Nadox: Whoa, Why Are Your Tongues Purple?

Nadox: Whoa, why are your tongues purple?

Bumaro: I had a blue slushie.

Ion: *Smirking* And I had a red one.

what was this movie even 

therapy office .... or gay rights zone ?

Attention!!! SCP Animation channels have been stealing designs/low key tracing artwork from small SCP content creators.

The right is my art.

While SCP Animated - Tales From The Foundation used a different pose, the design is pretty much identical. Same Greek dress, white freakles, faded brown fur, hooves, and antlers. (keep in mind that I accidentally used the wrong deer species. The fact that they didn’t correct this is very telling.) The only thing that wasn’t copied was her hands and hairstyle.

This is an ongoing issue. Here’s the Twitter thread that better explains this situation/gives more examples of art thief from these types of channels. I am not the only victim of this, so please spread this around because this is absolutely shameful and should not even be happening.

hey! i really like your work :) could you write about a spy hired to kill the antagonist, then being caught and beaten up but realizing the (flirty) antagonist isn’t a bad person, his employers are (don’t know if that makes sense haha)

“Tch.” The antagonist tutted, crouching down in front of the spy. “I told them not to touch your pretty face. They’ll suffer for that.” 

The antagonist traced the spy’s split lip with their thumb, and the spy was tempted to bite, just for the audacity. But they didn’t get this far without learning when to pick their battles. Any reprieve to catch their breath, to steel themselves, to not be in pain would only make them stronger.

“I can handle the face,” the spy said. “I’d have preferred they kept away from my internal organs.”

The antagonist hummed, gaze dropping down. They hooked their hand around the hem of the spy’s shirt, lifting it to assess the damage. “You’ll live. No internal damage, just a few broken ribs.”

“You a doctor?” 

“As if you don’t know.” The antagonist gave them a half amused, half chiding look. “You know all my secrets, don’t you, gorgeous? Your employers wouldn’t have ordered you kill me if they didn’t think you’d got everything of value from me alive.”

The protagonist did know. The antagonist had indeed been a doctor for many years, before they vanished into the ether and became the creature in front of them now.

“So, don’t worry.” The antagonist dropped their shirt. “I’ve never killed anyone by accident.”

The protagonist knew that too. Maybe, if they didn’t know that, didn’t know as much as they did, the job would have been successful. But, instead, they hesitated. They were a spy, their job was focused on gathering intelligence, making sure the right people on their side had the right information at the right time. It was rare to get a kill order. There were assassins better suited to that line of work. 

But the antagonist was a rare creature, difficult to get close to, and there had been a shot. A shot that the spy had blown. Because they were dumb enough to think…

“Tell me.” The antagonist stayed crouched in front of them, voice low, as if this was an intimate conversation just between the two of them and there weren’t a dozen armed guards outside the door. “Why did you hesitate?”

The spy said nothing. They kept their expression blank on instinct. 

The guards who had interrogated them had plenty of questions - who are you working for, how did you get in, what have you told your people, who are you - but the question of why they had hesitated hadn’t come up. It had been the smallest of seconds, just long enough for the antagonist’s sharp gaze to cut to them in the rafters and for everything to go to hell. The spy’s own people wouldn’t have guessed at hesitation. 

The antagonist smiled, crooked at one corner, at the response.“Oh, come on. You could have killed me. I’ve looked up your files - you’re very good. More than capable of making the shot. Excellent scores on all your tests. No need to be stoic, I’m very impressed. Any schmuck can cause pain, but you…” 

“Maybe I’m just good at tests.”

“They wouldn’t have sent you after me if that were true.” 

The spy said nothing, because there was nothing they could say. The antagonist was absolutely correct.

The antagonist sighed, getting up and going to the metal table in the corner. 

The spy tensed, expecting them to return with a knife or something else equally unpleasant. The antagonist returned with a damp warm cloth that they used to start dabbing the spy’s face clean of blood. 

It was probably a trick. A different ploy to pain, one that the spy would really have to be an amateur to fall for. Still. 

“You’re right,” the spy said, softly. “I know all your secrets. Of course I couldn’t kill you.”

The antagonist paused, their stare piercing deep into the spy’s soul. The spy held the attention calmly despite their pounding heart. The antagonist’s hand started moving after barely a falter, meticulous and gentle in its care. The warm cloth, combined with the cool fingers, felt delightful against the spy’s aching skull. 

The spy pushed the feeling away. 

“Let me go,” the spy pressed, leaning in, the words barely above a breath. “You don’t want me dead, but you know what they’ll do to me. My face will be the least of our worries.”

What the spy had learned was that the antagonist had been a doctor, a brilliant surgeon, and then one day they vanished. Taken by their new employers. Trained up, polished into something wicked vicious. The pieces had been there before, no doubt, the unflinching ability to look at suffering and cut through bone and muscle if needed. But the antagonist wasn’t a bad person. Possibly lacking any capacity for remorse or guilt, but not bad. They didn’t enjoy causing hurt. They weren’t especially out to screw anyone over. 

The antagonist was a figurehead. A shiny symbol of what their employer’s wanted. It could be easier or harder to be a symbol, but regardless one didn’t get much choice in the matter. 

“You know I can’t do that. My boss isn’t done with you yet. They want all those not-about-me secrets you have floating about in that clever little brain of yours. Besides.” The antagonist shrugged. “Even if I untied you, you wouldn’t get very far. They’d just drag you back and there’s a line after which ‘roughed up’ will no longer be a good look on you, gorgeous. You’re fine.” The antagonist had such a terrible knowing in their voice, at odds with that shrug as if none of it mattered. “You won’t be fine if you try to run.”

“I might not get caught. I’m very good. Your words.” They wet their lips, feeling the sting. “You could come with me. Then they really wouldn’t be able to stop us, would they? I bet we’d make a great team.”

The antagonist laughed, but it wasn’t quite so amused anymore. More sad.“You have all the information but I can see why you’re not in the division for applying the pieces of that.” They dropped the cloth, carelessly, now that all of the obvious signs of breakage were gone from the spy’s face. “You know all my secrets, lovely.” The antagonist raised a brow, back to flirty, voice a purr as if secrets were not a deadly thing. “Why would I ever let you go?” 

They rose to their feet, entire posture changing into something sleek and dangerous, the reputation to bring down nations, as they buzzed the intercom - promptly rattling off a diagnosis of exactly what their guards could and should do to make the spy break, every weak point they had identified in the ‘examination’, and exactly what not to do unless they wanted to lose limbs. And, when all was done…

The antagonist glanced over them, one hand still holding down the com. “Once you’ve got what’s needed, sedate our gorgeous new guest and bring them to my quarters. I’ll take care of them from there, if you know what I mean.”

There was laughter from outside the room. Ugly, jeering. 

There was none of it in the antagonist’s eyes, even as they tossed the spy a wink and marched out. 

The next round of questions soon began.

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