#red room oc

[a-viper-not-a-widow]

RP Starter

Sabine was not herself. She’d go on the stakeouts and reconnaissance that Sam requested but then she’d come back, lock herself in her room and refuse to see anyone. No one knew if she was even eating.

It was like she was under control again, going through the motions, robotic and cold whenever she did have to speak, her accent becoming a hybrid of French and Russian.

@lenas-baby-sister @your-fav-russian-assassin @serenastark-official @red-room-boy @thebestmerc-1 and anyone else

[elia-theassassin]

╰┈➤ what even is this app

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Elianova Krevki

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-Former Red Room Assassin The Scarlet Widow HYDRA code name: Hurricane

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Yelena And Natasha's sister (not real sister) ·˚ ༘She/they 22 years old (oc age) Birthday is January 26th

taken to red room at age 4

escaped at age 20 Was trained at HYDRA on and off during the Red Room training and went undercover at HYDRA under the code name : Hurricane *ੈ✩‧₊˚Asexual, Bisexual ₊˚oc by @thescarleteevee ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ Abilities: I can do dark magic, it looks black and its a contrast to chaos magic. Im also a conjurer. Im half human. Im part celestial, as is peter quill. I am Peter Quill's Half Sister, Ego is my father, and my biological mother was a human witch. ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳potatoes are my favourite food. ever.

･ﾟﾟ･｡NO NSFW only acc face claim: Sophie Thatcher (yellowjackets)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. sisters : @lenas-baby-sis @your-fav-russian-assassin @immantis Brother: @the-official-star-lord pls ask me stuff ><

Being half celestial gives me immense power. Dont cross me got it? I have issues. like everyone. Respect me? i respect you

My time with the red room was. something. try not to bring it up in conversation. it hurts you know .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・ //ooc feel free to ask abt her lore!!!!

[sladkiysolovey]

  [   𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘   ,   𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗼𝗿 𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘.   ]

          YOU WILL NOT FORGET.

[cherrybombfangirl]

Happy Pride Month! - So my Marvel OC Lily is my other OC Stacy's girlfriend, and ace lesbian, so have this lesbian Lily moodboard

"Ladies always rise above / Ladies know what people want / Someone sweet and kind and fun / The lady simply had enough" ~Vigilante Shit, by Taylor Swift

[marvelousjj]

[yanderemommabean]

Yandere red room idea

The Red rooms. It’s not something He really thought he’d find himself using but here he is, walking up the corridor with a key card in his pocket. It’s definitely a secret society type of deal, code words, secret hand gestures, one use keys, all the security one could imagine. The first time he even heard of such a place like this, he assumed it was dark internet fetish mumbo jumbo. 

But after he found you, well, the right people found him and led him to the right place. Not a room of pain, but one of pleasure, to show his darling all of his intense love and emotion and then some. 

He hasn’t even booked a room yet, he’s here as a sort of consultation visit. To see if he really has the balls to do this and show that yes, he adores you, and that his love outweighs anyone else’s. 

Sliding the card into the door brought him into an empty room besides a desk, a few chairs, and two large filing cabinets. He takes a look around, quickly surveying the area, before stepping inside fully and sitting in the chair facing the large office chair in front of him. Before he can let his shoulders relax, a man follows in behind him, followed by a woman as well, both dressed professionally and seeming very…happy. 

“Ah! It’s good to see you, Mr-” 

“Lee, you can just call me Lee. And you are?” He asks, gesturing to the woman standing beside the man in the suit as he begins to open a manilla envelope, spreading the papers out on the table. 

“Victoria. We can leave it at that. I can tell that you know secrecy and customer privacy are our top priority with this business” She says with a knowing smile, sliding the papers over to face them towards the doctor.

“Now, Lee, What we have here is a very basic outline of what we can do for you and that love bug you’ve found yourself. We celebrate rather than punish our loved ones here, and want them to understand that to their core! We find that the red room experience helps!” The man exclaims with excitement, but has yet to really introduce himself. 

Lee was told to expect that however. The leader behind this all was kind enough to reach out but he wasn’t to expect anything too personal. “All business” was his very aura, and Lee could respect that. He nods along as Victoria took the reigns, explaining some of their core beliefs before getting to what Lee really wanted to know. 

“We can make the room however you please, lease it for up to four days at a time with personnel who checks in every four hours with their own special keys, for the darlings sake. As much as we wish to fully trust our customers, we will not take the risk of them dying or being seriously injured in any way. As stated, this is a way to show love and we give you the tools to do so! “ Victoria then spreads apart the papers, pointing here and there as she explains a bit more, intriguing Lee with every bit. “We have romantic layouts like at a hotel, we have BDSM specialist rooms, we have very highly rated toys and devices that we inspect and clean before each room is ready, and we have a live stream option if you’re the type who thinks everyone should see the pleasure you’re darling is receiving! I personally recommend the tribbing machines with the black rose theme if you prefer the dom and sub type of vibe, but we can personalize however you like!” 

Huh. Wow. They’re very thorough aren’t they? 

The business man nods, sitting back in his seat as he adjusts his tie. “I started many companies in my life, all based on bringing smiles and joy, and it’s my personal belief that there needs to be a company looking out for your lover! Love, adventurous or more mellow, is a beautiful thing that our darlings need to be showered in as much as possible. If you’d like, this can also be set up in a way to just calmly express your love to your darling, but I will clarify that it isn’t guaranteed to go well…I advise getting our crews to pick them up and deliver them for you, with every person being given a  background check of course! Safety and security is what comes first for your darling” 

Lee was a bit flabbergasted to say the least. They talk so professionally, have such a strange ethic to them, and they act as if he’s about to buy a company or large house rather than finally get ahold of the love of his life. It’s…Odd but charming. He can’t say he’s turned away from this, in fact he has a few ideas for his own red room. 

“Are they CPR trained and do they have basic first aid knowledge?” Lee asks as he looks over some more of the photos, liking the array of toys they had up for use to add to the room, each one costing extra of course but for what he had planned…it wouldn’t be too bad. 

Victoria smirks, laughing lightly in amusement “I can see we’ve caught even more of your attention. We can make sure these personnel are trained for the pick up, but our permanent staff are already trained in first aid help and some, even small surgical emergencies. You know, always needing to be prepared and all”. 

They talk  a few more things out, Lee deciding that if these people were serious, then he could trust them. If they crossed him in any way, he’d easily rid at least a handful of them. He didn’t get that gut feeling he usually does when people are lying to him however. This felt thorough and legit and well…Professional. 

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you Mr Lee. We’ll be getting in touch with you shortly! You wont regret setting this up-” the business man says with a firm handshake, smiling in an almost uncanny way. “And remember, when you’re in a bind, one of our smiles will ease your mind"

-Mommabean (This was so silly but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!)

[divineinversion]

Pressure OC. Robit be upon ye.

Z-772 is a prototype that was created when Urbanshade got the bright idea of You Know What Would Be Better Than a Turret? A Turret With Legs. And Intelligence. Which quickly became problematic when its intelligence developed beyond predetermined restrictions and decided that Urbanshade employees made for stellar target practice

[harbingersecho]

RVB OC Week Day 1; Introduction AGENT ARIZONA _ "Guess you got me, Counselor. I peaked a decade ago and now I'm wasting my time running a daycare for miserable 20-somethings who're gonna get killed, crippled, or institutionalized in a year. [...] I've heard. But I'm forty-two, not twenty-two, and I don't need to be sold on a daydream. So... What, exactly, do you have to offer me?"

anyway, here's a more in-depth look at Ari for the rvb oc week ft. an old stuff from 2023 that I used for her on artfight and some new outfit/armor things for him. random thoughts/rambles + info under the cut for those interested --

Ari was born around 46-47 years before Blood Gulch and she was with Project Freelancer for around three years until it fell apart - originally he died in the MOI crash, but since Temple later on apparently 'imprisoned' her in the living armor room (and then THAT got retconned last year), I've kept his alive status more vague, Schödinger's cat style lol. (Timeline taken from the rvb guide book)

Anyway, small facts about him I guess; she was made Major/Battalion XO in her early thirties, she has a sister and 3 nieces/nephews that he sees once in a while, he's an inconsistent smoker, and she has a more southern(? if that's what it'd be called, I'm not American and it's not really like that Texan type so...) accent that she hides for several reasons. Also one of the few poor souls who finds Wyoming's knock knock jokes funny even if he pretends otherwise ...

Originally she was a LCDR but idk if PFL has navicom freelancers + tbh I based that position off of Mass Effect lol, so now he's an eq rank of O-4 but in the Marine Corps which I think PFL falls mostly under? Idk man. I think the background storyline still works tho so it's fine

In Project Freelancer, as one of the older and more experienced agents, he was often working as a team leader or a strategist of sorts which also aligns with her previous position - though now he's actually much more involved in the ops which she likes. His skillset is somewhat crowd control-esque (which includes tracking obv), combined with eliminating targets. (I have like a "guide" on how she should be played if he was in a hero shooter/moba/whatever but this is waaay too long already, you get the concept)

The armor design (halo5 ver) is largery taken from the Freelancer presumed to be Arizona in Battlescars - a Tracer helmet with an Achilles armor. Since rvb doesn't exactly follow Halo lore, I'm imagining this to mean it's largely "functions" as a Tracer armor, i.e. tactical and tracking focused, though maybe she was considered for Omega before Tex got him (since Achilles apparently comes with an aggressive AI in Halo lore but PFL only had Alpha + the fragments and Ari never received an AI). As a Major/XO, she wore the Halo Reach Commando helmet

I didn't draw them here but I do also have other 'versions' for her armor dependant on the game (like 'realistically' he couldn't wear this armor in Halo 3 etc) but idk if it's like. That important or whatever and I'm not like an expert on Halo armor lol (tho if you have opinions on if the H3 helmet should be Security, 'basic' or ODST etc or if you have info/ideas abt Halo armor in RVB in general do LMK <3)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gearing up for the stat boosts

MDZS Disco Elysium AU Part 3 (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4)

[a-viper-not-a-widow]

A tall, quiet woman is behind the counter of a local coffee shop, and she catches Sabrine’s eye. She’d clearly a widow, the way she’s holding herself is distinctive

@agent-solenski

Sabine’s posture becomes defensive and her eyes flick over the room, immediately assessing exits, calculating.

[evasive-anon]

Mood board of Jason but it’s just one picture and it’s too real.

[shadowyone]

[red-room-studi0]

I'll give u guys uhhhh $5 if u can guess who he was inspired from hehe (lies)

[yanderemommabean]

Would the Mask-arade be wonderful for yandere cults?

Big genius brain right here.

The cultists would absolutely use Mask-arade, they would use it for recruiting, monitoring, spreading the glory of their darling, but also just updating people, showing how to make relaxing baths, what meals are best before a "worship session" and they'd even give some great advice on where, when, and how to start a shrine in their darlings honor! CEO is a bit offput by some cult members but honestly can he say much considering the sinister shit he's doing? Talk about irony.

-Mommabean

[calypso707]

Winter Soldier x OC Fanfiction - The Tale of Two Wolves.

Hey everyone ! Lately, I've been diving back into the Marvel niverse and my love for Bucky Barnes has returned. Recently, I read the novel about him and it made me want to write a little fanfiction about him. This story will be inspired by the comics, the novel and the Marvel movies. I hope you enjoy it.

Summary : She has been trained to become the best spy, an asset capable of overthrowing regimes. He, on the other hand, has been reconditioned to become a ruthless assassin, a ghost, both loyal to the USSR. Aspiring for freedom, they will both try to escape those who control them, but the only question is whether they will succeed or not.

TW : details of injury, wounds, anxiety, blood, probably some death, PTSD. For the romantic part, fluff moments, kisses.

Chapter 1 - The Red Room.

Widows start and end wars. They can make or break kings.

Somewhere in Russia, during the Cold War - 1953.

When she was just five years old, she and twenty-seven other girls were taken to the Red Room, a training center created under the Soviet regime. Its primary objective was to create highly skilled and specialized agents for espionage and other covert operations. The training imposed within these walls went beyond physical training, using biochemical enhancements and few years later memory implants. She still remembered the pain she felt when she receive her first injection of a bluish substance. Her ordeal had lasted several days.

“Your wounds will heal four, even five times faster than normal, you'll never get sick, you won't age, your hair won't fall out, your skin can withstand the wind and sun…”

These words still echoed in her mind, like all the battles she'd fought so far, sending her comrades to the mat, one by one. Every day, she saw her humanity crumble a little more. Every sunrise heralded a new challenge, a test designed to shatter those who dared to hope. The training she'd undergone since childhood wasn't simply a question of physical strength or precision; it was a war against herself and the silence that echoed around her in this facility was like a warning.

She'd been training for several hours now, most of the time set apart from the others, attending training sessions for hours on end, perfecting her skills over and over again. She knocked down her opponent, tackling him to the ground, but had badly anticipated the action of the second, who managed to punch her. Her vision blurred with the impact and a whistling sound persisted in her ears. She stepped back, pressing the back of her hand against her bloodied lips, raising her other hand in surrender.

“Clumsy. You are failing on purpose.” said a female voice from across the room.

She looked up at the woman who was dressed in a cobalt-blue suit, her blond hair impeccably styled on her head in a bun. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she took a few steps: “Again.”

She was constantly on the edge. At any moment, she could sink into darkness or find a glimmer of hope. But one thing was certain: when she looked in the mirror, she saw a transformation. Not yet complete, but inescapable. She was becoming what they wanted her to be.

One question haunted her, however: could she aspire to freedom?

She shook her head slightly to regain her composure and resume training. Lately, memories had been coming back to her in flashes, in her dreams or in the middle of a training session, causing her to falter during certain lessons. She couldn't sort them out, couldn't tell the true from the false, interspersed with ballet lessons at the Bolshoi Theater and fights, faces she knew and others that seemed totally unfamiliar. She could no longer afford to be distracted like this, or they would soon label her dysfunctional despite her being one of their best asset.

“Irina.”

She straightened up, trying to hide the fact that she was tense. Here, her real name was only used when she made mistakes, which was quite rare, or when her instructors gave her orders. As the old man rose from his chair behind his imposing solid wood desk, she twitched slightly as he approached her. He seemed to be scrutinizing her, as if trying to determine if she was hiding more from him. This man, Grigor Pchelintsov, she'd known him for as long as she could remember.

“Mrs. B thinks you fail your tests on purpose. I have trouble believing her,” he said to her in Russian. “Is something bothering you?”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Some… Strange memories are coming back to me.”

For a while, she considered keeping this to herself, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before she betrayed herself. And she could use it to mask her desire for freedom. For some reason, she felt obliged to tell the truth, for that was how she had been trained. Honesty to instructors, lies to the public.

“Hm… What kind of memories?”

She remained silent for a few seconds, seeming to search for her words.

“You can trust me, tell me,” the scientist insisted.

She remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly searching for words.

“You can trust me, tell me,” the scientist insisted.

“It's hard to say. But I see a girl, long black hair and green eyes. I…”

She could be her sister, a camrade she knew, someone she killed. She could be anybody.

Grigor examined her for a long moment, raising his glasses to wedge them in his graying hair, thrusting one of his hands into the pocket of his blouse.

“Do you know who she is?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“That's it, I only see her face.”

He seemed to tickle something in his blouse pocket for a few seconds before finally nodding. He put his glasses back on his nose, looking more reassured.

“All right. Follow me, i will fix you.”

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the clarity of the place. A woman was already present, impeccably dressed, her graying hair combed into a quilt at the back of her head, she was a pale copy of Mrs B. Her face was familiar. Grigor went inside a nearby booth, through which he could see what was going on. He nodded to her before she finally made her way to the seat in the middle of the room, surrounded by various machines. She settled comfortably on it, straps held down her wrists and ankles as the woman came to stand beside her, placing various electrodes on her forehead and temples. She opened her mouth so she could place the gag, which she bite down hard.

“Turning on the machines.”, said the woman.

A hiss echoed through the room as she switched the buttons on, one by one.

“Launch in 3, 2, 1…”

A pain suddenly irradiated her head and she closed her eyes, biting down as hard as she could on the cloth between her teeth. Her nails dug into the leather of the armrests. It didn't help her, it was worse than anything, more flashes were coming to her, more and more violently. Shocks were sent through her repeatedly, always stronger and stronger. The throbbing pain that pierced her skull became unbearable, and she endured the onslaught until she finally lost consciousness.

When she came to her senses, she slowly opened her eyes, she didn't recognise the room where she was and how she ended here. Grigor stood beside her with a small flashlight, moving back and forth over her eyes to examine the reaction of her pupils. He snapped his fingers next to her ears, to make her react to the sound; the buzzing she'd heard just a few seconds ago was only beginning to fade. He stepped back to let her straighten up, which she did carefully. She felt as if her skull would crack from the pain, but she must never fail, never. She sat on the edge of the bunk for a few seconds, assessing her physical and mental state.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She took a few seconds before answering. How was she feeling ?

“Good.”

“Name?” asked the man.

She blinked several times before automatically answering : “Irina Milana Vasilkova.”

“Code name?”

“Lana Vasilkoff.”

“Section?”

“Black Widow.”

*

Pain was omnipresent, had become a part of her. It lived in her aching muscles, in her joints that screamed at every movement, in the bruises that covered her body like a second skin. But that was nothing compared to what she felt inside. Every successful task was a victory tinged with guilt, for she knew that behind every bullet fired, every blow struck, lay the shadow of innocence she was leaving behind. The cold gaze of Mrs. B and the instructors showed no mercy, no sign that she had the right to flinch. There was no room for error, and every failure meant punishment, humiliation or worse, obliteration. By not crying, she had learned to bury her emotions deep inside. But sometimes, when she closed her eyes to sleep, she still saw her old face: that of a girl who still believed in her freedom. And yet, there was also this strange satisfaction she felt in spite of herself. Every time she mastered a move, every time she defeated an enemy, she felt the power surge through her. Her senses had become sharper, her thinking faster. She was stronger, quicker, smarter than ever. But this power came at a price. She knew that by becoming a weapon, she might forget her humanity.

They had all been grouped together in the training room, the remaining nineteen of them. Camaraderie was rare, but precious. Among the recruits, the furtive glances they exchanged were a mixture of fear and solidarity. Sometimes a discreet smile, other times an outstretched hand in moments when exhaustion threatened to make her falter, these gestures were enough to remind her that she was not alone. But she also knew that this bond could be broken at any moment.

Here, everyone was both ally and enemy.

The instructor took a step forward, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the most terrifying of them all, the most violent. With each lesson, a certain apprehension crept over her, but she never wavered. She never would.

“Today, I would like to introduce you to your new trainer. One of our finest assets,” he announced, moving away from the door which slid open automatically.

The man who entered the room to stand beside the instructor seemed to be a perfect blend of brute strength and deadly precision. Every movement betrayed a restrained power, ready to explode. He stood around 1.80 meters tall, his silhouette shrouded in a black tactical jumpsuit. His left arm, a terrifying work of engineering, glinted metallic under the artificial light of the room. Engraved with geometric lines and adorned with the emblematic red star of the Soviet Union, it was an extension of his will.

Part of his face was concealed by a matte black metal mask that covered his features perfectly, smoothing every curve of his face with mechanical rigor. Only his eyes were visible, frozen like a Siberian winter, at once captivating and disturbing, capable of piercing to the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze, scrutinizing every weakness, every intention. There was in those eyes a restrained pain, a muted melancholy, like a constant reminder of memories he would have preferred to forget. Around this mask, the soldier's skin was pale, marked by the icy wind and deprivation, with faint scars testifying to past hardships. Beneath this mask, there was no smile, no anger, just a profound emptiness.

His dark, slightly wavy hair fell in unruly locks around his face. It gave him a wild, almost untamable air. But this unkempt appearance was not to be mistaken for weakness. Every detail of his being seemed calculated, optimized for battle. His gait was fluid and silent. Despite his muscular build, he moved with an unsettling grace, as if the ground itself obeyed him. His reinforced boots hardly seemed to touch the ground, and every gesture, even the most insignificant, exuded mastery and control.

His aura was that of a predator. He carried not only strength on his shoulders, but also a magnetic presence that commanded respect, mingled with awe. He was no ordinary man; he was a living weapon, forged in pain and discipline, and honed by years of obedience to orders he hadn't chosen.

“Agent Keranin, the Winter Soldier will be your new combat instructor.”

Irina flexed slightly at the name. Her comrades tensed, and some of them took a slight step backwards. She'd heard of the Winter Soldier, but thought at first it was just a legend.

[harmleikurdraws]

Recently I've been doing some CyberpunkRED sessions with friends.

This is my OC, Roy, a member of TaxMax/Cyber Squad. A bit nervous and aggressive pal, but a sweetpea at heart. The guy in the suit is my friend's OC Ozz, an ex-MiliTech employee, also now a partner in crime/adventure. Aaaan I just discovered isometric rooms, so I'm completely out of it.

Also, any opportunity to draw tactical gear is not wasted, I just love it so much <3