#slight violence

[noorpersona]

Jealousy: Kyotani (Mad Dog)

The bar was crowded—not uncomfortably, but just enough that the air pulsed with low music and the warm scent of whiskey and fryer oil. The lights were low, warm and golden, casting soft shadows over tables cluttered with drinks and peeling coaster edges. Glass clinked softly in the background, a lazy rhythm to the Friday night energy building in waves.

You were leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks, while Kyōtani had ducked away to use the bathroom. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you ignored it, eyes on the bartender shaking cocktails two seats down.

Which was, in hindsight, the exact moment the universe decided to test your patience.

“Hey there,” came a voice to your left—slurred, low, and too close. You caught the sour tang of beer on his breath before you saw his face.

You didn’t turn immediately. You’d felt it coming—like a storm you could smell in the air.

“I been watchin’ you from across the bar,” the man said, a lazy, drunken confidence in his voice. “You look like you could use some company.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “I’m good, thanks.”

He chuckled. “C’mon. Don’t be like that. I’ll buy you a drink, sweetheart.”

You turned your head, offering a cool, unimpressed stare. His eyes were glassy, cheeks blotched red from too much alcohol, and his grin was the kind of smarmy that made your skin crawl.

“You don’t wanna do that,” you said flatly.

The guy blinked. “What? Buy a pretty girl a drink?”

“No.” You shifted your weight, voice firm. “Hit on someone who’s taken.”

He raised a brow, like he thought you were bluffing. “Taken? Don’t see anyone here. You ditched him already?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You need to back off.”

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Men like that never did.

Instead, he laughed—loudly, like he’d just heard the best joke of the night. “Relax, baby. You’re hot. I’m just tryin’ to show some appreciation.”

You turned back toward the bar, trying to signal the bartender, but the guy didn’t take the hint. You felt him step closer, invading your space. Then his hand brushed your arm—too familiar, too bold.

That was when you felt it.

The air shifted. Like the pressure dropped.

A presence behind you—heavy, hot, and unmistakable.

Kyōtani.

A shadow passed over the drunk guy’s face, but he didn’t turn fast enough.

Kyōtani didn’t speak. He didn’t posture. He didn’t warn.

He just swung.

A blur of movement exploded at your side—a crack, loud and sharp, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. The guy lay sprawled across the scuffed floorboards, groaning, his hand cupping his jaw as shocked silence rippled through the nearby tables.

Kyōtani stood over him, jaw clenched, one hand still curled into a tight fist, his broad chest rising and falling as he stared down at the guy like he was debating whether to throw another punch for good measure.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

You just looked down at the groaning man and said, with a shrug and a sip of your half-warm drink, “Told you so.”

Kyōtani turned to you, golden eyes burning with residual fury, scanning your face and arms like he needed confirmation you were untouched. “He touch you?”

“Barely,” you muttered. “He tried.”

Kyōtani grunted low in his throat, gaze snapping back to the guy on the ground. “You’re lucky I stopped at one.”

The bartender said nothing. No one did.

You grabbed your second drink off the bar, rolling your eyes. “Guess I need a new gin and tonic now.”

Kyōtani huffed, throwing a protective arm around your shoulder, steering you away from the scene. “Let’s go. I hate this place anyway.”

“You hate every place.”

“Not true,” he muttered, hand tightening at your waist. “I like the ones where people don’t talk to you.”

You laughed under your breath as the two of you disappeared into the cooler night air, Kyōtani’s hand never leaving you for a second.

And as you walked, he leaned in, voice low and unrepentant.

“Next guy that touches you,” he growled, “I’m breakin’ his ribs.”

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I know.”

[dogeinkk]

TW/ Blo0d and violence

I fucking beg you... PLEASE DON'T RUIN THIS ONE!

if this fandom falls over so god damn fast, not only gooseworx will make it bad on purpose (cuz they warned us it would be like that) i really enjoyed this pilot and i really want it to become a series so pretty please be a nice and healthy fandom for the love of god

[zaceouiswriting]

The little brother

Character: Reggie Mantle and Male Reader older brother

Universe: Riverdale

Warnings: Just a little violence

Why did you have to agree to this? Why did you let your parents drag you into something like this? Why couldn't you just stay in Cambridge where your parents couldn't reach you? But no, you had to crawl back as soon as they called. Your father knew full well that you still sought his approval after all these years, and he pulled on your heartstrings until you agreed to return to their home and look after your brother for a few weeks. Because he apparently wasn't doing well at school.

But nothing was as it seemed. When you entered the house you called your childhood home, there was not the little boy who always wanted to be near you, but a moody teenager, almost of age, lying half naked on the couch, showing off his perfectly sculpted upper body.

The moment Reggie saw you, his face contorted with anger.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked with a harsh tone, very different from the loving voice he had used towards you as a child.

Already done with this shit, you drop your bags to the floor still at the front door. Eye rolling, you closed the door behind you and went to your lazily sitting brother.

“Our parents thought it would be good for me to come here and look after you while they are away. They hope I can jog your walnut-sized brain.”

Your brother mocked you dismissively. After which, he stood up from the couch and walked towards you. The two of you were at the same level, staring into each other's eyes. He became noticeably taller, and you couldn't miss how wide he was getting. Football seemed to be good for him. You never liked team sports, mostly because you were a cowardly child who hated exercise.

Reggie suddenly tried to push you, but you stood your ground, your eyes glowing fiery. You, too, have become stronger thanks to the gym.

“Oh, I see. You’re trying to mark your territory like a dog? Or do you want to test who the man in the house is?” you asked him, grinning widely as his face turned into hatred.

You could see the movement of his arms before he even tried to hit you. You duck away with ease, only to give him an uppercut. He flew onto the couch. But somehow, he quickly got back on his feet. In the meantime, you got yourself into position, already prepared for your stubborn brother to jump back to his feet.

“Trust me, baby brother, this won’t be a good idea.”

You tried to get him to stop his stupid behavior you really tried, but he didn't listen. He thoughtlessly tried to attack you again, but you knocked him down even faster than before. You weren't the best boxer, but you learned quickly.

With just two hits, you knocked out Reggie. Looking down at your brother, you could only sigh. Was he always so hateful? Or is he still angry that you up and left when you were sixteen?

Your brother was obviously an early bloomer. He was already goddamn handsome. It took you years to get anywhere close to it. If you were honest, you were pretty jealous of it. You were almost twenty-three, and your little shitter of a brother was barely seventeen, and yet he looked just as good as you. Maybe a few more hits could help?

Before you could demolish his face out of jealous reflex with your fists, you shook yourself out of these thoughts. Instead, you placed one arm under his upper back and one under his legs. With some effort, you lifted your brother into your arms.

“Shit, you’re heavy,” you said through gritted teeth.

Carrying your brother upstairs to his bedroom, you carefully lay him down on his soft bed, breathing a sigh of relief as his weight was lifted from your arms. Even after years of training in the gym, you couldn't have carried him any longer than this.

You gently put the blanket over him and check his pulse to be on the safe side. Feeling like everything was fine, you looked around.

With a growing headache, you knew you couldn't leave his room in this chaos. He was such a clean freak as a kid, but now he's grown into what you were as a teenager: a hurricane.

You took out hidden fast food rappers, something your parents wouldn't allow their star athlete son to eat. Some dishes that could almost walk, and of course clothes. His room smelled like a high school locker room. You didn't mind the smell since gyms don't smell much different, but it unsettled you inside. For just a second, a fleeting moment, you imagined your brother in an inappropriate way that shocked you to your core. You never thought you would think of your brother like this. To be fair, the asshole has grown into one hell of an attractive guy.

After you cleaned his room in record time, you stared at his sleeping silhouette for just a moment. He still looked as sweet as ever. You walked close to him. As you stood in front of him, you gently brushed some strands of hair out of his face and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. A bedtime ritual you had when you were both younger.

“Sleep well, little shit,” you murmured against his head with a big smile, hoping he wouldn't remember anything the next day.

As you moved away from him towards the door, a sudden grab on your arm turned you around, only to be pulled into someone, your brother. In his sleep, he somehow managed to grab you and pull you into him. As you lay on his bed, he immediately laid his head on your chest, wrapped both arms around you and one leg as if you were a big pillow, and just slept.

Initially, you were stunned by the situation but soon found it amusing, to the point where you almost busted out laughing. However, you managed to stop yourself just in time. Instead, you placed your right hand on your brother's head and gently stroked it. You knew Reggie was a deep sleeper, and it was unlikely that he would wake up anytime soon. So, you prepared yourself for a long day ahead of you.

[Masterlist]

[cielcreations]

SCP-C4N46Y

Inspiration from Junji Ito and his horror manga called Tomie.

Item #: SCP-C4N46Y

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-C4N46Y is to be contained in a room no less than five (5) meters by five (5) meters and given adequate room to move. Proper bedding, attire, bathroom, and medical facilities are to be maintained and accessible to SCP-C4N46Y at all times. Books, board games, and video games are to be provided and rotated every three (3) months. SCP-C4N46Y is permitted to have a laptop and phone with internet access, so long as no video or pictures are taken or shared online. Food should be provided three (3) times daily, with three (3) snacks if requested. SCP-C4N46Y may also request different items, but approval of said items must go through the site director.

No physical contact is to be made with SCP-C4N46Y whatsoever. Any objects given to personnel by SCP-C4N46Y may be removed, but must be given to quarantine for examination. No more than three (3) personnel may be present in the room at any given time. All personnel must be removed from SCP-C4N46Y's containment chamber within fifteen (15) minutes of entering.

Any personnel who begin to act erratically, scream, or attempt to grab SCP-C4N46Y are to be removed and terminated. No sharp objects or firearms are allowed in SCP-C4N46Y's containment room. Any personnel who remains in the containment chamber longer than fifteen (15) minutes must immediately be quarantined for a minimum of one (1) week. If personnel express any sort of desire to hurt SCP-C4N46Y in any way are to be immediately terminated. If personnel expresses they are feeling better, they are to monitored/shadowed for one (1) week more. If they then express their desire to see SCP-C4N46Y, they are to be quarantined again. If the personnel returns to normal, they may continue work without monitoring, otherwise if they express to hurt SCP-C4N46Y at any point, they are to be immediately terminated.

Description: SCP-C4N46Y appears to be a twenty four (24) year old Caucasian man of British decent, approximately one point nine (1.9) meters in height. He has dirty blonde hair and blue eyes and wears the wardrobe provided by the foundation. He doesn't seem to have a preference in clothing, expressing that he likes all clothes, especially "comfortable clothing". He has a generally pleasant personality and rarely gets upset, becoming anxious only in the presence of groups of people. [ See Addendum SCP-C4N46Y-1 ]

Any and all humans over the age of eighteen (18) who stay in SCP-C4N46Y's presence for more than fifteen (15) minutes will start to become obsessed with SCP-C4N46Y. They will express their feelings of love and adoration, but also express possessive behavior and thoughts. Subjects afflicted will more often than not express how SCP-C4N46Y is "theirs" and how "they must keep him". Those afflicted will become increasingly more irrational, paranoid, and homicidal. All of these feelings will be directed at SCP-C4N46Y.

The overwhelming urge will eventually take over and afflicted subjects will take out their homicidal tendencies on SCP-C4N46Y in any way possible, more often than not by stabbing and later cutting him into pieces. Once SCP-C4N46Y "dies", the subject will then be overcome with grief and depression. They will then suffer either a massive heart attack or seizure, dying one (1) minute after "killing" SCP-C4N46Y.

After the afflicted subject has died, SCP-C4N46Y will then regenerate, no matter how severe the damage may be. Once SCP-C4N46Y is fully regenerated, he will then go back to normal. SCP-C4N46Y is aware of these effects, and either chooses to ignore the subjects affected or simply responds apathetically with "They deserve it for killing me in such a brutal way."

Addendum SCP-C4N46Y-1: SCP-C4N46Y seems to have a lot more influence than first let on. When ten (10) D-Class personnel were put in the room, SCP-C4N46Y didn't appear to get anxious. SCP-C4N46Y changed into a dress the foundation provided before sitting on the bed, smiling and offering the D-Class personnel to sit around him. Unfortunately, the microphones could not pick up what SCP-C4N46Y was telling the D-Class personnel, but they were entranced by whatever he was saying.

When security entered the room to escort the D-Class outside, SCP-C4N46Y snapped his fingers. The D-Class personnel immediately attacked security. They managed to kill the two (2) security guards before then turning on each other. The last D-Class personnel alive then turned to SCP-C4N46Y, who had remained on his bed with a small smirk. The man then strangled SCP-C4N46Y before dying himself. When regenerated, SCP-C4N46Y sat in his bed for a moment before walking to the bathroom, saying a single sentence.

SCP-C4N46Y: Did you enjoy that, Watcher?

When questioned who this "Watcher" is, SCP-C4N46Y merely smiled.

[luluahxo]

la notte dell'amore

the night of love - preview - 2818 word count

[when we don’t understand someone we fall in love with them. when we realize the individual’s truth, we say they weren’t who we thought. So love is nothing but an illusion.] - abbas kiarostami.   

From the streets of Naples you can gaze at the waters of the Lungomare Caracciolo. From the alley he sought out  those waters, exhaling cold air, slowly lighting a cigarette. I stood in my own corner of the alley watching him. 

I know all there is to know about him.

Jake.

Tonight I’ll approach him as a stranger.

I ask to bum a cigarette. He looks down at me with pursed lips. 

At his silence I mention the beauty of the seafront that I know he admires. While mumbling my words he places the cigarette I asked for not in my hands but between my lips. I no longer am speaking and he is no longer looking at the seafront. He looks at me, flicking the zippo lighter flame. His knuckles on the brass are bony and slightly abraded.

I take the newly lit cigarette and slowly inhale, part my lips, exhale. He tells me I look familiar, he saw me at the banquet. I nod and say I saw him too, that I’m attracted to familiar faces. He laughs huskily. He tells me he actually knows of me. He does from my association with Riki. 

Jake seems to know that I'm close with Riki, but he doesn't know that I was taken in by Riki's father in Japan.

Riki took over Nishimura Atelier, which his father and mine once owned before he passed away. My father and Riki's father were close and started the company together. After my father passed away, I had nowhere to go. My mother remarried and relinquished all custody of me. I didn't have any relatives in Japan, so Riki's father took me in as a favor.

To my surprise Jake says he’s close with Riki and that he’s brought me up, the famous muse. ​​

“The dress you're wearing under that coat is designed by him, isn't it?” 

I nodded.

The deep violet organza of the dress could be seen under my long black trench coat blending into the alley shadows. 

His stare flickered up and down, quick like the shake of an open flame.

He asked why I wasn’t home this late at night. I averted my eyes to the water and said I wanted to walk along the Lungomare. Looking back at Jake I silently invited him to come walk with me.

As we strolled side by side I questioned how he knew Riki. He said that he photographed some of his designs before and through that they got to know one another. He hoped to have met me since Riki brought me up whenever talking about his work but it never seemed to happen. I noted mentally that I never heard Riki bring up Jake. All along I had been eyeing him at events where he would finally put his camera down and clink glasses with the upper echelon. When my interest in him was first sparked I stood nearby the conversations he’d have with others and put the pieces together when I heard Mr.Sim or Jake. I found he was a photographer, born in Australia, had his work published in notable magazines, editorials, hung up in galleries, directed photoshoots. I visited one of his art galleries before in January and searched up his work but I never saw any photos of Riki’s designs. It must have never been publicized? 

He let out a similar laugh to his earlier one and said it must be fate for us to meet like this instead. He doesn’t realize this isn't actually fate. It’s my orchestrated efforts to be closer to him. He raised his index and thumb, both hands to mimic a camera lens and said without my coat, me in this dress would contrast  beautifully against the backdrop of Lungomare. I said he knows how to flatter a woman. He said he likes to acknowledge beauty openly.  

After time passed where only the click of my heels made noise and we moved forward without a word he invited me over to his place. I said I had to get home and declined politely. I know that a man loves harder when hungry, I wouldn’t satisfy him so quickly.

Like a gentleman he reached for my hand and gently placed his lips on top, burning a kiss into my memory and skin. 

He offered to drive me home at the very least since it was so late at night. I feigned ignorance and said I couldn’t get in a car with a man who hadn’t even told me his name yet. He played with the fingertips of my hand he still held and told me his name was Jake but I could call him Jaeyun, his true name. I asked if he would call me a cab and he made no effort to decline my request. 

When the taxi pulled up, I slid into the backseat, moving slowly, hoping he'd say something—anything—to keep me there. A quiet thrill spread through me as I looked up at him.

There is an undeniable fulfillment in this moment. All the dreams I ever had are wistfully contained within his eyes. His presence is intoxicating, his demeanor effortlessly alluring. If I let this moment pass, I know I’ll regret it.

“Can I see you again,” I mutter.

His smile spreads, wide and knowing. Holding the taxi door, he leans in.

“If you ever want to see me again,” he murmurs, “I have a studio in Chiaia. Via dei Coralli, 14, 80121 Napoli.” 

I laughed and said I couldn’t remember that long an address. The taxi driver grew impatient with us but still he persisted and told me

“Just remember Via dei Coralli in Chiaia. I’ll hang a red card on the doorknob for you to see. Then you’ll know it’s mine.”

As the taxi accelerated he remained standing on the sidewalk we once walked side by side on, not watching me go, but longingly at the Lungomare. 

My heart stung from the twisted desire for his attention even in those fleeting moments. 

Even when he’s given me more than I ever expected, I still want more.

My heart has become increasingly selfish.

-

Aside from the occasional roar of the engine, the inside of the taxi was silent. Gazing at the dimly lit city lights, I traced the hem of my coat with my fingertips. I thought briefly that Jake would like to take a photograph of a scene like this. The heat of Jake's gaze still lingered on my skin, and the places he touched went numb. I exhaled slowly, and a white mist appeared on the windowpane.

The bitter, ashy taste of the cigarette lingers in my mouth, as if it would soon disappear. I savored it.

It was the Galleria Umberto I clock that brought me back from my fantasy.

The hands were frighteningly approaching midnight, and I hadn't told Riki where I was.

I knew it would irritate him, but I was an adult now.

I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and remained present in this moment to the fullest.

-

Caserta, my home, is outside of Naples and around a forty minute drive. It's unreasonable for a taxi ride but so was being on a train this late at night. Expectably the fare was a high price but it was nothing to worry about. When I stepped into the quiet and dim foyer there was a shift in the air. I saw Riki sitting at the top of the stairs, head in hands. Glancing over at the clock I saw it was past midnight. 

Only the click of my heels sounded as I went up the stairs. 

When I stopped by his side his hands fell from his face and his sleepy eyes met mine with a frustrated expression. His wrist gripped my ankle and he immediately began to scold me with worry. I knew I should have called, I had no defense and softly repeated my apologies. 

Exasperated, he let go of my ankle and stood up, his stature overwhelming mine. He held back eye contact and we both went in different directions, our rooms at opposite ends of the winding halls. 

A cold silence spread as I entered my room, and I walked to the vanity. Still Riki’s anger couldn’t rid me of the rising giddiness in my heart. 

Tonight had gone exactly how I hoped and better. 

Carefully removing my makeup, I watched the image in the mirror, the traces of the night fading away. With each wipe of my makeup, the glamor of the night softened, and only thoughts remained.

The afterglow of the time I spent showed, my cheeks flush and rosy beneath my foundation. It wasn't the warmth after removing my makeup, but the feeling of getting exactly what I wanted satisfying my heart. I thought back to that night, replaying his words and presence over and over in my head. 

I combed my hair with my paddle brush, lulling myself to the rhythm and calming my mind. I was ready to go to bed and end the day with the memories made tonight. 

While in my gleeful daze my bedroom door unexpectedly creaked open and from the mirror’s reflection I saw Riki leaning on the door frame. 

"You know Naples isn’t safe like Okayama for you to wander out at night.”

He was annoyingly repetitive.

“I know”, I hummed, “and I’m sorry.”

“What’s it matter if you’re sorry, you’re the one in danger.”

I continued to brush through my hair while nodding at Riki’s reprimands. He let himself into my room and came up behind me, watching as the brush flattened the slight frizz. 

To change the topic I looked up at him through the reflection and praised his appearance at the banquet. He ignored me and nestled his head into the crook of my neck, wrapping his arms around the middle of my waist. 

“We could just go back to Japan.”

‘But there’s no better place for your designs than here?’

He sighed into my ear.

“Milan is better and five hours away, who says I wouldn’t be successful back home.”

He clicked his tongue. 

“And you smell like cigarettes, it's disgusting.”

I stretched my neck away from him with guilt as he looked up into the mirror, staring at me with a sudden realization in his eyes. 

‘Who were you with?”

“Just someone I met from the banquet.”

His sneer became apparent and his stare consumed me whole with unstifled dissatisfaction.

“And since when did you smoke?”

I raised the back of my paddle brush to knock his head, “I don’t, it's just social, can’t you calm down Riki?”

His hands rose from my waist to my chest where he ran his fingers over the fine, hand stitched, detailing of my dress. 

“Now you’ve ruined this dress with the stench of smoke when it can’t be washed.”

I rolled my eyes. It always came back to his work. From pettiness I tried to shove his hands away but my efforts were meek in comparison to the firmness of his hold on me. Moments like this where he showed a slight semblance of clinginess he became enduring. It reminded me of the Riki I grew up with in Japan, the boyish, sweet faced Riki. It gave me the strange desire to do anything to make him happy and I succumbed to his hold. 

“Now tell me who you were with.”

“His name is Jake.”

His hands moved further up, wrapping around my shoulders.

His expression was cryptic when I mentioned Jake.

“Guys like him don’t look twice unless they want something. You know that, don’t you?”

I knew they knew each other, so I wondered how he would react.

If they were close, why did he act like he couldn't accept that fact at all?

Surprisingly, he didn't ask any more questions. He simply began to slowly lower the straps of my dress in silence, and the Basque neckline slid down along with it.

His eyes reflected not the Riki I had known growing up, but the Riki he had been since he'd moved to Italy.

We'd spent several years together in Caserta, and I'd been close by as Riki reached adolescence.

Like children our age, we'd grown apart, but at our core we remained connected - like two lotus flowers. 

After living separate lives, he approached me towards the end of high school and asked me to try on prototypes he had recently made. I would stand in his room and watch him stitch the most intricate designs into fabric or layer sheer silk over tulle to create flowing bodices. He cared about details and I was fascinated by the way he worked.

In high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do for my future. Every time he asked me for help, I began to feel fulfilled knowing that I was helping bring his ideas to life. 

After high school Riki fully acquired Nishimura Atelier and his collections garnered a lot of positive attention. Any event he was invited to he’d bring me alongside him wearing a custom piece. It was around that time he began to cling to me closer and I garnered the reputation of his muse. In any conversation he began me as his inspiration would be brought up. I started to consider modeling but when I asked if he’d ever have me walk one of his shows he quickly shut me down. 

Then there would be times like this. Times where his general passion would blend into an intimate proximity, never defined, or acknowledged outside the moment. His growing anger turned into a hunger and relentless need to exert control. My dress laid low on my body and his hands with restrained force lifted me from my seat to let it slip off into a puddle of sheer silk on the floor.  Just as swiftly he pushed my shoulder blades down, making me sat again and ordered for me to pick it up, saying that I didn’t deserve to wear a dress I’d just ruined. I mourned the sweet kid he was as I clad in my slip lifted the dress off the ground and draped it on the back of my chair. 

Metti sempre alla prova i miei limiti, vorrei che mi considerassi di più, he said.

An empty call from someone who lacked true consideration himself. I spit back at him asking what his unreasonable mood was for. He said I’d been acting out, coming home late, smoking, talking to strangers, of course he’d be irritated when I don’t take his worries for me seriously. I fell back onto my bed and ran my mouth at him. How is living acting out? We’re adults. I can be out at night, I can smoke or not smoke, I can talk to people at the events he takes me to. Where was the space for me to be a person free from the definitions associated with him and exist on my own? He said I was twisting his words. I said he’s always been harsh with me at the slightest inconvenience and I was tired of it. I turned to my side and lifted my sheets to lay beneath them as he stood there in silence. 

He made no effort to move from his spot for several minutes until I felt a pressure fall down against the bed next to me. It was Riki laying down right behind my back. His tone was soft and apologetic. He asked me if I remembered when we were ten in Okayama, I put my palm on the hot plate of the coffee machine, twice. He said even with pain I wasn’t good at learning my lesson and he was just worried. He didn’t want me to get hurt. I turned around to see a pure look in his eyes and embraced him. He asked me not to try and see Jake again. I disregarded his words and thought he was cute like this. 

The sleep I saw in his eyes since I came home finally lulled him to rest as he mumbled senselessly and his lashes brushed against my collarbone with each rising breath of his chest. When he was asleep he looked like a cherub, full faced, and soft features. But when he would open his eyes he’d appear sharp and cut deep into me in a way that is so different from the gentle caresses of his embrace. Truly I didn’t know who he was anymore, but time fostered a connection between us stronger than the confusion. 

We had a patience with one another that no one else could. 

[j-nor]

I wish the floor was made of glass so it would cut me when I stomp on it

[killingthewrongpartsofme]

“We’re connected by the red string of fate” And? You think I give a fuck? I’ll grab a pair of scissor right now. Destiny has nothing on the amount of spite I have. I’d rather cut off my hand than be tied to you

[irmimimi]

Friendship 🧸🪅

Most lonely kids have imaginary friends and I was one of them. It's just that she was quite dangerous for a little kid like me. Oddly enough, there were times that I was having nightmares because of that creep.

Or whatever it is...

I can't lie, she was nice most of the time. She would come through the window to see me, then later she begun to live inside my head and soon she would follow me almost everywhere. I could catch glimpses of her, illusions of deranged looking creatures spying on me.

She was the only friend I had growing up and ai would occasionally count her in on everything. My parents got mad at me because they got freaked out with my behavior. It was all too real... She told me that 'they couldn't see or hear her so they didn't have to know'

There was a kid in school that made fun of my teeth one day. I run home crying but my parents were busy. She was there, waiting.

She quickly left and told me she had responsibilities to care of, she gave me a sweet and told me that she'd put him to sleep . Useless to say I never saw that kid again.

My parents saw a small injury i had and asked about it. I told them it happened when i was playing with Irmi by accident, reasonably they didn't believe me. My father screamed and screamed at me that she didn't exist. And I started to believe it. I didn't have any proof that she ever existed...

After that, I hadn't seen her for almost a week. Until.. one night. She broke into my room. She was so messy and looked somehow even more tired than she usually did. And also, her clothes were covered with faint red paint or something. But despite that, she was smiling.

She told me that she would take my father to accompany the other kid. "They should rest" that's what she said

To be honest, she wasn't the same ever since. She would make me play a game I didn't want... that included knives and razors. She hurt me...

I didn't tell anyone! They wouldn't believe me. My dad died in a car crash , she took him with her just like she had promised. Maybe she knows better.

But if she is actually my friend then why did she hurt me? She threatens to take my mom away too now.

I don't really wanna play her weird game anymore.

E.c.s.a

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When someone tries to imitate you or take your place 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone 

(tw: general mentions of violence and intimacy, swf. Old ask suggested by the lovely @pandaquick, better late than never)

Your position in the Fatui is a much more personal and delicate matter. You are not just some high-rank advisor or soldier idling within the Zapolyarny Palace, nor can you be defined as another Fatuus. You are someone of a different echelon - a Harbinger’s beloved, safeguarded with the utmost honor conferred by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. It is no secret your significant other would utilize a whole army to protect you, but what happens when someone, in their foolishness, forgets that?

✧ Pierro was the first to notice that someone tried to imitate you. An individual of high status endeavored to emulate your work and areas of expertise. Subsequently, this individual began to adopt aspects of your appearance, from hairstyle to clothing. However, the breaking point occurred when this foolish person attempted to purchase an identical jewelry brooch to the one you frequently wore. It was a similar piece, one gifted to you by Pierro.

Except that imitator missed one important clue - Pierro orders you custom-made silver adorned with deep-cut sapphires that would put the Tsaritsa’s crown into shame. A one of a kind piece.

This cheap attempt to imitate you and usurp your spot was what forced The Jester to abandon his silent observation. His gaze has long caught the envious glances directed towards you whenever you accompanied him on meetings, whenever he linked his arm with yours, whenever he generously kneeled beside you to put his coat over your shoulder and keep you warm from Snezhnaya’s cold - the same individual, always seething with resentment. Thus, it was time for the Director to silently act. 

He kept tabs on this person via a network of spies, gathering intel on their behavior and intentions. And with the most skilled spies raised from the House of the Hearth, it didn't take long to have a whole pile of evidence right on his desk. And with the simple snap of his fingers, he effortlessly orchestrated the apprehension and subsequent banishment of the culprit, sparing no unnecessary words. Hearsay will not be tolerated in the Fatui, but to see some lowly scum tarnish your reputation by cheap mimicry then it’ll be his responsibility to weed out. 

“Pierro, dearest, What's wrong? You seem so deep in thought.” - Your gentle murmur broke The Jester's train of thought. As he lay in bed, your head resting on his chest and his arm draped over you, he reminded himself that he was in the comfort of your love. He doesn't have to mull over the bloodied ordinances when he feels the warmth of your skin underneath the covers.

“Apologies, my divine. It seems my mind was drifting to troubling thoughts. But it no longer matters when you're here.” - Thus, he gently planted a kiss on your forehead and tucked the covers around your body which harbored marks of his devotion earlier that night.

✧ Il Capitano clutched the hilt of his sword in resolution. Something was wrong and he could see it. The Harbinger was in the middle of his morning spar with you, a regular training session where you and the Captain warm up as a routine. He stood in a defensive stance, his movements fluid yet measured as his sword received blow after blow from your weapon. You, on the other hand, moved like a silent tempest, your strikes precise yet frustratingly urgent.

It was unlike you to be so unsteady, noted Capitano to himself, especially when fighting. Despite the unspoken patience, an undercurrent of concealed despondency and anger laced your body language. 

“Alright, my dear, I can feel your unease. What troubles your heart?” 

You shook your head, panting as you almost faltered. You insisted on continuing the training session, but it was clear your brave facade was almost crumbling. 

“It would be foolish to continue. And I care about your well-being. Please, confide in me, my beloved.”

You tried, you really did. But before you know it, your lips pursed into a thin line and a flood of tears escaped the moment you shakily lowered your weapon. Now the Captain was on full alert, rushing towards you and gently supporting you before you could hide your tearful face in shame. With an arm around your trembling form and much persuasion - you relented and shared the source of your frustration. A newly enlisted soldier had undergone thorough training under the tutelage of Il Capitano, and their impressive advancement was unmistakably evident in their unwavering dedication. However, this individual began to devote more time to the Captain, delving into military intelligence and climbing the ranks. You genuinely felt joy for the new recruit, truly. Yet in timid humiliation, you had to confess you felt obsolete as if your power alone wasn’t enough for a harbinger of his caliber and ranks.

“Ah, my dear, you are far from weak. My time with the trainees is merely a duty, a part of my job as the 1st Harbinger. But when it comes to you, my dear, your might and wisdom are incomparable. You don’t deserve my ranks, you deserve my life laid before you.”

But whatever gentle words of affection were coming out of the Captain, your next words of truth made him halt at once. “... At least, that’s what the recruit told me when we spoke. That I'm weak.” 

“...What did you say?” 

The gentle armored hand on your shoulder now tightened in restrained anger, fury flaring within his chest. Capitano now understood: your tears, your sudden insecurity, your doubt, your silence… It wasn’t coincidental. This recruit who was so conveniently rising in the ranks made sure to aim not just for the Harbinger. Specifically, you; to sow self-doubt onto you and hinder your precious relationship. Someone was deliberately bullying you.

You looked up at Capitano’s dreadful silence, asking him what was wrong.

“It… seems, my dear, someone has crossed an unforgivable line. One that would cost them their life dearly. And I am to blame for not noticing when harm and doubt came your way. I must amend this transgression for your forgiveness.”

You blinked in response, not having time to comprehend the severity of his words; It’s hard to respond when your beloved suddenly kneels and bows like a knight on duty. In the end, Capitano ushered you to take a day off and let your mind rest easy.

The next day, Capitano returned home early but was eerily silent once more. He stayed with you the whole day, like a hawk overlooking his nest, his arms crossed but his touch gentle. Although he claimed nothing was wrong, you received news that certain recruits were gone, and any upcoming soldiers that would come into his care would receive even stricter training from now on. That day, you wondered why some Fatui soldiers feared talking to you. Not to mention the armor around Capitano’s knuckles seemed faintly red-tinted.

The Fatui organization was a constant battle of powers and ranks. But to climb the ladder and meddle with the life of The Captain was a personal offense, one that would result in quick and unapologetic bloodshed. Nevertheless, he made sure to remind his soldiers about that. 

✧ When one of the folks working under Il Dottore as a lab analyst approached you, you didn’t expect them to call you names so suddenly. You stood there, confused and apprehensive at the sudden barrage of insults from the stranger. But they explained:

“You don’t do anything when helping during research, you know! I don’t even know how The 2nd tolerates you when you’re this useless. I’ll tell you what, quit your special-treatment act, and don’t come back to the lab. The Doctor is better off with someone of his level of intellect.”

You didn’t fight or defend yourself, you didn’t even insult the assistant. Instead, you smiled simply  - “Very well, I won’t. Good luck.”

That day, you turned and left. The frustrated lab analyst was left in confusion but thought they succeeded in eliminating the only obstacle left to get closer to the elusive yet powerful Harbinger. After all, what the hell do you even do at his lab? You exchange a few words with Dottore, maybe sporadically point at what to do, and remain seated in the back, resting as if you were the Tsaritsa herself. The audacity. How come Il Dottore never kicked you out?

Well, it didn't take long for this person to find out.

The next day, naturally, Dottore couldn’t find you when he proceeded with work. You were neither at his study, nor at the lab, nor at your favorite corner of the library. It was barely noon, and receiving your warm greetings was his routine. And the Doctor always follows the agenda.

“Where are they?” 

His question was brief but pointed, and his subordinates knew exactly who he was referring to. They could sense the tension in his voice. The only individual privy to the reason for your absence smirked smugly and responded.

“Hmph. It seems they decided not to come, Lord Harbinger Dottore.”

That was their first mistake because The Doctor caught on to the haughty smirk coming from his new analyst.

“And you know so certainly how?” - he quickly gestured to a nearby Fatui servant with a flick of his wrist. “Send in servants to check in on my behalf. I wasn’t informed. If my darling is feeling tired or unwell, bring their preferred refreshment immediately, and ensure it is warm.”

However, this displeased the new lab assistant, as even while you were away, Dottore was still dotting on you as if it was his second nature to do so while he was busy with work. Thus, they cleared their throat and spoke up:

“They… barely accomplished anything in your presence, doctor. So I advised them to leave, to which they agreed. Pretty straightforward, s-sir.” 

“Oh? Did you, now” - A burning rage, like never before, flared up within Il Dottore. With clenched teeth and a rigid jaw, his voice oozed with venom. But any seasoned lackey working under Dottore knew that this was the calm before the storm. Because soon, an echo of shattering vials and slammed objects would ring out from the laboratory. And in your absence, nothing would prevent the doctor from showing a bit of despotism. 

Much later that evening, after everything was set and done, the servants informed him of your whereabouts. Il Dottore briskly made his way through the Zapolyarny Palace to find you. Spotting you tucked away in a secluded nook of the palace, he hastened over, anxious to ensure your well-being, fearing you might’ve withdrawn due to the influence of some blabbering lowlife. 

“Dear! There you are… No one has the right to speak to you like that ever. Are you alright? My dearest, why did you not tell me immediately?! I would’ve-”

Dottore’s frustrated rambles come to a halt when you place a finger on his lips to shush him. You didn’t look despaired, in fact, you looked calm - “Zandik? Did you have another tantrum in your lab while I was absent?”

The doctor gulped, remembering his place. Calming his senses, he placed his hands on your waist and ushered you closer to his arms.

“... Perhaps. But I had to. How could I be certain that no one had harmed you? Why did you comply with that impudent fool? You should’ve gone to me first.”

“Well, it was unpleasant to hear the insults, sure. But…" - you glanced apologetically and a knowing smile returned to your lips. "I knew you'd find out and deal with the issue very quickly." 

✧ You and Pantalone were an odd couple. You didn't hail from a rich background, nor were you well-versed in the art of business and finance. You were more proficient in adventuring, your travels taking you to all sorts of journeys and commissions, a polar opposite from your beloved Pantalone. This led to raised eyebrows among the aristocrats of Snezhnaya. How can the richest man of Teyvat, who lives and works in prestige, be associated with such a simple person as you? For some, this gave the impression that they had a better chance of winning him over.

Thus, once upon a night, Pantalone was invited to a luxurious soirée. Here he was, clad in his finest suit, silver rings complementing his equally expensive optics. But to the Regrator, the jewelry adorning him was the least of his concerns - because you were the most precious gem in this gala. You accompanied him, although reluctantly, feeling out of place amidst the grand assembly of extravagant guests and the languid orchestra.

“Pantalone, do we have to…? I know you said this is not a business party, but there are so many guests already lining up to talk to you.” 

“Oh do not fret, my sweet. Evening galas like these are where the real negotiation and connections entail. But I know the details bore you, so I promise we won't stick here for too long. Besides, I get to introduce you as my one and only!”

That's exactly what you were afraid of. As a company of some esteemed noble ladies adorning elegant gowns, you had difficulties matching Pantalone’s polite smile. Overwhelmed by the scrutinizing gazes of some guests, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom. Pantalone was concerned, thinking of following you, but that was exactly what the guests wanted. 

You spent a long while by the hallway alone, trying to stabilize your breathing. The muttering of guests enjoying drinks and strolling was faint, but you could hear some people nearby:

“How can the 9th be with someone like them…? Surely it’s a joke.”

“A charming, rich man like him, and he can have anyone he desires. Yet he wastes his time on a simpleton?”

“Someone was definitely in it for the Mora, maybe he hasn’t seen real class. Quick, let’s go talk to him while he is alone.”

You stood with your back to a wall, and for the first time, uncertainty crept in. With fists clenched by your side, you reprimanded yourself that you are not alone. You came here with your significant other - and he, above all else, knows that gossip has no place in your shared private life. Hence, gathering up your courage, you raise your head high and strode back into the gala.

Pantalone, unfortunately yet expectedly, was surrounded by the same foul-mouthed nobles who wished to impress him. They prattled on about his financial success, while ladies fanned their folding fans and stood too close for his comfort. While they humored him, The Regrator cast hurried glances around the gala in search of you. Where are you?

“Lord Harbinger, may we offer you more champagne? I am sure this expensive bottle is up to your taste.”

The 9th attempted to hide his frown at the woman's tone, his stomach unwilling to ingest any drink some excessively elaborate name. “No thank you, I’d rather decline. I am waiting for my dear. I promised her a dance later this evening.”

“Oh, please sir, I insist. The night is young and there is plenty more for-” 

Before the woman could continue, your voice cut through the air; calm, yet unmistakably firm. “He said no. Simple enough to understand.”  

A hush fell over the gathered guests, the weight of your words settling like a sudden gust. Only Pantalone beamed with a genuine smile. “Ah, dear! There you are,”. The Harbinger was about to step back towards you, when the same lady suddenly blocked his path, her back facing him while her tone edged with defiance.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid the question is directed towards Lord Harbinger Pantalone. I am sure you wouldn't know the pleasure of tasting a 500,000 Mora champagne from Fontaine.”

You recognized the snark in her tone directed towards you, and you couldn’t deny the anxiety twisting in your gut as eyes narrowed in your direction. However, with a shake of your head, you reminded yourself who you truly are and simply said: “Sheesh, lady, you spend that much on a drink that tastes worse than sparkling water? To each their own, I presume”

Her smile vanished. The guests stared in stunned silence, but it was Pantalone’s genuine laughter that pierced the tension. The sound was rich and real—because only he knew how adept you were at humbling an overconfident aristocrat with a dose of blunt truth. That’s how Pantalone managed to push through the crowd and circle his arm back around your waist, leaving the astonished onlookers behind.

“Ah dear, you’re a savior. I apologize I dragged us into this unpleasant company…” - he confined to you apologetically as you two walked away. “You always knew how to be sincere in your honest way.”

“It’s not like I meant to pick up a fight…" - you sighed. "I simply couldn't bear the humiliation, Pantalone. I'm aware that some people give me strange looks when I'm with you. They regard me as if I'm some peasant standing next to a powerful Fatui harbinger. That I'm nothing. That's why I couldn’t just hide, I had to step up to defend myself.”

“Oh, darling… My sweet, precious darling.” - The two of you left the manor that hosted the soiree, the chill night breeze muting the faint sound of guests and replacing it with a symphony of cricket noise from the garden nearby. Pantalone's fingers intertwined with yours.

"You are not just 'nothing' - you're my everything. You did not come from riches, and neither did I. You of all people know that. Would I really hold respect for some rich fool who didn't know an ounce of hardship when Mora was all they had since birth? No, dear, I wouldn't."

With a tender hand, he rested his palm on your waist, gently guiding you along the cobblestone path as if leading you into a slow waltz by garden roses in the night.

"Besides, you should never be ashamed to seek out my help. Although I must admit... Your tone earlier - oh my. Use it on me more often, darling. I wouldn't mind." 

[toffeebrews]

mindless dust doodles

[cielcreations]

SCP-L177L3W00D

Item #: SCP-L177L3W00D

Site: L1F3

Object Class: Safe Euclid [ See Addendum SCP-L177L3W00D-3 ]

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-L177L3W00D is to be contained in a room no less than six (6) meters by six (6) meters. Food should be provided three (3) times daily, with three (3) snacks if requested. SCP-L177L3W00D will sometimes request items to "fulfill his king's demands." Requests are to be approved by Site Directors.

List of Approved Requested Items: [ DATA EXPUNGED ]

List of Denied Requested Items: [ DATA EXPUNGED ]

Addendum SCP-L177L3W00D-1: As of 20XX/10/31, no requests from SCP-L177L3W00D shall be fulfilled. Anyone attempting to do so will be terminated.

If SCP-L177L3W00D is in a rage state, no one is to enter the room. No matter what he screams or demands, ignore him. SCP-L177L3W00D will not be harmed, even if he says so. No one is to attempt to fight or sedate him. It is best to just wait it out until his rage subsides.

Description: SCP-L177L3W00D is a thirty (30) year old Caucasian man of British descent, approximately one point six (1.6) meters in height. He has blonde hair that he holds back with a red headband with blue eyes. He wears a black shirt with a red corset vest over it, black jeans, black boots, with a black cape that has a red trim as well as a red hand on the back of it. He always has an axe strapped to his back, never pulling it out. that he pulls out in his rage state.

He is usually very pleasant, very kind and quick witted. He is always joking with staff members, smiling and laughing with them. However, we cannot be sure if this is his true self or merely a manipulation of his. With his unpredictability, his rage state, and other accidents, we cannot trust him

Addendum SCP-L177L3W00D-2: SCP-L177L3W00D's classification has changed to Euclid upon O5 Command. After what happened on 20XX/10/31, it is clear SCP-L177L3W00D has what we now call a "rage state." He is extremely hostile and dangerous in this state and, because of the unpredictability of these states, no more interviews are to be conducted. No requests are to be fulfilled. As little time as possible is to be spent in his containment chambers.

[ Interview Logs ]

.

Date: 20XX/10/25

Interviewer: Dr. Rodgers

Interviewee: SCP-L177L3W00D

[ BEGIN LOG ]

SCP-L177L3W00D: Ayup, Doctor.

Dr. Rodgers: I- Pardon?

SCP-L177L3W00D: Never heard that before? [Joking] Judging from your accent, you're a filthy American. [Chuckles] I kid, of course. I'm just saying hi, seeing as I'm suddenly being held in your building for no reason.

Dr. Rodgers: It is for a reason. The foundation is quite interested in your abilities-

SCP-L177L3W00D: Ah, I'm sorry, Doctor, but I don't offer my services to others.

Dr. Rodgers: N-No, no, sir, don't worry. I, nor the foundation, is asking for you to use your abilities for us. We just wish to know more about them.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Well, good. My service is only for my king.

Dr. Rodgers: Your king? May I ask who that is?

SCP-L177L3W00D: All you need to know is he goes by the Red King. You don't want to know his name. [Pauses] Those who hear his name are bound to die.

Dr. Rodgers: By whom?

SCP-L177L3W00D: Well, I am the Red King's Hand. He orders me to kill, I do so. If he ordered me to offer my life, I would. I am but a loyal and humble servant to my great king.

Dr. Rodgers: I see. Should we be worried about whether or not you are going to hurt the foundation members?

SCP-L177L3W00D: [Pauses] I don't think so. No offense, but you all are extremely weak. It'd be a waste of my time and energy to get rid of you, and my king knows that. He probably finds it amusing that you all believe you've caught me. [Chuckles] But, he hasn't ordered me to leave yet. So, I will play along for now. It's kinda nice to have a break!

Dr. Rodgers: You think you could just leave.

SCP-L177L3W00D: [Laughs] Oh, Doctor Rodgers, I know I could just leave if my king ordered me to do so.

Dr. Rodgers: How did you-

SCP-L177L3W00D: [Smirks] Oh, was that suppose to be a secret? [Chuckles] My bad. Well, my king has ordered me to say no more, so this interview is done. Off you go!

Note: Dr. Rodgers continued to try to ask questions, but SCP-L177L3W00D remained silent.

[ END LOG ]

.

Date: 20XX/10/28

Interviewer: Dr. Rodgers

Interviewee: SCP-L177L3W00D

[ BEGIN LOG ]

Dr. Rodgers: Hello again. 

SCP-L177L3W00D: Hello, Doctor Rodgers. It's nice to see you again. Glad to know I didn't scare you off.

Dr. Rodgers: It takes a lot to scare me.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Oh? [Laughs] Should I be scarier then?

Dr. Rodgers: [Chuckles] I would prefer not, but I cannot stop you. Only your king can, correct.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Ah! So you guys are smart!

Dr. Rodgers: If I can, I would like to try to ask more questions this time. I would like to know more about your powers and abilities. I feel as though last time, we only got to know your background and morals.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Hm, I suppose you're right. Alright, I'll answer what I can!

Dr. Rodgers: Excellent. First off, is there a name you would like me to call you?

SCP-L177L3W00D: My name is Martyn, the Red King's Hand.

Dr. Rodgers: Well, it's good to know. Now I won't have to call you your code name. Okay, Martyn, when local police found you, you were surrounded by bodies and covered in blood.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Yes, those people defied my king and your... police tried to attack me.

Dr. Rodgers: Exactly. Well, you got on the foundation's radar because, despite having been shot at least fifteen times, you were still standing.

SCP-L177L3W00D: [Laughs] Oh, that? Yeah, that is nothing!

Dr. Rodgers: Are you immune to bullets?

SCP-L177L3W00D: [Laughs] Oh, Doctor, I am anything my king needs me to be. But, in this state? I guess you could call me... an immortal. A follower, a listener. [Laughs] Listener... oh, he will hate me for that!

Dr. Rodgers: So, if your king demands it, is it possible for you to become something else? Could you shapeshift?

SCP-L177L3W00D: Oh, no, no! Not... well, not fully. If he ordered me to be an animal, I wouldn't act human. An animal runs on instincts, so I would do that. I can't just turn into a wolf or bear or something.

Dr. Rodgers: So, it's more hypothetical, then?

SCP-L177L3W00D: I guess, yes. [Pauses] Sorry, but my king has ordered me to not answer any more questions.

Dr. Rodgers: We can still talk, can't we?

[No response]

Dr. Rodgers: [Pauses] Oh, that's a question, isn't it? [Chuckles] You take your job very seriously. I admire you.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Thank you.

[ END LOG ]

.

Date: 20XX/10/30

Interviewer: Dr. Rodgers

Interviewee: SCP-L177L3W00D

[ BEGIN LOG ]

SCP-L177L3W00D: I hate him.

Dr. Rodgers: That is one way to start an interview.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Ah, I'm sorry. I just hate him.

Dr. Rodgers: Hate who?

SCP-L177L3W00D: [Pauses] I can't say, unfortunately. My king doesn't wish me to. But my king- [Note: SCP-L177L3W00D clenches his fists at this point.] -is being hurt. He is in danger, and yet he wants me to stay put.

Dr. Rodgers: So, you hate your king?

SCP-L177L3W00D: Well, I hate his stubbornness, but I wasn't talking about hating him. No, I the person hurting my king. But my king... [Silence] Despite being called the Red King, he doesn't like a lot of bloodshed. It's why I do the work for him. And yet, he is too kind. A bleeding heart. Without me, he would have died a long time ago. 

Dr. Rodgers: So, you're angry at the person hurting the Red King.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Yes. Because I should be helping, I should be protecting him! Yet, he refuses to give me the order. Has only ordered me to not leave, to wait. It upsets me.

Dr. Rodgers: Have you ever defied your king?

SCP-L177L3W00D: No, never. And I never would. 

Dr. Rodgers: If it's for his safety, wouldn't it be a good thing?

SCP-L177L3W00D: Perhaps. But I cannot be sure. I trust my king. I trust his judgement. And I will continue to follow him.

Dr. Rodgers: But-

SCP-L177L3W00D: I'm sorry, I don't want to talk anymore.

Dr. Rodgers: Martyn?

[No response]

Dr. Rodgers: Martyn, are-

SCP-L177L3W00D: Please, I don't want to talk anymore.

Dr. Rodgers: Martyn, I just need-

SCP-L177L3W00D: [Screaming] I DON'T WANT TO TALK ANYMORE!

Dr: Rodgers: [Shocked] A-Alright.

[ END LOG ]

.

Addendum SCP-L177L3W00D-3: An attempt was made to conduct an interview with SCP-L177L3W00D on 20XX/10/31, but when Dr. Rodgers entered the room, SCP-L177L3W00D's eyes were a bright red. Once the door closed, SCP-L177L3W00D said a single phrase.

SCP-L177L3W00D: Forgive me, Doctor, but my King has ordered your blood on my hands. You were kind for the brief conversations we've had, but I cannot disobey him.

SCP-L177L3W00D proceed to unstrap the axe from his back and sliced Dr. Rodgers in half. Weapons and sedating proved to be futile when entering the room. This incident resulted in five (5) deaths and ten (10) injured. Once SCP-L177L3W00D had calmed down, his eyes turned blue once again as he sat down. 

SCP-L177L3W00D allowed D-Class personnel to clean the room, remaining silent. Due to this incident as well as O-5 Command, SCP-L177L3W00D's file has been severely altered.

[feysandfeels]

No but in all seriousness Kaz Brekker is peak romance. He bought her a ship and found her parents murdered the guy who almost killed her and ensured she would never be owned like she had been.. all while respecting her freedom, holding her as an equal, supporting her dreams, valuing her. GETTING NERVOUS BEFORE MEETING HER PARENTS? THE YEARNING?! THE I WOULD HAVE COME TO YOU EVEN IF I HAD TO CRAWL? Like truly peak peak romance from the Bastar of the Barrel.

[cobaltcreations]

Me and my partner @the-good-ol-art-corner collaborated on this AWESOME poster for one of our favorite Bendy Aus @toontiedterror by @dictatortirah !! I am in LOVE with how it came out and I am so excited to see how this story and world develops!!

I put so many details into this, it is absolutely silly, but I had a swell time doing them. Those headshots on the missing posters belong to the staff from our own Bendy project @howdy-folks-its-showtime and we didn't even intend to make two versions. But I put so much into the background... I just had to make a version without the foreground to show it off <3

[azlrse]

➳ unintentionally (a boothill x gn!spouse!reader oneshot)

cw: major angst w/ open ending, reader has a bruise (unintentionally) from their ranger husband, accidental slap (also unintentional), established relationship, married au, lots of apologies and crying present here, ooc boothill (first time writing for him)

a/n: alright, as soon as i saw boothill for the first time, I was like "bet lemme write something for him". he's gonna be ooc cause 1. i didn't play the game yet (cries incompatible tablet) and 2. i am still learning the roots of this game's lore (and him once he's released) lol

!! fic contains sensitive topic, steer clear if this fic ain't your piece of cake !!

"darlin'?" a voice called out in the side of the storage room. "please come out, i-i didn't mean to hit you and im really sorry.." your husband called out for you softly to avoid scaring you further. his constant knocking and coercing you to come out lasted for 5 minutes, making you curl up further within the corner of the walls. "leave me alone.." you meekly spoke, voice still hoarse from your earlier cries as you held your bruised, swollen face.

his constant knocking just faded away as you sobbed, using your free hand to wipe away your snot and tears dripping from your face. if you just steer clear from him and not pestering him because of his anger, you wouldn't be hit and to be screamed by boothil to just leave him alone. you knew that your husband is like a dynamite, ready to explode at any moment due to his occupation. boothill assures you that he will never lay a hand on you, even when the both of you are either arguing or disagreeing over something that's simple and stupid.

but this day, he broke that one promise that kept you safe since the day he asked you out. just because of his anger towards that one outlaw who's on the run for weeks. almost captured but alas, his luck ran out once again as the prisoner kept on taunting him that he will never be caught by him.

boothill, on the other side of the door, won't give up as he waits for you to open the door and letting him treat your bruised lip and swollen cheek. he knows that it's not an excuse for him to let out such anger towards his spouse. guilt kept on creeping through his system, hearing you sobbing telling him to just leave you alone. "im sorry, sugar.." he sadly spoke, reluctantly returning to the sleeping quarters that the both of you shared.

at around 4:30 am, he quietly opens the door of the storage room and looks around to see if you are sleeping soundly; tear stains on your face, a bruised and swollen cheek, and using a rolled towel as your pillow. his heart shattered what he has done to you and knew that he doesn't deserve your forgiveness. he feared that there will be a day that you would leave him all by himself, all because of how he acted towards his own emotions and anger.

boothil scooped you into his arms as your head leaned towards his warm body. he knew that you liked it when you huddled close towards his chest as he placed a chaste kiss on your head. placing you on the shared bed, he cleans your bruises and places an ice pack on the side of you. he stared at your sleeping face for sometime before he murmurs soft apologies to you, even promising that he will never do again.

the soft light from the curtains woke you up from your sleeping slumber after the ordeal last night. 'strange..' you thought to yourself as you saw the ceiling of the bedroom you shared with your husband, not the plain white ceiling from the storage room where you seek safety during your husband's anger episode. you placed a hand on your bruised cheek and felt a small gauze on top of it and a bit of cold from the ice pack he placed on the side of your face last night.

you tried to get off the bed but felt a robotic arm wrapped around your waist. "no, no..." boothill softly murmurs. "five more minutes sugar, needin' you here right now.." a wave of anxiousness just came rushing towards you as you saw your husband on the bed with you, snuggling as he finally woke up from his sleep; his cropped jacket is gone and only had a pair of short as his sleeping attire, his hair smells like newly lit cigarettes from his trip to the saloon yesterday.

if you aren't anxious, you would be flustered of his appearance.

"mornin' sugar.." he softly spoke as he leans in to give you a kiss. afraid, you quickly jumped off the bed and quickly make a beeline for the storage room once again. "w-wait!" his quick reflexes caught your arm. "don't leave me, let's talk it here my love. I know what I did is unacceptable and I'm really sorry for hitting you." Silence looms within the bedroom as you eyes avoided his. "Please.." He pleaded, his eyes soften as guilt crept on his back.

it's up to you to decide of you should stay for him or choosing your own peace...

a/n: not my best work but hopefully you guys liked my take on boothill (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)♡

Do not republish, edit, or repost to other websites. Reblogs and likes are appreciated! 💕

[faceless-ghostt]

well... welcome back to Meme redraw hell ig. Pt 5

will these ever end? idk, probably ┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌

(references and rambles under the cut)

I'm still not completely happy with how I draw Thad but I'm getting there slowly, incredibly slowly. Same with Kon, he's not there yet but he's much closer. and I swear that isn't the usual outfit I draw him in, I swear I can do better ToT

Mindless rambles about my struggles with designs aside I've been trying to post more, mainly to get me back in the habit of drawing, but I am working on a larger, not large, but larger project that may or may not have to do with a Young Justice 98 and FNAF mash up and one of the characters is absolutely fucking me over. So I'm just doing easy drawings until my brain agrees with my arms enough to actually draw what I want to draw. I don't think these drawings are things I'll put on the Internet because they are just random drawings, but I'll probably share them to the YJ98 discord server. but I personally think this is a fun AU I am currently making and it will be forced on the world soon, kicking and screaming.

idk why I'm even rambling, probably because it's 2:30 in the morning and my brain is melting from multiple weeks of shitty sleep but ajdgakudgshsixhsv

uh, shameless plug moment, Join the YJ98 discord server that is pinned on my profile, it's fun and great and I want to yap with more YJ fans!

[capricorn-writes1]

2p Axis are falling in love?

LUCIANO VARGAS (Italy), LUTZ BEILSCHMIDT (Germany), and KURO HONDA (Japan) Falling in Love Headcanons

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A/N: Hello, Anon! Thank you so much for requesting this headcanon, and I tried my best to give the best portrayal for these guys. I hope you like the final result, and I'm sorry if there might be some OOC characters. I am really sorry, but I have to close the asks because my asks are overflowing, especially in the other account.

Gender: Neutral

Warning: Slight Yandere and Slight Violence from Luciano

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LUCIANO VARGAS - 2P North Italy

Luciano is used to flattery and manipulation, so when you act like a normal person around him, it throws him off. You’re not intimidated by his cold stares or sharp words; you just shrug and continue. That quiet defiance makes him curious. Why aren’t you fawning over him like everyone else?

He tests you quite often. Luciano drops dark comments or flirty threats just to see how you'll react. Most people flinch or stammer, but you raise an eyebrow or call him out. He respects that you don't play into fear, and that’s rare.

Luciano doesn’t do PDA, but he always stands close, shoulder brushing yours. His eyes follow anyone who talks to you too long. If someone flirts with you, they mysteriously disappear the next day.

Luciano realizes he's thinking about you too much, and it frustrates him. He curses under his breath when your smile pops into his mind mid-meeting. He’ll blame you for it, half-seriously, but in reality he secretly does not mind.

If someone’s threatening you, you’ll never know. Luciano will deal with it behind the scenes silently and ruthlessly. He keeps his world away from you as much as he can.

Most of his smiles are smirks; they are either cold or teasing. But once in a while, when he’s relaxed with you, it slips out: a real, warm smile. It’s rare, soft, and strangely boyish, like the walls finally came down.

Luciano has his demons, and he knows it. Sometimes, he disappears for a day or two when he feels too dark. It’s his way of protecting you from the worst parts of him.

He’d rather be tortured than admit he’s in love. Luciano hates being vulnerable, especially with feelings. He’ll deny it for weeks—even to himself. But the more time he spends with you, the harder it gets to lie.

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Luciano doesn’t believe in happy endings, not for people like him.But when he watches you sleep, he finds himself imagining a life together. Quiet dinners, late-night talks, maybe even kids someday. It terrifies him how much he wants that.

Luciano Vargas was not the kind of boy anyone called gentle. Sharp words, sharper suits, and a reputation soaked in rumors followed him wherever he walked. People kept their distance, not just because of his cold stare or the silver knife tucked into his coat, but because he seemed untouchable, like a shadow that knew your secrets.

And because of that, when you showed up, all wide-eyed and utterly unimpressed, it cracked something in him. You weren’t afraid. You didn’t flinch when he made a dry remark and didn’t shrink away from his intimidating silence. That annoyed him. And intrigued him. Mostly intrigued.

He started testing you after that. Subtle things at first; sarcastic comments, brush-by smirks, questions laced with double meanings. You met them with eye rolls, light laughter, or clever comebacks that left him speechless. No one ever did that. No one dared. But there you were, poking at the edges of his mask like it wasn’t made of glass and teeth.

He didn’t understand why his chest felt lighter when you smiled. He blamed it on coffee, then on boredom. But neither explained why he couldn’t stop watching you from across the room. Luciano never confessed he liked you. Not in words. He’d shove your favorite snack into your hands with a grumble, lean just a little too close when walking side by side, or flick away someone’s wandering gaze from you with an icy glare.

You noticed the way his fingers brushed yours when he handed you something, how his presence wrapped around you like smoke, comforting yet mysterious. The air always felt different when he was near. And for someone who claimed not to care, he sure acted like you were something worth guarding.

The first time he taught you how to defend yourself, it wasn’t out of casual curiosity.

“If someone grabs your wrist like this,” he said when the two of you meet together in the afternoon, gripping you gently but firmly,

“You twist like this, quick. Elbow, ribs. Don’t hesitate.” You blinked but followed his movements. It felt more like a dance than a lesson.

“Why are you showing me this?” you asked.

He looked away, jaw tight and lips pursed together. “Because I won’t always be around. So learn.”

It was one of those late, quiet evenings when it all changed. The sky bled into lavender and smoke outside the window, and he sat beside you, silent, his gaze far away. You thought he’d fallen asleep until you heard him whisper something, his voice low like a secret.

“You make it hard to stay cold," you hear his every word.

You didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. But your heart hammered like thunder. Luciano, the boy made of steel and secrets, had just peeled back the first layer and handed it to you. From that night on, things softened. Not by much, but enough. He still cursed under his breath when you teased him and still rolled his eyes when you called him out for being overprotective, but there was a glint in his eye now.

A warmth. He let you see parts of him he didn’t show anyone else: the quiet grief in his silences, the gentle way he fixed your coat without saying a word, and the way his hand lingered on yours just a moment longer each time.

Luciano started talking about his past in fragments: shadows of memories, half-finished stories that he left some as secrets. You listened without judgment, and that seemed to disarm him more than anything.

“I’ve done things,” he said in a monotone, his voice dry. “Bad things. You should hate me...but you didn’t."

You reached for his hand instead, squeezing it once, grounding him. And he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real. It scared him how much he wanted a future with you. Luciano didn’t believe in fairy tales. But sometimes, when you were asleep beside him, he imagined waking up like this forever. Maybe it wasn’t a white picket fence kind of dream, but it was yours and his.

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LUTZ BEILSCHMIDT - 2p Germany

Lutz didn’t realize he liked you at first. It hit him like a truck one day when you laughed too loud and shoved his arm. His usual flirtatious teasing stalled, and for a moment he forgot to smirk. It scared him a little. Not because he wasn’t brave, but because he suddenly cared too much.

He starts hanging around more than usual, giving dumb excuses like 'I was bored' or 'I had beer left over.' But he’s secretly watching over you like a hawk. If anyone messes with you even slightly, he’s suddenly in their face with a charming grin and veiled threats.

Lutz shows affection through actions more than words. He’ll fix that squeaky door hinge, patch your broken phone case, or carry your stuff without being asked.

He sends you chaotic texts at 3AM like:“Hey, do you think vampires need dental insurance?” He tries to sound casual, but you can tell he worries about you even when you’re not around.

He becomes insanely touchy once you start dating. Arms slung over your shoulders, constant hand-holding, sneaky hugs from behind. Physical affection is his love language, no doubt.

He spoils you in weird ways, like bringing you five different snacks because “I didn’t know which one you wanted.” He doesn’t do fancy candlelit dinners, but he does drag you on late-night bike rides or carnival dates.

Lutz loves when you play with his hair. He'll grumble at first, but then tilt his head toward your hands like a sleepy cat. It’s one of the only things that can make him go silent, purely relaxed.

When you’re upset, Lutz will drop everything. Even if he doesn’t know what to say, he’s there for you and holding your hand, cracking dumb jokes to make you laugh. He’d rather go through hell with you than let you cry alone.

He has dreams about a future with you but doesn’t tell you right away. Little flashes: living together, lazy mornings, maybe even cute cats with you to cuddle with. You catch him staring sometimes, eyes soft in a way you’ve never seen but you can see a warm tint in his eyes

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The first time Lutz saw you, it wasn’t anything poetic. No halo of sunlight or birds chirping. You were laughing at something dumb with a group of friends while showing something funny on your phone, or you were choking on your saliva from laughing too much. However, for some reason, that sound made him stop mid-sip of his energy drink. He couldn’t explain it, not then.

But something about the way you tilted your head, smiling widely, the lights in your eyes, your laughter despite it not being elegant at all, and if he had to be honest. Your laughter sounded like a tea kettle, completely unapologetic and unhinged, burned into his brain like a brand. And for the first time in a long time, he forgot to be cool.

He didn't fall for you all at once. Nah, Lutz was too stubborn for that. It started in pieces, like tiny moments that crawled under his skin. The way you argued with him instead of backing down and the way you rolled your eyes when he flirted, you were not flustered but amused by his attempt.

You didn’t swoon. You didn’t play along. You challenged him. And Lutz, cocky, chaotic, loud-mouthed Lutz, had never been so fascinated in his life. He started showing up more, lurking near wherever you were, tossing you nicknames like “trouble” or “hotshot” and pretending it was just harmless fun.

But there was nothing harmless about the way his eyes lingered on you. Or how he’d casually wrap an arm around your shoulder, just to see how you’d react. At first, you didn’t give any so he got bolder. Not because he wanted to scare you off, but because he wanted to be seen by you.

Under all the wildness, there was something softer. He showed it in strange ways: tossing you his hoodie when it rained, sliding you your favorite drink without asking, standing too close when someone made you uncomfortable.

“Just looking out for my favorite person,” he’d say, like it was a joke.

You could feel it, the real concern written on his face through his violet eyes, hidden behind his smirk. You started to realize there was more to him than the loud laugh and skull rings. It was one night, things shifted. You were both sitting outside, the sky bleeding into night, his feet kicked up on a bench, yours dangling off the edge.

There was a long silence between you, but it wasn’t awkward and doesn't feel forced. Just comforting silence.

“Y’know,” he said suddenly, staring straight ahead.

“You’re the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m some kind of circus act.” You blinked. He didn’t look at you.

He just took another drag of his soda and added, with a softer voice “Thanks for that.”

You reached over and laced your fingers with his. No big speech. No grand reaction. Just quiet understanding. And Lutz, who lived his life at full volume, didn’t pull away. Didn’t make a joke. He just let it happen. Let you happen. For once, someone saw him without the mask, and he didn’t want to run from it.

After that, it was different. He still teased you mercilessly, still sent you memes at 2AM and dared you to skip class with him, but now there was something else. A protectiveness. A gentleness hidden under the chaos. When you were upset, he didn’t try to fix it. He just showed up, hoodie and all, letting you cry into his shoulder while he quietly held you.

He never outright said “I love you.” But he said it in the way he reached for your hand without thinking. In the way he glared at anyone who looked at you too long. In the playlists he made that bounced from metal to cheesy love songs. He said it in the way he laughed easier when you were around, in the way his voice softened when he asked 'Did jou eat today?' or 'Jou sleep okay?' Every piece of him spoke in actions, not words.

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KURO HONDA - 2p Japan

Kuro don't fall in love fast, he observed. Quietly. From the shadows.He noticed the way you carried yourself, how your eyes shine or when you were thinking, the tiny shifts in your voice.

He never says “I like you” outright. Instead, he begins appearing wherever you are, subtly altering his routine to match yours. You catch him glancing at you when he thinks you're not looking.

Kuro notices the smallest details about you: your coffee order, how you tie your shoes, the words you repeat.He stores it all like a well-guarded file in his mind. When he surprises you with your favorite snack on a hard day, you wonder how he knew.

Once you're close, he starts doing things like walking you home even if it’s out of his way. When you thank him, he just shrugs, as if he didn’t just carve time out of his day just for you.

He keeps a small sketchbook hidden away, inside are tiny and precise drawings of you. Never full portraits, just fragments: the curl of your hair, your hands, the way your eyes look when you laugh.

Kuro opens up slowly, like an ancient book with pages sealed by time. You become the only one allowed to see the chapters he keeps hidden. His traumas, regrets, and lingering self-doubts slip out in quiet conversations under the stars.

He learns what makes you anxious and helps you avoid it without making a big deal. If loud crowds overwhelm you, he’ll find a quiet exit. If someone flirts with you and it makes you uncomfortable, he’ll insert himself smoothly without you noticing.

He rarely smiles but with you, it happens more often than he’d like to admit. Not wide grins, but small, real ones that tug at the corners of his mouth. When he lets out a breathy chuckle? That’s gold.

With Kuro, love isn’t flashy or loud but it’s constant. It’s the silence filled with comfort, the gaze that sees you even when you’re invisible to the world. You become the one soul he lets into his guarded wall

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Kuro had always preferred silence. Not the absence of sound, but the kind of stillness that hummed just beneath the surface; clean, undisturbed, and peaceful. That’s why he noticed you. You weren’t loud like the others, weren’t trying to impress anyone and the way you act just like a background character.

But somehow you disrupted the stillness in a way he couldn’t ignore. You didn’t pierce the silence you fit into it, like a soft wind threading through falling leaves. He watched from afar at first, hidden behind cold glances and half-hearted shrugs or when he was reading his manga, secretly glancing at you.

That was safer. Distance meant control, and Kuro lived for control. But the more he watched you, the more his carefully constructed walls cracked. The way you smiled when you thought no one was looking, the way your fingers moved while sketching absentmindedly on your notebook, the way you listened with your whole heart

The first time you spoke to him, it felt like static in his chest. Nothing profound, just a simple comment about the rain. But he remembered it.

"Today is raining again, huh?" You said to him.

He remembered the exact tilt of your head and how you didn’t flinch under his stare. Most people looked away, uncomfortable under his quiet intensity. But not you. You held eye contact like it was an invitation. Like you saw him.

He started walking the long way around just to pass by your locker. He didn’t talk much, but you did. And Kuro found comfort in the sound of your voice even if he rarely responded with more than a nod or a muttered agreement. The way you filled the silence without breaking it was something he hadn’t realized he needed. It was like you understood how to exist beside him without trying to fix him.

One rainy afternoon, when you sat beside him under the outdoor walkway overhang, sharing warmth from a too-small umbrella, something shifted. You talked about nothing in particular, but he listened like it was everything. You offered him a piece of your snack,

"Do you want some?" You offer him your pocky sticks.

And when he took it without a word, your fingers brushed.

Kuro started showing up more often, always a little closer than before. He’d slide his books beside yours, walk a little slower when you were behind him. And when someone made a joke at your expense one day, Kuro’s tone cut through the hallway like a knife. “Don’t” was all he said. Cold. Sharp. And no one dared cross that line again.

He never said he liked you. Not directly. But one day, he pressed a small folded paper into your hand before disappearing down the hall. Inside was a sketch; your face turned upward, eyes closed, peaceful. Underneath it, in small, neat handwriting, was a single line: You calm the noise in my mind. You stared at the page for a long time, your chest warmed up.

Later that night, you messaged him:

Do you really feel that way?

His reply came only minutes later and it was just a simple:

Yes.

It wasn’t a confession full of fireworks. But for him, that one word held the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. He had spent so long in silence, your presence was the only sound he wanted to keep.

He didn’t become a different person overnight. He was still quiet. Still guarded. But he reached for your hand now, slowly like you were something precious. He shows his smile more. It was tiny, rare smiles that made your heart flutter. And in his silence, you finally found something you didn’t expect: his love was silent but the action speaks louder, and it was as deep as a sea.

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