OC’s Creator: @luciavis, I’m a very neurodivergent duck, so please forgive me if I miss context clues.
This blog for the most part would be PG-13/YA (AGES 13~18-ish). Cuts, CWs and Tumblr’s Content Label System will be used aggressively if mature, 18+ or NSFW topics are tackled. You can follow this blog if you’re a minor, but keep in mind that I (the mod) am not a minor. Don’t DM trying to be my friend, you can send asks as this blog is open to all ages.
Adult behave 🫵, Minors behave 🫵.
This blog will be a formalised blog spot for Issac, art, short stories, and answers to ask will be here. Anything that my brain decides to hyperfixates on.
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Rules:
No nsfw asks, I am an adult but I would rather not, this is also an PG-13 to YA blog. You can be a bit cheeky about it, but it has to be implied.
If you do slightly nsfw asks/reblogs you have to be: A) 18+ because this is a mixed age blog. B) Use the mature content label, I’m not good with nsfw stuff…and I would rather not flash bang minors with nsfw content.
You can ship him legally with whatever character, given legal age & no legal/family relation.
Gore is fine in art, you can direct violence at the character just nothing too graphic. Don’t just randomly stab the character be more creative.
See post for rp guide.
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Legend:
Please do check the tags to see if the post is in character.
Meta-character/Non-character comments in posts from me are in [[]]. Issac isn’t aware or won’t necessarily say these things.
Text like this in green. Are in-universe text from interfaces or asks.
Red bolted text is either meant for when his blood bending abilities activate.
Italics on their own are supposed to be read as thoughts/Issac’s internal monologue.
Isaque Cross was born on July 19, 1988, in Willenhall, Coventry, England, to María Cross, a documented immigrant from the region of Sonora, Mexico. Early biographical information regarding Cross's childhood is incomplete. Further investigation into Cross's early adolescence is required.
Available legal documentation indicates that María Cross entered into a legal union with A.R.G.U.S. Inc., Creator ████████, on February 14, 1993.
Employment Record:
Isaque Cross's earliest known employment record in the anomalous world was in 2013 as a hired A.R.G.U.S. Inc1 paramilitary asset for the Global Occult Coalition. Operational documents within Cross's service to the G.O.C. designate him with the callsign "Weasel".
> Additional Files Available:
> [1] Incident Involvement Log
> [2] Medical Records
> Select a file to continue or enter [EXIT] to terminate the session.
> [2]
> Accessing Directory...
> Access Isaque Cross's Medical Records.
> Fetching Isaque Cross's Medical Records...
FILE NUMBER: [ #1897698267]
CLEARANCE LEVEL: [ Level 2 ]
LAST UPDATED: [ 01/03/2023 ]
STATUS: [ ACTIVE]
PERSONNEL INFORMATION
Blood Type: O-
Anomalous Genetic Markers: [ No ]
Thaumaturgical Affinity: [ Yes ]
PHYSICAL HEALTH STATUS
Height: [ 163 cm / 5'3 ft]
Weight: [ 65 kg / 150 lbs ]
Identifying Marks:
• Healed penetrating wound with residual structural deformities and discolouration affecting the right deltoid and pectoralis major muscles.
• Black Glyph tattoo on the left posterior forearm.
Allergies: [ None ]
Pre-existing Conditions:
Innate Thaumaturgical Sensitivity:
• Subject exhibits a fundamental ability to perceive and manipulate Elan-Vital Energy (EVE) and blood primarily haemoglobin based blood. The subject self-reports no formal training in thaumaturgy.
• Migraines, exacerbated by usage of thaumaturgical abilities. As well as the conventional triggers, such as stress, anxiety, altered sleep patterns and dietary factors.
MTF agents often get called nicknames based on the codename of their unit like "Ponyboy/Ponygirl" for Pony Express, "Bunny" or "Bun" for White Rabbits, "Stag" for Green Stags, "Hatter" for Maz Hatters, "Mole rat" or just "Rat" for Mole Rats, "Village Idiot" or just "idiot" for Village Idiots and so on and so forth.
Whether or not these names are used as a form of endearment or just an insult depends on the situation and the way that it's used:)
Fun fact: Real life military callsigns are often insults or based off something stupid. So, yes…the Foundation would also absolutely have callsigns as insults.
Also a fun fact: Isaac’s callsign from the coalition was Weasel, because he was bit of a nuisance to his seniors when he was younger (mid-twenties). That and he fell into a Weasel enclosure on his first day in the coalition.
🦀 Sebby takes after his father. Equally as difficult to catch as younger Isaac.
Author’s Notes: Honestly I should consider making an AO3 account…the website scares me along with the rest of the SCP wiki. The tags…man…the tags.
My notes just says: “Get coma’d. Pt2.” Guess Isaac’s not going to enjoy his existence. On another note…well knowing myself I’ll probably forget what I named his teammate like 20 posts down the line.
This is like very early days Isaac, probably the first couple of months he’s been at the Foundation. Keep in mind he’s only been at the foundation for what over a year now.
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“Williams get your ass here, there’s a survivor-” a voice garbled through the wreckage, “-████ he’s fad-” the edges of the voice dissolved into sound of heavy footsteps against wet rubble.
Another voice flickered through the sub-bass drone of something mechanical, “Wait…his pulse-“ the voice tapered off.
[Weeks later.]
One.
Two..
Three…
There’s three in this room…no one?
Right shoulder…empty? No loose.
The patient stirred briefly, before his eyes cracked open.
WHITE
SEARING WHITE- flooded his eyes.
“Christ, turn the ████ lights off.” The patient croaked, as he lurched violently forwards, a feverish pain seared its way through his right shoulder.
The room spun with a mixture of antiseptic, copper and stale sweat as the patient slammed back into the bed with a breathless grunt.
“Easy…”
“Patel?” he tried to shift forwards, the movement immediately got caught on the white-hot pain that throbbed down his arm.
The Patient’s breath hitched.
“…My team?” his grip tightened on the bed rail. “I have to-“
The nurse glanced over the doorway, before placing the steel tray down on the table with a soft clink, “…It’s okay.” She stepped closer, “I’m here, you’re safe.” The nurse reached a hand towards his uninjured shoulder, “Look-”
The patient jerked violently away from the nurse’s hand. “No. I don’t und-” his breath caught on something that stung beneath his bandages. “Please, where’s-” his eyes darted to the ECG than settled on the nurse’s face, “Where am I?” his voice cracked, coming out smaller than he intended.
“Foundation Site-127 Intensive Care Unit.” The nurse answered.
“Foundation…” the Patient just sat beside the steady syncopated pinging of the ECG.
“Sir…can you tell me your name?”
“Cross…G.O.C Designation: 7183519/31-” the words left the patient’s mouth almost automatically.
The nurse picked up the chart clipped to the hospital bed, “Well…that’s quite a mouthful.” she softly sighed as she unclipped a pen from the chart, “Let’s start over. I’m Helena and you are?”
Content Warnings: Strong language, references to firearms, implied threats of violence (banter? Technically speaking).
Not actively answering the asks, but I am writing/working on content for this blog. Will eventually get back to my asks. Um to like the three people who will like this, because I don’t know OC lore stuff tends not to do well unless it’s related to a canon character which the following story kinda is.
This is kinda how Isaac made his way to the Foundation lore-wise, yadda yada. Mod has to dig deep to write some angst. Because she likes to make Isaac suffer violently and then get violently adopted by Clef & Rights later down the timeline. Clefspawn? Rightspawn? I don’t know what you call it when Clef/Rights picks up lost strays (researchers) like a kid at a candy store.
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A manilla folder slid across the table.
“What the f-” Clef mumbled through a mouthful of food, “…Ernest, I’m on break.” Clef’s SRA collar punctuated against the stillness of his office as he levelled Shaw with a long, unblinking disapproving stare.
“I know.” Shaw grinned, he paused briefly before glancing away.
“No.”
“Oh Clefie…“ Shaw clasped their hands together, “My favourite Green-“
“…I swear to God if you’re dumping another new recruit to my-“
Shaw held out a finger, “A-Ah delegating is the technical term.”
“And so is ripping that rock from your forehead” Clef batted Shaw’s hand away before taking another bite from his burrito.
“But that is a crime!”
“Interrupting my break is also a crime.” Clef mumbled through another mouthful, as his other hand lazily drifted towards the rifle leaned against the wall.
Shaw’s eyes flicked over to it. “Head please.” Their eyes down themselves and back up to Clef, “I rather like this cardigan.”
Clef wrapped his hands over the stock of the rifle.
Shaw nodded over to the folder, “He’s ex-Coalition.”
The barrel of the rifle lowered, “What?”
“Ex-coalition.” Shaw shifted backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet, “Not too dissimilar from you…well expect for the natural Blue part.”
Clef rested the rifled beside him and leaned towards the folder.
“Former field leader.”
“Ernest, regardless of what you say I’m on break-” Clef glanced up, Shaw was already at the door, in fact almost halfway out of it.
“Toodles, Clefie.” Shaw winked before disappearing.
Silence. His SRA collar ticked.
“That ████ bastard.” Clef muttered before reaching for the folder, “I swear…one of these days I’m going to pry that gemstone out of their forehead.” He flicked the folder open.
Isaac glanced down at his phone. A split second later, instinct took over.
He stepped sideways as a metal kettle slammed into the wall with a deafening CLANG where his head had been.
"Oh, so you want to do it that way, huh?" Clef shouted from the other side of the break room.
"Coward-" Kondraki spat, hauling himself back to his feet. "Why don't you come over here and sh-"
A yellow blur vaulted clean over a table.
Isaac didn't even look up this time.
A lunchbox whistled past his head. He leaned just enough to let it sail by before it crumpled against the wall behind him.
The break room door opened.
Draven walked in. He watched Clef shoulder-check Kondraki into a vending machine.
A mug exploded somewhere behind them.
Draven glanced at Isaac. "Thursday?"
Isaac nodded. "Thursday."
Another crash echoed through the room.
Isaac looked down at the dented lunchbox beside his feet. A small crab falls out from beneath his shirt. Lands then scampers over completely unbothered, and delicately pulled a strand of spaghetti from the wreckage.
"Well," Isaac said, watching Sebastian help himself to breakfast, "at least I don't have to feed 1206█ now." Another mug flew through the air, Isaac’s hand caught it just before Draven without looking up.
Without a beat Draven continued, "They seem enthusiastic today."
"Actually, yes," Isaac replied. "Usually they don't start until after their coffees."
Here’s my Artfight, Isaac’s here. Have fun. Ania’s also there a personal OC for a world building project. Um well this is Isaac’s blog so I’m not gonna let his sister (not canonically related) take the spotlight.
My Artfight’s here.
Rules are there.
Alright don’t be assholes, hydrate and stay curious!
“Director Gears.” Isaac rests a stack of storage boxes on the edge of Gear’s desk, before placing a folder down, “Agatha wants you to review these documents.”
“Right.” Gears doesn’t look up from his paperwork.
Isaac reaches for the storage boxes, “Before I go do you need an-”
A crab pops out of Isaac’s collar then pauses.
It’s eyestalks twist to Isaac’s face then down to the cup of steaming coffee resting on Gear’s desk
Then back up to Isaac.
Isaac glared at the crab.
It chitters.
Isaac’s glare deepens.
The crab shoots towards the cup.
“Sebastian, don’t-”
It slams into the cup knocking steaming coffee onto the sleeve of Gears.
“Oh I-” Isaac removes a napkin from his lab coat pocket, he paused “…You okay?”
“No.” Gears said calmly, he glanced down at his steaming sleeve, “That was freshly brewed coffee.”
Isaac blinked. “Excuse me?”
Gears continued working. And so did his sleeve continue steaming.
Isaac looked down at the sleeve, then to Gear’s face, then back at the sleeve.
“Director…? Isaac said slowly.
“Yes?”
“You seem to be in pain?” Isaac glanced down at the steaming sleeve, he felt the blood vessels within Gear’s wrist constrict and slow, his pulse elevate.
Gears opened the folder. “No.” He paused briefly before glancing at his wrist, then up to somewhere vaguely to the left of Isaac’s shoulder. “Well…”
The sleeve steamed.
“Yes.” Gears mused, “I am very much in pain.”
Gears turned a page.
The crab slowly outstretched a pincher towards Gear’s hand, its eye stalks slowly twists up Gear’s face.
The pincher nipped a finger.
Gears looked down, “Please don’t do that SCP-1206█.” he stated flatly.
The crab froze.
A long moment passed. Slowly the crab began to withdraw its pincher. It tilted its eyestalks upwards, as if doubling checking.
Silence.
The crab then adruptly abandoned Gear’s sleeve and then scuttled across the desk and towards Isaac’s sleeve.
It tugged frantically at Isaac’s sleeve. Then paused, briefly twisting back to look at Gears. A small disquieted wet croak left its mandibles.
Isaac glanced down to the crab then back up to Gears.
Gears was reading.
“Hmm, okay.” The crab slipped into Isaac’s sleeve. “That’s the first time I’ve seen it do that.”
“Is it?” Gears flicked another page.
“Yes.” Isaac shifted forwards, “Usually it takes something such as 682 to frighten him.”
Isaac paused.
“Interesting.” Isaac tilted his head, his gaze lingered longer on Gear’s face than it was probably appropriate.
Gears flickered another page, the paper gave a dry rustle as he did.
“You’re studying me.” Gears didn’t look up from his page.
Isaac blinked, “Ah-right. Yes-” he coughed sharply, “-Not in the literal sense.”
Gear’s hand stopped midway turning the page, “Elaborate.”
“…I-ah…it’s difficult to explain to baseline humans.”
“You’re a Blue correct?” Gears reached for a napkin, and began to clean the surface around the mug.
“Yes Director, well…technically you also are.”
“Technically speaking,” Gears set his cup down with a soft clink, “most Blues do not require an evacuation radius.”
“…Ah well,” Isaac, he rubbed the back of his neck. “There was plenty of environmental EVE and it was mostly precautionary.”
“There was structural damage.”
“Mostly from the threat entity.” Isaac replied, he felt the shift of chitin briefly below the collar of his shirt.
An eyestalk poked up from his collar and spotted Gears.
Before immediately sinking back into Isaac’s collar.
Isaac glanced down at Gear’s soaked wrist, “You probably should head to Ms Sinclair to get that checked out.”
He paused, briefly feeling the skin beneath Gear’s wrist redden. “Some people say I have your expression.”
Gears didn’t look up, “How so?”
Isaac pointed to Gear’s soaked sleeves, “That, I wouldn’t have realised or reacted much to that until well…” he waved his hand vaguely, “until the fabric of my sleeves physically changed textures.”
Gear’s hand paused, “Residual damage from the Coalition?”
“Hmm. You could say that…” Isaac paused, “my forearms aren’t the most reliable things.”
Alright. Mod is briefly going on hiatus, personal life and Artfight is wrecking my ass in terms of posting longer form story and text content. I’ll be around sporadically…damn I should get around to publishing some of my draft content. Anyways, Isaac’s inbox is still open, I’ll just reply to it slower.
Here have a drawing that I made of Isaac in that one slutty famous black dress trend from Tiktok. Not sure if this one requires CWs…eh Artfight rules deem this to be fine.
Anyways, bro is not enjoying…well he is, wearing any feminine clothing. There was probably shame embedded deep within Isaac regarding his own masculinity and relationship to femininity, since he was raised Anglican and attended church as a child. I’ve also started somewhat in a previous post that Isaac is some flavour of non-binary, I’m not non-binary myself and of course the character’s gender is up to reader interpretation.
I heard from the vine that you may know other Nälkäns or location of other Nälkäns !
May I know such information ?
— 7
“Hmm?” Isaac glanced up from a stack of messy reports strewn across the workbench, “The Nälkäns? Probably somewhere in Eurasia, Hungary or London somewhere.”
“The Coalition mostly,” he glanced up to the camera, while his pen continued to move.
Isaac’s gaze dropped down to the report. The line he had just wrote dipped beneath the previous sentence.
He stopped.
And stared at it for a moment.
“…Great.” he grumbled, scratched out that line and started again.
[A faint muffled paper, rustles off-mic, before an unintelligible murmur barely registers on the mic.]
Isaac sighs before placing the pen down, “Look the Nälkäns are a dispersed group of individuals-” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “they’re aren’t exactly easy to track.”
He picked up his pen again.
“Most people don’t even know what they’re looking for.” he flicked a page, “The Coalition raids mostly hit the communes. The ones with money are more annoying to hit.”
Isaac continued to write.
A brief pause, “Heck I’ve even put a bullet into one of the heads of a Proto-Nälkän myself.”
Silence.
[The mic barely picks up a muffled indistinct voice: “You-[unintelligible] bullet? You collapsed-[unintelligible]-floor.”]
Isaac slowly looked up.
And stared at the figure behind the camera, completely deadpan.
“Yes me, I know.” he clicked his pen, “Low-blood sugar and decommissioning a threat entities are two different things.”
“No,” Isaac doesn’t look up from his reports, “I’m English, and I’ve only been this universe’s California for over a year now.”
As you glance over to the paperwork strewn across the workbench, there appears to be reports regarding; lab inventory discrepancies, equipment maintenance logs, incidents forms and reagents requests. Several of these forms sit half-completed as if awaiting approval from personnel with higher clearance than Isaac.
None of these paperwork seem to be rather glamorous, it looks like the sort of routine and administrative work that keeps the alchemy equipment/experiments running long after the alchemists who designed them have left the laboratory.
Isaac’s shoulders physically recoiled as the eye drew closer. His hand shot up and pushed the eye away.
“Don’t” the words coming out sharper than he intended, he sighed before he rubbed the back and of his neck.
I heard from the vine that you may know other Nälkäns or location of other Nälkäns !
May I know such information ?
— 7
“Hmm?” Isaac glanced up from a stack of messy reports strewn across the workbench, “The Nälkäns? Probably somewhere in Eurasia, Hungary or London somewhere.”
“The Coalition mostly,” he glanced up to the camera, while his pen continued to move.
Isaac’s gaze dropped down to the report. The line he had just wrote dipped beneath the previous sentence.
He stopped.
And stared at it for a moment.
“…Great.” he grumbled, scratched out that line and started again.
[A faint muffled paper, rustles off-mic, before an unintelligible murmur barely registers on the mic.]
Isaac sighs before placing the pen down, “Look the Nälkäns are a dispersed group of individuals-” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “they’re aren’t exactly easy to track.”
He picked up his pen again.
“Most people don’t even know what they’re looking for.” he flicked a page, “The Coalition raids mostly hit the communes. The ones with money are more annoying to hit.”
Isaac continued to write.
A brief pause, “Heck I’ve even put a bullet into one of the heads of a Proto-Nälkän myself.”
Silence.
[The mic barely picks up a muffled indistinct voice: “You-[unintelligible] bullet? You collapsed-[unintelligible]-floor.”]
Isaac slowly looked up.
And stared at the figure behind the camera, completely deadpan.
“Yes me, I know.” he clicked his pen, “Low-blood sugar and decommissioning a threat entities are two different things.”
You hear a soft thud as you open your door into a darkened dimly lit hallway.
On the floor, just beyond the doorway, a tan-skinned man lies face down, completely still. His posture is limp in a way that suggests he didn’t so much accidentally fall, more so simply…ran out of fuel.
On the back of his head, a small spotted crab clinging to his curls, occasionally tugging at a strand of dark hair like it’s mildly annoyed by the situation. It tilts up at you, appearing to chittering in a bright, almost pleased way, completely unbothered at the fact that its owner is currently unconscious and sprawled limply across the floor.
If anything, it looks like it’s waiting for instructions, commands or…for its owner to wake up.
- @issac-cross
(The woman looked at the man that was pitifully sprawled out in front her door. her forest green eyes widen, with concern as, She’s slowly crouched down to take a pulse… after a moment of confirming that this was not corpse in front of her she looked over to the crab, nestled between his dark curls -… the crab looked harmless enough… or at least that’s what she hoped.)
OK let’s get you up and on a bed…
(the woman quietly said as she picked easily picked up the researcher, while she tried her best not to disturb the crap too much-… the researcher was surprisingly lighter than she expected, but then again she’s was used to carrying heavy things. After a moment, she placed the researcher down on her oversized bed….which was much wider and taller than the woman for some reason.)
And THIS is exactly why I tell you researchers to eat drink-…and preferably get some sleep…..so shit like this doesn’t happen…*sigh* I really hope they don’t make me fill out paperwork because of this
(the woman murdered underneath her breath her voice sounding tired and annoyed with undertones of concern)
As you haul the unconscious man onto the bed and roll him onto his back, an orange keycard slips falls out.
Issac Cross
Clearance Level: 3
Personnel Class: C
Department: Alchemy
The photograph confirms the identity. The man appears to be somewhere in his late thirties, though the sleep deprivation has added a couple of years onto this features. Dark eyebags hang beneath his eyes, and there is a fatigued quality to his face that suggests sleep and proper meals have both been neglected for far too long.
A thin silver chain rests against the hollow of his throat, glinting faintly beneath the room's light.
Perched atop his curls, the spotted crab finally abandons its vantage point. It slides down the side of his head and onto his shoulder, tiny legs padding softly against fabric. Reaching the chain, it pauses.
The creature twists its eyestalks towards Aurora.
Then towards the unconscious man.
A mischievous chortle escapes it. One pincher slowly rises. And with all the audacity of a tiny creature that has done this before, it snaps shut on the soft flesh of Issac's neck.
The man inhales sharply, and mumbles “Christ Sebs, give it a rest.” before rolling away onto his side from the crab.
(The woman picked up the ID slip looking over it before putting it in her jacket pocket for the time being. when she looks back up to see the mischievous crab messing with Isaac, she couldn’t help but quietly chuckled to herself. After a moment she crouches down to get closer look at the mischievous little crab.)
Well Hello there aren’t you just a cutie? 
(the agent voice was quiet and sweet-… aurora had a soft spot for small animals like crabs, rats, and centipedes. Probably the reason why the peculiarity of the situation didn’t even cross her mind.)
Know Let’s try and let Dr. Isaac sleep a little bit. I’m sure we can find something to do In the meantime…. you like books?
(With a soft inviting smile on her face She extended the, palmed of her hand to the tiny crab-… as if it was an offer to hop on. She didn’t know why she was talking to the crab, as if it could understand her…It was just an animal after all, but then again she didn’t quite know she like talked to her to pet rats all the time, and that you seem to understand her.)
[the room itself, was dimly lit by soft purple fairy light strong across the ceiling that almost resembled little stars. The walls of the room were mostly covered in bookshelves except for a drawer here and there and a small area behind her desk with a two steer high cage with a variety of brightly colored things hanging across the inside of it. When looking back at the book shows each one was filled to the brim with books that felt ancient… there is a variety of genres to them too-.. from anything to old folk tales, to botany, and even some about Cryptozoology.]
The crab chitters a bit, before its eyestalks tilt down to Aurora’s hand then up to her face. It stares there for a long moment, as though its single overworked braincell is attempting to process a thought.
A pincher opens, and snap towards Aurora’s ha-
A hand shoots out and encloses around the crab’s shell, “Sebastian…” Issac mumbles tiredly, “…what did we say about attacking staff?” Issac’s eyelids remain closed.
The crab chitters petulantly as it clamps a pincher around Issac’s fingers in protest. Issac doesn’t react.
With a tired sigh, Issac rolls over onto his side turning away from Aurora. One arm tucks underneath his neck at the base of head and the other keeps a loose hold on the offending crustacean.
The very moment Issac rolls onto his side, the crab wriggles free from his fingers and crawls up onto the side of his arm.
The crab pauses. Its eye-stalks twists to Aurora then to the sliver chain pressed across Issac’s neck.
Back to Aurora again.
A beat of stillness.
The crab then scuttles down Issac’s shoulder and clamps two pinchers around the sliver chain
Before giving it a tug.
Issac’s hand moves immediately, closing over the chain before his eyes even open.
“No.”
Sebastian tugs harder.
“For Chrissake Sebastian…” Issac’s grip tightens, his hand does not yield.
The crab chitters sharply in annoyance, then after a long moment of contemplation it flattens like a crab pancake next to the sliver chain with both pinchers hooked around it.
The crustacean lets out a contented clicking sound.
After a moment, Issac’s body looses as if the stress, fatigue and worry almost washes away from him. He’s breathing still tinged with exhaustion gradually settles into a steadier rhythm.
(The agent let out a deep chuckle, sing the pitiful sight of this researcher in front of her and this adorable mischievous crap that refused to let him sleep peacefully. It was amusing to watch but after a moment she went back to her desk. Sitting down and picking up a nearby book the title of it being “ history of grimoires and ruins for dummies” it was the newest book in her collection, and she was eager to read it, especially since she hadn’t had much knowledge of the subject in the first place.)
So you’re awake enough to stop a crab, but not awake enough to wonder where you’re at?
(she softly, joke to herself as she flipped through the pages of her book, not expecting the researcher on her bed to hear her)
“Hm…?” Issac mumbles, “-I’m awake enough for the important things.”
Issac turns onto his back.
Sebastian immediately crawls up the side of his shoulder and slips beneath the collar of Issac’s shirt.
After a brief struggle a faint metallic clink follows. The crab settles, a small satisfied chitter emits from Sebastian as the crab-shaped lump flattens.
“You took my ID card earlier,” he muttered, his eyes still closed. “You’ve been…” Issac pauses mid-sentence as if attention shifting as if filtering out something, “…sitting there for a while now.”
(the woman quietly shifted her gaze from the book to look at Isaac. The women’s eyes shined with curiosity curiosity, as smile creeping on her face, as if she was getting some type of amusement from this.)
Well, a perceptive one aren’t you? you’re welcome to have a key card back I was planning to give it back to you when you woke up anyways.
(The woman spoke in a soft mannered voice that seem to carry no malice or deceit with it.)
Yes, I’ve been sitting here for a while. Just reading in my room after all I’m off duty so I don’t got anything better to do….
(the woman looked back to her book flipping to the next page)
OH, and when you say it’s shifted down words, I’m assuming you’re talking about how I put your key card in my pocket or… am I wrong?
“No.” One of Issac’s eyes cracks opens, “Why would I be talking about the card?”
Issac’s brows raise slightly.
Issac’s other eye opens and his gazes drifts around the room for a moment, before he looks vaguely dissatisfied with whatever information his eyes are providing them about the room.
Both eyes close again, “Nice fairy lights.” Issac pauses again, “They give one of their own an office.”
“How exceptionally generous of th-” his hand disappears beneath the collar of his jumper.
A muffled pleased clicking sound answers him.
Issac pauses, his expression relaxes. “Mhmm, this is what I get for surviving the Global Occult Coalition.”
“A table within a lab wedged between two acrylic partitions.”
(agent said there about halfway through her book now. While needy squeaking was heard from the cage beside her)
Ahhhh… So you had to deal with that bunch of people.
(the woman muttered under her breath, seemingly recognizing the name, but not feeling as if it was the right time to pry)
Yes, I love my good fairy lights get a perfect environment for reading, but it was a pain in the ass to get the foundation to actually let me set up the fairy lights much less this the whole room here…. Also be careful if you try touching any of the books in here….
(the woman sounded, please, and excited when talking about the fairy lights, but when she gave her warning, she sounded nervous. The woman paused, grabbing a bookmark to save her place in her book before putting it down. Her legs now crossed in the chair as she looked at Isaac.)
By the way, Dr.Isaac can call me Aurora… also does the adorable little crab you’ve been carrying around have a name?
(the woman said curiously as she took the ID card out of her jacket pocket lightly throwing it to Isaac. The card ended up softly landing on his chest)
“Oh, you’re a part of the coalition * chuckles* now that must be an interesting story i’ll have to ask you about maybe another day.”
(the agent smiled and chuckled to herself once more before getting up to put her book away)
I’ll have to take a look to see if I can find Sebastian’s entry somewhere I’ll probably ask Providence or maybe one of the researchers to see if they know where the documents are.
(The agent paused for a long moment, looking up at the clock, as if she just realized what time it was.)
But anyways, Isaac, you can rest there for until I have to start my shift, which should be in thirtyish minutes.
“Was apart of the Coalition.” Isaac glanced towards the clock, “-unfortunately my story isn’t as infamous as Alto’s.”
Isaac pushed himself up from the bed, one knee clicked, then the other. He stretched, “The Coalition has bit of a habit recruiting Type-Blues and Greens, something about manipulating reality is a valuable skill set.”
Isaac patted his own lab pockets for something, “Mhm, there you are-” he pulled out a folded sigil.
“Ah” he uncrumpled the paper and flicked it upwards.
The paper rose, then stopped in midair suspended. The air around the paper tightened. Before the temperature dropped sharply enough that condensation formed on the nearest surface.
Then the paper ignited…
Into a brilliant, thick plume of indigo fire that moved like undulating velvety silk suspended in water. The fire itself swallowed the soft purple lights the fairy lights, before casting a deep bruised shadows across the book’s shelves and desk of Aurora’s office.
Isaac glanced up at it for a moment.
“Never really had the proper academic instructions for it,” a small pleased exhale escaped him, “Doesn’t stop it from working.”
The flame continued, unwavering.
Isaac lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.
The fire instantaneously cut out.
“Neat party trick for a Sparkie isn’t it?” He let out a sigh.
Rights handed Isaac the tome as he stood up from fixing the sigil on the floor, “It says here to break the curses the afflicted individual needs to kis-”
Isaac squinted downwards toward the yellowing page of the tome.
𝚾𝚰𝚻𝚯 𝚻𝚯𝚰𝚺 𝚩𝚹𝚬𝚨𝚻𝚯, 𝚰 clear 𝚻𝚯𝚬 𝚾𝚨𝛀.
𝚳𝚬𝚻 𝚨𝚳𝚳 hexes dissolve 𝚨𝚵𝚫 𝚭𝚰𝚵𝚫 𝚻𝚯𝚬𝚰𝚹 𝚫𝚬𝚨𝚻𝚯.
“Look,” Isaac glanced up at Rights, “-I’m pretty sure this is not what the passage says.”
Rights let out a tired sigh.
“You have a better interpretation?” she held up her left hand. On her left hand the veins pulse an unnatural purple colour beneath her skin.
Isaac’s gaze lingers on them briefly before returning to the ancient tome.
“I’ve consulted three senior thaumaturges,” Rights continued, “One translated it as an exchange of words. One translated it as an exchange of breath. The third translated it as a kiss.”
“And the curse is still here.” he flicked another page, before glancing up from the page toward Rights. “It’s feeding off your EVE reserves,” his gaze shifted around the area surrounding Right’s head.
“What’s left of them anyways.”
“And you need an external source with enough excess capacity to overwhelm it.” Isaac flicked through another page.
“Yes.”
Isaac looked up from the tome.
Rights stared at Isaac.
“Oh.” He snapped the tome shut. Isaac stepped into the sigil and looked up at her.
A beat passed.
“Problem.” Isaac glanced down, then up again.
“Yes?”
“You’re wearing heels.” he answered.
Rights blinked.
Isaac pointed upwards, “You’re several inches taller than me right now.” he paused, “I can’t reac-”
His sentence was stopped mid-sentence, a hand caught the front of his lab coat.
Warmth.
Isaac’s train of thought derailed into something unhelpful. Several deeply unprofessional thoughts made its way in.
Dr. Agatha Rights was by most staff’s standards, conventionally attractive. However, this information the same bearing on him as recognising that fire was hot, true but deeply uninteresting.
He blinked.
Wait, did she just pick me up?! I was in the MIDDLE OF EXPLAINING SOMETHING.
Isaac had spent 37 years of his own life being short, this was not the first time someone has attempted and failed to relocate him as a piece of equipment.
I-how dare-
The air tightened.
Isaac felt the shift in the air before he understood it, the curse reacting and collapsing inwards like a pulled thread. Something rose through him, warm and effervescent, like static dragged across bone.
Then it snapped outwards. And into Rights.
Isaac’s feet met the floor.
“Did it work?” Rights asked.
Isaac raised a finger up, “I think-” A second wave of nausea hit him as a metallic-sulfurous drifted down this throat, his expression pinched.
“Oh. That’s-” he made for the nearest bin, “-absolutely foul.” Isaac leaned over it.
“Yup. Worked.” He paused, glancing up from the bile in the bin, “Definitely worked.”
A junior researcher had stopped walking.
They had previously arrived mid-kiss, only to see the end state of the ritual. Right’s standing in the sigil, curse visibly gone from her hand, Isaac doubled over a bin and the faint after-warmth of a thaumic ritual fading from the air between them.
The researcher’s eyes flicked to Right’s face.
Then to Isaac over the bin.
Then to Rights.
A slow, knowing smile formed on their expression. “Oh…I know what-” they backed away very carefully.
Here’s some art regarding some of the more famous author avatars in Isaac’s blog canon. Does the SCP fandom enjoy this? Oh well here’s chest up drawings of Clef and Shaw. And also some information regarding each respective characters, keep in mind I do assign meanings to their zodiacs and birthdays.
TW Body Horror.
Alto Clef:
Age: 45 years old.
Birthday: April 22 1981
Height: 164cm (5’4)
Zodiac: Taurus
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Credentials:
- Licencjat in Military Command | Akademia Wojsk Lądowych (AWL) 2003.
- Probably some service record to the G.O.C.
- Head of Training Department
Fun Facts:
Has a “scar” that starts at the top of his forehead and trails all the way down to the bridge of his nose. When the Scranton Reality Anchor collar comes off the fibrous pink scar tissue cracks open breaking his own nose and revealing his third eye. This process also involves boiling sea water coming out of the scar.
When the SRA collar goes back onto his neck the eye instantly seals over and leaves a pink fibrous scar. This scar weeps boiling seawater when he’s either agitated, pissed or very stressed. And the moment he calms down the burns instantaneously heals because the SRA collar locks him into a baseline human biology.
Is an active reality anchor: meaning he has to actively think and resist in order to prevent reality-altering hazards.
Isaac’s remark: “Alto is an absolute insufferable idiot…” he pauses before sighing, “…But admittedly he’s tolerable at times.”
Dr. Ernest Shaw:
Age: 180 years old.
Physically: 26 years old, most of the time, depends on the corpse.
- Knows 8 languages, not going to elaborate on which. Gotta keep y’all on your toes.
- Head of Department of Personnel Acquisition.
Fun facts:
Remembers every name, birthday and face of every personnel they’ve hired. Shaw’s hyperfixation is essentially people, she will remember what your favourite film or comfort food is and give it to you if you’re feeling sad.
Cares deeply about those around him.
Prefers to reattach lost limbs over 639 re-printing them one, because it hurts less.
Also forgets where she places their lost limbs.
Deeply hates himself for the immortality, realises the corpse they possess was once a human and they hate it.
639 doesn’t work on animals.
Is a passive reality anchor, meaning he can just exist in a room passively and just say no to reality altering hazards.
Is a vegetarian.
Isaac’s remark: “Dr. Shaw’s what several cent-” [unintelligible] “-what they’re only 180 years old? That explains a lot…” [Isaac looks off camera to see Shaw spinning frantically around in their office chair.] “…Right, she’s practically a toddler compared to Cain.”
Any works you would be interested in, grand theft library, feels a little overkill in case I "borrow" only for myself.
-Rev
Isaac seems to be glancing down at the open tome open in his hands. His brows seem to be drawn together in a determinated pinch. On the page in front of him reads:
𝚺𝚼𝚵 𝚨𝚵𝚫 𝚭𝚰𝚹𝚬, 𝚮𝚰𝚽𝚬 𝚻𝚶 𝚴𝚬,
Health 𝚨𝚵𝚫 𝚽𝚰𝚻𝚨𝚳 energy.
𝚨𝚭𝚻𝚬𝚹 𝚻𝚬𝚵 𝚴𝚰𝚵𝚼𝚻𝚬𝚺, 𝚫𝚹𝚰𝚵𝚲 𝚻𝚯𝚬 𝚱𝚼𝚰𝚪𝚬.
𝚳𝚬𝚻 𝚻𝚯𝚬 𝚪𝚨𝚵𝚫𝚳𝚬𝚺 𝚩𝚼𝚹𝚵 𝚶𝚼𝚻.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Great another passage in Blue. Proper Blue.
Isaac glanced up to Dr Clef in the distant who seemed to be leaning against a workbench next to a woman from another department.
She laughed.
Clef said something.
She laughed harder.
Isaac gaze narrowed back down at the page again.
“Lovely, two nouns.” He frowned.
Isaac snapped the tome closed.
“Borrow any books related to purification,” his gaze drifts over towards Clef.
Isaac’s eyebrows knit slightly.
For a brief moment his focus appears to be fixed on something around Clef’s head that the rest of the room cannot see.
“…And anything related to Humes.”
Only then his gaze settles on the Scranton Reality Anchor collar around Clef’s neck.
A good 20 minutes later, a skeleton of Obsidian. With 2 burning purple glowing eyes wearing a grey lab coat before simply dropping a stack of about 7 books off.
"That's that... my 700th restraining order and ban from the wanderers library. Man, I love my job."
It pauses, looking around. The void sounded quite... normal for something, none human looking.
"Right, I think the 3rd one has a few memetic hazards. Consequences of who wrote it so you may. Want to get someone to clear that up or get something to up your resistance ahead of time. Either should work."
It shrugs and then taps its skull a few times before dropping off a smaller stake of 3 books.
"Oh, right, I hope you don't mind dropping those off for agent Aurora. Felt they would be a good pick to help their collection."
The skull moved in a certainly no normal way to imply a grin.
"Welp, I got to too go again."
A small group of purple runes assembles below the Skelton before it steps into the hole, which formed below its feet vanishing rather quickly. Follow by the gate closing behind it.
Isaac lays sprawled like a discarded doll on the mat, his curls jutting out at odd angles. He stares up at the ceiling blinking slowly as his chest raises and falls in slow successions, a fresh bruise slowly spreads across his left eye.
Clef stands slightly bent at the waist, with his hands on his knees panting heavily. Despite the fact that he looks like he just tried to wrangle a sack of squirrels, a smug triumphant grin spreads across his bruised, and reddened cheeks.
An agent stares at both men who looks like they’ve just been in a bar fight, “…Should I…call someone?”
Silence.
Isaac snorts. “You look like a dying raccoon.”
“A winning raccoon.” Clef panted.
“Right…” Isaac drawled as he got up from the mat, “Because you certainly look like a winner.”
Silence.
A wide Cheshire grin slowly crept up the edges of Clef’s face.
Isaac takes a step back. Ah ███. He’s got an idea…A hand slowly reached towards the back of his neck.
Clef pushed himself upwards and beelined towards him.
“Look..” Isaac sighed.
As the words barely made it out of Isaac’s mouth, Clef closed the distance.
An arm hooked around his neck. And a hand started to ruffle the top of his hair.
Wait…this is surprisingly gentle? Alto can be nice? Hold on…is this the same man who committed that incident?
(OOC) Heya! Sorry for my hiatus, been going through yet another bout of writer's block. But happy gay month everyone! And now for the thing I've been planning to say now... =]
Artfight has begun. =]
I'm on team Comedy and I have a fuck ton of motivation to draw, so I guarantee that there will be retaliation/revenges for anyone who sends attacks my way, friendly fire or not.
