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mistyresolve · 9 months ago

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| His Foresight - Simon "Ghost" Riley X

Medic!Reader (Part 7)

Word Count - 4.7K

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn. This chapter describes scenes that some people may find disturbing, such as war crimes, mutilation, and death.

A/N - This chapter is tuff ngl.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3 ❤︎ Part 3.5 ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 6

Masterlist ❤︎

“Better,” Ghost said from somewhere at your side, his attention divided by watching you practice your throwing knife skills and cleaning his rifle, “But stop flicking your wrist, it’s unnecessary.”

Since you arrived here Ghost had dedicated a surprising amount of time to teaching you how to throw a knife. Your aim was still off and you had the occasional miss, but you were improving. He’s had you standing in front of the piece of wood for the last hour throwing the knives he’s so graciously let you borrow, picking them up and doing it all over again. He was a good teacher, but a tough one. Not even you could be spared from his hazing lectures of form and technique. And on more than one occasion you stomped off on him in frustration, only to sheepishly return after some time to restart after cooling off.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression bored, “Are you even watching?”

“Yes. Now, throw,” he instructed, dark eyes flicking up to you, and when he saw that you were still looking at him he twirled his finger in a “turn” gesture.

With a sigh, you turn back around and aim at the center of the target painted into a wooden board. You lined yourself up, your tongue instinctively sticking out, a habit you had since you were a child when in focus, and threw the blade. The handle banged off the board and clanged to the ground.

“I just told you to stop flicking your wrist,” he commented as he slid ammo into one of his magazines.

You spun on him, annoyance twinging your tone “You come over here and throw one.”

He placed the magazine on the table beside him and strode towards you with a confidence you envied, plucked the blade right out of your hand and threw it. It embedded itself deep into the wood. Right in the middle. He held his hand out for another. Again, it landed in the middle with a satisfying thud. Impressively close to the first. He threw two more and only one of them wasn’t a bullseye instead it landed in the next ring.

You clicked your tongue, “Alright,” you pushed him back towards his guns and ammo, “Go away.”

For the last two days, it’s done nothing but storm, and everyone has taken shelter in the warehouse where there was still a working heater. But now that the nightly meeting and dinner had been served, everyone was headed back for the bunks for the night. The emotions have been running high the last few days and the weather was making it even harder to get things done. Soap was trying his best to keep up morale, but even he grew weary of waiting. Price and Gaz had gone on recon today to check out the town and came back with the news that the military was pulling out. Laswell was less than thrilled to have the entire team invading her space while she tried to work.

She, out of all of you, felt the pressure the most.

Tonight it was your turn to take the night watch, and Ghost stayed behind until midnight to keep you company. He even went on the few patrols he was with you for, “You never talk about your family,” Ghost clutched at his rifle as he strolled beside you, purposefully shortening his stride so you could keep up.

“Well, I could say the same about you,” you knock your shoulder into him, trying to come off as playful but in truth the last thing you wanted to do was unpack the fuckery that was your family.

“That’s because I’ve got skeletons in my closet,” he shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about it. You’ve become accustomed to his casual attitude; where normal people would become skittish with that type of admission, he wasn’t.

You hummed, inching closer to him. Even in the rain his body heat radiating from him.

“Well,” you started, chewing on the inside of your cheek as unease rippled through your gut, “My parents divorced when I was sixteen. My mother is the kindest woman I’ve ever met. She used to take me to the theatres every Sunday for the matinee.”

“And your father?” He asked carefully, sensing your hesitation on the matter. His attention was on you but he made it less intense by looking off into the darkened shadows of the trees beyond the fences.

“He’s…” your throat narrowed at the memory of him, of his hardened face and emotionless eyes, “He’s the worst man I’ve ever met. And I was his favourite,” you wrung your fingers, the tips of them going numb from the cold air, “He’s estranged now and I haven’t heard from since the divorce.” A lie. You knew exactly where and what he was doing. You also knew he kept a close eye on you and yours. “My mom has since remarried. To a guy she went to high school with, it’s quite adorable,”

“Any siblings?” He asked as he opened the door to the warehouse for you. He didn’t push for more information, understanding that were some things better left unsaid.

“Two,” your heart skipped a beat, “Both significantly older. But one of them died when I was in high school. A car accident,” you didn’t give any more detail than that. Didn’t think you could handle dredging up old wounds.

You silently thanked Simon for not giving you a half-hearted “I’m sorry” at the mention of your dead brother.

You told him about your childhood friends, and about the sports you played. You told him about how your brothers used to have epic fights in the backyard, and how one of them had ended with your father making them run laps at the track until one of them collapsed and the other threw up all over the grass.

Ghost quietly listened, adding little comments here and there. He just liked hearing you talk and would sit here for hours completely content with doing just that.

As soon as the clock struck twelve a yawn interrupted him mid-sentence and you sent him off to bed.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll keep out of trouble. But you were up last night for your watch, you need to sleep,” you shooed him out the door. Before stepping out the door he turned to you, bending down to catch your lips with his. It was a quick, innocent gesture, and the boyish grin of his that accompanied it was even more so.

The rest of the night was fairly tame, but your raincoat never seemed to dry and you were forever cold. Gaz had pulled out a space heater at some point but even that couldn’t seem to thaw your frozen bones and muscles. What you really wanted was a hot shower. Or even better, a bath. You’d grown weary of the cold showers.

The silence and isolation of the night watch were welcomed. It gave you time to think and to work through your ever-flowing thoughts and emotions. You were beginning to wonder what comes after this. If you were labelled as deserters, would they just “let” you get back to your normal job once you exposed Spector? There were so many questions and you were too afraid to find out what the answers would be. Would anyone even believe you guys?

You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself before you found yourself spiralling. You reorganized the makeshift kitchen area, sewed a rip in your jacket pocket, and read the first few chapters of a particularly boring book Gaz had brought with him. You had quickly become thankful for the hourly strolls outside.

“What are you doing up?” You asked, setting your rifle down, having done a patrol. It was a little past 4 am when you returned to find Soap lounging on one of the chairs at the makeshift table.

His cheery blue eyes found yours, “Thought I’d come and keep you company.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” you took a seat across from him, fiddling with a propane lamp before lighting it.

He yawned and stretched out his arms above him, “Have you been able to?”

You shook your head. Truth is, you haven’t had a good sleep since you got blown up. You grabbed a deck of cards someone had left on the table for everyone to use, “You shuffle,” you said, handing it to him. With practiced hands, he shuffled and dealt out a hand of canasta.

He won the first round, and he sighed, “One more game, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”

“Laswell find anything?” you asked. Laswell had left to meet up with one of her contacts and wasn’t going to be coming back until tomorrow.

“Not really,” he scratched at the growing beard on his face, and exchanged a card from his hand, “She’s stressing. So is Price.”

“I don’t blame them,” you murmured. If you were going to ask anyone and not fear that they’d think you a doormat, you were going to ask Soap, “Are we still going to have our jobs once we figure all this out?”

He blinked at you, “Our job?” then his expression softened in realization. You’d been uncharacteristically recluse these last few days and everyone had noticed it. And Soap was just relieved to have finally understood why that was, “When we find that bastard Spectator and pull his pants down in front of the brasses we’ll be handed medals.” He leaned back in his chair and it creaked against his weight, “There are, of course, probably going to be some legal measures that will need to be addressed, but when are there not? A few years back we were being hunted down by every allied force for ‘espionage’.” He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the idea. “We’ve got our hands tied behind our backs a few times, and yet they haven’t gotten rid of us.”

The looming misery that had been breathing down your neck for the last few weeks backed off at his answer.

“That makes this a little less stressful,” You wished there was more you could do, but none of this was your specialty. “You want tea?” the chill you developed from your patrols was becoming unbearable. You got up to heat up water in a pot on the propane stove before he could answer.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

You turned back towards him just in time to catch him trying to peek at your cards, “Are you joking?” you threw up your hands in disbelief. You’ve played a lot of cards with Soap in the last two weeks, and never once did you win against him. Now you know why. You tossed a tea bag at him.

He slid back into his seat with a sheepish grin.

“I’m not making you tea anymore,” you glowered over at him, “You can make your own.”

You cracked open the door to take a peek outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the ground sodden with water. It smelt like fresh earth. An hour later Ghost joined the two of you, claiming that Price was snoring so loud that he woke up thinking someone was attacking him with a chainsaw. Soap asked if he cared for a game of cards to which he curtly replied with a very stern, very definitive “No, you little crook.”

After a brief discussion, you and Ghost decided it would be as good a time as ever to check in on the town. He wanted to scope it out to see if the military had pulled out yet. You wanted to check in on the school.

The drive into the town was silent, the pit of your stomach was turned inside out. Your intuition screamed at you that something was wrong.

Thick fog clung to the trees and made the drive more unsettling.

A strange pungent smell invaded the cab of the truck a few miles back from the town. It smelt like smoke and something else you couldn’t place a finger on. The smell got stronger and stronger the closer you got, to the point where you shoved your nose into the collar of your shirt.

“Ugh,” your eyes began to water, “What is that?”

A large dark form lay on the side of the road as you turned a corner and Ghost slowed the vehicle, his hand dropping to the pistol at his thigh.

So he feels the unease too.

That thought alone was alarming.

As you rolled forward confusion clouded your thoughts. The corpse of a horse was left in the ditch. Its brown coat stained darker in some spots—with dried blood. From the looks of it, this happened days ago.

“They killed off all their livestock,” Ghost grumbled, his attention fixed on something ahead of us. You followed his gaze. The herd of cows he passed every day we drove into town was left to rot in one of the fields surrounding the town. Their bodies are already half-decomposed. In their state, it was obvious this occurred days ago.

“Isn’t this a war crime?”

He nodded, features hardening.

You wondered why no one had tried to dispose of them.

In fact, as you neared, there wasn’t anyone around. No passing cars or people walking their dogs.

As the town came into view, and the fog fell away from the buildings to could better make out the shapes hanging from the sign. You squinted, leaning forward. Your blood ran cold, “Riley–”

“I see it,” he grunted.

Three bodies hung from the town's welcome sign. The faces were mottle shades of blue and grey. Hands tied behind their back and feet bound together. Two men and one woman. They had died long after the cattle. Their clothes and hair remained dry, despite the last few days of rainfall.

Ghost nodded his head towards the woman, “That’s my informant's wife.”

If you hadn’t known him as well as you did you would have thought him indifferent to the sight but guilt lined the edges of his words.

You looked back to the women and your stomach rolled. Her neck bent at an unnatural angle, “Did–” you shook your head in disbelief, “Why would they do this?” It was hard to believe that the same army you fought for could do something like this. Something so animal.

Beside you, he didn’t answer. His eyes scanned the empty streets, finding nothing and no one.

“Take me to the school,” you breathed, worry piling up inside you.

He opened his mouth to say something, probably to argue but thought better of it.

He rolled to a stop just outside the school, his brows furrowing, “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t find it within you to smile at him.

“You just need to click twice on your radio and I’ll be right back,” he was going to go check in on his informant. If his wife was dead, the probability that he was too was high.

He waited for you to enter the building before he pulled out and went on his way.

The school was desolate, no single child milled about. No teachers lined the halls. It was a school day, you were sure about that, yet no one was around.

You followed the now-familiar path to the classroom at the back of the school. Peaking into empty classrooms on the way there.

Your hands shook as you reached the door to the classroom, and eerie silence on the other side. You knocked but the door wasn’t shut properly and creaked open. The lights were off, and no voice answered from within as the sound of your approach. You swallowed the lump in your throat before pushing the door completely open.

The room was empty. Yesterday's date is still etched in chalk on the chalkboard.

Along with the angry rushed words, “Your sympathizers will be killed.”

You didn’t need to ask to know those words were meant for you. You looked around the room once more, searching for any sign of life. But the room was nearly spotless, there was no blood, no sign of a struggle. Textbooks and pencils still lay on the desks of the students, ready for their next lesson.

You picked up one of the books, examining it.

Something outside caught your attention, a flash of a silhouette as it rushed across the courtyard.

You peered out the window and into the courtyard in hopes of seeing who was out there.

The breath wooshed out of your lungs, and the textbook in your hand slipped from your grip. You didn’t even hear it fall.

Outside, hand-tied above their head to a wooden post was what was left of a female body. There wasn’t much left of her but the chard-blackened flesh. Gone was her scent of rosemary and pepper. Gone was her soft voice and youthful face.

A hand flew up to cover your mouth as bile rose up your throat.

The door behind you creaked open and you spun, hand going for your gun.

A small familiar figure appeared, her usually emotionless face tear-stained. When she caught sight of you her face contorted into one of distrust and hate.

It was the girl you had been helping heal the wound on her arm.

Then she was rushing at you, her slim fist slamming into your armoured chest, her voice cracking as she yelled up at you. She kicked her feet out at your shins and ankles. You couldn’t understand her but her face revealed what she was saying. There didn’t need to be a language barrier to know what she was calling you. What she was saying.

“This is your fault. You killed her. You’re a monster. A killer.”

There was no doubt that her screams would draw attention if anyone was still here. You covered her mouth, hushing her. She trashed against you, nails digging into the exposed skin on your wrists. Her feet stomped on yours.

Voices echoed down the hall and the both of you froze. Wide eyes connecting in dread. She stopped breathing entirely. You lifted a finger to your lips, prying she’d remain silent. Slowly and as quietly as you could you brought her to the windows, opened one of them and signalled for her to slide out. Her brows furrowed with skepticism but she obeyed.

I was the lesser of two evils in her eyes.

“Run,” you whispered to her, palming a throwing knife into her hand and she climbed out the window.

She didn’t turn back to look at you as she sprinted to the other side of the building. You watched as she hesitated before running past the brutalized body of her teacher. You watched her dip out of one of the many doors.

You tore yourself from the window and the scene beyond it, wishing you could at least cut her down from the post.

But there was someone else here.

You crept back out into the hallway, following the same route to the main foyer, trying to avoid the direction the voices came from.

Wrong.

At the end of the hallway were two men, their attire and the patches on the side of their arms making it obvious that weren’t here to be friendly. You considered ducking back behind the corner but they had already seen you. Their concealed faces snap towards you.

Your hand reached for this radio at your shoulder and clicked it twice.

“What are you doing here?” one of them called out, his head tilted to the side trying to get a better look at you. There was no way in hell you were going to get away with pretending to be a local. You were decked out in a bulletproof vest. Instinctively, your hand dipped for the pistol at your thigh but stopped short. They weren’t the enemy, they were here following orders.

You cleared your throat, “I was told to meet the lieutenant here,” you could only hope they didn’t ask for a name.

They shared a look, the postures stiffening, before turning back to you, “Lieutenant, Smithers left yesterday morning.”

Welp.

You pulled one of the knives Ghost had given you earlier this morning from its sheath, “I don’t want to have to hurt you,” you swore.

But it was too late, and this was going to be a short-lived fight. You were outnumbered and outmuscled. You could only hope you would be able to hold them off until Ghost got here.

The first one moved quickly, and you flung the blade in his direction. You were aiming for his throat but missed. It landed in his shoulder, which worked well in slowing him down but wasn’t going to put him out of this fight. The second one closed in on you, throwing a dangerous left hook that for sure would have knocked you out cold if you hadn’t sidestepped him, now behind him you kicked out at the back of his leg. His momentary loss of balance was enough for you to drive your knee up into his face. Bone cracked, and his nose immediately started spewing blood everywhere.

The first guy was still recovering from your knife, but he was still more than capable of doing major harm once he regained his composure.

Your fingers found the warm metal of the soldier dog tag and wrapped your fist around it, tugging at it until his gargled protest echoed. You grabbed for the second knife equipped at your chest.

An arm wrapped around your waist and you were being hauled up into the air and slammed into the wall behind you, knocking the wind out of you. You brought your elbow down in the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. Once. Twice. He let you go, driving his fist into your jaw. Your head snapped to the side and stars blossomed in the corners of your vision.

You grappled at your assailant for purchase, but you were already being yanked into the other soldier's arms, your hand twisted painfully behind you.

“Bitch,” he missed in your ear.

Your vision was swimming but your eyes landed on the blade still jutting out of the first guy's shoulder. You leaned your weight back, lifting your feet to kick the blade in again. The man stumbled back, screaming. You dropped your weight as fast and hard as you can, bringing the last guy down with you.

He was faster than you. Climbing on top of you, pressing into your back with a knee. His finger gripped at your scalp, bringing your head up only to smash it back into the ground. Again and again.

There was a bang that cracked through the air. And you waited for the searing pain that usually accompanied a bullet.

The heavy weight above you began to suffocate you, and you struggled for breath. A whimper escaped you.

There was the sound of a struggle somewhere above you but you couldn’t find the strength to so much as look up.

The weight was lifted off of you, and you came face to face with the unseeing, dead eyes of the soldier who was just bashing your face into the floor. Then you were being flipped and your eyes met familiar brown ones.

Alarm flashed across his face, “Shit. Can you walk?”, his arm slipped under and around you.

“Yes, I think,” You blinked up at him, your vision blurring. You wiped at your eyes, “I can’t see.”

“You’ve got blood everywhere,” Ghost hissed, shifting your weight onto him. The floor beneath your feet was slick and you fought to keep them under you. He nearly carried you to the truck before shoving you into the passenger seat. He was driving off before you could register where you were.

“Was it just them?” He asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road but they kept snapping over to you.

Your arms felt heavy and you slumped in your seat, “I didn’t see anyone else.”

He drove fast back down the road and out of the town. If there were two soldiers still here there was bound to be more. And he wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

He reached into the back to find something, anything for you to wipe the blood from your face. You weren’t sure which of it was yours and which of it was the now dead soldiers.

He found a plain white cotton shirt from his pack.

“You’ll never get the blood stains out,” you half joked as you wiped at your face.

“I’m not too attached,” he ground out but you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for jests right now.

“Did you find your informant?” you strained as you wound a particular sore spot above your brow. A break in the skin that would surely scar.

“He was dead.”

Nausea gripped your stomach and you weren’t sure if it was the signs of a concussion or because of the aftermath of what you’d seen at the school. Most likely both, “Riley,” you struggled, fingers finding the door handle, “Pull over.”

“What?”

Saliva flooded your mouth, “Pull over.”

He turned into the ditch, tossing you a concerned glance before he moved to open his door.

“Stay in the truck,” you ordered, before slipping out your door.

You were retching before your feet found the earth. You retched until you couldn’t anymore. Until your stomach was empty and your legs were useless.

He didn’t say a word when you stepped back into the truck, but his knuckles turned white in the steering wheel.

He handed you the bottled water from the cup holder and you rinsed your mouth out before speaking again, “We can’t involve any more civilians,” even to your ears you sounded defeated, “They will hunt them down. They did. They…called her a sympathizer,” you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. You told him of the school, and the message written on the chalkboard. You told him about the little girl and the teacher had to leave in the courtyard. “Did you informant know anything about the rest of us? Did he know I was at the school while you were with him?”

He stiffened, “No and yes. He wasn’t aware that anyone other than us two were on the run,”

We drove for another few hours before he turned off the road once more.

He was jumping out of the truck and reaching into the back seats before coming around to your side. His head was on a swivel, as he walked, looking for any signs that we had a tail. He opened your door, “We can’t go back to camp just yet,” he handed you your pack and placed his at his feet.

You had noticed that he was going in the complete opposite direction of the base a while back. Those soldiers knew we had been to that village, and they had been waiting for us to turn back up. There was still a chance they were following us, hoping we’d bring them back to everyone else.

“Agreed,”

“Dress in your civi’s,” he took out a fresh pair of jeans and a plain grey sweater, “The closest safe house isn’t as secure as the last,” He looked over your face and removed his vest, “I can stop on the way there and get you some ice for your face.”

Then he was shirtless, then he was nearly naked.

And too soon he was dressed again. His sweater pulled tights across his chest and shoulders. He looked even better in regular clothes than he did in his uniform. He moved to help you with your vest, the velcro a harsh sound in the silence. He helped you wiggle out of your shirt. You were sticky, cold, wet and with blood. He handed you a hoodie and waited for you to put it on before closing the door.

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#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod fanfic #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost #ghost x reader

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belquinre · 3 months ago

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Here’s a little backstory with Angela’s Jigsaw trap!

This’ll include:

• Why she’s put into this trap

•The symbolism of the trap

•What happens afterward in the trap

TRIGGER WARNING: for anybody that doesn’t like cuts and fake blood my sketch will include both

(This is the aftermath of her trap)⬇️

So Angela has always been a very kind hearted person, which is very rare when it comes to society, but sometimes it’s taken advantage of. Hoffman grew up with Angie so he always saw what ways people took advantage of her. So he puts her in this trap to finally make her realize how much her life is worth. He uses the phrase “fight for your life” as a reminder that if she continues to let people exploit her, she could end up hurt or worse, dead.

(The only reason John Kramer knew Angela is because Angie owns her own therapy company, in which she also has ties to the medical field along with William Easton’s insurance company. John remembers a meeting that Angela held with William while he was there asking for coverage for his surgery)

So Angela’s trap is taken between saw II and saw III. Her trap is called “The Halo”

It’s a timed device that straps, with a padlock and key, around the circumference of her head and will protrude six giant hypodermic needles through her brain. The halo represents her nickname “Angel/Angelcakes” given to her because of her altruism.

The point of her trap is for her to be able to pick between a bunch of glass boxes that hold the key to her head device. These boxes also include past influences, those people personal family or just close role models. She has to go through each box and break them open with just her bare hands. She will either find the key or be surprised by sticking her hand in more broken glass. the more boxes she breaks the more skin she breaks open

This trap was originally going to be done by Hoffman but Amanda found the case file and decided to do it herself. Amanda having a history of rigging traps, she decides to weld the halo shut so she is not able to take it off. Though Angie’s will power to live, she takes it off by sliding it off her head, but by doing so she adds six more deep cuts to her forehead and skull.

Hoffman “arrives on the scene” of her trap to act like he figured out the next location of the next jigsaw trap. But Hoffman arrives to see Angie COVERED in blood and cuts and severely panicking/shaking. Hoffman notices that the halo trap is still closed even after the padlock is off the device. He realizes that Amanda tried to eliminate Angie without probable cause. So Hoffman decides to write the letter to Amanda stating that if she doesn’t kill Lynn in the next game, he would tell John about her involvement with Cecil and the loss of John’s baby (THIS LORE WILL BE SO MUCH MORE CLEAN SOON I PROMISE)

After the trap her trust in any criminal investigators is practically at an all time low. Though she loves Mark with all her heart she can quite wrap her head around the fact about how soon he got there. She believes it’s so suspicious. Though Hoffman tries to convince her that “he figured it out” she still is concerned as to how he even found a random warehouse address in the first place

THATS ALL THE LORE I HAVE FOR NOW SO PLEASE ENJOY THIS WHILE I WRITE MORE

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astheskycries · 1 year ago

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Accepted- 7

Planning a wedding with the man she loves and working small jobs with SHIELD seems like an easy task, but now that Jonathan is dead, Maggie and Steve have to continue tracking down HYDRA and cleaning up the mess left behind- which is easier said than done when the Winter Soldier has returned.

1 2 3 4 5 6

Masterlist Buy me a Coffee

“What do you mean it was compromised?” Steve demands, jacket gone and the tie loosened around his neck as he paces his floor, Bucky and T’Challa listening.

Steve’s previously perfectly gelled hair is mused from the frequent hand running through it, with the top two buttons undone and his sleeves haphazardly shoved up to his elbows. He’s barely managed to change, sounding more and more concerned since returning to the room Tony arranged for Bucky to stay in. “Why would they be ambushed in one of Tony’s warehouses?”

“The warehouse was an ambush,” FRIDAY calmly repeats from the ceiling intercom, having reached out as soon as Steve returned. “The warehouse was sold by Mr. Stark years ago once the company changed. The HYDRA drive was recovered, but not without casualties.”

“Maggie?”

“… She was the main target. I have not heard from them since Agent Romanoff gave emergency treatment-“

“Emergency?” Steve demands, heart dropping to his stomach. He was so worried, so focused on recovering the piece of his past he had left, the only family he could rely on since he became Captain America, and now he was paying the price. Maggie was paying the price.

“She was hit by a bullet, Maximoff tried to keep the wound closed but there was still significant blood loss. After Romanoff consulted Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark they went dark as the safe house was considered compromised.”

Of course. “Keep me posted as soon as you know where they are. I want to see Maggie.” He lets the call end before releasing a heavy breath, leaning against the back of the couch. “This is my fault…”

“No,” Bucky says firmly, watching his every move. “You couldn’t have known it would have been an ambush.”

“No,” Steve sighs. “But I also haven’t been trying. I’ve been pushing off everything Maggie says, from missions to the wedding to everything she’s faced with HYDRA.”

Bucky nods slowly. “So basically what I warned you about?”

Steve ignores his friend’s slightly smug dig, lost in thought. “I really messed up.”

“Maybe,” Bucky grips his shoulder, just like he used to before the serum changed them both. “But even if you’re a stubborn punk, you two will get over this. Just talk to her.”

Steve sighs before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the engagement ring from his pocket. “I don’t think that’ll work this time…”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “She gave it back?”

“Found it on the dresser in my room.” He examines it, lost in thought. Though it’s simple, it’s perfectly Maggie in its subtle charm. “I deserve it… But I’m going to get her back. Whatever it takes.” He nods to T’Challa. “I’m going after them. I’m bringing them home.”

…

The first thing I’m aware of is a musty smell, an almost damp heaviness that takes more effort to breathe through and hurts my side with every deep breath. The air is cool and clammy against my skin, and when I open my eyes I can see the dampness making the dark ceiling shine. I wince a bit as I turn my head, trying to see as much as I can despite the sharp pain in my ribs and how the room spins when I move my eyes. “Natasha? Wanda?”

“Here," Wanda gently takes my hand, hers feeling almost uncomfortably warm. “It’s ok, you’ll be ok.”

“Where are we?” I manage to croak out, mouth feeling like dry cotton and throat almost raw.

“We found a cavern to stop in,” Natasha is on the other side, and I manage to turn my head to see her gathering bloody gauze and shoving it in a section of her bag. “You rest, we managed to stitch it up but you still lost a lot of blood.”

I cringe a bit as I swallow, trying to focus. “Steve?”

“We dropped contact,” Natasha says softly, looking over at me. “It’s safer until we know we aren’t followed.” I manage to nod, and she passes me some water and a straw. “How are you feeling?”

I take a sip, some of the sharp throbbing in my head easing. “I’m ok.” Everything hurts, but we’re safe and alive. “As soon as I’m able to move, we can get to a safer area.”

“Don’t force it,” Wanda rests her hand on my head, easing some of the pain. “We can accelerate some of the healing, but the blood… Well, we need to make sure you’re well enough to travel before we move again.”

I grunt a bit, managing to turn to look around the cavern. There are two backpacks resting by my feet, in close reach for any other emergencies. I notice the frown on Natasha’s face before the gun appears, and I try to sit up when she shifts. “Natasha-“

“Stay here.” She doesn’t look away from the entrance, silently padding into the open as Wanda checks my gauze. Though Wanda seems unconcerned, I can only imagine how exhausted she must be between the mission and trying to help me heal faster.

“Don’t worry about me,” Wanda says quietly, magic still floating around the wound. “I’m keeping you stable until we return to the compound- Banner’s machine should be able to regrow the cells and help you recover faster.”

Natasha returns, and seconds later I see Steve in uniform and rushing to my side. I blink, sure it’s a dream, but he gently takes my hand and strokes my knuckles as he kneels beside me. “Steve…”

“Shhh, rest baby,” His voice is soft and gentle, grip flexing before he leans over and presses warm lips to my temple.

“What are you doing here?” I frown, trying to move my hand free and a bit overwhelmed. “Why now? Why after all this time?”

“Did you think I would let you go?” I make a face, opening my mouth to argue, but he continues on before I can speak. “I love you, Maggie. I’ll never let you go again.” I try to move, but nurses move as Wanda lifts me with her powers, bringing me into the jet and a machine before the pain in the shift takes over, bringing me back to the darkness.

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Protected Series: @brooklyn-1918 @jennmurawski13 @mrspeacem1nusone

#accepted #protected series #steve #steve rogers #steve fanfiction #steve fic #steve fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve x ofc #steve rogers x ofc #captain america #captain america fic #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america x ofc

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hmmidnight-hunt · 1 year ago

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Day 3 — Graves

“I hate you”

Kinktober day 3: Boot worship | Hate s3x — GN!Reader

NSFW, MDNI — TW: Mentions of murder, unhealthy relationship, depiction of violence

The König one is still going crazy we can’t believe it omg -Hunter

You were in deep shit. Utterly and purely. You hadn’t been able to escape the Vaqueros warehouse when the Shadow Company turned its back on your team.

You had managed to get halfway out, leaving a wake of bodies in your path but inevitably, you ended up being caught. And now, you are, like previously stated, in trouble bigger than you.

You’re trapped in a place that was once your safe haven and is now your possible death sentence.

You’ve been thrown in a room after being separated from any weapons you had and stripped of your tactical gear.

No windows, no opening, no possible escape.

You pace from left to right, racking your brain for a solution to your situation. You’re good, one of the best in your rank but this, escaping with your bare hands from a warehouse full of heavily armed and angry opponents. It’s above your capacity.

"I can see the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours, darlin’, " You hear Graves say as he enters the room.

You glance his way, freezing in your tracks and shooting him a glare. If looks could kill, he wouldn’t be breathing anymore.

You could snap his neck, you should snap his neck. But killing him will only add to your seemingly never-ending list of problems, so you refrain.

"I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea what to do with you. My shadows, they say we should eliminate you, clean and easy, just like you did out there with their teammates." He continues, walking towards you, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"And why don’t you just do that? Let’s be fucking over with this already," you utter through gritted teeth, your voice filled with venom, your legs shaking from the tension in the air.

But you know why. God, you still can feel why deep inside. Literally.

Graves strides towards you, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Without thinking, you take a step backwards, finding yourself pressed against the wall behind you.

His hands frame your face, and he towers over you, letting his knuckles graze your hair as he looks down.

"Stay with me," he says, nearly purring, looking down into your eyes. "Switch sides."

You scoff, but there isn’t a single trace of amusement in your laugh. Only rage.

"Fuck you, Graves," you answer coldly.

But your eyes betray you and drift to his lips.

Lips you that you know, oh too well.

He catches your gaze, a smug smile appearing on his face.

His stupidly fuckable face, you think.

Both of you keep your silence, but you can feel the heat rising, the cramped space filling up with the passion of what you two used to share.

Your mind floods with the memories of the stolen moments.

None of you make the first move and yet somehow, your lips collide. It’s raw, untamed. Teeth clashing together and each seeking dominance in the kiss.

In a flash of lucidity, you push him away, and his hand which was softy grazing your hair, grabs a fistful of it and keeps you right where he wants you to be. Where he needs you to be.

"Is this how you're gonna be now? I don't remember you being so rough." You mock, your eyes never leaving his. "I remember an obedient slut, fucking himself stupid at my feet, his tongue deep inside of me. Didn't know you had it in you to be this mean," you tease again, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Your hands reach his cheek, you touch him softly, and you can see anger simmering in his eyes.

"How many times have I had to clean your cum off my boots already?" you add, a fake innocent tone clinging to your voice.

His jaw tenses and you can see his irises darken. He turns you, slamming your chest against the wall.

“You should learn to shut your damn mouth. I'm not in the mood for any of your fucking games,” he snaps back, his lips near the shell of your ear.

You feel his hand tugging on your waist, your belt unbuckling in a matter of seconds and you push back on him, grinding your ass on his erection as he undresses you.

Your pants roll down your thighs and you feel his palm roughly hitting your ass, a stinging pain lingering on your cheek.

You feel his cock teasing your entrance and without a warning, he slams inside of you. Your back arches, and you moan loudly, before muffling the sounds with your hands.

He continues to thrust, pounding relentlessly, and his hand grabs your wrist, now holding both your arms behind your back, preventing you from blocking the moans and whimpers from parting your lips.

“Be a good whore and scream for me, let my shadows know who you belong to now.” You try to hold it in, but your moans grow louder, their echoes rippling across the room and probably in the whole base.

His teeth sink into your neck, leaving behind a trail of love bites. Marking you as his.

Your grip is like a vice, squeezing his length as if you were made for this and this only, making his member twitch inside of you.

You can feel the familiar heat building between your legs, a delightful tension builds in your stomach, and your walls tighten around his cock.

"Go ahead baby, come on, come for me," he purrs in your ear, but his tone is mocking you more than anything.

Tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks as you come undone, legs quivering under your weight. One of his hands leaves your arms to hold on your waist, keeping you steady.

“I hate you,” you manage to say between breathy moans, still trembling from the intensity of your climax.

#cod mw2 #smut #fanfic #call of duty #graves mw2 #cod graves #graves x reader #phillip graves #i am kenough

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nandangel · 20 days ago

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Chapter 2 - Who is Lauren Lexington?

950 words | mainlist

Lauren Lexington

I glanced at the clock on the wall of my office. The minute hand seemed to spin faster and faster, while my stress only grew. The morning had been a whirlwind of meetings, reports, and negotiations. As the CEO of Lexington Corporation, my life was a sea of tasks and deadlines, and I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"I never imagined being a CEO would be this overwhelming," I thought, trying to take a deep breath to calm my nerves. The weight of responsibility bore down on my shoulders like an invisible burden. When my father passed away, and I took over the company at 21, I knew I wasn't inheriting a clean empire. Lexington Corporation had its façade as an international export and import company, but what lay beneath was far darker: weapons and slot machines being smuggled into the United States.

My father taught me everything about the business world, and the truth is, he was far from clean. I knew what kept the company running involved much more than legitimate exports and imports of common goods. I accepted continuing my father's work, even knowing about the dirt involved, simply because it was the only way to preserve his legacy and keep the business in order. To make matters worse, I left John Ackles, the Co-CEO, to handle the dirtiest aspects. He had been my father's right-hand man, with an efficient, if not particularly ethical, way of managing the messes the business often created.

That's why I was deeply unsettled when David, one of John's secretaries, entered my office with a look of genuine concern. He seemed nervous, which only increased my apprehension.

— Ms. Lexington, I need to talk to you about something urgent. — David began, his voice filled with tension.

— What happened? — I asked, trying to stay calm.

— Mr. Ackles is not in his office, and no one knows where he is. He left without notice, and honestly, I don't know what to do.

— That's strange. John has never disappeared without leaving word.— My mind started racing with possibilities. His disappearance didn't make sense, and I was beginning to worry. — And what about the businessman? Wasn't he here to meet with Mr. Ackles?

— Yes, he was. But since John is missing, you'll have to attend the meeting yourself.

The feeling that something was about to go wrong was always present. It was a familiar sensation.

My heart began to race. Even though I knew all the dark intricacies of the business, I disliked being directly involved in those matters. I was always afraid of the violence that accompanied such dealings. However, I knew refusing the meeting could harm our dealings with the mafia, and that was something I couldn't allow. My father taught me the rules, and many of them came with severe consequences if not followed to the letter.

— All right, I'll meet with him. — I confirmed, trying to hide the apprehension in my tone.

[...]

When I arrived at the meeting point, I expected to find a fancy restaurant—something befitting the status of the businessman waiting to meet me. I was dressed in an elegant black dress and high heels, which seemed like the perfect choice for the occasion. However, instead of a sophisticated restaurant, the black car that brought me was heading toward an industrial warehouse, a location that was the exact opposite of anything refined.

Fear began to settle in my chest as the car slowed and stopped in front of a large, rusted metal gate. The surroundings were dark and uninviting, and the tension in the air sent a chill down my spine. The driver, an impassive-looking Asian man, stepped out of the car and opened the door for me. With a look that left no room for argument, he extended his hand and said in an emotionless tone:

— Follow me, please.

His tone only heightened my anxiety. I tried to maintain my composure, but the feeling that something was terribly wrong wouldn't leave me. The warehouse was cold and desolate, with bare concrete walls and the echo of my own footsteps as the only sound filling the space. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows, and the place had an oppressive atmosphere that screamed "interrogation."

My mind was racing, trying to process the situation. Panic started to take over, and I felt completely out of place. The thought of the pepper spray in my bag was the only thing that brought me any relief. If the situation went out of control, I had a means of defense—a small but potentially effective protection against any threat.

When the man behind me approached, I acted quickly. I pulled the pepper spray from my bag and, with a decisive movement, sprayed it directly into his face. He screamed, his cries of pain echoing off the cold walls of the warehouse as he clutched his burning eyes.

Before I could make another move, two enormous men emerged from the shadows and grabbed me forcefully. My heart was racing, and terror nearly paralyzed me. I was about to scream for help when a raspy voice, speaking in heavily accented English, echoed through the warehouse with a tone of irony that made me tremble even more.

— No need to be so dramatic, Miss Lauren. I just want to have a friendly conversation with you.

I knew I was in an extremely delicate and dangerous situation. Despite the panic consuming me, I realized I had to keep my composure. It was a harsh lesson, but one I had learned from my father: dealing with the challenges and consequences of the business world was an inevitable part of the life I had inherited.

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otherworldlyhope · 10 months ago

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Started another project because I literally can't stop myself now. Remember all that time ago when I proposed the idea of a Bdubs secret agent au? Well I wrote it.

It's called The Flowers in Your Eyes and I'm really excited for it! I'll post the first chapter here, and the rest will be on my ao3.

Chapter 1: Hail to the King

CW: death, gun violence Words: 3,843

Hidden deep within Aquatown, far from the prying eyes of the public is a warehouse. Its unassuming looks often turn people away, a simple stone facade with a metal shingle roof. The inside is always dark whether night or day. Maybe at one time it had been used for storage or anything normal, but now it has a completely different purpose.

Just below this warehouse lies a complicated door guarded by snarling dogs and a woman with a stoic expression that never leaves her face. If deemed worthy the door will open, leading to dozens more security measures. Fingerprint scanners, passcodes, and various other tasks lie in wait before any of the other doors can be open. Only after all these tests are passed is the final door opened, and the facade of the warehouse is completely stripped away.

Hermitcraft Environmental Protection, otherwise known as HEP, is both a well known and mysterious agency. To the broad public it’s merely a protection group. Volunteers in orange shirts take to the streets once a week and clean Aquatown of any dangerous substances that may threaten the town. HEP is happily spearheaded by the gracious mayor of the town. With his gleaming smile, and genuine love for his town there is no doubt in the trustworthiness of HEP. After all, how bad can a single company really be?

To the unfortunate few in the city that are aware, HEP is far from an environmental force. The true HEP is still mostly unknown, a select few know surface level details, but no one besides enemies and those on the inside are truly aware of HEP’s activities. Most of those who know about the true intentions of the agency usually don’t last long enough to tell another soul anyways.

Mysterious assassinations of greedy politicians, distribution of various drugs, intelligence gathering and many other shady tasks regarding the city falls on the shoulders of those working at the true HEP. It’s not a glamorous job, but it does pay well, and once you’re in you can never really get out. Well you can, but it usually it's in a coffin.

At the center of HEP is the mysterious agent known as DoubleO. He has been in his position from the very start of the agency, appointed by the mayor himself. While many were skeptical at first, he quickly proved his abilities. With dozens of recorded eliminations and countless unrecorded, there has never been an agent that has come close to his level of proficiency. Despite all attempts of less than savory parties, no one has been able to find a single bit of information on this person, and they never will.

DoubleO stands on a rooftop, his jacket whipping in the wind that funnels through gaps in the nearby buildings. He’s only two stories up, a fall that he can take easily, in fact he intends on taking it soon. Just down the street is a brightly lit bar full of college students. Their loud voices fill the block, and it makes him smile. It’s always good to have some good cover sound. Missions done in absolute silence always have him so much more on edge.

With a sigh he sits down, his entire back popping with the movement. Void, he really needs to go to his chiropractor, it’s been far too long since he got put in place and he could benefit from it now. He slides his gloves on, stretching his fingers to make sure they don't hinder his mobility in any way. The white fabric shines under the moonlight, but it doesn't catch his eye. It never does.

He slides his briefcase across the tiled rooftop towards him, unlocking it with a simple key. There’s a slight click as he flips open the latches and takes in the sight of the weapon before him. His eyes scan the contents for only a moment before he’s grabbing parts. With practiced motions he puts every piece in place, not even needing to double check his work.

Maybe a year ago he would have checked again and made sure that all the pins were done correctly, but now he has no doubt in his skills. It takes barely a minute to have the gun wholly assembled and balanced on the edge of the building. He pulls himself into position, laying across the tile.

The back of the gun is placed firmly against his shoulder as he moves the scope to be perfectly aligned. A voice sounds in his ear, but he doesn’t jump or even twitch despite the loud volume.

“DoubleO, the target is three minutes out, coming from the south. Black sedan, middle seat in the back row. There are three guards with him, others ready to be on site in minutes.”

“Got it X.” He says curtly, not wanting to say any more than he needs to on the rare chance that someone is in the alley below him. It would be unfortunate to add another unofficial name to his little black book, so he tries his best to keep himself inconspicuous.

He doesn’t move at all in the span of two minutes, only flexing his fingers over the trigger to make sure they don't get too tense. He’s learned from his previous mistakes to not hold them tight against the metal. As X gives him the one minute warning he begins his routine.

Breathe in for ten, then out for fifteen.

Relax the shoulders, and let them drop right into place.

Pull the pointer finger to the trigger and simply wait with held breath.

Not once in his three years of doing this has he broken this routine, and it has never failed him in return. Well, once it did. But he doesn't count that circumstance.

The black sedan pulls up to the sidewalk and the only person who steps out is a large man in the passenger seat. He pulls a radio to his mouth, scanning the streets for signs of anyone. Not once do his eyes find DoubleO’s scope. Only when he deems it clear does he knock on the window.

The two guards exit next, standing on both sides of the target as he finally emerges. His head glows in the moonlight, a lack of hair being a very reflective surface. He’s taller than both the guards at his side. At that observation DoubleO’s mouth turns up into a smile. Fantastic.

To the guards’ credit, they do a rather good job at keeping the target well covered. Unfortunately for them DoubleO is better than rather good at his job. He doesn’t let them even take a step, aiming directly where the moon shines on a hairless scalp.

It takes seven and a half pounds of pressure to pull the trigger on this particular rifle and he does it with ease. The back hits his shoulder harshly as a boom rings out across the street. He only takes a second to make sure the target is down before dropping his head and rolling to the side. The guards shout as they try to place where the shot had even come from.

By the time they figure out the building, DoubleO is already at the far edge. He rolls over it without a second thought, angling himself to favorably hit the ground. A slight weightlessness comes over him before rudely being interrupted by concrete. Still he takes it in stride, rolling into his feet with little effort.

The second he’s on the ground he’s pulling off the gloves and all his layers. They are neatly folded in his hands as he walks, his eyes focused on an old beat up Honda parked on the street. By the time he’s stripped of all identifying clothing he’s at the car. Without as much as a misstep in his gait he drops the clothes and his earpiece in the open window, barely nodding at the man inside.

The whir of a window rolling up fills his ears as he tugs his light gray sleeves down. The fabric is itchy on his skin, the seams in all the wrong places. Just as he hears yells echoing on the street, he ducks into the still rowdy bar. The bartender catches his eyes immediately and gives an almost imperceptible nod.

DoubleO picks a seat at the end of the bar and before he’s even down, the bartender has placed a half filled bottle of beer and a laptop before him. The seat is uncomfortable, a velvet lined backless barstool. Still he leans forward, pulling his elbows onto the bar. One hand wraps around the neck of the beer, and the other holds his face up.

The sweatshirt on his back bears the mascot of the nearby college, and on his laptop is a partially finished homework assignment. With almost no effort he blends right into the crowd of partying students. Just as he raises the bottle to his lips does he see the guards from before in his peripheral.

There’s much more than three and he’s almost impressed how quickly they mobilized. Still he focuses his gaze back to the laptop, lazily eyeing the problems in front of him. It’s chemistry, and immediately his face turns in disgust. The bartender smiles at his expression and leans forward on the counter.

“You regretting taking chemistry yet?” He asks casually, tapping his fingers against the bar. His eyes barely dart to the door, but DoubleO’s stay directly where they are. “I’ve been told that professor is an absolute nightmare .”

So there’s two of the guards entering the bar. DoubleO enthusiastically nods before taking another swig of the beer. It hits the bar top hard as he throws his hands out in an annoyed way.

“Every day I wish that I took psychology.” He sighs, then goes for another drink, making a show when he realizes the bottle is empty. An exhausted exhale leaves him as his whole body deflates onto the bar. “While I’m doing this dumb research paper, they’re doing nice little group projects. My dad was right, I shouldn't have gone into the sciences.”

He barely catches the way the seat two away from him settles. One of the guards sits heavily, rubbing his eyes as he waves the bartender over.

“I’ll take whatever he’s having.” The guard sighs, waving his hand towards DoubleO.

“Good choice.” The bartender says, grabbing two bottles from below the bar. One goes to DoubleO and one goes to the guard.

He starts to lay the act on hard, annoyed that the guard is sitting there and not just doing a quick sweep like he should be.

“Hey Ed,” DoubleO pauses, drunkenly waving his hand over his beer. “Wait, that's your name right?” When the bartender starts to correct him he just shakes his head and talks even louder. “Whatever. Did you know that with my gpa I could have gone to any college I wanted? But my dumb parents wanted me to stay close or whatever. I could have gone to like Harvard or somethin’, Harvard Ed.” He emphasizes every syllable, making a complete fool of himself as he slurs over random words.

Ed only rolls his eyes, pulling the beer away from him before he can take another sip.

“I think I might have to cut you off kid, that’s one too many when you’re supposed to be doing homework.”

So the other guard has left, it’s go time.

“Hey, that's unfair.” DoubleO whines, leaning over the bar to try and grab the bottle back. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes I can and I am. Now go home.” The bartender turns, setting the bottle on the second to right coaster. DoubleO notes it with pursed lips and then dramatically flops onto the bar. After a few seconds he props his head up, glancing up at the guard through half lidded eyes.

“Hey man.” He pokes the guard, giggling at the harsh glance he gets back. “Do you have any cigarettes? I promise I’ll like pay for your beer or somethin’, but I ran out and I am way too drunk to get some more . ” He sings that last part, internally cringing.

The guard sighs before nodding, casting a look at Ed who points to the no smoking sign. “Let’s head outside, kid.”

DoubleO stands quickly, then almost falls directly on his face. The guard reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him to his feet.

“Thanks mister, you’re nicer than my own parents ya know?” He mumbles as they exit the bar. DoubleO leads them into the alley beside it, greedily reaching out. “They hate smokin’, said it’ll give me cancer or somethin’. So I told them I’ll become a chemist and cure cancer so I can smoke all I want.”

He laughs heartily at his own words. The guard finally drops his wall a bit, giving him a placating smile and reassuring words.

“Hey did you see someone come in that bar in the last few minutes?” The guard says as he pulls a cigarette from the box. DoubleO all but rips it from his hands, and holds it to the lighter the guard produces. He makes a show of thinking as he pulls the cigarette to his lips.

“Uhhhhhh.” He leans against the wall, blowing the smoke right into the guard’s face with a laugh. “There was this one guy, all shady lookin’. He went to the bathroom after almost makin’ me spill my beer on myself. I was so mad.”

Gotcha.

The second the guard turns to look back at the alley entrance, DoubleO is moving. He drops the cigarette and reaches out, wrapping his forearm around the guard’s neck. His other hand comes up to stabilize the chokehold.

“Shhhh.” He hushes the gurgling man, slowly dragging him back towards a now opening door. His smile is wide as he rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna blow my cover.”

The bartender has opened the back door, holding it open as DoubleO drags the almost unconscious guard into the break room. He only tightens his grip when they’re out of the open space, and waits until the man goes limp against him. The second he does, he drops him, letting him fall into a heap of limp limbs and cigarette smoke.

“X is gonna be happy about this one.” The bartender looks down at the guard with an uncomfortable smile. “He was just complaining about how they were getting no info from Mr. Bright, but this should make his day.”

DoubleO rubs his eyes as he searches for something to tie the guy’s hands with. “I’m so glad he’s gonna be happy.” He says dryly, drawing out the so. “But tell him I hate the freaking bar jobs. Acting drunk is the absolute worst.”

“You’re so good at it though.”

“Oh shut up Mumbo.”

Mumbo only rolls his eyes, pulling the edge of his mustache with his fingers. “It’s not like we had much of a choice in the matter. He wasn’t supposed to sit down. He saw your face for far too long.”

“I know, I know.” DoubleO gripes, finally finding a length of rope that he fastens around the man’s wrists. “I have a dinner to get to tonight and this was supposed to be a quick in and out.”

“I’m sure Scar will understand.” Mumbo says. There’s a beat of silence and then the two erupt in laughter. Mumbo has to wipe his eyes afterwards, curling over his stomach.

“Sometimes you’re the funniest guy I know, Mumbo.” DoubleO chuckles, lightly punching the other man’s shoulder. “Do you think you can handle this guy until they pick him up?”

“Yeah.” Mumbo sighs, lightly kicking the man over. “I already called X so the team should be on their way soon.”

“Alright then I’m gonna dip. I gotta hurry if I want to get to dinner at a reasonable time.” DoubleO crosses the room, pulling the handle of the door. “I’m so screwed.”

“Alright I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There’s a motorcycle waiting just around the back of the bar when DoubleO turns the corner. He pulls the helmet on and curses X under his breath.

“You couldn’t have gotten me a car or something?” He mutters. “I’m gonna have to fix my hair and I’m already running late…”

He continues to complain to himself as he gets on the bike and kicks it on. The purr of the engine does settle him down a bit, and he quite enjoys speeding through the back alleys until he can merge onto a main road.

He checks his watch and sighs, pulling off onto a side street. He definitely doesn’t have time to go back to his apartment, so one of his safehouses will have to do. A lack of a shower doesn’t sit well with him, but he’s already far too late.

He basically runs through the parking garage, pulling the helmet off as he rushes through the seemingly abandoned building. The keypad has dust gathering on its keys as he punches in the code, and he hastily wipes his finger on his shirt. There’s no way he’s wearing this to dinner with the freaking mayor.

Luckily he’s prepared for these circumstances and finds much nicer clothes in the safe house. White button up and black slacks go on quickly, his shoes are still trainers, but he’ll have to make do. He musses his hair in the mirror and groans at the way the helmet pressed strands of it down it stupid ways. Whatever, he’s got to go anyway.

The bike is nice enough to calm his mood and by the time he pulls up to the building he’s feeling much better. The woman in the lobby waves at him as he passes like she always does, and he nods like every other time. When he enters the elevator there’s no buttons, but it starts to rise all the same.

This is really the only time he gets nervous honestly. Scar has always made him feel that way, and it wasn’t even really his fault. Just how things have played out up until this point still has the agent taking calming breaths before their meetings. He does a once over of his clothes in the reflective surface of the elevator and fusses over his collar before the ding of the door brings him back to where he is.

He clears his throat once before stepping out, marveling at the view just beyond him. The mayor was quite good at pulling strings, and so they would meet in this random skyscraper that DoubleO doesn’t think actually belongs to a company. They dine at the top floor with tinted windows and sound canceling walls. This is where the business is done.

His eyes flit over the Aquatown and then finally settle on the man sitting at the table just by the window. His hands are crossed over his chest, an obviously fake smile on his face. Once he meets DoubleO’s eyes he pointedly looks down at his own watch.

“Sorry Scar.” He apologizes, sitting across the table with him as quickly as he can. The white napkin in front of him goes on his lap as he actively avoids looking at the mayor. “Mr. Bright’s guards ended up being more of a nuisance than we thought. We did manage to get one for interrogation though, so overall I think it worked out.”

The mayor simply hums as he sips a red wine from his glass. The scar on his cheek pulls and DoubleO looks away quickly.

“I guess I can excuse it.” There’s a joking tone to his voice, but DoubleO knows Scar well enough that he can tell he’s not amused. “Is all that business going to be wrapped up then?”

DoubleO nods quickly, grabbing his own glass with slightly shaky hands. Weirdly enough these meetings always feel like having dinner with guardians after getting in trouble. He tries not to dwell on that though.

“After the interrogation we should be good, I was going to follow up on the Glasby family as their ties with Bright are too large to ignore. I-”

“That’s actually why I called you here today.” He falls silent as Scar speaks. “I’m assigning you to a long term undercover mission starting next week. All the information you need is in these files here.”

He pushes a rather large stack of papers towards DoubleO, who can only stare at Scar in shock. His mouth is wide open as he blinks, sure he’s heard it wrong.

“Me? Undercover?” His voice is slightly hoarse so he clears his throat. “You know that I don't really do that sort of thing. I’m sure Mumbo would be really happy to do it. That’s like his whole thing.”

“Mumbo is working on the new MooPop factory with Cub and Tango. Believe me, I’ve thought through all the options and I am confident that you can pull this off.” Scar puts his hand out, his tone softening just a bit as the agent grabs it. “You used to love undercover work, just remember that you’re the best for a reason. I didn’t take you off the streets just for you to doubt yourself like this.”

“What if I mess up again?”

Scar’s eyes darken for just a moment, his fingers squeezing tightly against DoubleO’s. Then just as quickly as it came, it disappears. “You won’t. I believe in you.”

DoubleO’s entire frame relaxes against the chair as he nods. “Alright, give me a rundown.”

Scar beams at his words and grabs some papers of his own.

“It’s much more detailed in the files, but this here is your target.” He scans the picture, seeing a pretty regular looking guy. The only really weird things are his white hair and the rather large scar over his left eye and spanning down his cheek. “His name is Etho Slab, at least that’s what he says it is. We are confident he’s a Mycelium Resistance member, and a quite high level one at that.”

DoubleO sucks in a breath, suddenly seeing the man with new eyes. There’s a slight feeling of familiarity, like he’s seen those eyes before.

“We’re dropping you in as a store owner that’s attached to a cafe he regularly goes to. Your apartment will also be relatively close as well. The goal is to become friends with him, get him convinced you want to join the resistance when he eventually spills, then get all the information you can.”

“Why don't I just nab him at the cafe and we get the information ourselves? I bet X could get it out of him.” DoubleO asks, leaning against the table with an elbow.

“With his status it’s highly unlikely we’ll get anything from him. That group is stubbornly loyal, so you just need to find a way to join in, get the information, and get out.”

“Sounds easy enough.” DoubleO says dryly.

“Exactly!” Scar exclaims.

“I was kidding. This is going to be awful.”

#ethubs agent au #hermitcraft fic #hopewrites #y'all it's gonna get so good

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x-ceirios-x · 6 months ago

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City of Lost Souls, Chapter 6: No Weapon In This World

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

The redbrick warehouse Magnus lived in rose above them. Jocelyn pushed open the glass doors to the entryway, and they crowded inside, Clary trying to breathe through her mouth as her mother pushed the buzzer for Magnus one, two, and three times. At last the doors opened and they hurried up the stairs. The door to Magnus’s apartment was open, and the warlock was leaning against the architrave, waiting for them. He was wearing canary-yellow pajamas, and on his feet were green slippers with alien faces, complete with sproingy antennae. His hair was a tangled, curly, spiky mass of black, and his gold-green eyes blinked tiredly at them.

“Saint Magnus’s Home for Wayward Shadowhunters,” he said in a deep voice. “Welcome.” He threw an arm wide. “Spare rooms are that way. Wipe your boots on the mat. I’m glad to say for one night, and one night only, I have wonderful company for you, biscuit.” He spoke monotonously, yet stepped back into the apartment, allowing Clary to wonder what he meant by that. They passed through in front of him and shut the door. Today, the place was done up in a sort of faux-Victorian decor, with high-backed sofas and large gilt mirrors everywhere. The pillars were strung with flowers.

“What was that about one night only?” said a second, equally sleepy voice, as someone emerged from the hall where Magnus indicated the spare rooms. Clary’s face melted as they saw Rowan, clad in much-too-big sweatpants tied tight around their waist and a plain undershirt, wiping their eyes from behind a pair of glasses she’d never seen before. When they pulled their hands away from their face, they sat crooked on their nose, just like Simon’s always did. It was cute. Their eyes, looking gray instead of blue in the shadowy apartment, widened at the sight of her. “Clary? By the Angel, are you okay?”

Clary stammered. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay—” she looked down at her shirt and realized just how much blood had dried on; she grimaced. “It’s not…mine?”

Rowan looked at her for a moment and they glanced at Jocelyn uncertainly, before rushing forward and grabbing their arm. They drug her away, towards a bedroom down the hall. She heard them mutter something about Aric Ashfair’s daughter? and Magnus chuckle, no doubt silently correcting her.

“You want to tell me what happened or do you just want patched up?” they asked, sitting her down on the bed. Standing over her for the split second, she realized just how tall they were compared to her—not quite as tall as Jace, but around Isabelle’s height. They didn’t look thin and slender like Isabelle, but they had broader shoulders and a stronger build, more like Jace or maybe Simon. As they turned away and began flipping through things on the desk, she watched the muscles in their shoulders and arms contract and stretch, and very quickly found the carpet below her feet more interesting. She’d never seen Rowan in something so…revealing, it felt wrong, despite the fact it was only a tanktop.

“I’m not really injured,” she said, rifling through her bag in an attempt to find her clothes. “I wanna get out there and see what happened to Luke?”

They strode towards her, having found what they were looking for—a stele. “What did happen to Luke?”

“We got attacked,” she said quickly. She stood and yanked her sweater off violently. It was covered in blood—Luke’s blood—and her worry for him made her nauseous. She couldn’t stand to think that he was hurt because of her.

Rowan quickly turned away from her, busying themself with Chairman Meow, who was sitting on the chair in front of the desk. She swore they were blushing. From her backpack, she took a clean pair of jeans and a black V-necked thermal shirt and changed into them. “You’re like…the cat whisperer,” she said in an attempt to distract herself. “Animals hate Simon since he’s become a vampire. He’s super mad about it.”

They chuckled, and when she glanced their way, she noticed them holding the quite large, fluffy cat in their arms, lazily swinging back and forth. “I know. He’s told me about that. Not even the Chairman likes him.”

“What’s going on with you two, anyway? Simon, I mean.”

They paused for a moment, then grumbled, “why does everyone think I have something going on with Simon?”

Clary huffed. “He only has, like…a super obvious crush on you.”

“Says the girl that didn’t know he was in love with you for literally years.”

She glanced at herself in the window, which showed her a pale, but warm reflection. The table lamp next to her glowed a warm, orangey hue, but she looked ghostly in the image. Her hair hung limply, hamp with snow, and her freckles stood out like paint splotches. Not that it mattered what she looked like. She thought of Jace kissing her—it felt like days ago instead of hours—and her stomach hurt as if she'd swallowed tiny knives. She reached for the edge of the bed and held it in a white-knuckled grip until the pain subsided.

“Too soon?” they asked, glancing over their shoulder to see if she was done. In an instant, they were by her side, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of her. Clearly, they’d dropped Chairman Meow, because he gave a disgruntled yeow! and went to pout in the corner. “Clary? Clary, are you alright?” they asked.

She nodded her head quickly, though held her hand out for them in an attempt to balance herself. “Yeah,” she said, a little breathless, swallowing down the terrible feeling in her chest. “Sorry.”

Their face softened for a brief moment, though the crease between their eyebrows never went away. They laid their hand on top of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t apologize.”

She took a deep breath and walked out to the living room, Rowan in stride next to her.

Her mother was seated on one of the gilt-backed chairs, her long artist’s fingers wrapped around a mug of hot water with lemon. Magnus was slumped on a hot-pink sofa, his green slippers up on the coffee table. “The pack stabilized him,” Jocelyn was saying in an exhausted voice. “They don’t know for how long, though. They thought there might have been silver powder on the blade, but it appears to be something else. The tip of the knife—” She glanced up, saw Clary, and fell silent.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m old enough to hear what’s wrong with Luke.”

She stared for a moment, and she realized it was past her and at Rowan. Rowan had rarely come to visit Luke’s house, and out of all of her friends, she probably knew her the least. Before she had a chance to say something, Magnus spoke up. “Jocelyn, if both your daughter and I trust this one,” he said, gesturing vaguely to them, “then you’re in good company. Rowan’s quite the bright child, they might be able to help figure this out.”

She nodded. Rowan shrugged and sat next to Magnus, casually shoving his shoulder over to make room for them on the sofa. “No hard feelings,” they said. Clary was sure they understood how vital information to stay secret was, especially lately.

“Well, they don’t know exactly what it is,” Jocelyn said softly. “The top of the blade Sebastian used broke off against one of his robs and lodged in the bone. But they can’t retrieve it. It…moves.”

Rowan sat up a little straighter. “It what now?”

“When they tried to dig it out, it burrowed into the bone and nearly snapped it,” Jocelyn said. “He’s a werewolf, he heals fast, but it’s in there gashing up his internal organs, keeping the wound from closing.”

“Demon metal,” said Magnus. “Not silver.”

Jocelyn leaned forward. “Do you think you can help him? Whatever it costs, I’ll pay—”

Magnus stood up. His alien slippers and rumpled bed-head seemed extremely incongruous given the gravity of the situation. “I don’t know.”

“But you healed Alec,” said Clary. “And Rowan, right? When the Greater Demon attacked?”

“I would have been fine, he just spend up the process,” they muttered.

Magnus had begun to pace. “I knew what was wrong with him. I don’t know what kind of demon metal this is. I could experiment, try different healing spells, but that still wouldn’t be the fastest way.”

“What’s the fastest way?” Jocelyn asked.

“You could call your friends,” Rowan said, which to Clary, sounded incredibly questionable, and she wondered what kind of friends these were.

He shook his head. “I’ve used up all my IOUs with the Riges, and they might not even know, anyway. But…” He thought for a moment. “The Praetor. The Wolf Guard. I knew the man who founded it—Woolsey Scott. Because of certain…incidents, he was fascinated with minutiae about the way demon metals and demon drugs act on lycanthropes, the same way the Silent Brothers keep records of the ways Nephilim can be healed. Over the years the Praetor have become very closed-off and secretive, unfortunately. But a member of the Praetor could access their information.”

“Luke’s not a member,” Jocelyn said. “And their roster is secret—”

Rowan, who had been staring at the floor in front of them, lost in thought as Magnus spoke, had an idea. “Jordan,” they said. “I have his number, I could call him—”

“I’ll call him,” said Magnus. “I can’t get into Praetor headquarters, but I can pass on a message that ought to hold some extra weight. I’ll be back.” He padded off to the kitchen, the antennae on his slippers waving gently like seaweed in a current.

“You were attacked by Sebastian?” Rowan asked, looking between the two of them. For the first time in two weeks, they looked fragile about the topic, and she knew what they were looking for.

“Your brother wasn’t there,” Jocelyn said. Clary felt a pit grow in her stomach as she heard the words and turned away from them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rowan shuffle out of the room. She looked at her mother, who was staring at her mug of hot water. It was one of her favorite restoritaves, though Clary could never figure out why someone would want to drink warm sour water. The snow had soaked her other’s hair, and now that it was drying, it was beginning to curl, like Clary’s did in humid weather.

“Mom,” Clary said carefully, and her mother looked up. “That knife you threw—back at Luke’s—was it at Jace?”

“It was at Johnathan.” She would never call him Sebastian, Clary knew.

“It’s just…” Clary took a deep breath. “It’s almost the same thing. You saw. When you stabbed Sebastian, Jace started to bleed. It’s like theyre—mirrored in someway. Cut Sebastian, Jace bleeds. Kill him, and Jace dies.”

“Clary.” Her mother rubbed her tired eyes. “Can we not discuss this now?”

“But you said you think he’ll come back for me. Jace, I mean. I need to know that you won’t hurt him—”

“Well, you can’t know that. Because I won’t promise it, Clary. I can’t.” Her mother looked at her with unflinching eyes. “I saw the two of you come out of your bedroom.”

Clary flushed. “I don’t want to—”

“To what? Talk about it? Well, too bad. You brought it up. You’re lucky I’m not in the Clave anymore, you know. How long have you known where Jace was?”

“I don’t know where he is. Tonight is the first time i’ve talked ot him since he disappeared. I saw him in the Institute with Seb—Johnathan, yesterday. I told Alec and Isabelle and Simon, and he told Rowan, but I couldn’t tell anyone else. If the Clave got hold of him—I can’t let that happen.”

Jocelyn raised her green eyes. “And why not?”

“Because he’s Jace. Because I love him.”

“He’s not Jace. That’s just it, Clary. He’s not who he was. Can’t you see that—”

“Of course I can see it. I’m not stupid. But I have faith. I saw him possessed before, and I saw him break free of it. I think Jace is still inside there somewhere. I think there’s a way to save him.”

“What if there isn’t?”

“Prove it.”

“You can’t prove a negative Clarissa. I understand that you love him. You always have loved him, too much. You think I didn’t love your father? You think id idn’t give him every chance? And look what came of that. Jonathan. If I hadn’t stayed with your father, he wouldn’t exist—”

“Neither would I,” said Clary. “In case you forgot, I came after my brother, not before.” She looked at her mother, hard. “Are you saying it would have been with it never to have had me if you could get rid of Johnathan?”

“No, I—”

There was the grating sound of keys in a lock, and the apartment door swung open. It was Alec. He wore a long leather duster open over a blue sweater, and there were white flakes of snow in his black hair. His cheeks were candy-apple red from the cold, but his face was otherwise pale.

“Where’s Magnus?” he said. As he looked toward the kitchen, Clary saw a bruise on his jaw, below his ear, about the size of a thumbprint.

“Alec!” Magnus came skidding into the living room and blew a kiss to his boyfriend across the room. His cat’s eyes shone as he looked at Alec. Rowan, who was half-hidden by the doorway behind him, wrinkled their nose in performative disgust at him, then looked at her, waiting to see if she would laugh.

She offered a half-smile instead. Clary knew that look; that was herself looking at Jace. Alec didn’t return the gaze, though. He was shucking off his coat and hanging it on a hook on the wall. He was visibly upset. His hands were trembling, his broad shoulders tightly set.

“You got my text?” Magnus asked.

“Yeah. I was only a few blocks away anyway.” Alec looked at Rowan, then Clary, and then at her mother, anxiety and uncertainty warring in his expression. Though Alec had been invited to Jocelyn’s reception party, and had met her several times besides that, they did not by any means know each other well. He and Rowan shared that sentiment. “It’s true, what Magnus said? You saw Jace again?”

“And Sebastian,” said Clary.

“But Jace,” Alec said. “How was—I mean, how did he seem?”

Clary knew exactly what he was asking; for once she and Alec understood each other better than anyone else in the room. “He’s not playing a trick on Sebastian,” she replied softly. “He really has changed. He isn’t like himself at all.”

“How?” Alec demanded, with an odd blend of anger and vulnerability. “How is he different?”

There was a hole in the knee of Clary’s jeans; she picked at it, scraping the skin underneath. “The way he talks—he believes in Sebastian. Believes in what he’s doing, whatever that is. I reminded him that Sebastian killed Max, even asked about Jensen, and he didn’t seem to care.” Her voice cracked. “He said Sebastian was just as much his brother as much as Max was.”

Alec whitened, the rest sports on his cheeks standing out like bloodstains. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rowan disappear back into the kitchen, followed by the sound of a few cabinet doors slamming. “Did he say anything about me?” he asked. “Or any of us?”

Clary shook her head, hardly able to stand the look on Alec’s face. In the far corner, she could see Magnus watching Alec too, his face almost blank with sadness. She wondered if he was jealous of Jace still, or just hurt on Alec’s behalf.

“Why did he come to your house?” Alec shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“He wanted me to come with him. To join him and Sebastian. I guess he wants their evil little duo to be an evil little trio.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’s lonely. Sebastian can’t be the greatest company.”

“We don’t know that. He could be absolutely fantastic at Scrabble,” said Magnus.

“He's a murdering psychopath,” said Alec flatly. “And Jace knows it.”

“But Jace isn’t Jace right now—,” Magnus began, but broke off as a shattering sound, followed by a loud stream of curse words came from the kitchen. Clary, sometimes, forgot that Rowan’s mouth would put a sailor to shame. Then, the phone started ringing, and they called for him, sounding like they were in pain. “I’m going to take care of that,” he said. “Who knows who else might be on the run from the Clave and need a place to stay? It’s not like there are hotels in this city. And maybe that was my favorite mug. What a day!” He padded off toward the kitchen.

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fettesans · 11 months ago

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Top, photograph by Carlos A. Moreno, from the editorial Amazon was supposed to transform a Tijuana slum. It failed to deliver, for Rest of World, December 12, 2022. Bottom, installation view Thomas Hirschhorn, Fake It, Fake It — Till You Fake It at Gladstone Gallery, January 24 – March 2, 2024. The installation resembles the aftermath of a gaming session gone bad, with screens showing images from video games mixed with pictures of actual destruction. Via.

Nueva Esperanza is a neighborhood of several hundred inhabitants. Above it looms the sky-blue Amazon building, towering over abandoned parts and mattress springs, all soon to be turned into building materials for people’s homes. The only paved street is the one that goes in and out of Amazon’s fulfillment center. During her shift, Martínez works with two other colleagues from the neighborhood. The three make up the entirety of the night-time cleaning shift at the distribution center, a massive 32,000-square-meter building that is a 500-meter walk from their homes. When it rains, dirt roads turn into knee-deep rivers of mud. There is no other way for them to get to their job. Martínez must change all her clothing and shoes each time she arrives at work.

Limited to contractor work in the cleaning and canteen areas, pay is scant. Amazon workers from Nueva Esperanza currently working at the distribution center are paid 52 pesos (just over $2.6) per hour. Tirso Hernnández, a 59-year-old cleaner at the warehouse, told Rest of World this is less than what other employees are paid for doing the same work for other companies nearby.

“It was the only thing we could have direct access to,” Martínez told Rest of World, “because for other jobs, you had to apply online and, well, many of us don’t know how to do that, let alone have a computer.”

In October, the venture capitalist and technocrat Marc Andreessen published on his firm’s website a stream-of-consciousness document he called “The Techno-Optimist Manifesto,” a 5,000-word ideological cocktail that eerily recalls, and specifically credits, Italian futurists such as Marinetti. Andreessen is, in addition to being one of Silicon Valley’s most influential billionaire investors, notorious for being thin-skinned and obstreperous, and despite the invocation of optimism in the title, the essay seems driven in part by his sense of resentment that the technologies he and his predecessors have advanced are no longer “properly glorified.” It is a revealing document, representative of the worldview that he and his fellow technocrats are advancing.

Andreessen writes that there is “no material problem,” including those caused by technology, that “cannot be solved with more technology.” He writes that technology should not merely be always advancing, but always accelerating in its advancement “to ensure the techno-capital upward spiral continues forever.” And he excoriates what he calls campaigns against technology, under names such as “tech ethics” and “existential risk.”

Or take what might be considered the Apostles’ Creed of his emerging political movement:

We believe we should place intelligence and energy in a positive feedback loop, and drive them both to infinity … We believe in adventure. Undertaking the Hero’s Journey, rebelling against the status quo, mapping uncharted territory, conquering dragons, and bringing home the spoils for our community … We believe in nature, but we also believe in overcoming nature. We are not primitives, cowering in fear of the lightning bolt. We are the apex predator; the lightning works for us.

Andreessen identifies several “patron saints” of his movement, Marinetti among them. He quotes from the Manifesto of Futurism, swapping out Marinetti’s “poetry” for “technology”:

Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Technology must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man.

To be clear, the Andreessen manifesto is not a fascist document, but it is an extremist one. He takes a reasonable position—that technology, on the whole, has dramatically improved human life—and warps it to reach the absurd conclusion that any attempt to restrain technological development under any circumstances is despicable. This position, if viewed uncynically, makes sense only as a religious conviction, and in practice it serves only to absolve him and the other Silicon Valley giants of any moral or civic duty to do anything but make new things that will enrich them, without consideration of the social costs, or of history. Andreessen also identifies a list of enemies and “zombie ideas” that he calls upon his followers to defeat, among them “institutions” and “tradition.”

“Our enemy,” Andreessen writes, is “the know-it-all credentialed expert worldview, indulging in abstract theories, luxury beliefs, social engineering, disconnected from the real world, delusional, unelected, and unaccountable—playing God with everyone else’s lives, with total insulation from the consequences.”

The irony is that this description very closely fits Andreessen and other Silicon Valley elites. The world that they have brought into being over the past two decades is unquestionably a world of reckless social engineering, without consequence for its architects, who foist their own abstract theories and luxury beliefs on all of us.

Adrienne LaFrance, from The Rise of Techno-authoritarianism - Silicon Valley has its own ascendant political ideology. It’s past time we call it what it is, for The Atlantic, January 30, 2024.

#diptych #safe new world #linked excerpts #reoccurrence

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topexpertcleaning · 4 months ago

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What Are the Best Techniques for Warehouse Deep Cleaning?

Maintaining a clean and organized warehouse is essential for operational efficiency and safety. This comprehensive cleaning technique involves a systematic approach to remove dust, debris, and contaminants that accumulate over time in large storage facilities. Here are the best techniques for warehouse deep cleaning to ensure a safe and hygienic working environment:

1. Declutter and Organize

Before deep cleaning can begin, the warehouse deep cleaning should be decluttered. One of the best techniques involves a thorough decluttering of the space. Organizing the warehouse will allow cleaning teams to reach every corner and prevent dirt from building up in hard-to-reach areas.

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Warehouse cleaning requires powerful tools due to the large spaces and variety of surfaces involved. Some of the essential equipment includes:

Floor scrubbers: These are ideal for cleaning large floor areas efficiently.

Vacuum cleaners: High-powered vacuums can remove dust, debris, and contaminants from shelves, racks, and machinery.

Pressure washers: These are useful for cleaning exterior areas, loading docks, and concrete floors.

3. Focus on High-Traffic Areas

Areas with the highest foot traffic, such as aisles, loading docks, and packing areas, should be prioritized for deep cleaning. The best techniques for deep cleaning these zones involve a systematic approach that prioritizes both thoroughness and safety.

4. Deep Clean the Floors

Warehouse floors endure significant wear and tear due to the movement of heavy machinery and goods. Deep cleaning floors involves:

Sweeping and vacuuming: Remove loose dirt and dust.

Scrubbing and washing: Use industrial cleaners and floor scrubbers to eliminate grime and stains.

Degreasing: For areas with oil or chemical spills, apply degreasers to thoroughly clean and prevent accidents.

Polishing or sealing: After cleaning, polishing or sealing the floors can protect them from future damage.

5. Clean Shelving and Racks

Dust and debris accumulate on warehouse shelving and racks over time. For metal surfaces, a degreaser may be necessary to eliminate any accumulated grease or grime, while wooden shelves may require a gentle cleaner to avoid damage. Organize items on shelves to maintain easy access and cleanliness.

6. Ventilation and Dust Control

A buildup of dust can not only harm warehouse equipment but also pose health risks to employees. Deep cleaning should include:

Cleaning HVAC systems: Change filters and clean ducts to ensure proper air circulation.

Dusting high surfaces: Use extendable dusters or vacuums to clean areas like ceiling beams, light fixtures, and ventilation grilles.

Installing dust barriers: Consider adding dust control measures, such as plastic curtains or barriers, to reduce dust transfer between areas.

7. Implement Pest Control Measures

Warehouse environments can attract pests such as rodents and insects. The best techniques for deep cleaning a warehouse involve a systematic approach that not only addresses surface cleanliness but also incorporates effective pest control measures. Seal any gaps or cracks where pests may enter and consider setting up pest control traps or working with a professional extermination service.

How Can Warehouse Deep Cleaning Improve Safety?

Warehouses are bustling hubs of activity, where the efficient movement and storage of goods are crucial to business operations. Accumulated dirt and grime can harbor harmful bacteria, allergens, and other contaminants that pose health risks to workers. Deep cleaning a warehouse is more than just a cosmetic improvement; it has significant safety implications that can enhance operational efficiency and protect employees. Here's how warehouse deep cleaning can improve safety:

1. Reduces Slip and Fall Hazards

One of the most common safety issues in warehouses is slip and fall accidents, which can result from spills, dust, or accumulated debris. A thorough cleaning regimen addresses the accumulation of dust, debris, and spills that can create slippery surfaces. Regularly warehouse deep cleaning spills and maintaining dry, clean floors helps create a safer working environment.

2. Prevents Fire Hazards

Warehouses often store flammable materials, making fire safety a top priority. Dust, paper, and other debris can accumulate and become a fire hazard if not properly managed. Deep cleaning helps remove dust and other combustible materials from surfaces and storage areas, reducing the risk of fire. Regular cleaning also ensures that fire safety equipment, such as sprinklers and fire extinguishers, remains accessible and functional.

3. Improves Air Quality

Poor air quality in warehouses can result from dust, mold, and other contaminants. Deep cleaning includes dusting high surfaces, vents, and filters, which helps improve air quality and reduces the risk of respiratory issues for employees. Clean air can also contribute to better overall health and comfort in the workplace.

4. Enhances Visibility and Safety

A cluttered warehouse with accumulated debris can obstruct visibility and make it difficult to navigate the space safely. Deep cleaning clears away unnecessary clutter and organizes storage areas, improving visibility and reducing the risk of accidents. Properly organized and clean workspaces make it easier for employees to move around and spot potential hazards.

5. Ensures Proper Maintenance of Equipment

Cleaning warehouse equipment, such as forklifts, pallet jacks, and conveyor systems, is essential for their proper functioning and longevity. Dust and debris can affect the performance of machinery, leading to malfunctions or accidents. Regular deep cleaning ensures that equipment remains in good condition, reducing the risk of breakdowns and accidents.

6. Complies with Health and Safety Regulations

Many health and safety regulations require warehouses to maintain a clean environment to protect employees. Deep cleaning helps ensure compliance with these regulations, reducing the risk of fines and legal issues. A clean warehouse demonstrates a commitment to employee well-being and safety, which can positively impact the company's reputation.

7. Enhances Employee Morale

A clean and organized warehouse cleaning contributes to a more pleasant working environment, which can boost employee morale and productivity. When employees feel safe and comfortable in their workspace, they are more likely to be engaged and motivated, leading to better overall performance.

The Importance of Warehouse Cleaning Companies in Dubai?

Dubai, a bustling hub of commerce and industry, relies heavily on its warehousing sector to support its thriving economy. Warehouses play a critical role in managing and storing goods, ensuring that supply chains run smoothly. However, the efficient operation of these facilities hinges not only on their organizational systems but also on their cleanliness. This is where warehouse cleaning companies come into play. Their role is crucial in maintaining operational efficiency, safety, and compliance within Dubai dynamic business environment.

1. Enhancing Operational Efficiency

Clean warehouses contribute significantly to operational efficiency. Regular cleaning prevents the accumulation of dust, dirt, and debris that can interfere with the functioning of equipment and machinery. A clean environment ensures that workers can perform their tasks without hindrance, leading to fewer disruptions and a more streamlined workflow. Furthermore, organized and clutter-free spaces allow for easier inventory management and quicker retrieval of goods, reducing downtime and improving overall productivity.

2. Ensuring Safety and Compliance

Safety is a top priority in any warehouse setting. Accumulated dust and spills can create hazardous conditions, increasing the risk of slips, trips, and falls. Proper cleaning practices help mitigate these risks, creating a safer working environment for employees. Additionally, maintaining cleanliness is essential for compliance with health and safety regulations. Our warehouse cleaning companies in Dubai, regulatory standards mandate that warehouses adhere to strict cleanliness protocols to ensure the safety of workers and the quality of stored goods. Regular cleaning by professional companies ensures that warehouses remain compliant with these standards, avoiding potential fines and legal issues.

3. Protecting Inventory and Assets

The condition of stored goods is directly affected by the cleanliness of the warehouse. Dust and contaminants can damage products, especially those sensitive to environmental factors. By maintaining a clean warehouse, businesses can protect their inventory from damage and spoilage, ensuring that goods remain in optimal condition. Furthermore, clean warehouses contribute to the longevity of equipment and infrastructure, reducing the need for costly repairs and replacements.

4. Enhancing Employee Morale

A clean and well-maintained workplace has a positive impact on employee morale. Workers are more likely to feel valued and motivated in an environment that is organized and free from clutter. This can lead to increased job satisfaction and productivity. Additionally, a clean warehouse reflects positively on the company’s commitment to maintaining a high standard of operations, which can boost employee pride and loyalty.

5. Promoting a Positive Company Image

In Dubai’s competitive market, a company’s image is crucial. A clean and orderly warehouse contributes to a professional image, demonstrating to clients and partners that the business takes its operations seriously. This can enhance customer trust and satisfaction, potentially leading to increased business opportunities and growth.

6. Adapting to Dubai’s Unique Challenges

Dubai’s climate presents unique challenges for warehouse cleanliness. The high levels of dust and sand in the air can quickly lead to a buildup of dirt in warehouses. Professional cleaning companies in Dubai are equipped with the knowledge, tools, and techniques to address these specific challenges effectively. They provide specialized services tailored to the needs of local businesses, ensuring that warehouses remain clean and operational despite the harsh environmental conditions.

Top Expert Cleaning offers a comprehensive warehouse deep cleaning service designed to meet the unique needs of industrial and commercial spaces. Our team of highly trained professionals utilizes advanced cleaning techniques and state-of-the-art equipment to ensure that every corner of your warehouse is meticulously cleaned. We understand that a clean warehouse not only enhances the aesthetic appeal of your facility but also contributes to a safer and more efficient working environment.

#warehouse cleaning companies in dubai #warehouse cleaning services in dubai #warehouse deep cleaning #warehouse deep cleaning companies in dubai #warehouse deep cleaning service #warehouse deep cleaning company

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eyes-talks-ocs · 2 years ago

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FEBUWHUMP '23

DAY 1: Touch Starved

Character used: Macaw(Dustin) and details from his backstory.

Warnings: Minor whumpee (young teen), captivity, dehumanizing.

This is just quick drabble! Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes!

–

He sat there in his room. He didn't dare make a sound as he held back the sobs in his throat. Shakey breaths, a river of tears, and warm metal cinched around his tender neck.

Dim.

Only one light was left in the closet, the others had burned out a bit back. Dustin laid himself down on his dog bed. He couldn't tell if it was the darkness in the room, the endorphins and adrenaline crash, or the exhaustion of holding back the need to cry out that was lulling him to just close his eyes. The feeling was oddly soothing, he almost couldn't be bothered to remember or feel the stinging and welts to his sides. Or the gashes running up his right arm and sprained wrist.

Otto was in a foul mood today. Any little thing Dustin did a bit too slow, or not up to perfection was met with a back hand or cane. Bumping and spilling a glass of scotch was what had broke the camel's back today.

The poor boy laid there, curled around himself. The sobs may have been silent, but the jingle and drag of the chain at his near every move, made it clear whenever he would wipe his eyes. His arm, still leaked blood from the deep cuts, and it hurt a little too much to use for trying to dry his eyes.

He had quickly tried to correct his mistake and clean up the broken glass as soon as it hit the floor. But as Otto saw fit, he crushed the boy's arm under the heel of his boot. Grinding and dragging the soft underside of Dustin's forearm over the shards. Digging them deep, and tearing long. Dustin wasn't sure if there was any glass still embedded in the wounds, but they were tacky and filled with dirt and small pieces of gravel from the concrete warehouse floor. At least the cuts were disinfected, if one were to look at it optimistically. The puddle of liquor the glass was in, was probably of a strong enough proof. That it killed anything harmful. At least it felt that way as it burned when it touched his exposed flesh.

He curled even tighter into himself. All he wanted was to be hugged, and told everything is going to be okay. To be told the words 'you are safe.' The boy craved a soft touch, one that would sooth his pain. All he could think about was the loving embrace of his mom.

He let the exhaustion take him, slowly easing out of consciousness. He began to dream of his old life. His house. His room. His old bed - with the sky blue sheets. The urning for his mother always haunted his dreams. Sometimes those dreams brought more heartache than comfort. He often dreamed about his mundane life before ending up in the hellscape he was now. He wasn't even 13 yet, yet he felt like he had already lived a lifetime behind the warehouse walls he unfortunately called home.

His mother reached out to him, in his half lucid dream. She went to hug him, like he so thirsted for. But the moment her hand touch him. It was Otto, grabbing and chocking. His hands tight around Dustin's throat.

The boy ripped himself awake. Not certain if his panicked yell was real or he only dreamed it. Panting from the sudden shift from peace to nightmare, he grabbed and rubbed at his neck as he frantically looked around the room.

Dim.

Nothing.

Nothing but dust for company.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2023 #day 1 #touch starved #social throwaways #oc #whump #chained #blood mention #captive #hurt/no comfort

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wisconsinscrubandsweep1 · 1 day ago

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The Ultimate Guide to Walk Behind Floor Sweeper Rentals and Ride On Floor Cleaning Machines for Rent

Maintaining clean and debris-free floors is crucial for any commercial or industrial space. Whether you're managing a warehouse, retail store, or manufacturing facility, having the right floor cleaning equipment can save time, improve efficiency, and enhance the overall appearance of your space. Two popular options for achieving these goals are walk-behind floor sweepers and ride-on floor cleaning machines. Renting these machines offers flexibility and affordability for businesses of all sizes. Here's what you need to know about these cleaning solutions and why renting might be your best choice.

Walk-Behind Floor Sweeper Rentals: Compact and Efficient

Walk-behind floor sweepers are versatile machines designed to clean hard surfaces effectively by sweeping up dirt, dust, and debris. These machines are ideal for smaller to medium-sized areas or spaces with tight corners and obstacles. Here are some key benefits of walk-behind floor sweepers:

Compact Design: Their smaller size makes them easy to maneuver in narrow aisles, hallways, and crowded spaces.

Cost-Effective: Renting a walk-behind sweeper is often more affordable than purchasing one, particularly if your cleaning needs are seasonal or short-term.

Ease of Use: Designed for user-friendliness, most walk-behind models require minimal training to operate effectively.

Eco-Friendly Options: Many modern sweepers come equipped with features like dust control systems, helping to maintain air quality during cleaning.

These sweepers are perfect for businesses like retail stores, schools, and office buildings where thorough but unobtrusive cleaning is essential.

Ride-On Floor Cleaning Machines for Rent: Power and Productivity

For larger facilities or spaces that require heavy-duty cleaning, ride-on floor cleaning machines are the go-to solution. These machines allow operators to sit while controlling the equipment, making them a practical choice for extended cleaning tasks. Some key advantages of ride-on floor cleaners include:

High Productivity: Covering large areas quickly, ride-on machines save time and labor costs compared to manual or walk-behind options.

Versatile Cleaning: Many ride-on machines combine sweeping and scrubbing capabilities, providing a comprehensive cleaning solution in one pass.

Operator Comfort: With ergonomic designs, operators experience reduced fatigue during prolonged use.

Customizable Features: Depending on your needs, you can rent models with advanced features such as water recycling systems, adjustable scrubbing brushes, and digital displays.

Warehouses, airports, and large retail centers often rely on ride-on cleaning machines to keep their spaces spotless and safe.

Why Rent Instead of Buy?

Renting floor cleaning machines offers several advantages over purchasing:

Cost Savings: Avoid the upfront investment and ongoing maintenance costs associated with owning the equipment.

Access to the Latest Technology: Rental companies often provide the newest and most efficient models on the market.

Flexibility: Rent machines for as long as you need, whether it’s for a one-time deep clean or ongoing maintenance.

No Storage Hassles: Once your rental period is over, simply return the machine without worrying about storage space.

Choosing the Right Rental Provider

When selecting a rental provider, look for companies that offer well-maintained equipment, flexible rental terms, and responsive customer support. Many providers also offer delivery, setup, and operator training to ensure a seamless experience.

Whether you need a walk-behind floor sweeper for quick cleanups or a ride-on floor cleaning machine for tackling expansive spaces, renting these machines is a smart and cost-effective solution. By understanding your cleaning needs and selecting the right equipment, you can maintain pristine floors while saving time and money.

Investigate our site for more information.

Floor Scrubbing Machine On Rent

Commercial Floor Scrubber For Rent

Factory Cat Floor Scrubbers

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gusojanitorial · 2 days ago

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Atlanta Industrial Cleaning Company - Professional Services

Our Atlanta Industrial Cleaning Company offers expert cleaning services for industrial facilities, including warehouses, factories, and manufacturing plants. We use advanced equipment and eco-friendly solutions to ensure a safe and clean working environment. Whether for routine maintenance or deep cleaning, our experienced team provides reliable, efficient service tailored to your needs. Trust us to deliver top-notch industrial cleaning services that meet your highest standards.

Watch this video:-

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brilliantrugcleaningmelbourne1 · 5 days ago

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Is Hiring Professional Carpet & Rug Cleaners in Melbourne Extend Longivity?

Some well-known carpet and rug cleaners in Melbourne offer a range of cleaning, repairing, and restoration services for various types of properties. Floor carpets and rug cleaning are an important part of keeping the space clean and restoring its attractiveness. These service providers are skilled at cleaning carpets, furniture, floors, windows, upholstery, and even automobile interiors.

Renowned rug cleaning specialists in Melbourne provide ultra-care cleaning for delicate and high-end textiles to stop fading and damage. Additionally, they offer to repair small burns or frayed edges to return to their previous state, giving them a brand-new appearance.

Key Reasons for Hiring Professional Rug Cleaning Specialists in Melbourne

Well-known cleaning services provide a variety of carpet cleaning services to get rid of coloured stains on carpets and floors caused by grit and grime from rainy days, including coffee, tea, wine, and soft drinks.

They employ effective and eco-friendly cleaning techniques in their expert carpet dry cleaning, deep spot, and hard stain removal services to provide their consumers with a noticeable outcome.

They are also available around the clock with flexible hours, including emergency services, and offer free cleaning quotes. They offer the most popular steam cleaning services to offices for businesses, stores, warehouses, schools, and industries, particularly for dust mites, dead human and animal cells, and other toxins that are commonly dispersed on carpets.

Reputable companies also conduct continuous police safety checks and provide 100% public liability insurance to ensure that their clients obtain risk-free cleaning services.

They apply advanced techniques and use eco-friendly products to provide safe and sanitary cleaning services, safe for both pets and humans.

To preserve cleanliness and restore the original appearance of their interior, consumers should also employ expert carpet and rug cleaning services.

Hire a Professional Rug and Carpet Cleaning Service Nearby

Visit online to find a trusted rug cleaning service provider nearby, and check their websites to get details about their services.

Check business forums and social media pages to read customer comments and reviews.

Ask for personal recommendations from friends or family who have used similar services.

Ensure the provider specializes in cleaning delicate rugs and carpets, including Persian or Oriental styles.

Verify their certifications, cleaning methods, and use of eco-friendly products.

Finally, request a quote to compare prices and choose a reliable service that fits your budget and requirements.

Source

#Rug Cleaners #Rug Cleaning Specialists #in Melbourne

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chocolatedetectivehottub · 7 days ago

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Commercial Cleaning,

Commercial Cleaning.

Commercial cleaning plays a vital role in maintaining a clean, healthy, and productive environment in businesses of all types. Whether it's an office, retail space, healthcare facility, or industrial workspace, a well-maintained environment contributes to employee well-being, customer satisfaction, and overall operational efficiency. In this article, we explore the significance of commercial cleaning, the services offered, and the numerous benefits it brings to businesses.

The Importance of Commercial Cleaning

1. Health and Safety Compliance

One of the most critical aspects of commercial cleaning is ensuring a clean and hygienic environment. A well-maintained space reduces the spread of germs, bacteria, and allergens, helping to create a healthier workspace. Businesses that adhere to cleanliness standards, especially in industries such as healthcare, food services, and retail, ensure they comply with regulatory requirements, such as Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) regulations. This compliance protects both employees and customers, reducing the risk of illness or accidents.

2. Improved Employee Productivity

A clean and organized workspace directly impacts employee morale, focus, and productivity. Clutter, dust, and unclean environments can lead to distractions, discomfort, and a lack of motivation. On the other hand, well-maintained offices, restrooms, break rooms, and common areas contribute to a more pleasant working environment, boosting employee satisfaction and performance. Cleaner workplaces also reduce absenteeism due to illness, ensuring a more productive workforce.

3. Enhanced Reputation and Brand Image

For businesses that interact with customers, maintaining a clean and professional appearance is crucial. A clean office, store, or facility reflects positively on the business, fostering trust and confidence among clients, customers, and stakeholders. Whether it’s a restaurant, retail store, or office building, a tidy and well-kept environment enhances the brand’s image and reputation, helping to attract more customers and maintain loyalty.

Services Offered by Commercial Cleaning Companies

Commercial cleaning services encompass a wide range of tasks tailored to meet the unique needs of different businesses. The key services typically include:

1. Regular Cleaning Services

These are the fundamental services that ensure the daily upkeep of a space. Regular cleaning typically includes:

Dusting and vacuuming.

Sanitizing surfaces, desks, and common areas.

Cleaning and disinfecting restrooms.

Trash removal.

Floor maintenance (sweeping, mopping, and carpet cleaning).

2. Specialized Cleaning Services

Certain industries require specialized cleaning solutions to maintain hygiene standards or meet specific operational needs. These include:

Medical and Healthcare Cleaning: Hospitals and clinics require meticulous cleaning to prevent infections. This includes deep cleaning, sterilization, and adhering to healthcare-specific sanitation protocols.

Industrial Cleaning: Factories, warehouses, and manufacturing facilities often need deep cleaning to remove heavy dirt, grease, and debris, ensuring a safe and efficient workspace.

Food Service Cleaning: Restaurants and kitchens must maintain strict hygiene standards to comply with health codes. This includes kitchen exhaust cleaning, grease removal, and floor sanitization.

3. Floor Care and Maintenance

Maintaining different types of flooring, such as carpet, tile, or hardwood, is essential for preserving aesthetics and prolonging the life of surfaces. Floor care services may include:

Carpet cleaning and deep steam cleaning.

Tile and grout cleaning and sealing.

Hard floor polishing and refinishing.

4. Window Cleaning

Professional window cleaning improves the appearance of a building’s exterior while allowing natural light to flow indoors. Clean windows contribute to the overall aesthetic of commercial properties.

5. Emergency and Disaster Cleanup

Commercial cleaning services often extend to addressing unexpected situations such as floods, fires, or other disasters. These companies provide restoration and cleanup services to restore spaces quickly and safely.

Benefits of Hiring a Commercial Cleaning Company

1. Time and Cost Efficiency

Outsourcing cleaning services allows businesses to focus on core operations while professionals handle cleanliness. Commercial cleaning companies have the expertise, tools, and manpower to complete tasks efficiently, saving time and reducing overhead costs associated with hiring in-house cleaning staff.

2. Access to Expertise and Specialized Equipment

Professional cleaners are trained to use advanced cleaning technologies and equipment to achieve better results. From eco-friendly cleaning solutions to high-powered equipment like industrial vacuums and carpet extractors, these companies ensure thorough cleaning that may not be possible with standard in-house cleaning.

3. Improved Health and Safety

As mentioned earlier, commercial cleaning enhances health and safety by reducing germs, bacteria, and allergens. This is particularly important in industries that require high levels of cleanliness, such as healthcare, food service, and retail.

4. Increased Employee Satisfaction and Productivity

A clean workspace boosts employee morale and reduces sick days. When employees work in a hygienic and pleasant environment, their productivity increases, and they are more likely to feel valued.

5. Compliant with Regulations

Many industries are subject to strict health and safety regulations. Professional cleaning services ensure that your business remains compliant, minimizing the risk of fines, penalties, and legal issues.

Conclusion

Commercial cleaning is a critical service that contributes to the health, safety, and efficiency of any business. From maintaining hygiene standards to enhancing brand reputation, professional cleaning services help businesses create a clean and welcoming environment that fosters productivity and customer satisfaction. By partnering with a reputable commercial cleaning company, businesses can enjoy the benefits of a well-maintained space, leading to long-term success.

4o mini

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