for contact with membranes lining the small intestine. So the longer stool spends in your colon, the more water gets sucked out of it, the harder and drier your stool gets, and the more difficult it is for the combination of peristalsis and your conscious effort to get it to move down and out of your body.

Anyway, eat lots of fiber. Drinking water won’t make you poop; your kidneys are way too good at regulating your fluid balance. Only fiber and indigestible sugars can save you now.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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natswife-marvelicious · 3 months ago

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Medbay Confessions

Plot: You and Natasha start off disliking each other, but over time the tension turns into unspoken feelings. During a mission where you're seriously injured, Natasha confesses her love fearing she might lose you... maybe more than once.

Warnings: blood, injury, mentions of death, sacrifice, kinda hatred towards each other

Word count: 3,1k

Masterlist

The Avengers tower buzzed with the usual chaos of superhero life, filled with the sounds of training, strategizing, and the occasional playful bickering that came with living in close quarters. You had joined the Avengers a few months ago, excited yet apprehensive about proving yourself to a team renowned for their heroic deeds and remarkable skills. However, your excitement was frequently overshadowed by one particular member of the team, Natasha Romanoff.

From the moment you stepped foot in the tower, Natasha had treated you with a cool, disdainful demeanor. It was as if she had an invisible barrier around her, one that you could never quite penetrate. You felt like an intruder, constantly under her watchful eye as if she were waiting for you to mess up. And mess up, you did.

During your very first training session, you could sense Natasha’s scrutinizing gaze. While most of the Avengers were supportive, offering tips and encouragement, Natasha seemed hell-bent on pointing out every flaw.

“Is that really your best?” she quipped, arms crossed, her voice dripping with sarcasm as you stumbled during a complex maneuver.

“Why are you here?” you shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Shouldn’t you be off saving the world or something?”

“Funny,” she replied, her expression deadpan. “If I don’t show up for training, then how will I know you’re not just a liability?”

You clenched your fists, anger bubbling inside you. “I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much. Maybe if you spent less time being condescending and more time helping, I wouldn’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Maybe if you were actually competent, I wouldn’t have to critique you,” she shot back, a smirk teasing the corners of her mouth.

Her words stung, and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. You turned away, trying to shake off the embarrassment that flooded your system. Over the following weeks, the animosity only intensified. It was a game of one-upmanship, Natasha’s biting remarks seemed to find their way into every interaction.

During one particularly grueling day, you found yourself in the training room again. Natasha stood across from you, her stance poised, ready to engage. As the two of you sparred, her movements were fluid and precise, a testament to her years of training.

“Are you even trying?” she taunted, dodging your punch effortlessly and countering with a swift kick that sent you stumbling back. “Because it doesn’t look like it.”

You gritted your teeth, your competitive spirit flaring. “Maybe if you stopped being such a show-off, I could actually get some training done.”

Natasha’s laughter echoed in the empty room. “Show-off? This is just me doing my job. You should try it sometime.”

With each scathing remark, you felt your frustration reach new heights. It was like she was on a mission to tear you down, and you couldn’t understand why. What had you done to earn her ire? You were on the same team after all, fighting for the same cause.

As time went on, you found yourself increasingly aware of her presence, even when you tried not to be. There was something magnetic about Natasha her confidence, her strength, but it only fueled your irritation. Every time she flashed that smug smile after getting a jab in, you felt your resolve waver. You couldn’t let her get to you, but the challenge was becoming harder to ignore.

It wasn’t just the training sessions that became a battleground, even during missions, the tension between you simmered. Natasha often took the lead, her strategic mind making her the perfect field commander. But whenever you tried to offer your insights, she brushed you off with a wave of her hand, as if your ideas were irrelevant.

“You’re new, so maybe just stick to following orders for now,” she would say dismissively, leaving you feeling small and overlooked.

“Maybe if you actually listened to the rest of us, you’d see that I have good ideas too,” you snapped one day during a mission briefing. The rest of the team looked at you in surprise, but Natasha merely rolled her eyes.

“Good ideas don’t mean anything if you can’t execute them,” she retorted, her tone laced with condescension.

With every interaction, you felt like you were in a perpetual state of conflict, and it was exhausting. You hated the way she seemed to effortlessly undermine your confidence, yet you couldn’t deny the flicker of something else that grew each time you met her gaze. It was infuriating and confusing all at once.

Then came the day of the mission, a crucial infiltration of a high-security facility suspected of harboring a rogue organization that had been causing havoc worldwide. The team had split into pairs, and when you heard Natasha call your name, a wave of dread washed over you.

“Looks like we’re stuck together,” she said, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Lucky me,” you replied sarcastically, trying to hide your apprehension.

As you made your way to the facility, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would be the tipping point for both of you. The tension was palpable, and as you moved through the shadows, you found yourself in close proximity to Natasha more often than not. Every time your shoulders brushed against each other, you felt a jolt of something electric, but you quickly shoved it down.

Inside the facility, chaos erupted. Alarms blared, lights flickered, and the air became charged with adrenaline. You both moved as one unit, relying on each other’s strengths as you navigated the maze of hallways.

“Cover me!” Natasha yelled, diving behind a column as gunfire erupted from the guards ahead. Without thinking you followed her lead, taking cover beside her. You could feel the heat radiating from her body, the intensity of the moment charging the air between you.

“Keep an eye on the left flank,” she instructed, her voice steady and authoritative. “I’ll take the right.”

“Right, got it,” you replied, your heart racing as you nodded.

As you fought side by side, the lines between rivalry and respect began to blur. You admired her combat skills, the way she moved with confidence and grace, and for the first time, you realized that her sharp tongue might be masking a deeper vulnerability.

Just as you thought you had the upper hand, you heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Without thinking, you turned to warn Natasha, but it was too late. A guard appeared, aiming his weapon directly at her.

“Natasha!” you screamed, throwing yourself in front of her just as the gun fired.

You felt the searing pain shoot through your side, and you stumbled back, the world spinning around you. You collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath as the adrenaline faded and the pain set in.

“NO!” Natasha yelled, her voice breaking as she rushed to your side. “Stay with me! I need you to stay awake!”

You struggled to focus on her face, the worry etched in her features piercing through the fog of pain. “I… I’m okay,” you whispered, but even you didn’t believe it.

“You’re not okay!” she cried, pressing her hands against your wound, her expression fierce and determined. “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to get you out of here.”

You could feel the warmth of her blood on your hands as she tried to stop the bleeding, and as your vision started to blur, you felt a strange calm wash over you. “Natasha… I—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” she warned, her eyes fierce. “You’re going to get through this. I won’t let you go.”

But the darkness was creeping in, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. “You need to know… I care about you. I always have. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head. “You’re going to be fine. You hear me? We’re going to have our chance. You’re not going anywhere!”

As the world faded away, you heard her voice calling your name, the panic evident as you slipped into unconsciousness.

_____________________________________

When you woke up, the familiar scent of antiseptic filled your nostrils. Blinking against the bright lights, you found yourself in the medbay, a wave of confusion washing over you. You tried to move, but pain shot through your side, reminding you of what had happened.

“Hey, easy there,” a gentle voice said and you turned to see Natasha sitting beside you, her expression a mixture of relief and worry.

“Natasha?” you croaked, your throat dry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re the one I was worried about. You scared the hell out of me.”

You managed a weak smile, feeling a warmth in your chest at the sight of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

“You didn’t put me through anything,” she said, her voice firm yet soft. “I’m just glad you’re alive. You took a bullet for me, and… I didn’t know how much you meant to me until I almost lost you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart racing.

“I'm in love with you,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize it until that moment. I thought I was going to lose you, and it terrified me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as her words sank in. “You love me?”

“Yes,” she affirmed, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “I’ve been so guarded, so terrified of losing anyone again that I pushed you away. But when I saw you take that bullet for me, it made me realize just how deeply I care for you.”

You felt a rush of warmth spreading through you, mingling with the pain that still throbbed in your side. “I’ve felt the same way,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I thought you hated me. I thought I could never measure up to your expectations.”

Natasha shook her head, her eyes intense and sincere. “I never hated you. I was frustrated because I could see your potential, but I didn’t know how to express it. I was scared to let anyone in, to care again. But you broke through all of my defenses.”

A soft silence settled between you as you absorbed her confession, the weight of unspoken feelings lifted at last. “You’ve always been so strong,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I admired you from the moment I joined the team. But I couldn’t stand the way you pushed me away. I didn’t know how to reach you.”

Natasha reached for your hand, her touch gentle and reassuring. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I let my past dictate my actions, but you showed me that I could let my guard down. I’ve been so lost for so long, but with you… it feels different.”

“Different how?” you asked, curious yet hopeful.

“Better,” she replied simply, squeezing your hand. “You make me feel alive. You make me want to be a better person, and I want you in my life, not just as a teammate, but as something more.”

Your heart raced at her admission. The vulnerability in her voice resonated deep within you. “I want that too,” you said softly. “I want to be there for you, to support you, to love you.”

Her smile was radiant, and you could see the relief washing over her features. “Then let’s make it happen. Let’s take our time and figure this out together, okay?”

You nodded, feeling tears of happiness slip down your cheeks. “Together.”

The following days passed in a haze of healing and warmth. Natasha was by your side every step of the way, her presence a constant source of comfort. She helped you with physical therapy, always encouraging you to push yourself while reminding you to take it slow. The camaraderie that had once been strained was now blossoming into a deep friendship, one that felt like the beginning of something beautiful.

As you regained your strength, you and Natasha began to explore the depths of your relationship. Each shared glance lingered a little longer, every accidental brush of hands sent sparks racing up your arms. The tension that had once filled the air was now charged with an unspoken promise, and you both felt it.

One evening, as you sat on the rooftop of the Avengers Tower, the stars twinkling overhead, you found yourself wrapped in a blanket beside Natasha. The view of the city stretched out before you, a sea of lights dancing in the darkness.

“Can you believe it?” you asked, gazing at the skyline. “A few weeks ago, we could barely stand each other.”

Natasha chuckled softly, her shoulder brushing against yours. “I can believe it. I was a complete idiot.”

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot now,” you teased, nudging her playfully.

She turned to you, her expression suddenly serious. “I’m really glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you.”

“I’m here now,” you said, looking into her eyes, the depth of emotion reflected back at you. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Natasha’s gaze softened, and she leaned in closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What are we doing? I mean, where do we go from here?”

You took a deep breath, the weight of her question settling in your chest. “I think we take it one day at a time. I want to explore this, to see where it leads us. I don’t want to rush anything.”

Her lips curled into a warm smile, and she nodded. “That sounds perfect to me.”

The moment felt electric, and as the city buzzed around you, you felt a sense of peace envelop you. The road ahead would undoubtedly be filled with challenges, but for the first time, you felt ready to face them, hand in hand with Natasha.

Days turned into weeks, and your relationship deepened further. You became inseparable, your bond growing stronger with each passing moment. The other Avengers noticed the change and you could sense their supportive glances and knowing smiles. Even Tony, usually too busy with his antics, offered an unexpected thumbs-up one evening, raising a playful eyebrow as you and Natasha shared a lingering kiss.

“Hey, you two lovebirds! Save some for the rest of us!” he called out, a teasing grin plastered on his face.

You and Natasha broke apart, laughter spilling from your lips. “You’re the worst!” you yelled back playfully, but your heart swelled with happiness.

As time went on, you both faced missions that tested your skills and courage. Each battle fought together brought you closer, solidifying your teamwork in ways you never thought possible. You learned to trust each other implicitly, a silent understanding passing between you as you navigated danger side by side.

Then came another high-stakes mission, this time targeting a global arms dealer who was threatening the world’s security. The team gathered in the war room, strategizing and preparing for the dangerous infiltration.

“You ready?” Natasha asked, her voice low, filled with determination.

“Always,” you replied, matching her intensity.

As you geared up, you could feel the familiar thrill of adrenaline coursing through your veins. But this time, it was different. You were no longer just trying to prove yourself, you were fighting alongside someone you loved, someone who had your back.

The mission unfolded smoothly at first. You and Natasha moved with precision, taking down guards and making your way through the facility with ease. But as you reached the heart of the operation, everything fell apart in an instant.

A trap was sprung, and chaos erupted. Guards flooded the area, guns blazing. You fought valiantly, but in the whirlwind of gunfire, you felt the sharp sting of pain in your leg as a bullet grazed you.

“Get down!” Natasha shouted, shoving you behind cover, but it was too late. You could feel the adrenaline fading, replaced by a sense of dread as you realized you were injured.

“Natasha, I-” you started, but she cut you off.

“Stay with me! We have to get out of here!”

You tried to push through the pain, focusing on the mission and the love you felt for her. “I can’t leave you,” you replied, gasping for breath. “You have to go!”

“No!” she insisted, her eyes fierce. “I’m not leaving you behind!”

As the chaos raged around you, you felt your strength waning. “I love you, Natasha,” you managed to say, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. “No matter what happens… just know that.”

Her expression softened, and you could see the fear and determination in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine. We’re getting out of this together!"

But as the battle intensified, you could feel the darkness creeping in again, threatening to consume you. “I… I can’t…” you whispered, your vision blurring.

“Stay with me!” Natasha shouted, her voice breaking. “Please!”

With everything you had left, you forced yourself to focus on her. “I’m here,” you said, but the world around you was fading. “Just… stay close.”

The last thing you remembered was her voice, fierce and determined, echoing in your mind. “I love you! You’re going to be okay! Just hold on!”

_______________________________________

When you woke up in the medbay, the faint sound of beeping machines surrounded you. Panic shot through your veins as you tried to sit up, only to be met with a sharp pain that radiated through your leg.

“Easy there,” a gentle voice said, and you turned your head to see Natasha sitting beside you, her expression a mixture of relief and concern.

“Natasha?” you croaked, your throat dry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You scared me half to death, you know that?”

“I thought I lost you,” you admitted, your heart racing. “I didn’t want to die without telling you how I felt.”

She leaned in closer, her voice soft yet fierce. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m not letting you out of my sight again. I love you, and you’re going to be okay.”

Relief washed over you as her words sank in. “You really mean it?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her expression serious. “I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life. You’re my partner, and I want to fight for you every day.”

Tears filled your eyes as you reached for her hand, intertwining your fingers. “I love you too, Natasha. You’ve become my everything."

She smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. “Then let’s take this one day at a time. Together.”

As you sat there, hand in hand, you realized that the battle you had fought was just the beginning of a new journey.

What can I say, I love the angsty stuff way too much :)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff one shots #mcu imagine #natasha imagine #natasha angst #angst to fluff #enemies to lovers #slow burn #black widow x y/n #black widow imagine #black widow #natasha romanoff fanfiction

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imaginedanvrs · 10 months ago

Text

a galaxy stands between us

part 1 l masterlist

summary: five years ago, a monster from another world attacked. though it was entrapped and kept hidden from the world, a secret that dangerous can only be kept for so long before it finally gathers the attention from the avengers, but what they find is the last thing anyone could have expected

word count: 3.6k

warnings: imprisonment & confinement, unethical use of sedation, institutionalized abuse, shock collars, straight jackets, themes of schizophrenia, marvel canon violence

In, out. In… out. In, out. Your breathing had changed. It was different somehow, harder to pull the air into your lungs and expel it.

The material that was somehow classed as a blanket scratched at the palm of your hands, every fibre catching on the flecks of skin that were almost as rough as the grey material beneath you. Even if you could speak, you wouldn’t complain because the alternative was having no barrier between you and the floor which became so impossibly cold at night. Besides, it was hardly the object of your main discomforts.

The chains weren’t so bad. Although they made your wrists and ankles raw until they bled only to be placed back on twelve hours later, they were still preferable to the straight jacket you would be placed back in once the morning came. You hated that. You hated the way it managed to confine every movement that you could possibly wish to make should you have the control to do so. It was unnecessary and humiliating even after all those years. You knew that. They knew that. Still, it was the collar that was the worst, the obnoxious bulky ring that they never turned off so at a moment’s notice you could be struck by those lightning bolts that came from within.

The sound of mechanical movements, clicks and a long beep broke through the silence of the room and a sudden stream of light flooded the space just as swiftly. You winced, even though you were expecting it to happen any moment, having been interrupted from the blanket of darkness that you had been immersed under for an excessive amount of time. You blinked, registering the solid shadow that filled the orange glow on the wall you were facing, until it grew larger and its physical body reached your side.

“...if the blood pressure is too low we’ll have to stop…” you heard the shadow say.

“...stop it being a pain in the ass…” another voice joined. You recognised them both but didn’t think you could match their voices to a face.

“...keep it sedated…” they continued as you felt another thick material being wrapped around your arm. You realised it was the one that squeezed your arm uncomfortably though it was nothing compared to the way you were handled by the people.

“Claw their eyes out,” another voice joined, far clearer and instantly recognisable. If you let your eyes fall to the far corner of the room, you would see the bear man lurking. He always made his appearances at that time, just as you were being given more of the fluids that came in needles, and left once all of your senses dulled once more. Nothing lingered once that happened. You ignored him as you always did because he only lived in your head and that was the single most unreliable source there was.

“Those chains can’t hold you. Kill them and leave,” he continued to instruct, remaining still enough for you to make out the outline of the bear skin draping his body even from the corner of your eye. You weren’t quite sure where your mind had gotten its inspiration when it conjured his attire. “Stop them before they poison you further!” He demanded, apparently your subconscious was playing far closer attention to those beside you than you were. You didn’t have to, you knew what they were doing and that despite what the bear man said, you were powerless to it when they slipped the needle back into you. The contents were swiftly flushed through your system as the man you conjured up grew more enraged. You closed your eyes and ignored the flurry of demands that carried across the room to your ears alone. He would be gone soon.

“We know that at the very least they have information about it but they won’t give us anything. Romanoff, you think you can do some digging?” Steve asked from the end of the conference room.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Natasha agreed, certainly intrigued by the matter she was tasked to pursue. Aliens on Earth certainly wouldn’t be a first, nor would an underground company keeping one be, but actually finding it before it was released? Now that would be new.

“You reckon this is something we should prepare for?” Wanda asked her girlfriend as the pair left the conference room together after the meeting. The rest of the team dispersed in other directions to carry out the tasks they had all been assigned by the captain.

“Maybe. Five years without any signs doesn’t necessarily mean nothing is happening but it is strange,” Natasha considered. “If I had to guess, I’d say this company is waiting for the right moment to play the alien card.”

“So you think they are keeping it?” Wanda continued, always curious to learn what dots the older hero connected to reach the conclusions she did.

“Any bio-company with that much money and that little recognition is something worth looking into, especially if they just so happen to have a fully armed swat team that they don’t want anyone knowing about,” Natasha explained as the pair arrived in the kitchen where Bruce was making himself a coffee.

“But you saw the photos of the scene after it was detained, how did a swat team manage to capture whatever was capable of all of that?” The Sokovian questioned.

“How did they manage to get to it before anyone else?” Natasha added. “These are the things I need to find out.”

“Maybe they made it,” Bruce chimed, having heard half the conversation. Both women turned their heads to the scientist. “Or maybe they found it and it escaped so they captured it again,” he theorised.

“That would make sense,” Natasha considered.

“Either way, once you’ve got any information on it let me and Tony know so we can start preparing the right containment,” he requested.

“You want to keep it here?” Natasha and Wanda said at once.

“S.H.I.E.L.D is no more equipped to deal with aliens than we are, so why not?” It was something Natasha hadn’t even considered, though she had only heard about it half an hour ago, but she knew it made sense to keep the creature in the tower, even if it did unnerve her to think about.

“We don’t even know if this thing is still alive,” Natasha pointed out before she allowed any of them to get too carried away. “You heard Rogers, the only reason we’re looking into it now is because of rumours an agent heard on their undercover mission.”

Aside from the rumours that a creature was being kept by the lesser known bio-company, the photos of an aftermath from a gruesome attack were the only pieces of information the agent had been able to gather due to that not being the sole purpose of their mission. They were undercover in one of the major rising crime rings in the country and had found a connection to the bio-company. There was no concrete evidence for any of it, but even the chance of the intel being legitimate meant that it needed the Avenger’s attention.

“It might not even be real,” Natasha stated. Bruce and Wanda nodded, though all three knew it would be useful to prepare.

By that evening, the Russian redhead had gathered enough intel to work with. She hadn’t made any attempts to speak to the sketchy organisation regarding the alien they might be holding, understanding that there wouldn’t be any transparency on that topic, but she had found a location and a way in. There was only one holding base that they kept so far off of the records that the spy had to call around numerous contacts to even find the start of the trail until she followed it back. If they were keeping a creature from another world, it would be there.

The other issue the spy faced was entry. Sure, the team could storm the place, but on what grounds? What if they couldn’t find anything? What if she was wrong? The legal consequences would be endless and it would give the government more ammunition to attempt to take control over the Avengers as they were always searching to do. Instead, Natasha planned to play the ‘random inspection’ card and thought it would be a good chance to bring Wanda along so that the Sokovian could attain the undercover skills she had been asking for.

The spy finished up her paperwork, requested the necessary team and prepared for the following day, unsure of what exactly they would find.

It was unusual for the bear man to appear when you were being handled. Apparently it meant your medication was being altered, according to him, and it allowed your mind to open more windows for him to slip through and cause problems. You despised how isolated you were in your room, and yet it somehow felt even more lonesome when he was there because you knew he was merely a figment of your desperate imagination. He was your mind’s attempt to ease the pain and in doing so only made you aware of how much of your sanity was falling through your grasp.

“How can you just sit there and let her do that?” The bear man said, watching on as your handler roughly manoeuvred your limbs into the white strapped jacket that clung to your frame. You didn’t have the strength, and hardly the feeling, to help her position your body right. None of them were ever gentle, as evident by the purple blemishes that littered your skin.

“Do something,” the man instructed. “Do something!” He yelled far too loud. You squeezed your eyes shut but that did nothing to block out the endless orders he barked at you. With your hands entrapped between your torso and jacket, you had no way of even attempting the dull the screaming that brutally crashed down on you.

“Go ‘way,” you pleaded, just barely loud enough for the woman handling you to understand.

“What’d you say to me?” Your handler spat, giving you no chance to muster the strength for a response because she was shoving you forwards until your face collided with the unforgiving floor. She wasted no time in placing a heavy boot into the middle of your back to force you down until your body twisted unnaturally in the straightjacket. “You think I want to be in here with you, freak?” She continued in a way you had heard countless times before. “Little fucker,” she hissed, lifting her boot only to bring it straight back down on your head. Your body was numb enough to take the blunt of the force, but you still registered the sickening crack of your skull hitting the floor.

You were left more disorientated than you had been prior to your handler’s arrival, unsurprisingly. Still, you didn’t cry or scream or feel sorry for yourself, you just laid in the relief that the bear man was gone for the time being.

“It’s just that we weren’t expecting anyone,” the manager muttered as he looked at the two heroes sceptically.

“Again, that’s the point,” Natasha said firmly, allowing herself to become irritated by the third person they were talking to in twenty minutes. “Now I can have my boss take time out of his busy schedule to phone your boss to ask why you’re still making us waste our time by standing out here, or you can let us do our job,” she continued with a glare that was enough to make the sweating man back down.

“Okay, okay,” he stumbled out of the way to let the pair in despite the security guard eyeing them with lingering (and well placed) suspicion. “Eugine here will give you the tour.” He shifted uncomfortably to stand behind his subordinates. “My apologies,” he added before scurrying away to let Eugine take over.

“Right this way,” he beckoned and wasted no time taking Natasha and Wanda through the first corridor, most likely with the intention of getting the tour over and done with as soon as possible. Neither complained when Eugine rushed them down one hallway and towards another, simply making notes that they had no use for and pretending to be interested in what little information they were given. It would all be recited again once they had access to the main database.

Once all three passed by an empty office, Natasha and Wanda exchanged a glance that wasn’t difficult to conceal with Eugine paying as little attention to them as possible. “If you could excuse me for a moment,” Natasha said politely as they passed by the women’s washroom. Their tour guide looked to the redhead irritably but she was already making her way inside. After checking that she was alone, Natasha opened up the vents above the sink and swiftly made her way inside to follow the lesser used route back to the office they had passed. It was still empty, but Natasha worked under the assumption that anyone could return at a moment’s notice.

“Bruce? You there?” The Russian asked as she withdrew the unique USB drive that would send any files straight back to the tower.

“Ready and waiting,” he spoke into her comns.

Given how paranoid the bio-company was, it took Natasha some time to gain access to their files while Wanda kept Eugine in place. He, of course, wasn’t happy to be kept waiting, but one subtle comment from Wanda about ‘that time of the month’ silenced any further complaints. She could always resort to her powers if necessary, however she knew there was some importance in learning to navigate missions without them.

“Got it!” Bruce called. Natasha made quick work of covering her tracks as she left the office the way she had come, though this time she didn’t return to the washroom and kept going as per Bruce’s instructions as he guided her through the building towards a room on the building map labelled ‘containment’. There was nowhere else in the building that held any similar labels and the pair agreed it was their best bet. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any vent leading directly into the room due to the obsessive security for it, something else Bruce was tasked with handling.

“A little overkill, don’t you think?” Natasha quipped in an effort to conceal her nerves. If she didn’t know any better, Natasha would have assumed the door in front of her was for a vault of some kind. It was made from what she could only assume was several layers of reinforced steel and a series of locks across the entire perimeter. Whatever was inside clearly wasn’t meant to get out and while it raised obvious concerns over why the bio-company was keeping such a beast, it was also a bad idea for Natasha to enter alone.

“I can’t access the camera footage inside. Nat, you can’t go in blind, we have no idea what’s in there,” the scientist warned.

“I handle you just fine, Banner,” she continued as she eyed the door.

“I’m serious, Nat.”

“So am I. Look, we have no solid proof that they’re keeping anything behind this door so we can’t call the team in for backup, just like we also can’t get Captain America or Iron Man to come undercover here next time. We deal with this now or we let it kick us in the ass later,” Natasha explained firmly, adamant on not leaving the building anytime soon.

“She’s right,” Wanda agreed though instead of her voice coming through the device in Natasha’s ear, the Sokovian appeared by her side with Eugine trailing behind her with a red glaze over his eyes. She looked at her partner sheepishly, knowing she was meant to be avoiding using her powers. “And if you could open this now before security comes,” she added. The pair heard Bruce sigh and grumble a defeated ‘yes’ as he worked on disabling the locks.

“You ready?” Natasha asked her partner as her widow bites began to emit a faint blue as she held them up once the locks began to unravel.

“Sure,” Wanda winced as she produced a swirling red sphere between her hands and stared straight ahead. “We’re long overdue for a fight with an alien.”

Several short bursts of steam escaped from the main locks on the left hand side of the door until an obnoxious ‘thud’ indicated Pandora's box was ready to be pried open. A red glow encapsulated the door as Wanda steadily pulled it open in its entirety, revealing the contents of which neither had expected to find. They shared a stunned glance momentarily and each lowered their respective weapons.

“Is that…?” Wanda trailed off as she assessed the sight of you slumped against the fall wall with only a trace of consciousness behind your eyes.

“Guys? What is it?” Bruce called out.

“It’s a kid,” Natasha stated.

“No,” Wanda said as she took the first step towards you. You didn’t seem to have registered their presence. “She might have come in as a kid, but she’s not anymore.” Wanda crouched down in front of you as Natasha stood back to observe and keep watch, snapping herself out of the initial shock and back to the mission at hand. “Hey,” the Sokovian greeted, eyeing the thick collar around your neck warrily.

“Wanda,” Natasha warned, unnerved by the whole ordeal that didn’t make any logical sense.

“It’s okay,” Wanda assured as she noted the straight jacket you were concealed in and raised a steady hand to your head where a red mist covered your eyes to simply peek at your condition. “She’s sedated,” Wanda stated. “Let’s get her out.” She didn’t leave any room for discussion as the red whisps fully enveloped your frame and lifted you off of the floor. Natasha didn’t object, dutifully leading the way as she pushed all questions to the back of her mind. They could wait. They had to, because they were about to meet the swat team responsible for your entrapment.

“I need the quinjet here, now!” Natasha ordered as she shot at the first few to clear the way all while Bruce tried to direct the trio as best he could. He had no idea which way the swat teams were coming from, he could only direct them to the quickest exit and unlock every door between them.

Wanda tried to aid in disarming and throwing those that followed them, but she needed to keep most of her attention on ensuring that you stayed safe and between them so that the entire mission wasn’t for nothing. Fortunately, Natasha had taken on more opponents than that before and shot anyone that came too close with a prision to they couldn’t rival until they made it through the nearest fire exit. The quinjet was hovering a few yards away with its loading door open, unable to land because of the rest of the swat team shooting wildly and not paying attention to the Avengers behind them. They went down in an instant and Wanda propelled all three of you off the ground and into the jet.

It was difficult for you to understand what exactly had just happened, but you were aware that you were no longer staring at the same four walls that you had been for… well you had no idea how long. With the drugs in your system, all voices and sounds seemed far away and muffled just as everything you could see was incredibly blurred beyond recognition. You had no idea where you currently sat, nor could you identify the figure that was pulling a seatbelt across you as the walls and ground began to shake. You didn’t allow yourself to be hopeful that what was to come would be any better, especially when the bulky collar around your neck woke up and sent an onslaught of electricity through your body.

If you weren’t so sedated, you would have screamed, begged, wailed at the intense pain that struck you. Instead, all you could do was silently cry though it was immediately clear what was happening to the two Avengers when the collar blinked red and your body convulse in response. You gasped, finding it suddenly impossible to breathe until the heavy device was ripped from your burning neck by Wanda’s powers on impulse.

“Shit, it must have been set off by us leaving,” Natasha theorised as the pair inspected the scarred and freshly burnt rings around your neck.

“You think there could be anything else under there?” Wanda asked as she motioned to the jacket covering your body. Natasha didn’t get the chance to answer before Steve’s voice cut in.

“Once you get here we’ll take her to the hulk’s containment room,” Steve informed from the speakers on the jet.

“She’s going to medical,” Natasha corrected at once as she watched you slump in the seat helplessly. Your eyes were still half open, but she could tell you could make no sense of what was around you.

“We have to be careful,” Bruce added. “I of all people know that being locked up is intimidating, but it can also be the best solution.”

“So you want to keep her the same way they did?” Wanda objected, not believing what she was hearing.

“Just until we can get some blood samples and understand-”

“You saw what just happened,” Natasha snapped, glaring straight at the camera in the corner of the jet that she knew Steve was watching. “She’s in a straight jacket and collar while sedated. She’s going to medical,” she finalised. There was a heavy silence for several moments before Steve spoke again.

“Medical first, then the containment room,” he compromised.

“Look at her, she's barely conscious,” Wanda stated to the camera. “What are you so afraid of?”

“What happens when she is.”

#natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #wandanat x reader #gxg marvel #black widow #scarlet witch

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midseo · 5 months ago

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literallymechanical · 3 months ago

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Breeding blankets for fusion reactors

So, barring a few ambitious projects involving helium-3, fusion reactor power plants will use hydrogen isotopes as fuel: a 50/50 mixture of deuterium (hydrogen-2) and tritium (hydrogen-3). Deuterium is very stable and relatively abundant, as far as these things go, and can be extracted from ordinary seawater. Tritium, however, has a half life of just over 12 years, so it doesn't occur in nature.

Fortunately, you can use your fusion reactor to synthesize its own tritium fuel, via the transmutation of lithium-6. You use the powerful neutron flux from the fusion plasma to “breed” tritium in lithium, extract it, then feed it back into the reactor. The figure of merit for this process is the tritium breeding ratio (TBR), which is simply the ratio of tritium bred to tritium used. The goal is to get a TBR substantially greater than 1.

This figure shows the physics of tritium breeding, where neutrons from the deuterium-tritium fusion plasma are absorbed by lithium, which then splits into helium and tritium. [source]

Generally speaking, most concepts for tritium breeding involve wrapping a lithium “breeding blanket” around the outside of the reactor, with as few gaps as you can manage. A deuterium-tritium reactor is constantly generating fast neutrons. You want to keep as much of that emission as possible inside the breeding blanket, for both tritium and power generation.

There are a few different ideas for breeding blanket designs, several of which are going to be tested on ITER, the massive reactor being built in France. One concept is a thick sheath of lithium ceramic that surrounds the vessel, either as solid slabs or pebbles. As tritium breeding occurs under the blanket, water or liquid helium is circulated through it, cooling the lithium and potentially extracting heat for electricity generation.

While such a blanket might be relatively “simple” (lol) to build, there are some pretty fundamental challenges. Neutrons will penetrate most materials with ease, and it might be tricky to extract tritium that's been bred deep inside of solid lithium. Ideally, you could do the extraction without pause, even as breeding is ongoing. For some designs, though, you have to cycle out breeder units for harvesting as they get a full load of tritium.

Another concept is “liquid breeding." This concept uses a molten mixture of metallic lithium and lead, or a lithium salt compound like FLiBe (fluorine-lithium-beryllium). The liquid would be pumped through a “breeding zone” around the vessel, where the neutron flux is thickest. The tritium will then be continuously extracted from the breeding fluid as it flows back out. As part of the process, you can run the hot liquid through a heat exchanger, heating water to power a steam turbine.

Liquid breeding does raise some prominent engineering challenges. Hot, molten breeding fluid will be very hard to handle – not just because of the heat, but also because you're trying to pump a massive quantity of viscous fluid into a very tight breeding zone. Moreover, molten lithium-lead might react explosively with air. If your breeding system springs a leak, you’ll have a serious mess on your hands!

It’s still unclear which of these breeding strategies will bear fruit. From conception to implementation, there are still a lot of unknowns! Both liquid and solid breeding will be conducted in France, and a number of private fusion companies have plans to breed tritium in their machines as well.

#fusion #engineering #science

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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

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Writing Notes: Hypothermia

Hypothermia - A potentially fatal condition; occurs when body temperature falls below 95°F (35°C).

The danger signs include:

intense shivering;

stiffness and numbness in the arms and legs;

stumbling and clumsiness;

sleepiness, confusion, disorientation, amnesia, and irrational behavior; and

difficulty speaking.

The signs and symptoms of hypothermia follow a typical course, though the body temperatures at which they occur vary from person to person depending on age, health, and other factors.

The impact of hypothermia on the nervous system often becomes apparent quite early. Coordination, for instance, may begin to suffer as soon as body temperature reaches 95°F (35°C).

The early signs of hypothermia also include cold and pale skin and intense shivering; the latter stops between 90°F (32.2°C) and 86°F (30°C).

As body temperature continues to fall:

speech becomes slurred,

the muscles go rigid, and

the victim becomes disoriented and experiences eyesight problems.

Other harmful consequences include:

Dehydration

Liver and kidney failure

Heart rate, respiratory rate, and blood pressure rise during the first stages of hypothermia, but fall once the 90°F (32.2°C) mark is passed.

Below 86°F (30°C) most victims are comatose, and

below 82°F (27.8°C) the heart’s rhythm becomes dangerously disordered.

However, even at very low body temperatures, people can survive for several hours and be successfully revived, though they may appear to be dead.

TREATMENT

Until emergency help arrives, a victim of outdoor hypothermia should be brought to shelter and warmed by:

removing wet clothing and footwear,

drying the skin, and

wrapping him or her in warm blankets or a sleeping bag.

Gentle handling is necessary when moving the victim to avoid disturbing the heart.

Rubbing the skin or giving the victim alcohol can be harmful.

Warm drinks such as clear soup and tea are recommended for those who can swallow.

Anyone who aids a victim of hypothermia should also look for signs of frostbite and be aware that attempting to rewarm a frostbitten area of the body before emergency help arrives can be extremely dangerous. For this reason, frostbitten areas must be kept away from heat sources such as campfires and car heaters.

Rewarming is the essence of hospital treatment for hypothermia.

How rewarming proceeds depends on the body temperature.

Other considerations, such as the patient’s age or the condition of the heart, can influence treatment choices.

Different approaches are used for patients who are:

mildly hypothermic (the patient’s body temperature is 90–95°F [32.2–35°C]),

moderately hypothermic (86–90°F [30–32.2°C]), or

severely hypothermic (less than 86°F [30°C]).

Mild Hypothermia

Reversed with passive rewarming.

This technique relies on the patient’s own metabolism to rewarm the body.

Once wet clothing is removed and the skin is dried, the patient is covered with blankets and placed in a warmroom.

The goal is to raise the patient’s temperature by 0.9–3.6°F (0.5–2°C) an hour.

Moderate Hypothermia

Often treated first with active external rewarming and then with passive rewarming.

Active external rewarming - applying heat to the skin (e.g., by placing the patient in a warm bath or wrapping the patient in electric heating blankets).

Severe Hypothermia

Requires active internal rewarming, which is recommended for some cases of moderate hypothermia as well.

There are several types of active internal rewarming:

Cardiopulmonary bypass - the patient’s blood is circulated through a rewarming device and then returned to the body, is considered the best, and can raise body temperature by 1.8–3.6°F (1–2°C) every 3–5 minutes. However, many hospitals are not equipped to offer this treatment. The alternative is to:

Introduce warm oxygen or fluids into the body.

Hypothermia treatment can also include, among other things:

insulin,

antibiotics, and

fluid replacement therapy.

When the heart has stopped, both cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) and rewarming are necessary. Once a patient’s condition has stabilized, he or she may need treatment for an underlying problem such as alcoholism or thyroid disease.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Realistic Injuries

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