#personnel log

[voxiiferous]

@do-these-eyes-look-human | Some vague aesthetics for Vox and Maria's wedding!

[exastrisnonnocere]

WHAT IS YOUR CURSE?

The Shadow

Something walks behind you, nipping at your heels. You know the shape it takes, though you cannot see it. You think you know. Its edges look like yours, but clean and concise, close-cut lines articulated into iridescent air. Turn around and catch it-- and it slides away. Your shadow shines and you are blinded. You half-hear it whispering words that stick to your skin like mist and evaporate under your gaze, but they shake you. Even their echoes are true. It knows you. It wears your skin. It is more you than you are. Are you the chaser? Are you the shadow? Which, really, were you rather be? Walk backwards if you must. You must keep looking back.

Stolen from: @ensnchekov Tagging: @onlybonesleft, @whydotheykeeptakingmine, @nursc & you also yes you there with the face

[plasma-tree]

sure lets just pretend that people who consume harmful media are totes normal and not harboring the need to act out those fantasies in real fucking life! haha :-) omg you're so edgy! wowowowowowwww such an edgy lil guy!!!! omg do you feel accomplished for supporting abusers of all flavors? incest? wowowowowww!!! drink bleach and stable your mouth shut. aspirate it.

you after fully gargling my pendulous nuts

[ask-the-anomalous-linguist]

[Dusty squeaks and vanishes from sight.]

X

[unitleada]

tag dump. I took this too srsly I know. leave me to my brainrot.

[my-timing-is-digital]

[ Ooc: I revamped my Carrd and updated my rules page. The layout is super simple, but I kinda like it. :3 ]

[underplater]

Tag building

Disregard.

[good-chimes]

Operational Log from the Government Institute for Ghost Supervision (G.I.G.S.):

AGENTS: “ImpulseSV”, “Skizzleman”, “Grian”, “GoodTimesWithScar”

SUPERVISOR: [Redacted]

[Impulse has submitted a request for ‘$2000’ for reason ‘Van’]

SUPERVISOR: Hi boys. Pleasure to be working with you. Can you give a better reason than ‘van’ for why you need two fucking thousand American dollars?

IMPULSE: Oh, sorry sir. We just need to replace some things in the van.

GRIAN: By which he means everything in the van.

SUPERVISOR: You lost ALL YOUR EQUIPMENT?

IMPULSE: You’re new, aren’t you, sir. Have you…met Scar?

SUPERVISOR: I have your personnel files. What does this have to do with Scar?

GRIAN: Oh, you’ll find out.

IMPULSE: Our last supervisor just sort of, uh, approved things. I’ve got receipts.

SKIZZ: We’re at the school, guys! Stop chatting and get in there!

IMPULSE: Gotta go!

[crackle]

GRIAN: Okay, so Scar, Impulse and Skizz are in the building. So far we’ve got the power turned on but no clues. There’s a spooky sort of bonfire in the main hall. Got skulls on it.

SCAR: I lit the bonfire!

GRIAN: Breaking news, Scar has lit the bonfire.

SUPERVISOR: Why did you light the bonfire!? You could draw the attention of a ghost!

GRIAN: Yeah, Skizz, why did you let Scar set something on fire? Pretty irresponsible.

SKIZZ: [noise of incoherent outrage] You try stopping him, buddy.

GRIAN: Can’t, I’m in the van. [further noise of outrage from Skizz]. Impulse is reporting EMF Level 5—didn’t anyone set up cameras? What kind of team doesn’t set up cameras? We’ve got a new supervisor to impress.

SUPERVISOR: Cameras should not be set up during a mission! You should have set them up in the daytime!

IMPULSE: We could use some cameras.

SKIZZ: GRIAN, YOU GET IN HERE, BUDDY.

GRIAN: Okay, okay, fine! I’ll get the cameras.

SUPERVISOR: Why are you risking the whole team in the building at the same—

[Scar has submitted request for ‘$5’ for reason ‘glowsticks’]

SUPERVISOR: Why on god’s green earth do you need glowsticks!?

SKIZZ: Scar, those don’t do anything.

SCAR: They keeps you safe from ghosts!

SKIZZ: What, because they’re too cool for raves?

SCAR: I want glowsticks or I’m resigning.

SUPERVISOR: You can’t resign in the middle of mission!

IMPULSE: Haunt! Everyone quiet!

SUPERVISOR: Wait, a real haunt? That’s highly dangerous! Get out!

[crackle]

IMPULSE: False alarm, that noise was Skizz and Scar frying hot dogs.

[Scar has submitted request for ‘$1’ for reason ‘needs salt’]

SUPERVISOR: Not approved! You’re not supposed to fry hotdogs on an eldritch bonfire!

SKIZZ: We were hungry!

GRIAN: Wait, you guys have hotdogs in there? I’m coming in.

IMPULSE: Oh, wait—wait—yep, there’s the haunt.

[crackle]

GRIAN: Well, Scar’s dead.

SUPERVISOR: Oh god! What!

IMPULSE: I was wondering why they didn’t get attacked. Just a slow ghost, I guess.

SUPERVISOR: An agent is dead and you’re joking!?

GRIAN: Oh, he’ll be fine.

SKIZZ: I got some tarot cards here.

SUPERVISOR: Don’t touch the cursed items! Find your colleague’s body!

[crackle]

SCAR: I hate all of you. You left me to die.

SUPERVISOR: What? Just a goddamn minute. That was a joke? Agent Scar is alive?

IMPULSE: Scar, buddy, cheer up.

SCAR: Grian shut a door in my face!

SUPERVISOR: One agent impeded another’s investigation?

SCAR: Yeah! I was impuded!

GRIAN: What! How is this my fault! A ghost was coming at me and I shut a door!

SCAR: And killed me!

GRIAN: That sounds like a you problem.

SCAR: Sir, I want to file a complaint. About Grian.

SUPERVISOR: Well, put in a placeholder and we’ll—

[Scar has submitted file ‘grain Complaint’]

[Grian has submitted file ‘Grian’s Official Resignation Letter’]

SUPERVISOR: Boys, this sounds like it’s gotten heated, let’s take it offline. Agent Scar, we’ll look into this later. Agent Grian, put your resignation on hold.

IMPULSE: They do this a lot.

SKIZZ: It’s affection. You love each other.

SCAR: I love Grian not murdering me.

GRIAN: I love Scar saving me some hot dogs. Oh wait, he didn’t.

SKIZZ: C’mon, fellas, where’s this ghost?

IMPULSE: We gotta use some of these cursed items.

GRIAN: I vote Scar looks in the haunted mirror. Anyone else want to volunteer? No? See, vote carried.

[Scar has submitted file ‘Im Resigning’]

[Grian has submitted file ‘I’m Resigning HARDER’]

[Scar has submitted file ‘No your not’]

[Last 3 requests have been denied]

SUPERVISOR: How on earth do you work with them?

[Grian has submitted file ‘Turbo Resignation Letter’]

IMPULSE: Oh, me and Skizz have got a knack for it, sir. You just have to let them work it out. Or shut one of them up for the ghost to get.

[Last 1 request has been denied]

SUPERVISOR: Boys, this is sounding like a really dangerous situation and I think you should get out of there. I’m calling a retreat.

SKIZZ: Gimme the mirror, I’ll try saying the ghost’s name.

SUPERVISOR: Did you hear me? Is this thing on? Saying the name is EXPLICITLY the one thing that is unsafe to do on missions!

GRIAN: Huh. Maybe we should have read the manual.

SKIZZ: Just let me do it, sir, we get results.  

SUPERVISOR: Are you four always like this?

IMPULSE: Oh, no. Usually these missions go much worse.

SUPERVISOR: No! No, nobody is looking in any cursed mirrors! I have eighty successful mission supervisions under my belt—

SCAR: Sounds uncomfortable.

SUPERVISOR: Our department has a clean record of no agent deaths—

GRIAN: Oh damn, I knew I should have submitted our reports.

SUPERVISOR: And I—What reports?

IMPULSE: Don’t tell him about the reports!

SUPERVISOR: Is this data right? You haven’t sent in a report in… five YEARS?

GRIAN: One thing and another, you know.

SUPERVISOR: No! Enough! You are the WORST team I have ever worked with and every practice you have is UNSAFE and I bet one of you is looking in the cursed mirror RIGHT NOW—

[crackle]

[crackle]

GRIAN: Scar’s dead again.

SUPERVISOR: [calming breath] Okay, you lot clearly have your jokes, like last time, but I need you to know that’s not funny.

GRIAN: I can get a picture of how he ragdolled. His head’s on backwards. It’s hilarious.

[Grian has submitted photo file lol.jpg]

SUPERVISOR: … That … that is a man who has been killed by a malevolent spirit! That spirit is deadly!

SKIZZ: Funny, the ones they send us on are always deadly.

IMPULSE: Get him back to the van.

SUPERVISOR: LEAVE IMMEDIATELY! I AM CALLING AN AMBULANCE!

IMPULSE: You don’t need to do that—

GRIAN: Hey! Dots! I just saw dots!

SKIZZ: Yes! Mark off dots!

IMPULSE: Sweet, we’ve got it! It’s a White Lady! Let’s go, guys!

SUPERVISOR: Is anyone listening? Is anyone listening to me?

[crackle]

SUPERVISOR: Come in. Come in.

SUPERVISOR: I know you’re driving back. Answer your goddamn radio.

SCAR: Well, hello there.

SUPERVISOR: This is very serious. I have to report Agent Scar’s death—Agent Scar? Is that you?

SCAR: The one, the only!

SUPERVISOR: You were dead!

SCAR: Oh, yeah, but then they brought me into the van and we left.

SUPERVISOR: How—what—

SCAR: I dunno, ask Impulse! I’m usually dead by this point.

SUPERVISOR: Agent Impulse! How!

IMPULSE: Me and Skizz have been doing this a long time, sir. Guess we’ve just got a knack.

SUPERVISOR: A knack for—a knack for—I’m going to get a drink.

SCAR: Toast our great success. Hey, hey, Grian, that’s my hot dog. I died for that hot dog!

GRIAN: You weren’t looking! Finder’s keepers!

IMPULSE: Careful of the wheel, guys, careful of the wheel—

SUPERVISOR: I’m never working with your team again!

SKIZZ: Yeah? I get ya, buddy. See you next week.

[takes1]

p.2 bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

warnings. nsfw. m!masturbation at the end. midterms mentioned. minors DNI content. misinterpretation of emotions. tsukki not knowing how to handle a crush. enemies to lovers. or maybe enemies with benefits, i haven't decided yet. manager!reader. tsukki being so incredibly horny. tsukki not understanding facial expressions. sexual frustration. male masturbation + implied previous. kiyoko being a friend. yachi being a friend. 1.7k words notes. 3 more parts planned! ask to be added to the taglist if you don't want to miss one! links. PART ONE HERE. PART THREE . PART FOUR. FINAL PART. masterlist for mha. my ao3. masterlist for haikyuu

Despite your iced latte being mostly just water by now, you still sucked it down in desperation to get every ounce of caffeine you could. Midterms were just around the corner and one of your most difficult classes involved writing a 10-page scientific paper.

You had the whole semester to do it, so the dread you felt now was the amalgamation of months' worth of opportunity that you could've and should've used to work on it.

Thankfully, you didn't have to churn the majority of this thing out alone.

"What the hell does ameliorate mean." Kiyoko asked, though her soft frustration was starting to sound more like a statement now.

Yachi took every opportunity she could to stop doing her work, including this one. For her, there was less pressure to do perfectly on her finals since she had another two years to get those top marks.

She scanned her laptop screen for a moment, lips perched on the lid of her strawberry refresher: "Ameliorate means... To... make something bad or unsatisfactory better."

Kiyoko muttered something about how it still didn't make sense. Of course it wouldn't- she was taking an organic chemistry course.

The plan as it stood now was to rot in this spot all day until hunger moved you, so you all made an event out of it by putting on something cute, grabbing some coffees and pastries from a cafe nearby, and settling into this local library.

It wasn't planned, but you all simultaneously chose to wear skirts and cute summer tops. The mutual reaction of humor helped ease the pain of having to study all day. Suffering together was preferable to suffering alone.

The chance finally came again to stretch your legs and find another vaguely relevant reference to add to your bibliography.

With a rewarding, careful stretch, you rose out of your chair and took your time walking up and down the aisles to find something to support the fifth theory you'd written about so far.

Midterms were one stressor, but you weren't afforded the privilege of having tunnel vision over it.

Qualifiers were just around the corner, and you had the Tokyo training camp to prepare a load of equipment and personnel logs for.

As you selected a thick novel from a shelf above your head, you let out a small sigh.

The front matter described a concept you could start to look into and fluff up to your liking for the paper. Your mind fell back to the team, and how you wanted to do well on these exams so you'd have less to worry about going to Tokyo.

The side of your face was growing warm, probably from the East-facing window to your left, so you raised the back of a cold hand to cool yourself down.

You were just deciding to take this book back when, in the process of dropping your hand, you caught a blur of blond hair and glasses in the corner of your eye.

Your stomach jolted, heart starting to race, and an uncontrollable surprise took over your features.

Tsukishima was sitting, leaned over a table on his elbows, his head twisted all the way to the side to look at you over his shoulder.

You quickly looked back to the shelf and sucked in a breath. God, that must've looked so lame- you regretted every millisecond of that reaction and prayed he wouldn't ever bring it up.

He hated you. You didn't want anything to do with him. There was no pleasant exchange to get out of saying hello, or even acknowledging each other. It's not like you were friends.

Why was he even here? You started to get worried, but realized that he did ride the same train back with you after practice in the evenings.

Now you were really remembering. He got off one stop before yours and always moved to create the most space possible between you. You usually didn't see him again until he got off. Even then, you didn't care enough to look for him anymore.

You glanced back to him, expecting to now have to speak to him after you'd exchanged a mutual acknowledgment of each other's presence.

He was staring. But... that wasn't exactly the right word for it.

He was distracted. You wondered if he knew who you were, because you'd never seen him stare at you for more than a few seconds.

His brow wasn't pinched like usual. It was relaxed- in fact, everything about him was relaxed. The way his head was held in his hand, the loose grasp on his pencil, the subtle part of his lips. The lazy, yet measured scan of his eyes.

There was a reddish tint at the tips of his ears and highest points of his cheeks. It was astoundingly easy to notice, since he was so fair-skinned.

A strong chill ran up your spine when he finally made eye contact with you. Even then, it took a glance down to the book clasped against your chest, then back up for him to really notice your gaze and stiffen right up.

That new side of him vanished in an instant. It was replaced with a brief, stone-cold glower before he turned back to his own midterm work.

On the stiff walk back to your table, you smoothed your skirt out and pulled on the edge a bit before sitting back down.

It took a minute of silent sitting to even begin to unpack what you felt.

"Do I look stupid?"

Yachi instantly piped up, "Of course not! You're very pretty!"

"You really shouldn't waste your breath asking," Kiyoko glanced up at you.

It was brief but it rested your immediate insecurities.

"Why?" Yachi, once again, wanted nothing more than to just hang out and talk.

Another surge of chills. It was sickening.

You put your head in your hands, elbows on the table. "Mm-mm, it's just-..." You thought to tell them, but held back at the last second, "I dunno."

Another big sigh and you were back to typing to take your mind off of it. You'd have plenty of time to see what this spun into once you were free from this academic prison. It was too confusing right now.

Kiyoko didn't read into it, but Yachi lingered until 1) it was obvious you simply didn't want to disclose and 2) an abnormally tall boy from school walked past your table. She watched him watch you on his way towards the exit.

Her eyes narrowed with keen intuition.

the keen intuition in question:

Kei felt himself practically melt against the closed door of his bedroom. Breathless from a difficult and quick walk home, he fumbled with the tie of his sweatpants and the lock on the door concurrently.

"Finally," He sighed with a desperate laugh, "Fuck..."

His bag hit the floor with a sharp and careless thump. He stepped over it and fell onto his back on his mattress, a long arm stretched toward his side table for some lotion.

It was useless trying to study after that. Library or home, it didn't matter unless he could fuck this one out.

This time he didn't have to stalk your Instagram to spark his imagination; it was already running rampant with filthy ideas of what he'd do to you in that short skirt.

An ignored, aching erection sprang out of his waistband as he pushed it down and out of the way.

Light grey sweatpants had (for the first time in his life) ended up being a shit idea. All he could worry about on the 20 minute walk back was if anyone could see the tip of his cock tucked up just under his shirt.

Every shirt was too short. Every pair of pants was too big in the middle.

His slippery hand was beautiful relief. He was quick to get himself lubricated, and quicker to pump in slow, twisting motions to the image of you reaching, reaching, reaching up to that book on your tippy toes.

All the worry in his tight brow washed away in crashing waves of steady-growing pleasure.

Soon he didn't care about the harrowing journey home, the threat of midterms, nor the growing dread of that training camp.

It was just you.

It felt like fate that he got the only chance anyone might ever have to see the curve of your ass just under the hem of your skirt. You were able to get that book all too quickly.

If everything were different, he would've gotten it for you. You would've thanked him, kissed him on the cheek- he would've pulled you in for a heated, raunchy kiss with a hand palming you closer. He would've savored the view of you spread on the table for him -homework long forgotten- and his massive hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. It was a library, after all.

He seethed and stalled for a moment--, "a-ahh- Mm..."

His cock twitched hard with the need to cum, but he stopped just soon enough.

An oversized hand was holding the base; he looked at his other dry one, then closed his eyes in an eager but fruitless attempt to visualize just how they'd look on your thighs. Fuck, anywhere at this point.

Just one touch, that's all he wanted. He never let himself get close enough to even consider it, but my god, the internal struggle he made to stay away was commendable.

His tight, lightly sweaty stomach flexed with effort as he slowed down again.

You were so quick to switch up when it came to him. He could tell he had a special place in your heart, the way your lips pursed into a small frown and your eyes narrowed when he tested you.

It was out-of-this-world cute from his vantage point. A smile might just kill him.

"Mmm, fu-ck," He croaked, mind circling back to today.

His chest swelled with a shaky inhale- he smirked at the thought of you finding out about his terrible secret, how you would punish him for his unprofessional behavior. You were so pretty when you got mad.

The breath caught in his throat. He wasn't even thinking about the skirt when he finally came all over his stomach. Just that pretty face of yours did it for him.

taglist:

@hotvinimon @cyzvx @aloveablechaos @kozumesphone

thanks for the support!!

reply to be added!

[exastrisnonnocere]

Character Info Sheet

NAME: Silas Lane Garcia Alderin

NAME MEANING: Silas meaning 'of the forest' from the Latin Silvanus and he is named after his paternal grandfather. Lane is masculinized from his mother's name Elena (specifically her nickname Lanie), which is the Spanish variation of the name Helen, meaning 'bright, shining light'. Silas's surname is officially Alderin, with his mother's first surname Garcia (of Garcia Villegas or Garcia-Villegas from the traditional dos apellidos convention) listed as a sort of second middle name, since Elena had elected to take her husband's name at the time of their marriage. Garcia is a Spanish surname meaning 'bear', while Alderin is a spelling variation of Aldrin, either from the Old English meaning 'old and wise ruler' or the Old Norse Áleifr meaning 'noble leader'. (OOC: surname was definitely chosen because Buzz Aldrin but also more because mun is a Lily Aldrin from HIMYM stan no regrets)

ALIAS/ES: Nicknamed Si (pronounced like sigh), also called Miguel by his grandfather after he developed dementia and often mistook Silas for his father, Michael.

ETHNICITY: Mexican (Mother's side) & British/Italian (Father's side)

ONE (1) PICTURE YOU LIKE BEST OF YOUR CHARACTER:

THREE HCS YOU'VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE: ( I've been writing this man since 2012, I'm pretty sure I've told everything to one person or another at some point, so we'll go with some HCs I haven't posted on this blog yet. )

Silas is allergic to copper (and incidentally the blood and various other bodily fluids of Vulcans; he learned this the hard way with his Vulcan Academy boyfriend because I thought it was funny af and for literally no other reason)

He really, *really* enjoys getting flowers. Like, a lot. Give this lorge grown ass man flowers and watch him smile and blush.

Silas is not especially a fan of labels in regards to sexuality. Silas has almost exclusively dated men for almost twenty years, but he has also had many emotional relationships with women during that time. If pressed, he would say that he is primarily physically attracted to men and primarily emotionally attracted to women, though both attractions develop with either one, eventually. His relationships with men tend to be intensely passionate, but emotionally shallow or needlessly complicated, while his relationships with women are often deeply established before any kind of desire rears its head. Because of this, the women he falls in love with are usually already well-established as friends, and he declines to pursue any romantic involvement for the sake of the existing relationship.

THREE THINGS YOUR CHARACTER LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME:

Reading. This boy is always reading like five books at a time. He is partial to poetry and fiction, but he's also all up in the niche scientific and anthropological research spaces.

Cooking. He likes food. Real food. Replicators suck. The end.

Dancing/Singing. He sings while he's cooking. He dances in the shower. Music lives in his body at all times, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

EIGHT PEOPLE YOUR CHARACTER LIKES/LOVES: (PSA: multiship so each one exists in its own little verse unless there's an arranged poly situation going on; also, if you are not on this list don't worry, he likes almost everyone! I just picked the 8 who are closest to him currently and/or have been close to him for years; if we haven't interacted much or haven't discussed their relationship OOC then I don't like to make assumptions about it overall.)

Ten of Eleven aka Madeline - his baby girl, pride and joy, and the true love of his life, his adopted daughter.

Jin Kim - Long time OTP played off-site, biochemist with a crappy disposition but great legs.

Leonard McCoy (@onlybonesleft ) - Sometimes platonic soulmate, sometimes not platonic at all, but inevitably cut from the same cloth. Both men are too used to caring for others and not enough for themselves, so they pester each other into self-care submission and their relationship keeps me up at night because reasons.

Christine Chapel (@nursc ) - The bright spot in a shitty day but also 100% reliable when you need help on the floor. She knows her shit, she gets things done, she's the one he calls when he needs a hand. He hopes she knows she can count on him for the same. His work wife, his non-work wife, his gossip girl, his bestie. Can't live without her, doesn't want to.

Sergio Alderin - His middle brother, closest in age and the one he still sometimes talks to. Schoolteacher. Married to his childhood BFF.

Simon Castelo - His childhood BFF and brother-in-law, keeps him up to date with goings on in his brothers' lives more often than the brothers themselves, given their rocky relationships.

Michael (Mikey) Alderin Jr. - Youngest brother, wanderlust type with little guidance and direction in his life. Suffered in foster care and blames Silas for not being there to protect him.

James T. Kirk (@traiilblazer ) - On-again, off-again lovers, played off-site.

TWO THINGS YOUR CHARACTER REGRETS:

Losing his brothers. While they are all three alive and well, the relationship between them is strained. Silas leaving foster care and his subsequent failure to obtain custody of his younger brothers at the time of their parents' deaths is something he wishes had gone differently. He thinks he gave up too easily, that he should have tried harder. He also carries guilt because, deep down, his failure at the time had been a relief. Relief from the burden of trying to figure out how to provide for and raise his siblings when he, himself, was only 17.

Getting married. Not so much the relationships themselves, but the almost knee-jerk urge to put untested romances under the stress of a long-term, official commitment. Military marriages tho, amirite?

TWO PHOBIAS YOUR CHARACTER HAS:

Autophobia, also called monophobia, isolophobia, or eremophobia, is the specific phobia or a morbid fear or dread of oneself or of being alone, isolated, abandoned, and ignored. For Silas, this manifests as a fear of ending up alone or almost an expectation of abandonment. This is, incidentally, contrary to how he has operated throughout his life in the past, where he is and always has been fiercely independent out of necessity and often chooses not to rely on others for help or support. He often pursues relationships with individuals who need him in some way, rather than pursuing mutuality and emotional intimacy which would require him to be vulnerable, thereby ensuring that he both has intrinsic value to the other person and that if/when the relationship ends, he is not utterly destroyed by it. He believes that love exists, but he does not believe it exists for him or that he is deserving of it.

Trypanophobia is the extreme fear of medical procedures involving injections or hypodermic needles. This seems like an inconvenient fear for a doctor to have, however it only manifests when he himself is facing an injection or medical procedure, himself. The fear, at this point in his life, is fairly minor and easily overcome, however it was, at one point, severe and debilitating to his ability to work. Early in his career, Silas and a few others on his away team encountered a Borg vessel and were partially assimilated during that encounter. After being recovered, the various nanite appendages were surgically removed, but the initial trauma of being injected and losing identity and autonomy was heavily damaging to his mental state for some time after the event.

TAGGED BY STOLEN FROM: @ensnchekov TAGGING: @onlybonesleft & anyone else (if u want u don't have to)

[ghouljams]

Hear me out... SCP!141 with SCP288 (the marriage rings)

:>

GOD. YEAH.

Note from O5 regarding SCP-288 tests:

In an effort to make the members of SCP-141 more docile each male will be subject to no more than an hour to observe the effects of SCP-288 on their personality. It is hoped that SCP-288's memetic effect might neutralize their more dangerous impulses. I understand that this has raised some ethical questions with our more psychologically attuned staff. To which I say: proceed with the tests.

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-A Research Note: Seems only right to start with the ring leader. Results: SCP-141-A is exposed to SCP-141 and brought into standard human containment unit(HCU) which has been outfitted to resemble a small apartment with simple luxuries. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ offers him the ring box, he chuckles but takes it. "Sweetheart, ya shouldn't 'ave." He opens the box and inspects the rings. "matching set, cute." "If you would wear the-" Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ stops, frowns. "The men's ring?" SCP-141-A supplies. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ nods, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple as SCP-141-A removes the men's ring and slips it onto his finger. SCP-141-A spends the next several minutes observing Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ silently. He tips his head then tugs a box of cigarettes from his pocket and pulls one free with his teeth. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ takes a seat in the armchair and SCP-141-A pulls her back to standing with a hand under her elbow. "Ah, ah sweetheart, the couch." He sets her on the provided couch and searches his pockets for a lighter. "Darling-" He tips his head again, taking the cigarette from between his lips and holding it out to her. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ takes a lighter from her pocket and lights the cigarette for him. "Those things give me a headache." Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ sighs. "Man upstairs won't shell for cigars." SCP-141-A takes a seat next to Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛, resting his hand on her knee. The two sit in silence as Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ rubs her forehead with her fingers. SCP-141-A's hand creeps up her thigh in the quiet. "You know-" SCP-141-A exhales smoke, Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ winces, her hand drops to his on her thigh. "You're hurting me." "-Not right for you to watch a man and his wife." [DATA CORRUPTED]

Testing Notes:

Computers in observation room C ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ due to SCP-141-A's ⬛⬛⬛⬛, security personnel dispatched to HCU ⬛⬛ after video feed was interrupted and the cameras were ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛. Security was able to intervene before SCP-141-A could [Data redacted]. Recommending Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ for immediate psychological examination.

Note from Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛:

I'm fine. Testing may resume.

-

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-B Research Note: I thought we weren't doing any more tests on this guy? Note: Testing will continue. Results: SCP-141-B is exposed to SCP-141 and brought into standard HCU outfited to resemble a small apartment with simple luxuries. The ring box is left on the table with instructions. SCP-141-B places men's ring on his finger, and D-class personnel is let into the room. Announcement made informing SCP-141-B of "wife." SCP-141-B displays characteristics in line with typical SCP-288-2 exposure including: deference to authority, "doting" behavior, and discussions of family planning. "Wife" displays rapid behavior changes in line with SCP-288-1 exposure, making comments on the state of the house and attempting to use the kitchen to bake for SCP-141-B. Test halted after SCP-141-B's attempt to [redacted]. D-class "Wife" displays advanced cognitohazardous effects, and actively resisted staff attempts to neutralize memetic damage. Suffered severe seizures for ⬛⬛ hours before passing. Time of death ⬛⬛:⬛⬛PM. SCP-141-B unresponsive to questions, still smiling ⬛⬛⬛ hours post testing.

-

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-C Research Note: I'm not going in there after what he did. O5 Note: Yes you are. Results: Immediately after placing SCP-288-2 on his own finger SCP-141-C goes after Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛, after several minutes of struggle Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is wrestled to the ground and SCP-288-1 is forced onto her finger. SCP security staff prevented from intervening. SCP-141-C holds Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ against the ground with her arm twisted behind her back for several minutes, making her repeat bible verses regarding marriage and "wifely duties." He only lets her up upon completion and apologizes for punishing her. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ smiles and nods along to his apology. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is kept on her knees beside the couch. Testing stopped when SCP-141-C removed his [redacted] from his trousers and told her to "open." Security staff were able to safely remove SCP-288-1 from Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛'s finger despite interference from SCP-141-C.

Testing Notes:

Recommending Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ for immediate psychological examination, and mental health leave. Denied

-

Testing Log, SCP-288:

Subject: SCP-141-D Research notes: audio logs and transcriptions pending review, staff may be editorializing these. O5 Notes: Someone muzzle the psych please. Results: SCP-141-D is exposed to SCP-141 and led into standard HCU furnished like small apartment with simple luxuries. His former psychiatrist Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ is handcuffed to the arm chair, she tugs at her restraints in a panic as SCP-141-D takes his seat on the couch. SCP-141-D reads instructions next to ring box and removes SCP-288-2, and places it on his finger. After a moment he steps around Dr.⬛⬛⬛⬛ in order to fiddle with the handcuffs. "Calm down sweet'eart, tryin' ta get ya outta the damn things." (Voice can be heard over receiver) Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛'s struggling only gets worse. SCP-141-D grabs her by the throat and holds her against the back of the armchair. Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ appears to be on the verge of hyperventilation. "Come on." SCP-141-D breaks the chain on one of her cuffs and Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ smacks him across the face. SCP-141-D's grip on her tightens and quickly loosens, anger there and gone only long enough for Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ to cower. "Not gonna hurt ya," [researches described voice as "gentling" pending review] "wouldn't hurt ya, calm down f'r me love." SCP-141-D spends the remaining hour, holding Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ in a bear hug as he sits in the armchair and she thrashes against his hold. SCP-141-D sustains multiple bite injuries and several headbutts, leading to what was assumed to be a broken nose. Upon examination no injuries were found.

SCP-141-D Note:

Don't you ever put that on me again. Like puttin' a fightin' dog in a jumper. I'll kill 'er next time.

Site ⬛⬛ Memo:

Dr. ⬛⬛⬛⬛ requesting immediate termination of employment. Denied

[exastrisnonnocere]

@onlybonesleft Found it.

Hawkeye & BJ M*A*S*H | 8.19

[myosotisa]

Incident Report 141-1-C

SCP-141 > Incident 141-1-C

Attn. All Black Site ⬛⬛ Personnel, @ghouljams

On ⬛⬛/⬛⬛/20⬛⬛, an unknown civilian female infiltrated SCP Black Site ⬛⬛, the current holding location of SCP-141.

<Begin log> An external camera shows a concrete sidewalk leading to an emergency exit, time stamped ⬛⬛:⬛⬛PM. A young woman, mid 20s to early 30s, approaches the door. Subject, which will henceforth be referred to as SCP-141-e-1, appears distressed – looking around nervously, shifting erratically. SCP-141-e-1 approaches the exterior door and reaches for a keypad beside the frame, inputting a code. They then open the door without triggering the alarm, and enter the facility. An internal camera shows SCP-141-e-1 navigating the service halls while referencing something written on their hand. Another internal camera shows SCP-141-e-1 entering the facility mess hall. They sit down at a table alone, visibly trembling and beginning to cry. They do not move or make any other action until approached by Site personnel. <End log>

Personnel Note on Incident 141-1-C:

We need to find out how they might've had access to those entry codes. Aren't they changed every 8 hours? How the hell did this girl get a working code? And why didn't the alarm go off when they opened the door?

Interview SCP-141-e-1, Video Log:

Note: SCP-141-e-1 had shown no outward hostility and was not yet known to be connected to SCP-141 at the time of interviewing.

<Begin log> Interviewer: Can you please state your name for the record? SCP-141-e-1: I'm not supposed to say my name. Interviewer: No? Why not? SCP-141-e-1: She told me not to. Interviewer: Who is she? SCP-141-e-1: Watcher. O– or she said you might know her as 'Laswell'. Interviewer: Laswell. She told you what to say? Did she give you the instructions on how to get here? SCP-141-e-1: Yes. [They show their hand, which had a poorly drawn map of the facility that has since been smeared due to palm sweat.] Interviewer: I see. Do you know why she asked you to do this? SCP-141-e-1: I– I'm here to deliver a message. Interviewer: A message? What kind of message? SCP-141-e-1: She says that... That the 141 is needed elsewhere in order to complete a mission. And that it would be in everyone's best interests to let them out. Interviewer: Did she say anything about the mission, or what they are hoping to accomplish? SCP-141-e-1: [They are growing visibly anxious.] N- no. All she said was it was for the 'greater good'. And... She said if I had to, I could threaten that... Interviewer: What? What did she threaten? SCP-141-e-1: She said that they will be leaving the facility. Whether by being released, or by force. Interviewer: I see. And how did she contact you? How did you receive this information? SCP-141-e-1: She– [They begin to hyperventilate.] I don't know – She was everywhere and she was in my head and she knew things about me that no one should and I just... Interviewer: Hey, it's okay. You need to calm down. SCP-141-e-1: No! You don't understand! She could've ruined everything– [SCP-141-e-1 lunges for the interviewer, knocking over the camera in the process. There is the sound of a struggle before more people enter the room, and SCP-141-e-1 is supposedly restrained.] <End log>

Observation Note SCP-141-e-1-a:

12 Hours Since SCP-141-e-1 entered Black Site ⬛⬛ - SCP-141-e-1 becomes increasingly hostile to any and all attempts to talk about what Laswell is blackmailing them with, what she is capable of, or if she is still in contact with them. They have been sedated several times over the course of their containment to keep them from causing physical harm to themself or others.

Observation Note SCP-141-e-1-b:

24 Hours Since SCP-141-e-1 entered Black Site ⬛⬛ - SCP-141-e-1 is now displaying a form of retrograde amnesia. They have no memory of infiltrating the facility, being interviewed, what they were instructed to say, or the fact that they were blackmailed. Any attempt to remind them of Laswell or anything related to SCP-141 is forgotten shortly after. This behavior is concurrent with previously known data of the anomalous properties of SCP-141-e. All other medical and memory retention tests come back with average results.

SCP-141-e-1 exhibits no other anomalous traits beyond the memory tampering.

SCP-141-e-1 has been released on their own recognizance after being administered Class C amnestics. They will continue to be discreetly monitored for the next ⬛⬛ months in case contact is made again by SCP-141-e, or any other member of SCP-141.

Memo to Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ regarding Incident 141-1-C, ⬛️⬛/⬛️⬛/20⬛️⬛️:

Are we going to let them out for this mission Laswell wants them for? Should we increase security in regards to her threat? It might be wise to schedule an interview with SCP-141-a about the incident. It's likely he already knows it happened – given their... connection.

Request for additional interviews with SCP-141-a: Pending.

-

-

-

Based on the SCP-141 AU by @ghouljams, which I adore and think about often. See more here: SCP AU tag

[pin-k-ink]

ghost hunt // shalnark (pt. 1)

tw ⇢ hacker!reader, strong sexual tension, mentions of violence and torture

wc ⇢ 2.9k

part one | part two

For months, Shalnark had noticed anomalies cropping up in the Phantom Troupe's secure networks. At first, he dismissed them as random glitches - minor system hiccups that were an inevitable result of the complexity of the Troupe's digital infrastructure.

But as the weeks dragged on, a distinct pattern began to emerge. The seemingly innocuous disruptions coincided precisely with the Troupe's face-to-face meetings and operations. And each time they occurred, just a little bit more data was quietly siphoned away into the ether - personnel files, coded transmission logs, details on upcoming jobs.

At first, the leaks were so minute as to be almost imperceptible. But compounded over time, they formed an insidious trail of digital breadcrumbs leading straight to the heart of the Troupe's clandestine activities.

Shalnark was the first to realize something was wrong, his keen eyes for patterns and minutiae detecting the faint specters moving through the network. He ran a battery of diagnoses and security sweeps, but could find no obvious points of infiltration, no gaping system vulnerabilities to explain the slow bleed of information.

Frowning, he made a subtle adjustment to the Troupe's firewalls, adding an extra layer of encryption to the data streams. If this was the work of an outside hacker, he was determined to fortify their defenses.

But the next convening of the Troupe saw another infinitesimal data leak, this time compounded by a more overt disruption - a brief negation of the network's security protocols, just long enough to expose their meeting's coordinates to the world before the systems snapped back into lock-down.

Cursing under his breath, Shalnark realized they were dealing with something more insidious than a run-of-the-mill cyber attack. This was the work of a skilled technician, a digital specter with the know-how to bypass even the Troupe's most stringent security measures.

A hacker. And a formidable one at that.

Over the following months, the pattern repeated itself with clockwork regularity.

Each time the hacker struck, it was like a digital harbinger - a crimson warning flare cutting through the night, exposing the Phantom Troupe's operations to scrutiny before they could batten down the hatches.

No matter how diligently Shalnark fortified their systems, the hacker always found a way to slither through, leaving just enough of a trail to compromise their next rendezvous point or heist location. Within hours of detecting the breach, encrypted coordinates and mission files would be radiating outwards across the digital ether like a neon signpost to the Troupe's whereabouts.

Curses and rebukes followed in the wake of each incident as the Troupe was forced to abandon meticulously laid plans at the last moment. Tempers frayed as vital targets were lost, lucrative scores forced to be postponed or scrapped entirely due to the consistent risk of exposure and interference.

The effect on morale was insidious. An air of tension and distrust began to pervade the Troupe's ranks. Suspicions were raised, allegiances questioned as each member wondered if there might be a mole in their midst feeding information to this unseen cyber adversary. The group's well-oiled machine of criminality ground to a halting, stuttering cadence as the constant disruptions took their toll.

Through it all, Shalnark became increasingly obsessed with his game of digital cat-and-mouse against the shadowy hacker. He rabbited down every cyber-trail, exhausted entire networks of resources, and still the intruder always danced just one step ahead of his pursuits. The futility bred a simmering frustration that he struggled to keep contained around his Troupe brothers.

Shalnark's skills with data systems and encryption were unparalleled, and to have them so flayed and exposed by this unknown factor needled at his professional pride. With each defeat, each near-miss at cracking the hacker's stratagem, a bitterness took root - festering into an almost singular obsession.

As the months ground on with no reprieve from the hacker's relentless cyber intrusions, Shalnark's attitude towards his digital foe underwent a palpable shift. What had begun as a sense of competitive respect and professional curiosity about their skills slowly contracted into something more bitter and resentful.

No longer was the hacker just an abstract technical challenge to be solved and neutralized. Now they had become Shalnark's personal white whale, a nemesis whose very existence mocked his abilities as the Phantom Troupe's cyber warfare specialist. With each fruitless lead and dead-end data trail, his obsession with unmasking their identity took on an increasingly personal dimension.

He saw traces of the hacker's work everywhere - in the stuttering lag of an encrypted video feed, the garbled fragments of a disrupted call. Always just ephemeral glimpses of a digital specter staying maddeningly out of reach. Shalnark's sleep became fitful, his waking hours consumed by the all-encompassing Need to solve this puzzle and expose the human factor behind the ones and zeroes.

The other members of the Troupe gave him a wide berth during this period, sensing the rising volatility in their comrade as his quarry continued to elude him. Only Chrollo dared approach Shalnark about the intensifying situation - and his words carried the unmistakable timbre of an ultimatum.

"This has gone on for too long," the Troupe's leader stated flatly during one particularly heated convening. They had just abandoned yet another heist after the coordinates leaked mere hours before the operation. "The hacker has become a liability we cannot tolerate any further."

Shalnark opened his mouth to object, but Chrollo raised a quieting hand.

"Find them," he said, his voice deceptively calm but laced with undercurrents of menace. "Use whatever means are required, but bring this to an end. The Troupe's resources are at your disposal."

It was not a request, but a command from the one man whose authority within the group was absolute. Shalnark could only nod tightly and set his jaw in grim determination.

No more games. No more playing defensive cyber games. It was time to take the offensive and hunt this ghostly intruder into the cold, harsh light of reality.

Shalnark initiated his most intensive manhunt yet, systematically dismantling encrypted networks and tracing fragmented data signatures across a labyrinth of proxy servers and dark web portals. He called in every favor owed, diverting the Troupe's vast resources towards isolating and triangulating the physical location from which the hacker's intrusions originated.

Weeks of effort finally paid off when Shalnark managed to trace a unique system signature to its source - a distinct set of geographic coordinates in a densely populated urban city center. Not even bothering to notify the rest of the Troupe, Shalnark grabbed his gear and set off to finally, ultimately, confront the entity that had tormented him for so long.

His fingers were steepled and expression darkly focused as the city's skyline came into view outside his car window. At long last, the hacker would be exposed and whatever drove them to carry out this endless campaign of cyber warfare against the Phantom Troupe would be excised.

One way, or another, tonight would see this chapter brought to a decisive close.

His footsteps were silent as he ascended the stairwell and made his way down the dreary hallway to the apartment indicated by his tracer.

Shalnark stepped across the threshold, ears pricked for any sound of movement from within the dimly lit interior. But the apartment appeared deserted, a simple living space with minimal furnishings. His brow furrowed slightly as he advanced further inside, perplexed by the apparent lack of activity.

That's when he noticed the open doorway leading to what appeared to be a bedroom area. And through that open doorway, he caught a glimpse of tousled bedsheets...and you.

You were seated cross-legged amidst the rumpled blankets, apparently just rousing from slumber. Shalnark's breath caught in his throat as he took in your disheveled appearance - clad in nothing more than an oversized shirt that rode up to mid-thigh, exposing an enticing expanse of leg and a pair of panties which did not do its intended purpose of obscuring your modesty.

Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with the haze of sleep, nonetheless snapped to sharp attention at the sound of his footsteps. In one lithe movement, you were on your feet, shoulders set in a subtly defiant line as you regarded the intruder.

"Well, well," you murmured, giving Shalnark an appraising look that somehow made him feel briefly self-conscious. "The infamous Shalnark of the Phantom Troupe. To what do I owe this rude awakening?"

Shalnark found himself momentarily thrown by your provocative state of undress. He had been prepared for any number of scenarios - from a shadowy hacker's lair bristling with cyber weaponry to an ambush by hired muscle. But this? This beautiful woman regarding him with a mixture of defiance and amusement in your heavy-lidded eyes? It wrong-footed him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

Rallying his composure, Shalnark allowed his gaze to brazenly trail over the bare expanse of your thighs before lifting to meet your challenging stare. "I must admit, you're not quite what I pictured," he said, taking a slow step further into the bedroom. "Though I can't deny the view is...enticing."

One finely sculpted eyebrow arched upwards at his suggestive tone. "Is that so?" you replied, clearly unfazed by his attempt to wrongfoot you. "And just what were you picturing when you decided to violate a young woman's privacy in the middle of the night?"

Shalnark felt the faintest prick of heat entering his cheeks at your words. Clearly you weren't going to make this easy on him. "Don't play coy," he said, his voice lowering an octave. "We both know exactly why I'm here...ghost."

The endearment, laden with faint derision, rolled off his tongue. For months now, you had been the enigmatic presence haunting the Troupe's systems - this maddeningly elusive "ghost in the machine" tormenting them with your formidable hacking skills. But now, finally, Shalnark had cornered his digital quarry.

"Ah, so you figured it out," you said lightly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. Distractingly, you reached up to try and smother a yawn, causing your shirt to ride even higher.

Shalnark's eyes briefly tracked the motion before snapping back to your face, realizing you were deliberately trying to chip away at his eroded calm.

"Don't get cocky, ghost," he growled, mouth twisting in a fractional smirk. "You and I both know you're out of your depth here. So why don't we drop the games and you tell me what sort of suicide mission compelled you to gain the Troupe's...undivided attention."

Shalnark studied you for a moment, taking in the defiant set of your jaw and the way you steadily held his intense gaze. Despite the provocative situation, it was clear you weren't some wide-eyed innocent easily cowed or seduced. A formidable mind lurked behind that beautiful facade.

Perhaps a change of tactic was required.

"You're good, I'll give you that," he said finally, taking a couple of slow steps towards the bed. "Damn good, in fact. To slip past my security safeguards again and again...it's frankly impressive."

You said nothing, merely watched him approach with eyes narrowed in wariness. Shalnark's lips quirked upwards.

"I have to wonder what could have motivated such extraordinary efforts to gain the Phantom Troupe's attention," he continued conversationally. "Unless of course your true aim was to impress us with those prodigious skills of yours."

Halting at the foot of the bed, Shalnark braced one knee against the mattress, leaning towards you with a slow, predatory smile.

"I can assure you, ghost...you've more than proven your bona fides. The question is - what do you intend to do with such talents?" His voice dropped to a low purr. "Because I can think of several...tempting propositions for someone of your unique capabilities."

Your eyesbore into his, clear and unwavering, as Shalnark extended the unspoken offer to join the ranks of the Troupe. To gain all the power, resources, and reputation that came with being one of the world's most feared criminal empires. All you had to do was take his hand.

To Shalnark's surprise, you suddenly threw back your head and laughed - a rich, full-bodied sound devoid of any mirth.

"You Troupe boys really are delusional, aren't you?" you chuckled, the sound sending a frisson of surprise through Shalnark. "Did you really think a few cheap innuendos would be enough to sway me to your precious little gang's cause?"

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you rose in one lithe motion until you were mere inches from Shalnark's face, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your exhaled breaths.

"Let me be perfectly clear," you murmured, so close now that your lips almost brushed against his with each enunciated syllable. "I don't give a solitary fuck about your vaunted reputations or resources. And I certainly didn't go to all this effort just to impress a bunch of two-bit crooks and earn a tacky tattoo."

Shalnark felt his jaw tense at the open disdain in your tone, the utter dismissal of the fearsome credibility the Phantom Troupe's name carried. Before he could snap a rebuttal, you reached out and traced one fingertip along the line of his neck in a dangerously intimate gesture.

"No, I had a very...personal reason for painting such a large target on your troublesome little organization's backs," you breathed, your touch a delicious torment of physical proximity without release. "And I won't stop, I won't rest, until my goal is achieved. No matter who or what tries to get in my way."

With that final veiled promise, you pulled away from Shalnark and retreated a step, eyes glittering with a mixture of challenge and something else he couldn't put a name to.

"So I hope your Troupe masters are ready," you said flatly. "Because this is just the opening salvo. The game's only just begun."

Shalnark stared at you for a long moment, feeling a strange mixture of aggravation and reluctant intrigue. Your defiant rejection of his overtures had stung his pride, but he found himself perversely captivated by the fiery spirit blazing behind those beautiful eyes.

"You talk a good game, ghost," he said finally, recovering some of his usual cockiness. "But do you really think taunting the Phantom Troupe is a wise long-term strategy? We're not the type to take such provocations lightly."

"Is that a threat?" You arched one delicate eyebrow. "My, and here I thought the fearsome Shalnark would be above such blunt intimidation tactics."

You began slowly circling around him, each unhurried step carrying you through the small bedroom space. Shalnark turned, keeping you fixed in his sights as you moved with predatory grace.

"I'm simply making sure you understand the realities of what you're getting yourself involved in," he said evenly. "The Troupe doesn't take kindly to those who make sport of undermining our operations. Eventually, this path you're on leads to only one destination."

"And I'm sure you'd just love to be the one to personally deliver me to that destination," you purred, stopping directly behind him.

Shalnark tensed as he felt the barest whisper of your breath against the back of his neck, your presence suddenly looming at his back. Slowly, almost experimentally, you reached out and traced a fingertip along the nape of his neck and up into the tousled blond hair at his hairline. He suppressed a shiver at the intimate touch.

"Tell me, Shalnark," you murmured, voice a throaty purr against his ear. "Is this the point where you try a more...physical form of persuasion? Put that famed skill against me in hopes of bending my will?"

You punctuated the daring suggestion with the slightest graze of teeth against his earlobe. This time Shalnark couldn't stop the full-body jolt that rippled through him at the electrifying gesture.

Capitalizing on his moment of discomposure, you suddenly stepped around and invaded his personal space, leaving barely an inch between your bodies. He could feel the heat radiating off you, feel the hardened peaks of your breasts against his chest, smell the faint scent of soap and something muskier underlying it all.

"Because I have to warn you," you breathed, craning your neck to bring your lips tantalizingly close to his. "I don't break easily for anyone. No matter how...skilled their methods of interrogation might be."

The suggestive emphasis in your tone was unmistakable. As were the sudden fireworks of mutual awareness now crackling between your body and Shalnark's like an unstable current.

He could play coy and demure all he wanted, but you had clearly sensed the undercurrent of physical attraction simmering beneath the surface of his bravado. And you were expertly using it against him, stoking that heated tension with a deftly applied mix of coy words and distractingly intimate gestures.

For a moment, Shalnark was rendered speechless and unnervingly flustered by your brazen tactics. He opened his mouth, struggling for a witty rejoinder or cutting remark to undermine your dominance of the situation.

But you merely watched him with open amusement, waiting with the overpowering confidence of one wholly in control and unafraid of any retaliation. Finally, Shalnark managed a slightly strained chuckle.

"You're playing a very dangerous game, ghost," he said, allowing some of the unveiled hunger shading his voice. "And I do so love games with...high stakes."

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted one hand and traced the curve of your jaw with just enough pressure to tilt your face upwards towards his. Your gazes locked, pure molten irises against flinty steel, as he dipped his head fractionally closer and inhaled your intoxicating scent.

"Perhaps it's time I showed you just how skilled I can be at...extracting what I want," he purred, allowing his lips to skim featherlight against the sensitive hollow beneath your ear. "The hard way can be so very...invigorating."

You tensed infinitesimally against him, the only outward sign of the effect his seductive words were having. Shalnark smirked darkly and doubled down, lips brushing your neck as he murmured, "I do hope you're...prepared, ghost. Because this is your last chance to back down from the game you've started."

[ink-n-shadow]

[ 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 "𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛" ]

Warning: The following case file includes sensitive information regarding an ongoing military operation, hereby known as 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 "𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛". Certain case files and interview records may need security clearance from higher ups in order to access due to their content. Please check with "𝙸𝚗𝚔" regarding clearance protocols.

Military Personnel Files

File 1: "𝚆𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑" File 2: "𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝"

Archival Records

Interview Logs: ↳ 𝙾𝚆𝚂-𝟶𝟶𝟷 | 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝙻𝚘𝚐 𝟷𝙰

Warning: The files included in the following portion of 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 "𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛" require security clearances in order to handle and view. Some files include non-redacted information, some of which include sensitive and potentially mature information. Seek security clearance before opening the encrypted files.

Encrypted Files

Interview Logs: ↳ 𝙾𝚆𝚂-𝟶𝟻𝟺 | 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝙻𝚘𝚐 𝟷𝙶

Footage/Audio Recording: ↳ 𝙾𝚆𝚂-𝟶𝟶𝟻 | 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙵𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟷

[brynn-lear]

Yandere SCP Senior Researcher!Dottore who loves to act as the mentor figure for Agent!Darling.

Dr. Zandik had always been known for his surgically precise way of handling anomalies— but there's an intensely palpable reason as to why urgent cases aren't left on his desk. Before he could ever conclude an experiment, he'd ensure that he explored every possible data there is to be recorded, quantifiable or otherwise. This usually meant he'd apathetically sacrifice Class-D personnel just to find what the test subject would react. Site 02 reveres him... Yet most of his colleagues would rather have new blood trained than indulge his unnecessary experiments.

What made you first stand out to him was your files. Apparently, you share similarities with the famous SM-046 patient; you've contracted Urbach–Wiethe disease in your early childhood as well. Just like SM-046, your colleagues dubbed you as "Agent Without Fear". You could only shrug and laugh the teasing off. It's a challenge for you to distinguish what is malicious from pure— so you lived most your life expecting the latter.

With Dr. Zandik's passionate nagging requests, SCP-500 was updated with a new line...

Addendum 500-13:

Request 500-2022-A approved. One (1) pill of SCP-500 was ingested by Agent (L/n). Subject reported to have improved skin, mucous membranes, eye, vision, speech, and respiratory symptoms. However, neurological symptoms caused by Urbach–Wiethe disease have shown no signs of improvement. Number of pills is forty-six (46) at the time of writing.

In truth, the fact that you remained as the "Agent Who Can't Feel Fear" after the Trial 1 made Dr. Zandik more interested in you. Which is why, much like last time, the doctor submitted another revision. Instead of an SCP, it was a personnel file.

Yours.

Incident Report 921-A

Date: [REDACTED]

Personnel Involved:

Dr. Zandik "Dottore" █████ [Senior Researcher]

Agent (Y/n) (L/n) [Assigned MTF Officer]

BEGIN LOG

Dr. Zandik: Agent (L/n), just the person I wanted to see. I’ve requested you be assigned as my permanent bodyguard. Agent (L/n): Really? That’s a new one. Why me? Dr. Zandik: I’m very interested in your unique approach to security. I think your presence will be invaluable. Agent (L/n): Well, if you say so, Dottore. I guess I’m in! Every time I work with you, you're always dragging me around to say hi to whatever weird and funky SCPs you're working with. This should be fun. Dr. Zandik: Undoubtedly so. I’m looking forward to working with you. Agent (L/n): Great! I’ll do my best to keep you safe, even if I seriously think you can handle most things on your own, Doc. Dr. Zandik: I assure you. It’ll be a learning experience for both of us. END LOG

Addendum Incident 921-A-1:

Agent (L/n) has been reassigned as Dr. Zandik’s permanent security detail, as requested by Dr. Zandik. The nature of Dr. Zandik’s interest in this arrangement remains undisclosed to Agent (L/n).