#Warehouse Ventilation Fan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ineylesian · 2 years

Text

NO LEAF CLOVER

─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER

PREFACE | this is continuation of another fic, “me, or him?”. it’s advised that you read that before this

AO3 | MASTERLIST | CODENAME: FANGS MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT | 8k

SUMMARY | you had made your choice, all you had to do was execute.

however, a small tinge of you knew that you could never be true to one side; and you would face the grim consequences of disloyalty in the vision of never resting nightmares and a smoking bullet.

WARNINGS | angst, smut, canon typical violence, vaginal fingering, a mix of rough and kinda soft sex, hard overstimulation, finger fucking, cum eating, make up sex if you could even consider it that, implied graves x reader (and a little action), biting, scratching, clothed sex, grinding, you make ghost cum in his pants, he does the same to you dw, unprotected p in v, cumming inside, thigh fucking, ghost literally fucks the shit out of you, but it’s angsty as hell, the mask stays on this time boys

AUTHOR’S NOTE | still can’t stand the people that say ghost is completely emotionless bro, like yeah he’s an edge lord BUT he cares about those closest to him and that’s how i portray him… my baby cakes fr fr

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

11:07 PM.

FUERZAS ESPECIALES HQ // LAS ALMAS.

“Exterior squad 414, report, over.”

Click.

“All good here, sir.”

Radio waves fell shallow as the remaining patrols checked in, leaving only the soft rattle of metal against concrete to your ears. A few seconds passed before the canister popped, engulfing the narrow exterior you stood in with heavy smoke, soon giving way to an array of green lasers on the walls. You ducked under the first two, gloved hands sliding along cold stone to fall into a prone next, just barely shifting past the harsh buzz after a few slow movements.

A quiet hum responded to the force of your hand on fluorescent red, leaving the last section of the underground tunnels in Fuerzas completely unguarded.

You crouched down beside the first corner in the system, pulling a flare from your pocket, setting it alight, and stepping away. A single spark shot from the pyrotechnic before it was crushed by your foot, the bundle of ashes seeping from the short lived explosion allowing you to trace a check mark onto the wall with your foot.

“Exterior squad 182 to Commander Graves, permission to send traffic?”

Your eyes narrowed at the panic steadily climbing each word, prominent even through static.

“This is Graves actual, send traffic.”

“There’s a hostile bird inbound, sir. Approximately 2 clicks away and approaching fast.”

A distant curse carried over the comms, followed by a short bout of silence save a few shuffles.

“Copy that, 182. Lock down and stand by for further instruction.”

Creaking metal followed your return to the surface, sliding a pair of binoculars out of your pocket, and peaking out above the fortress walls. The violent whir of fan blades led your vision to the southeast tower, clicking down on an effective zoom before holding the lens up to your eyes, spotting Price behind a sharp glint of light. A brief wave was shared between you before he raised a hand to his comms, giving you the green light to move.

“Cobra to Graves, what’s your location?”

“Heading to the FE General, be careful on your way over.”

Your fingers fell from the comms button on your shoulder, turning your attention to the array of warehouses ahead. A minute of dodging your own soldiers and you were kneeling beside a sequence of panels on the 4th warehouse down, sliding a screwdriver into each bolt while lightly prying at the edge. Once the metal surface plate popped off, you unclipped a small canister from your vest, tugging the cover off with your teeth before dropping it into the filter and fastening it back to the wall.

You stood back up at the cue of a soft hiss from the depths of the ventilation system, tugging yourself away from the building before it spread outside.

Price had called your part in their covert operation “The Fixxa Uppa”, point and blank. You had held your tongue at the lack of empathy he held for your situation, giving strict orders to kill any Shadows on sight, and apprehend Graves.

Quiet footsteps and sand hidden tracks led you to the Fuerzas Especiales General building, still pristine in coating and flying the Los Voqueros flag. You sighed at the recollection of Graves’ refusal to tarnish what represented your old allies, scolding your soldiers about reputation and the idiocy of raising an American flag in Las Almas.

The lower region of your chest pulsed slowly at the thought of Shepherd, now exposed and helplessly losing thousands of soldiers by the minute. Yet, your mind also flicked to the flip side: Graves, frantically barking out orders over Shadow Company’s comms while providing as much support as he could give. And you? Perhaps the rapid shift of your pulse with each waking step proved that you really did feel bad, but you and everyone that knew you were well aware that you despised Shadow Company.

Yet, you had stayed, fiercely protecting and slaughtering the men under you all the same. Every action for the sake of the man who you were set out to betray.

A heavy series of explosions coaxed your steps swifter, knuckles raising to deliver three swift knocks on the conference room’s door. The familiar rap pattern led the door to swing open almost instantly, your wrist being seized in the process.

Your eyes parted as you were pressed against the door, eyelids clamping down to adjust to the loss of light. Reopening, you were welcomed the slim, familiar outline of Graves, light pants representing the life you couldn’t see.

You clicked the flashlight fastened to your vest on, illuminating his face in a soft white glow. His skin glistened with a light coat of sweat and blood, hair disheveled, belt almost bare, rifle hanging carelessly from his side. Your gaze slowly drifted to his face, taking in the sight of his teeth fastened to his upper lip, eyes drilling into your own in a tight squint.

Any upcoming words of concerns that had planned on parting your mouth were washed away just seconds later, in their place the flaming sensation of Graves’ lips sealing over yours, swiftly, aggressively, filled to the brim with indecipherable motive.

Graves never kissed you on missions.

Yet here you were, inhaling the scent of smoke and pine on his collar while his blood dribbled down your chin, coating your tongue with metal as he brought your faces closer together. One of your hands subconsciously reached for the back of his head, keeping his mouth firmly planted against your own while he feverishly sank his teeth into your bottom lip, drawing a harsh breath from your nose.

The sudden blast of a breach charge broke you apart, followed by the rise of gunfire on the first floor. You frantically reached down, fumbling with your belt before snatching a case of 5.56 mm cartridge from the side, fastening it to Graves’ waist.

“They’re after you.” Your words came out jumbled, too focused on turning him towards the emergency exit just one room over. “You have to get out of here.”

Your efforts fell to no avail, however, as Graves was quick to pull your wrists down, rooting the both of you in place.

“I’m not leaving you here, Fangs.” He retorted, swiftly coaxing you behind a desk before crouching down, softly running a hand over your arm before falling to his gun. “We live together, or we die together. Remember?”

Of course, how could you forget?

The phrase echoed in hand with choruses of flying bullets and screams as a small group of your soldiers barged into the room, narrowly avoiding incoming spurts of fire. You raised your gun to rest against the desk’s surface, peaking over the side to ensure you were firing in dead areas. After spending the entirety of your mag, you pulled your rifle back, silently hoping they had noticed you flick your gun’s muzzle flash on.

An aggressive sequence of beeps fell close to your ears as you slipped a new clip into your weapon, leading your eyes to widen in shock at the sight of a semtex laid to rest on the surface right above you.

You threw your gun to the side before kicking Graves as hard as you could, sending him staggering a safe distance away and heading in the opposite direction. Bullets chased every fraction of your explosion-illuminated movement, forcing you to slide down on the floor next to one of your men.

However, you were only welcomed to the sight of glistening knife harshly jutting into the chest of your cover, spurting a hefty coat of blood onto your cheek. Your eyes widened in shock as the solider grabbed hold of the arm that held the blade inside of him, twisting himself and the attacker back into you, pushing away to leave him falling straight into you.

Sweltering winds kissed the hairs plastered to your face as the force sent you flying backward, crashing through the window behind you, fraying your skin with minuscule shards of glass. Your waist was roughly seized by the man on top of you, swapping your bodies seconds before you smacked against the ground.

You cried out in air deprived silence, hearing a series of cracks erupt throughout your upper region as the impact rolled you to the side, melding the world a fleeting series of red and white before fading to black.

—-

ONE WEEK LATER.

beep.

…beep.

BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Cobra… you hear me? Try opening your eyes.”

The words reigned similar to static in your head, each inhale pooling a deep ache in the front of your head. A jittered breath pressed it’s way out of you as your eyelids pried apart, leaving you to clear the atmosphere with a few blinks before looking to the side. On the side of your bed stood Price, sending an affirming nod your way while he set a change of clothes on the table beside you.

“Welcome back, soldier.”

You slowly shifted your way up against the pillows, wiping a hand along your eyes while the other detached the ventilator mask from your mouth.

“The mission.” You breathed out, eyes snapping to Price. “What happened?”

“Well, your accident was distracting enough to stop the mission before we could complete it.” He started, offering a bottle of water your way. “We had to drop everything to save you.”

He paused, gaze drifting to your watch, surface glass now split unevenly down the middle.

“I was hoping you could help us. Graves is completely off our radar, and we need to take care of him before moving in on Hassan.”

Your breath hitched, hand clamping down on the bottle of water resting above your lips.

“Our mission is kill on sight.” He continued, lips settling into a thin line. “But I’m willing to give him a choice before that. Join the Task Force, or die.”

You remained silent for some time, taking a swift glance at your watch before looking back over to Price.

“Alright.”

“Good.” He nodded, lightly patting your shoulder before standing up. “We’re meeting up at Flint’s in a bit. Join us if you’d like.”

Darkness enveloped your vision once his footsteps completely faded, hands growing clammy at the thought of even putting a hand on that watch. However, you’d agreed to it, and Price had certainly done you a favor by dropping the mission to save you.

Sighing, you leaned forward, legs kicking off the bed to stretch before you slid off of the sheets, wobbling slightly until your body adjusted to carrying your weight once more. Dim infirmary garments were swapped for one of your “civvy” outfit, leaving only the watch on the table as you slipped your right shoe on.

Cool metal snaked around your fingers, lightly securing hold around your wrist as you brought it down, following a soft click of worn silver and carbon fastened against your skin. You tapped on the messages app next, sliding down to Graves’ contact before placing your finger over it. Your teeth lightly rocked against each other at the blank canvas of screen before you, fingers hovering over the small keyboard as you thought. Ever so slowly, they began to move.

YOU

“Still alive?”

SENT. 5:48 PM.

Your watch sat idle as you pushed through the front doors of Flint’s, waving your hellos to Price, Gaz, and Soap before sliding into a booth nearby. Soft strums of an electric guitar fell to ring around your ears as a waitress walked up to you, setting a small glass of water in front of you with a smile.

A part of you hoped he didn’t answer. That this could all be over and you could leave Las Almas behind

But you knew it wasn’t that easy. It never was.

Minutes passed before a shadow passed across your table, the sudden halt of footsteps rousing your attention. Your eyes parted in surprise at the sight of the man now sitting directly across from you, setting a shot of whiskey on the table with a soft clink.

“Ghost?”

His eyes drifted up from the rim of his glass, locking you in his usual, hard gaze.

“Knew it’d take more than a fall to kill you.” His voice drifted out low, devoid of the gritted shout he adorned during missions. “Was worried you’d gone soft.”

Your eyes dragged along the upper region of his sweatshirt, stopping at a small strip of white that sat wrapped around his neck.

“You broke my fall.”

“Smart girl.” He leaned forward, lifting his mask up a fraction to take a sip of whiskey. “Antibacterial gauze works wonders.”

Your attention broke off at the rise of a buzz on your wrist, leading you to lift the device up while flicking it on.

2 NEW MSSGS.

Your heart rate picked up with each tap, fingers drumming noisily against the table as you waited for the screen to load.

GRAVES

Christ, Fangs, thought I’d lost you.

How are you doing? You safe?

“Cobra.”

YOU

Yeah, I’m okay. What about you?

“Cobra, hey, I’m talking to you.”

GRAVES

I’m good.

Still in Las Almas?

“Fucking Hell, [name].” You felt your wrist being snagged from across the table, pulling reality back to you in the form of an annoyed glint of narrowed eyes. “Stay on task. His location, that’s it.”

A lump pushed its way past your throat, following a shallow nod as you looked back down.

YOU

Yup.

Can we meet up?

You flashed the watch in Ghost’s direction, eyes knitted in irritation at the feeling of his eyes hounding every movement of your fingertips.

“Ghost.” You pushed through partially grit teeth. “I can feel you staring at me. Stop.”

A swift glance upward showed pure negligence of your request, his gaze seemingly burning a hotter trail into your skin than before, sinking uneasiness into the veins below.

GRAVES

Shadow Company has one stocked warehouse on the outskirts of Quilán. Tomorrow work for you?

Ghost leaned over to look at your outstretched arm, giving a curt nod at the message before standing up. You followed, fingers typing one last message before showing it to him and shutting the watch off.

YOU

6pm. I’ll be there.

—-

THE NEXT DAY.

5:52 PM. QUILÁN, LAS ALMAS.

Cool winds swirled around the barren expanse of the vast plain ahead, coating your hands in tiny fragments of sand. You stopped at the foot of a tree line, spotting two sizable warehouses peaking out of a fortress of barbed wire. The sight of shifting masses atop the towers flanking each side of the perimeter led you to place your fingers against your shoulder, tapping into 141’s comms.

“Be advised, multiple armed personnel spotted.”

One of your hands raised in a wave, earning the reaction of one guard before moving forward. You imposed a sickeningly faux smile at the entrance gate, earning a series of nods from the guards stationed there as they let you in.

“Good to see you, Lieutenant.” One spoke, motioning off to the larger of the warehouses. “Commander Graves wishes to see you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, soldier.”

You broke away from prying eyes by rounding a corner, taking a glance around to ensure no one was watching before patching into comms once more.

“Larger warehouse in 2. Cobra out.”

The earpiece was shoved into your pocket, leaving you just one stretch away from the warehouse. Turning to face the front door captivated your spine in a frigid chill, rendering your blood cold in comparison to the blazing sand chipping into your skin. A sigh pooled from the depths of your nose as your gaze dropped down to the handle, hand reaching out to hover above it whilst you waited for visuals on your team.

Your watch flashed 18:00.

Soap poked his head out from the top of the warehouse, sending a thumbs up your way before ducking back down.

Okay.

A steady groan followed the drag of metal against the floor, illuminating the pitch black interior with marengo streaks of light. Your eyes traveled along the contents of the warehouse, eventually stopping to focus in on a large mass of crates and containers, and a thin shadow looming out of the side of them.

Through shifting shadows of grey and black, you saw Graves step away from an array of ammunition boxes, holding a finger up in wait as he fastened a few clips to his belt. However, his hand only dropped flat as he glanced over, taking in the sight of you with pleasantly widened eyes.

The last of your footsteps clicked against the vast space, rousing a shuffle instead as you stopped to look up.

You couldn’t bring yourself to smile at him. Hell, you couldn’t even speak, and he knew, arms stretching out to envelop your being, holding all of you against him like he’d die if he let go. Warm hands brought themselves up to grasp lightly at the back of your shoulders, allowing your arms to snake around his neck.

The two of you stayed there for some time, long enough to numb the soft movement of your arm running down his vest. Seconds passed before the safety of a gun clicked just feet away, shooting Graves’ head up as he let you go. The attempt of his body to turn around fell to no avail as one of your hands clamped around the pistol strapped against his vest, rooting him where he stood.

Price slowly made his way towards the both of you, gun pointing solely at Graves, allowing you to step away, tossing his gun under one of the nearby crates.

“You’re gettin’ two choices here, son. Only one of ‘em is gonna let you out alive.”

Graves’ mouth fell to rest in a flat line, hands leisurely moving to rest above his head. His gaze then traveled over to you, what was once a soft meld of blues hardened into something more practical. Then, he looked up, breathing out a quiet huff of amusement at the sight.

“Join TSF 141, or die.”

Price stepped closer, watching as Graves’ eyes lowered back down to you.

“Could’ve guessed you were playing me, Fangs.” He lightly shrugged, nodding up to the man crouching on the rails above you. “Big dog Ghost up there left a little something back at the warehouse, didn’t he?”

Your eyes narrowed. The knife.

“Make the right decision, Graves.”

“The right decision?” He scoffed, flicking a finger between you and Ghost. “I’ve been giving everything I have for you, only to figure out you’ve been fucking around with him? Now you want me to join you?”

“This isn’t about him, or any of them.” You snapped back, jabbing a finger against his chest. “You knew what Shepherd did to us, and you still chose to stay with him. How can you live with yourself?”

“You’ve got one last chance, son.” The gruff call of your captain rang out, feebly smothered against airborne tension. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Who was by my side the entire time?” Graves voice pushed out low, taking your finger and turning it to push against your vest. “Only you made that decision.”

A single, deep breath pushed its way from your mouth as you brought the same hand up, ripping Shadow Company’s insignia off of your chest, dropping it to the floor, and smothering it under your boot.

“It’s not too late to change.”

His head shook slowly, taking a step back from you before lowering his hands.

“Not for you, Fangs.”

The world before you sparked into a violent surge of smoke and fire as explosions broke out from above. Gunshots scraped against the ground near you as you ran, diving behind a nearby crate to cover yourself.

Only to realize the inside was fizzing.

You were sent flying backward as the middle of the warehouse erupted into flames, the sheer force of the chain linked explosions slamming your back into the wall. Air starved lungs desperately inhaled smoke, leaving your vision blurred and burning at the thickness of the atmosphere around you.

Your arms weakly pushed against the ground, pulling you far up enough to grab the side of a table, hoisting yourself to stand with a pained groan. A massive crash echoed from across the interior, shaking the ground below you and pulsing blistering waves of smoke against your face. Another followed shortly after, only leading you to assume the roof was collapsing, the shriek of stressing metal confirming your suspicions.

Raising a hand to your shoulder, you pressed on the your radio, using your spare hand to hold your earpiece to your ear as you ran.

“Price, Soap, Gaz-“ You paused, choking on a fresh inhale of fumes. “Does anyone copy?”

Silence.

You cursed under your breath, bringing a hand up to hover against your lower face whilst running amidst the shadows. Your foot kicked against a railing, leading you to blindly turn for the stairs, narrowly avoiding falling chunks of debris from the ceiling as you neared closer to it. The thin flooring shook under each of your footsteps, the section behind you breaking off with a sharp clang just after you’d cleared it.

Sucking in the ashen material of your arm, you broke into a sprint, heading for the first gleam of light visible. Your arms rose to cross over your face, shattering glass as you dived outside, stealing harsh breaths of fresh air from the sky on your fall.

You landed in the midst of a large bush with a quiet thud, breaking into a coarse fit of coughs and retches in a desperate attempt to clear your system. Once the haze of CO2 had swept out of your lungs, you pulled yourself out of the mass of thick branches and leaves, staggering up to look at the warehouse before you.

“Cobra, do you copy?”

Your hands fumbled for the button on your shoulder, tapping into 141’s comms with a sigh of relief.

“Good here, Soap.” You responded, pacing away from the destroyed warehouse. “What’s going on with the others?”

“Don’t know, you’re the only one I could reach.”

“We need to find the others. I’ll take the second warehouse, you sweep the outside.”

“Got it.”

You let go of the comms with a hum, eyes moving up as you approached the smaller warehouse. The sudden rise of gunfire widened your eyes, clear that it came from the inside. Your boots fell hard against dry grass, kicking up heavy tracks before you jumped on top of one of the ac units hooked to the wall, using the slight leverage to pull yourself up to the hanging ladder halfway up.

A fury of dying lights sparked against the air as you peered down through the skylight, running towards the edge in sight of a vent. Gripping the ledge of the shingled roof, you slid in through the metal nailed to the wall, boots softly thudding against a metal walkway overlooking the inside. Thinly strung lights dimly lit the vast area below, only giving way to the continuous reign of bullets clanging against metal.

You dropped down to the next section, dodging weapon crates and supplies before breaking for the staircase. Frantic hands unhooked the Deagle on your belt as you grew closer to the ground floor, spurred on by the abrupt end of shots from all around. Your hands laid to rest against the nearest railing, watching with wide eyes as a lowly flashing streak of red shot past you face, and to the far side of the warehouse.

One of your arms instinctively raised against the mass detonation of the semtex fused with boxes of mines, lighting one side of the warehouse up in a raging sea of flames. Tugging the safety off of your pistol, you jumped down onto one of the crates below, kneeling against the edge in search of any signs of life against the weak light of fire. Eventually, a shadowed figure crossed not far off from where you perched, leading you to scale the line of containers in swift apprehension, keeping your movements light.

Your teeth grit firmly together at the rising waves of familiar heat brushing themselves against your skin, the waves in pursuit forcing you to climb up a layer to breathe. Eventually, your target led you to a small, void area of the warehouse, charred black, and holding a slumped body against the ash. Your eyes widened at the scarce patch of white on his face illuminated by edging embers, your breathing increasingly erratic by the second as the quiet click of a gun’s safety rang out from the shadows.

Before you could articulate a reasonable plan of action, your feet were sliding off of the containers overlooking the scene, landing just above the shadowed figure with a harsh thud. The reaction to the noise was not sufficient enough, as by the time the gun was pointed your way, you had blindly tackled them against the wall, hand moving to hold their gun up as you slid the Deagle against their chest.

A crude gunshot bounced off the walls, crawling into your ears in horrid sight of the body pinned against your leg. You stepped away from the mass of blood pooling onto the ground beneath, watching as the lifeless body of Graves slumped against the ground, his blood sickly warm on your hands. The warehouse grew silent in your wake, save the faint crackling of burning wood, ever softer the drops of red liquid falling to mix in with the rest.

“COBRA, GHOST?”

The words spoke muffled to your ears, fighting against the deafening drum of your heartbeat pounding against every crevice of your being. A hand took hold of your shoulder amongst the scorching ripples of heat, turning you to face Price, who gave you a light squeeze where his hand sat as he took your gun.

“Good work, kiddo. Let’s get you patched up.”

—-

ONE WEEK LATER.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

2 NEW MSSGS.

SOAP

Hey, didn’t get the chance to see you after the mission.

I owe you one, big time. Let me know when you’re free?

YOU

Tomorrow okay?

The watch fell limp against your side, following the brush of a bag hitting the ground. A briefcase was placed against your coffee table, beside you an SR-25 waiting to be taken apart.

Not an ounce of pride swelled in your chest at the achievement of killing Hassan. The honorary medal that had been draped around your chest now sat idle on the floor, particles of dust beginning to settle over the bright coat of gloss over the surface. Deft hands worked in steady motions, pooling out breaths of focused air as you pulled the weapon apart.

Your mind had been elsewhere for some time, thoughts scrambled by dull static while you sat atop that building, sparking not even an ounce of a reaction out of you as you pulled the trigger. Instead of confirming your kill, you pulled the sniper back, silently disappearing as soon as you’d arrived.

The visions had been relentless. When you closed your eyes, you saw horrified faces and snow white bandages stained red, the scent of gore and death so evident, so real that you choked on your breath. And you saw yourself, watching Soap and Gaz carry him away, earning nothing but stale breathing from blood coated nostrils.

You’d been told he had a 15% chance of survival. That was, before you left to finish Hassan and the cartel. It was said that chance would rise to at least 70 with a blood transfusion. They advised against it, you were taking his job, steady aim was more important that everything else. Just a little missing blood could have thrown off your aim, let one of the world’s most notorious terrorists walking free after dropping a missile on the Pentagon.

You did it anyways, taking the gamble that the doctors wouldn’t tell Price. Guess it paid off well — well enough for the rest of the world, anyway.

A quiet clink shuffled against styrofoam as you placed the last part of the sniper rifle in the briefcase, smoothing over the scope with your hand before shutting it and flipping the locks closed.

It was one thing to be a hero.

And another to be a killer.

The vision of Ghost wasn’t the only nightmare that haunted you since it happened. Graves, the blood, his blood on your hands; the .50 round of your Deagle in his chest.

His funeral wasn’t special, at least from what you’d heard. Your failure to show resulted in a brief visit some few hours after, placing the Desert Eagle beside the small pile of tempered soil that covered him. Ironically enough, it had been more like a late return.. you’d almost forgotten the pistol was originally his.

The door to your temporary apartment clicked shut, leaving you to the garage, and a brand new Porsche, one of the many thanks of service from the military for your success in killing Hassan. If only they knew about Shepherd, the Shadows.. Makarov.

Almost 15 hours and 2 full tanks of gas later led you to the coast of New England, “Her lady Boston” as specifically named by Price. The TSF had a good majority of their American warehouses here, probably as close to the UK as they could get.

Your legs fell limp as you let off the brakes for the last time, shifting into park before leaning your head back against the headrest. A few stretches later and you were off to a small facility on the edge of the city, steadily welcome to the chirp of seagulls and scent of the Atlantic.

An automated door and a cool gust of wind welcomed you to the inside, nodding a greeting to the receptionist before heading for the lounge. Upon seeing Soap, Gaz, and Price, you waved, to which all stopped their conversation and turned your way.

“Aye, if it isn’t the infamous Cobra.” Soap snarked, ruffling your hair with a smile. “Welcome to New England.”

“There’s a whole lot to do here.” Gaz added, giving you a pat on the back. “Hope you’ll hang with us a little.”

Lastly, you glanced over to Price who had just finished putting out his cigar, nodding to you before pulling you into a quick side hug.

“Good to see you, kiddo.”

You breathed out a small sigh of acknowledgment before sliding into the seat beside him, setting your briefcase beside your foot.

“What have you guys been up to?”

Soap and Gaz glanced at each other, then to Price, who shrugged.

“We’ve just been laying low for now.” Soap answered, following a nod from Gaz. “Waiting for Laswell to dig up what she can on Makarov.”

“Shit, Makarov..” Your fingers drifted along the table, the image of Price’s face upon looking at the man’s picture popping into your head. “And Shepherd?”

“As much as I’d like to go after him, the bastard’s untouchable right now.”

You nodded, figuring going after Shepherd would be a waste of time in this state. You’d need a whole lot of evidence to even begin to prove his guilt, and right now, you had none.

“You should get goin’, it’s bad to keep a geezer like him waiting.” Price’s voice rose to your ears, motioning a finger to your briefcase. “Room 24.”

“Thanks.”

Wood steadily creaked under your shoes as you set off in the direction Price had pointed to, briefcase wrapped tightly around your fingers. The hairs on your neck rose with each step down the hallway, forcing you to look down while fiddling with the keys in your other hand. No one had seen him for days beside the doctors, and not even they had permission to say anything regarding his condition.

The sound of the key turning in the doorknob made you step away, running a hand against the clammy skin on your face before placing it on the door.

A hushed creak followed your first step into the room, streaks of harsh light from the hallway clashing against the dim world inside. Your eyes fell into a squint at the loss of light from shutting the door, kicking your shoes off before taking a few steps forward. Seeing as there was nowhere else to go but the kitchen and bathroom, you peaked around the corner to what you presumed was the bedroom, gaze landing on a partially shadowed figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

The sound of the briefcase hitting the floor roused his attention, bringing his features to the light as you flicked the nightstand lamp on.

Part of you wished you hadn’t. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to leave the briefcase and go.

You bit back a grimace at the sight. Your eyes shut momentarily, blinking a few times, unsure then if you even be sure you were looking at Ghost. Throughout all the injuries, all the years, this was the worst you had seen him, less harsh on the eyes, almost.. small. His gaze mirrored that of a sick child, taking in the pure look of visual disgust reflecting your irises.

You weren’t really disgusted, but it sure looked that way.

“Just came to drop off your rifle.”

The words came out in a simple, quick murmur. You turned to leave, biting back a hitch of your breath at the hand clasping around your wrist.

Damn, he was fast.

Silence was quick to latch onto the atmosphere, dripping an uncomfortable buzz into the hand that held you. Your eyes glanced upward, taking in the sight of defiantly cold irises stricken with something.. unusual, the very sight itself turning discomfort to panic.

“Why?”

You blinked up at him, confusion evidently spreading across your features. That question could’ve meant anything, especially now, you’d done a lot of questionable things in the past few weeks. Whatever it was had his eyes shot open, looking like he was seeing a reflection of himself in the mirror.

And maybe he was. Maybe you being here wasn’t good for him.

“Why aren’t you angry?” He grabbed your shoulders, voice hoarse despite the lack of words spoken. “Why did you save me?”

The pure silence of the world around you gave way to a sliver of a crack in his voice at the dying syllables.

“It’s my fault Graves is dead.”

“No.” Your hands grasped at his forearms, feeling them shake through his jacket. “It was my choice.”

Your choice. You said you’d chosen him, and you did.

You’d never anticipated a happy ending after getting closure, but this — this wasn’t what you’d been anticipating. You never expected him to say thank you for saving his life, but you couldn’t wrap your head around why he was looking at you like you killed him.

“I betrayed Graves, and I killed him.” You continued. “Wanna take a good guess why?

Denial flashed through the whites of his eyes, causing him to let go of you, rubbing his hands across his mask.

“Don’t-“

Too late. You roughly snatched his arms, tearing them away from his face before sticking one of your fingers to rest against his throat.

“I did it because I fell in i-“

Your sentence molded into a mere mumble as his right hand cupped over your mouth, his posture gradually folding with each waking second.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

You could feel his hand jittering against your skin, giving away what his eyes tried desperately to hide. And you saw right through it, the anticipation stowed away deep beneath seas of lifeless umber, practically begging to break free. So you placed your hand over his, slowly prying your mouth free before folding your fingers against his.

“If that’s not what you want to hear, I won’t say it.”

When you break Ghost down, Simon Riley is an open book. Right now, his pages of vulnerability were on full display, allowing you to run a hand along his arm, stopping to squeeze at the shoulder. Upon hearing a quit hiss of pain push through his lips, you’d knew Simon Riley was fully yours.

“So, what do you want, Simon?”

A shuddered breath heeded your question, eyes screwing shut as you ran your fingers everywhere they’d go, stopping to rest at the hem of his sweatpants. When you shifted to move, his eyes shot open, grasping your arm to keep you there.

“You.” He breathed, drooping down to rest his forehead against yours. “Always wanted you, Cobra.”

Years of built up tension… insufferable hatred, snapped. Just like that.

Before you could continue to move, Simon broke out into a rather violent coughing fit, leading you to usher him to the edge of his bed. Your hand drifted down to his pants once more, lightly prodding at his clothed erection to alleviate the tension in his upper chest. Seeing as it worked, you pushed him further into the sheets before climbing up yourself, gently moving to straddle his thigh.

The groan he let out at the pressure almost roused a smirk from your end, yet you stuck to lightly dragging yourself against his leg. Your hand groped softly at his dick, watching as his gaze rose up to the ceiling.

“You like that, huh?”

A partially coherent “yes” made its way to your ears, the slight whimper in his tone causing you to bite back a moan. Your own arousal became evident in the partially damp feeling of your clit digging into the fabrics of his pants, the warmth of the skin under threatening to make you drool.

Short, quiet breaths filled the air as your hand worked on rubbing along the base of his clothed erection, earning a muffled noise of suppressed pleasure from him every time your fingers grazed over the right spot. You gnawed at your lips as one of his hands lifted up, loosely grasping your hair while you rocked back and forth on his thigh.

“You like this.”

He shrugged, spare hand moving to run along the hem of your pants, the press of his cool hands against your skin drawing a gasp from your lips.

“You do too.”

You watched as his eyes gradually darkened with each ministration, sweet moans melting into rough groans and curses. It was almost like a switch, how fast he could go from Simon Riley to Ghost. The pure sight of his now bored looking gaze instinctively made you dig your nails into his cock before the pleasure built up too much, eliciting a sharp breath from him in the process. At the same time, he twitched under your fingertips, hips subconsciously jutting into your hands, silently begging you to go faster.

And faster you went, scratching and squeezing coarse groans of pleasure from behind the mask. You got off at the same pace, letting out a low whine as your lower abdomen began to cloud with heat.

“That’s it, cum for me, lovie.” Ghost encouraged, lightly tugging on a handful of your hair. “I’ll be right after you.”

A gravely moan pushed its way out from the back of your throat as you came, completely soaking the fabric underneath you. True to his words, he was cumming just seconds later, a warm patch of seed turning the base of his crotch a deeper shade of grey.

You had no time to regain your breath, as Ghost was already pushing a hand into your pants, rudely shoving your underwear to the side before stroking his pointer finger down your folds. A deep inhale passed him at the feeling of your arousal coating his fingers, encouraging him to being an extra finger in to you with your clit.

“Soaking wet.”

Your eyes threatened to roll at the cocky gaze irises carried, clearly proud of the power he held over you. Yet, he clearly wasn’t over his own pleasure, as two of his fingers were quick to stuff themselves into your pussy, swirling around your walls as they began to pump into you.

“How does that feel?” He asked, dragging his fingers in and out of you, horribly, agonizingly slow. “Got something on your mind, don’t you?”

“Too slow.” You mumbled, fingers sinking into the cool fabric of his jacket at the complete stop of movement. “Don’t- tease me.”

A hum answered your commands, returning his fingers into your leaking pussy at a much faster pace. His fingers grew increasingly slick with each pump until he was practically nailing you, eyes glazing over with pleasure as your fingers delved under his hood, raking blazing lines over ice cold skin.

“Fuck-“ He groaned, head tilting to look up at you as his fingers relentlessly fucked your hole. “Cum again for me, dirty girl.”

Your legs clamped around his arms, crying out in pleasure as you gave into your second orgasm, coating his fingers in a generous amount of slick. Your teeth grit together as he swapped hands, pushing into you with his other set of fingers, raising the others up show you just how much you’d soaked him. Then, he beckoned your hand toward his mask, allowing you to expose his mouth as he slipped his fingers between his lips, tongue wrapping around the sickeningly sweet taste of you.

Those same fingers gently pushed into your mouth after he’d had his fill, making you lap up his saliva as his fingers swirled around the front of your throat. You bit down on your cheek as his fingers slipped out of your mouth and back into your pants, not bothering to hold your legs apart as he started to rub at your clit.

“Mmph, Ghost..” you sighed, hands running along the irritated expanse of his back. “You feel so good.”

“Taking my fingers so well.” He muttered, nipping at your neck through the mask. “Think you can take my cock?”

“You already know the answer to that- shit.”

Your eyes shut tight at the rush of another orgasm building up in you, waves of pleasure messily sloshing in their threats to spill again. Just as you’d thought you’d gotten used to it, Ghost roughly curled his fingers upward, snapping the dangerously thin thread sitting in your abdomen.

“FUCK!” You groaned, shuddering as Ghost fully pulled his fingers out of you, allowing yet another wave of your juices to pool against his pants.

The quiet drag of his sweatpants rustled in your ear, following your own pants being peeled off of your legs, and tossed behind on the floor. You watched as he dragged his boxers down, running a hand along his dick before taking hold of your shoulders and settling you against the pillows perched against the headboard.

And then he stopped. The flash of uncertainty in his eyes clear as the sunny skies of New England.

“Is this the last time I’ll see you?”

Your eyes parted at the sudden question, the burning desire of your answer present in his still, solid gaze. You glanced to the side, thinking about the mere handful of suitcases carrying your life’s worth sitting against your apartment door in Chicago, ready to go on your word. The decision was sure before you came here; leave the Task Force, rebuild your life brick by boring brick.

Yet, when you looked into the ever-longing window of vacance in Ghost — Simon Riley’s eyes, that thought went straight out the window.

However, there was no forgetting the terrors that seethed around him, igniting his very being in a fearful light. You knew it better than anyone else, and as long as you lived around him, you’d be plucking hopes off of a no leaf clover, trapped with the living, breathing nightmare that was Simon Riley.

“I don’t know.”

Maybe you liked the horror, the constant reminders of your failure to stay loyal settling in each crevice of your mind as you woke up covered in sweat, vocal chords arid from screaming.

And Ghost? Oh, he’d fallen deep into it with you now.

Some would’ve called it love.

Others called it getting by.

As much as he hated the uncertainty wavering in your answer, Ghost couldn’t bring himself to stop, stop touching you, stop looking at you. Each flutter of your sweat stained eyelashes made him want to scream, to cry and beg for you to stay with him until he was nothing but a forgotten pile of bones six feet under.

He buried those feelings deep inside your weeping pussy, bottoming out against your walls before dragging himself out, hissing at the way you sucked him in. Meanwhile, you were fighting back the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes as he relentlessly stretched open your overly sensitive walls, crying out at each full piston of his cock.

This was the misery, a feeling worse than any torture you’d ever endured. The absence of light in your fall from grace, leaving you a shell of the strong soldier you once were, a barely living, coldly breathing shadow. That shadow had spread to every part of you, poisoning your mind with acidic waves of remorse as you continued to be reminded of how you failed to save the man you loved. It was horrible, killing him with your own hands to cover up your failure to change.

You were horrible. And so was he.

Your body screamed at the sloppy thrusts of his cock, in, and out. Tears had long since began dragging down your face, painting the world in a static haze as you threw your head back, crying out at the painfully pleasant drags of his dick, carelessly abusing your pussy.

Maybe horrible wasn’t so bad, anymore. As long as it came with the face of bone white splattered on aged black, and the cold, broken soul that stared at you from behind it.

What felt like your twentieth orgasm hit you with crippling force, starving the air from your lungs as you screamed in grim bliss. Ghost continued to hammer into your sweet spot, chasing his own high and coaxing you back into yours just as fast. What was once slightly ragged breathing had bred animalistic pants, following a bruising grip of his hands on your thighs to keep you steady.

“If you leave.” He spit out, groaning at the sudden clench of your walls around him. “Promise me something.”

You feverishly nodded, pitifully clawing at the abuses of your nails on his back as his pace picked up. A strangled moan spilled from his lips as he painted your insides white, soothing the scorching burn with thick ropes of his seed.

The pull out was gentle, leaving you devoid of him yet so full as he lifted a hand, brushing stray strands of hair away from your eyes.

“Promise you won’t forget me, sweetheart.”

The request pooled out soft, a mere rumble finding it’s way pushed out of strained vocal chords. You thought it was the most beautiful thing — his voice, his body, everything about him seemed like a gift from heaven itself in your infernal world. And even though most of his body was covered, your eyes still fell victim to the mesmerizing sight of the glistening smudges of aged paint, glazed over with a heavy coat of sweat.

He’d never looked so bewitching. The sight alone enough to hound each waking memory and follow you until your last breath. And as long as you breathed, you would hold it with you like a fleeting spark of bliss.

“Promise me.”

His voice rang out again, practically begging for you to say something, anything. You looked at his eyes, taking the barren, so lifeless yet lively plain of his gaze, reflecting the sight of a breezy, cloudless day.

“I promise.”

If crossing empty skies was all this pitiful life had left for you, you would do it over, and over again, and never look back.

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw22 #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley fanfic

2K notes · View notes

fallingblueroses · 3 months

Text

Another first draft from "For Clan and Kin". This one is the original end fight between Geoff and Ir'sia. Fair warning: There is shooting in this one so if guns squick you out you might want to skip this.

***

Cesar woke up from his light doze as Geoff stopped the van. When he looked out the window he saw they were in a wooded area. A bit ahead a gravel road went off to his right, quickly lost in the trees. "...Where are we?"

Geoff undid his seatbelt. "The warehouse is at the end of that driveway. Stay here."

"What? No. I'm going with you. You might need help."

His face was stern as he looked at Cesar. "You stay here until I call you to come get the others. If I say to get out of here, start driving and don't stop until you're back in Orlando." A pause. "Get your phone out. Set the timer for an hour. If you don't hear from me before the alarm goes off, assume we're all dead and get out."

Cesar stared, but he knew Geoff was being very serious. "All right."

Geoff's face softened, and he put a hand on the back of Cesar's neck and brought their foreheads together. "Be well, young one." Then he got out of the van and disappeared into the trees, moving with the same speed he'd shown in the alley.

Cesar set the timer on his phone as Geoff had said, then tried to settle down to wait. His nerves were at fever pitch, and the sheer quiet didn't help. He couldn't help but think that they had been tricked, and every little noise was going to turn out to be a band of kidnappers.

He tried to watch the numbers tick down for a while, but finally just closed his eyes and prayed to whoever would listen. Let them come back. Please, just let them come out of there alive.

"In one piece" felt like too much to ask.

***

Geoff moved as quickly and quietly as he could while keeping the gravel path a few yards away on his left. He still had the scent of Cesar's fear in his nostrils, but it wasn't enough to cover the scents coming to him from the trees. His heart pounded in his ears, and every muscle in his body was tense the way they had been when he was a young human man and waiting for a battle to begin, be that battle against man or beast.

Eventually the old warehouse came into view. Geoff stopped before entering the clearing to get a good look at what was ahead of him. A young man with a rifle slung over his shoulder was leaning against the long side of the warehouse between two closed garage doors, looking down the gravel path. He circled the warehouse carefully, noting the set of double doors on the short wall to the right of the garage doors, but no doors on the other two sides. No windows, just ventilation fans on the short side opposite the double doors. No other guards.

He smiled grimly as he stopped, still hidden in the trees but now to the guard's right. They, at least the humans, were apparently expecting him to just waltz down the driveway into their trap. Sorry to disappoint. He glanced up into the trees over his head. Guess it's time to make some noise. He climbed a nearby tree and grabbed a large branch, then bent it with all his might until it snapped.

The guard whipped around and brought the rifle to bear. Geoff went as silent as possible as the guard tried to peer into the woods, but tried to work on the guard's mind. Come and see. You're armed. Probably just some animal anyway. He released a breath of relief when the guard began to walk slowly toward him, gun at the ready. The man kept looking ahead and to left and right, but never thought to look up.

Geoff held his breath until the guard had walked a couple of paces past his tree, then pounced. He landed on the guard's back and drove him down to the ground, trapping the rifle under them. He clamped a hand over the other man's mouth and hissed into his ear. "Sorry."

The guard gave a strangled cry as Geoff's fangs sank into his neck. He drank quickly, not taking the time to savor the blood, wanting only to increase his own strength before he confronted Ir'sia. While he drank he took the time to look into the guard's mind to see what was going on inside of the warehouse. Two more armed guards besides the old preacher and Ir'sia. His clan still caged but otherwise unharmed. He wasn't too worried about the old preacher, but he needed to deal with the other guards.

It didn't take long for the guard's struggles to weaken and stop. Geoff continued drinking as the man's heart sped up and then slowed down, fluttered, and stopped. He climbed off the man, then shoved him over onto his back and retrieved the rifle. The blood he'd drank was already sharpening his senses as he looked over the weapon.

He had to lure the other two out into the open, or at least one of them. After a bit of thought he positioned himself in line with the double doors and fired two quick shots into the air, paused, and fired a third. As he'd hoped one of the double doors opened and one of the men came out, weapon ready. Geoff waited for a few seconds, but the other didn't appear. He waited for the man to walk away from the doors, then took aim and fired a round into the man's skull, dropping him, before taking cover behind a tree.

One left. Now what?

"Castellucci!" A young male voice--the remaining guard--screamed from inside the warehouse door. "We've still got your friends in here! Show yourself you son of a bitch, or we start putting holes in them, starting with your whore!"

Geoff growled to himself. You really shouldn't have said that. He was about to count on his speed and rush in, but then had a thought. He let fear come into his voice. "Don't hurt them! I'm coming!"

"Hands in the air!"

He dropped the rifle and held his hands beside his head as he walked to the warehouse. He stepped over the man he'd shot as he walked inside. The smell of his clan's collective fear was sour in his nostrils, but he kept his eyes on the enemy. The old man was looking at Geoff with excitement, and the guard kept his weapon pointed at Geoff's head.

Ir'sia came up to him. "You've done well, dear Av'osk. But it is time to stop fighting." She brushed some hair out of his eyes. "I can feel your exhaustion."

He began to drop his hands, but the sweating guard motioned with his rifle and he raised them again. "...I am tired." If he could lull her into false security, it might give him an opening.

"I know. You've been struggling so long." She stroked his cheek, and he had to fight not to pull away. "I felt your despair earlier. The fight between what you are and what you long to be. The grief for what you lost."

"What you took from me." He could feel the spell she was trying to weave on him, and looked toward the cage. "What you're threatening to take now."

"It doesn't have to end in blood, Av'osk." Her green eyes glittered. "Come with me and I will release your clan."

Peace and relief from the spell washed over him, and he allowed his eyes to close and his head and hands to drop. She kept talking as her hands drifted to his shoulders. "That's all I ask. Come with me. Your clan will be set free, unharmed."

"That includes Kathy."

Ir'sia's spell wavered along with her voice. "Her?"

He half-opened his eyes. "My clan includes Kathy. They all go free, or no deal."

Ir'sia frowned, bur slowly nodded. "Yes, if it means so much to you, she goes free as well."

He nodded and made his voice soft. "Then I'll go."

"No!" Kathy screamed. "Geoff, don't listen to her! Think of William! He needs his father!"

"You can't trust her!" Eli yelled.

Ir'sia turned to scream at them, and that was all the opening Geoff needed. He spun on his heels and snapped the old man's neck before turning to the guard. The guard was still re-aiming his weapon when Geoff snatched the rifle from his hands and drove the barrel through his chest, just below the breastbone, with enough force to push through and out his back.

It took less than five seconds, but Ir'sia was just as quick. Geoff turned to face Ir'sia just in time for her feet to slam into his chest and knock him onto his back.

"Very good. Your clan was geniunely worried," Ir'sia laughed. Geoff got to his feet and faced her as he breathed through the pain in his chest. Her voice and face softened. "So strong still. But you know you can't win this."

"I'd better." He lunged, preparing to plant his fist in her mouth.

She caught his hand in an iron grip, then caught his other hand as he tried to throw another punch. She dropped down onto her back, pulling Geoff off balance. He fell forward as she brought her legs up, caught his stomach and launched him over her head, and he hit the concrete floor hard.

He got to his feet and faced her again. His clan was behind her, huddled in their cage, with Layne and Eli in front of Kathy and William protectively, all four looking at him with fear and worry. He tried to send them silent reassurance as he faced Ir'sia again. "You couldn't find another man in all that time?"

"None as strong and beautiful as you." Ir'sia gave him a smile that might have melted another man's heart as she approached him. He steeled himself as she placed a hand on his chest. "It's time to stop fighting, Av'osk. I can feel your exhaustion. Geoff Castellucci's life is near its end. How much longer does he have to live? Ten years? Fifteen?" She leaned in as if for a kiss. "Let him die now."

"I'll decide when he dies." He punched her in the stomach, and then in the face. She stumbled backwards, but recovered quickly and slashed at his throat with her nails before he could jump back. He heard Kathy scream as his blood spurted into the air.

Ir'sia jumped back and licked her nails. "Your blood is still as sweet as it was all those years ago.

"Enjoy it," he snarled, hand to his throat. He could feel that one of the carotid arteries had been nicked, but fortunately the wound was small. "It's the last taste you'll get."

"We'll see." She came at him again.

***

Cesar's heart jumped into his throat as he heard the shots, and the quiet afterwards did nothing to calm him. He glanced down at the timer on his phone--just under half an hour left. A few more minutes passed as he tried to gather his thoughts. He finally gave up, started the van, and began to drive down the gravel road.

Stupid. You're going to get yourself killed. But he couldn't just sit there anymore. His friends needed him. He tried not to think about what those shots could have meant.

When he got to the warehouse he stopped the van and got out. His eyes fell on the body by the door and widened. Not Geoff...not any of the others...that's a good sign at least. But Geoff hadn't called him, so it wasn't over. He picked up the rifle from beside the dead body--yeah, sure, like I know how to use this--and stepped through the door.

He stopped, his mouth hanging open. A body twitching in a pool of blood, a rifle like his own through the chest, another body nearby with the head twisted backwards. His friends in a dog cage. And Geoff fighting with a woman, both of them moving with that unhuman speed. Cesar instinctively brought the rifle up and aimed, but they were moving too fast. He couldn't shoot the woman without risking hitting Geoff.

"Cesar!" He turned at the sound of Eli's voice. "Get the keys!" Eli pointed toward the bodies. "The old man had them!"

"Right!" Cesar swallowed to steel his nerves as he went to the body of the old man and began to search. He pointedly avoided looking at the man's head as he dug through pockets.

The sound of breaking bone and Geoff's scream of pain made Cesar's head jerk up. He looked in horror as Geoff fell to his knees, his back to Cesar, his left leg bent at the knee at an impossible angle, his hands threaded with the woman's. She bared fangs similar to Geoff's and went for his throat, and Geoff was forced to defend himself with his own teeth. Cesar brought the rifle up again, but they were still just moving too fast.

"Cesar!" Eli yelled.

He shook his head. "I can't get a shot!"

"The keys!" Layne and Kathy yelled with Eli.

"Uh, right!" Cesar went back to his search and breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled a set of keys out of a pocket. Without thinking he dropped the rifle as he rushed over to the cage. There was a brand name on the lock, and Cesar searched through the keys for the name. Got it. He put the key into the lock--

A hand clamped onto his wrist and he looked up to see the blond woman Geoff had been fighting. "No, you don't, young one. I don't want any more players in this game." She squeezed his wrist, and Cesar whimpered as pain went up his arm. He was forced backward as she stepped forward. "This is just between me and Av'osk."

"His name is Geoff," Kathy snapped.

The woman kept her grip on Cesar's wrist as she turned her head to glare at Kathy. "He was my Av'osk long before he became your Geoff."

Geoff screamed. "My name is Sik'thir!" All eyes turned to him and even though Geoff was on hands and knees, Cesar quailed at the sheer rage he saw from his friend. "I am Sik'thir, leader of my clan, son of Sik'thoth, husband of Sil'ar, father to two sons and a daughter!" He slipped into another language then, and his voice rose until Cesar wished he could have covered his ears along with Layne and Eli. Kathy stared at her husband in horror, and the woman merely smirked at her.

Geoff hung his head and made a visible effort to collect himself. His fangs were bared and his face twisted in pure rage as he straightened up, but at least this time he used English. "Let go of him. As you said, this is between us."

"As you wish." She shoved Cesar backwards hard enough to knock him off his feet and jumped at Geoff again. Cesar scrambled to his knees and crawled to the lock as the fight resumed.

***

Geoff wasn't sure how long Cesar had been there--surely the hour wasn't up yet--but was glad for the distraction and the chance to recollect himself. He glanced down at his leg, twisted and useless from the kick Ir'sia had landed to his knee. It would heal, but it would take time he didn't have right now. He had to think of something, and fast. His eyes quickly scanned the room and landed on a breaker box on the wall nearest to him. An idea came to him.

He looked toward Ir'sia as he got to his hands and remaining knee and saw her holding Cesar but speaking to Kathy. "He was my Av'osk long before he became your Geoff."

Rage overtook him, and he found himself screaming. "My name is Sik'thir!" His eyes locked with Ir'sia's. "I am Sik'thir, leader of my clan, son of Sik'thoth, husband of Sil'ar, father to two sons and a daughter!" He slipped into his native tongue without realizing it. "And I am a slave to no one! Do you hear me?!"

He saw Ir'sia turn and smirk at Kathy, and his friends holding their ears from the force of his scream. He lowered his head and took a breath before rising to his knees. Don't lose it now. "Let go of him. As you said, this is between us."

She turned to him and smirked. "As you wish." She pounced, but he was ready, and he caught her and lifted her above his head. Her momentum bent him backwards, but that only helped to bring the full power of his back and arms into play as he hurled her into the breaker box. It was a direct hit, and Ir'sia screamed as the electricity coursed through her. The lights dimmed as sparks flew.

"Cesar, get them out of here. She won't stay down for long." He began to crawl toward the breaker box as Ir'sia fell to the floor. He had to stay between her and his clan until they got out.

Ir'sia raised herself on her elbows, and Geoff saw the green flash of her eyes as she looked at him, then his clan. She leapt toward them, but the shock slowed her enough that Geoff managed to grab her around the waist and throw her to the floor. He pinned her down with his body, and put all of his strength into his right arm as he punched her in the mouth. The sound of her jaw breaking with the force of his blow was one of the sweetest sounds he'd heard for quite a while.

Her hands flailed at him, but he grabbed them and pinned them down to the floor. Their eyes met for a moment before he leaned down and sank his teeth into her neck. Her blood spurted into his mouth and her teeth scratched at his neck, but with her broken jaw she couldn't get a proper hold.

Even then her mocking voice rang in his mind. Yes, Av'osk. Show them your true nature. She spoke in English, and he realized she was speaking to his clan as well. They'll remember this day. Their concern for you will turn to fear of you, and fear will turn to hate. They'll drive you away, and you'll be alone.

So be it, he responded as he gulped down her blood. I'm well used to being alone. But you won't harm them again. Or anyone else.

She began to laugh through her mangled mouth. You've never been alone, my love. I've always been there. Even in death I'll always be with you. Her laughter faded as she began to lose consciousness. My beautiful Av'osk. They'll abandon you, and you'll join me soon. I'll be waiting.

He screamed as he lifted himself up to a kneeling position. "I. Am. Not. Yours!" He grabbed her head and twisted hard to break her neck, then pulled until the flesh tore. He held her face up to his and roared. "Do you hear me! I am not yours!" He slammed her head into the floor with all his strength, then picked it up and did it again, over and over. "I never was, and never will be!"

He could hear yelling, but his rage was burning him, consuming him from the inside out. He wasn't conscious of his surroundings anymore, only of the body beneath him and a desperate need to make sure it was dead. He flung the shattered head away from him and dug his fingers into Ir'sia's torso. Her ribs splintered as he pulled them apart and reached into her chest to find her heart. The organ pulled loose easily and he crushed it in his hands--

Hands grabbed his face. He looked up, fangs bared, ready to fight this new threat--until a hand cracked across his face. The shock brought him to a halt, and then he saw who he was looking at. "...Kathy."

Kathy nodded. "It's me, Geoff. It's us." The world slowly solidified around him, and he saw the rest of his clan a bit away, his son in Cesar's arms. "It's over," Kathy said soothingly. "She's dead. It's over."

Over. He gasped for breath as the adreneline poured out of his veins and reaction took over. Kathy held him and kissed his forehead as he began to tremble. "Shh. It's okay. You're okay. We're okay. You did it, you saved us. Come on. Let's go home."

Home. Her words truly hit him then. The enemy was dead. His clan was alive, safe...The trembling got worse as red tears began to flow. Kathy shushed him and wiped at his cheek, apparently not minding the blood. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

He tried to get up, but the pain in his knee stopped him. "I can't walk yet." He barely recognized his own voice.

Kathy waved the others over. Layne got on Geoff's left side and pulled his arm over his shoulders. "Eli, you hold him up on his other side. Easy, Geoff. We've got you."

Eli looked down at Geoff's legs as he got into position and helped lift him up. "Damn...we got to get you to a hospital."

"No," Geoff said as he got his balance between them. "I just need time to heal."

"Come on," Layne said. "Let's get out of here." He and Eli began to help Geoff walk toward the door.

#fan fiction #fanfic #geoff castellucci #layne stein #cesar de la rosa #eli jacobson #voiceplay #fight scene #ao3 fanfic

4 notes · View notes

polygonal-trees · 2 years

Text

Human Hospitality

Summary: Dot and Megatron's friendship begins with a bucket of cold water in a dusty old warehouse. Hurt/comfort because I am physically incapable of writing anything else :')

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Also on AO3

Dot drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the tow tractor made its slow, trundling way through the military base. Strapped on tight to the trailer behind her was a led-lined crate, stamped in bold red with 'caution: hazardous material'. Inside was a small stack of energon cubes.

Outside, in the loneliest corner of the base, well away from her colleagues and superiors, Dot rolled her eyes and sighed.

Her mod didn’t improve when she finally reached the warehouse. It was the oldest on site and barely up to code, more a place to shove random junk than a proper storage facility. Dot hopped out of the tractor cab, hauled the doors open with a squeal of rusty hinges, and grimaced at the feeling of hot, stagnant air that rolled over her like a wave. The windows were clearly too small to do much good without proper electric ventilation, and there didn't seem to be so much as a battery powered desk fan. Sweat broke out on Dot's upper lip as she got back inside the tractor and continued inside, deciding not to close the doors behind her.

Around the corner of a few hastily stacked crates, the warehouse opened up. All the junk had been pushed to the sides to make room for a barren desert of scuffed grey concrete, and in the middle lay the base’s guest of honour: Megatron himself.

He was curled up on his side, one arm pillowing his head and the other tucked close to his chest. Dot could hear the thrum of his enormous engine above that of the tractor's, but it was subdued, almost quiet. He stirred as she approached, opening his enormous eyes to scowl with displeasure. They seemed dimmer than usual, the red less piercing. But most tellingly of all, he'd taken his helmet off. Dot could see a row of ridges encircling the top of his head.

To anyone on base who'd been wondering if transformers could get sick, they had their answer. Just like every other living thing – and every other computer, for that matter – they weren't immune to viruses, and this one had knocked the mighty Megatron flat on his big grey metal ass.

“Oh,” Megatron grunted, a faint static crackle in his voice, “it’s one of you.”

“Nice to see you too,” Dot said dryly.

Dot pulled up in front of him and cut the tractor's engine, slowly squeezing the steering wheel for a moment as she watched the giant in front of her. Dot may have been one of the few humans who worked closely with transformers, but that didn't mean they were her friends. In fact she'd only spoken to Megatron a handful of times, and he’d always struck Dot as arrogant, aloof, and several other words she was trying to phase out of her vocabulary for the sake of her son. It didn’t matter if he was technically on her side, being alone with him always made Dot feel a little… tense.

Steeling herself, Dot left the relatively safety of the tractor cab and unhitched the trailer.

"Lunch time," she said lamely, knocking on the top of the crate.

Megatron shifted a little, visibly unimpressed. "And here I thought it might be something useful," he grumbled. “Like a patch for this fragging headache.”

“If you’d rather starve I can arrange that,” Dot bit back.

The corner of Megatron’s mouth twitched, fighting either a smile or a snarl.

“Now I remember,” Megatron purred. “You’re the feisty one.”

Dot bristled. “I’m the one who gets the job done,” she said coldly. “And I’ll have you know I’m the third highest ranking officer on his site,” Dot snapped. And I should be the first, she thought bitterly.

That did earn her a smile – or rather a sneer. Too many of those not-quite-teeth.

“Oh of course, that’s why you’re here running errands instead of something more worthwhile. Why don’t you cure this virus as well if you’re so competent?”

That struck a nerve. Worse, Dot couldn’t think of an immediate counter that didn’t sound like an excuse, and she could tell by the growing smirk on Megatron’s face that she’d already run out of time.

Megatron watched her flounder and chuckled, but it wasn’t a nice sound. Too much like metal going through a shredder.

“My boss is a jerk,” Dot said finally, looking away. “I had one kid and now he’s decided I’m not good for anything else.”

“You… what?”

Dot looked back at Megatron. He was still scowling, but he looked puzzled. Something about what she’d said seemed to have genuinely thrown him.

“I took time off to make another, smaller human,” said Dot, not in the mood for an impromptu class on human biology.

Megatron’s frown faded. “You’re a blacksmith?”

Dot shrugged helplessly. “Sure, if that’s what you guys call it.”

“Oh.” Megatron didn’t seem to have a comeback. He looked at Dot with the most honest, open expression she’d ever seen on him before. “I haven’t met a blacksmith in over four million years,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Then his eyes hardened.

“You’ve done your job,” he grunted, sounding more tired than angry, “now leave me in peace.”

Dot hesitated. When she’d agreed, reluctantly, to do the job, she had fully intended on being in and out as quickly as possible. She’d only ever thought of Megatron as a dangerous, violent, pain in the ass, but… she’d seen that hint of softness now.

Megatron's engine kicked into a low, rumbling growl. It would've been a lot more intimidating if he'd been sitting up and towering over her, but he seemed reluctant to move. Against her better judgement, Dot felt a pang of sympathy. If her allies made her wait out the flu in an old closet, well… she wouldn’t be happy either.

Dot looked Megatron over with an assessing gaze. He seemed cold, but the air above his head shimmered faintly, like the freeway in summer – was it the same as when malware made a computer overheat? That must be uncomfortable. He looked uncomfortable, lying on bare concrete without even a blanket or a pillow. Dot knew transformers didn't need the same cushy comforts as humans but this still seemed like a less-than-ideal set up for rest and recovery. Hadn’t the Autobots considered that?

To be honest, Dot didn’t think the Autobots had considered much at all. When the higher-ups had asked why they needed to quarantine the giant alien robot and not the giant alien robots themselves, the answer they'd got back sounded hollow and flimsy to Dot. Something about differently coded immune systems – an annoyance for Decepticons could be lethal to Autobots and vice versa. Smelled like bullcrap to Dot, but she didn't have the medical, engineering, or computer science degree to prove it.

Dot waited another second before taking a slow step forward, aware of the hands that could reduce her to paste, but trusting that they wouldn’t. Megatron watched, guarded but curious, as if wondering what this ‘feisty’ human would do next.

Dot still wasn't sold on ‘good guy’ Megatron. She didn't see how anyone who'd waged war for so long could make such a change. But at the same time… Dot understood the desire to do the right thing, even if it wasn't easy.

Besides, he looked so put out and pathetic it was honestly a bit uncomfortable.

“How do you feel?” she asked, softening her voice.

Megatron rolled his eyes and huffed. "Oh, I feel sublime," he grumbled. "My central processor's overheating, my core temperature dropped to prevent my helm from melting, and I'm trapped in his dust box because the Autobot medic didn't think to make compatible anti-viral software. Everything aches. This is exactly what I had in mind when I negotiated the ceasefire."

Dot inched a little closer. "Can I do anything to help?"

"No," Megatron snapped.

Dot threw her hands up in exasperation. "Men!" she exclaimed, tenderness forgotten. "I swear, you're the same in every species – complain all you like, but as soon as someone tries to make it better, you're back at it with the tough guy routine." She cocked her hip, folded her arms, and hit Megatron with her best Mom Stare. It was still a work in progress, but he didn't need to know that.

"Do you need anything?" she asked firmly.

Megatron stared.

Dot stared back.

Megatron kept staring.

Dot stared harder.

Megatron was the first to look away.

"A cold compress would be nice," he mumbled.

Dot fought a smug smile. "I'll see what I can do," she said, getting back in the tractor. "Try to eat while I'm gone, ok? At least half a cube."

Obviously the base didn’t have a transformer-sized compress, but she got a clean sponge, a bucket of fresh water, and a few cups of ice from the staff lounge.

She returned to the warehouse to find Megatron propped up on one elbow, idly swirling half a cube of energon around with his other hand. He had the presence of mind to toss back the rest before Dot could get too close, muttering something disparaging about 'medgrade'. He eyed the bucket with distaste as Dot got out of the tractor, but he must have been feeling worse than he’d let on because he lay down again without complaint.

"Sorry I can’t give you the five star experience," Dot said anyway.

"As if I'd expect more from a human," Megatron grumbled.

"You're lucky you're under the weather, big guy,” Dot muttered under her breath, soaking the sponge and squeezing it out.

She hesitated a moment. She hadn't fully realised just how close she'd be getting to Megatron's face. Never one to back down, however, Dot pressed the sponge gently to the heated metal forehead, watching faint trails of steam evaporate.

It hit her suddenly how familiar the motion was. Robby had come down with a bug only a few days before Dot was due to go back to work, and she'd stubbornly extended her leave because of it. Maybe that was why she'd been shunted aside, but she'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Megatron closed his eyes and sighed, great metal body relaxing with a hydraulic hiss.

"Higher," he mumbled, ever demanding. Dot rolled her eyes and did as he said, re-wetting the sponge and moving it to the edge of the ridges. They shuddered faintly, Megatron's breathing hitched, and then they slowly unfurled with gentle clicks and creaks. Tall metal panels, tapered like petals on a flower. They looked… not rusty, but lined. As though they'd been folded for a long time.

"Thank you," Megatron breathed, so softly Dot barely heard him.

"Don't mention it, Megs," she said, "just get well soon."

#transformers earthspark #earthspark #transformers fanfiction #maccadam #my writing

56 notes · View notes

aquietwritingcorner · 11 months

Text

I've Got a Head Full of Chemicals; Mouth Full of Ridicule

Title: I’ve Got a Head Full of Chemicals; Mouth Full of Ridicule Day: Whumptober 2023, Day 24 Prompt: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule” Goodbye Note/Neglect/ “I thought they were with you” Fandom: TMNT 2012 Word Count: 7053 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Splinter Warning: suicide (But not really. Just some assumptions made), drugging (accidental) Summary: Donnie is more than excited to examine a new chemical that they stole from the Kraang. But when his ventilation system fails without him noticing, the chemicals mess with his mind. Now missing and having left behind worrying and concerning notes, his family races to find Donnie—and to cope with some realizations about their resident genius Notes: Wow I hope this doesn’t come off as too much of a “poor 12 Donnie” fic and more of a reasonable route. This one got away from me boys, I’ll admit that much! AO3 || ff.net

__________________________________

I’ve Got a Head Full of Chemicals; Mouth Full of Ridicule

“Where is he!”

“I don’t know!”

“How did he leave!”

“I don’t know!”

“Why didn’t anyone see him leave!”

“I thought he was with you!”

Mikey watched from the couch as his older brothers yelled at each other as they tore apart the lair, looking for Donatello. He’d been super excited about some new chemical or something that they’d found on a raid of a Kraang warehouse and had practically locked himself into his lab, giddy. That hadn’t been anything too unusual, but after three days of not seeing his brother, Mikey had gone to check on him.

He hadn’t expected to find a lab full of fumes, scattered scribblings on the walls, and papers and books scattered everywhere. The fumes had been enough to send him reeling, and Leo and Raph had pulled him out of there, depositing them on the couch before the dove back in to find Donnie. Mikey had dizzily watched, his father by his side as they stood ready to help.

Raph and Leo had emerged without Donnie, although they had turned on the fans that Donnie kept in there. It had become obvious, though, that the fans were part of the problem. Instead of sending the fumes out, it was like they just stirred them around. Mike had watched as the rest of his family had quickly closed the lab door, before getting some other fans and using them to clear out the fumes. Then they had started looking for Donnie.

That had been an hour ago, and the fumes were pretty much gone at this point. A little bit lingered, but Mikey, no longer dizzy, figured it was safe enough to go in. After all, no one was having luck finding him in the lair or the sewers. April and Casey were looking for him topside, and Karai was keeping an eye out, but so far there had been no sign of him. Mikey figured that there might be some clues in the lab itself.

“I’m going to check the lab,” Mikey said, sitting up and, interrupting his brothers.

“Are you sure you feel good enough for that?” Leo asked.

“Don’s not in there,” Raph said flatly. “We’ve already looked.”

Mikey looked at his brothers, more than a little irritated at them. “I know Donnie’s not in there,” he said, “but maybe there are some clues in all of the writing and stuff. And my head feels fine.”

Well, maybe his head didn’t feel fine, but it felt good enough, and Mikey had a feeling that there was something important in those notes.

“Just come right out if you start feeling bad,” Leo said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mikey said, heading for the lab doors.

The faint smell of the chemical that had filled the lab lingered in the air, but it wasn’t enough to bother Mikey as he stepped further into the lab. It was more of a mess than he thought it had been, with papers everywhere and what looked like marker or grease pencil or something on the walls, the floors, the tables.

Mikey stared at the sloppy and hastily written words on the walls, decorating them along with equations of formulas Mikey couldn’t make sense of: faster, more, again, over, I can’t, work harder, no time, it doesn’t exists, keep pushing, make it happen, fool, idiot, not good enough, ugly, mutant. The words stretched over things, and Mikey’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like the way those words were here. Something about them struck Mikey as wrong, deeply wrong, and they made him uneasy.

The papers, notebooks, and books scattered everywhere made him uneasy, too. Some of the papers Mikey recognized as schematics and theories of Donnie’s although there were scribbles on some of them that didn’t look like his usual notes. Other papers he didn’t recognize at a glance, but he knew that it was Donnie’s handwriting. The books Mikey had seen on Donnie’s shelves before and had even flipped through a few. Some of the notebooks looked familiar, but there were some brown bound ones that Mikey couldn’t recall having seen before. It looked like Donnie had torn pages out of them, and Mikey wondered why.

He bent down, starting to pick up the papers and notebooks, stacking the books neatly. He scanned the writing as he tried to sort the other items for Donnie and look for clues. After a few papers and at part of one journal, though, Mikey ditched that idea, frantically searching through the papers for certain ones. He scanned them, reading them rapidly, and feeling his panic increase as he did. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He gathered as many of them to himself as he could and yelled for his family.

“Sensei!” he cried out. “Raph! Leo!”

He heard their footsteps approaching, practically running as they came to the lab.

“Mikey?”

“Michelangelo?”

“Mike?”

Mikey whirled on them, his arms full of papers and journals, and his face full of distress. “Read them!” he said, thrusting it all towards his family.

“Mikey, what—” Raph started.

“Read! Them!” Mikey insisted. “Read them now!”

Raph and Leo exchanged a look, but Splinter reached out for one of the papers, silently reading it. Distress bloomed on his face, and at that, Raph and Leo exchanged a look. They reached out and grabbed some of the papers from Mikey’s arms as well, reading them over. Almost immediately emotion bloomed on their faces too. Shock, confusion, distress, anger, it was all there. Mikey all but shoved the journal into Leo’s hands, and dropped to the floor, continuing his look through the papers.

“This… this can’t be right,” Raph said, looking up from his bundle of papers. “He—he can’t really think that—”

“Whether he really thinks it or not, he’s thinking it now,” Leo said, staring at the paper in his hand.

“We must find him,” Splinter said firmly. “If not then I fear what these thoughts might lead him too.”

Mikey suddenly made a noise that they’d never heard him make before, and their attention switched to him. Panicked and tearing up, Mikey shoved a piece of paper into Splinter’s hands, before turning to cling to his brothers. They held him, confused as they watched Splinter read the paper.

Splinter sucked in a breath, and paled.

“Sensei?” Leo asked.

“What does it say?” Raph demanded.

“It says—” Splinter’s voice trembled. “It says ‘Maybe someone will find this. Maybe not. Does it matter? I don’t know why I exist. I shouldn’t exist. I don’t know why I’m here. I can’t do what’s needed. I can’t save anyone. I can’t help anyone. I can’t fix things. Anything I do, someone else could have done. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. I have instructions for everything ready. You will be able to go on without me, if I’m not here. I shouldn’t be here. I hope you loved me as much as I love you. Goodbye. I need to move on.’ And… and that is where it ends.”

Leo and Raph stared at Splinter in horror as Mike sobbed on them.

“Is… is he…” Raph said.

“We must find Donatello,” Splinter said, clutching the piece of paper in his hand. “Now!”

Mikey sniffed and pulled himself back together. “I’ll—I’ll call April and Casey,” he said, pulling out his t-phone.

“I’ll call the Mutanimals. Maybe Rockwell can find him,” Raph said.

“I’ll call Karai and Shinigami,” Leo said. “We have to find him. Before it’s too late.”

Donnie stumbled through sewers. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew that he needed to leave. He winced as his head pulsed again, and he shook it. When had he eaten last? When had he had anything to drink?

…When had anyone bothered to check on him?

Maybe it wasn’t important for them to remind him to eat and drink. After all, if he was already not a good enough ninja when he did remember to eat and drink, then why waste food on him? Food was hard to get anyway, right? And… and didn’t animals sometimes push out the weak ones? Yeah, they did. He was just taking himself out of the equation before they could. Yeah, that made sense.

But where was he going to go? Donnie wasn’t sure, but this way seemed right.

He stumbled on, his head still hurting, and scratching at his itching, itching skin.

Raph had gone to the Mutanimals with a sample of the chemical Donnie had been working with. Rockwell had taken it and started analyzing it immediately. Now, a day later, he had contacted them, wanting to come to their home to get samples from all of them and explain what he had learned.

“It is a power chemical, one with psychotropic effects,” Rockwell explained. “I don’t think that is the main purpose of it, but it is one of the side effects that can happen if someone is exposed to it for too long or in intense doses.”

“What happens when that happens?” Leo asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to determine. However, I think that it will affect different species differently. The intensity and type of effects would be different in a human than, say, in a mutant turtle. If this has affected Donatello’s mind, then I would like to work on an antidote. To do that, I’ll need blood samples from all of you.” Rockwell opened a sample case and pulled out a syringe.

“Wait—why can’t you just get a sample from Sp—Slash?” Raph asked. “He’s a turtle too!”

“Yes, but he mutated from mutant turtle DNA. You and your brothers, however, mutated from human DNA. While Slash will have some of that, I would prefer to have something far more similar.” He held up the syringe again. “Now, who’s first?”

The three brothers looked at Splinter, and Splinter nodded. Leo stepped forward first, offering Rockwell his arm.

“You said that this chemical might affect different species differently,” Splinter said to Rockwell. “Do you know what those effects might be?”

“Not precisely,” Rockwell said. “I have theories, but without something to test them on, I can only make guesses as to the state of mind it might have put Donatello into.” He glanced at them. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said.

“Bro. Can’t you just, like, read our minds and find out?” Mikey asked as Rockwell drew blood from him.

“Yes,” Rockwell said, “but out of respect for your Sensei, I refrain from that around him.” Rockwell moved on to Raph. “Now what aren’t you telling me?”

None of the brothers said anything but looked to Splinter instead. Splinter took a breath. “We know how this is affecting him. Negatively. Come.”

Splinter led the way to the lab, Rockwell following as soon as he finished drawing Raph’s blood. Splinter opened the lab, and Rockwell moved inside.

“Oh,” he said, looking at the scribblings on the wall. “Negatively. Yes, I see.”

“And… this,” Splinter said, handing Rockwell the note that they had laid on the table.

Rockwell grew grim. “We will do all we can to find him, and find him soon,” he said. “I promise you.”

What a lousy, useless person he was. He couldn’t even figure out where to go. He hadn’t even packed himself any supplies. He’d managed to get a blanket, as he walked through an abandoned building, before he was chased out. He wore that around himself now as he stumbled along. It was harder to think than before, but maybe that was just because he was thirsty. It had rained, though, so he could find water. Maybe if he found water it would help.

Maybe he could be useful that way, even if it was just to himself.

Donnie stumbled, falling to his hands and knees, and his head spun. Where was he? Oh, right. There were buildings. And the sky. It looked gray. It was probably going to rain again. Rain meant water, though. That was important.

There was a puddle of water in front of him, sitting on the ground. Donnie pulled himself towards it and lowered his face down. He drank. This was good right? He was doing something right. If he could do this, maybe he could be good enough one day. He just had to… to… figure something out. Yes. He had to figure out how to be good enough, and then he could go back.

…Maybe this time, he would be good enough forever.

Mikey stared at the papers. Most of them had been torn from those journals they had found. A lot of the pages in those journals were unreadable now, but Mikey couldn’t help but wonder why Donnie had pulled these pages out, and just destroyed the others.

These pages had parts of them that were blacked out, and parts that weren’t. Something about them, though, looked deliberate, but Mikey couldn’t figure out what. Two days since Donnie went missing, no one had been able to find him. Not even April or Rockwell. What that meant worried Mikey, but it also made him want to try harder to find any clues to where Donnie might have gone.

Mikey rotated the papers around in his hands, and blinked in surprise when he realized that if he slid them just right, the parts that were left unmarked seemed to match up. Curious, Mikey went through the papers, seeing if any other parts matched up. He quickly started laying out the papers, spreading them out on the floor of the lab.

Raph walked by, and then backtracked, looking in. “Mikey? What are you doing? We’re about to look go look for Donnie again. You can’t keep playing with those papers, man. It’s not healthy.”

“There’s something here!” Mikey said. “Just give me a minute.”

“Mikey…” Raph started.

Mikey ignored him, instead setting the papers down, seeing the ways that the lines flowed together and connected. Leo soon joined Raph at the door to the lab, and Splinter came up behind them. Within about five minutes, Mikey had them all laid out and stared at them. So did his family.

Most of the sheets were blacked out, but what wasn’t stood out, bold and white. In big letters that stretched across all the sheets of paper, there was a single message.

WHY AM I NOT ENOUGH?

Donnie’s head was pounding. His skin itched and he couldn’t stop scratching it. His eyes felt dry, and he seemed to have trouble catching his breath. Was he getting sick? Was that what was happening? No, no, he couldn’t get sick. If he got sick, then how could he prove that he was good enough?

Wait—what if he did something none of them could do? What if he took out their enemies? That would mean that he was enough, wouldn’t it? It would prove it! He just had to find their enemies. That wasn’t too hard, though. It didn’t take him long to find some Purple Dragons. It was even easier to follow them.

And then, it was just a matter of taking down their headquarters.

He had a plan. He absolutely had a plan. He clutched his blanket around him. He’d be able to take them down. He just needed to do something about their defenses first. But that was child’s play, even if his head was pounding and he felt like he couldn’t walk without falling over. Maybe that food from the garbage hadn’t been good after all.

He easily figured out how to cut the power to their building. And then he went in. They didn’t like him being there, but that was okay. They weren’t supposed to like it. But maybe this had been a bad idea, because suddenly there was fire, and then Donnie had to escape out the back way. There wasn’t much room between the back of the building at the drainage culvert, though.

But he could do it. He absolutely could do it. And then, when he did it, he’d be enough. He’d finally be enough.

Donnie’s head swam, his limbs felt like jello, and his skin itched. Suddenly, staying out of the culvert wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be, and he stumbled. But this time when he stumbled, he didn’t stop stumbling, not until a very hard stop at the bottom.

He guessed he wasn’t enough.

Three days later, Slash called Raph’s t-phone. They had found him in the culvert behind a burned down Purple Dragon warehouse. Their family had been nearby, Splinter included, and they all rushed to the area.

When Raph got his first glimpse of Donnie, though, he had been sure that he was looking at his brother’s corpse. Covered in trash and debris, and an old blanket, pale and not moving, it had scared the whole family.

“He’s alive,” Slash said. “But he ain’t doing so good.”

Splinter knelt next to Donnie, reaching out a hand to him. “But he is alive,” he said. “And that is more than I had feared.”

Raph felt like weeping in relief.

“We will take him home,” Splinter said. “And attend to his injuries there.”

“I’ll call Rockwell,” Slash said. “Send him that way. I… I hope that Donatello will be okay.”

“Thanks, Slash,” Raph managed to get out, as Splinter carefully examined Donnie, and then picked him up.

“Casey’s bringing the party wagon around,” Leo said. “We can use that to get him home.”

“We will meet him,” Splinter said, and the small family made their way out of the drainage culvert, and to the road.

Enough. Not enough. Enough. Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

I failed. I’m not enough. I’ll never be enough.

But I won’t stop trying. Maybe one day I’ll be enough somewhere.

“He’s dehydrated, so we’re putting an IV in for hydration. The lacerations on his skin look as if he scratched himself that deeply. They’ve been, of course, cleaned and bandaged. I’ve also administered the antidote that I developed, thanks to the samples.”

Leo listened as Rockwell explained what he was doing and why he was doing it. He couldn’t help but stare at Donnie even as Rockwell talked. His brother was in such bad shape.

“He has cracked ribs, and more than likely a concussion. His shoulder is definitely bruised. Those are all likely from the fall into the culvert. Hopefully, with the right care and the antidote, he will recover quickly.”

Rockwell paused, and looked at the small family, April and Casey with them. “At least… physically.”

“And mentally?” Leo asked. “Emotionally?”

Rockwell shook his head. “That, I cannot comment on. You’ll just have to wait until he wakes up to see. However, given the… state… of his mind beforehand I would suggest a twenty-four-hour watch on him, as a precaution.

Leo’s breath caught in his throat. A twenty-four-hour watch on him? A round the clock watch on Donnie, just to make sure that he wasn’t left alone, so that he couldn’t act on any dark thoughts.

It twisted Leo up inside.

“Thank you, Dr. Rockwell,” Splinter said. “I assume that we can call on you if anything changes?”

“Yes, please do. I would like to stay informed.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Leo said. “I… I want to.”

Splinter nodded. “Very well, my son.” He put a hand on Leonardo’s shoulder, and then left the room with Rockwell, the others following behind after a moment.

Leo let out a sigh, and at down in the rolling chair next to Donnie’s cot. For a few moments, he just stared at Donnie, trying to understand just what had happened. He couldn’t.

Mike had gathered up all of the papers again and had left them sitting in a neat stack not too far from the cot. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but Leo reached over and snagged them. He wanted to see just what was on these papers that Don had pulled out of those journals. He rifled through them, looking for entries that he could read, even if he sometimes had to squint through whatever Donnie had blacked out parts with. He found several that were somewhat readable, but one struck him more than any of the others.

“I try so hard. So hard! I do everything that’s asked of me! I keep this home running! I repair things when they break! I build the vehicles and machines! I take care of the appliances! On top of that, I’m trying to understand extra-dimensional alien technology that I have no frame of reference for! I’m trying to understand the complicated bio-molecular make-up of the mutagen and the anatomical and physiological effects it has on people! I am trying to wrap my head around so much, forgoing sleep and forgetting meals and what am I told when I fail? Work harder! As if I’m not already working myself to the bone! Work harder! Maybe he’ll be happy when I work myself in to the grave! Maybe then it’ll be enough!”

Leo put the papers down, taking in a deep breath. Had his brother really thought about working himself to death? Leo looked over at Donnie, still unconscious, still showing no signs of waking.

“I’m sorry, Donnie. I’m sorry. I—I should have realized how hard you were working. I should never have said that.”

The guilt ate at him, as he stared at his brother, slowly sifting through the papers until Raph came to relieve him.

Raph glared at the papers as he kept vigil at Don’s bedside. Leo shouldn’t have been reading them. He shouldn’t have. But he was, and there was something in them that had affected the turtle in blue deeply. But Raph wasn’t going to give into that urge. He wasn’t going to read those papers like Leo had. He wasn’t—

Oh, who was he kidding? He absolutely was.

Just like Leo, he had to rely a lot on piecing things together, and he was just about to give up out of frustration, when he realized that there was an entry he could read clearly. Eager to finally find something coherent, Raph pulled it towards him.

“B-team. Weakest ninja. Stupid genius. I feel like the insults come all of the time. Not to mention the slaps, the hits the whacks. And that’s not counting all of the times he’s mocked me for liking April. But if we tease him or throw something back in his face, then it’s as if we’ve committed a cardinal sin! Maybe if I had hours to commit to weightlifting or training then I could be as good a ninja as he is. Maybe if he’d give my plans half a chance before deciding they’re stupid and take too long, they’d actually work. Maybe if he’d just listen to me for once, instead of cutting me off, he’d learn something! But I’m sure he’d like the silence that would come with my absence more.”

Raph practically dropped the stack of papers, staring at them horrified before he vaulted his way to Don’s bedside. “I won’t do any of that no more, alright?” he said, desperate. “I—I won’t ridicule you, or call you weak, or hit you, even in fun! I don’t want silence from you! I just want you! Please, Donnie! Please!”

Raph stayed there, like that, until Mikey came to take his turn.

Mikey had no compunctions about reading the papers. He had already glanced at and read so much that he knew he was just going to keep reading the rest. So, as soon as Raph was gone, and Mikey was settled in, he picked up the stack of papers and began to read through them.

“Sometimes I feel a little guilty, because I know that he’s just lonely and he wants to spend time with someone, and our older brothers are too wrapped up in themselves to bother to pay attention to him. But at the same time, all I want is for him to listen to me and leave my things alone! I don’t care if he wants to use my headphones or get on a spare laptop to play a game. But I work so, so hard on my experiments and my inventions, and then he just waltzes in here and messes them up. Hours, maybe even days or months of research and preparations gone within seconds! The ingredients, ruined, used up, gone. It isn’t like I can just go to the store and get more. Heck, even if I were human, I couldn’t do that with most of these. I bet when I’m gone, he’ll just run rampant in here and destroy everything.

Mikey teared up, and put the journal down, reaching over to hold Donnie’s hand. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I won’t touch anything without your permission ever again, bro! I don’t want your stuff! It was never about wanting your stuff! I just wanted to spend time with you! But I didn’t show you that very well, did I?”

Mikey spent the rest of his shift with Donnie talking about all of the things he wanted to do with his brother, and how he’d do the best he could to not mess up any of Donnie’s experiments. By the time April came to sit with Donnie, Mikey had just about talked himself hoarse.

April had insisted on taking a turn. They were family to her, all of them, and she wasn’t about to not be there for them. She had heard about the words on the wall, and about the papers, but she hadn’t expected to see them. Curiosity got the better of her, and she picked them up, looking for anything readable.

“I’ll never be good enough. I know that. How can I be? She’s a beautiful girl who will no doubt grow up to be a beautiful woman. I’m just a mutant that lives in the sewers. I can’t offer her anything. Even when she does give me little signs of encouragement back, deep down I know that nothing will ever happen. She’ll grow up, move off, and forget about me. And who can blame her? Even if she doesn’t love me, I had hoped to be able to keep her friendship, at least. But I don’t even think that’ll be possible. If she moves away from here, far away from mutants and aliens and danger, I wouldn’t blame her. She’ll be better off without me, even if she’ll always have my heart.”

April was openly crying as she put down the papers. “I never—I never meant to lead you on! I just didn’t know what to do or how to react. I—” a sob escaped her, and she clutched the journal to her. “You’ll never lose my friendship, Donnie! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for all those times I was mean to you or blamed you. It wasn’t fair of me! But I’ve learned! I promise, you’ll never lose my friendship, Donnie!”

She was still crying slow tears when Casey came to check in and sent her on to take a break. Casey knew that he and Donnie had their issues. But he honestly liked the turtle, even if they did have more of a rivalry than anything. That whole thing with the Demon Car had proven that they could get along if they wanted to. He just wasn’t sure how to do that here.

He was curious, though, as to the papers that April had been holding, and he picked them up, quickly realizing what they were. He knew he should put them down, but somehow, he just couldn’t.

“He acts like he’s soooo much better than me. All he’s got going for him is that he’s human! That’s it! That’s the only advantage he has over me! Even if it’s a really big one. The biggest one, in fact. Big enough that it eclipses pretty much everything else about me. I mean, even he could give her a better life than I could. So maybe he has a reason to act like he’s better than me—because he is. In every way that matters in this life, he’s better than me. I’m sure he’d like it if I just disappeared. Then he wouldn’t have to waste his time putting down a mutant like me, when really, he shouldn’t even have to waste his time doing it.”

“Donnie, no!” Casey dropped the papers on the ground, sitting upright from his slouch. “No, I don’t think I’m better than you, I just—” he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m jealous of you, man. You’re smart, you’re skilled, you figure things out so fast. I’m the one that shouldn’t stand a chance here, not you. I—look. Look, if you come back from this, I promise I’ll tone down the rivalry, okay? And—and maybe we can do some stuff together, like work on the Shellraiser or the Party Wagon. I know we don’t always get along, but you’re my friend, too, Donnie. I’ll let you know that better.”

At least, he’d try. Needing to keep his hands busy, Casey pulled out the sketchbook he had, and began doodling. By the time Splinter arrived, startling Casey, he had ideas for half a dozen different vehicles drawn up that he and Donnie could work on together.

Splinter had desperately wanted to be at his son’s side, but he had, instead, let the others go, and used that time to reach out to April’s father. He had informed the man of what had happened and had asked for his advice going forward. It was good advice, and Splinter could only hope that it did not come too late.

He saw the papers lying on the ground and reached out to pick them up. He knew that it would be an invasion of his son’s privacy if he read them, but at the same time, if there was something in it that would help him understand how his son was feeling, then Splinter wanted that.

“I can’t measure up. I can’t be good enough. Nothing I do is or ever will be good enough, I see that now. No matter what I invent, no matter how much I make our lives more comfortable, no matter how much I try to train, I’ll never be good enough to please him. I’ll always fall short of the mark. I’ll never be a good enough ninja. I’ll never spend enough time training. I’ll never live up to the Hamato name. My inventions and accomplishments are meaningless. He doesn’t care about them. He never does. He never will. All he cares about is how good of a ninja I am, and I never make that mark. And if I can’t do that? Then why should I even be here?

Splinter took a deep breath in, feeling like he had just spend five hours in non-stop training. “Oh, my son. Oh, my dear, dear son.” He sat the papers aside and knelt at Donnie’s bedside. “I cannot express my grief that I made you feel that way. You are enough. You have always been enough. Your wonderful inventions and accomplishments fill me with pride, as I know those are things that most people cannot even begin to conceive of. I should have told you more. I will tell you more. I promise.”

Donnie came to slowly. His head was pounding, and he felt awful. He felt like he had been sick, been poisoned, and pulled a week’s worth of all-nighters all at once. He groaned, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep until he felt better. But something wouldn’t let him. There were… voices? There was pain. Wait… what had happened to him?

His eyes felt scratchy and dry, but he pried his eyelids open anyway. It took him a bit to focus, but when he did, he could make out his brothers, his father, April, Casey, and Rockwell all gathered around him. He looked at them, confused.

“whhhh…”

He could barely get a whisper out, his throat felt so dry. Leo knelt next to his bedside, a mug in his hand with a straw in it. “Easy, Donnie,” he said, putting the straw in Donnie’s mouth. “Just take it easy. Don’t drink too fast or too much.”

“If that settles, I’ll get you some soup later,” Mikey promised. “Some chicken broth! None of my special touches!”

“How are you feeling, Donnie,” Raph asked, his voice unusually soft as he adjusted the blanket.

Donnie stared at his brothers, confused. He glanced at the others. April looked like she was about to cry, and Casey looked like he was one push away from some sort of emotion. Splinter looked down at him with more worry and compassion than Donnie had seen in a long time. What was going on?

“You were suffering from altered brain chemistry,” Rockwell said, and for once, Donnie was glad he could read his mind. “And it’s good to know you finally see the usefulness of me reading your mind.” No, never mind, Donnie took it back. “Regardless of how you feel about that, though, allow me to explain your situation,” Rockwell continued.

“You were working with some chemicals, when your ventilation system failed. Because of that, the chemicals you breathed in got into your bloodstream. They altered your brain chemistry enough that it muddled your thinking and brought out negative emotions. You, apparently, vandalized your own lab and ran off, with no one seeing you. We found you three days later, where you had passed out in a drainage culvert. It’s been four days since then. You’ve been unconscious. However, I managed to find the right combination to neutralize the effects of the chemical. You should be on the path to recovery.” Rockwell looked smug. “You may thank me now, even if it’s just in your head.”

Donnie did not have the energy to deal with that at the moment. Instead, he just looked at his loved ones, closed his dry, dry eyes, and fell back asleep.

The chemical took time to get out of Donnie’s system, and it took time for him to recover, too. His family was unusually attentive, although it did take a few days for Donnie to catch on to it. They were almost beside themselves making sure he ate, he drank, he got enough sleep, he was comfortable, that he knew they loved him. They made sure that he was helped up and down, that he didn’t scratch at his bandages as the chemical wore off, and that if he felt dizzy at all he was raced to a seat or a bed. They never left him alone. There was always someone nearby. Their behavior stumped him, and finally, one day, when April and Casey were over and fussing over him too, he just asked.

“Okay—what’s up with all of you?” he said.

“What do you mean?” Raph asked.

“I mean all of this,” Donnie said, sweeping his hand around. “We’ve not spent this much time together, well, ever, I think. I can’t turn around without someone being there. And you all seem insistent on both watching me like a hawk and making sure that my every need is met. Which is… weird. So. What. Is. Going. On?”

The tension in the room increased, and Splinter sighed, reaching into his robe and pulling out one of the journals and the loose papers. “Donatello, my son, we need to talk.”

Donnie looked at the journal and then back up at his father. “Talk?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Mikey said. “Because, like, you know it’s all not true, right? You know that we do love you and stuff, right?”

“And that we want you here with us. No matter what,” Leo said.

“We’d never want to lose you, Donnie.” Raph added.

Donnie waved his hands in the air. “Wait, wait, wait, hold on, time out. What are you talking about?”

Splinter reached back into his robe and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “We found this note you left for us, Donatello.”

Donnie took the note with confusion, unfolding it and reading it over. “I… I think I remember writing this?” he said. “Or at least, something like this.” He looked up at his family, still confused. “But I don’t understand.”

“My son, we…” Splinter hesitated, and Donnie watched his father struggle for words. “You are important,” he finally said. “Not because of the things you can do, or the things you can’t do, but because you are my son, their brother, and if you were to… to take your own life… nothing could fill the hole that you left behind.”

Donnie blinked at his father. Then he blinked at his brothers, and his friends. And then he looked back at the paper. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You—you thought I was suicidal!?”

“Donnie, it’s okay,” Leo said, “It’s not something that you have to hide from us.”

“Yeah, we’re here to help you,” Raph said.

“We’re going to be right by your side,” Mikey said, “And make sure that you know how much you’re loved, bro.”

“We’re not going to abandon you,” April said firmly.

“We want you here,” Casey added on.

“You see, my son,” Splinter said. “No matter what you are feeling or going through, we are going to be here for you.”

“And we’re going to do a much better job of letting you know just how much we love you and appreciate everything you do,” Leo said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Donnie said again. “Not that I don’t appreciate all of that, because I do, but I am not suicidal.”

Raph looked startled. “But the note—”

“The note was written when I wasn’t in my right mind,” Donnie said. “But aside from that, I never meant to kill myself. That much I remember clearly. I did meant to leave, though. That much is true.”

“Wait—but then what about the papers?” April said.

“The papers?” Donnie repeated.

“The ones from the journal,” Mikey clarified.

“From the journal?” Donnie repeated, obviously confused.

“These,” Splinter said, handing the journal and the papers over to his son.

Donnie took the, and flipped through the papers and the journal, understanding growing on his face. He groaned. “Oh, man, okay, I can see why you’d be concerned. No one was supposed to see these. They were for me only.” He frowned. “I admit that sometimes there’s more truth in the entries then I would ever want to admit to you—well, before now, I suppose—but these were like… like overflow.”

“Overflow?” Splinter asked.

Donnie nodded. “When Raph gets frustrated and has too many emotions, he takes it out on his punching bag, letting the overflow of emotions out that way. Leo trains, letting his emotions slide away with the concentration. Mikey creates. Food, art, projects, whatever it is, he creates. But those methods don’t work for me. I need to think through my emotions, or they just clog up. But sometimes what’s riding at the top of my emotions is too much to get past. So, I let it overflow into writing and into words. That usually takes the top off so that I can deal with the emotions—or at least suppress them.”

“So, the stuff in there isn’t true?” Casey asked. “It’s not how you feel?”

Donnie frowned. “I won’t say that. I still feel overworked. I still feel unappreciated a lot. I still don’t like being called the worst ninja. I still don’t like my things being messed with. I still feel upset at the thought of being left behind. I still feel like I’m not good enough more often than I want to admit.” He raised his head enough to look at Splinter, even if it was just for a few seconds. “I still feel like I won’t measure up, and I feel like no one cares about what I’m interested in most of the time.” He looked down at the journal. “I still feel alone sometimes.”

He lifted his eyes. “But—I have never once thought that killing myself would be the right answer. This,” he tapped the journal, “is my version of Raph’s punching bag. There’s truths in there. But that doesn’t mean that they’re as intense as it reads.”

There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief at that, and some of the tension bled out of the room.

“I am pleased to hear that, Donatello,” Splinter said. “Although it is clear that there are still things we need to address.”

“My father can help with that,” April said. “I know he’d be happy to.”

Donnie nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I’m… I’m sorry, guys,” He looked at them. “I never meant to make you think I was suicidal. But I guess my head was just too full of chemicals to think clearly.”

“Yes,” Splinter said. “But that does not mean that our mouths did not give you unintentional ridicule.” Splinter stood, and came closer to Donnie, laying his hands on his son’s shoulders. “We have neglected our care for you, and even if it is not as extreme as we feared, we can do better.” He looked at the children in the room. “We can all do better with each other.”

“Great,” Raph asked. “I’m game. But how?”

Splinter was quiet for a moment. “We can being by taking some of the burden off of Donatello. I’m sure there are household repairs that we can learn to do. And from there, we will practice better ways to use our words.” He squeezed Donatello’s shoulders. “None of us should feel less than, chemicals in our brains or not.”

Donnie smiled up at his father, and then glanced at the rest of his family. “Thanks, Sensei,” he said. “Thanks guys.”

“Just never do this again, okay?” Raph said.

Donnie laughed. “Believe me, I don’t plan on it. In fact, I think I know what the first project you guys can help me out with will be.”

“A pizza making machine?” Mikey asked.

“Revamping my exhaust system in the lab,” Don said. “That way we never do have to worry about this happening again.”

“That,” Leo said with a smile, “Sounds like a good plan.”

#whumptober 2023 #no.24 #lyric #TMNT #TMNT 2012 #Fanfic #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt splinter

6 notes · View notes

isleofdarkness · 1 year

Note

The way I screamed when I saw you had uploaded the second part. I was so excited I stayed up all night reading it and writing this and I don't regret anything at all. Also, this part was in Ben’s pov which I absolutely loved, he's such a fun character to read about.

WANT AND FACILIER, YES!!!! You truly did an amazing job with these two. I love the backstories you gave them and how much they expand the lore despite the fact that Want was not more than ten minutes in her original film, you used her full potential and made her an extremely interesting character.

I didn't know how you would get them through the barrier but that was completely amazing.

“ The second the van passed through the mouth of the cave, the world outside the windows changed. The midday sun went out, replaced by some torchlit nighttime. [...] The two other people were replaced by at least a dozen. And those dozen people didn't look happy. ” Oh, this is so good, it embodies the depressive vibe the Isle has perfectly and also intensifies the feeling of anticipation just fine. It's great.

“ This, Ben was willing to bet, was Mara. ” fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck omg I can't do this fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

“ None of them had the chance to answer before Mara spoke. "Of course you can, Chaos. If they have a problem with you doing something to save lives," she levelled a glare directly into Ben's soul, "They can take it up with me. ” I'm obsessed with this part. I love both Mara and Chaos.

Something I forgot to mention last time is that I love the fact that you pointed out (if you did, because my mind might be making this up) a vague similitude between Riah and Maverick in the first part. But you made it so much bigger in this, not only with Riah and his family but also with the other characters and their families, highlighting what their similarities and differences are. I’m just a huge fan of it.

“ He didn't understand why they needed to. The hospital had been left fully stocked and it got plenty of supplies, so why did they need to learn how to make a ventilator? Shouldn't they already have some? “ Ben, I have shocking news for you…

“ The longer Ben looked at her, the more she looked like Anxelin Fitzherbert. ” I'm so unwell right now.

“ "So," Molly turned cos attention to Ben, grinning. "Are you Riah's boyfriend?" ” OMG??? This just confirmed my love for Molly.

Mara it's finally here and i'm enjoying it like you have no idea.

Ben's great, Mara not only told him but SHOWED him The Horrors™ and the best things he finds to say are "I like your tattoos" and "That's incredible". Also, wtf? Mara's life is horrible, hope she gets to stab Beast MINIMUM.

"This one's not very bright." She's so funny but like, I didn't understand either.

Did I mention that I hate Beast? Because I hate him. Ben deserves a better father, hope he gets to stab his current one.

I hate Maleficent too.

I've only had Molly for a third of a chapter but if anything happens to cos I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.

-Dante.

The sound I made when I saw this- thank you thank you thank you thank you. I love long reviews like this, where someone tells me exactly what they like.

Want once used her telekinesis to rip one of Bill Sykes's warehouses to tiny pieces and proceeded to beat him with the pieces for a solid four hours and only stopped because she got the news that Agony was out of surgery and would be okay. Maleficent is kind of scared of her and so help her gods, she will fight Maleficent, Bill Sykes, or even Thanatos himself to protect her kids. Like... look, I love her and I'm really glad you like what I did with her and Facilier (Gonzalo is Facilier's first name, just in case it wasn't clear to everyone reading this)

Yesss that's exactly what I was going for!

It took a lot of restraint for Mara to not open those doors, grab Ben by the shoulders, and judo flip him. If Riah weren't actively dying, she would have. She was pissed.

I'm so glad you love them. I love them, too.

All of the Mim kids just have the same vibe. Except for Malcolm. Malcolm is the prep member of the family.

"Plenty of supplies" I can't wait for him to figure out that they were given two (2) supplies and get one expired/broken thing every few years

You're about to be so much more unwell because there's a reason the full family is there

Molly, like all seven-year-olds, thrives on chaos.

Mara is pretty sure she likes Ben now after that response. There's just one last test- she's going to tell Ben about her plan to beat his father with her Stygian iron femur and see how he reacts. If he reacts well, he has her permission to date her brother.

Gods you have no idea how bad I want to say it. You have no idea

Eventually, Ben is going to get new parents. Hades and Persephone are going to go "Is anyone going to give this child a real family" and they aren't gonna wait for an answer.

Maverick gets one day off and, in only two hours, she has to ask Desire to come to the Isle and help her because Maleficent went and did all that. She is so tired.

I am so, so glad you also love Molly. Don't worry, Molly can't die because co sold cos soul to Maverick and is immortal. And if someone tries to kill cos, Maverick will conjure The Book just to beat that person to death with it.

I can't wait to see how you react to the final part. You have no idea

#the darkness speaks #dante anon #swearing #caps

3 notes · View notes

beardedmrbean · 1 year

Note

you have more reach than i do, and i guess i'm only telling you this because i'm just so furious about it and i was told that calling osha probably wouldn't do anything because it's not "really" a safety thing, but:

revelry corp (they do dresses, you send for them, they send you a box, then you send them back) has one single warehouse in austin texas, and it's been over 100F in austin every day for the last month. however, they have no air conditioning or even ventilation in the building. when i asked why, they said "well, we got a quote and it was too expensive to put in an entire hvac system. the building is a lease, so, you know, we didn't want to spend that money on something we couldn't take with us, you know? but our engineer is coming in a few days to give us a quote on how much it would cost to ventilate the place." meanwhile the only thing they use to cool the building off is a few box fans and five big ceiling fans. last friday they had to shut the warehouse down because the interior reached 110F and they have no way of cooling it.

anyway tl;dr i seriously highly recommend avoiding them as a company. between that and the piss poor way they've treated me and my company (i don't work for them, we do business with them, though you'd never know that given the way they speak to me and my employer), i would recommend spending your dollars elsewhere.

I'm not seeing anything about them out there in the wide world of news, but that's really too shocking.

You should absolutely contact OSHA if you or anyone else are being subjected to this, I don't actually believe there are any laws requiring temp control, but still could spook someone into action if they get a visit.

#anonymous

5 notes · View notes

nofr1lls · 2 years

Text

does the visual likening of the warehouse light died in to a church and the parallel between L's stained glass dome ceiling to the ventilation fan and also the repetitive sound of that fan acting almost like the tolling of a bell and also the fact that it was raining before both of them died and also the weird misa scene that was in the L death episode and the finale but looks like it actually takes place in the timeline AFTER light's death give you guys rabies as well or is it just me

#the creators of the anime can suck my balls. what right to you have to be using literary conventions that way.#we get it they are gay loser freaks. whatever.#death note #l lawliet #light yagami

6 notes · View notes

swifterfan · 3 days

Text

Powerful Industrial Ceiling Fans for Optimal Warehouse Ventilation

When it comes to maintaining a productive and safe working environment in a warehouse, ventilation is key. Warehouses are often large, enclosed spaces that can trap heat, humidity, and airborne particles, leading to uncomfortable conditions for workers and potential harm to equipment. One of the most effective and energy-efficient ways to improve airflow in these vast spaces is by installing powerful industrial ceiling fans. These fans help circulate air, maintain consistent temperatures, and provide a cost-effective solution for large-scale ventilation.

What Are Industrial Ceiling Fans?

Industrial ceiling fans are large, heavy-duty fans designed specifically to move substantial volumes of air in expansive areas like warehouses, factories, and agricultural facilities. These fans are more robust than standard residential ceiling fans, built to endure harsher environments and deliver high-performance airflow for extended periods.

Key Components of Industrial Ceiling Fans

Large blades: Typically, industrial ceiling fans have larger blades, ranging from 8 to 24 feet in diameter, which allows them to move air more efficiently across wide spaces.

Powerful motor: Industrial fans are equipped with high-torque motors to handle continuous use and maintain high performance without overheating.

Why Is Proper Ventilation Crucial in Warehouses?

Proper ventilation plays a crucial role in maintaining a comfortable and safe working environment. Warehouses, especially those without windows or adequate ventilation systems, can become stifling and uncomfortable as heat builds up throughout the day. Poor airflow not only impacts employee productivity but can also cause equipment to overheat, leading to costly repairs and downtime.

Health and Safety Concerns

Without proper ventilation, warehouses can develop poor air quality, leading to the accumulation of dust, fumes, and other pollutants. These conditions pose health risks to workers, potentially leading to respiratory issues or heat-related illnesses. Efficient air circulation helps mitigate these risks by promoting better air quality and reducing overall humidity.

How Do Industrial Ceiling Fans Work?

At their core, industrial ceiling fans operate similarly to standard fans, but on a much larger scale. Their larger blades and more powerful motors allow them to move air over much greater distances. As the fan blades rotate, they push air downward, creating a cooling breeze that circulates throughout the space. In colder months, these fans can also be run in reverse to help distribute warm air more evenly, reducing the need for additional heating.

The Role of Blade Size, Speed, and Design

The size of the fan blades and their speed are critical in determining how much air the fan can move. Longer blades can move more air, making them ideal for large spaces like warehouses. Additionally, industrial fans often have adjustable speeds, allowing users to control the amount of airflow based on the specific needs of their space.

Benefits of Using Industrial Ceiling Fans in Warehouses

Energy Savings

One of the biggest advantages of industrial ceiling fans is their energy efficiency. By improving air circulation, these fans help reduce the reliance on traditional HVAC systems, lowering energy costs. In some cases, installing industrial ceiling fans can cut energy bills by up to 30%.

Improved Comfort for Employees

When warehouse temperatures become too hot or too cold, productivity can take a hit. Industrial ceiling fans help create a more consistent and comfortable environment by evenly distributing air, preventing hot spots and maintaining a cooler temperature during summer months.

Reducing Equipment Overheating

In warehouses that use heavy machinery, proper airflow is essential to keep equipment from overheating. Industrial ceiling fans help dissipate heat, prolonging the lifespan of machines and preventing unexpected breakdowns.

Key Features of Powerful Industrial Ceiling Fans

To maximize their effectiveness, industrial ceiling fans are equipped with several key features:

Blade Design: Larger blades made from durable materials like aluminum or composite help move more air efficiently.

Motor Efficiency: High-torque, energy-efficient motors ensure consistent performance even under heavy loads.

Noise Reduction: Many industrial fans are designed to operate quietly, even at high speeds, ensuring a comfortable working environment.

Choosing the Right Ceiling Fan for Your Warehouse

When selecting an industrial ceiling fan, several factors should be considered, including the size of the space, ceiling height, and the amount of air circulation needed. Larger warehouses will require fans with longer blades and more powerful motors, while smaller spaces might benefit from more compact models.

Fan Speed Options and Control Systems

Many modern industrial fans come with variable speed options and smart control systems, allowing for precise adjustments in airflow. Some advanced models even come with remote controls or can be integrated into building management systems (BMS) for automated control based on temperature or occupancy levels.

Applications of Industrial Ceiling Fans Beyond Warehouses

While warehouses are one of the primary locations for industrial ceiling fans, they are also widely used in other commercial and industrial environments, including:

Manufacturing plants: To control heat and improve worker comfort.

Distribution centers: To maintain consistent airflow and prevent stagnation.

Agricultural facilities: For ventilation in barns and greenhouses, helping regulate temperature and humidity levels.

Energy Efficiency and Cost Savings with Industrial Ceiling Fans

By improving airflow and reducing the need for air conditioning, industrial ceiling fans can significantly lower energy costs. These savings can add up over time, especially in large warehouses or industrial settings where climate control is crucial. With the right fan, businesses can achieve substantial reductions in energy consumption while maintaining a comfortable working environment.

Maximizing Airflow Efficiency in Warehouses

To get the most out of your industrial ceiling fans, proper installation is key. Fans should be strategically placed to ensure optimal airflow coverage, avoiding dead zones where air doesn’t circulate as effectively. Installing fans at the correct height and ensuring they are evenly spaced across the warehouse will further maximize their efficiency.

Industrial Ceiling Fans vs. Floor Fans: Which is Better?

When it comes to large-scale ventilation, ceiling fans have several advantages over floor fans. While floor fans can be effective in smaller areas or for targeted cooling, industrial ceiling fans are better suited for circulating air throughout an entire space. Ceiling fans also save valuable floor space, which can be especially important in warehouses where floor space is often at a premium.

Maintenance Tips for Industrial Ceiling Fans

To keep your industrial ceiling fans running smoothly, regular maintenance is essential. Make sure to inspect the fan’s blades for dust buildup, which can reduce efficiency. Also, periodically check the motor and electrical components for signs of wear and tear. Lubricating moving parts and ensuring all fasteners are secure can extend the fan’s lifespan.

Innovations in Industrial Ceiling Fan Technology

Recent innovations in industrial fan technology have introduced smart features like automated speed control, energy monitoring, and even IoT integration. These advancements allow businesses to optimize fan performance and reduce energy usage by adjusting fan speed based on real-time conditions, such as temperature changes or occupancy levels.

Sustainability and Environmental Benefits of Industrial Fans

Beyond cost savings, industrial ceiling fans also contribute to a facility’s overall sustainability. By reducing reliance on energy-hungry HVAC systems, fans help lower a building’s carbon footprint. Additionally, many industrial ceiling fans are now made from recyclable materials, further boosting their eco-friendly credentials.

Common Misconceptions About Industrial Ceiling Fans

A common misconception about industrial ceiling fans is that they consume a lot of energy. However, they are designed to be highly efficient, moving large volumes of air with minimal power consumption. Another misconception is that they are only useful in warm climates. In reality, these fans can be just as effective in colder environments when used to circulate warm air during winter months.

Conclusion

Investing in powerful industrial ceiling fans is one of the most effective ways to improve ventilation, reduce energy costs, and create a comfortable working environment in your warehouse. These fans not only promote better air circulation but also contribute to the overall efficiency of your operations. By choosing the right fan for your space and ensuring proper installation, you can maximize both performance and cost savings.

FAQs

How often should industrial ceiling fans be maintained? Regular maintenance should be done every 6 to 12 months, depending on usage.

Can industrial ceiling fans be used in outdoor warehouses? Yes, many industrial fans are designed for both indoor and outdoor use, with weather-resistant materials.

What is the lifespan of a typical industrial ceiling fan? With proper care, most industrial ceiling fans can last between 10 and 20 years.

How do I reduce noise from my industrial ceiling fan? Regular cleaning and maintenance can help, as dust buildup or loose components often cause noise.

Are there energy rebates for installing energy-efficient fans? Many regions offer rebates for businesses that invest in energy-efficient equipment. Check with your local energy provider.

#industrial ceiling fans #large warehouse ceiling fans

0 notes