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currentlyfckingurmom · 1 year ago

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Beneath the Wreckage (part 2)

Yelena studied Arina as she moved about the room gathering supplies. Light brown hair; blue eyes; 5’5”, maybe 5’6”; thin, muscular build; and she moved like a graceful personification of death— her steps were elegant, but her moves were deadly.

Arina, on the other hand, was focused on the task at hand. She didn’t pay Yelena much mind. Even if Yelena tried to harm her, which Arina knew she wouldn’t, Arina was always the better fighter of the two. Yelena had yet to remember that, though.

Natasha was still passed out, except now she was lying flat on an old metal operating table. Arina had already hooked her up to an IV and dosed her with anesthesia. She had lost a lot of blood, but luckily, Arina and Natasha’s blood was compatible.

Arina drew a pint of her own blood and ran it through a small, portable filter that she had designed herself. The blood ran straight into Natasha’s veins after that, and Arina didn’t miss the look of disgust on Yelena’s face.

“Please do not throw up or pass out in here. If you get queasy from this kind of stuff, then leave, because I’m about to cut your sister’s abdomen open.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with my unconscious sister, I don’t even know you.”

Arina only quirked an eyebrow at that and said, “Fine, but put on a mask, gown, and gloves. This isn’t exactly a sterile environment, but anything helps.”

Yelena did as instructed and returned to her place at the side of the room. Arina cut away Natasha’s shirt, leaving her clad in a bra. She then put on a mask, gown, and gloves like Yelena and returned to Natasha’s side.

Arina disinfected Natasha’s stomach—all of the tools had been disinfected while waiting for the relatively weak anesthesia to kick in—and then picked up the scalpel. She took a deep breath and made a small incision across the wound so she’d have more room to work. She picked up the forceps and quickly pulled out the bullet. She repaired the internal damage and stitched up the incision.

Arina looked up for the first time in over forty minutes and saw Yelena’s face, which prompted a loud laugh from the brunette. Yelena was ghostly pale with wide eyes, and she looked like she was about to be sick.

“I thought you said you’d be fine,” Arina teased.

“Yeah, well, that was before you sliced open a human body.”

“Fair point.” Arina wrapped the incision in gauze and did a quick check of Natasha’s vitals.

Yelena and Arina took off their sterile coverings and Arina said, “I’ll be back in a little bit. You can stay in here with her or not, it’s up to you. She should wake up within the hour.” Yelena nodded but said nothing as she pulled up a chair and sat down next to Natasha.

Arina left the medical room and made her way to her quarters. The bunker was fairly large: a kitchen, two real bedrooms, additional bunkhouse-style sleeping quarters, two bathrooms, an area with a couple of old couches, and even a dining table. Of course, it also had a weapons room, security room, and a lab, because it was an old bunker from some deadbeat spy organization that collapsed in the 70s.

Arina went to the bathroom closest to her bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned over the sink. She turned on the cold water (the bunker didn’t have hot water) and splashed it on her face. She stared at her reflection in the old, cracked mirror, and she didn’t recognize the woman looking back at her. She closed her eyes and sighed, trying to keep herself calm.

Even though Natasha hadn’t woken up yet, this was the first time Arina had seen her since they were seventeen. A million memories came flooding back the moment she laid her eyes on the redheaded assassin. The first time they met, the first time they sparred, the first time they danced, and the last time they kissed.

Arina shook those thoughts from her head and opened her eyes, which immediately caught sight of the silver pendant hanging from her neck. A simple necklace with the letter ‘N’ on a thin chain. Arina had gotten herself and Natasha corresponding necklaces on Christmas when they were sixteen, and she hasn’t taken it off since. She doubted that Natasha still had her ‘A’ necklace; not that it mattered— not anymore.

A soft knock on the door disrupted her train of thought. Arina quickly dried her face and opened the door. Yelena was standing on the other side.

“Natasha is awake and asking a ton of questions, most of which I cannot answer, so come on,” she said before turning around and walking away, clearly expecting Arina to follow. Arina shook her head and followed the blonde. ‘She hasn’t changed a bit,’ she thought to herself as she walked. Somewhere deep down, she’s still that innocent 6-year-old girl, and that thought made Arina smile.

When they entered the medical room, Natasha was sitting up on the operating table, seemingly taking in her surroundings.

“What the hell are you doing?! You just had surgery, you’re going to pop your stitches,” Arina exclaimed as she rushed over to push Natasha back down onto the table.

“Arina,” Natasha breathed out in shock. Even though she knew she’d see Arina, there was no preparing her for this moment. They were now fairly close to each other, and Arina quickly removed her hands from Natasha’s shoulders and stepped back. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, it has, I guess,” Arina said quietly.

“I wanted to find you, but you said-”

“I know what I said. That doesn’t matter now. Yelena said you have questions for me?”

“Oh, um...where are we? And what happened?”

“This is an abandoned bunker. It’s where I’ve been hiding out the past few years, and nobody else knows about it so it’s perfectly safe. You were shot, you passed out, Yelena and I brought you here, and then I operated on you. That’s pretty much it.”

“Right. And where were you before this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you said that you’ve only been here for a few years, so where were you hiding before that?”

“Natasha, what are you talking about? You know exactly where I was.”

“What? No, you escaped when we were seventeen,” Natasha’s face contorted into disbelief, but the feeling of dread in her stomach ensured her that this was really happening.

“Uh, no, I definitely didn’t. What the hell did you think ‘I’ll never get out’ meant? Of the closet?”

“I don’t know, Arina! I thought maybe you got out of this life for good! That you’d settled down somewhere or something.”

“No you didn’t, Natasha. That’s just what you told yourself to make yourself feel better. Probably the same thing you did with Yelena, too.”

“Okay, sorry to interrupt, but what the fuck is going on here?” The other two women had honestly forgotten that Yelena was there, but now neither of them knew what to say. “Who are you really, Arina? How do you know Natasha?”

Arina sighed and looked down at her feet as she answered. “We grew up together. All three of us, Lena. You were young when we were closest, so you probably don’t remember that much of me.”

Yelena’s face was blank for a few seconds as she thought it over. All of the sudden her eyebrows shot up and she gasped. “Oh! I remember you! You had a really weird accent and we always called you Aria because when we first met, I didn’t know your real name so I called you that by mistake.”

“That’s me,” Arina said with a small smile. Natasha said nothing, staring at the ceiling from her place on the operating table.

“Where did you go? Everything was great and then one day it was like I didn’t even exist. You barely acknowledged my existence, and then eventually you disappeared completely,” Yelena said, not meeting Arina’s eyes. She seemed so small at that moment— almost like she was just a little kid again.

“It’s hard to explain, but you never stopped being like a little sister to me, Lena. I had to distance myself to protect you.” Yelena cleared her throat and whispered ‘right.’ It was quiet for a few moments before Natasha spoke up.

“Well this has been great and all, but this table is really uncomfortable.”

“Oh, right. We can move you to an actual bed,” Arina said, grateful for the heavy moment to have been broken.

Yelena and Arina helped Natasha to the other main bedroom and into the bed so she was leaning against the headboard. Arina was preparing to make her escape when Yelena said, “I’m gonna go. You two seem like you have a lot to talk about. Privately. Without me. Alone...in private.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before practically fleeing from the room. Arina snorted a laugh at the younger woman while Natasha blushed furiously, wishing the bed would just swallow her whole.

“We probably should actually talk about everything,” Natasha said.

“Yeah, I know. But do either of us really want to? What’s done is done, no going back now.”

“I mean I guess, but you were still...there. This whole time. I thought you were free, Aria. I would’ve helped you. I would’ve done something.” Arina sat down on the edge of the bed as Natasha spoke.

“You did do something, Natasha. You became an Avenger; you saved lives. All I ever wanted was for you to get out of there and live the life you deserve, and you did. I’m not really mad at you for leaving, Talia. I never was. I just wish that one of us could’ve protected Lena. If anything, I was mad at the circumstances.”

It was quiet for several minutes before Natasha spoke, her voice so quiet that she was nearly whispering, almost as if she was afraid to disrupt the peaceful blanket of silence that had settled over the room. “I miss you calling me that. You’ve been calling me Natasha since I got here...It feels wrong.”

Arina hummed. “Well, it’s your name, so it shouldn’t feel wrong.”

“Yeah but that’s not my name to you. It never has been. When did I stop being ‘your Talia’?”

“I think we both know that answer to that question, and I don’t think either of us would enjoy hearing it out loud.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m gonna go throw some food together for dinner. There’s a walkie-talkie on the nightstand if you need anything. Seriously, you can’t be getting out of bed.”

“Yes ma'am, I understand.”

Arina rolled her eyes with a smile. “I’ll see you in a bit, Talia.”

“Don’t miss me too much, Aria.”

#natasha romanoff #yelena belova #natasha romanoff x oc #natasha romanoff x reader

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understandableparadox · 6 months ago

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High noon at Ground zero.

The clicking of the gieger counter rumbles like static, as you slide down the craters edge. bodies litter the scorched smoothed dirt. each one sporting the only wound they needed to find their final rest. layed neatly with their fineries that glint past their rust in the soon to be mid-day sun.

a cloud of dirt billows out behind you as super fine dust is disturbed and finds their highways on the wind. on the other side, you can see the same sight. the metals on them gleaming silver, gilded with gold.

at the center of the crater is a podium. glowing slightly with heat and radiation. twisted and ever so slightly molten with its own energy. old text distorted across its surface refusesing to relinquish their meaning even after so long. to the north, leaning lackadaisically was the only spectator.

"Rules simple. a 6 bullets in each gun, only need the one. if you miss, which you wont, i'll ask if yall just lay the guns down and brawl it till your done."

their voice box was cracked, in need of some form of repair that it would never see. their form wrapped in stitched together from the ponchos of other visitors. You wonder if your own was interesting enough to take.

you stare ahead. your opponents ocular array was sparkling clean, letting the red light of it burrow into you. voyeuristic gleaning everything about you. Everything, how fast you can move, how many shots you can take, your willingness to stay your hand and your willingness to forgive. your good camera zooms in ever so slightly, searching their form.

Their body is tattooed garishly in gold, sweeping vines that grow from old battle wounds, refusing to hide the shameful destruction of their exo-skelaton.

"Any point to talking this out?" They ask, though the fact that their already absentmindedly checking the gun in hand, they know your answer.

The spectator once again speaks.

"Leave your grievances at the podium, hate aint gonna do ya any good anymore, duel in peace."

"You killed my creator... You shot and killed the human that made me and now im gonna do the same to you." You force out, as if trying to follow the spectators advice. letting hot irons of rage fall from your speakers to be swallowed up by the podium. you grab the gun and hold the barrel to the sky. the heat of it blisters the plastic grip of your hand.

"you are assigning a sin onto me that just ain't real, what i did was a fucking mercy. " he retorted, you cant read his face, you cant read the signal he emits, you cannot read it in a way that is rational.

"Paces. Find a place you wouldn't mind laying your head and wait til you're clocks hit noon. A second after, you may begin." the spectator stated.

You look around. not to many spots left, the old duelists found all the good spots already. you consider something symbolic, laying in a way that points towards your home, but the spot has already been claimed by a another metal corpse. the seconds are ticking away. you find a spot where the dust looks like its piled enough to make a small pillow if you fall in just the right spot.

you finally turn around to see that he has only moved a few paces away from the podium. just enough to be considerate of those who will inevitably come next. how long have they been watching you...?

the shadows in the crater are growing shorter, slowly turning non existent.

"Last chance for yall to drop your guns and walk away. yall had plenty of time to think of the worth of this greivance." the spectator drawled, their faded face turned towards the sun as it climbed to the highest point in the sky. as if he knew neither would take that offer.

plastic from your hand had finally stopped dripping down your fingers into the dirt, the gun finally cooling enough. if you survived, you would need to machine out new pads for your hand.

10 seconds left. you choose a the oculer arrey, a nice clear target for you to go for. You wonder what spot he chose for you.

9 seconds left. you ready your grip on the gun, flexing your finger, tenseing your hydraulics to flick.

8 seconds left. you wonder if its possible for both of the bullets to hit each other. both of your aims are deadly enough, it might just happen.

7 seconds left. you try to remember a good face to leave this earth with. you plan to win but its not logical to assume. You remember a good one.

6 seconds left. you cant stop your eyes flicking from the specter widdling down a from a corpse into a set of two bullets, peice by peice cleaning the crater. you wasted time stareing.

4 seconds left. there is a tremble. you cant afford to know where the tremble is, you just know its there.

3 seconds. you consider how many have fired a second bullet, its not impossible to hit em out of the air...

2 seconds, ah, you can read his signals again. nothing bit pity.

1 second. he fired a little early.

#short story

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metalstitchinglocking · 1 year ago

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Repair of the MAN diesel engines crankshaft

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vaishalirapower · 1 year ago

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engineoverhaulingservices · 1 year ago

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rapowersolutions234 · 4 months ago

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crankshaftgrindingrepair · 2 years ago

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rebabbitting · 1 year ago

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shroomtime00 · 2 years ago

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Always and Forever (hunter x reader)

You descend down the staircase, and with each step the stairs creak and groan. You scrunch up your nose, how can a staircase be this noisy?

You jump down the last remaining steps, “And they stick the landing!” you make a gymnast’s salute, like the one that lady did in the metal box in the living room. Grinning to yourself you glanced around, taking in the basement-turned-bedroom.

It’s rather dusty, the musky smell filling your lungs. It must haven’t been used for a while, not until you and the others…

You shake your head, not wanting to finish that thought. Now wasn’t time to be worried or stressed.

Cardboard boxes piled corners and littered the ground, with words like, ‘Luz’s costumes’, or ‘Manny’s cosplay 2008’ scribbled hastily in black ink. The fairy lights, which hung from every corner of the wall and every pole in sight, paint the room a warm white shade.

You now look to the two sleeping areas in the middle. The couch, which you presumed was where Gus slept, was unmade and rather messy, with the blanket sprawled across the couch and pillows everywhere. The sleeping bag, however, was neat and tidy, without a crease in the covers.

“Done examining me and Gus’s room?” The cocky, scratchy voice cuts into the silence, and you perk up at such a sound.

Quickly you whip your head to where it had come from. Hunter, who now was smirking triumphantly because he had properly startled you, was sitting behind a table with the…uh, sewing device in front of him. You were a little cautious of the gizmo, seeing as it pricked you when you put your finger in the needle contraption the first time you tried repairing a towel! Honestly, you even wondered why Hunter spent so much time with such a thing.

Said blonde now runs his fingers through his newly cut hair. “What are you even looking for? The Titan’s lost gold or something?”

You roll your eyes at the reference of a child’s tale back in the demon realm, but you stride to Hunter and plop yourself down in his chair, “What are you doing, then?”

He gestures to the denim jeans inside the mouth of the device, “I’m repairing Gus’s jeans!” he replies cheerfully, “They got ripped when Vee was teaching him those….uh, roller skating tricks?” he shakes his head as he begins the device, its whirring sound making his voice a little muffled, “I’ll never get the point of it.”

“The point is to have fun!” you laugh, “What, do you not know what that is?”

He stops the machine to give you a pointed look, “I know what fun is!” his voice cracks when he says ‘what’, and you chuckle at his face, with reddened embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow when he recovers, “Really? Sticking wheels on your feet and rolling around, with the very high risk of falling and getting a broken nose counts as, ‘fun’?”

“Just admit you’re scared of it, Hunter.”

“Wha – I am NOT scared of roller skating!” he utters a little too loudly, and now you tilt your head sideways, your smirk telling him he shouldn’t have said anything, “Oh, really? Then how come you were clinging onto my sweater and demanding I won’t let go of your hand?” you accuse.

“I — Uh, I was just trying to make you feel better about your poor skating skills!” he counters, “And anyways, I saw Luz and Amity holding hands while they were skating, are we not allowed to do that?”

You flush, because he doesn’t realize what he’s said. Amity and Luz were holding hands because they were dating.

But…weren’t you and Hunter dating too?

You had forgotten about that! Yes, yes you were. Ever since a week ago, you and him had been, er, going out, as one could say. It still surprises you every time you remember.

With your lack of words he decides he’s won, so Hunter turns his attention back to the sewing device. His hands move against the denim as the thread makes a trail against the blue fabric.

You have to admit, it’s kinda mesmerizing. The way his hands work, moving the fabric higher and higher, the needle stitching the thread by itself. You can’t quite wrap your mind around how technologically advanced humans have become. Maybe having no magic pushed them further to create better things?

You glance back at your frie — your boyfriend. He’s humming an idle tune as he works, reminding you of that one movie with the yellow and blue dressed princess who talked to animals and cleaned a stranger’s house Luz had showed you during one of the movie nights.

Hunter’s wearing a red shirt with some triangle red bird with very dark eyebrows etched down, with its beak in a frown. He’s wearing sweatpants with that bat superhero, and his pink bunny slippers hit on the ground as he taps them. With the tapping and humming, it looks like he’s hosting his very own synchronized dance.

“Aaand done!” he says finally, sunnily as he lifts up the newly repaired jeans, with a grin that pictures his tooth gap perfectly, “So? Whaddya think?”

You tilt your head. The brightly bubblegum colored thread certainly…added a pop of color to the pants.

“It’s colorful.” you decide finally. Hunter’s smile only seems to brighten more, “Thanks! For a beginner I think I’m not too shabby, personally!” he puts down the jeans and runs his fingers down the stitches of pink, beaming at his work.

You can’t help it as a soft smile upturns your lips. Why was his smile so pretty?

You hadn’t seen much of that smile in the Boiling Isles, where he was always frowning or angry or stressed.

Hunter’s gone through so much. From being a scout at age eleven to becoming the golden guard at age fourteen, to then finding out his life was built upon a tower of lies, to then finally becoming him. Just Hunter.

And you’re proud of him.

You put your hand to his shoulder, just smiling at the newly-fixed jeans with pops of pink then saying quietly, “You did great Hunter. I’m so proud of you.”

You don’t get a response for a while, so you tear your eyes away from the pants and look up curiously at him.

Alarm pierces your chest as you can see his fingers tremble on the pants, so slight yet so noticeable, and put them down. You dart your eyes up, and his own magenta ones are blurry and unfocused.

Immediately you scoot closer to him, bringing a hand up to mop the tears away with your sleeve, “W-why’re you crying? Did I do something wrong? Did I say something?” you panic.

Hunter laughs, coming out more of a breath than a chuckle as his scarred hand touches yours. When he turns his head to graze his lips on your palm, you feel his blonde curls move against your hand.

Heat spreads in your face as he clears his throat and begins, still a little raspy, “No, you didn’t say anything wrong, (reader).” he chuckles, “It’s just….I haven’t really heard those words come from anyone, much. You know, the emperor’s coven and their high expectations!” Now the tears begin to fall, slowly, “It was impossible to please Unc — emperor Belos.”

Your heart drops when he says that. He sniffles, “Sorry, this was stupid—”

His words are interrupted with your body clashing with his, you cradling one arm on his head and the other at his back. Your heart presses with his, and you can feel his muffled beating grow quicker.

Hunter stays frigid for a second, before he melts into the hug, leaning his head on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your body. The warmth of it all encourages you to say what you want.

“I’m always going to be proud of you, Hunter,” you whisper softly against his hair, “Always and forever.”

No answer again, but you don’t need one. This says enough, more than enough, with your bodies intertwined with each other, sharing each other’s warmth.

He doesn’t pull away, and neither do you for a bit. Because this is what he needs, and this is what you’ll give him.

“Thank you.” he mumbles hoarsely, sniffling. You hold him tighter, squeezing his body. You hope he understands the message you’re giving him.

That you won’t ever desert him, for as long as you can. That you’ll stay by his side. Always and forever.

So that’s where you stay until the last of his tears end. And when you pull away, you’re grinning.

“So, how about a sewing lesson?”

#angst and hurt/comfort #the owl house #the golden guard x reader #hunter x reader #oneshot #fluff #toh hunter x reader

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