#Marksmanship Challenge

[thewulf]

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I've got this itch for some hurt/comfort with Simon Ghost Riley and the reader from TF 141. Reader's this badass sniper, always on top of her game. But one day she wakes up feeling under the weather. She decides to push through training, but things take a turn when she starts feeling faint during drills after Price gives her shit for not training hard... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh this was challenging but so much fun to right. Please let me know your thoughts below :) Got a little carried away with this one!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 7.7k +

TW: Heat Stroke, Flu, Illness, general COD warnings.

Four years ago, you were a part of a special training assignment with the American Navy, deployed in a remote and sweltering military base off the coast of Africa. It was here in the middle of the grueling drills and relentless heat that you caught the eye of Captain John Price. Your prowess with a rifle was unmistakable. Every target set before you fell without fail. But what truly set you apart was your demeanor: you kept your head down, focused intensely on the task at hand, never boasting about your undeniable skills.

Captain Price who was always on the lookout for exceptional talent to add to Task Force 141, saw in you a rare combination of humility and sharpshooting expertise. Recognizing your potential he pulled some strings, navigated through the complexities of the American Military bureaucracy, and somehow successfully recruited you into the prestigious ranks of TF 141. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One that would challenge your resilience and skill more than any previous assignment.

Joining TF 141 wasn't just a promotion. It was being welcomed into a family of elite soldiers. While Soap and Gaz took an immediate liking to you, appreciating your wit and marksmanship, Ghost was initially more reserved. His trust was not easily won. It had to be earned on the battlefield not just through training exercises back at base.

Your defining moment came during a perilous mission in the frozen expanses of Russia within your first year with the 141. The mission had quickly gone sideways. Ghost found himself in the deadly crosshairs of an enemy sniper. With the situation deteriorating rapidly and no clear shot available to him your actions in those critical seconds would forever change the dynamics of your relationship with Ghost. From a concealed position you took out the opposing sniper with a single, precise shot, saving Ghost’s life.

This act erased any last reservations Ghost might have held. From then on he saw you not just as another sharpshooter but as an indispensable member of the team, his team. Your ability to make life-saving decisions under intense pressure proved your strength. Not just in terms of physical prowess but in intellectual and tactical acumen as well.

Since then you have become an integral part of TF 141's operations. Your journey from a promising recruit noticed by Captain Price to a pivotal player in some of the team’s most critical missions has been defined by relentless dedication and the deep trust you've earned from some of the military's toughest warriors.

The shrill beep of the alarm slices through the stillness of your room dragging you from the shallow waters of restless sleep into the harsh reality of dawn. For a moment as you blink against the dim light filtering through the barracks' curtains, the room spins slightly—a disorienting dance that forces you to close your eyes again.

You’ve always been the type who never gets sick. The one who breezes through the cold season unscathed while others succumb around you. Your robust health has been a point of pride, a badge of reliability in TF 141. But this morning something is different, and you know it immediately.

Your body aches profoundly, each muscle groaning with a weariness that feels bone-deep, and your head pounds with the relentless rhythm of a dull, throbbing drum. Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down your throat. An unfortunate wave of nausea rolls through you as you sit up. It has to be the flu, you think grimly, recognizing the unmistakable and unforgiving symptoms.

Despite the clear signs of illness, the thought of calling in sick doesn’t even cross your mind. It’s not just about pride. There’s also a deep-seated belief that you can handle anything, a belief that has carried you through countless challenges.

With a heavy, determined sigh, you push yourself off the bed. Standing unsteadily for a moment, you use the wall to keep yourself upright. Today is not the day to show weakness, not the day to break your perfect record of health. You decide to power through. To dress and join your team for the morning drills under the rising sun. The thought of letting them down by your absence is more daunting than the physical discomfort threatening to overwhelm you.As you gear up, each movement measured and more deliberate than usual, you steel yourself for the day ahead. Today, you'll prove—not just to your team, but to yourself—that not even the flu can keep you from standing alongside your comrades.

Stepping out into the cool, pre-dawn air, you allow yourself a moment to feel the chill against your fevered skin. It’s oddly refreshing, a natural contrast to the unnatural heat of your illness. It’s bound to be short lived though as the sun’s rays already feel warm on your skin. The training field is a short walk away and with each step you rehearse the day’s routine in your mind. A mantra against the physical discomfort.

As the briefing wraps up and the team begins to disperse to their respective training stations you feel the weight of Ghost’s gaze right on you. Despite the heaviness of your limbs and the fog in your brain, this unspoken solidarity from your teammates, especially Ghost, gives you a sliver of strength.

With each step towards the day’s first drill your resolve hardens. You're not just fighting the flu; you're fighting to maintain the trust and respect you’ve earned. Today, the battlefield is here, within yourself, and you're determined to prove your mettle. You are keenly aware of being one of the few women in the unit and the additional scrutiny that comes with it. It's crucial that you show no weakness even as your body wages its quiet rebellion. Your head pounds with a relentless ache. Your limbs are heavy. And every breath feels like an effort. Despite these symptoms screaming flu, you've chosen silence—no complaints, no excuses.

When you arrive at the training field the usual bustle of activity sharply contrasts with your internal struggle. Everyone is focused on what needs to be done, their attention solely on performance. As Captain Price begins the morning briefing his voice sounds like a distant echo in your ears drowned out by the pounding in your head. The day's challenges loom large, testing your limits before you've even started.

As you make your way to the lineup, the crisp morning air begins to turn warm, almost uncomfortable warm already. Soap falls into step beside you, his familiar grin lighting up his face as he launches into the light-hearted banter that typically marks your mornings together.

“Morning! Ready to outshoot us all again today?” Soap teases before giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, expecting your usual lively retort.

You manage only a weak smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and nod faintly. The flu has buried your usual quick wit under a heavy weight of fatigue and discomfort. It takes all your effort just to keep standing without revealing how much you're struggling.

Soap’s smile quickly falters at your lack of reply, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You okay, lass?” he asks. His tone shifting to something more serious.

You nod again, swallowing hard against the surge of nausea. “Yeah, just tired,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're careful not to reveal the full extent of your ailment, not here, not in front of your team.

From a short distance away Ghost's intense gaze follows the exchange. Though his presence is more subdued, and his demeanor reserved, his attention to detail remains sharp. You can feel his concern even without words. His posture is alert, his body tensed as if ready to act at a moment's notice.

Ghost offers no overt gestures of worry; he doesn't need to. The slight tightening of his stance is a silent signal of his readiness to intervene. His eyes, just visible through the slits of his mask, never wander, tracking your every move with a vigilance that speaks volumes. You know he's always watching out for his team, and today, his protective focus is unmistakably fixed on you.

"Alright, let's warm up! Start with sprints!" Captain Price commands. His voice cuts through the morning air, decisive and clear. You line up with your teammates, the grass cool and slightly damp under your boots. The whistle pierces the calm, and you propel yourself forward. Each step is a battle, your muscles protesting every movement. Yet you push through the fatigue and dizziness.

After sprints the drills shift to push-ups. Down on the warm, wet grass you feel the earth against your palms, stabilizing yet unforgiving. You count each repetition, your muscles burning and a thin layer of sweat forming, which only seems to heighten the chills that intermittently rack your body.

Sit-ups come next and with each crunch a wave of nausea threatens your composure. The world tilts slightly with each lift, blurring at the edges. Captain Price’s footsteps approach. His presence looming. "Let’s see that strength, Y/N! Don’t slack now!" he urges. The encouragement is meant to inspire but it feels like a heavy mantle on your already burdened shoulders.

“Yes sir.” You manage to get out between crunches.

As you struggle through each exercise you can't ignore the hot flashes followed by chills, the hallmark of flu symptoms. Each movement is more taxing than the last and the temptation to give in and rest grows stronger. However, your determination doesn't waver. You are here to prove yourself, to demonstrate that neither flu nor fatigue can break your resolve. You need to showcase the unwavering strength of not just a skilled sniper, but a resilient soldier.

As the whistle blows, Captain Price directs everyone to break into their respective teams for more specialized, team-based drills. You find yourself grouped with Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Your usual teammates and three of the unit's most competent operatives. Your heart sinks a bit. Their proficiency and teamwork are unmatched and under normal circumstances you would feel invigorated by the challenge. Today, however, it feels like an uphill battle.

"Alright, team," Gaz announces with a nod, "we’re up for the relay sprints and tactical positioning exercises. We need to be sharp and synchronized. Let's show these assholes how it's done."

You nod silently, attempting to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. Soap claps you on the shoulder giving you a reassuring smile, likely mistaking your subdued quietness for focused determination rather than the fatigue that’s slowly overtaking you.

The drills begin with relay sprints. You watch as Soap takes off with his usual speed. His figure swiftly cutting through the warming afternoon air. Gaz follows, moving with practiced ease. Then it’s your turn. As you push off your legs feel as though they are wading through molasses, your usually sharp agility significantly dulled by the flu’s tenacious grip. Each step feels heavier than the last as your breathing becomes ragged and unsteady.

Compounding your discomfort, the gear you're clad in feels unbearably hot against your skin. The layers that are usually a second nature in your fieldwork now seem like a furnace, trapping in every ounce of body heat. Your temperature rises not just from the fever, but also from the exhaustive exertion and the insulated heat from your tactical vest. Sweat beads on your forehead, not entirely from the physical activity but also from the early signs of heat exhaustion—your body’s desperate attempt to cool down under the layers.

Despite feeling increasingly overheated and nearly overwhelmed, you hide your discomfort well. Your face remains stoic, betraying none of the battle raging within your body against the heat and illness. To an outsider you might just appear intensely focused. But beneath the surface you're fighting a much tougher battle, trying to keep pace while your body screams for relief.

Ghost, from his vantage point, watches closely. His sharp eyes catch the subtle signs that others might miss—the slight falter in your step, the way you're breathing a little too hard after your sprint. His gaze intensifies with concern etched across his face as he monitors your every move, aware that something isn’t right but waiting for you to signal if you need assistance.

When you pass the baton to Ghost your hand trembles slightly. He catches it and for a brief moment your eyes meet. There's a flash of concern across his usually impassive face, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. He nods at you before taking off, his movements fluid and precise, yet his mind clearly not fully on the drill. His glance back at you is quick, discreet, checking to ensure you’re still on your feet.

As the exercises continue with the tactical positioning drills, the demands increase. This part of the training requires quick movements and even quicker thinking as each team member needs to cover different angles and work together seamlessly. You position yourself to cover Ghost’s flank, aiming to maintain your usual high standards. However, the world begins to tilt alarmingly. Your vision swims and the ground beneath you feels as if it’s shifting forcing you to steady yourself against a nearby tree.

Ghost, now at a slight distance, turns sharply in response to your stagger. His eyes narrow, not with disapproval, but with intensified concern. He makes a subtle move to close the distance between you, his instincts as a protector kicking in. Yet, he stops himself, respecting your pride and your ability to signal if you need help. He positions himself strategically, so he’s close enough to intervene quickly if needed. His body tensed and ready to act.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gaz’s voice suddenly cuts through your fog of discomfort, and you realize you’ve attracted more attention than you intended.

You straighten up quickly, nodding more sharply than necessary. “Just lost my footing for a second,” you lie. Managing a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Ghost, who has now subtly shifted his position to provide you with both physical and moral support, keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer. He doesn’t call you out on your obvious discomfort. Instead, he gives you a nod, an unspoken communication between you two. It’s his way of saying he’s there, just in case, without putting you on the spot in front of the others.

His presence helps you gather your strength to continue. Despite the unease churning inside you knowing that Ghost is watching over you with such attentiveness gives you a small, but significant boost of confidence. You focus on the drills, pushing through the nausea and instability, bolstered by the knowledge that help is just a few steps away if you truly need it.

You begin to feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you more intensely than before. Each breath feels like you're inhaling fire. And the tactical gear, usually a familiar weight, now feels like an unbearable burden. Trapping too much heat against your body. More and more sweat beads on your forehead mixing with the slight dizziness that refuses to fade. The discomfort is escalating and despite your best efforts to mask it the heat is becoming unmanageable.

Ghost was still maintaining a discreet distance, watches you with sharp, observant eyes. He senses the subtle changes in your posture and the slight grimace that you can't quite hide each time you move. His concern deepens but he waits for a sign from you, respecting your pride and your position within the team.

As the drills continue you find it increasingly difficult to focus. The world seems to shimmer with heat around the edges and you feel a wave of nausea stronger than before. Recognizing that you might be in more trouble than you initially thought you catch Ghost's gaze across the field. It's a silent plea for understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that you do need his help after all.

Ghost responds immediately, his instincts as your LT kicking into high gear. He crosses the distance between you with a few quick strides. His approach discreet yet filled with purpose. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly. His voice low enough that only you can hear. It’s clear he’s prepared to step in, to offer whatever support you need without drawing unwanted attention to your struggle.

Your attempt to respond is less than reassuring. "Heat… too, it’s not the... can't—why can’t the air?" you mumble. Your words tangling into an unintelligible mess, a clear indicator that you are far from alright.

The expression behind Ghost's mask tightens, his protective instincts flaring as he assesses your condition with even greater alarm. Your face is flushed from more than just the heat. It's clear you're struggling significantly under the weight of your gear and the relentless sun.

At that moment Captain Price's voice cuts sharply through the air, his tone laced with the urgency of the drill. "Let's move it, Ghost, Y/N!" he commands from a distance, seemingly oblivious to the severity of your distress. His focus is on the continuity and discipline of the training. Unaware that one of his own is teetering on the edge of collapse.

Ghost’s response is swift and decisive. Without drawing attention to the situation, he steadies you with one arm, his other hand signaling subtly to Captain Price that something isn’t right. "Give us a moment, sir," he calls back firmly, his tone respectful yet insistent enough to convey the seriousness of the issue without alarming the entire unit.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense. "We need to get you out of the sun," he states quietly, directing you towards a shaded area nearby. His hand remains supportively on your back, guiding but not pushing. His presence a steady force as you stagger slightly under your own weight.

Once under the shade, Ghost helps you remove your tactical vest, easing the burden of the heat trapped against your body. The cooler air hits your skin, offering a momentary relief that you hadn't realized you needed so desperately. But as your body starts to cool an unexpected shiver runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. It feels as though the temperature has plummeted, though the day remains swelteringly hot.

"Ghost," you stutter out between shivers, "it's so cold." Your teeth chatter, a stark contrast to the sweat that still beads on your forehead. The sudden coldness is disorienting, confusing, and you clutch at your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

"Simon," you manage to say between shivers. His actual name slipping out amidst the confusion—an unusual slip that does not escape his notice. Ghost, or Simon as you now call him, recognizes the gravity of the situation immediately. The usual protocols and formalities fade into the background as he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

You blink rapidly trying to focus as your surroundings become a blur. The ground seems to tilt beneath you for a second time and a wave of darkness edges your vision. Simon watches you closely with an arm around your waist in case. His trained eyes catching every sign of your deteriorating condition.

“Hang on,” he urges. His voice steady but the concern is palpable. Before he can offer more reassurance your knees buckle beneath you. Your body finally giving way to the overwhelming symptoms. And suddenly the world goes dark in your eyes.

Simon catches you before you hit the ground his arms securing you firmly yet gently. “Medic!” he shouts. The urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air without a hint of hesitation. Captain Price who had been overseeing the drills from a short distance, turns sharply at the sound. His quick assessment of the situation bringing him running.

Price approaches just as Simon adjusts his hold on you, bringing your body to the ground so you were laying.  “What happened?” Price asks. His voice a mix of command and concern.

“Heat stroke, I think—she’s out,” Simon responds curtly. His gaze fixed on you as he checks your pulse and looks for any sign of recovery. Your brief moments of unconsciousness are fleeting but each second is critical.

As you flutter your eyes open, confusion mingles with the need to communicate. “Simon... it’s all spinning,” you murmur with your voice overly weak. The use of his first name again in such a vulnerable state only cements his resolve to get you the help you need immediately.

As Simon kneels beside you he carefully supports your head, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asks again. His voice a mix of firmness and concern trying to assess the level of your disorientation.

You blink slowly but the effort to focus feeling monumental. Your gaze drifts over the familiar yet strangely distant figures of Soap and Gaz before returning to Simon. “We're... in Bosnia?” you murmur hesitantly, the name of a recent mission location slipping out, completely unrelated to your current setting on the training field.

Simon’s expression tightens, a flicker of worry crossing his features as he realizes the depth of your confusion. He exchanges a quick, grave look with Captain Price who has been monitoring the situation closely. The incorrect answer confirms the seriousness of your condition, prompting Price to look around, expecting the medics to be approaching swiftly.

However, as Simon scans the area his frustration mounts. The medics, possibly delayed or misinformed about the severity of the situation, are nowhere in sight. Realizing that waiting even a moment longer could jeopardize your well-being he makes a decisive call.

"Not fast enough," Simon mutters under his breath. His protective instincts overriding protocol. Without waiting for the medics to arrive he gently but firmly scoops you up in his arms. His movements are swift and determined as he begins to rush you towards the infirmary. His concern for your immediate safety taking precedence over everything else.

Captain Price, upon seeing Simon’s sudden movement, understands the gravity of the decision and immediately acts. "Clear the way!” he shouts, commanding the attention of everyone on the field.

As Simon carries you, the world around you becomes a blur of motion and sound, but his steady grip provides a reassuring constant. "Hang on love, we're almost there. Just stay with me," he urges. His voice a soothing presence amid the confusion.

With each step Simon takes your sense of time and space dims, the urgency of his stride and the rhythm of his heartbeat blending into the background noise of the base. As you approach the infirmary you see figures moving quickly to prepare for your arrival.

Simon’s pace doesn’t falter until he reaches the medical staff waiting at the infirmary doors. As he gently hands you over to their care his gaze lingers on yours filled with concern and an unspoken promise of unwavering support, no matter the circumstances.

In the cool, sterile environment of the infirmary, Ghost stands a vigilant watch beside your bed. His gaze locked onto your face as the medical team works rapidly to stabilize your condition. The typical stoic mask he wears has fallen away, replaced by an expression etched with deep concern. Each furrow of his brow and tight set of his jaw reveals more than usual concern. It speaks of a profound fear that he rarely allows others to see.

As the medical staff step back momentarily to fetch additional supplies, Ghost's role shifts subtly but significantly. He transforms from a mere observer into an active caretaker, a role those in TF 141 rarely witness. He picks up a damp cloth and gently wipes your forehead. His touch delicate and caring, betraying the roughness expected from his formidable field presence.

"Hey, love, can you hear me?" he murmurs. His voice soft and laden with a tenderness that surprises even him. The word 'love' slips out naturally. A term of endearment that he hasn't used lightly before. This slip, this small but significant deviation from his usual manner, is a clear sign of his deepening feelings. Feelings he might not have fully acknowledged until this very moment.

You blink slowly, responding to the sound of his voice. Ghost watches for any sign of recognition, any indication that you understand his presence. As you meet his gaze, there's a moment of relief that passes over his features. But it's quickly replaced by renewed worry as he continues to monitor your responses.

He is utterly overwhelmed. A feeling that's foreign to him. He's faced countless dangers without flinching but the sight of you so vulnerable stirs a fear in him that battlefield threats never have. He realizes perhaps more clearly than ever how deeply his feelings for you run. It's not just friendship or brotherly protection. It's something much deeper, more personal.

He stays close, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The contact is meant to comfort you but it also grounds him, reminding him that you're still here, still fighting. "Stay with me, okay?" he adds quietly, almost pleadingly. This is not just a command from a superior officer; it's a personal plea from someone who cares deeply.

Ghost's presence in the infirmary becomes a constant, a guardian ensuring that no detail is overlooked, no necessary treatment delayed. His commitment to your recovery is unwavering, his actions driven by a mix of professional duty and personal concern that has become inseparable. The realization that his feelings for you have evolved adds a new weight to every decision, every action he takes on your behalf.

A few hours later, the haze of confusion and illness that enveloped your mind begins to clear slightly. As your eyes flutter open, the stark white lights of the infirmary momentarily blind you, and the unfamiliar sounds of medical equipment beep rhythmically in the background. Disoriented, you try to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment.

Sitting beside your bed, Ghost notices the subtle signs of consciousness returning. He leans forward, his presence reassuring amidst the clinical surroundings. "Hey, you're awake," he says gently. His voice a soothing contrast to the beeping machines. "Take it easy. You gave us quite a scare out there."

As fragments of memory return—the unbearable heat of the training field, your faltering steps, the feeling of collapse—your face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. The realization that you succumbed in front of your team, particularly because of a flu exacerbating the situation, is hard to accept.

Ghost reads the embarrassment in your expression and quickly addresses it. "Listen, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re dealing with the flu on top of everything else. Heat stroke is serious and it’s a lot for anyone to handle. Especially when you’re already under the weather," he reassures you earnestly.

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch grounding. "Even the toughest soldiers need to take a step back sometimes. It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re human, that you have limits. It doesn't diminish your strength," he continues in your silence. His voice imbued with empathy and understanding.

Feeling the sincerity in his words helps ease some of your discomfort. "Thanks, Simon," you manage to whisper, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. The informal use of his first name in such a vulnerable moment speaks volumes about the trust and comfort you’ve grown to have in him.

Simon offers a gentle smile. His eyes softening. "You’re always pushing yourself to be the best and that’s certainly admirable. But sometimes, taking care of yourself is part of being the best. Don’t blame yourself for this. I certainly don’t blame you for trying," he adds, affirming his support in you.

"Sleep now. Don’t worry about the rest for now. We’re all here for you," he suggests while still holding your hand, his steady presence a comforting constant as you drift back towards unconsciousness. His commitment to your well-being is clear not just as a teammate but as someone who cares deeply on a personal level.

As you close your eyes, comforted by his words and presence, you feel a profound sense of relief. Simon's quiet vigil lets you know that no matter what, you’re not alone. Periodically, he checks the IV line and adjusts the cold packs making sure to monitor your recovery closely.. Each time you stir or grimace in discomfort, he’s there, adjusting your position or simply offering a reassuring touch.

As the hours pass Ghost remains by your side, a silent sentinel. Even as you're asleep he doesn’t leave, instead pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed. Occasionally, other members of the team peek in offering quiet words of support. But it's clear Ghost has appointed himself your primary guardian during this vulnerable time.

This unexpected role of caretaker reveals a depth to Ghost that goes beyond his tactical prowess and battlefield grit. In the infirmary, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background, his softer, caring nature comes to the forefront, showcasing a profound sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards his team. Especially towards you.

As the day's tension slowly ebbs away in the quiet of the infirmary, you sleep deeply, recovering from the ordeal. Ghost sits steadfast by your side. His focus is solely on you. His usually impassive gaze softened by concern. The door creaks open softly as Soap and Gaz walk in. Both their faces splitting into mischievous grins when they see Ghost in his uncharacteristic role as your caretaker.

“Never thought I’d see Ghost play the doting nurse,” Soap chuckles quietly. Trying to keep his voice low to avoid disturbing you. “What’s next? Will you be knitting her a sweater?”

Gaz joins in leaning against the door frame with a smirk playing on his lips, “Maybe a nice scarf to go with it, mate. Make sure it matches her eyes, yeah?” His comment draws a soft laugh from Soap. Their teasing lightening the atmosphere of the infirmary.

Their laughter, though subdued, is a needed release after the day’s stress. It’s filled with genuine affection and respect for both you and Ghost. They understand the stakes of such moments and the bonds they forge.

Ghost, not missing a beat, shoots them a pointed look. His response is tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Keep it up, and you'll be on the next solo recon mission in the coldest part of Siberia," he replies. His tone firm but with a faint smirk betraying his amusement.

In the background Captain Price stands silently in the doorway. His observant eyes taking in the scene. He watches Ghost’s interactions with a discerning eye, noting the subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. Price is no stranger to the complexities of personal dynamics within his team. And he senses the potential implications of Ghost’s deepening concern for you. There’s a hint of understanding in his gaze, mixed with caution, as he ponders the path this could lead down.

As the laughter begins to die down Price steps forward, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. He gives Soap and Gaz a brief nod, a clear signal that it’s time for them to leave. The moment for jokes has passed and it's time to restore some decorum. As they exit Soap can’t resist throwing one final teasing comment over his shoulder. “Take good care of her, Ghost!” he calls out as his tone is playful yet sincere.

Price remains a moment longer his gaze lingering on Ghost and then shifting to you, asleep and unaware of the exchange. There’s a quiet gravity to his demeanor, an unspoken reminder of his leadership role and his understanding of the deeper currents flowing beneath the surface of his team’s interactions.

Captain Price approaches Ghost, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. He pauses beside him, his voice low and measured to ensure privacy. "Simon," he begins. His tone serious but not without warmth, "you're handling this well and it's clear you care deeply. Just remember, maintaining balance is crucial." His eyes, steady and understanding, meet Ghost's, acknowledging the depth of his concern while gently reminding him of his broader responsibilities.

"Don't lose focus. We rely on you—not just for her, but for the whole team," Price continues, his voice softening slightly to underscore his supportive intent.

Ghost nods, the gravity of Price's words resonating with him. "Understood, sir," he responds, his tone reflecting both respect for Price's leadership and an acute awareness of the weight on his shoulders.

Price places a hand on Ghost's shoulder, a gesture that speaks of his care and mutual respect. "Keep me posted. If there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask," he adds. Emphasizing his role not just as a commander but as a supporter willing to provide resources rather than merely oversee.

"Will do, sir," Ghost says, his voice steady as he watches Price prepare to leave the infirmary. Price gives him one last affirming nod—an acknowledgment of Ghost's commitment and his understanding of the emotional complexities involved. As Price walks away his demeanor reflects as a leader who trusts his team to handle personal challenges with professionalism yet remains ready to step in if the balance shifts too far.

Once alone again Ghost turns back to you, his expression softening as he adjusts the blanket around you and checks the monitors to ensure everything is as it should be. In these quiet moments his demeanor reveals the profound loyalty and protectiveness he feels. Traits that define him just as much as his combat skills.

The room is quiet, the only sounds are the gentle beeping of the medical equipment and your steady breathing. In this sanctuary away from the battlefield's chaos, Ghost’s vigilance continues, a promise of unwavering support.

In the dimly lit infirmary, the soft beeps of the monitor blend with the quiet sounds of the night. Ghost sits closely by your side, his eyes tracing over your peaceful face, contrasting sharply with the day’s earlier tension. The room is calm now, the urgency has passed, but the weight of the day lingers in the air heavy with unspoken words.

Leaning closer Ghost watches you for a long moment. His expression a mix of concern and something softer, more vulnerable. He knows you can’t hear him, but the words slip out quietly anyway. A whisper meant only for you. "You’re killing me here, love," he murmurs. The hint of a smile touching his lips despite the worry in his eyes. It’s a rare admission. One that reveals just how deeply he’s been affected by your condition.

He sighs lightly, the sound almost lost in the quiet of the room. Adjusting the blanket around you one last time to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, he finally leans back in his chair. His gaze remains fixed on you a moment longer as a guardian watching over you.

Realizing the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion settling into his bones Ghost decides he wasn’t willing to leave you yet. Not when you’d hardly regained consciousness and certainly not when you might need him upon waking. He shifts to make himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside your bed, his body angled to keep you in sight.

As he settles in, his eyes slowly close but it’s clear he’s not completely given over to sleep. Even in rest, he’s alert, ready to wake at the slightest change in your condition. In this quiet vigil, his presence is both a promise and a protection. A steadfast commitment to be there for you when you finally do wake.

The night deepens around the two of you. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant in the otherwise still room. Ghost, in his chair, remains by your side. A figure in the dim light embodying both the warrior and the caretaker in this rare moment of peace.

As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds of the infirmary your eyes flutter open greeting the new day with a mix of confusion and sluggish awareness. Initially, your vision is blurry, the shapes and colors of the room melding into indistinct forms. Gradually though your eyes adjust, and the figure slumped in the chair beside your bed comes into sharper focus. Ghost, asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the wall.

The sight of him so uncharacteristically vulnerable in sleep immediately warms your heart. Despite the residual fog clouding your mind a soft smile plays on your lips. "Ghost," you call out, your voice hoarse but audible enough to stir him from his light slumber.

At the sound of your voice Ghost snaps awake, instantly alert. He straightens up before rubbing the stiffness from his neck as he turns to face you. His eyes that displayed a flicker of reprieve meet yours. "Hey, you're awake," he says. His voice rough with sleep but tinged with unmistakable relief. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," you reply. Your voice was still weak but filled with gratitude. "You stayed all night?"

Ghost nods, a soft expression crossing his face as he hears your voice. This subtle return to normalcy reassures him. Warming his heart and letting him know you must be feeling a bit better to revert to familiar terms. "Yes, I stayed. Didn’t want you to wake up alone here," he replies. His tone gentle. Ghost’s eyes scan your face for signs of pain or lingering confusion, ever the vigilant guardian.

"Thanks, Ghost. Really," you manage to say feeling comforted not only by his presence but also by the return to a semblance of normalcy. His constant vigilance, even as you slept, speaks volumes of his dedication not just to his duty but to you personally.

Ghost offers a slight smile, one that reaches his eyes this time. "No need to thank me. Just glad to see you're doing better," he says. He pulls a chair closer to your bed, settling in. "Need anything? Water? More pain meds?" he asks. Ready to assist with whatever you might need.

The simple exchange is light yet filled with unspoken care helps to ease the remaining tension from the ordeal. As Ghost continues to make sure you’re comfortable, you feel a profound sense of safety and appreciation for the bond that has only deepened through this experience. The conversation drifts into a comfortable silence filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. In this quiet early morning hour, a new layer of your relationship has been gently unfolded. Revealing the depth of connection that hardship and vulnerability can foster.

As the morning sun continues to pour a warm glow into the infirmary the doctor finishes his examination and nods with satisfaction. "You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I think you're ready to be discharged today. Just remember to take it easy for the next few days," he advises as he begins to pack away his equipment.

Ghost's reaction is almost immediate, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure she’s ready?" he questions the doctor. His voice carrying a protective edge that makes you smile inwardly. His overt protectiveness is both touching and reassuring. A stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The doctor, accustomed to dealing with the cautious nature of soldiers about their comrades, reassures him with a confident nod. "Yes, she's stable. Just ensure she rests and avoids any strenuous activity. She should be fine," he explains patiently.

Despite the reassurance Ghost still looks unconvinced. His gaze flicking back to you, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering weakness. "Maybe another day for observation?" he suggests. His tone half-questioning, half-requesting. It's evident he'd prefer you stay under medical supervision a bit longer.

Your heart warms at his concern and though you find his overprotectiveness endearing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Instead, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand instead. "Ghost, I think I’ll be okay," you assure him gently trying to alleviate his worries.

Ghost manages a small smile. His usual impassive facade softening. "Just making sure," he mutters. Though his eyes remain tender with concern. He finally nods accepting the doctor's verdict, but his posture stays alert, protective.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But we’re taking it slow for the next few days. I’ll let Price know." he declares. His tone firm, directed more at himself than anyone else.

As the doctor leaves Ghost assists you in gathering your belongings. His movements careful and considerate. He checks in frequently asking if you're feeling alright to continue, his cautiousness evident but heartening. It’s clear that although you’ve been given the all-clear Ghost will be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring your recovery proceeds without issue.

His unwavering attention not only makes you feel deeply cared for but also subtly deepens the bond between you, underscoring a shift in your relationship where his role as protector has become as instinctive as it is essential.

As you swing your legs off the bed and attempt to stand a momentary wave of dizziness makes your legs waver slightly. Instantly, Ghost is there, his hand firm on your waist, steadying you. His touch is gentle yet secure, grounding you in the moment.

You laugh it off with a light flush coloring your cheeks. "Just wobbly legs," you joke trying to ease the tension you feel from his close presence. Despite your attempt to downplay the situation your movements are still a bit too brisk. A clear sign you might be overestimating your current strength.

Ghost doesn't smile but there's a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Take it slow, love," he advises, his tone almost demanding. His hand remains on your back as a discreet but constant presence. He guides you slowly out of the infirmary. You feel the steadiness of his support with each step you take. His careful pace ensures you don't overexert yourself, allowing you time to adjust as you walk. The corridor seems longer than you remember but Ghost’s reassuring presence makes the journey feel safer, more manageable.

"You don’t have to rush this," he continues. Sensing your eagerness to prove your recovery. "We’ll get there when we get there." His words are simple but effective reminding you that your health is the priority not the speed of your recovery.

As you proceed you lean slightly into his support realizing how crucial his support has been, not just physically but also emotionally. Ghost’s unwavering steadiness helps bolster your confidence, making you feel that no matter how shaky your steps might be you won't fall as long as he’s by your side.

The walk back to your room is quiet but comfortable. It’s filled with an unspoken understanding that something significant has shifted between you. When you reach your door, Ghost finally pulls his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

"Thanks again, Ghost. For everything," you say while meeting his gaze. It's an open acknowledgment of all he's done and all he might continue to do.

"Anytime, love. Just... please take care of yourself," he responds. There’s a promise in his words, an implication that he'll always be nearby, watching over you.

As you reach the door to your quarters, Simon pauses, his hand resting lightly against the frame. "Can I help you get settled back in?" he asks. His tone as soft as it has been before, something new that has overcome him in your incident. His concern clearly evident.

You nod, touched by his attentiveness and as you enter your room he follows close behind. Simon watches carefully as you slowly make your way to your bed and sit down, still feeling a bit shaky. The room is familiar and comforting but his presence makes it feel even safer, more serene.

Once you're seated on the bed, he scans the room quickly, always alert for what you might need. "You sure you don't need anything else? Some more water? A snack?” Ghost asks, already moving towards your small kitchenette. He assumed a role that went beyond duty into something more personal.

You smile at his back, warmed by his concern. "I’m fine, Ghost. Really," you reassure him. But he shakes his head, not entirely convinced.

"It's no trouble at all. You should eat something," he insists gently while fetching a glass of water and a small snack from your stash. Simple things that you hadn't thought you’d needed until he presented them. As he hands you the glass his fingers brush yours lightly, sending a small, unexpected shiver up your arm. You thank him with a soft smile, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Noticing a few strands of hair falling over your face, Simon reaches out and gently brushes them back, his touch delicate and caring. His hand lingers for a moment, a silent expression of his deeper feelings.

You’re momentarily stunned but thrilled, nonetheless. You find it hard to find words as his hand lingers on your face. "I know I keep thanking you but thanks again Simon. For... well, for everything," you say after a moment. Your voice low and sincere. Using his first name feels natural, reflecting the shift in your relationship.

He pauses, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be," he replies. His voice so soft it’s nearly a whisper, revealing the depth of his feelings.

"If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be just a call away, love," He adds imbued with a warmth that reassures and comforts. His use of ‘love’ is tender, an endearment that resonates deeply, marking a significant moment in your ever evolving relationship.

He gives you a lingering look that was filled with care and a promise of protection before he reluctantly steps towards the door. There's a hint of hesitation in his movement, a subtle pause that conveys his desire to stay longer.

As he exits, gently closing the door behind him, you lie back against your pillows, the glass of water in your hand. His presence has left a comforting warmth in the room. A sense of safety that lulls you towards rest. The thought of Simon being just a call away brings a smile to your face. And as you close your eyes it’s not just the fatigue that makes you feel at ease. It’s knowing Simon is there, caring for you with a tenderness that goes beyond the call of duty.

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[yawnderu]

📂Military Personnel Profile — Stray

File #28907

Name: Katharina Müller 

Citizenship: Austria

Status: Active

Affiliations:

KorTac (Former)

SpecGru

Task Force 141

Katharina, callsign ''Stray'' is protected by a redacted past. Little to nothing is known about her early life, remaining a mystery even to those who get their hands on her file.

After volunteering for the Austrian army at an early age, she successfully completed training with the ISTC Sniper Branch, remaining the first female to complete the course.

In 2022, her affiliation with KorTac ended due to unknown reasons. By 2023, her affiliation with SpecGru as a member of the Task Force 141 was announced.

Growing up with a single parent is never something easy— especially when the same person supposed to protect you is clinically insane. Often beaten like a dog by her mother and left alone for extended periods of time, Katharina learnt how to be extremely independent at the ripe age of eight. More emotionally mature than her peers, she grew up with a feeling of never belonging anywhere, oftentimes hanging out with much older people to drink, smoke and party.

By age fourteen, Katharina had seven failed suicide attempts, most of them caused by high stress, hopelessness regarding her living situation and undiagnosed mental health issues. It wasn't until her last attempt that she was forced to attend mandatory psychology sessions. She quit attending after three sessions, dealing with her issues in the way she knew better: destroying herself.

Katharina found shelter in someone just as troubled— König. The socially anxious giant was her rock growing up, often taking her to his fights and house just to prevent her putting herself in danger by going out with questionable ''friends.'' He was always there for her, finding comfort in their friendship to the point she became a second family to him; the only person who never judged him for his appearance, personality, or side. König's family welcomed her as one of their own, his mum and nana taking in the small girl as if she was a daughter to them, unknowingly helping to heal the internal wounds her own mother left.

Many first times were shared together between them; first kiss, first time cuddling, first time making love, simply enforcing their bond ever further, making them even more inseparable than before. While they never defined their relationship, they were mutually exclusive and never held any physical or romantic interest in anyone else during their time together.

Oftentimes skipping class to smoke behind school, Katharina and König shared many conversations about their future together. At age fifteen, they wanted to live in apartments next to each other in Vienna. By age sixteen, they wanted to live together. By age seventeen, they volunteered for the army, putting any conversations about their life together aside and focusing on staying alive during the hard training that pushed them both physically and mentally.

Given the callsign ''Stray'' by her teasing teammates after getting lost in the forest for a hot minute during training— she carried it with pride and humor, rather than humiliation and shame. It became a fitting name for her, more used to people calling her that rather than Katharina, taking Stray as a new beginning of her life as a soldier, leaving her past behind.

Following rules was the biggest challenge for the two outcasts, not used to people yelling in their face without being able to do something about it yet like with anything life threw at them; they adapted. Their sole focus was becoming the best soldiers, often staying behind at the gym and sparring. What Katharina lacked in height, she made up for in drive, being able to take down the 208cm behemoth of a man a few times during their sessions.

At age 19, after superiors evaluated her marksmanship and height advantage, Katharina was chosen for a training course with the ISTC Sniper Branch. While König grew slight resentment over his best friend being able to live his dream while he was rejected, he pushed those feelings aside, focusing on his training as a foot soldier. Tensions grew in their friendship for the first time ever, with Katharina often feeling unable to tell him much about her sniper training in fear of his resentment growing, and König always too busy in the field.

For the first time ever since they met, they both lost their only support, feeling lost yet being too prideful to apologize first. They spent two long years this way until the team went to a pub to celebrate a successful deployment. Drunk feelings were shared in the privacy of a nearby forest, sloppy kisses and the need to hold each other again, shared promises and words of praise coming out of each other, tear-stained cheeks hurting from smiling so much by the time the team decided to go back to base.

By January 2022, König received an offer he couldn't refuse— the chance to join a PMC named KorTac with a salary in the low six figures, yet he was still indecisive, not wanting to let go of his best friend after years of becoming inseparable again. Letting the Colonel know he was a package deal with the small sniper, Katharina received a matching contract shortly after.

Excited for this new opportunity they signed together, nervous yet looking forward to what the future has to offer for both of them. Joining KorTac was... an experience, plenty of different people together in a fancier base than the army provided for them. The masked soldier fit right in with other men who kept their identity a secret, while she drifted towards the rowdier soldiers— the feeling of belonging being there for the first time ever. Horangi and Nikto quickly became some of the closest soldiers to her, despite the latter being rough around the edges. She took it as a personal challenge to break down his walls enough to become his friend.

In early 2023, Katharina was contacted by Station Chief Kate Laswell, offering her a contract with a new fraction, a salary in the high six figures and the promise of redacting her early life from her file, making sure no sign of her past could ever be found by enemies or allies. While the decision took her months and late-night conversations with König, a much more mature and older version of him did nothing but encourage her to accept the offer, knowing how important a brand-new beginning without people knowing about her past was for her.

By May 2023, her contract with KorTac was cancelled and a new one with SpecGru as a member of the Task Force 141 was signed. Saying goodbye to her peers was one of the hardest things— letting go of the first group where she felt like she belonged, and the goodbye was just as tough despite being encouraged by all of them, some even teasing her about joining ''the enemy'', though it was all in friendly banter.

The first member she met was John ''Soap'' MacTavish, a rowdy and capable Sargeant. The pair instantly clicked, dropping together with the marines to greet the L.T, Ghost. A masked soldier whose identity remained a secret for his own safety, having a redacted past just as her own. While they didn't immediately get along and rarely had time to get to know each other unlike Soap and her up until Las Almas. After Grave's betrayal, she saw a side of Ghost she never even knew existed after he put a protective arm in front of her and shielded her with his burly body.

They both navigated Las Almas together, taking down any shadows they saw with great synch, as if it was meant to be that way despite Ghost being a lone wolf for most of his career. Ghost never told her, but he was left impressed with her skills the most after they waited for Johnny in the church and took down enemies with their snipers.

Her paranoia went off the charts the one time she tried to get off her medication, still needing it heavily to function despite the great help she gets from the provided psychologist. Even with medication, she often wakes up to nightmares about her early life, looking around her quarters as if her mother could be hiding in any corner or furniture no matter how tiny it is. She holds herself together despite the C-PTSD and disclosed mental health issues, always passing her psych evals and attending weekly therapy sessions.

While Stray is not overall an unpleasant person, she can be too difficult for people with more dominant personalities, often clashing with people who act condescending or look down on her for being a woman in the army, despite her being a member of the 141 saying enough about her skills as a soldier.

She's oftentimes seen exchanging awful jokes with Simon, much to the dismay of anyone unlucky enough to be within earshot. The pair is practically joined at the hip, unknowingly trauma bonding and finding comfort in each other's company. It became a habit for both of them to drink tea at late hours of the night, either staying in silence or talking about their experiences as soldiers. They very rarely talk about their families, often leaving details behind or being vague about it on purpose.

Stray bonded with the whole team very quick, knowing they see her as a soldier worthy enough of being in the Task Force, the best of the best, fills her with pride. John Price is the father figure she never had and he recognizes that easily, giving her the guidance she may need and having long conversations with her. Besides Laswell, Price is the only person in the Task Force she talks about her past with.

While she still has a long way to go, Stray has a strong support system and knows she can go to any of them for help if she ever needs it, including her peers back at KorTac and the army.

Trivia:

Stray has plenty of tattoos, with most of her limbs, especially her legs and torso, decorated with black ink. She has a shitty stick and poke tattoo on her ankle that she got done with König when they were sixteen, a small crown and a K next to it.

Unknowingly to both of them, Ghost and Stray have tattoos in remembrance of each other. Ghost's is a small black cat on his thigh, while hers is a skull on her hip.

She quit smoking after turning 21, though she drinks quite a lot when she's off duty. She avoids beer like the plague, much to König's annoyance since he loves it.

She likes to dye her hair a subtle shade of dark red whenever she's off duty for extended periods of time, though her natural hair color is dark brown.

Stray and König remain best friends to this day, talking to each other whenever they get the chance to have their phones with them and their schedules match. If they have the chance to request time off, they meet up as much as possible.

If they're not deployed, they spend the holidays with König's mum and nana, enjoying the feeling of having a place to call home and being welcomed with delicious homemade food.

She cut contact with her mother after joining the army and has never looked back. Whether her mum is alive or not remains none of her business. She deleted all social media and accounts linked to her past, creating new ones with different aliases so she cannot be found by her.

Stray's body is defined by strong muscles, working out five to six times a week to maintain her physique, her more defined muscles being her upper body and legs.

While she struggled to build connections in her early life, she opened up more easily after joining the army, often being teased about being brooding and quiet by her platoon until she started letting loose.

She listens to music together with Simon back in their quarters, and while he never told her, he enjoys listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees the most with her, seeing her dance and sing along, as his mum used to listen to them. She sometimes forces Simon to dance Spellbound with her, holding his hands while she jumps around and sings. While he doesn't dance, the way he looks down at her while she does shows just how much he values moments like these.

Stray has elvish features accompanied with light brown skin, as her father has indigenous blood.

Her hair is a curly c3 and long, though she always keeps it braided or tied up in a neat bun during deployments to avoid it getting in the way.

She's crazy good at cutting hair, coming from the habit she had her whole early life; chopping all her hair off whenever she was too stressed or depressed and didn't know how to cope. Sometimes cuts the hair of the 141 boys whenever they don't have access to the barber.

Friendly reminder that all my fics are x Reader, and the only thing used from this OC is the callsign and parts of her past. No physical description will ever be used in my fanfics.

[silverwhittlingknife]

snippet: Cass and Jason, guns and targets

Setting: Jason's in his villain era. They're in a warehouse and Jason's challenged her to a marksmanship contest with guns.

Cass's heart raced. She would have to be perfect, on every single shot. She had to be, so she would be. But the gun felt strange and angry in her hand.

Jason was smirking, like he could see her uncertainty. I could throw you against the wall, she wanted to say.

He was letting his weight rest casually against the warehouse wall, smug the way most big men were around her, assuming she wasn't a threat. He wasn't a complete fool - she'd seen him mark the way she moved, light on her feet, and he was staying out of the reach of a kick. But he wouldn't be counting on her speed. She could close the gap between them in a second.

She didn't have to go along with the shooting game. She could toss the gun aside and pick a real fight instead.

There would be a risk. There was always a risk, with big men, because they had muscle and mass. And he was armored and she wasn't, and the warehouse was his, which meant there might be other dangers lurking in the dark. But she thought she would win. She would have her hands and her strength and her speed and the element of surprise. She'd done more with less. He was trained by Batman and by the League and by others, she could see all of them in the way he moved, but Cass had fought Shiva. She was not afraid of Jason Todd.

And part of her wanted a real fight, desperately, to test her strength against his and emerge victorious, to humiliate him if she could.

But in a real fight, she'd risk killing him or dying herself, and she couldn't choose to risk either, not if she had another option. Against Shiva, she'd been willing to die. She didn't regret it. But she could not die in a fight now, not here, not against this man. It would hurt Barbara too much.

It stung, to force herself to judge the odds, instead of just fighting, the way she was meant for. But Barbara had said, You have to think, Cass, pain in her voice. This was important to Barbara - Jason was - and things which were important to Barbara were too important to risk on pride. That was why Cass had agreed to the shooting match in the first place.

Safe. Barbara would want her to be safe.

Barbara would not approve of Cass being here. But that was a problem for another day.

They had agreed to shoot three times from a distance of thirty paces. She would have to hit nearer the target's center than Jason, two out of three times.

"Can I ..." Not train. What was the word. "Practice. Can I practice first."

"That's not the deal," Jason said.

Hmm. Jason was not stupid. Another bad sign. Cass liked it better when they were stupid. A big man, and clever. And not proud. He'd picked his weapon for the contest, the one he was best at, instead of taunting and letting her pick. He wanted to win, not to play.

So why had he agreed to play at all? She tried to read him, but it was no good. Angrytensewary, not about to attack but not unprepared either, his eyes kept flickering up to see if there was an ambush. Nothing useful. Nothing to answer: why a contest, instead of calling his men to fight her.

She wanted Tim. Trying to understand Jason was a headache. She didn't want to. Tim and Barbara liked answers. Tim would've had an answer, or two answers, or three answers, why Jason didn't want to kill her. Barbara would've had just one answer, and it would be the right answer, but Barbara would be angry that Cass didn't want to think. So Tim was better. Tim liked answers so much that he went looking for them even when he didn't have to.

But Tim was injured. No answers, not with a bullet wound. Cass had to do her own thinking. For now. Maybe forever.

Maybe that was why Jason had chosen guns. To remind her about Tim. A threat, not a contest.

She was aware that she was very, very angry.

The anger would've helped in a martial arts fight. It would not help with the gun. Anger made you sloppy. Sloppy made you lose.

"Get on with it," Jason said. "Batman says...patience is a virtue."

"Batman doesn't know shit." His voice was a growl. His body: angryangryangry. Two angry people. She wanted to burn him with her anger. "I don't have all night."

She had not aimed a gun for a very long time. It was both easier and more difficult than she wanted it to be. She frowned at the targets. They were not the kind she'd practiced with.

"Come on," Jason said.

"Shut up," Cass said. "Maybe I will shoot you."

Jason grinned. He had blood on his teeth. His body sang: angryjoyanger. "Go ahead and try it. You think you're fast enough?"

She was fast enough. She could picture it, with a blazing sort of triumph. Aiming the gun at his heart. His armor was good, but not that good, not when they were only a few paces apart. "I'd kill you."

She wouldn't, she wouldn't. Oh, but she wanted to.

"You sure would," Jason said, with a mean smile, and his body still sang anger and joy. Why joy? "But you're one of his, aren't you, little girl? So you're not gonna shoot me. You're too cowardly. You're gonna play my little game, and you're gonna lose, because the game's rigged - oh, not your gun, don't give me that look, it's a good gun, but these are my guns. I don't care how fucking good you think you are, you're not gonna out-shoot me on the first try with my own guns. So you're gonna lose, and you're gonna fuck off, like we agreed, and then tomorrow I'll grab your other little friend and put a bullet in her, and -"

Aim, trigger, fire.

Cass shot him in the wrist, the gun-hand. He went down. She leapt.

The skirmish was not pretty - he was fast, faster than she'd expected, and she'd lose the tooth - but she'd been right that he was not prepared for a real fight. The element of surprise: a better weapon than the blade. She got the handcuffs around his wrists and then the fight was won, or good enough. Too risky to take her hands off him, and too risky to shoot him again, so she kicked both guns away.

"What the fuck," he spluttered, staring at the handcuffs. They were digging into the wound, and Cass was reluctantly impressed. He must be in agony, but he had excellent pain control. "What in the - the fucking hell - you shot me!"

"Yes," Cass said. "A good idea. You said so."

He'd been right. The contest was no good. He'd have won, and she had no time for that. This was better.

Why was he so surprised?

Jason stared at her. She braced for another attack - he might get free yet - but instead he started laughing, high and wild. She couldn't read his body. It was so strange, so strange, she would have called him a wild thing instead of a man.

Too risky to put anything in her hands - he might fight back still, if the frenzied laughter turned violent - so instead she tapped open her communicator with her shoulder.

" -zzt- Cass," said Barbara. She sounded frightened. Cass felt bad. "Cass. Where the hell are you."

"Safe," Cass said. "I..."

I defeated Jason, she wanted to say, but it was not really true. Not a true fight, not yet, maybe not ever. Too bad. She still thought she'd win that way, too. But it was always a little sad when you couldn't find out. Oh well. Maybe another time.

Still. She'd done what she came to do, if not in the way she'd planned to do it. Spontaneity was also a virtue. Batman did not say that, and neither did Barbara. But spontaneity was a very important virtue, Cass thought. She smiled.

"Cassandra Cain," Barbara said, "if you don't give me an address in the next two seconds -"

"I have him. Your Jason. You wanted ..." What did Barbara want. Cass was not sure. And words were boring. It was a familiar frustration, these useless words. "You want to talk to him. So. I have him. Come."

She gave the address.

Barbara started saying other things, so Cass cut off the communicator. She'd given the message. Now, she just had to wait. Jason had stopped laughing.

"Who the fuck was that," he said. "That's not Bruce."

So his hearing was very good too. Good enough to catch the high pitches of a woman's voice. Not good enough to identify her. And maybe a little slow. Who would it be, if not Barbara?

"Oracle," Cass said. "She wants ... to talk to you."

"Who? I thought..." Jason frowned at her chest as if it confused him. "I thought you were a Bat. Who the fuck is Oracle?"

Cass grinned at him. She knew her teeth were bloody now, too. Anger and joy. Maybe she could understand Jason a little. "You'll see."

[witchthewriter]

𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 '𝐆𝐚𝐳' 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤

ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Gemini Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising

The fact that Kyle Garrick doesn't have as much popularity as some of the other characters in the Call of Duty world. is sinful. It's blasphemy.

Look, at first I was one of those people who didn't like Gaz as much as the rest of the Task Force, but now, NOW, I see him as such a valuable member. This is my formal apology to thy beautiful god of a man, Gaz.

And also a post so those that say, 'they don't know anything about Gaz so they cannot include him' - well here's your info babes!

"𝑳𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉?" — 𝖪𝗒𝗅𝖾 𝖦𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄

Alias(es)

Sabre 2-6

Bravo 0-5

Bravo 2-6

Bravo 6-2

Bravo 6-1

Gaz

Nationality: British

Rank: Sergeant Sergeant is a senior role of responsibility, promotion to which typically takes place after 12 years of service, depending on ability. Sergeants typically are second in command of a troop or platoon of up to 35 soldiers, with the important responsibility for advising and assisting junior officers.

Birth: 1993 However, he is older than Soap.

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2008, serving in the Duke of Lancaster's Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty's elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a Sergeant for his sixth year.

Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters.

Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS' American counterparts, the Navy SEALs.

Required to undergo resistance to interrogation (RTI) testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture.

Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness.

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counter-terrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield missions with metropolitan police forces on European soil.

Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror.

Quotes

" Fuck off, shit pouch."

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place sir."

"They sent us in half assed, so everyone can just keep pretending we're not at war."

"I'm not dead, Nik. I'm hanging from a bloody rope!"

Personality

Very rarely does Kyle demand attention. He's observant problem-solving and bases his decisions on his instincts and values, and focuses on enjoying the present.

However, with the line of work he's in. Kyle has had to change the way he reacts to things. One really obvious scene between him and Cpt Price shows how this job is changing Kyle e.g,. Price’s quote about bloodying your hands after taking the gloves off.

Even so, I do think he's the most gentle of the four men, the kindest - almost like he's clung to his humanity with everything he's got.

sources: @mockerycrow. callofdutyfandom.com.

[imjustsocute]

Liisa “Kettu” Korhenen [Call Of Duty: OC Remake]

PERSONAL INFOMATION

Date of birth: December 2nd 1997

Age: 27 (In 2024)

Blood Type: B+

Nationality: Finnish

Birthplace: Oulu, Finland

Languages Spoken: Finnish (native), Swedish, English, German, Korean

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

Gender: Female

Eye Color: Sky blue

Hair Color: Light Blonde

Build: Slim

Height: 5’3/160 cm

Weight: 121 lbs/ 55 kg.

Marks: Freckles at face, shoulders, arms and thighs

AFFILIATIONS

Finnish Defence Forces

Karelia Brigade

Nordic Battlegroup

EU Battlegroup

BIOGRAPHY

Born in Oulu, Finland with a silver spoon in one’s mouth. As a young mistress of Korhenen she had everything like a general mistress has, whether it be appearance, good at sports, being the top 1 of the class and beloved of many friends. Even she had a happy life in school, A family who always supported her and a wealthy but what Kettu actually need was something which she couldn’t explain. It was ‘challenge’.

At the age of 18 she joined the military, Finnish Defence Foreces. With her small physical size and not quite good at close combat with a large fighter or muscle fighter made her unsuitable candidate for tactical assault unit. Later she was joined Karelia Brigade as a marksman to backup team. Mostly Kettu likes to stealth or surprise attack from behind enemies because of avoid to confront them with different size. Also she is the fastest movements and good at hiding like a fox hunting the pray.

In 2022, She was later in EU Battlegroup. She assigned to backup the insertion specialist team which took down an Al-Qatala cell in Berlin. And that’s how Kettu and König have met for the first time she eliminated an AQ Fighter who trying attack König from behind he appreciated her at the first sight that she saved him. From that day they almost in the same team and missions. Ketttu always greeting and talking first made König feels more comfortable and relaxing from anxiety and stresses when she near him. It’s look like they both have a good time together during a mission.

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Fighting Style: Freestyle

Weapon(s): Long range weapons, assault rifles or shortgun

Distinct Weapon: m1911, KA-BAR Becker

Special Skills: Specializes in stealth kill, Marksmanship, Climbing, fast movements

Shortcomings: Cannot confront a larger fighter directly because of her physical size

PERSONALITY

Myers Briggs Type: ENFJ-A [Kettu is an omnivert, She likes to make a new friends whoever her met with, she’s a talkative one if you’re her close friends(Example: König). Sometimes she wants to sit still and sleep in warm blanket distance from outside world but mostly she enjoys talking to people. She’s unselfish person, help and cheer up her teammates who gets sad or hopeless.]

Optimism: No matter how situations are getting worse, Kettu always had a positive thinking more than you expected.

Easy-going: She’s not quite take a serious about her life much, she just wants to adventure and chill out.

Patient: When she’s in a stealth mode, Kettu has a plenty of plans in her mind to sneak attack enemies behind, she’s stalking them to analyst numbers of enemy and learn how to deal with them. Maybe she climbs to high ground and watching them

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Masking: Kettu doesn’t want the others have to worry about her so she has keep pretend to be fine even her feelings is drowning in the grief.

Naughty: She likes to prank her friends a lot for some fun and teases them normally. Didn’t listen their warnings or swears which they spilled she continues to tease her beloved friends because it’s so funny. (Especially König)

FAMILY

Parents: Otso Korhenen (Father), Elsa Korhenen (Mother)

Sibling(s): Noel Korhenen (Older brother)

Grandparents: Onni Korhenen (Grandfather), Phila Korhenen (Grandmother)

Relatives: Olivia Nieminen (Aunt, Otso’s younger sister), Leevi Nieminen (Uncle, Olivia’s husband), Tapio Nieminen (Cousin, Olivia and Leevi’s son)

FAVORITE

Food: Lohikeitto

Drink: Hot cocoa

Color: Pastel Pink

Song: MIC Drop (Steve Aoki Remix) - BTS

TRIVIA

Kettu means ‘Fox’ in Finnish.

She was a member of K-POP dance club.

Kettu is a BTS fan-girl, never missed a new single album or any of concerts

She hates cooking. Once she burned the kitchen when she made omelette.

König bought the fox keychain to Kettu as a Christmas present, She named it ‘Mr.Oranssi’ means orange and hang him on the waist bag all the time.

[sephirthoughts]

Can you do the random character ask game for Vincent with 49. and 28. (about Weiss, preferably in your nero is Vincent's son au) please?

49. Vincent's favorite toy as a child, much to Grimoire's chagrin, was the Daisy Model 99 Target Special pump-action BB rifle, given to him by one of his uncles. He was a crack shot right away, and spent countless hours arranging targets making up new challenges for himself, while the books and chemistry sets from his father gathered dust on a shelf. His love for marksmanship persisted, into adulthood, and his extraordinary talent as a gunman eventually earned him acceptance into the Turks.

Vincent: [long sigh] Regretful, I suppose. It's not that I regret the choices I made. I did what I had to do. That madman [*Hojo] destroyed so many lives. He would've destroyed so many more. It had to end. But...I wish it had been different. I wish everything had been different. Nero has not been well. Isolating. Talking to himself. It only seems to be getting worse. He has his other brothers now, but their, uh—ahem—their bond isn't quite the same. I hope for his sake that Weiss…but nevermind. I've already said more than I should.

[tiredpandaportfolio]

Idle thoughts about how I write the Sparda boys.

I worked on this while waiting for BG3 to come out and forgot to post it. 

I want to ramble a little about how I personally write them, what my particular headcanons are for them. Because some of my takes differ from the official canon and they certainly might differ from the way other people perceive them.

And you know what? That’s fine. Everyone’s HC is valid. We might not accept someone else’s HC within the confines of our own, because it doesn’t line up with what we’re writing for ourselves, but it’s possible to like someone else’s take because it’s different from yours. So here’s how I write certain topics. You can ask me about others, if you’d like.

Height and Body Shape

They are truly, stupidly tall. It runs in the family. It’s a bane for their more vertically-challenged colleagues. Like, none of them is below the 6′2″ mark, not even V who is a beanpole. And with the exception of V, they’re all quite broad in the shoulderts too, they all have trouble finding clothes that fit right. 

Dante is easily the most ‘buff’ of them, with Nero looking like he’ll head that direction, but he probably won’t get that stupid big. Dante’s years of hard life and constant fighting have had an effect on his physique. He’s aware that it’s appealing and he’s got enough vanity to flaunt it, when he can. Ironically, he doesn’t always take care of his appearance. Nero on the other hand, sort of does, but only because Kyrie hounds him. Most of the time he prefers to be very casual. He tries to cut his own hair, but Kyrie has to fix it for him every time, which is why it ends up so short.

Dante’s cheap ass also cuts his own hair but at least he’s learned to do it decently well.

Vergil is the most svelte, he has the physique of a dancer... which is ironic considering he hates dancing (or so he tells himself). He is very particular about his appearance and doesn’t really like change. That’s why he always looks like he’s been wearing the same exact clothes for years and years, a fact Dante will rib him about any chance he gets. Of the twins, Vergil gets the most irritated when someone says he and Dante look alike.

And yes, Vergil is the tallest of the three but he can hardly flex on it because Dante simply looks larger by dint of being buff. It frustrates him.

Teeth

Dante and Vergil have noticeable fangs, have had them since their baby teeth fell out, which was much earlier than normal kids. They used to freak out other children, further alienating them from others. They absolutely used to bite each other whenever they got into fights.

As they got older Dante, at least, made an effort to speak without flashing them constantly and has sort of trained himself to keep them from view. Vergil, on the other hand, responded by becoming the taciturn, aloof idiot we know and love, only ever speaking freely when he was around Dante. Now, after all he’s been through, he’s simply entirely unbothered if people notice he has fangs or not. He only gets annoyed if they start to pry.

Nero’s also got ‘em, they’re just smaller and more blunt. They were not very visible when he was little and overall, got picked on more regarding his hair color and his terrible temper.

They all absolutely bare their fangs when they’re agitated or angry, but Dante will also bare them when he’s in his impish mood because he knows it unsettles others. He’s showing off and he doesn’t care. It’s most egregious when he yawns.

Senses

They have very sharp senses and an acute sense of their surroundings. Dante and Nero’s superior marksmanship is directly related to their excellent eyesight. Vergil, considering what he’s been through, has found that his eyes are very photosensitive now, which is why he avoids strong sunlight whenever he can. His eyesight is as good as ever, but he’s taken to using reading glasses only when reading, to try and prevent headaches from small print.

They all have a very developed sense of smell but of the three, Dante is the most experienced in using his senses to track things, particularly demons. He’s especially responsive to the smell of blood and has tracked down demons simply by following the stink of spilled blood in their wake. He also (unfortunately) has the strongest reaction to the smell of witch blood.

Amusingly, these sharp senses mean the boys are very particular about their hygiene. They regularly get absolutely covered in filth and while they may tolerate it and look unbothered, they really do want to get clear of the excitement so they can get rid of the smell.

How Demonic Are They?

A loaded question with no simple answer. Nero is the easiest to dissect; he is more human than demon. He feels that way and his behavior isn’t really that different or alienating, most of the time. His bad temper and eagerness to fight are entirely human flaws, something that comes from his personality and his upbringing rather than any demonic instinct. He has an easier time resisting such inclinations. Heck, he’ll resist the urge to throw down and fight if he thinks it’s a bad idea -- doesn’t happen often but it does.

Vergil and Dante are another story. The demon blood is far too strong in them. But so is the human will. The twins are caught in the crossfire of their two sides constantly fighting. Sometimes one dominates, sometime the other. Vergil was the first to embrace the demonic nature, but he did so by discarding his humanity. He did not try to come to a compromise with himself because, to his detriment, until recently Vergil did not compromise on anything. Dante went the other way, resisting and even denying his demonic side for so long that Vergil had to force it out. Even then, Dante resisted it and had to learn to compromise. It’s only recently he’s come to accept what he really is and what being half-demon truly means.

The twins are heavily influenced by the demonic side of them, their behavior affected in various ways. They both desire to be the dominant presence in any space; Vergil pathologically cannot allow anything less, while Dante can compromise. Dante is more prone to picking petty fights just to see where everyone stands, Vergil places too much value on his dignity and won’t lower himself to anyone’s level (unless it’s Dante). Vergil’s desires are more intensely focused on power and control, which is ironically very human of him, while Dante is an unapologetic hedonist when he allows himself to cut loose. They both pursue their desires with a single-mindedness that clearly isn’t human. Of the two, Dante is arguably the more ‘feral’ as, again, Vergil puts too much value on his dignity and honor.

Both twins are prone to displaying some demonic characteristics when they are particualrly agitated, but Dante is by far the worse of the two. He’s prone to growling when he’s irritated or particularly pleased, maybe even purr, and more likely to flash his teeth and allow his eyes to turn demonic when he’s angry. And of course, he will never let a challenge go un-answered.

Devil Trigger and Powers

For the twins, their demonic forms are part and parcel of who they are. If pressed, Dante might grimace and then try to describe it like a cloak: he just pulls it around his shoulders and over his head and that’s it, he’s suddenly a demon. But it’s still him, no matter what demonic instincts might insert themselves in his behavior. Vergil might disagree and insist the demon form is who they really are, but he has repeatedly proven himself wrong. He does agree on the cloak comparison, though.

The base demonic forms and the Sin Devil Trigger are two different states; the base form is the one they both use the most, as the SinDT requires a lot more power and a considerably agitated mental state to maintain. They both have upper limits to how long they can stay in demon form before they start to feel some side effects, such as lethargy and loss of control. They both have this ingrained belief that they don’t “need” the DT and only use it in a pinch, because they don’t want to depend on it and treat it as a crutch.

The base form makes them taller, bit over 7′ and considerably bulkier, which the SDT doubles down on, being over 8′ tall and really bulky. The SDT is much harder to control, even for Vergil, and they both act much more aggressively while in that state. The base form is retains some human characteristics; namely, they can speak coherently in it and their hands are still able to manipulate things outside of weapons without breaking them.

Anyone even remotely sensitive to the supernatural finds it very hard to be around them, they give off an oppressive amount of demonic power that serves that purpose: to intimidate anything weaker than themselves. They can double down on it at will as a form of intimidation-- or a direct challenge. To any allies with any amount of sensitivity, like Trish or Tess, this is not a pleasant experience.

Though both of them have wings, the twins are almost embarassingly bad fliers. They can hover and fly in straight lines with a considerable amount of speed, but anything requiring even a bit of finesse is rather beyond them. They’re simply too large and their wings too unwieldy for precision flight.

Nero experiences the demonic form a bit differently. His early experience with it felt like an extension of his arm, not quite part of him. Since the Qliphoth crisis though, he now agrees on the cloak comparison but to him the form is still a tool. He doesn’t quite identify with it, yet. He thinks this might be why it took him so long to embrace it fully. He’s the most coherent and clear-headed in DT of the three and though his huge claws make him clumsy regarding anything requiring delicacy, he can compensate with the extra arms. Funny enough, his body size changes the least out of the three. He’s threatened to brain Dante if he ever jokes that Nero is “the runt” of the family ever again.

Ocassionally, the presence of too much infernal power, or overwhelming emotion might cause them to shift partially or completely. This is a problem all three of them have, and Vergil is the one with the finer control. Dante and Nero are too prone to their own emotions.

Sleeping Habits

They’re kind of like lions in a sense; they tend to conserve their energy for when they need it. At least, that’s what Dante would have everyone believe (no, he’s not just lazy, shush). But, sleep is a fair-weather friend to both twins; neither of them sleeps fully through the night, they both prefer to sleep in short bursts whenever they feel safe and comfortable. Dante has the easiest time falling asleep, while Vergil power naps rather than sleeps deeply. Night terrors and nightmares are a common problem for them both, even after all these years. Vergil particularly has it worse, as his trauma is still fresh. Dante often finds himself wide awake, staring at the bottom of a whiskey glass and wishing it would knock him out.

Dante and Vergil are nightowls, whereas Nero is the paradoxical early bird, probably because he gets better sleep than they do and goes to sleep earlier because... well, he’s got three kids. He’s very “up and at ‘em” first thing in the morning. He sort of needs things to do or he gets restless and when Nero gets restless, trouble starts brewing. It’s best to keep him distracted and give him something to do to wear him out just so he can get through the day in peace and then sleep at night.

He’s absolutely not allowed to have energy drinks or caffeine.

Dante tends to sleep in his clothes but ocassionally he’ll go sleep in just his undies when he’s feeling tired and secure enough to do so. He spreads and takes over the bed. Mostly sleeps on his back.

Vergil is the opposite, hates sleeping in his clothes. He’ll go to extreme lengths to ensure he’s safe and undisturbed before he commits to a long, deep sleep, and he likes to wear something comfortable. He tends to sleep curled up, with his back against a wall.

Nero sleeps on his stomach, face almost buried in a pillow if he can. He likes to wear shorts and a T-shirt. Gets hot easily and kicks covers away. 

Socializing

It’s debatable that any of the three know what this even means but Nero is easily the most well-adjusted to society. He might be a menace and the fightiest, most stubborn person in the world, but generally speaking, when people aren’t antagonizing him, he’s the easiest to get along with. He’s actually aware that his attitude and even his appearance can put people off and his time as a soldier of the Order has taught him some discipline. Plus it helps that Kyrie has asked him, very nicely, to be nicer to people. And he generally is, he manages quite well when nobody is aggravating him, so long as he keeps his temper in check... which is easier said than done.

Dante has been out in society the longest, but for the most part, he’s been interacting with the seedy underbelly the most and he does have an attitude problem. He’s kind of blunt, crass and irritating even at the best of times. It started as a coping mechanism but now he’s grown into the mask so much that he has a hard time letting go of it when relating to others. He does have moments where he’ll willingly drop the act, though. He’s not heartless, if he feels someone wants to talk to him seriously he might stay a bit snarky, but he won’t go out of his way to give them a hard time, and he certainly won’t be a dick to someone in distress, as long as they don’t piss him off. Dante being serious is a good sign of two things: Either he’s taking a situation seriously, or he’s actually angry and ready to end you.

Vergil is easily the most maladjusted and unsociable of the three. He’s never liked people but at the same time, he’s never made an effort to. He’s spent too long either thinking almost exclusively in terms of power, or caught in a web of torture, brainwashing and death. Vergil doesn’t exactly dislike people, he’s mostly indifferent but he just can’t trust anybody. Dante may keep people at arm’s length, but Vergil would rather keep them at the end of his sword. He’s too used to responding with violence, verbal or otherwise. The way things are now, though, he’s going to have to learn to live with at least some people. He’ll always be an unsociable bastard but if he hopes to stay sane, he’ll have to let some people in. He’s never going to tire of fighting with Dante and Nero but at least now he can start to talk to them. He’s always going to keep others at a distance, but at least he’s learning to be a bit more civil, so long as nobody provokes him.

Relationship With Each Other

In one word, difficult. At best. They may have come to some sort of understanding, but they don’t necessasirily have reason to be particularly fond of each other. Fighting is, for better or for worse, the most prevalent and natural form of expression for beings like them. They can’t help themselves. Dante and Vergil actively enjoy trying to tear each others’ heads off even after they’ve sort of made peace with each other. Nero is less about the kill and more about the “shut up” and wanting to prove himself.

I don’t believe that Nero, at least, can so easily let go of his anger, either about being attacked in his own home, his safe haven and having his arm ripped off, or the fact that for years Dante lied to him by ommission. He’s salty and will probably stay really salty for a long time. He’s not exactly like them, he’s learned other ways to related to others than fighting and he certainly doesn’t want them anywhere near the people he deems the most precious to him. Not the way they are. He’s sympathetic, but still too angry.

Vergil has much more serious issues to work through, about Dante and Nero. In regards to the latter, he’s yet to stomach that Nero is his son, but this has rather piqued his curiosity about him, though deep down he knows they probably should stay out of each others’ lives for the moment, for each other’s sake. He wants to fight Nero again, to really test him, and test himself against the kid. But he has enough sense to respect that they’ve both been through enough for the time being. He’s much more eager to fight with Dante and as much as he likes their spars... there is a definite tinge of anger. Dante did technically kill him and has been a thorn in his side forever. What Vergil doesn’t really understand is how much their past friction has cost Dante. This is partly Dante’s fault; as much as Vergil thinks he knows him, Dante’s facade has partly succeeded too well. He doesn’t believe Dante regrets anything, and he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t regret anything, either.

But the fact of the matter is, both of them regret a lot of things. Dante is, in fact, a slave to regret and guilt. He blames himself for the start of it all, he blames himself for surviving and for never being able to stop Vergil or pull him out of his spiral, because was spiralling too. And above all, he blames himself for killing Vergil, back on Mallet island. Dante has never made it obvious to others how much that whole thing broke him. He doubled down of his facade since then and he doesn’t care if it made him insufferable, so long as he didn’t show how much that messed him up. He’s lived with that weight since then. He’s glad that Vergil is alive but he’s not allowing himself to savor it. He still wants to fight Vergil, to give him a reason to stay and not go and do something even more stupid. He is hiding from the fact that he’s surprisingly okay with the fact that his brother nearly brought about the end of the world.

In their own broken away, they love each other. Dante is struggling to find ways to help Vergil integrate into society without But Dante is probably the only one of the two with an inkling at how unhealthy their current relationship is. For them and for the people around them.

Physical Affection

This is kind of a weird one for them. So much of their interactions with each other and with others has been dominated by fighting, to the point where they’re all sort of hard-wired for it. Fighting is the Sparda love language, in a twisted kind of sense. It takes conscious effort from them to fall away from it.

Nero has the easiest time, given that he’s not as slave to the demonic instinct as the twins. He’s had time to develop human social skills and he has people he loves enough to be affectionate towards. Nero loves hugs, kisses and cuddling but he saves them almost exclusively for Kyrie and the boys. The boy is down bad and honestly, who can blame him? Kyrie is a delight. He’s usually a bit standoffish with others, but once someone becomes close to him, such as Nico, he’s a lot more expressive. High-fives, fist bumps, excited hugs and friendly nudges are common with Nero. He won’t usually initiate the hugs but if they come at him, he’ll take ‘em. He likes playing and roughousing with the boys and can spend hours absolutely rolling on the floor with them.

Vergil doesn’t like being touched, which is completely understandable, after everything he’s been through. He’s like a feral cat who just wants to be left alone. The majority of his physical contact with others, even his twin, has been violent. It wasn’t always like this, but even as a kid Vergil didn’t really like being touched much, a fact Dante could never really get through his head. But he tolerated it better back then because he still cared about the family he had. Now he’s in no position to accept physical affection, let alone initiate it. Fighting is the closest thing he can handle but deep down, there is a yearning. He misses that physical contact he did get, though he won’t ever admit it to himself. If he ever works through most of his inner demons and Dante were to ever just hug him... Vergil might crack. He would probably reciprocate. But he’s just not prepared to cross that bridge, yet. Right now, even a handshake is a big ask.

Dante is the most comfortable with physical expression, of the three. As a kid he was the most clingy to Eva, and one of the reasons he constantly bugged Vergil was to get some kind of affection from him. As an adult, he can finally read the room if someone isn’t up for it, unless he’s specifically using it as a way to aggravate people. He too is way too used to fighting as a go-to way to be in contact with others, but he’s also learned to just be affectionate without violence, though he still kept others at a bit of a distance. Finding himself in a relationship actually brought out a lot of his older affectionate nature, though he’s still figuring himself out. Once he got comfortable with Tess, touching definitely became a huge part of his love language and he’s delighted that she allows him to do so--even if he invades her personal space often. Grabbing her hand, smooth one-armed hugs and full hugs, getting and giving kisses--up to being something of a ‘bear trap’ should he be allowed to big spoon. He’s only like this with her, to the point where if she mentions it to others, she gets really strange looks from them.

Vergil’s kind of grateful that she is the target of most of his affection at the moment. It means Dante is much less likely to annoy him.

Sexuality, Gender and Orientation

I write all three of them as cis males.

Nero is Kyriesexual and Kyrieromantic. That’s it. He’s a simp. It’s kind of embarrassing, really. But still, who can blame him?

Vergil is probably demi-sexual and demi-romantic and just so incredibly picky and difficult that he may as well be a brick wall. He just detests everyone equally.

Dante likes to pretend he’s an unbothered hedonist who could and would do anyone, but let’s be real, he’s just one giant bisexual or possibly pansexual disaster and a hopeless romantic. He’s a dumbass, above all else. Don’t let him fool you into believing otherwise. And despite what street cred he’d like to have, he’s actually loyal.

It’s a bit of a mystery exactly how he got Tess to like him enough to date him, though.

[codmw2019-2022]

Modern Warfare® Campaign: Biographies of the Story’s Major Players.

Part 1 (2 of 2): Sergeant Kyle Garrick

September 30, 2019 by Call of Duty Staff

Sergeant Kyle Garrick

Sergeant, Special Air Service Regiment

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2014, serving in the Queen's Lancashire Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty’s elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a sergeant for his sixth year.

Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria, Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters. Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS American counterparts, the Navy SEALs. Required to undergo resistance to interrogation testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture. Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness. “Everyone talks about the physical aspect of being in the SAS but my job is mostly mental. Give me a guy who’s got his mindset right over a guy who’s twice as fit any day of the week.”

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal, the South Atlantic Medal, and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counterterrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing. Kyle’s last Middle Eastern tour was cut short due to an ever-changing political climate and a growing intolerance for full-throated unconventional warfare. Fading support for western backed guerrilla movements as well as growing regional tension complicated matters in the field, as men like Kyle are asked to do an imperfect job, perfectly well, without exception, no matter the cost.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield mission with metro police forces on European soil. Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror.

With the SAS notoriously shrouded in secrecy, Kyle explains— “We move in silence, do our job, and melt away. No publicity, no media. It takes stamina, willpower, guts and brains. Got those, we'll welcome you a try at being one of us. If you haven't got all that, then off with you...”

[jackiequick]

Since every day and everything has felt this right / Marvel OC

A/N: I did say I wanna do Lana next, didn't I? Who’s else guys haha

Click here to see the one played by Colin

Angles Castillo Hill 🗒️

Name: Angela Genevieve Castillo Hill

Alias/Nicknames: Angles, Angie, Gigi, Lina

Age: 32-37 years old 

Birthday: July 16th

Height: 5'5"

Appearance: Angela has short dark brown hair, light tan skin, and striking eyes that seem to light up when she smiles. She exudes confidence and style, often seen wearing business casual attire with a touch of edginess, such as leather jackets, heeled boots, and statement accessories. She favors neutral colors like browns, grays, blacks, dark reds, and navy blues.

Personality: Angela is charismatic, compassionate, adventurous, cautious, and determined. She possesses a sharp wit and a dry sense of humor, using laughter as a coping mechanism during tough times. Despite her cautious nature, Angela can be impulsive under pressure, sometimes throwing caution to the wind and acting on instinct. Her eyes are her most powerful asset, often speaking volumes even when she remains silent.

Background:

Born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Angela's parents were living there for a short while, but she was actually born and raised in the United States.

Her father was Latino, and her mother was Dutch. Despite her international upbringing, Angela spent the majority of her formative years in the United States, where her family eventually settled.

Angela is the younger cousin of Maria Hill, a high-ranking agent within S.H.I.E.L.D. Despite their differing personalities, Angela and Maria share a strong familial bond, characterized by affection, rivalry, and camaraderie.

Angela's dynamic with Maria involves playful banter and occasional disagreements, but underneath it all, there's a deep-seated bond and mutual respect. Their contrasting personalities often lead to humorous exchanges, with Angela teasing Maria about being too bossy and Maria rolling her eyes at Angela's impulsiveness.

As she grew older, Angela found herself drawn to the world of espionage and covert operations. Inspired by the tales of daring agents and heroic deeds, she set her sights on joining the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D., a prestigious organization known for its dedication to protecting the world from various threats.

After years of rigorous training and preparation, Angela achieved her goal and became a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, specializing in intelligence gathering and undercover missions. Her natural charisma and sharp wit quickly earned her the respect of her peers, while her unwavering determination and courage set her apart as a rising star within the organization.

However, Angela's journey has not been without its challenges. Along the way, she has faced betrayal, manipulation, and moments of self-doubt, each obstacle serving to test her resolve and strengthen her character. Yet through it all, she has remained steadfast in her commitment to serving the greater good, determined to make a difference in a world teetering on the brink of chaos.

As Angela continues to navigate the complexities of her profession and the ever-shifting landscape of international intrigue, one thing remains certain: her unwavering dedication to the principles of justice, integrity, and compassion will guide her every step of the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Skills:

Hand-to-hand combat: Angela is proficient in various martial arts techniques and is skilled in close-quarters combat.

Marksmanship: Angela is an expert marksman, proficient in the use of firearms and ranged weapons.

Espionage: Angela is adept at gathering intelligence, infiltration, and undercover operations.

Hobbies/Interests:

Travel: Angela loves exploring new places and experiencing different cultures.

Reading: Angela is an avid reader, with a particular fondness for mystery novels and thrillers.

Cooking: Angela enjoys experimenting in the kitchen and is especially skilled at making lasagna, a dish she learned to cook from her Dutch mother.

~~~~~~

Motherly: Despite her adventurous nature, Angela possesses a nurturing side, especially towards younger or less experienced members of her team. Her protective instincts and caring demeanor make her a natural mentor figure, providing guidance and support to those who need it most. However, she can be sharp and take risks to push them into seeing their weaknesses and strengths, a trait she inherited from her cousin Maria Hill.

Having grown up with an interesting family dynamic, she believes everyone deserves a helping hand and to be taken care of, even if it means bandaging up a wound, having someone to listen, or a shoulder to cry on. She will not hesitate to call the shots and order someone to clean up a wound or check up on another teammate, not caring if the person hesitates, she wants it done.

Dark Side:

Despite Angela's intelligence, fierceness, and compassion, she struggles with self-doubt and has a tendency to think poorly of herself.

She has been manipulated by others in the past, leading her to take actions and trust the wrong people based on false beliefs.

Angela has experienced mind control firsthand, being manipulated by antagonists to do their bidding and see a darker side of herself that she never knew existed.

On one occasion, she was affected by an element that temporarily gave her powers, leading her to unintentionally cause chaos and harm. This experience left her traumatized and wary of mind control, causing her to question her own abilities and morality.

Angela's vulnerability during such situations often leads her to lock herself behind closed doors, questioning how she could allow herself to be used for dark tasks and causing her to cry as she struggles with feelings of guilt and self-blame.

Dynamic with Maria Hill:

Angela shares a close familial bond with her cousin Maria Hill, a high-ranking agent within S.H.I.E.L.D.

Despite their differing personalities, Angela and Maria have a strong bond characterized by affection, rivalry, and camaraderie.

They often engage in playful banter and occasional disagreements, but underneath it all, there is a deep-seated bond and mutual respect between them.

Like Maria can be like, "I do not hate you, Angie. It's just, you kind of get on my nerves,  but I do like you around." 

Meanwhile Angela smiles and replies, "That's a start. I don't hate you either, but you're just kinda bossy."

~~~~~

Dating life: Angie is single but has gone on a couple of dates with men and women before. Typically, a friend sets her up with someone else because they know she is a homebody and would rather not leave her home. But she never really found out what she really wants in a partner because she doesn't know how to handle a relationship per say, however she is open to trying out a date or so.

Goals, Personal Challenges, and Aspirations:

Despite facing numerous personal challenges and grappling with self-doubt, Angela remains resilient and determined to forge her own path.

Initially uncertain about her career as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Angela contemplated changing careers within the organization, questioning her aspirations and place within the agency.

While her goal is to continue serving as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent whenever possible, Angela harbors a desire for something more. She originally dreamed of becoming a teacher, a profession she still holds in high regard.

Angela occasionally wonders how her cousin Maria perceives her, especially given the trouble she finds herself in at times. Despite these doubts, Angela recognizes that life is unpredictable and constantly changing, which motivates her to embrace new challenges and opportunities for growth.

Similar to Clint Barton, Angela enjoys her life and the unique position she holds within S.H.I.E.L.D., but she also yearns for a life beyond the organization. She dreams of exploring her hobbies of traveling, cooking, and acquiring new skills. She envisions living off the grid someday, immersing herself in nature and finding peace away from the chaos of the world.

Angela contemplates the idea of starting a family of her own one day, but she remains uncertain if she's ready for that level of commitment or if she can find the time to balance it with her career and personal aspirations.

Meaningful Objects and Symbolism:

Angela treasures two significant items: a 'C' necklace and a half moon bracelet, both of which were gifts she received during a small trip to Latin America when she was 12 years old. These items hold sentimental value for her, serving as reminders of cherished memories from her childhood and connections to her cultural heritage.

Additionally, Angela has adorned herself with tattoos that hold personal symbolism and meaning. Each tattoo represents significant moments or experiences from her past, serving as a visual reminder of the challenges she has overcome and the person she has become as a result.

Quirks and Habits:

Angela has several unique quirks and habits that set her apart. When feeling anxious, she often chips her nail polish absentmindedly, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil.

During meetings or situations where she's required to stay in one place for an extended period, Angela copes by rubbing her thumb and middle finger together, a subtle but effective way to manage her restlessness.

When annoyed or only half paying attention, Angela has a tendency to hold back a roll of her eyes or respond with a nonchalant hum, conveying her frustration without outright confrontation.

While listening intently to someone, Angela frequently furrows her eyebrows and cutely pouts her lips, a subtle yet endearing expression that reflects her focused attention and thoughtful demeanor.

Relationships with Other Marvel Characters:

Over the months and short term years, Angela has had numerous encounters with members of the Avengers, including Steve Rogers (Captain America), Tony Stark (Iron Man), and Thor. These interactions have exposed her to different perspectives and ideologies, shaping her understanding of the world and her role within it.

Angela made her first appearance in Iron Man 2, where she assisted in shadowing Black Widow while the redhead was undercover as Tony Stark's assistant. This experience introduced her to the world of high-stakes espionage and collaboration with iconic heroes.

She later appeared in Thor (2011) as one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stationed in New Mexico during Thor's arrival on Earth. Her involvement in this mission further solidified her role within the organization and her interactions with Asgardian beings.

Angela has also crossed paths with the Young Avengers and future S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, who have challenged her own values and beliefs. These encounters have forced her to confront her own ideals and reconsider her place in the world, as she navigates the complexities of heroism and duty.

Each interaction with these Marvel characters has provided Angela with new insights and perspectives on topics of interest, broadening her horizons and shaping her identity as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and as an individual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay that's what I got! Like always, I might add more later on to her character but this is the product we have now. 🗂️ Tell me what do you think about her in the comments below!

Remember to, like, share and reblog for more! 🖇️ Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @rooster-84 @djs8891 @starkleila @cherrysft @mandylove1000 @yetanotherwells @topgun-imagines @hardballoonlove @buckysteveloki-me @sherloquestea @nakiaswg @carellmcu @ximehs @sofia-falcon and etc

[jackshade21]

Revisiting Transformers Beast Wars

I loved Beast Wars as a kid and after talking with a friend of mine I started a re-watch of the series since I hadn't seen it since I was like 7.

The CG and sets are terrible in that way that only early 90s CG can be, which is to say it was amazing for the time but is put to shame by today's standards but that adds to the charm.

Some of the dialogue is kinda hokey but it was a kid's show and some of it is still pretty great. It can get irritating with a third of Megatron's lines being "YEEESSSSS" at first but then it starts to grow on you and you'll find yourself doing it.

But the writing and character development is great. With a veteran Star Trek writer, veteran Transformers G1 and G2 comic writer, the co-creator of Wolverine and Swamp Thing, and the co-creator of Marvel's Blade and DC's Teen Titans on the writing team it's hardly a surprise. Unlike a lot of other things I loved as a child the writing really holds up and its still incredibly entertaining. I mean Beast Wars isn't called the series that saved the Transformers franchise for nothing.

I love that the Maximals are explorers, that Optimus Primal is first and foremost a researcher and not a military leader. They were each chosen for a set of skills for an exploration mission that happened to also be useful in the impromptu war they find themselves in.

I love that the Predacon crew are essentially space pirates and thieves that just happened to steal the magic golden disks from Cybertron that started the whole thing. They're bumbling and the reason for that is that they're shitty space pirates with delusions of grandeur.

Then there are my favorite characters. Rattrap and Dinobot.

Dinobot, former Predacon turned Maximal, is the veteran warrior with a penchant for spouting Shakespeare-esque monologues who took the form of a velociraptor. He challenges Megatron for leadership like 2 seconds after being introduced cause he thinks Megatron is an idiot. Gets his ass handed to him and then leaves to join the good guys...as leader, gets his ass handed to him again but joins them anyway. He is gruff. He is violent. He is sometimes at odds with the Maximal way of doing things. But he has his honor and you know where he stands.

And of course Rattrap, a sarcastic wise ass talented in espionage, demolitions and marksmanship with a penchant for getting into places he isn't supposed to and huge Little Shit Energy. He chooses a rat as his beast form because they're survivalists, small, sneaky and again can get into places they aren't supposed to be. He has problems with authority. He questions orders. He's irreverent and focuses on survival. He can be self-centered but when the chips are down you can count on him to have your back.

Honestly, rewatching it has led me to discover that I have a type when it comes to favorite characters cause if I were to compare him to any other fictional character it would be Rocket Raccoon. Right down to the New York/Jersey accent.

Side Note: Imagine my absolute delight discovering that Rattrap and Dinobot are shipped together often and in a Enemies to Lovers type way. Plus, guuurrrllll that size difference tho. (Gimme them fanfic suggestions >.>)

[marshiemellox]

HELLO THERE

i was wondering if you could do crosshair x me headcanons help im such a simp-

anyways here some stuff about me: im 5’4, asian, i can learn things quickly, prioritize either efficiency or having fun (depending on what it is), makes dirty jokes all the time, sees crosshair as my idol, gets jealous of other people (mostly their physiques and strength) a lot, goes to the gym, does a little bit of air rifle, likes to do bouldering, parents are divorced because dad cheated on mom so is very hesitant about starting relationships but literally just say it out if i like someone, quite sporty, likes to joke about parents divorcing because maybe its a way to cope? idk man is it? sarcastic and quite mean sometimes. i flinch when people shout at me and dont dare to say no or be mean to anyone because im a fucking pussy, and i probably have like 5 different personalities around different people cause im scared they wont like me and since im an only child with both working parents im sick of being alone all the time

anyways HAVE FUN

or else :)

sorry for the bad grammar its like 8pm i just finished climbing like 3 hours ago at an actual cliff-

Crosshair x @tbnrpotato Headcanons

A/N - These were so fun to write! I hope that you enjoy!

- Crosshair loves how intelligent and strong willed you are.

- He can always count on you for a witty remark or a savage comeback.

- Crosshair loves when you spout off the dirtiest jokes and finds that so attractive. That’s one of the things that drew him towards you. He loves that side of you.

- In a way, you look up to Crosshair, admiring his strong will and drive to succeed at any cost.

- He helps you overcome any obstacles and challenges that come your way.

- Crosshair loves to go shooting with you and he loves seeing your air rifle collection. He’s amazed at how skilled you are.

- You tend to keep him on his toes when it comes to marksmanship.

- Crosshair loves adventuring with you, and, actually enjoys going on hikes or spending time outdoors together.

- He is very over protective in the best way possible.

- Touch them and you 💀 vibes.

- Crosshair feeds off your sarcastic nature and can keep right on target when it comes to it.

- One of your favorite pastimes is shooting and going to the range to practice. It’s become a weekly date for you two.

- Crosshair is a cold person when around others, but around you he brightens up a bit.

- You’ve made him soften up a little bit and it’s made him in a way better mood. Especially after a long day of training.

- He can always count on you to calm him down or destress whenever he’s with you.

[anhedcnias]

*     ◟    :    〔   rory culkin  ,      nonbinary    +   he/they    〕       belial (b-lal5-4.7)  or billy ,      some say you’re a    thirty3 year old  lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both  attentive  and  reticent,  one can’t help but think of  is it really you   by   loathe  when you walk by.    are you still a    concert violinist at the opera house   /     blade runner at stoneage industries,     even with your reputation as the  reluctant warrior?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and   memories injected into artificial veins,  sharing secrets through  gritted teeth  in the name of duty,  an  arm  taken  -  an  arm  given:  an  exchange  for  new  baselines and strings,    although we can’t help but think of data  (star trek: the next generation)  edward scissorhands  ( tim burton’s edward scissorhands)  the giant  ( the iron giant )     whenever we see you down these rainy streets.     

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

ALL THREADS

ALL STARTERS

ALL MEME DAY PROMPTS

CHARACTER STUDY

AESTHETICS & VISAGE

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

general aesthetics. neo-noir sonatas & cinematic resilience meets urban serenity “A silent resolve speaks louder than the loudest gunfire.” scent of serene floral lavenders with a touch of metallic musk and electronic currents of clean fabricated air. reluctant warrior. harboring a strong reluctance or unwillingness to engage in violence driven by personal values, past traumas, and a general preference for peace parallells. data (star trek: the next generation) edward scissorhands ( tim burton’s edward scissorhands) the giant ( the iron giant ) here is his pinterest here is a playlist

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒

full name. belial {𝐁-𝐋𝐀𝐋𝟓-𝟒.𝟕} or billy

current age. thirty three

date of birth. june 29th

place of birth. new york

nationality. american

ethnicity. american

hair color. brown

eye color. blue eyes

height. 5′ 6″

occupation. concert violinist and blade runner

known languages. english

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 & 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒

hobbies. violin practice and mastery, blade crafting and maintenance, cybernetic enhancement research, exploring neo-noir literature, chess as a mental exercise, silent meditation and reflection, marksmanship, holofilm appreciation, urban exploration, occasional poetry composition, botanical indoor gardening, codebreaking challenges

habits. daily violin practice, regular fitness routine, mindful meditation, blade maintenance rituals, cybernetic arm calibration, tendency to bottled emotions, overly cautious, night owl habits, cybernetic dependency, reluctance to delegate, excessive perfectionism, occasional distrust, silent observance, careful blade inspection, eloquent silence, selective disclosure

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

THROUGH THE EYES OF AGENT 𝐁-𝐋𝐀𝐋𝟓-𝟒.𝟕, A BLADE RUNNER FOR STONEAGE INDUSTRIES

𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙴𝚁 𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽. 𝙻𝙴𝚃’𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝙶𝙸𝙽. 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚈? 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴.

— a blood black nothingness began to spin

a tall white fountain. a blood black nothingness. a system of cells. interlinked. within cells interlinked. within cells interlinked. within cells interlinked. within one stem. and dreadfully distinct. against the dark. a tall white fountain played.

𝙻𝙴𝚃'𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼. 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈. system. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼? system. 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼? system. 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼? system. 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼? system. 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙸𝙽 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼? system. 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼?

system.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "SYSTEM" ….your memory is hazy, like a scene from an old noir film playing in the recesses of your mind. the details are shrouded in a fog of uncertainty, each moment bleeding into the next. you find yourself in a dimly lit bar, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the pungent aroma of cheap whiskey. the ambiance is a strange amalgamation of comfort and disquiet, familiar yet unsettling… }

𝚆𝙴'𝚁𝙴 𝙶𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙾 𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙻𝚂. 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙿𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾𝙶𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴. cells. 𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼. cells. 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳? cells. 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙻? cells. 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝙸𝙽 𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽? cells. 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙻? cells. 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚁𝙴 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙳𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚂 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝙱𝙾𝚇?

cells.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "CELLS" …the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations form a backdrop of fragmented thoughts. it's a symphony of disjointed memories, each sound resonating with a sense of déjà vu that sends shivers down your spine. you scan the room, your eyes struggling to adjust to the low light, but nothing seems to anchor you. you’ve never seen this bartender before—their face is a blur of indistinct features, as if they were conjured from someone else’s recollections. their movements are fluid, almost mechanical, as they serve drinks with practiced efficiency. you attempt to catch their eye, but their gaze never meets yours, slipping past you like a ghost in the crowded room… }

𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺𝙴𝙳. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴? interlinked. 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙲𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁? interlinked. 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺𝙴𝙳? interlinked. 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺𝙴𝙳? interlinked. 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃 𝙰 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼? interlinked. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙰𝚁𝙼𝚂? interlinked. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙳𝙾𝙶? interlinked. 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴'𝚂 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶? interlinked. 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂? interlinked. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽? interlinked. 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙻𝙴𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺? 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝚄𝚈 𝙰 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴?

within cells interlinked.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "INTERLINKED" …there’s a spot on the wall where you expect to find a familiar mark or a poster that could ground you, but there’s nothing. the wall is bare, unremarkable in every way, yet it holds a significance you can’t quite grasp. it's as though the bar is a stage, and the set is incomplete, missing the details that would make it real. you don’t recognize this side of town. the streets outside the bar are cloaked in shadows, the neon signs flickering with an eerie glow. it's a place that exists on the periphery of your consciousness, a liminal space between reality and fiction… }

𝚆𝙷𝚈 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙰𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚂.

within cells interlinked. within cells interlinked. within cells interlinked.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "WITHIN CELLS INTERLINKED" …an explosion. the initial blast is a blinding flash of light, and the concussive force rattles your very core. the sounds of free fall silence the mind, an all-encompassing roar that drowns out any coherent thought. deafening. the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes your head throb with pressure. you glance towards the front of the helicopter, but the cockpit is a twisted wreck, the controls sparking uselessly. the seat where the captain once sat is empty, a gaping void that amplifies your sense of isolation…}

𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙾 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙾 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽? 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼? 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙾 𝚃𝙾 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙾 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽? 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚃? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃?

within.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "WITHIN." …there are no safety vests. panic seizes your chest as you realize there's no emergency protocol to follow, no life-saving equipment to cling to. the smell of smoke fills your nostrils, acrid and suffocating. it burns your throat and lungs, each breath a struggle against the toxic fumes. the smoke swirls around you, a dark cloud that obscures your vision and adds to the disorientation. velocity pulls you from the sky. the helicopter spins uncontrollably, a whirlwind of metal and fire hurtling toward the ground. the sensation of free fall is stomach-churning, a relentless pull that makes it impossible to find your bearings. you’re without a parachute. the realization hits you like a second impact. there's nothing to slow your descent, nothing to cushion the impending collision with the earth. desperation claws at your mind, but there's no escape, no way out of this plummeting deathtrap. you can’t feel your right arm.. }

𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼. 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙿𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙰𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙶𝚄𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼𝚂? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙻𝚂𝙴? 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙲𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁? 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽'𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝙰 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴? 𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙰 𝚂𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴'𝚂 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝚂? 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳? 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙻 𝙱𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴?

stem. within one stem.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "STEM.", "WITHIN ONE STEM." …your muscles recall a hobby. a sacred escape from the world, a passion that once breathed life into your very existence. your sinews, attuned to the subtle nuances of your craft, transport sensitivities to the manuscript paper with an almost instinctual precision. seated at your worn wooden desk, the dim light of a single lamp casts a warm glow over the blank sheets before you. the silence of the room is punctuated only by the soft rustle of the paper and the steady rhythm of your breath. each stroke of the pen is deliberate, every note carefully considered and placed. as the ink flows, a melody begins to take shape, weaving itself into existence with a life of its own. your mind, usually burdened with the weight of uncertainty and existential questions, is now singularly focused on the music. it's as if the act of creation itself is a form of therapy, a way to process and channel the emotions that lie dormant within you. the melody evolves, intertwining with harmonies and rhythms that reflect the complexity of your inner world. there's a vulnerability in this act, an unspoken truth laid bare on the page. it's a dialogue between you and the music, a conversation that requires no words yet speaks volumes… }

𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻𝚈. 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝙽 𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳? 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙷 𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚄𝚁𝚈? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂?

dreadfully.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "DREADFULLY." …each lamenting note echoes through the dimly lit concert hall with a haunting beauty that captures the attention of every soul present. the soft glow of the stage lights casts long shadows, creating an intimate atmosphere where every sound feels magnified. you stand on the stage, fingers dancing across the strings with practiced precision. each movement is a testament to countless hours of dedication and passion. the bow you wield is your weapon of choice, an extension of your very being, drawing out emotions that words alone could never convey. violin strings wail against rich red velvet curtains. you pour your soul into the performance, expressing the deepest parts of yourself through the medium of sound—longing and sorrow flourish, signaling the end of the orchestration. as the final note fades away, there is a moment of silence before the audience erupts. applause. the sound is thunderous, a wave of appreciation and admiration crashing over you. you feel unworthy. you feel seen and heard. you feel connected. ugly… }

𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙲𝚃. 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙴𝙻𝚂𝙴? 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝙳𝙼𝙸𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙼𝙴𝙵𝚄𝙻 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃?

distinct. dreadfully distinct.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "DREADFULLY." , "DISTINCT." …the air is thick with the scent of oil and machinery, mingling with the faint antiseptic tang that permeates the hospital. the sound of spinning gears and whirring engines fills the air. you’re lying on a cart, being swiftly wheeled down a stark, sterile hallway. the thin, paper-like blankets barely cover the equally thin mattress beneath you, offering little comfort against the cold, hard reality of the metal gurney. your body, aching and battered, sinks into the metal cell of the cart, each bump and jolt sending ripples of pain through your consciousness. the sensation is disorienting, as if the very essence of your being is being rattled loose. the wheels of the cart glide over the smooth, marble-white floors, the sound a soft, rhythmic accompaniment to the chaos within your mind. the lights overhead are blinding, their harsh fluorescence cutting through the haze of your vision, turning the world into a series of disjointed, fragmented images. you try to focus, to make sense of your surroundings, but everything feels distant and surreal, as if you’re trapped in a nightmarish dream from which you cannot wake. the blinding lights pull at your attention, and you find yourself compelled to follow them. there’s a strange comfort in their brightness, a promise of clarity amidst the fog of your pain and confusion… }

𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺. 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙸𝙳𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙰 𝙱𝙴𝙳? 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝙳𝚁𝙰𝚆𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄? 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂? 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙿𝚁��𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙼 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚄𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂? 𝙼𝙰𝚈𝙱𝙴 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝙰 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙾𝚁 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶?𝚆𝙷𝙾'𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃? 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼?

dark.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "DARK" …your life was spared not by fate, but by the calculated decision of those who deemed you too valuable to lose. as a renowned violinist, your agents and the executives of your music company orchestrated your survival following the crash. driven by their need to preserve their investment, they replaced your shattered arm with a bionic one, a marvel of technology that far surpassed mere human capabilities. in doing so, they transformed you from a musician into something more—a blade runner, a hunter of rogue replicants. your second chance at life came with strings attached; you were now their creation, bound by duty to train, hunt, and eliminate defective replicants. this new purpose, thrust upon you in exchange for your survival, melded your former identity with a relentless new mission, intertwining your music with the echoes of synthetic lives… }

𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺. 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝙿𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙰 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚂 𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙻? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺? 𝚆𝙷𝚈 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙵𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃? 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙰𝚆 𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝚂𝙺𝚈? 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝙾𝙽?

against the dark.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "DREADFULLY." , "AGAINST THE DARK." …you’re surrounded by rows of cold, metallic cells. each cell contains a synthetic figure, their faces obscured by shadows, their bodies motionless and silent. each one serves as a reminder of the fragility and defiance of synthetic life. you can't shake the feeling of being watched. the eyes of the figures in the cells seem to follow your every move, their silent gaze filled with an unspoken longing. one figure stands out from the rest—a young woman with eyes that seem to pierce through the darkness. there is a profound sadness in her gaze, a silent plea for help that tugs at your heartstrings. the boundaries between hunter and hunted blur, leaving only the stark reality of existence in a world where every glance carries the weight of unspoken stories and unrealized dreams…}

𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽. 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙴𝚅𝙸 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙸𝙽 𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙴? 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙸𝙽 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙽 𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁? 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙳?𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃'𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰𝙽 𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙰𝚂𝙼? 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳?

fountain.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "FOUNTAIN." …you stand in the rain-soaked streets of new york city. the neon lights cast an otherworldly glow on the pavement, reflecting the city's relentless energy. emptiness gnaws at your insides. nearby, a group of people laugh and chat, their voices blending into a cacophony of sound. you’re on the outside looking in. as the rain continues to fall, your shadow blurs into the pavement… }

𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽. 𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙿𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙴? 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙿𝙷𝙾𝚁? 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻? 𝙰 𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝙳. 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝙰 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴, 𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷, 𝙰𝙸𝚁 𝙾𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁? 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙿𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁?

a tall white fountain.

encrypt { "top secret", "𝙱-𝙻𝙰𝙻 𝟻-𝟺.𝟽", "A TALL WHITE FOUNTAIN." ...as the rain continues to fall, your shadow blurs into the pavement. }

𝚆𝙴'𝚁𝙴 𝙳𝙾𝙽𝙴. 𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙻, 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙿𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝚄𝙿 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝚄𝚂.

𝐕𝐈. 𝐓𝐋𝐃𝐑;

An explosion shatters his reality as a helicopter crash plunges him into chaos and darkness, his right arm gone. Yet, memories of his passion for music bring him solace, the melodies he creates offering a refuge from the turmoil. Saved from death, his life is now bound to a new purpose as a blade runner, hunting rogue replicants. Surrounded by synthetic figures in cold cells, he feels a haunting connection to their silent longing to be free. In the rain-soaked streets of New York City, he stands, an outsider amidst the vibrant chaos, grappling with his existence as stoneage's passive yet reluctant warrior.

[lolfurbyscribbletheartblog]

Hey so remember that au I was planning on making with an oc I made a while ago, well here it is. I’m calling it The Lost Not Found AU, I’m probably not going to do too much with it other than some doodles here and there with a few bits of lore sprinkled around. Other than that just a fun little prequel au that I had fun with coming up idea’s, head canons, etc for all of the pre hotel versions of the characters. ^ ^

~~~

Jack Bufton

A shrewd lawyer who thinks way too highly of himself. Egotistical and a bit of a perfectionist, Jack seems to take pleasure in quite literally judging others while somehow able to be correct and suspiciously have evidence to prove otherwise. Jack enjoys many luxuries of goods, cleanliness and many more due to the success of his career, so it’s quite the surprise to find him at Gregory’s Hotel. During his stay he seems to start having the habit of talking to himself while isolating himself from the rest of the other guests. It seems while Jack loves to judge and criticizes others, his own bad habits seem to leak out. Quite hypocritical of him.

Catherine Caudata

A hopeless romantic with an interest in needles, Catherine takes her job seriously and passionately, sometimes getting a bit too excited. While concerned and a bit horrified at the horrors in the hotel and her arrival at the hotel is just as a mystery like everyone else’s, However at her stay she does try her best to help the other guest but when an unfortunate accident happens she tends to get a bit too excited when blood appears. During her stay overtime, Catherine’s skin starts getting itchy, flaky and even turning pink. Her hair falling out and teeth getting sharper, as terrifying as it is, it’s hard for her to try and stop her transformation when blood looks so appealing.

Hugh Cook

A professional chef, passionate in his work and struggles a bit with anger management. Hugh’s patients are very tested at the hotel from any minor inconvenience to the other guest pestering him. The reason for the mask Hugh wears is mainly because Hugh doesn’t emote as much which causes others around him to assume he’s constantly angry. While that is somewhat true, Hugh is usually calm when things are in order. Fortunately at least for Hugh there is an empty kitchen at the hotel to keep him busy, as long as you don’t smoke and stay out of his kitchen you should at least be on his good side. During his stay his anger boils over more and more and is starting to threaten the other guest, something about killing and cooking them for his next dish.

Carlo Gunman

A poor marksman and runway leader in a revolution, Carlo seems to make his way to the hotel after running away. Despite the situation he’s in, Carlo tries his best to be optimistic and distract himself and the other guests in challenges or even showing off his marksmanship, even if he’s not so great at it. Out of all the other guests Carlo is the more friendly one even trying his best to keep the group sane and defuse arguments to some extent. During his stay, his skin is starting to turn green, spines start sticking out of his skin and they hurt to get out. Things are starting to look a bit woozy from his perspective.

The Lost Guest

Nothing is really known about them, their past, their face, how they ended up at the hotel, nothing. However while trying to find clues about their own past TLG tries to help the other guest with their own, maybe even trying to give some advice and help so they can all try to get out of the hotel alive. But I think we all know how that is going to end.

[heywoodvirgin]

Sofia Aziz was born in the grimy, neon-soaked heart of Night City in 2045. Coming up on the fringes of the city, (Santo Domingo District) she got a front-row seat to the tough  reality of life in a world run by mega-corps, mob bosses, and a constant hustle for survival. Raised by a single mom who was turning wrenches as a mechanic, Sofia had to get savvy and self-reliant from the jump.

Her childhood was straight-up hood drama, where making it meant adapting to the cutthroat ways of the streets. Growing up amid turf wars and corporate power plays, she got the lowdown on navigating the twisted web of a city hanging by a thread. Sofia's life took a wild turn when she clocked her killer sharpshooting skills in a crazy showdown with scavs. Trying to shield her mom and their little crib from imminent trouble, Sofia snagged a discarded rifle and, with insane precision for her age and greenness, wiped the goons out from a distance.

As a teen, Sofia found her calling in marksmanship and cybernetic enhancements . Her knack for handling sniper rifles caught eyes in the down-low scenes of Night City. Living on the edge of society, she dove into gigs for all sorts of shady folks, slowly but surely carving out a name for herself as a top-notch, low-key operator.

Throughout her early career, Sofia hooked up with all kinds of crews, running with edgerunners, linking up with netrunners, even teaming up with corporate players itching to stick it to their competition. But in a city where loyalty's scarcer than a hen's teeth, Sofia figured out quick that the only one she could really count on was herself. Backstabs and double-crosses were practically the norm in her life, making her pivot and grow just to stay on top of the ever-changing game in Night City.

Sofia's life took a wild turn when her skills got on the radar of Rosalind Myers, the cunning influential President of the New United States of America. Right in the middle of one of her solo missions, she got hit up with an unexpected deal. A message blinked on her encrypted channel, straight from none other than Prez Myers herself. Sofia was curious, so she tuned in as the President's hologram unfolded, dropping a proposition that was gonna flip her life upside down.

Myers, known for her knack for putting together a crew of unconventional specialists, personally hit up Sofia. With rival factions and corporate sharks circling, Myers saw Sofia as a key player for NUSA's security. Now, Sofia had a choice: stick to her shadow game or jump on a new road, using her skills for something bigger than just herself. Intrigued by the challenge and feeling the pull of a new purpose, she said yes to Myers and became a key player in NUSA's hush-hush ops.

With Myers at the helm, Sofia went through  serious cybernetic upgrades and rigorous training in espionage tactics. She morphed into a top-tier sniper loaded with the latest tech. Her gigs? Everything from slamming terrorists to taking out big-shot targets messing with the nation's safety.

Behind the cold front of the sniper, Sofia's still holding onto a strong sense of what's right. Without Myers catching on, Sofia starts wrestling with the shady morality of her gigs, caught between staying true to her benefactor and wanting a world that's more fair. Before she knows it, she's deep in the twisted game of corporate tricks and political moves that make the world tick. The more her missions get morally messy, the more she's side-eyeing the real motives of those she serves.

Sofia used to roll solo, working the streets of Night City with just her sniper and instinct. But when the FIA dangled an offer too good to pass up, it meant ditching the lone wolf for a world of teamwork, alliances, and playing nice – not exactly her usual scene.

In walks Solomon Reed, seasoned FIA big shot, a master agent known for his tactical moves and kicking ass in combat. She could see it coming from a mile away: her, all about doing her own thing, and Solomon, Mr. Teamwork. They were like mixing oil and water, their vibes and ways of doing things just didn't seem to fit together.

Their debut mission was a baptism fire. They had to bust up a cybernetic smuggling ring that was playing with fire and messing with national security. Sofia, used to doing her own thing in the shadows, clashed hard with Solomon's disciplined, by-the-book style. She was all about the cloak-and-dagger, posted up on some skyscraper with her rifle aimed and ready. Meanwhile, Solomon was into getting his boots dirty on the pavement, digging through data, and orchestrating spot-on, coordinated hits.

Truth is, Reed wasn't exactly throwing a party for the new kid on the block. Sofia, the sneaky sniper, got the nod from President Rosalind Myers herself, and that ruffled Solomon's feathers big time. The FIA was his turf, and the thought of someone parachuting into his crew without his say-so? Yeah, that went down like a bitter pill. When Sofia strolled into FIA HQ, you could practically taste the awkward vibes. The Prez made it crystal clear – Sofia was ride-or-die with Solomon on the next mission. It was an order he couldn't wiggle out of, but it didn't mean he had to be cool with it.

Right out the gate, tension between them rised. Solomon, all about rules and careful planning, put real stock in the slow, methodical way of building a squad. The kicker? Sofia getting picked by the President herself, skipping Solomon's usual team-picking routine. That move only cranked up his suspicion meter.

Their first missions together were a test of patience and adaptability. Solomon observed Sofia from the shadows, his eyes narrowing as she effortlessly picked off targets with her sniper rifle. The precision was undeniable, but trust wasn't built on skill alone, and Solomon couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Convos between them were short and to the point, loaded with guarded exchanges and unspoken animosity. Sofia, used to doing her own thing, wasn't throwing shade to win Solomon over, and he, in return, was side-eyeing every move she pulled. Well, that’s what happened at first. But as missions unfolded, they kinda had to give props where it was due. Sofia's sharpshooting game was like a solid backup for Solomon's upfront moves, and Solomon's big-brain thinking was steering Sofia through the tricky parts of the ops. It took a minute, but they couldn't deny – they were starting to clock the real worth in each other's skills. 

This and there was that undeniable tension crackling between them.

Despite not exactly clicking or laying down trust at work, Sol couldn't help but feel the draw of Sofia's killer combo of independence and being a sharpshooting ace. It was like an allure that caught his eye amid all the uncertainty. On the flip side, Sofia couldn't shake the fascination with Reed’s big-brain moves and veteran skills, creating this enticing attraction bubbling just below the surface. They might not be on the same wavelength at work, but there was definitely something cooking between them when the mission lights were off.

Their weird alliance kept trucking, and sure, they were getting smoother in the field, but the trust issues? Still hanging around like a bad smell. President Myers' shadow was looming large, making every move and call a questionable one. As Sofia and Solomon waded through the sketchy world of high-level spying, they couldn't shake the vibe that the real game was going down way above their pay grade.