Mr Sheriff's 7 Manly Daughters
Promo
- Sherrif's 7 Manly Daughters -
- Crimson Sherrif's Residence -
Esmeray
I literally just lack a dick
Esmeray
Is that the entry ticket to heaven or something?
Shibra
U r bleeding out! Sit down
Mikko
Her uterus is doing Performance Art again
Sable
She's overdoing on Estrogen or Attitude
Nyx
Whatever a man can do we can do it better
Shizal
we can multitask our trauma unlike them
Mikko
Grow Organs. Carry Babies
Sable
Hold in our screams.
Shizal
Smile through cramps
Nyx
U know casual violence
Sable
Also we don't die waking up in a pool of blood every month
Nyx
We make coffee & do our work
Sable & nyx exchange hi-fi
Esmeray
Did u get enough shibra sweetheart?
Shibra
Specially u Esmeray
Shibra
Ur tampon string's showing
•& the 7 accidents of fate•
Sheriff Crimson was the kind of man people only saw in professional settings — polished, poised, and so emotionally absent, he could’ve been raised by IKEA furniture.
City G called him the Mind Whisperer.
Clients cried. He took notes.
They left healed.
He left untouched.
And yet, beneath all that clinical perfection, he had one very human desire:
> To raise a son.
Someone who’d walk like him, talk like him, and inherit the same inability to process feelings without charts.
But marriage?
Absolutely not. That was a soap opera he refused to audition for.
So instead, he turned to
•
•
•
•
> Clause 1: The woman will carry the child.
Clause 2: The woman will leave after birth.
Clause 3: The child will belong to Sheriff Crimson — full custody, zero contact.
He ran this process seven times.
And every time, he hoped for a little version of himself — quiet, composed, possibly allergic to glitter.
But fate?
Fate was laughing so hard it nearly choked.
Seven daughters.
Each one louder than the last.
Witty, wild, and equipped with enough sarcasm to short-circuit a therapist’s brain.
No sons. Just 7 walking contradictions in eyeliner and combat boots, all calling him “Daddy” with the same energy people say “Oops” before burning a building down.
He wanted logic. He got lunacy.
He wanted calm. He got chaos in matching jackets.
But here's the twist no one expected —
He didn’t run.
He raised them, supported their unholy hobbies, showed up at PTA meetings (in psychological denial), and even defended them when they were very, very wrong.
Which was often.
He didn’t hug. He didn’t scold.
He just sat there with his tea, silently calculating the odds of making it to retirement alive.
And yet, if you looked closely…
Behind those tired eyes and stress-induced migraines,
was a strange, fragile pride.
They didn’t become his reflection.
They became his legacy.
And somehow, that was worse… and better.
Ep 1
INT. SHERIFF CRIMSON’S PRIVATE CLINIC – CITY G
The room is clean. Too clean.
Walls painted in soft ash tones. A faint scent of lavender and sterilized regret.
The clock ticks with perfect rhythm.
Everything is in order.
Sheriff Crimson sits across from a trembling man in his thirties. The patient is clutching a tissue like it holds the last of his sanity.
Damien
She left me after ten years, doc…
Damien
Said I don’t express emotions. That I’m cold. That I’m… detached.
Sheriff
& do you believe she was wrong?
Damien
I mean… I guess I could’ve… I dunno, hugged her more?
Sheriff
Interesting. And how do u feel about that?
Damien
I feel like I failed. Like I’m emotionally dead.
Sheriff
Understandable. Many men are.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clinic remains a sacred, silent, sacred space—
UNTIL—
The clinic door slams open like it owes someone money.
Enter:
SHIZAL CRIMSON, AGE 18.
Leather jacket, blood on her sleeve, one eyebrow raised and absolutely zero shame in her body.
Shizal
YO! Baba! I may have accidentally–on-purpose broken a guy’s nose in traffic--
She freezes, finally spotting the patient.
The patient stares at her in horror.
Shizal (lowering voice a little, to sound respectful)
Shizal
You’re with someone. Right. Professionalism. Sorry.
She marches across the room anyway and plops down in the chair beside Sheriff, crossing her legs like she owns the clinic.
Shizal
But seriously, Baba, it wasn’t my fault.
He catcalled me while chewing a lollipop. A lollipop, Baba.
Patient (blinking, whispering):
Damien
Is that… your daughter?
Sheriff (without looking up):
Damien
I see... And she’s... allowed in here?
Sheriff
I’ve tried everything except exorcism.
Shizal
Anyway, I need your signature for the hospital form. The guy’s fine. Mostly.
Sheriff reaches into a drawer and signs without even asking further.
Shizal (already standing):
Shizal
Thanks, Baba. Love you. Emotionally.
Shizal
Hang in there, Mr. Emotionally Dead. u’ll survive.
She exits with the same energy she arrived
like a hurricane wearing boots and eyeliner.
The room falls back into silence.
The patient stares at the door.
Then at Sheriff.
Damien
...Doc, I suddenly feel a lot better about my own mental state.
Sheriff
You're welcome. That’ll be 3,000 bucks
∆.Full Name:
Sheriff A. Crimson
(The “A” is classified. The girls have tried guessing. All failed.)
---
∆.Age:
49 years old
But looks 39.
Sleeps 4 hours. Has the skin of someone who drinks his trauma instead of water.
∆.Height:
6'2" (188 cm)
Tall enough to intimidate.
Walks like time itself should move out of his way.
∆.Appearance:
Ash-grey suit, always ironed.
Cufflinks, no tie.
Hair black, flecked with gray near the temples.
Sharp jawline. Emotionless eyes.
Has an aura like a courtroom verdict.
∆.Personality:
Detached. Controlled. Calculated.
Master of emotional containment.
Therapist of the city’s broken, yet deeply allergic to chaos (ironically raised 7 walking riots).
Never raises his voice — doesn’t need to. His silence is punishment enough.
Supports his daughters quietly but completely.
Disappointment doesn’t break him — he files it like paperwork.
Secretly finds their chaos mildly amusing, but he'd rather wrestle a lion than admit it.
∆.Biggest Weakness:
Despite everything…
He loves his daughters. Fiercely.
And would burn the world in silence if one of them got truly hurt.
∆.Motto / Personal Slogan:
> “Peace is not silence — it's control.”
(He lives by this. His daughters destroy this daily.)
---
∆. Defining Quote:
> “I’ve counseled war criminals, murderers, and CEOs.
None of them prepared me for fatherhood.”
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