#after seeing [redacted] in the fields

[birb--birb]

Made it to the big bad after nearly 40 runs in Hades 2 and HOLY FUCK the last two areas just rip my heart out

[theinfinitedivides]

Gil Chae 🤝🏼 Ryang Eum fed up to the high heavens with Jang Hyun never saying exactly what he f*cking means with them

[i-like-writing-stuff]

never changing [ five hargreeves x reader ]

a/n: hi y’all! it’s been a hot minute since i’ve been on here, but after the absolute shit show that season 4 was, some sparks ignited in me to write up anything to take my mind off it 🙌

its not anything crazy, just fluff and banter since i haven’t written anything in years so it may be as poorly redacted as this season lmao

summary: five and y/n attend their niece birthday party together, yet separate

“Happy birthday, little Gracie!” You smiled widely, trying not to drop the wrapped present box as the six year old girl jumped into your arms, “Oh my gosh, look at you! You’re just getting prettier by day, aren’t you?”

You had just got off work in a hurry to make your appearance at the little girl’s birthday party at a decent time, in spite of the amount of paperwork you managed to bury yourself in lately. You knew how much it would have meant for the celebrated one to show up and you couldn’t bear to let her down, especially on her birthday.

After spending most of your life working for the Commission, and then a decent amount of time exhausting yourself in trying to stop multiple Apocalypses, your last six years have been pretty quiet as a lawyer. You really wanted to get out of the whole assassin thing, but at the same time couldn’t exactly move on from the thrill of the work field. Your career as a lawyer took off really well these past years, but inevitably it came along with the cost of always being stuck at work, so whenever your niece got the chance to see you, she was truly enthusiastic.

“Auntie Y/N!” She wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, engulfing you into a tight hug, “You are here!”

Nonetheless, these six years have been truly and undeniably the most peaceful time of your life for as long as you could remember.

“You literally saw each other the other day,” Five raised a brow, watching you and the celebrated one act as if you hadn’t seen each other in years.

You and the little girl shared a look, before rolling your eyes and turning to glare at the man next to you. Ever since Grace learned how to talk, you and her would gang up on her uncle for your amusement, especially since he was so keen on entertaining the banter.

These past six year have gone by in the blink of an eye, yet at the same time at a slow and steady pace. You spent most of your time working anyway, but still kept in touch with the seven siblings you’d grown to love.

Some in different ways than others.

“Uncle Five, you’re always more excited than me to see Aunt Y/N,” Gracie waved him off, making you burst out laughing, “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you anyway.”

“What is a good look on him anyway?” You smirked, making the little girl laugh, as Five swept her into his arms;

“Okay, munchkin, it’s your birthday today, but tomorrow I’m going back to bullying you,” He joked, causing you both to laugh, before the two shared a hug before you, “You’re lucky your gift has no return policy.”

The party had already started by the time you made it there. The playground was huddled by other kids around Grace’s age, along with their parents. The music was playing loudly over the laughter of children and you were pretty sure that most of the family had already arrived. It was not the most ideal gathering, but you tried your best to keep in touch with most of the family to your best capabilities.

“Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it!” Luther smiled, appearing from the crowd of guests, immediately giving you a big hug as his niece was still wrapped around Five, “Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving!”

“Big shot lawyer doesn’t always have the time to stay in touch with family, huh?” Diego teased you, following suit, as you rolled your eyes, dropping off his daughter’s gift in his hands.

“Big shot delivery driver doesn’t know the phone works both ways, huh?” You smirked, putting your hands on your hips.

Diego laughed out loud as he gave you a hug, always in the mood for a back and forth short banter with you. After all, you truly were family, even if you didn’t always have the time to be present in the Hargreeves’ day to day lives. You may have met them in the original timeline in 2019, when you accidentally time traveled with your former partner at the Commission, Five, but after all you’ve been through, you didn’t need to have grown up together or be blood related to be considered that. And you truly were grateful for each and every single one of them, in spite of the many differences over the years.

After everything that’s happened six years ago at Hotel Oblivion, everyone went their separate ways. Allison was back with her daughter while trying to further her acting career and also help Klaus stay on the sober line, Viktor had moved to Canada where he opened a bar, Diego and Lila had three kids, Luther was “professionally dancing”, Ben had some run-ins with the law and Five, ironically enough, was working for the CIA.

“Well, you two are as annoying as always,” Ben told you and his brother, making Diego roll his eyes as he walked towards the gift table to set down your present.

“Please try to stay out of prison at least for the remainder of the year,” You joked with the man, making him roll his eyes as he hugged you loosely, “There’s only so much favors I could owe the DA.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben groaned, “I don’t even know why they let you work at the law firm since you still look like a prepubescent with no boobs. Even Five got a growth spurt.”

“I sized up to B recently, thank you very much,” You nudged his shoulder, before placing your hands on your chest in an offended manner.

“Okay, Gracie, not a conversation you’d wanna hear,” Five spoke up, putting his niece down, “Your aunt needs to learn some etiquette on how to act around children.”

“Funny coming from you,” You couldn’t help but wave him off.

You didn’t come in with Five at the party, but as fate had it, you did run into him as you were parking your car. He had just gone out to his brother’s dusty van to bring inside some more cookies for the guests. You kept in touch with him as well, but not as often as you would have liked. It’s not all that serious, but given the fact that you were a lawyer still climbing your way to the top and him being a top notch CIA agent, you didn’t exactly have the time to hang out.

At least, not as much as you’d have liked.

Five was watching you with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and his hands in his pockets. He had the same look on his face as always when watching you. He had the same smile when he saw you in combat for the first time during your first mission for the Commission together, the same look in his eyes when you appeared for the first time in 2019 alongside him in your teen bodies. The same posture he had when he met you again in 1963 after months of not seeing each other.

He wore the same love on his face while looking at you when you and the siblings split up after the events at Oblivion.

And never once did you notice that.

Not once in these past six years you let your feelings surface.

“You know Grace is my niece too, right?” He couldn’t drop the small smile even if he wanted to.

“Since when are you such a family man?” You raised a brow, trying to keep a confident composure.

“Oh, something changed in me between the first and third time I traded the world for my siblings,” He lightly shrugged his shoulders, making you roll your eyes at the sarcastic remark.

You two never changed.

“Please, I was there for the twins birth,” You waved him off.

You rarely see Five, and even when you do you always try to act normal, as you do around the rest of the Hargreeves. Everyone tried to get you two together at first, since the apocalypse was over and there was no reason for you to not get together, right?

You really wished it was that easy. In hindsight, maybe it was. But you couldn’t take any chances in losing Five forever if something were to go wrong. Maybe some would see it as something stupid, or as if you wasted so many years, but to you- mentally, you were almost seventy, while physically nineteen. You had so much time ahead of you now, all that mattered was to get a stable career first.

Five let a chuckle escape, shaking his head in disbelief, as he looked at the floor for a couple of seconds. When he looked back at you, you tried to keep your composure. You couldn’t help but feel pathetic that after all these years, your heart still skipped a beat whenever he’d look at you.

“You’re doing that thing again where you forget that some other people are still around, guys,” Luther raised his hand, grabbing your attention once again.

“I got bored of watching seventy year old virgins,” Ben shrugged his shoulders, “I’m gonna go get shitfaced.”

“Always a delight seeing you, Benjamin,” Five said, as Luther followed the ex-tentacle boy suit to make re he was not about to actually get drunk;

“This is a six year old’s birthday party!”

You giggled, watching the two brothers speed away while arguing amongst the kids in the crowd. When your eyes laid back on Five, who was intently watching you, you couldn’t help but feel a small blush creep its way in your cheeks.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out, Hargreeves.”

“I said it’s nothing!”

“Fuck you.”

“Why?”

You watched him dumbfounded for a couple of seconds because of the only answer he could come up with, before walking away, hoping he would follow you.

When he did try to keep up with you, you looked away to hide the proud smile. Even after all these years, things were still the same with him. He was still so eager to spend time with you, he was still smiling at you and entertaining your conversation.

“Aunt Y/N, Uncle Five, come play in the ball pit!” Gracie ushered you from afar, already tucked in the plastic colorful balls.

“You heard the birthday girl!” You smiled, grabbing his hand to drag Five after you.

Even after all these years he would instantly lock his fingers with yours.

[silaslich]

Choices have consequences

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!captain!reader

Wc - 2.8k

Summary - you’re tasked with taking your team to Germany to assist tf141, all goes well until Ghost takes a bullet.

No CWs

AN - this was wholly written for my own entertainment just so I could interject my ocs somewhere with no context but hey why not post it for the fun of it :)

Stories did little to compare to the haunting image of the man in the mask.

The Ghost.

A strong soldier with a good head on his shoulders. Perfectly curated for his field; no strings attached, no loose ends. No one waiting for him, no one that would seek him out if he were to disappear. Not one single person who would be notified of his death when that dark day came.

Ghost had cut himself away from any semblance of a normal life he had left. He took the choice out of Simon’s hands and forced it regardless, hiding his truth and burying it away. Files upon redacted files lay piled up. His name. His face. His home. His family. All buried deep down in the archives, tucked away in a dark corner where no one would see them. Where no one would know to look.

He was an anomaly. A complete stranger to these men. He couldn’t relate to them, couldn’t join in with idle conversations between deployment or while on transports. Talking about future plans; wives, kids, holidays spent around a stained oak table with chairs pulled up to each corner - filled to the brim with family and friends and pets.

He would just keep his eyes low. Listening carefully but mind somewhere else completely - disassociated. Displaced from his surroundings.

You met him years ago in Germany. Barely two words spoken between you before you were split, sent your opposite ways to divide and conquer.

Task force 141 wasn’t foreign to you, John Price had been an acquaintance of yours for some time now, conversations had in passing like ships across seas, opposing squadrons touching down onto the tarmac of the same holding barracks or tight-knit rendezvous at the higher up facilities. It came with the territory of being a Captain, Price had is men and you had yours. He’d remarked that you were young considering your rank.

“I’m older then I look, Captain” you’d said. You weren’t about to tell him how old you really were, that you were perhaps closer to his age then he thought, you’d let that conversation happen another time.

Germany had been a chance encounter. A tipping point in an otherwise routine mission; a drug ring shipping through exports across Europe, a rat had let slip of armour deals happening too, heavy duty artillery that was more then just black market trade. Warfare grade shit. By some chance, yourself and your force had been available to assist, already running through that particular area of Europe for another lead you had been following. It had come up short. After just a short phone call you were dropped by helicopter onto the outskirts of Görlitz, a rural town that would provide a great meeting point that would be more than inconspicuous. An old hay barn had been the check point. It’s decaying wood panels all chipped and splintered and rotten from the damp. The roof was half con-caved and the landscape was dull and horse sick. Grazed down right to the clay.

You and your team kept a low profile, walking along the tree lines with weapons drawn, rifles held to your chests as you scanned your surroundings. Old habits died hard. It would take some drilling out of you for you to change your ways, always on the look out, always watching and waiting for the jump.

The select few men you had brought with you were some of your finest; the big Austrian lieutenant König, Toni (Norvin) Espin the scouser sergeant, Craig (Jank) Conners the Londoner and Felix (Trap) Valenski the basket-case Canadian.

It was a team you’d hand picked yourself, comparable to TF141 in the sense that each of you came from somewhere else, some other unit or faculty, bought together by pure chance or pure luck. Freedom fighters for the greater good. Dirty job. Clean world. Clean slate for the rest of humanity to crack on with. Your hands filthy and stained, not washing off in the sink, stained deep down to the bone, bleached into your skin.

Your fist rapped against the wooden door, barely holding on at the hinges. You kept your eyes to the door, only glancing over to your men to gesture to your own eyes with two fingers, then pointing them out into the landscape, signalling for them to keep a look out. Price met you at the door, peeking through a splintering crack.

He ushered you all in with a “good to see you made it lads”.

There was a small woodworking table propped in the middle of the barn with a small flash light placed atop. A make shift desk. Littered with maps and coordinate sheets, messy scribbles dashed across and certain areas circled. It looked like they’d been here for hours. Stewing away. Plotting.

The five of you filed in, spreading out across the back portion of the barn, staying aback, not treading on the toes of the 141. You were here to assist, not to overtake. You took a step toward Price.

“So tell me Captain” you began, shifting your rifle to lay across your chest as it sat propped by its strap, “what do you need of us?”

Your eyes scanned the room, finally taking in the the rest of his force. That’s when you saw him, the Ghost, a burly masked lad with a hulking stature and dangerous air, he didn’t unsettle you in the slightest but you could see why someone on the receiving end of his barrel might think otherwise. He was set off away in the darkness, arms folded and one foot propped across his other leg as he leaned against a wooden bannister frame. To his left was a shorter man, dark hair shaved into a tasteless mohawk, a prominent scar across his chin and a slanting smile painted across his face, he had a kind eye about him, you learnt his name was Soap. Hovering close to Price was the last to be introduced, his name was Gaz, a handsome young chap with slight facial hair and shades pushed up to sit atop his head.

“He’s a big lad ain’t he” Soap chuckled, nodding his head toward your lieutenant. König said nothing in retort. You raised a brow and looked across at the Austrian, his mask covering any emotion he could possibly be showing, you turned back towards the Scotsman.

“Glad to see your eyes work well sergeant” you smiled, nodding your head, he only laughed in return. Gaz laughed too. Price cleared his throat.

“I’ll get straight to it Cap” he said, beckoning you with a finger to step even closer to his makeshift table, you rounded the wooden desk, eyes scanning quickly over the scribbled plans and route markers, committing them to memory.

“I’d like you to form our defence, cover our arses as we infiltrate” you went over the logistics quickly in your head. You kissed your teeth in thought.

“Swap a soldier for König” you said, eyeing up Prices’ boys to see who’d best fit. Price looked at you and raised a brow.

“König would be better utilised as a battering ram of sorts, better close up on the offence rather then at long distance. He can get you in and better still he can cover you from there on out” you traced your gloved finger down over the map, following the route in which Price planned to take.

He grunted in the back of his throat, acknowledging the information you’d gifted.

“Right. I’ll swap your big fella for Ghost, he can stick with you lot at long range and cover our backs incase it goes south” he sounded pleased with his plan and you nodded in response, you glanced over at Ghost, seeing he hadn’t moved even an inch since you and your team had arrived. It’s like he really was just that -

a Ghost.

You jumped the drug ring that night. Just as planned; Price took König as his defence, followed by Soap and Gaz. They powered their way through the rings holding facility that was hunkered up on a canal channel, up stream and out of sight. They worked quick and they got the job done, with the assistance of yourself and your boys securing the perimeter and having Ghost as your extra.

Ghost hadn’t said more than a few words; despite the odd movement suggestion or offer of instruction to your men, he kept his mouth shut. You’d worked with hundreds of soldiers in your time, helped train some of the best of them, you’d seen personality types like his before - more brain and brawn then most, with that added third element of reservation. He thought of each word carefully, only gave away what he needed to, and in return you didn’t pry.

By the time Price was heading back with the rest of his crew, yourself and the others started to shift too, readying yourselves to meet them half way. They aren’t too far, just down a ravine heading towards the channels that would have carried the drug rings cargo. Norvin pipes up.

“Where after this Cap? Somewhere sunny?” He smirks when he speaks and you brush him off with a roll of your eyes.

Wishful thinkin’ Norv” you retort, falling into step beside Ghost who happens to be the closest. Trap is the next to start.

Put in for somewhere properly cold, this soggy shit doesn’t count” the lanky Canadian gestures around with both hands dramatically, the motion forces you to follow his eyes.

It certainly is just a soggy and bogged up blanket of rain and sleet out here this time of year, the smell of the earthy soil and kicked up leaves fresh in your nostrils.

As you all trudged further down the brow of the steep hill you saw the rest of the boys come into view, more specifically, you saw König first. That big bastard was hard to miss, a racing thought sprung to mind, it wouldn’t be hard for the enemy to hit him.

It was slippery and muddy. Caked to your boots and splashing up to your calves, it took some time to progress and cover the land, mainly because Jank took a nasty spill and instead of helping everybody just laughed - even Ghost cracked. You supposed it was funny, there’s nothing that can bring a group of soldiers closer then laughing at the expense of one of their own men. Jank didn’t find it particularly funny, smothered in mud right up to his eyeballs, you eventually caught yourself and offered him a hand up. Much to your surprise, he didn’t pull you down into the dirt with him, given his track record - you wouldn’t have put it passed him.

As yourself and your team head down the hill, you see as Price and his boys are coming up, honourable members of each being Ghost and König of course. The captain gets closer and closer, raises his hand to wave you down when you hear and feel the air whip around you.

It’s like lightening striking. One second you’re standing up right walking beside Ghost, and the next you’re crushed beneath the entirety of his weight.

It’s hard to tell if the razor sharp pain in your chest is from the impact or from Ghost crushing your ribcage, your voice dies in your chest when you cry out in pain, but it falls to complete silence when you manage to pin your eyes between your chest and Ghosts.

Because there’s nothing but blood.

-

It’s a hard place to be. On the wrong side of the door, from the outside looking in.

Guilt is a weight you carry well. It’s something you’ve had to come to terms with, make a friend out of, because she’s a headstrong mistress - one that doesn’t allow her victims much room to breath.

You’ve watched countless men and women die, both by your hand and the enemies. It’s a way of life unfortunately, another thing you had to prepare for when ranking up. Those deaths are on your shoulders, carried on your back till the day you kick the bucket yourself. It’s your job to oversee your team, to carry them with you, deliver them back home to their friends and families at the end of it all - hopefully not all of them in caskets.

Watching on now; this man, near enough a stranger to you- listening to his chest rattle and watching as his ribcage rises and falls in shallow succession. It’s a new found sensation that cuts deeper than anything has before. The ache of the healing wound in your chest strives to remind you that you should be the one in his place.

Someway - somehow, Ghost had seen the glint of a sniper in the distance, so far away it could have been anything, a stray of light catching the stream or a trick of the eye. Yet, he shielded you, screamed for everyone else to drop to the ground, he had bellowed so loud you hadn’t even heard it over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears.

Not only had he saved you, but the rest of the team as well, Ghost had walked away as the only critical injury. Even your wound was surface deep, his body had slowed down the bullet almost indefinitely, all you had now was a gnarled scabbed up entry wound.

And Ghost still hadn’t woken up yet.

The days stretch into what feels like eternity. You don’t eat and can barely sleep, you can’t even rip yourself away from the ward.

You carry your guilt well, so you can’t justify what makes you stay, what keeps you rooted to the sticky-clean vinyl floor.

Price stays too. Eaten up by his protective instinct, much like you are with your own team, they’re more than just that - a fucked up sense of family hiding between the bloodshed and the bullets. It’s why he had allowed you to stay, given you permission on Ghost’s behalf to see his face, to watch the way his features slope gently in sleep.

On the ninth day, Ghost wakes up.

It’s an awful ordeal. You’re getting yourself and Price a coffee when you hear it - when you hear him.

Something smashes and the machines keeping him breathing must clatter to the floor, Price pulls the assistance alarm just as you make it to the door.

For the briefest of seconds, Ghost stills when he sees you, eyes wild and frantic - but they’re glazed over, he’s clearly having an episode of some sorts. You make it to the bedside just as he’s pulling the wires off his chest, grabbing hands aiming for the oxygen mask next, Price’s voice is there attempting to soothe him the entire time.

“Calm down, Simon” he breathes, lowering his face close to Simon as he braces his palms gently on his chest, ushering him to relax, “it’s okay Si” Price looks from his lieutenant and then up at you.

His eyes contradict his tone. For the first time since you’ve known him, Price looks worried, if you didn’t know any better maybe he even looked scared. Fearful for his friend. You’ve deduced plenty in the last week or so, the captain hadn’t overshared on Ghost’s behalf, but he’d let enough go unsaid that you put two and two together - Ghost hadn’t always been a Ghost.

He was once a man; with a life and a family, despite being broken down and beaten by his father he rose above it, he sought out a life that would give him the control back. But even that was short lived, betrayed and brought to his knees and buried alive - left to rot away in that casket six feet under.

Ghost wasn’t created to replace Simon, he was created to protect him. Not just his identity and his past, but to protect that little boy that never got a chance to be just that. Simon had to grow up too fast; everything innocent and sweet ripped away too young, instead he was carved out by harsh words and glass bottles - moulded to be a shell of his former self.

The nurses are quick when they arrive; they sedate him through his IV and replace everything he’d managed to rip out, he’s in and out of it. Drifting as Price said.

You sit there for the rest of the afternoon. Silent by his side as he rests. Again- you don’t know what keeps you there. Maybe it’s an obligatory sense of responsibility for this man’s life now, he’d saved yours, now you owed him the same. It makes the wound in your chest ache, the dull throb of it palpable under your palm when you rest it there.

Then you realise as your eyes scan him, hovering over the bandages that wrap around his entire torso -

You’ll both have matching scars now.

[ghouljams]

HI HELLO I LOVE UR SCP CONTENT

i feel like Anomalous Item 061 (the goose that puts out fires) would be great to have on hand bc of Soap lmao. I'd be curious to see what would happen if any of them where exposed to SCP-053 or SCP-999. I feel like Ghost would benefit from it like SCP-682. Either way, i love ur work!

Oh I was waiting for someone to ask about SCP-053 and 682...

Testing Log, SCP-053:

Subject: SCP-141-D "Ghost" Researcher Note: After his incident with Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛, as well as interactions SCP-2107, secondary anomaly testing is needed. Let's see what this bad boy can take. Results: SCP-141-D exposed to SCP-141 and placed in SHA containment unit with SCP-053. 141-D stands in far corner of room away from 053 for requisite 10 minutes, immobile. 053 is playing with blocks, appears unbothered by 141-D. Man I get why the other researchers think this guy is boring. Oh no wait. Ok. 141-D is moving towards 053. Things are about to get bloody let's see it! 141-D is crouching down and- ugh. He's pointing out blocks to 053. 141-D appears to be in some sort of distress, but is quietly playing with 053. Alright somebody get this guy out of there. Waste of my fucking time. A young girl's voice is distantly heard on the recording, "Not supposed to be here." Followed by an older male voice, "I know." SCP-141-D removed from SHA containment unit and placed back in his room.

Notes:

Don't you ever put me in a room with that girl again. - 141-D

-

Testing Log, SCP-053

Subject: SCP-141-A "John Price" Researcher Note: Memetic anomaly might cancel out 053's and worst case we won't have to replace our tech anymore. Results: SCP-141-A exposed to SCP-141 and placed in SHA containment unit with SCP-053. SCP-141-A is advised to avoid eye contact and touch with 053, as well as being advised to request an end to the experiment after 10 minutes should he become violent. After agreeing to term, 141-A spends three of his ten minutes watching 053 color. After five minutes 053 finishes coloring and takes the drawing over to 141-A to be inspected. SCP-141-A: Is that Ghost? SCP-053 nods SCP-141-A: That's rather good, he'll like that. At minute four SCP-141-A breaks containment procedures and picks up SCP-053. There is a prolonged pause as 141-A tightens his grip on 053, before carrying her back to the coloring table. He sets her down and crouches beside her. Notably he does not touch her again for the remaining five minutes of exposure. SCP-141-A: Would you do something for me love? It's very easy, I'll tell you exactly what to do. SCP-053 stares at him, and picks out a red crayon. SCP-053: Okay. SCP-141-A: Good girl. I need you to-

[tape corrupted]

Research Note:

God dammit someone call IT. We need a new tower.

-

Testing Log, SCP-682

Subject: SCP-141-D "Ghost" Researcher Notes: Ok now let's see what he can do. Results: SCP-141-D exposed to SCP-141 and placed inside cell with SCP-682. SCP-141-D appears to regard 682 with interest. SCP-141-D: Fuck you're one ugly bastard. SCP-682: Disgusting... SCP-141-D: Be'er than you, wha's all that, hydrochloric? Soap'd 'ave a field day with that. SCP-682: You and the whore. SCP-141-D hums with a smile. I think that's a smile, hard to tell with the mask. SCP-682 catches SCP-141-D with its claw, before turning and batting him away with its tail. SCP-141-D sustains multiple inturies catalogued here for posterity: -incomplete decapitation -crush injuries to chest -disembowelment -multiple lacerations over arms and chest SCP-141-D is removed from containment unit. SCP-682 recontained. Upon recommendation from SCP-141-A "John Price" SCP-141-D is placed in containment unit with SCP-141-B "Gaz."

Testing Log, SCP-141-B [pending redaction]:

SCP-141-D is placed in room with SCP-141-B, both subjects have been exposed to SCP-141. SCP-141-D is unconscious at time of testing having sustained multiple injuries from SCP-682. SCP-141-B assesses sustained injuries and requests supplies from on-hand staff. 141-B is provided with a basic first aid kit. SCP-141-B removes bandages and suture kit from supplied box and begins field dressing SCP-141-D's wounds. Bowels are placed back in stomach cavity, and pressure is applied to decapitation wound before both are stitched with standard suture stitching. SCP-141-B demonstrates advanced medical knowledge including ability to reinflate collapsed lung in SCP-141-D, at which point SCP-141-D regains consciousness. SCP-141-D is able to direct aid in limited capacity and inform SCP-141-B that his stitching is "better than Soap's" but still "stings like a bitch." SCP-141-D is removed after completion of first aid, and taken to be examined by SCP medical staff. SCP-141-B is removed and taken back to containment for questioning.

Interview Log, SCP-141-B "Gaz" [pending redaction]:

SCP-141-B: He's getting a doctor, right? Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: Of course. SCP-141-B: Bloody hell. SCP-141-B drags a hand down his face. SCP-141-B: The fuck are you lot doin' to him? I thought you were supposed to be scientists. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: We are. We learned a lot from this. SCP-141-B: Learned a- You might've killer him if I hadn't been here! Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: He survived, didn't he? SCP-141-B: And what if he didn't? SCP-141-B advances on research staff, openly hostile. SCP-141-B: If you think the Captain is going to let you get away with this- Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: You Captain is the only reason you're here. SCP-141-B holds Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛'s gaze, both glaring at the other. He crosses his arms over his chest and takes a step back. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛: Now, your proficiency with field dressings. Have you needed to resuscitate "Ghost" before? SCP-141-B refuses to answer questions for the next 15 minutes, at which time Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ leaves containment to avoid memetic poisoning. SCP-141-B is escorted back to containment.

Doctor's Notes, SCP-141-D:

⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ "Ghost" ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ Race: White Sex: Male Age: ⬛⬛ Weight: ⬛⬛⬛ Kg Height: ⬛⬛��� cm Blood Tests: Normal Stress Test: Normal Reported Injuries: Scarring and bruising on chest indicate recently healed blunt force trauma and lacerations. Shallow lesions around circumference of neck reminiscent of choking via garrote or some other aid. Scarring and reported sensitivity around midsection. X-rays reveal previously broken ribs. Internal structures show no abnormalities. Skin shows minor abrasions in line with healed burn injuries. Psychological Tests: N/A

[ugotcooneycrossed]

take a look at my girlfriend (she's the only one i got)

leah williamson x reader

w/c: ~1k

captain leah is proud of all her accomplishments- but calling you her girlfriend is her favourite

a/n: au where leah doesnt [redacted]😩😭

also i think its important to know that this song is based off of cupids chokehold- which i thought said CUCKHOLD😭 so when i googled it, p**n popped up😭

------------------------------------------------------------

If you’d ask Leah what her favourite award that she’s brought home is, some might think she’d answer with the Euro trophy- and yes, while she does love that one.   

She definitely loves you more.

She knows because, you’re the only she doesn’t mind, that interrupts her beauty sleep. You’re the first thing she thinks of in the morning and the last thing she thinks of before she sleeps. Leah thinks that if she had to choose between you and the sun- she’d never see the light of day again. And she’s okay with that. As long as you’re by her side.

She wakes to you kissing her bare shoulder, your fingers brush her hair back and smooth it over.

“Leah babe, come on- we have to get to the stadium soon, need I remind you we have a game?”

Leah hums- cracking an eye open, you sit on the edge of the bed, smiling at her softly.

“Pancakes?”

“Of course, they’re waiting for you in the kitchen babe.”

Leah pulls you down into a kiss- and you melt into each other’s embrace, melding together like two puzzle pieces. You let her distract you with kisses- cuddling in bed for a few more moments. You pull away, when you feel her cold fingers graze your stomach- slapping her hand away, you move to stand up.

“Leah Williamson! Stop! You have to get ready.”

You leave her in bed with a final kiss to the crown of her head and Leah melts back into the covers- she’d retire if it meant you could stay in bed for a couple more hours.

“Leah!”

-

You sit with Leah in the change room, you always arrive a few moments before most of the other girls- Leah says it’s because she’s captain and needs to be here earlier than the others but you know she likes the quiet with you before the girls arrive.

The conversation between you two is mundane, something about what groceries you need to get later today. Honestly, Leah hasn’t been paying attention because she’s been admiring the way you absentmindedly run your fingers along her arm and the way you unconsciously move closer to her- by now you’re half in her lap.

“Lee?”

Leah snaps out of her daydream of you and presses a kiss to your hand.

“Yeah babe.”

“Oh… nothing I love you.”

It fills Leah with  a special kind of warmth- knowing that you are hers, and hers alone. She loves you, and you love her.

She loves the way you know exactly what she needs after a hard day.

She loves the way you’ve supported her through thick and thin- through every win, and every loss. You’ve done it together. Right by each other’s side.

Leah knows what love is because of you.

“You guys are sickening- truly.”

Katie’s loud laugh echoes as you chase her out the doors.

-

Leah’s got a little skip in her step as she makes her way to where you sit on the bench. It’s half-time and she’s already spent but seeing you brings a newfound energy.

She stops in front of you tapping her cheek, you smooth her hair back, smile and press a delicate kiss to her cheek, that has her smiling from ear to ear.

Just before she goes back on the field for the second half- she stops you, initiating your secrete handshake. Leah pulls you into a last-minute hug after, rubbing your back and kissing your neck- she whispers into your ear.

“My good luck charm.”

-

You’re at home injured during an away game- Leah’s missed you terribly, and much to the dismay of her teammates she’s been very cranky.

“Come on Lee, just a few more hours, then you can see your girl again. You can hold out till then, can’t you?”

The look she sends Gio has the younger girl crashing back into her seat next to Katherine- the pair smiling nervously at their captain.

Leah ends up sulking in her seat the entire journey home.

Eventually, finally Leah comes home to you asleep on the couch- and she tries to be quiet, but when her bags hit the floor and your head shoots up, she knows it’s too late.

You jump of the couch, flailing around- injury long forgotten as you jump in her arms.

“Leah! Baby I missed you so much!”

Leah doesn’t care enough to pack away, or shower- all she does is climb in bed with you resting comfortably in her arms once again.

-

Leah’s doing the dishes, after you’ve made dinner- an agreement when you found she couldn’t even make toast without something going wrong.

“What are you doing smiling at the dirty dishes?”

“Just thinking about how I’m going to marry you one day. Speaking of, will you marry me?”

“Win a world cup first, then I’ll consider it.”

-

Leah shoots off as soon as the final whistle blows- there’s only one person she’d rather share this moment with. She finds you standing alone- eyes closed soaking in the moment of just winning the world cup.

She crashes into you and lifts you up in a bone crushing hug- pulling you into a kiss, both of you too wrapped up in your own world to notice the cameras capturing the sweet moment.

“We did it baby!”

You hold each other- crying softly together before the team end up crushing you both in hugs. You can see them all yelling, screaming, and crying.

But it’s only Leah you hear. In the midst of the chaos of your team celebrating, with Ella yelling at the top of her lungs, it’s only Leah you hear.

“You’ll marry me now, yeah?”

You nod- pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Leah Williamson I would marry you in a heartbeat.”          

-

Leah still buzzing off of the win when she’s whisked away to post-match interviews. She’s sure her smile hasn’t left her face, and it only grows bigger when they show the clip of her running to you.

“Yeah that’s my fucking girlfriend!”

[sweatinghoneybee]

FINALLY FINISHED THIS!!! oh my primus why did this took so long?!! Seriously my ibispaint timer is at 140 minutes and that’s at the fast forward speed?!! UGHHH!!! CURSE MY PERFECTIONIST EYE CATCHING EVERY SINGLE IMPERFECTION!!!

ok now time to ramble after letting out that steam! So this one i drew as a continuation for the first one i made of MC where she’s in the air floating while scheming her rebellious plans in blue and pink background, cause hey i think that there’s no way that girly gonna just stand around in her prison cell to rust when she has her shadow sister to help her break out, so YUP this is the art i drew for that thought process!

I don’t know if the pose made it obvious but they’re posing the Barbie and Ken jail photo pose, MC as Barbie and Nebula as Ken,

tho i made them both smirking and being mischievous vixens cause hey when you don’t like the functionist government then you go out there to piss the ever loving pits out of them! (And cause i just wanna have an excuse to draw them with that pose) And i must say i love how i drew out how very smug MC is with the paint splatters that i gave her in the fanart i drew before, and Nebula being a proud older sister at seeing her dear sister breaking the rules! My thoughts on how they break out of prison is Nebula using her powers to destroy the systems that’s working the whole facility (the reason why the red force field bars shattered) and MC throwing paint bombs everywhere just to spite the pits out of the guards (which is why there are paints covering the walls). And the reason why i chose the colors red yellow and blue primarily in the drawing is cause i want it as a representation of how the whole situation is, red and yellow the colors that are associated with danger is either surrounding (the red force field) covering (the holograms of them with their data) or saying to “others” to keep away (the police tapes) but there’s blue coloring or lighting either surrounding or are outside of the red signifying that the reds and yellows are what the government are presenting them as (dangers) when in actually they are blue (kind or justice).

Also easter eggs from me from the chapter of MC’s database, with MC’s hologram data saying warning and her file having a danger symbol along with her datapad having 0.077 being marked over with the word MC cause she doesn’t like how the government experimented on her. And Nebula’s hologram data and database is just an error and redacted. I just wanted to add those things cause those are fun to add in!

Also a fun tidbit from me, if someone is asking what the words on the force field are saying, i used alphabets in transformers that i found in the wiki for it to spell out MC and Nebula’s personal message to the government when they’re investigating their jail cells.

And it spells,

“F R A G Y O U”

X - X - X - X - X

If someone is wondering what i’m drawing above, it’s from a fanfic that my friend @springingsour made in Quotev, here’s the link

Please give them some love kay? They worked really hard to make their stories so give them some those good supportive motivations kay? And check out some of their other stuff to! They’re all real good! (Also Spring my friend i’m so sorry it tooked this long, my perfectionist side got the better of me. . .)

[woolly-aph1d]

I don't know if it's canon, but i wholeheartedly believe that Erik removing the bullet out of Charles is what caused him to be disabled.

The (assumed) fact that Erik's care and love would be THE reason is crushing, and ironic, and it reflects his modus operandi so so well.

That's because Erik is a man who wants to rip the proverbial bandaid off. He sees the issue (or what he believes to be an issue) and eliminates it.

Bullet was in, and it was the cause of pain. So he removed it. He "got rid of the issue". Simple as that.

Wrong.

In that moment, he redacted all control he had over the missiles, putting his everything into removing the bullet that was hurting Charles. He put his all in hope that he will save him from more pain or even death. But it doesn't matter how focused or serene he was, how deeply inside he reached for the ability to not fall apart where Charles fell and instead redirect himself into a saviour. And it didn't matter whether in that moment, in all his body and mind, he felt that all of his training was for that exact moment. It never mattered and it never will matter because however careful and precise he was, he was not about to succesfully remove a bullet from a spine without any prior anatomical knowledge or skillset in the field. Erik's love and desperation in manouvering the bullet out was disastrous, no matter how sugar-coated with care it was. (but he doesn't know that, no)

But the bullet was not alone, it had a source.

He sees Moira, "You. You did this" he stated before trying to suffocate her. She was the one who shot at him, after all. She was holding the gun - the physical weapon and he saw her as guilty. He was the judge, he was about to be the executioner.

"She didn't do this Erik. You did"

It hung in the air like a giant stop sign.

But Erik is the bullet, and he is in control of himself just as he was in control of it mere moment before it hit Charles. He can only change direction, never stop. At least not before he hurts someone, most likely someone he loves (and maybe not even then).

He shifts in his route, no less doomed than the previous one; he is searching for unity. "We are brothers" he believes, he also believes that "us turning on each other, it's what THEY want". And it doesn't matter who he means by "them" either, any would be good if it would align their paths. But just like in that deleted scene in the empty corridors their eyes meet, each of them knowing they were trying to reach the other briefly before turning around, neither of them willing or able to join paths, only to cross. Charles wants to be Erik's "friend" while Erik searches for an ally. Charles is the home and Erik is the battlefield. Its the status quo they cannot break out of.

Charles, no matter how daft and out of touch he is, stated the truth; "they were only following orders" and Erik knew that. He heard it before. He felt it before. He lived through it. Survived it.

He was not about to follow anybody's orders ever. He was his own man, ruled by his own emotions. Same emotions that took a hold of the bullet. Same disobedience and lack of order that took Charles' legs.

Its the modus operandi, that's the source of it all.

He will take what he sees for granted, and eliminate what he sees. Sometimes its a bullet, sometimes its humanity. Or all humans, because he felt a lack of humanity from them. He doesn't see his own reflection in Charles' eyes. He cannot see his own faults.

In front of him, he sees the big picture just right, but the devil hides in the details. Sometimes what ruins the system isn't a bullet lodged into it. Sometimes issues are internal and you can't rid of them.

Mystique is a proof of Erik's faults as much as Charles'. She is what destroys the ideal and points out the inevitable. Its the internalised phobia and hatered we see throughout the movie. Getting rid of humans isn't what makes it go away. It becomes the microsegregation of palatable and non-palatable mutations within the mutant group. Erik and Charles being privileged and shown time and time again manufacturing a standard for Raven to meet, without once allowing her a safe space to decide who she wants to be - who she chooses as her most authentic self. And Raven becomes a source of hurt and discrimination herself as she abandons her child for being outwardly mutant in appearance, because she can be privileged too, if she so wishes.

Erik will not save the world, nor mutants. He will not destroy, or turn it into ashes either. It will be the same movie with different cast. Same world with different faults for Erik to see.

Erik and Charles are on the edges of a society that has to accomodate truth and find respect, but neither of them give us the resolution. Maybe because neither of us know how to save our own world either.

If you were able to spend time reading me tripping over ideas and words, you have time to interact and maybe even donate to Farah who is in great need of aid in order to get basic necessities and save up to evacuate from Gaza in order to escape the ongoing massacre caused by Israel.

Please donate and help a person in need through this link,

https://gofund.me/3523e2a7

[xxscarletxrosexx]

Spy x Family Ch. 99 Thoughts + Analyses

God, this entire chapter has been an extreme roller coaster from feeling excitement to sobbing--I'm terribly emotional when it comes to reading war stories must be from all the times I was forced to read war stories throughout my English education program to anger to resignation.

... but this is why I love Spy x Family and the brilliant storywriting of Tatsuya Endo.

Ch. 99 Spoilers ahead.

There's a level of depth and care put into these characters that make them feel so real. If you have someone who has family serving in the army or if you are someone who has read countless accounts of war, then surely you are affected emotionally by the horrors of war. In my case, war stories are what made me look at life and identify the meaning of it. Although I won't go into too much detail about my findings, I did walk away having a deeper appreciation for literature and for humanity itself, in other words, I cry easily to war stories. Hence the case of this chapter.

I was already prepared that Ch. 99 would be a devastating chapter considering that Ch. 98 ends with a cliffhanger in which the alarms go off just as Martha was going to confess her feelings for Henry, and that this 'side mission' story is expected to conclude before Ch. 100. And it truly did not disappoint.

As mentioned earlier, this chapter is a jam-packed rollercoaster ride with previous expectations motivating my excitement as well as my dread for the inevitable.

First, I'd like to address a part that excited me: parallelism.

What quickly striked me was how similar Henry was drawn to Twilight after departing his jail cell. Even the context of the chapter leading up to this physical change indicates that sacrificing oneself for the best outcome/greater good was a theme echoed by these similar character designs.

There is also a third "similar character design" which has become a popularized theory in a possible relationship between the Captain and Twilight. However, I'm starting to see that these similar drawing styles don't identify relationships, but alignment in sacrificing oneself.

I see this as an alignment amongst the three because we now have two lores that shared the impact of war and the injuries sustained, whereas the Captain/First Lieutenant has yet to have his lore addressed. We can surmise based off Twilight and Henry's background that their experiences from war is what continues to drive them in their chosen field/occupation. I'm excited for the day that we learn the Lieutenant's real name and his POV from war. It is then that we will finally get three POV's:

The West / WISE - [Redacted]/Twilight/Loid

The Neutral Civilian - Henry

The Ostanian / SSS - Lieutenant

This is the perfect time to segway to my next excitement: symbolism.

Even though the lore on the unnamed First Lieutenant/Captain has not yet been addressed, his scars tell me that he's experienced a similar outcome. Tell me, have you guys noticed that all 3 men had experienced the same injury found on the left side of his face?

When I looked into the symbolism behind it, I found that the left side of our brain is responsible for processing emotions. The injury to the left side of the face signifies an emotional trauma in which their emotional side had to be silenced. Given what we've already learned about Twilight and Henry's backstories, their personalities and thinking are often stemming from an analytical/logical approach.

Of course, old wives' tales are not always scientifically supported, so I was prompted to research more, and I stumbled across an interesting one regarding emotions found in different parts of the brain:

Since this is a theory, it should not be taken as a fact without repeated research and evidence to support the claim. I, myself, do not claim to be an expert when it comes to neurology or psychology. But this information, when taken from a creative writing/literary analytical stance, can support that the left-face injuries had essentially damaged the positive facial expressions--which can support Twilight and Henry's experience. Thus, we can also surmise that the Captain had experienced a similar fate.

Another thing that we can learn from these injuries (at the time that they were present) is that the character is currently experiencing a time of vulnerability--[Redcated] after returning from battle and Henry, who is still in mourning, is still a bit withdrawn from his students.

Another symbolism that I got excited about is the dichotomy between Henry and his father in character design.

Notice Henry's hair is straight and tied up in contrast to his father who has his hair wavy and loose. Although subtle, I found this character design beautiful for its ability to show a dichotomy in their social/political views.

Wavy hair can be perceived as something flowy, as in going with the flow. Because it isn't tied up, I see that Henry's father doesn't need to hold himself back, and is free to express himself and his views. In contrast, Henry's hair is straight and tied back. Straight hair can be perceived to support Henry's straightforward nature (which is also one of his weaknesses as well as covered in the previous chapters). When his hair is tied up, he gives an air of elegance and looks like he's got everything together. However, his hair tied back could also illustrate imprisonment of the mind, where his views cannot be vocalized at a time when tensions were high during the first war. Furthermore, his "rebellious" behavior resulted in him ultimately being tied down to what was imposed on him (marrying the person his father picked).

I love the detail in which Henry is drawn with his hair untied and unshaven. He's broken at this point, and as we all witnessed at the assembly, he loses control of himself over this grief that he's taken into custody and slandered a traitor. The next time we do see him is when his long hair is chopped off and traded for an undercut--a telltale sign that he was starting anew, and looking awfully like Twilight.

During this social climate, Henry was perceived as the 'villain' in the Henderson family due to his 'bad' behavior. But let me, just say that Endo-san loves to remind us through character design just who is the true villain. Did you notice it, too? It's the nose. Henry's father has a pointy nose, reminiscent of a witch, whereas he inherited his mother's round nose. Another small detail, but it made me laugh. This is why I love Endo-san.

Above, I have addressed what made me happy. Now, I will address what brought me to tears, that being Martha and Henry.

I mean, it's no surprise that they wouldn't have a happy ending. I was well prepared with the knowledge I know about them from present-day story that mentions of Henry's daughter, cameos of his wedding ring, and Martha working with the Blackbells, and recently reveals that she had an old crush on Henry. The absence of their love being pursued led us to believe that Martha may have had a one-sided romance. But ch. 99 confirms that Henry reciprocated his feelings for her due to yearning her letters.

It wasn't until news of Martha's life-threatening decision did it impact Henry significantly, and then his breaking point to realization that he loved her too late was when Martha showed her vulnerable side in her letter with the following:

I practically balled right here. I was teary-eyed leading up to it because war stories are always so heartbreaking, especially to those who sacrifice or don't make it home alive.

We now learn why Henry ended up marrying someone else is due to Martha's "inevitable" death--unbeknownst that her decision not to volunteer would also result in death. From what we read, Martha was too emotional to vocalize her situation clearly, and even if she did, her message would be blacked out, unfortunately. So it is evident that Martha was trapped and had no way out other than choosing to volunteer and ultimately "die" in battle.

Henry, on the other hand, could not fight the system, despite that he became a History teacher just to do that. He failed because his countrymen and the system failed him. He lost his beloved and if he were to continue holding onto his belief, he'd lose his ability to teach. Essentially, he lost the fight (to change history/improve the situation through education during that social climate), but not the war (in which there is still hope for history to change). Heny, ultimately, shared a similar fate as Martha through self sacrifice of his livelihood.

I was and still am completely discombobulated by the war and its impact on Martha and Henry that, to be honest, I completely disregarded Donovan Desmond.

I know I won't be able to capture the importance of his lines as eloquently and moving as I did with Martha and Henry, the former pair leaving a moving impact on me during this chapter, so I'd like to recommend my dear friend, @yumeka-sxf 's, analysis which covers more of Endo's brilliant story writing and character development decisions.

After rereading the chapter as well as her analysis, I agree with her point that Donovan Desmond was made to be the antagonist of the story. I believe Donovan's view of liars and holding absolutely no hope for them is a necessity for readers to continue perceiving him as a villain in the series. This is because we cannot perceive good and evil as simply black and white in the series when we have both Yor and Loid dirtying their hands in the name of protecting their countries/loved ones. We hold love for the characters in this series because of their personalities, values, and moral compasses amidst taking life after life. In their social climate they must always choose to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, which is why their tainted actions can be perceived as forgiven. Donovan Desmond, on the other hand, cannot share that 'exception' because an action/drama story needs a villain.

If you made it to the end, thank you so much for your time! I hope you enjoyed my analyses and thoughts on Ch. 99! What do you guys think about the chapter and my analyses? I'd love to hear more from you! :3

[ringmaster-pixie]

pixie’s oc sheet! (Ooc post)

(Childhood pixie and normal pixie)

Ringmaster Pixie’s

Character bio

Name: Pixie [REDACTED]

Age: 13- but im mature!.. enough!!

Birthday: 1/24

Quote: “Everything’s fun! Even death, if you try hard enough!”

Job: PFC’s ringmaster

VC: Spinel (or me)

Theme Song: My ordinary life / Fine

Note: Her vision is… odd. (Ever played regretevator? The static mode on the spectator view is how she sees the world!)

Species: Human? Why is this even a question :p

Scent: popcorn and chocolate. Also somehow she smells like pure joy? Don’t question it.

Catchphrase: “Okily-Dokily!” or “HOWDY!”

Nicknames: Pix, pixie dustie, beaver, pixie dustie justin beaver, circus lady

[REDACTED]: Gina Dystru Morley (deceased)

Dad: Archibald “Archie” Morley (deceased)

Little Brother: Joseph “Joey” Morley (deceased)

“Uncle” (not actually related): @priest-gabriel

Adoptive moms: @rosedawolf @themanedbish

Childhood BFF: Lola Perrlev (deceased)

“Therapist”: Dr. T. Christian (deceased)

Employees: @theunkindnature, Lorelei, @crossroadsguitarist, Elida, Harunii

BFF: @acrobat-harunii :3

Friends: EVERYONE!.. I hope!

???: [will be tagged soon]

From a young age, pixie was always… different. She had a wild imagination, much like any other child, but to her, imagination was reality. She believed this made up world in her head was true, and that she was ▉t▉▉d. 

Behavior like this OBVIOUSLY concerned her parents, so they hired a therapist. He prescribed an orange drink of medicine, which would get rid of her hallucinations and daydreams. But she wouldn’t let that happen. 

While Pixie was dealing with being forced to take the medication, her mom was seeing the therapist too… but in a different way. She had already hated the both of them enough, but this had done it. She told her dad, who didn’t know how to react. But her mom knew how. She filed for divorce against him, and won custody over Pixie and her little brother. The one adult pixie trusted, gone. 

Every day, despite the medicine, her visions and beliefs grew stronger. Her mother was enraged. She made sure Pixie would know what to truly believe in, one way or another. This wasn’t fair. She wouldn’t drink the medicine, she wouldn’t live without her dad, she wouldn’t believe what she was told, and she wouldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t. 

Something had changed within her. She felt different. Possessed by anger. Something was not the same. And it never would be again. (Please get the reference)

In a fit of rage, she ▉▉▉ the glass medicine jar on ▉▉▉▉s h▉d, knocking her unconscious. Then she m▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉e same way she did. Broken. But right as she was done, she was caught red-han▉▉▉▉▉▉▉oy in red. There cou▉▉▉▉▉▉nesses. Nor ▉▉▉ of her ▉▉. And no o▉▉▉▉▉d either bod▉ she made sure of it. 

Her the▉▉▉ was next. She sho▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉hroat by th▉▉▉le, around 42. By the e▉▉▉▉o no one’s avail, he didn’t ma▉▉▉▉▉▉▉t he got for taking away her ▉. 

▉▉▉▉▉. Why didn’t he ▉▉? Why di▉▉▉▉ry harder? Why w▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉ixie’s memory? And even if he’s done no▉▉▉▉▉▉e deserves to be put out ▉▉▉▉isery. Or so she th▉ght. But finally. It w▉▉▉▉▉stice. 

As she wa▉p▉▉▉▉▉ody in a field behind her ▉▉▉, she jump▉▉▉▉▉▉nd of a ▉▉ barkin▉▉▉▉▉iliar voice telling▉▉▉er best friend.

She coul▉▉▉▉▉uldn’t! Sh▉ shouldn’t… 

But she had to.

▉▉▉one. Her whole li▉▉▉▉▉der, and now miles away. After she took ca▉▉▉▉ so-called ”▉▉▉”, she ra▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉r and further an▉▉▉er into the woods. Setti▉▉▉▉▉▉blaze, with fire ma▉▉▉▉▉ure rage. They m▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉nothing, so sh▉▉de them becom▉▉▉▉. The smoke ▉▉▉▉▉▉▉p to her, but i▉▉sn’t long befor▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉▉p▉▉andoned c▉us. 

A circus she’d claim as her own.

It was right out of her imagination. It was perfect. It’s almost like her dreams were coming true.

OOC: Thank you for reading! Her lore will be made into games soon once I get a computer!… and learn how to code. I already have the basic ideas down and I kinda know how to code so it won’t be THAT hard… right? Haha. Ha. Anyways I hope you enjoy!! If you have any questions feel free to ask me and let me know! My main blog is @p1x13p1x13p1x13

fun fact! Most things have double/deeper meanings ;]

also there’s a hidden message woah

updated 1/17/25

MORE CHARACTERS INFO:

OTHER IMPORTANT STUFF:

[onepiece-polls]

One Piece Crack Ship War - Round 3 Side F

KureKo art by @daonepiece

Propaganda under the cut.

KureKo:

Saw some art of it once that was very cute, also they would just work well together. They are both badass chaotic older women who are down for anything, love drinking, have a job they are passionate about, raised a kid that is now a member of the straw hats, and don't let their age stop them from having fun. I could see them meeting at a bar and getting along like a house on fire. Kokoros kinder nature could also balance out Kurehas mean streak - Kureha can be aggressive and firm when that's what's needed while Kokoro can be a softer mediator. The world needs more old woman yuri.

Grannies unite!!!

Both older women who are experts in their fields, interacted with Gol D. Roger, and look after the younger generation, passing on their trades. Both also have close bonds with deceased mentors to members of the Straw Hats.

CoraHawk: I just love to think about this one and these two. Imagine you are Dracule Mihawk and you have this crazy flamingo lookin coworker that you can't stand and suddenly you meet this tall, pretty clumsy blonde guy and you perhaps catch feelings and then you find out this is the brother of the coworker you HATE. That in itself would be hilarious to me and I just know the Warlord meetings would be legendary with Doflamingo knowing that Mihawk went and [Redacted] (fucked) Nasty with Rosinante like the SQUABBLING WOULD BE INSUFFERABLE AND THE BLOODBATHS. Anyway moving on from that, I think there's an odd balance hidden in there somewhere. Like a golden retriever and mangy stray dog bonding or Sunlight through the window on a warm spring morning and Moonlight shining through the planks of a crumbling but still occupied home. Stuff that's completely opposite but serve the same purpose. I think Mihawk would be intrigued and might think Rosinante is a bit ridiculous at first but eventually would be so enamoured by him and his little antics. Rosinante would be just as guarded as Mihawk if not moreso with everything he's been through and Mihawk would work his way around those guarded walls. Rosinante would most likely struggle to trust completely and to let go and I think Mihawk would be a great person to help with that, he'd make Rosinante feel safe and he'd be dependable for him and understanding. It's hard to put all my thoughts on this pairing down but I just think it would strangely work. They'd have an interesting dynamic for sure.

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

In-character Q&A - Vantage!

(she's still here for another week or so for patreon members to submit questions!)

1.) How did you get your powers? 

That's a gutsy question. I suppose I'll humour you.

In my early teens, my apartment block caught fire and my mom got trapped. I was shouting and screaming from the far side of a wall of flames and... I don't know. Everything just seemed to click at once.

I--it didn't go perfectly. I didn't understand how the simulations worked or how to recalculate on the fly. Mom had health complications from smoke inhalation and died younger than she should have.

I try not to dwell on it.

2.) What's the most interesting way you've used your powers?

If you believe Arcade, to cheat at video games. laughs

I once simulated hostage situation so effectively that the mask just turned themself in immediately. That was interesting because I had a psychological profile to work with. Having access to that much information is incredible.

3.) Do you actively hunt villains like the Altruists or do you just show up when they start to actually do crimes? 

That's complicated. It's usually a bad idea to go after villains in their secret identities, if they have them. That just escalates on both ends. However, if we know an enemy hideout, we'll hit it whether or not they're actively doing crime at that moment. It's a base of operations. The Businessmen are a wrinkle to that; they're too clever to leave evidence of wrongdoing at Masquerade, so we'd shoot ourselves in the foot.

It's been... more difficult lately for us to act preemptively. When your reputation has taken the kind of hit that ours did, you have to be careful not to lose the PR battle.

On a related note, I can't bring villains in based on what they might do. They have to have committed some crime first.

4.) What was the worst fight you've had? 

The Zone incident, without a question.

I miscalculated. Then I didn't salvage my mistakes. People died.

5.) What are your official (and unofficial) opinions on your fellow teammates? 

Surpass: Who wouldn't want a hero like Surpass? She can be reckless, but it's hard to argue with those powers, and we'd be a worse unit without her.

[Redacted]: She's a pain in the ass and I wouldn't change her for anything.

Enfilade: A consummate professional with a head for tactical thinking. She's been an invaluable addition.

Catherine: It's been good to see her come out of her shell bit by bit, although she'll never be a social butterfly. She's harder on herself than she needs to be. Speaking a little more cynically, it's good to have snagged someone from the DPR; it helps our reputation.

Portrait: His constructs offer superb flexibility in the field. He's a very useful teammate to have, and he cares deeply about helping people in a way few others do.

Troy: I like him. He could hold up better under pressure, sure, but that's not a huge deal. Maybe he could stand to believe in himself a little more too.

Arcade: He's a fantastic asset both for PR and in the field. He could stand to remember that he's still learning, though.

Sammy: I wish I hadn't forced him to grow up this fast.

Phalanx: She's razor sharp and pulls no punches, as well as having excellent mastery of her powers. She's a great hero.

Beth: Hah... Catherine would have been a tough nut to crack if I hadn't cut my teeth on Beth first.

6.) What were your thoughts when Bet- I mean Phalanx joined?

It was heartening to have someone flip after the Zone. Reminded me that it wasn't exclusively the Hounds--exclusively me--to blame for everything. i did have concerns that she'd cause tension, considering our losses, but the others treated her very well.

She was and is a very troubled person. Even more guarded back then, if you can believe that.

Honestly, it was a good reality check about my people skills.

7.) Do you think there's a possibility of tensions between the GH and the DPR to boil over into an actual fight?

Doubtful. Both sides would have everything to lose.

8.) (off the record) What are your thoughts on the DPR? 

They're self-righteous and government-backed, which is a dangerous combination.

I expect many, if not most of their heroes have their hearts in the right place, but the organization itself is completely rotten. It says a lot that they're more concerned with who does the heroing--who's seen to do the heroing--than the heroing itself.

9.) Have you heard of Coven at all? 

I can't say I have.

10.) Would you allow a sad, tentacle having, former villain to become a GH?

I'm willing to hear villains out if they're repentant. Would probably be a PR nightmare, but I'd rather take an opinion hit than lose the chance to help someone for the better.

What if this is the one and only time they believe they can be more than a person who hurts others? What if rejecting them just confirms what they think of themselves?

11.) Will you marry me?

I'm sure you're lovely, but even if I knew you, I have a dangerous life and an open identity. It wouldn't be right.

[bressynonym]

Hello! It is I, the OC loving Anon! I have been sent to ask about your OC... Ahh... *Checks hand* Clover? And his life as he gets together with a certain Fledgling.

Please info dump about this big guy. The people want to know more! 🤍

hello !

HAHA okay so like clover is my combat medic OC that basically just bullies his way into @bunnysnared's fledge's life after his several visits to the medbay.

sit tight and let's talk about all things clover! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

bare essentials (what makes clover... well, clover):

• big lad (6'3ft/190cm) • 31 y/o • rank: sergeant? (he's been PMC for a while) • clover has this choppy mullet situation because he hates short hair, but needs the sides trimmed for his headset to sit snuggly. u won't see his forehead often lol • piercings that def need to be taken off for an op - 3 on his right ear - 5 on his left ear - a labret piercing (lip) - and many more! (😏) • a neck tattoo of a stag skull and a wreath of laurels surrounding it • his lucky coin (that he bets other's lives on) • a freggie charm (a weird frog thing he adores) • an ambiguous accent (sounds like he's from london, but he definitely isn't)

the story so far or whatever:

Clover was a medic for a task force specializing in interrogations and intel gathering, but was thrown to the wayside after a traumatic back injury that temporarily takes him out of the field. Retirement isn't an option for guys like him, so he's made a medic on a uk base with his own little office. he hates paperwork, but what can u do, ykno. his bedside manners are horrible and his superior Fish isn't too happy about that, but he's too good at what he does to let him go (and even has clover trained for a position as head medic to replace him lmao). he settles into the routine of a sterile environment and possibly says goodbye to getting back out into the field. but here arrives fledge, in for a patch up. and another. and another. clover becomes a lil obsessed with him (read: falls in love with him) to the point of training to get back into a task force fledge's on as their combat medic. the captain likes him, so he's inducted in without any problems. or smth. LMAO. the rest is clvrfldg history.

what the bastard is like:

clover doesn't care for regulations. its obvious in the way he looks. he's one step away from being kicked to the curb and dishonorably discharged from medical malpractice. (i.e: coin tossing if u live or die or if he should give you anesthetic lmao) but he's damn good at his job, so they don't want to lose a great asset like him. all smiles that don't reach the eyes, and eyes that never shine, he's unreadable. you won't get a lick about his past or anything about himself. its like pulling teeth because he'll redirect a conversation back to you. very observant (and a bit of a sadist lol). uses it to his advantage as a medic, its what keeps him sharp (and a bit mean). will notice the little details and patterns and use what he can to turn things in his favor. manipulate mansplain manwhore or whatever lmao

also clover isn't his real name it's [REDACTED]

ty for reading this far and for the ask! hopefully this gives a better understanding of my baby boy!!

[pampanope]

Story time!

The origin of Red11~ posted here because it’s too long for the discord server💀

Emile ([REDACTED]) belongs to @kings-out-of-pocket-hell

Efren|7-11 (here in spirit lol) is mine~

Guest starring Russell Adler✨

——————-

Emile watched his scarred mentor lay flat three manila folders, each of varying thickness. The room was of the sterile variety that Langley as whole was fond of with nothing but the blandest tables and folding chairs.

He leaned forward, eyes filled with unbridled delight. The bland setting did nothing to dampen the excitement bubbling in his chest.

Finally, after years of lectures, rigorous physical conditioning, the marksmanship training, lessons on field craft, torture resistance, and the skepticism from his peers, this is it. No more tagging along on an op, no more hanging back when shit got interesting. His first operation as lead.

As if sensing the glee coursing through him, Adler raised a brow from across the table. The older man tapped at the middle folder to direct Emile’s attention, which, in Emile’s opinion, was completely unnecessary. He‘d never been this locked in.

“I’ve got a job for you,” Adler began. “Something I trust you can handle. We have the location of a suspected terrorist cell, embedded deep inside a mountain, too deep for satellites to confirm. You’re gonna have to go in and get visual and signal confirmation, as well as the layout of the compound.” The man paused, placing a thick folder on the table. It was heftier than the other three. “Here’s the full brief. Memorize it.”

Emile gave the thick brief the barest glance before immediately snapping his eyes back to the first three folders. Yeah, no. That’s not what he’s here for.

Actually, technically, it was what he woke up at the ass crack of dawn for. But it’s not what he wants. Not really.

Adler chuckled beneath his breath. “Fine, I see how it is.”

“‘Course you do. You’ve got me on pins and needles here, old man,” Emile grinned, “don’t keep me in suspense. Gimme.” The blonde crept a hand towards the rightmost folder. It was lightly smacked away by the other man.

Adler pinched the bridge of his in exasperation. “Kid, you’re being assigned an asset. It’s no big deal. This is a standard component of field operations.”

Nope. Adler wasn’t gonna dress this down as something mundane. “Yes, it is...But! Only fully trained intelligence officers get to be Handlers. Which means I am now a fully fledged intel officer. Today I’m getting my government sanctioned Scary Dog privilege. I’m over the fucking moon, sir.”

Adler, for his part, sighed and leaned back in his seat, as if drained by the exchange. He took a long sip of what must be lukewarm coffee, before making a ‘have at it motion’ with his free hand.

Emile snatched the rightmost file his hand had crept towards earlier. Azure eyes scanned every detail, eating up the feast of personal intel before him, all of it laid bare to pick at and examine within the palace of his mind. He sank into the deep concentration he’d adopted for analysis.

Huh. No photos. Not even a name, Emile mused. Must be to eliminate all bias. Relax, Adler. Pretty privilege won’t be a factor here.

The master, meanwhile, silently watched his protege work. He observed the younger man shuffle through page after page, folder to folder, noted which of the dossiers he spent the longest time examining.

Adler had his own guess as to who the younger would pick.

“Well? Your thoughts?” Adler asked after what he felt should’ve been enough time had passed.

Emile blinked, seemingly resurfacing from the depths. He stretched languidly before placing all sheets of paper in their proper folders.

“This is exactly what I imagined choosing my first starter Pokemon would feel like.”

“…I’m gonna pretend I understand what you said for the sake of moving on.”

Emile chuckled. “Heh. Sorry. Couldn’t help it.” He carded a hand through his hair briefly.

“Okay, to start with,” he pushed the file to the left the slightest bit but forward, “this one’s skilled, as expected. Service record’s impeccable and squeaky clean. He’s shiny. Perfect. Boring.” The blonde waves a dismissive hand.

“Boring?” Adler tilted his head, a clear order to elaborate.

Emile tapped at the table in thought. “Boring, as in the guy’s record may be stellar, but his résumé’s full of the basic ‘breach a target building and spray everything with bullets’ kind of work, which I’m sure he’s very good at, but I need more nuance, more variety. I also get the impression subtlety is lost on him and he won’t be finding it anytime soon.”

“Hm. Next?” Adler asked.

Odd. The man would normally needle him for more.

“Right…” Emile eyed the other with suspicion. He pushed the middle file forward. “This one? I hate to say this, it’s such a ridiculous nitpick, but he’s a bit of a yes man. I don’t need or want one. If I happen to fuck up, i need someone to set me straight. Get in my face about it. Everything else about him is great. Really. But…not what I want.”

He was being picky, sure, but he wasn’t gonna leave anything to chance. He needed someone with a spine, someone who won’t let themselves get steamrolled by him.

Again, Adler gave a noncommittal answer, this time a grunt of acknowledgment, and motioned for him to get to the final dossier.

Just like previously, that seemed too easy. Emile began to suspect something was afoot. If it was anyone else sitting before him, alarm bells would’ve been ringing in his head by now; and yes that’s a wild statement considering the reputation of the man before him.

Emile glanced at the final dossier, his right hand splayed wide over it like a possessive spider over captured prey. He’d saved the interesting one for last.

“This one,” Emile pushed the last dossier towards the center after sweeping the rejects aside, “Clearly, like the last two, his record’s fantastic; several successful missions, solo and team, as well as variety in his skillset and experiences. His evals paint him to be a free thinker when necessary yet easily falls into line and can take orders. When you put all this together, this guy pulls ahead of the others by a small margin… ”

“But..?” Adler prompted, shifting forward in his seat.

Although Emile couldn’t see the man’s eyes, shielded behind Oakleys as they were, he felt the heat of them. Years of exposure had never made them any less unsettling.

“I noticed some strikes against him on an otherwise impressive record.” Emiles pulled the relevant page out of the folder. “Guy’s got a record of violent outbursts and—-well, reports of him ripping out two men’s throats. Two. I have questions.”

”Of course you do.” Adler, the bastard, didn’t bother to hide the smugness coloring his voice. “The torn throats happened during a raid two years into his time as a vanilla Marine, very close quarters. He’d been jumped and lost his firearm in the scuffle, but managed to dispatch both—“

“Wait, I’m sorry, ‘both’? As in, within the same instance? He chomped two throats, in a row? Consecutively?!” What the fuck. Why am I fixated on this?

“You’re fixated on this.”

Shit.

“No. Nope. It’s just…impressive is all. Please, continue,” said Emile. He fought off the sudden urge to press a hand against his throat.

The scarred man obviously didn’t fall for his bullshit with how the corner of his mouth was lifted. “The violent outbursts, on the other hand, were actually two separate instances. Well…more like cases than instances,” Adler said.

“Yeah?” Emile asked,leaned closer.

“The first case happened during his early days of basic. A couple of recruits from his cohort thought it would be cute to mess with the moody guy. Repeatedly. Moody guy had enough and sent them to the infirmary.”

Emile let out a low whistle at that. A spine. This was promising. “Nice. And the powers that be at the time didn’t boot him from the Marines?” Honestly, beating the crap out of your bullies screamed devil dog behavior, really on brand of them.

“No need.” Oh. That was a full blown smirk on Adler’s face. Holy shit. “Kid got squared away and humbled by a passing spec ops operator at the behest of a drill instructor. He’s been well behaved and obedient ever since. Mostly.”

Wow. Note to future self: conduct an extensive, invasive background check of this guy’s past. Because he needs more, dammit. And he’s the goddamn CIA now, no need to jump through hoops to unlock someone’s backstory.

“That’s one. What about the second case?” Emile found himself mentally cataloging the gear they’d be needing. Heh. I guess I’ve made my mind up.

Adler downed the last of his, now frigid, coffee before continuing. “The second happened a year into his time as a Force Recon operator. Heard a rumor about a Captain abusing his rank to coerce members of the lower ranks into acts of…that nature.”

The younger scowled. Jesus.

Adler nodded. “Yes, Exactly. Our guy caught this captain in the act with one of his fellow squad mates. From the official reports I’ve read, that officer was absolutely mauled.”

Emile took in a ragged breath. Just what exactly are you gifting me, Adler? Because… “Okay but this time, he had to have been punished severely.”

“Three month’s suspension,” the other man chuckled, “a slap on the wrist. They couldn’t punish our guy in a meaningful way for this, the optics would be terrible. Not to mention the uproar it would cause among the enlisted. But they had to do something.” Adler shrugged. “So, slap on the wrist it was.”

Emile let out a bark of laughter, giddy and light with elation. He took a deep breath, leaned back in his seat, mind warm and fuzzy, and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking.

“I want him. Gimme the spicy one.”

I want him. I want the one who’s gonna literally fight tooth and nail to survive when the odds are stacked against him. I want the one who’s gonna take matters into his violent, vicious hands when a comrade can’t protect themselves. I want all of that for myself. I’ll be the one to hold his leash. I’m gonna point all that teeth and violence at the enemy. He’s dangerous. But screw safe. Safe doesn’t get shit done. It’s why I’m here.

Emile thought of Oscar. He thought of how he’d gladly suffer countless sentences for him if it meant keeping him safe.

“Heh.”

The younger man blinked. ”Eh?” Whoops. He’d been fantasizing about the new murder puppy. In front of Adler. Fuck.

Adler snorted. “Good to know you approve of this one. I won’t have to tell the Marines to cancel all the arrangements made.”

Emile stared down the smug face across the table.

“…You’re a bastard, you know that?” he asked in disbelief. “Why even ask me to go through the others? Did I even have a choice?”

Adler stood, gathering the two rejected folders. “Yes. If you chose any of the other two, I’d have taken care of it. But I know you. You were never gonna take them. I knew you wanted someone who matched you psychologically. But you had to make that decision for yourself.”

Great, Emile thought. His mentor knew him enough to find the right candidate to match his freak. The man should consider matchmaking as a side hustle if the CIA no longer worked out.

“Here,” Adler said, sliding a small photo towards Emile. “A peace offering for bamboozling you. It was fun.”

“Tch. I was not bamboozled.“ Emile muttered. He snatched the offered photo eagerly.

Oh.

Oooh.

Maybe Adler made the right call withholding photos. Impartiality would’ve been thrown out the window.

Pretty, was Emile’s immediate impression. The eyes in the photo were fierce, the hair a non-regulation mess, and a beauty mark sat at the corner of the left eye. Emile then noticed the name scribbled in Adler’s neat handwriting.

Efren Torres Aldrich.

Efren. EfrenEfrenEfren. Heh. Effy. Emile ran a reverent thumb over dark eyes, wondering what they would see once they’ve peered into his own dark blue. He gently tucked the photo into his shirt pocket, a hot brand nestled against his heart.

Adler slid the neglected brief closer to Emile. “Like I said, memorize it. You’ll meet him tomorrow at Langley Air Force base, 0500.” He gathered his empty mug, files tucked under arm, before reaching over to ruffle Emile’s hair. “Don’t scare the poor guy away, kid. I actually put effort into pairing you with someone who’d watch your back.”

Emile let warmth wash over him as he leaned into the affectionate touch. “I make no promises,” he teased. Hm. Would Efren like having a hand in his hair, too?

He felt Adler make his way towards the door as he settled in, ready for hours of reading, careful planning, deciding which insertion points would be the least detectable, which exfil routes were the least hazardous in all that mountain terrain, maybe study a topographical map of the area, and if he needed to make contact with a trustworthy local source to have—

“Emile.”

Deep blue eyes blinked into awareness, mind resurfacing.

“Yeah?”

From the open doorway, Adler gazed at Emile. The man appeared to consider something.

“Good luck out there. Remember…” Adler paused, voice heavy with faint emotion the younger man can’t quite identify, “as handler you’re responsible for the well being and, to an extent, actions of your asset in the field. Call the shots and he’ll follow. Got it?”

Somber and pensive Adler was a rare creature, one Emile wasn’t well versed in dealing with even after years of knowing the man.

“Understood,” Emile said, nodding, matching the other man’s tone.

The mood possessing Adler was gone in an instant. He gave a brusque nod before shutting the door.

I’m gonna steal his jacket when I get back, Emile thought fondly with a chuckle as he went back to reading. And gotta have all my prep finished early enough so that dear Efren won’t have to put up with my sleep deprived whining.

Emile spent the rest of the day quietly poring over mission intel, hand occasionally reaching to cup his throat.

[mr-1-2-3-4]

I seen @pampanope and @kings-out-of-pocket-hell do this so II thought I would try-

Match Starting-

“Can I finish my cigarette first?”

(turns on his voice box) “Might need this”

“I’m back from hell.”

“Time to let out some anger”

“Does someone have my inhaler”

Throwing Lethal-

“Don’t watch out”

(C4) “Don’t be concerned go touch it, see what happens”

(C4) “I am praying on everyone's downfall.”

(Throwing Knife/Axe) “Hope that leaves a mark”

(Throwing Knife/Axe) “Hope you aren’t using your brain”

(Molotov) “Catch!”

Throwing Tactical-

(Flash) “Go blind”

(Flash) “I can’t see either, not like I could.”

(Stim shot) “Is this necessary”

(Smoke Grenade) “I love these so much”

(Smoke Grenade) “I will never stop loving these”

(Smoke Grenade) “Graves, can we get more of these?”

Friendly Fire-

“¡Vete a la mierda!”

“I will use you as live target practice, and I never miss”

“I’m telling my mom”

Eliminating Enemy-

“Target down”

(With his bat) “Strike!”

(With his bat) “And the crowd goes dead”

(With his knife) “Oak’s knife is sharp!”

(With his sniper) “It’s a blue laser be careful”

(With his sniper) “Stupid. Of course it’s a sniper but with a different color”

Drowned-

“I told you I can’t swim…”

Coughing “I cannot swim!”

“Mom:(”

Reviving-

“Get your lazy ass up.”

“Estarás bien”

(7-11) “I’m not letting anyone kill you but me.”

(7-11) “Come on, if you die I have no reason to live.”

(Moribund) “There there. Nobody is killing you today”

([REDACTED]) “I may hate you. But I’m not letting mom have a broken heart again.”

(Jackrabbit/Hydra/LoveHurt, etc) “Take a picture of a medic being revived”

(KitKat) “I got you crackhead”

(Switch) “Dying isn’t allowed”

Surviving Enemy Fire-

“Holy fuck I’m gonna be sick”

“Can I get my inhaler”

(Coughing) “ok, I need my inhaler after that”

Killstreak Rewards-

(Chopper Gunner) “Get them boys”

(RC XD) “AH- what is that! Oh…”

(Napalm strike) “Where’s their fuel tank”

(Care package) “Nap time”

(Care package) “I wonder if they got snacks”

Using Field Upgrades-

(Spring mine) “Can I eat it?”

(Assault pack) “Great.”

(Acoustic Amp) “I’m autistic too, that says autistic right?”

(Sleeper agent) “Great.”

Random Stuff-

(Hacking) “Y’ALL KNOW I’M SLOW BE PATIENT WITH ME”

(Goes down) “-Spanish slurs and insults-”

(Goes down) “do you know who my mom is- if he’s not busy”

(Got caught on fire) “here we go again”

(Got caught on fire) “I been burn once look at me damnit”

(Looking at 7-11) “you look very push-down-the-stairs-able”

(Sees a enemy) “Ugly fucker spotted”

[holly-fixation]

Seraphic and Sinister

Summary: Sephiroth learns that he has a child, a lab made specimen existing under the same terrible conditions he was raised in. In a moment of pure rage, he rescues his child. However, his fate has long been sealed, but the child’s fate is unknown. 

Never did he expect the cadet that killed him to take responsibility for the heir of His planet. 

Inspired by various asks to @rottenpumpkin13 

Please Enjoy.

…

Chapter 1: Violation

Hojo's laboratory. 

The unwelcoming decor was an unwanted second home to the Silver Soldier of Shinra. The sterile air, the artificial light, the deep echoes of the halls. He hated it. He hated being here but it was required. Every attempt to convince the higher ups that this was not necessary ended in complete failure and laughter from the scientist he hated most. 

These monthly appointments were not his choice. The board made that explicitly clear.

Worst of all in this terrible laboratory, he hated seeing the specimens, the creatures and monsters created to either die or be observed. Every ounce of their suffering was monitored twenty four hours a day. These hallways and these creatures remained within memories for as far as he could recall them. Each tile on the floor was mapped to perfect recollection after all his years. Medium cages, examination room, training room, large mako tanks, large cages, electric pipelines, monitors, sealed cages-

He stopped in his tracks.

But this observation glass was new, as was the darkened screen between the window and the door. Normally he would turn away in disgust at this new experiment, to ignore it and hope its usefulness ended soon for its own sake. But he didn't. He felt a churn in his stomach. A weight in his chest. Something pushing him toward the control pad beyond what he could call ‘curiosity’. All new experiments were in the back of the lab, so why was this added in the main hallway?

The screen brightened with the usual Shintra log in page, both the username and password fields left blank. He didn't know Hojo's information, however, he input his own credentials despite the threat that said doctor could discover his attempt and use it against him. 

The screen immediately opened to a document application, white light reflecting on his skin. A new folder appeared within his personal pages without the cloud icon beside it, one that did not belong and did not make sense to him. Only one word titled the folder: Theory. Checking within he found dozens of seemingly new reports. What were these? Why were they there?

He opened one.

Each line captured his attention no matter the horror that laid behind it. 

Pregnancy continuing with expected complications. Monitor for sudden nutrition loss. 

Host uninjured at 30 weeks. Chances of successful production promising.

Child born July 7, 1997, 07:07. A healthy female. 7 pounds, 3 ounces. Unexpectedly vocal.

Host returned to home in [REDACTED]. Monitor residence and continue pension until host expires or conspires to spread word of the child. 

Under direct presidential order, the child's designation must be similar to the designation of its father. (Since the oaf apparently cannot tell the difference between a fully grown masterpiece and a new experiment)

Child's designation agreed upon: Seraphina. Discontinue use of “Girl” and “Soldier”. Previous designations used only during negative reinforcement. 

Child portrays signs of scotopia. Disable emergency lights at PM to encourage proper rest.

Child reaching 120.3 decibels. Install sound panels. 

Child begins walking. 

Presidential three month review. Deemed nothing of note. Project to be discontinued if results continue at current rate. 

Implementation of mako in diet. Child's eyes begin displaying common symptoms within seven days. 

10 mL mako injection through shoulder. Constant protest. Consequences earned. To be repeated every four weeks until further notice.

Child fully healed in 23.4 hours. 

Diet transferred to commercial protein shakes until solid food can be consumed.

Child's strength becomes difficult to manage. Separate child from active lab tables. 

Child maintains current record of 120.3 decibels whenever reacting to impact. When older, remedy this. 

Technicians arrived to child sitting on a work desk beside activated soldering iron. Child showed no reaction to tool. Child held photo snatched from the current desk: A selfie of a technician's offspring with a cardboard cut out of Sephiroth. The offspring is smiling.

Child cracked glass with latest scream when photo was removed. Consequences distributed as necessary. 

Child suddenly becomes silent. Literacy and mathematic skills difficult to judge with minimal reactions. 

Child cries at night. Child exhibiting signs of nyctophobia despite scotopia. Note: habit must be removed by age three. 

Child is given a Second Class sword. Child shows promise with a weapon. 

Child is shown video of Sephiroth training at age twelve. Child is thoroughly engaged. Child attempts to copy technique. 

Presentation for president confirmed. 

Six month presidential review begins. Child referred to by name with president's approval. 

Child is placed in room with a single robotic arm as room size slowly decreased. Child is severely injured but defeats robot. 

President Shinra demands an alternate display of abilities. 

Pain endurance trial begins. 

Child endures 5X volume of [REDACTED] than average adult human male before losing consciousness. 

Project permitted to continue. 

Wound heals. Child unable to walk properly. Signs point to lingering [REDACTED] in child's body. 

Three day recovery period begins. Check status every three hours.

Sephiroth couldn't stop reading every horrible detail on the page, every memory of his own childhood rushing him at the thought of another- no, not just another child- his child: one made without his knowledge or consent. He felt his hands click links to further documentation, his eyes scanning every detail dangerously before an image opened. 

A video. No, not a video, live footage of the blacked out room before him. A small part of him expected to see his silver hair on a tiny child, to finally see the trait on someone other than himself. 

But he didn't. Even through the shading greens of dark vision recordings, he could tell her hair was black, tiny specks interfering with the recording as if pixels glitched exactly where her hair portrayed through the screen.

The child was trying to walk, and only when she turned did he see the thick bandages around her thigh. Back and forth she limped through the room, never acknowledging the thin sword on the ground, the stacked weights by her crib, or the books on her desk. ‘Her’. None of it was truly hers. Every inch of her life belonged to Shinra and Shinra alone. She did not ask to be brought into this world. Hojo forced her mother, forced her, into this den and left with gil in hand as she wailed in abandonment. And he, her father, stood behind glass after six months of the same agony he suffered. 

He put his PIN into the digital keypad by the door. 

Access denied. 

He tried again, slower, deliberate, confirming each and every input to follow his code. 

Access denied. 

He was given access to the files. Why couldn’t he enter the room? Why was Hojo continuing with these useless mind games? His chest boiled. His brows were furrowed. He brought his shaking hand to his heart and bowed his head, trying to remember the feeling of the locket once kept there, wanting guidance before he made a decision or one was made for him.

He was…angry. No. No- it was much more than that. This child didn’t deserve his suffering. His child didn’t deserve this imprisonment or the genocide missions that laid before her.

She deserved a normal life. 

He summoned his blade to his side and slashed the metal door. The lights above shifted to crimson and a siren blared in his ears but he refused to stop. He refused to allow Hojo another violation into his life and the life of his child. He attacked until there was nothing but a pile of debris between him and his daughter.

Sephiroth took his first step into the room to find the child holding her own blade against him as her body shook with the struggle to maintain his old battle stance, standing against the crib. Why was a child- no- not even a child- why was a baby forced to learn these instincts? 

Why wasn’t he enough to stop this from ever happening again?

He hoped it wasn’t too late.

She looked different than he expected. Her skin was a few notches paler than his own. What he assumed were failing pixels in photos and in videos were actually her hair; a codominant display of his silver piercing through solid black. It reminded him of stars shimmering in the night sky, the vast expanse she was never permitted to see. 

No matter what, that changed today. 

He returned his sword and held both his hands in open caution as he kneeled down, making himself smaller and hopefully less threatening. He tried to soften his expression. She was so delicate. He couldn’t be harsh with her. He didn’t want to be harsh with her. “I will not hurt you. Do you know who I am?” 

The recognition in her eyes only elevated his rage, the smallest nod of her head. She glanced down and her eyes rapidly searched the air around her. Her mako blue, cat like eyes; slit pupils against the soldier trademark. If there was any doubt in his heart that this was only another one of Hojo’s tests, it vanished completely. 

“It’s alright. You’re safe.” 

The hard look in her eyes did not change. He wanted to strangle the scientist. 

“You don’t have to say it the right way. Hojo’s not here. He won’t punish you and I will never let him see you again. Say what you think is right. Don’t think about-”

“Dada…” 

Time froze. His heart skipped a beat. 

She looked embarrassed and afraid, her voice weak and tiny and barely above a breath. He hated that he was correct. She said it again as if finally feeling the slightest drop of freedom. “Dada…?”

He nodded softly. “That’s right. I’m your father. And I’m saving you from this place, Seraphina.”

Maybe he overestimated her understanding because she just kept staring at him.

“You can put your sword away.” He made a small sheathing gesture with his hands. “We have to go. We have to leave right now and you will never see this horrible place again.”

She suddenly waddled up to him and he almost flinched as she tried to wrap her arms around his leg, her weapon forgotten on the floor.

The silver solider lifted the baby into his arms, and she clenched the straps across his chest so tight her knuckles were white. He sheathed her sword and protected her with his right arm. He had already wasted so much time, but he already knew he would never regret this first moment. 

He could never return Shinra, to the memories it held or the friends he made. But they didn’t matter now. All that mattered was her safety. 

All that mattered was his family.

.

.

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To be continued…

Chapter list here!

Note: Okay I know the starry night/multicolored hair is very ‘original character do no steal-y’ but I promise it will be part of the plot and not just a neat detail. This is also my first time writing out an OC for someone ELSE (Hi Pumpkin!) so I’m trying to stay true to the multiple asks this AU spans. So welcome to my newest ‘Sephiroth with a child’ AU and say thank you to Pumpkin for letting me write this!