Ask starter for @scarlxtleaves
It wasn't often that she found herself alone in the university's greenhouse. Whenever she came by, there were always at least one other horticultural student going about their business. Though today was a clear exception, to say that the change was unwelcomed would be but a lie. The chance to speak with other like-minded students would be missed, but the silence that came with their absence was far too sweet to ignore.
On the opposite side of that coin, having less people around meant that there were less helpful hands to go around, meaning that if she needed any heavy lifting, she'd have to do it herself. She didn't need a lot from the 'neighboring' shed: a box of pots, a few mall bags of mulch and fertilizer, a new pair of gloves, etc.. It was a lot more than she had originally anticipated but, nonetheless, one roundtrip should have been enough.
"Excuse me..!" "My apologies.." "Coming through..!"
She tried her best to bob and weave her way through the halls and open walkways that trailed back to the greenhouse, but, with each step, the weight of her haul swayed -- slowing her pace by the minute. Asking for help no longer felt like an option, not when it felt like she was just feet away. So she pushed through, forcing the last drops of her strength into one burst and rounding a sharp corner. Unfortunately, though, that's when she crashed right into a certain young man.
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Hi!!
I am totally obsessed with your fics!!! Your writing 🤌💕
I just wanted to request a fic where the reader is new to the task force but she's experienced and tough. Vibez similar to Ghost to elaborate she's more scary than Ghost cuz of her past maybe she was experimented on or trained brutally....
Reader is working hard to prove herself even if everyone knows she's the most lethal person. So one time she gets injured badly while protecting someone from the 141( probably Ghost 👉👈) and she wakes up has an emotional moment Ghost comes know about her Trauma . More like hurt/comfort....
Happy Writing 💝
Guilt-Tripped
CW: Mentions/references of kidnapping, torture, canon typical violenece
Part 2, Part 3
Hiii Anon!! First off, thank you! Secondly, I am so, so, so sorry for how long this took😭 I did make this a two parter, the first part is kinda like backstoryish and the second part will be the actual story. I was gonna wait until I finished both to post but you have been waiting for way to long so I'll give you the first part now instead of waiting, again I am so sorry! I hope you like it :))
Summary: F!Reader was a part of a special program(LMK if you can guess what it is) and once she was released she joined the military.
WC: 1467
As always, I didn't proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes :3
Life had not been kind to you. Ripped from your family at a very young age, you had never known the type of love and safety a nurturing home could provide. Instead, you grew up in the confines of a Russian base, with cruel instructors and a dwindling group of girls as your only companions.
From the moment you could walk, you had been told you were a weapon. A lethal force to be honed and trained, nothing more than a tool for others to use to further their games. Brainwashed, tortured, and trained into submission, a perfect puppet. Both your brain and body were sculpted into absolute perfection, a rigorous process most people did not survive. By day, they trained to be a lethal force, an unstoppable, unnoticeable, killing machine. At night, you were handcuffed to your bed, listening to the screams of students who did not make the cut.(to this day you sleep handcuffed)
You watched, at first in horror, then with a sense of detachment, as your friendsrivals bit the dust, unable to keep up with what the program demanded of them. It got better as you got older, less girls died from their tasks. But in some ways it got worse. It was a competition now, a fight to see who would remain victorious, to see who would come out on top. It was not a place for friendship and comradery, and you learned that quickly.
You stopped trying to make friends with the other students when you were forced to shoot your best friend in the head after giving her some of your dinner when she was being punished. You were 8. And you stopped trying to even just be friendly with the other girls at 10 years old, when the instructor broke every bone in your hands after your bunkmate framed you for something you didn't do. To this day your hands are not the same, always hurting and forever scarred.
Your world was kill or be killed, and you'd be dammed if you didn't come out on top.
And come out on top you did. You graduated top of your class, a position you had fought and killed for, won through bloodshed and pain. If you had a conscience, it would have been screaming at you for the things you had done to get to the top(You laid awake every night consumed by guilt and grief)
The program was disbanded(re: destroyed) when you hit 18, just two weeks after your 'graduation'. You were given two options: Join the American military, or face a life sentence in prison.
You had a lifetime of sins to atone for, and knew there was only one way to even begin to ease your guilt. Two days later your background was sealed up and you were shipped off to boot camp.
And you excelled. This was nothing to you. What was a six mile run when you used to run until you passed out, then wake up and keep going? What was surviving on four hours of sleep when sleep deprivation had been the norm your whole life? What was any of this compared to what you had been forced to do everyday since you were five?
You scared your instructors. And the other recruits. And everyone else you came into contact with. And you were fine with that. You didn't like when people got close to you anyhow.
Love got you nowhere in the world. It was a lesson you learned hard and fast. You did not care for others, they did not care for you. And you liked it that way. Until you met the 141.
A woman named General Laswell came to you one day with a job offer. Well, not a job offer exactly, but more of a…transfer of positions. A small, (mostly)four-man team that she oversaw.
You had gotten disciplined for beating the ever-loving shit out of a recruit the week before, and Laswell had watched it all unfold. She went back to her office, read your full file, and decided you would make a good fit for John's team.
You took a look at your bunk, at the trunk that held zero worldly possessions, realized there is nothing for you here, and said yes.
Price had not wanted a new recruit, and told Laswell as much. She simply said he had a penchant for picking up strays and left your file on his desk. It took him a week to actually get curious enough to read it. A paper copy, the only one in existence that had your full, undisclosed background. He pretended he didn’t see her smug grin when he hit accept on your transfer application.
You had been trained since youth to fight and to kill, yes, but your true purpose was espionage. You were trained to study those around you, to lie, to mold yourself to the expectations of those around you. You excelled at fitting into your surroundings, at assimilating perfectly with your peers. It was all you were good for, in your opinion. So you asked Laswell for files on your new teammates. And she gave them to you. They were full of gaping holes and redacted information, but there was enough there for you to profile them.
Soap would be the most receptive to you. He most likely would also be the one to not give up in trying to get you to be open with them. Gaz would be receptive as well, but you know that your sealed background would put him on edge, Ghost, well…Ghost was a lot like you from what you could piece together. Yet another person who learned that the world was cruel and unforgiving, who had learned the lesson that love does nothing but hurt. And because he was like you, you knew he would trust you the least.
You felt a small pang in your chest when looking at this masked photo that you hadn’t felt in years. Not quite sadness, but…pity? No. It was different, it was sympathy. It weirded you out.
It was hard at first, joining the 141. You had court-mandated therapy you had had to attend, and you had slowly come to realize that some trust was good, necessary even, for life. You knew you wouldn’t be able to open yourself up to them, that you would never be able to feel the sense of brotherhood you had seen amongst other soldiers, but you wanted to try.
It was harder than you thought it would be. Hard joining men who already had comradery, who had a bond that had been forged with blood, sweat, and tears. men who weren't sure how to fit another person, much less a female, into their group.
As you suspected, Soap was the most receptive. He was fun, you thought. His Scottish accent and affinity for filling the silence made him a very pleasant conversationalist. You didn’t have to do any of the talking.
Gaz was wary of you, but did a good job of not showing it. As you suspected, he stopped inviting you out after you said ‘no thanks’ for the third time.
Ghost didn’t like you. You could see it in the slight tensing of his muscles when you walked in the room, the way his eyes pinched when you spoke.
It was a rough, rocky start, full of distrust and misunderstandings. Everything about you set his senses on high alert. They way you could sneak up on him completely silent, the way you could hold your own when you sparred with him, even the way you moved had his hair standing on end. It wasn’t until a mission that would have ended with Soap's death if you hadn’t risked your life to shove him out of the way that Ghost began to trust you.
And then he began to notice something else about you. And the more he noticed, the more concerned he grew. He noticed the way you threw yourself into battle, what little regard you held for your own life. He noticed how you never instigated conversation, never gave away the slightest bit of information that could be used against you. Noticed that you always wore gloves. In fact, he's never once seen your hands.
His constant observations of you had an unintended side effect. The longer he watched you, the more he realized you were a lot like him, the more he was drawn to you. And vice-versa.
You found yourself willfully seeking Ghost out, willingly sharing information with him. Nothing about your past, no, you would never tell anyone the things you had done. But little things, how you liked the food served this week, how your mission went, that your new pants were really itchy. And he told you things too. Told you really bad jokes, told you Soaps stupid Scottish saying of the week. And slowly you branched out, agreeing to go to the bar the next time Soap asked you, telling Gaz that you liked his new sunglasses.
It was nice, having people who looked at you like you meant something to them. Having people who didn’t know what you’d done, people who didn’t look at you with disgust and distrust. It was nice to have…friends.
So of course everything had to go downhill from there.
End scene :3
let me know what you think!!6
and be on the look out for pt.2, I hope you're ready for a buttload of angst >:)
Also requests are open <3
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decade accurate marauders era wardrobes - remus lupin
hair: black, coily, and styled into a short afro/brown, mid-length and curly.
i personally hc remus as black so i typically imagine him wearing his hair in an afro as it was popular amongst black people at the time.
i see canon remus as having a hairstyle more like the one on the right.
clothes: consist of earthy tones such as brown, green, yellow and red. stripes and plaids. knitwear, corduroy, and cotton blends. shirts, vests, sweaters and flannels.
while 70s fashion is typically associated with bright colors and flashy designs, casual clothing made with earthy tones and natural materials such as wool, wood, and cotton were also very popular.
the notorious avocado greens, harvest golds, coppertone oranges, and burnt siennas that are synonymous with the 70s functioned as a sort of knee jerk reaction to the psychedelic color palette of the 60s and its equally as wild politics that eventually carried on into the 70s. people developed a sort of anxiety towards the experimental and spontaneous nature of the times and instead yearned for more simplicity, stability, and comfort in their lives which they found in crafts like knitting and crocheting.
perhaps someone better spoken than me can articulate my point better but i feel like this somewhat parallels remus and his place in the wizarding world. wizards, specifically anti-muggle wizards, are canonically described via pottermore to adopt a "deliberately flamboyant, out-of-date or dandyish style" as a way to demonstrate their superiority over muggles. like muggle society, their sense of fashion also mirrored their equally as ignorant, outdated, and dramatic politics. remus, on the other hand, is commonly depicted in fanon as wearing "simple but smart" looking clothing such as knitted sweaters and vests with calm, naturally occurring colors. the simplicity in his style could also be interpreted a knee-jerk reaction to flamboyancy of wizarding fashion and culture as a whole. his lycanthropy gives him many self esteem issues and a strong desire to be liked which influences the way he carries himself amongst wizarding society. he is articulate and philosophical in his speech and is repeatedly shown to try to repress angry outbursts in possible fear of being depicted as dangerous or violent.
despite this, he has his moments when his true, sarcastic nature shines through. i think he'd enjoy jokey graphic tees that encapsulate this aspect of him.
shoes: doc martens and loafers
accessories: messenger bag, pins, walking cane.
cane user remus ftw‼️
he uses the messenger bag as his schoolbag and puts the pins on them for decoration. ik he wouldn't have *realistically* used 2/3 of these pins but i thought they were funny and fitting so why not.
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