SCP-682 barreled down the hallway, its tail swinging to and fro like a Newton's cradle of thunderous destruction. Its roar turned the hallways into tremulous noise-affected goop as the staff of Kiryu Labs ran out into the hallway, being the only lab with the power to stop its rampage of devastating debilitation and destruction.
Mark Kiryu gawped at the reptile, which was currently feeding on the tattered remains of Abel for the seventy-sixth umpteenth time in a row today. He was currently wearing a turtleneck made out of the remains of butterflies. "Zyyyynn," he whined, "682's coming to kill my pot plant!" Just the very thought of his precious bamboo plant being defiled by such a disgusting creature threatened to make him bawl into his bamboo's stalky absorbency.
"Yes, Mark, I know," Zyn Kiryu sighed, brushing back her straight black hair in regulation with Foundation protocol.
"Hey, Zyn." Mark was currently wearing three jars as a hat, with three butterflies condensed into the one butterfly's position in spacetime. "Zyn, I'm wearing butterflies as a hat."
"Yes, Mark, I know."
"Aw, why do you have to be such an Overseer's girl?" Mark whined. "Can't you be more funny like me?"
Water gushed outside in a flood of Biblical proportions and continued flowing away from the main characters. Then 682 realised the set-up for a religious joke and left to go find the nearest Christian SCP. Mary-Sue Ann and Salah, though completely unrelated to the plot, somehow found their way into the tale using several kilograms of cocaine and thirteen rappers' worth of hundred dollar bills, and promptly left to go kill it. They failed.
"Hey. Hey Mark." Riven sidled up to Mark. "You know how Zyn isn't actually paying attention to you in the slightest?" he said, doing his best impression of Brock.
"No."
"You don't have to be so dino…" Riven put on the telekill goggles he had prepared earlier. "Sore about it."
Seventeen sloths and one Sophia Light somewhere in the Amazon died of spontaneous and simultaneous heart attacks and aneurysms, but that was completely unrelated to the pun.
"Look, guys, would you please shut up?" Zyn snapped, taking charge like the strong and dominant female protagonist she was. "We've got a serious containment breach on our hands, and making jokes isn't going to help us solve it."
"So then what do we do?" Riven asked. "Do we–"
"We have to do it." Zyn breathed a deep sigh. It would require her to breach containment, but for the good of the Foundation, she would do it.
With piercing emerald eyes she called forth a secret power that had been bestowed upon her by the SCP that had visited her in her dreams. Summoning the energy from deep within her core, she released a pulse of magic thaumic energy that awakened the god humanoid anomaly in the underground facility of Site 19.
"I summon…"

[Transformation Theme from Yu-Gi-Oh! plays]
GRIFFIN LOVECRAFT!
ATK: Ω DEF: Ω RANK: KETER

The crack of lightning striking the earth was heard even as Zyn's cold exterior shell was pierced with the power of such a strong force of irresistible dominance with severe character flaws that would curtail his supposed perfection.
"Wow," Riven sniggered, wiping snot from his nose. "Zyn, you really didn't need to get your breaches in a twis–"
Zyn promptly caused his testicles to ascend, before turning her awestruck gaze to Griffin's handsome but irreparably scarred features. "Griffin! I knew you would hear my call!" she said happily, glad of his presence in such a stressful time – before realising that she needed to maintain decorum around the s-stupid anomaly. "We've got an SCP-682 breach," she said coldly. Griffin's shoulders slumped.
"I'm aware, ma'am," he said ever-courteously, his amorality-colored cape flapping in the breeze let in through the giant cracks in Site 19's walls. "Only such a hideous being would be enough to put a scowl on your lovely face," he added, in the hope of someday impressing her. Maybe someday she'll return my affections?
"Are you hitting on me?" Zyn scowled and promptly butterfly-backhanded him, sending him collapsing to the floor. "Rule number 66-B: A professional distance must be maintained between all SCPs and researchers, idiot!"
Griffin saw the small hint of pink on her face, but quickly got up before a conveniently revealing wind could lift Zyn's professional grey skirt. His haemophilia would cause even the smallest nosebleeds to be fatal.
"Right. You don't have to remind me. But something tells me…" Griffin breathed in, channeling the Keter Field that penetrated and bound the Site, all in search for a particularly reptilian disturbance. "This threat is too big for me alone to handle."
"You're not implying…" Zyn paled. "You're not going to ask me to invoke it. Even just speaking the name of the Haiku–"
Somewhere in this tale, Dr. Xyank suddenly dropped out of thin air.
"Huh. I wondered where the I-beam went," he mused, before disappearing once again.
"–could cause irreparable damage to the space-time continuum and potentially result in a 3-Iota Class XK Event!" Zyn was completely taken aback by his flouting of the rules, and drew herself up to her most protocol-abiding height. "It's instrumental that I avoid unleashing my…"
Griffin held his hand up in silence. "But the threat of SCP-682 is too great for us to continue to abide by Foundation protocol. Even if it means breaking the rules, we have to work together. To overcome the crippling Achilles heel that would inevitably cause me to fail in a humiliating manner."
Zyn weighed up her options, but realised that she had no real choice. It was either this, or 682. And she would not let the Foundation down now. "Then it's now the time/to combine our true power/and thus save the hour," Zyn completed, invoking the Butterfly Haiku that would allow her to summon her true form as a divine kami. It had been bestowed to her by Dr. Kondraki after he had been killed in a cliffhanger some time ago, but she had imbued it in the most innocuous of noodle bowls ever since.
"We shall decommission… 682!" both parties yelled, invoking their ultimate powers.
A fearsome twang echoed throughout reality as their souls combined and seperated in a blast of gaudy colors and abominations that might've resembled an elder god's impression of "tasteful decor".
"I am become…" Zyn declared grandly, "the Kaiju Butterfly Ninja Master!" she shouted to the stars as a spiral beam of light dropped from the highest point in the heavens and was channeled through her body. As her mortal form disintegrated under the power, she held her metaphysical existence together with the power of determination as her eyes were opened to the godly form she had never dared take before – except in this time of need.
Immediately, her outfit wrapped around her, imbued with the ancestral power that had been passed down through the ages. From the blast of green minty camo smoke it released grew the wings of SCP-001 as Zyn ascended to her highest possible form – the Queen of Thaumiels, Kiryu Incarnate. The radiation of queenly elegance and sophistication nearly disintegrated Allison Chao, causing her to wail in mournful angst as she realised how hard she'd just been one-upped.
Griffin, meanwhile, screamed in blistering agony as his true anomalous nature was revealed. The pain his abilities caused them nearly overpowered him, but despite this, he remained strong, his eternally unrequited love for Zyn being the only thing that allowed him to endure it. With one final scream of distress, a giant sephiroth made of light was cut into the very valleys and folds of art and spacetime itself as the power of the semantic concept of Keter flowed through his veins, his arrythmia threatening to kill him at any second.
With a single look exchanged between Zyn's polychromatic eyes and Griffin's alcoholism-induced bloodshot ones, they turned their combined might on SCP-682. Even though it knew it faced imminent destruction, it roared in cheap defiance. This would be its final hour continuing to defecate on the good name of lizards before it was wiped off the face of the planet.
"Sauelsuesor!" Zyn commanded. "As your queen, I order you to attempt to eliminate SCP-682!"
Sauelsuesor shrugged and did the one thing it could. It made sure all the other planets were out of the line of fire by lining them up in a neat row away from her and thus indirectly creating the inspiration for 2012, and then whipped its hair back and forth. For these two sins it would later be decommissioned by MTF Xi/Kappa-34 ("Daylight Saving Decomm Time").
The resulting blast of follicular flame incinerated SCP-682's flesh, but it adapted too quickly and developed a cryogenic force field that negated the fiery blasts of hairy helium. Its confidence bolstered by this newfound victory over one of the most powerful entries on the Site, it railed brashly against the two gods that hovered above the pentagram-inscribed remains of Site 19.
"What makes you think you can defeat me?" 682 roared, baring its bony tusks at the one deity and the one ordinary guy with heart disease and powers of Keters. "Millions have tried, but none shall prevail!"
"That's what you think," Griffin grunted through the immense strain of using his abilities, before nodding at Zyn. "You know what you have to do."
Zyn nodded in the affirmative, before uniting her power with that of Griffin. Utilising their powers in unison was the only way to defeat 682, for despite all the rumors of his power, Griffin would suffer a cardiac infarction and self-terminate under the stress of the expectation that he would kill it.
Clasping hands, they both unleashed the Dirge of Deletion: "KETER, KETER DUTY, AND D-CLASS DEMOTION!"
With the combined power of innumerable coldposts, they formed a massive magical circle ringed with the text of the Torah, the Apocrypha and The Book of Mormon and summoned a giant construct of pure cosmic vacuum energy that radiated a heroic red glow. 682 knew it was doomed for the pit in the various Hells that awaited it, but screamed one last acid-tinged time.
"You… can't… destroy…"
"You're getting taken downtown, boy!" Zyn announced with pure certainty as both she and Griffin sent the Omega Arrow down towards 682.
Griffin was already in too much pain from both his heart condition and his use of power to scream, but with one last burst of energy, he used the abilities of the Builder Bear to distract 682 and chain it to the Earth, directly in the path of the Arrow. If it wasn't hit on impact, there would be nothing left to fight 682 with, and inevitably his precious Zyn would die fighting against the damnable lizard for the last time.
The Arrow broke the atmosphere, its tip glowing gamma-ray hot as it was forged down to a singularity point. And in one final epic burst of light, the arrow pierced through 682's flesh and pierced its unholy heart with its own power – Hate.
The earth was split in two by a giant white minus sign as 682 was annihilated, damning it to -943 and an executive decision to "never talk about this again" by all involved.
Zyn panted with exertion, her divine form not stable for much longer. But with the remnants of her Thaumiel-class eyeballs, she could see… Griffin, lying on the ground, his body clearly broken due to his ability causing him tremendous pain.
"Griffin!" she screamed, rocketing towards him as fast as she could in order to reach him before it was too late. Crashing to the ground, she quickly bolted towards him and cradled him in her arms.
Griffin opened his eyes weakly. "Z-Zyn?"
"Yes, Griffin?" Zyn could barely speak, her eyes close to overflowing with tears. "I-I'm so sorry you–"
"It's not your fault." Griffin might have nodded understandingly, or might've just been suffering muscle spasms prior to rigor mortis. "You're Thaumiel. The Anti-Keter. You were doomed to destroy me."
"But…"
Griffin's eyes closed slowly, racked with immense pain.
"N-No!" Zyn's shoulders shook with grief and pain. "I-I wanted to tell you so much, Griffin…" she sobbed. "And I never got the chance to say I loved you all this time…"
His eyes weakly fluttered open, like the wings of the butterflies that had effected this situation. "So you loved me all this time," he chuckled, before coughing because laughing is a terrible idea with several ribs threatening to pierce through your chest. "And just like Thaumiel of the Sephiroth, you showed me two faces… I'm just so glad I got to see this one… one… last… time."
And with one last sigh that escaped from his body, he went limp in Zyn's arms.
[The "mmm, whatcha say" part of Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap plays.]
Zyn, trembling with the fury and anguish that came with the loss of love immortal, gently laid a delicate kiss on his cold, dead, blood-stained lips, as gentle as the touch of a butterfly's antenna.
"I-I'm so sorry my stupid personal bullshit got in the way," she sniffed, tears running down her face. "And you-you never got to see my softer side…"
With those words, she burst into fully-fledged tears whose soft-focus threatened to give the audience a migraine, not knowing that somewhere out there, in the Oneiroi Collective, the humanoid SCP she so wished to contain not so long ago smiled down upon her lovingly.


Disclaimer: these characters aren't mine! This is a total work of fiction! I promise, I didn't secretly sneak into the SCP world and record what they were doing…rofl!!!
Gears: Yes you did!
A/n: Who let you in here?? *shoos him away* ANYWHO ENJOYYY!
*~*~*
One day everyone was sitting in the employee lounge. The employee lounge was gross, it was all linoleum and the lights washed out everyone's skin tone, plus they were all bored. Everyone was sitting with their friends at different tables, only they weren't like cliques, they just didn't have a big table.
“Guys, I'm bored,” Gears groaned, banging his head on the table. He was sitting with Iceberg and Zyn.
“I don't care,” Iceburg said standoffishly. “I'm going to do shots like a normal person.”
“I'm gonna eat a butterfly!” Zyn exclaimed, and then she did.
In the corner, something shimmered around a doctor without a name. “Oh, what fresh hell is this,” she muttered.
“No one cares, Zyn,” Iceberg chuckled darkly as he finished his 12th shot.
Zyn yelled, “Now I'm gonna eat a Greek myth!”
“Oh shit, oh no,” the nameless doctor gasped. “Hey, yes I do have a name, it's—”
“Guys, someone's coming!” Clef said, from another table. Everyone stood up to look at the door.
Standing in the door was The Administrater and a girl none of them knew, but who was easily the most beautiful girl any of them had ever laid eyes on. She had long red hair, dark deep blue eyes, and skin like porcelain except for a mole on her lip.
“Guys,” the Admininstrator said, shaking back his long black hair, “this is Dr. Fiorella Anastasia Artemis Leandra D'Marcus. She's new, and I want her to feel welcome here. She used to work for the Pentagon, and she solved cold fusion. Come introduce yourselves.” No one moved, except Zyn, who was still chewing on the Greek myth.
(A/N: OKAY last time I posted this story, everyone got mad and said she was a Mary Sue but she's NOT! SHE HAS A MOLE! SHE HAS A TON OF FLAWS, OKAY?! DO NOT DELETE THIS AGAIN PLS)
“No, no way,” the nameless doctor murmured. “I'm—oh no.”
“I'm so happy to meet you all,” Dr. D'Marcus murmured. “Do you all have a chess set? I'm wonderful at chess, but I can't cook. I'm not perfect, kawaii desu!” she said cutely.
Finally, Dr. Löwen Alphonse Davison Augustin Jakobs Atreides Lemuria Agloval Silberescher, Baron of [REDACTED], Lord Knowledge, Savior of Ocelots, Spellshaper of the Boros Legion, and Keeper of the Sacred Chao, known alternately as "Lö", “Alfie”, “Davey”, “Augie”, "Aggie", “Jake”, “Lemmy”, “Doc”, "Ladajalas", and "Old Sliderule", stood and went to her. She didn't look at him when he walked over, but when he got closer she did.
“Hello,” he whinnied warmly. “My name is Dr. Löwen Alphonse—”
“We heard it the first time!” Dr. Bright jeered, but Dr. Icepick stabbed him in the throat to make him be quiet.
“Fuck!” the nameless doctor yelled, jumping away as blood started gushing out of Bright's throat like a water fountain, but blood. “You can't just kill him! He—wait. Can you hear me?” the nameless doctor asked. “And stop calling me the nameless doctor, my name is Dr. DeMarcus! I'm Dr. DeMarcus!”
“OMG, no you're not!” cheered Dr. Rights, jumping up and running to the REAL Dr. Fiorella Anastasia Artemis Leandra D'Marcus's side. “This is the real Dr. D'Marcus! And she's my best friend!”
“If I may,” Silber intoned, and his voice was super deep and his lab coat rippled. He turned and smouldered at the real Dr. D'Marcus. “M'lady,” he said, bowing deep like a gentleman, “if I may, can I escort you to the Doctor's Prom this evening?”
“Oh, I've never been asked to a dance before,” Dr. D'Marcus breathed, tripping (a/n: and she's clumsy, see) into his arms. She looked up at him with limpid pools. “I would be so honored.”
“This has to be a bad dream,” the fake loser doctor wept. “I'm not fucking weeping!” she cried, big ugly tears for a big ugly person.
Silber strode to the fake doctor's side and struck her. “How dare you speak to my girlfriend like that!” he yelled.
“I didn't say anything to her!” the fake moaned.
Silber raised his hand and said, “Don't make me strike back!” (a/n: THAT'S WHERE I GOT THE TITLE!! IT'S NOT RANDOM) then turned to everyone else. “We must pity this poor person, because she's very sad and demented. We should put her on Keter duty.”
“KETER DUTY!” everyone shouted all at once.
“What the hell is Keter duty?!” the dummy whined, and everyone but Fiorella and Silber whisked her away, but she was screaming the whole time.
Finally alone, Silber strode to Dr. Fiorella and took her face in his big hands. “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you, ever,” he said in his dark, deep voice.
“Yes you have, because I'm not perfect,” Fiorella swooned in a non-Mary-Sue-ish way.
“Would you like to become a baroness?”
“Yes! I would love to!”
And then they kissed, their tongues intermingling like eels. The Admonisher was watching and gave them a thumbs up because he was a little gay for Silber, but not too gay. But little did they know, Dr. Icepack was watching too, and he had his fingertips together and light was shining off his glasses. He thought Fiorella was so beautiful, and while he watched them kiss, he said, “You will be mine.”
Stay tuned for Chapter 2: The Wedding Of The Century!!
*~*~*
A/N: so see, I fixed her. She's not a Mary Sue now. Also my great-grandma just died, so pls be nice. Read and review! Rate up! No flames!
Ted Cruz is the zodiac killer.


Dr. Roget was angry. He was furious. One might say he was enraged, or even wrathful.
Why?
Because the world was a terrible place, full of war, poverty, bigotry, abuse, greed, selfishness, people who talk at the theater, and probably an uncounted number of dangerous anomalies that the Foundation had yet to discover and contain.
…But mostly because people kept mispronouncing his name.
He had started carrying a thesaurus around everywhere he went, so that whenever somebody pronounced his name like the author of said thesaurus, he could hit, wallop, bludgeon, strike, or clout them with it. However, this method of negative reinforcement served only to amuse people, and they kept doing it. Day in and day out, people would call to him from all directions, purposely pronouncing his name in the way he so hated.
He was irate.
After a long day of this (the four-thousand-six-hundred-and-ninth in a row, to be precise), he stormed into his office, knocking over the multiple photographs of himself, his family, and…
God, he missed her. Dr. Miriam Webster (pronounced my-REE-um weeb-STAY-er), his only true friend in the Foundation. She alone knew what it was like to consistently be addressed by the name of a popular word reference book. The two of them had had many good times together. Physically attacking people for their mispronunciations, getting reprimanded by their superiors, attacking their superiors when they mispronounced their names while reprimanding them…
Then, one fateful day, Dr. Roget caught her discussing the actual thesaurus. He didn't hear the context, and the feeling of betrayal was too much for him. Before he knew it, he had picked up a large knife, sliced a nearby dictionary into the shape of a sharp object, and smacked her in the face with it. (Dictionaries, no matter what shape they are, simply can't stab people. The pages are too flexible and the covers are too blunt.) Then he ran off crying, transferred to another site, and never saw her again.
So naturally, there was no describing how surprised, astonished, shocked, dumbfounded, and taken aback he felt when he looked up and saw Miriam Webster sitting on his desk, smiling at him as if he hadn't dumped her like last year's encyclopedia all those years ago.
With kindness, benevolence, good will, and compassion in her eyes, she explained to him that she completely understood why he had run off. She told him the truth of what had happened that day, while he listened attentively; he had long since ceased being angry with her, but he hadn't been able to reach out and apologize, because the site they both used to work at was not equipped with any sort of non-emergency communications system. It just wasn't in the budget.
The two of them, kindred spirits once more, simultaneously began to plead for the other's forgiveness. Roget couldn't believe his luck, his fortune, his serendipity. She had shown up when he needed her most, and she was here to stay.
But Miriam had one more surprise for Roget. She winked at him, and presented a young girl. Her age was roughly equal to the amount of time since the two had last seen each other, minus nine months. Roget looked with wonder, awe, and reverence upon his long-lost daughter.
He asked for the girl's name. Miriam told him it was Britannica.
She pronounced it BRITE-en-ICK-kah.


Once upon a time there was a Duckman Drakeman, who was legally but not religiously (very, very few members of the waterfowl family Anatidae are actually religiously inclined. Many of them eat fish, for Jesus' sake!) married to a charming duck, who bore a strong resemblance to Claudia Schiffer, especially when she moved her head to let her hair flow hither and thither for the L'Oréal ad.
Clauduck was soon expecting. She didn't tell anyone, but she sure hoped to become The Duck with The Golden Eggs, so she ate gold dust and put the blame on pregnancy cravings. She soon stopped because gold doesn't taste good (if cravings you must have, might as well be caviar or crème de marrons Clément Faugier à la vanille1) and the dust made her sneeze. And anyway, it didn't work.
She soon gave birth to a litter of adorable little duckies and drakies, whom she all baptized Caesar because they were born by Caeserean section.
(What? Oh, yeah. Look, I did say very few of them, didn't I?)
All adorable? No. One of them… was not.
Yeah, it was a duckie drakie. He had the nose, ears, four legs and talons required for the job. But he was not… or was he? He didn't look good at all. And when he padded with its siblings after Clauduck on their pond, he did go 'quack', but that 'quack' sounded more like the hidden and sinful child of the Concorde taking off from Roissy-Charles de Gaulle airport, that time, yeah, but also all the other times put together, and the eerie song of blue whales from the North Pacific Gyre when they've been playing too long with plastic bags, with just a touch of the distress signal from Alien.
Clauduck had an extensive maternal instinct, and Drakeman loved his wife, so they kept their upper lip stiff and raised the strange drakie as they would their own, since, you know, he was their own: they'd asked for the video of the Caesarean section and the ob-gyn obliged, and lo', here it was, the fifth newborn extracted from its mother's belly, already subtly different and ear-splittingly cacophonous.
In the evenings, when all the babies were tucked away in their cradles and Caesar V finally quit making that ducking god(I did say very few, damn you, stop interrupting!)awful noise of his - on top of everything else he was a difficult child, severely allergic to his mother's milk and always developing bottom rashes like you wouldn't believe - Clauduck and Drakeman would hopefully discuss the hopeless situation. Only when Drakeman had had a trying day at the office2 did he occasionally accuse his wife of cheating on him with the postman, which only gave him another trying day at work with colleagues going 'What's the matter, Drake, your skip baby beat you up again?'. Clauduck and Drakeman would talk about the future of their offspring, or lack thereof, and sometimes ventured into mentioning that hopeful fairy tale, but they did agree that fairy tales were cryptic allegories meant to educate the masses and nowhere like a mirror of real life.
And Clauduck prayed. She prayed discreetly, but she prayed a lot.
And then it happened.
Caesar V's bar-mitzvah.
Was there milk in the cake?
Just because, you know, rite of passage into adulthood?
Miffed because his previous siblings' coming-of-age celebrations3 were too successful?
Apprehensive because his next siblings' coming-of-age celebrations4 would be?
Anyway. Caesar V cut the cake with a huge knife, giggled and roared.
The Moon zipped away, stabilizing 2 AU from Earth.
Justin Bieber stopped singing. Yeah, forever. It's an ill wind, huh?
Eta Carinae (not the author, the star) decided to wait no longer and blew.
Anak Krakatoa decided to do like Daddy.
The Northern Pacific Gyre thought it could do much better than The Old Faithful. It did.
The Pillars of Hercules got drunk, leaned on each other and collapsed. So much for beaches in Provence in the long term, ha ha, that'll teach them to raise the prices of everything at the start of every touristic season, assholes! And next time there is a Zanclean flood, bring out the cameras - YouTube is waiting!
Caesar V was momentarily nonplussed at seeing everyone around him dead with bleeding ears, but took it in stride. He carefully put down the knife (you should always be careful with those things), straightened up, grew to a size slightly inferior to that of the Mont Blanc5, bumped his head on the goddamn ceiling and settled for the size of Dolph Lundgren in his prime. While he was at it, he also settled for Dolph's looks at the same age - a wise choice.
Then he realized he was hungry but not in the mood for cake, so white shark - oh shit no, no sea. Okay. T-rex.
He remained a T-rex for a while, but when there was no longer anything to eat in the vicinity (those motherfuckers eat a lot), he thought about it. Plus, T-Rex extinct, so no mating: tough. He tried a few other glorious, powerful shapes for shits 'n giggles - that kept him busy, which was good, because boredom. But female Siberian tigers were quite far away, female white sharks were still in the goddamn sea and he'd always been afraid of waves and anyway without the moon at the proper place seas and oceans were in a mess, and as an African elephant he kept being hunted for his tusks by rare but extremely determined and well-equipped survivors, something he found mighty irritating. Plus, the hunters kept mentioning a 'foundation', and once one of them walked up to him saying 'Come on Son, change back and come home!", which, you must admit, was weird.
He was also a very beautiful and delicately scented Papa Meilland red rose for a while, but just sitting there and looking pretty, the boredom was excruciating.
Then, as a black panther (still no mate but aesthetically pleasing), he happened upon a duck pond. With ducks.
Why not, he thought.
Plenty of food. Plenty of mates. Plenty of ponds. Plenty of shapes to shift into if drakes got into a competitive mood.
Just to frighten his rivals away, you understand. Because, for all being a shapeshifting living nightmare, he was not and had never been a cannibal.
And, he solemnly swore on the spot before shifting6, he would never be.

Footnotes
1. Clément Faugier's vanilla-flavoured chestnut cream
2. http://www.scp-wiki.net/dr-bright-s-personnel-file
3. The parents were always careful to avoid sibling rivalry. They were nice that way. Caesar VI's is in two weeks, and Caesar VII's middle of next month. You're all invited.
4. See previous footnote
5. The mountain, not the pens
6. Don't you know? A Panthera pardus' oath is universally considered as much more reliable than an Aix galericulata's.


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"Tymantha Gones."
Tymantha Gones sat in a flimsy plastic chair. She was surrounded by eleven people sitting by ornate podiums, surrounding her in a semicircle, and looking down at her with cruel glares. A spotlight shone down from the ceiling, making her skin uncomfortably moist. One podium, to her right, stood notably empty. After a moment of paper shuffling, a shrill female voice spoke.
"We of the O5 Council find you guilty of participating in exactly three deviant acts within the last two weeks. There is undeniable evidence of your engagement in hand-holding, eskimo kisses, and hugging."
The woman paused to allow the horror to sink in before continuing.
"This is clearly and obviously unbecoming of a member of the Sexual Conservatism Protectorate. As such, the O5 Council has voted, 11-1, to henceforth revoke your credentials and remove you from the organization proper. You may now have one minute to respond to this judgement as you see fit."
Tymantha had only one thing to say.
"Man, this is such balls."

After leaving the Hall of Judgement, Tymantha Gones, formerly O5-9, struggled to keep her composure as she walked through the streets of Site-19.
The strategically placed oscillating fans that would typically provide her hair with supernatural volume on her walks instead only highlighted the unsightly twinge her appearance had taken since the ruling. Her tan skin, usually flawless, was marred by a luminous sheen of sweat, and her eye makeup had become smudged and slightly asymmetrical.
As she neared her apartment complex in Ketertown, she spotted a familiar face attempting to scale the gutter, his hair, black with streaks of white, illuminated in the fresh moonlight.
"Oh, hey, Ty," the climbing boy shouted. "I came to, like, ask if… you know, with all the information getting out, are we, like, a thing now?"
Tymantha shouted a reply. "OH MY GOD, COLIN, GO AWAY."
"Yeah, okay," he said as he plummeted from the side of the building, landing several stories below in an open dumpster, filled with bags of Dr. Kain's soft sheddings. "I'll be here if you need me."
She ignored him and entered the building, bypassing the slick, white decor of the lobby and heading directly up the stairs to her studio apartment.
Once there, she sat down on her comfy plush chair. Normally, the bigfoot-leather padding would calm her down, but she felt nothing but deep sadness and resignation as her head sank limply to the side. "Uuuuurghh," she said. One thin hand reached out to the modest every-wood coffee table placed tastefully to her right. She grabbed a picture frame, and brought it to her face as the table sprouted a duplicate frame in its place.
The picture was of a beautiful, Anne-Hathaway-esque woman, clutching an equally attractive infant. This picture was taken twenty-three years ago on a day very important to Tymantha: her birth.
She sank deeper into the armchair as the memories came flooding back.
Tymantha was never like the other girls; she was born with a deep secret. She was a Type-Orange, born of a virgin mother and bestowed with the strange and terrible ability to control sexual deviancy with her mind.
Originally, it seemed Tymantha was set on a course for evil, but when her mother was killed not hours later by agents of the One-eyed-Serpent's Hand, Tymantha steeled her resolve, and decided to use her abilities for good.
With her powers harnessed, she founded the Sexual Conservatism Protectorate, using her abilities to clean the world of sexual deviancy and unwholesome personal contact. Tymantha opted for the O5-9 position, because she felt it would be unfair to the other councilpersons to take O5-1.
The Sexual Conservatism Protectorate was wildly successful for the next two decades, fighting foul Groups of Intercourse like Herman Fuller's Circus of Debauchery, Hermaphroditus Labs, GRU Division "Penis", and Are We Chaste Yet?.
All across the world, metropolises formed and flourished. Site-19. Site-30. The entirety of Texas. However, there still existed a single pocket of misery within Site-19, centered solely on Tymantha, as she began to weep for a mother lost so long ago.

After a few hours, her misery was interrupted by a sudden knock on her door.
She poked her nose through the crack she pried open. "Yeah?"
Three large men were outside. "Uh, yeah, Tee-why-man-thuh?"
She decided to open the door fully. "This is she, whassup?"
The man in front seemed to be dragging a luggage cart behind him. Staggered further back still, the other men were holding cardboard boxes, outstretched. "Yeah, we're, uh, here to move you."
"Move me? What."
"You uh, you can't, like… just live on-site when you're fired. We were ordered to move you to a standard containment villa in Paris until your situation gets sorted out." He scratched his neck, not looking her in the eye. He must be nervous. Or… wait a moment…
Tymantha nodded, slowly backing into the room. "Oh, yeah, I'll start getting my stuff packed… I'm just wondering, though…"
The man in front raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Why would they send agents of the Clit Insurgency to help me move out?"
The man's eyes opened wide in surprise, just for a split second. Then he lunged for her. She sidestepped him, backing into her reading room, careful to not trip over any ornate rugs while backpedaling.
As the other two thugs rushed into the room, she ran past her chair towards the window, stopping to overturn the coffee table just in front of her pursuer's legs. Her assailants began to multiply, forming a confused and immobile heap on top of the table. With a running start, she leaped through the window, glass shattering all around her…
…and landed, forty stories below, in a dumpster filled with dog hair, next to a very confused teen. "Oh, hi, Ty," Colin said. She ignored him, gracefully climbing out and setting off down the street.

The streets of Site-19 were almost unrecognizable from all the terror that streamed forth along their gutters. It was the Protectorate's greatest nightmare, come to life in front of her. An utter and complete Chastity Breach.
She saw beasts, lurking in the shadows. The Hard to Turn-Off Reptile. The Boogie Plague Doctor. The Flesh that Mates.
"I should've known," Tymantha thought to herself. "The Clit Insurgency were going to ambush me, take me out of commission so that the SCP could fail in my absence. I must put a stop to this before everything spirals out of control."
First, she must go to the O5 Council and convince them to rescind their metaphorical embargo on help from Tymantha Gones. Then, she would need to go to the Site-19 nuclear reactor facility, and detonate this city before the degeneracy spread to the entire continent.
The skies were red with blood, and the night wrought with screams, as she approached the looming Hall of Judgement, seat of the O5 Council. As she approached the main conference hall, her resolve began to falter as she heard the unmistakable sound of squelching flesh.
She peered around the corner, and could barely keep from shrieking in horror as she observed the eleven-backed beast that had once been the O5 Council. Elderly skin ground against elderly skin in a vaguely choreographed undulation.
Okay, okay, she can fix this. She can use her powers to leech away their horrid urges, and restore them to the boring councilpersons that they were before. But… they would always be haunted by the memory of what had transpired on this fateful day. Would she subject them to that?
"No," Tymantha thought as she pulled the switch and activated the contingency flamethrowers integrated into the Council chairs. "This is what they would have wanted."
And she strode out of the now-burning Hall of Judgement, as quickly as she had entered.

Once she was out in the open, she searched for the nearest storm drain, which was now flowing with all sorts of horrific fluids. Minding the sludge, she slipped limberly down into the normally-pristine sewer system, landing on a mesh walkway. Using the maps placed for ease of navigation for tourists, she quickly charted a course to the Site-19 nuclear reactor and set off.
The reactor was an imposing structure; The massive, cylindrical chamber was focused on a smaller cylinder in the very center. Eight symmetrical walkways stretched from this central cylinder, connecting it across the abyss to the surrounding walls. The central cylinder itself let out a dull glow… and one specific data panel, set apart from the cylinder, would be the primer to set the whole thing to blow.
Tymantha started to set across the long walkway, but there was something in her way. A familiar face.
"Oh, hey," said Colin, the green light reflecting off his bone-white hair, with streaks of jet black.
Tymantha stopped walking, stunned in sheer puzzlement. "Colin? Get out of here. I have to arm the self-destruct."
He tilted his head. "Yeah, but, why?"
"I gotta destroy the epicenter of the breach, Colin. We can get out while the timer ticks down, and then I can deal with the sexual fallout before things get too bad."
"Is that really what you think you're doing?" Colin's voice had changed. "That's adorable."
"Whats going on, Colin? You're…" Realization dawned upon her. "You're with the Clit Insurgency!"
He didn't seem to notice what she'd said. "You've been thinking about this all wrong, Ty. The breach didn't happen because you weren't there to prevent it. Ty. You are the breach."
Horror crossed Tymantha's face. "What? What do you mean?"
He started to close the gap between them. "You were born with all this sexual energy, and you just kept it pent up for twenty-three years?"
He was right in front of her. "It was so easy to get you to just let it all out. All you needed was a few, say… eskimo kisses?"
She felt the sting of betrayal deep in her heart. "You… you bastard."
Colin shook his head, his smile only growing. "All I did was help you discover your true nature. Now, why don't you embrace your calling? Hug me, one more time." He spread his arms, and closed his eyes.
Tymantha huffed in place, desperately trying to catch her breath. Her mind was racing, and no brakes could work to slow it down. But, suddenly, she felt calm.
Slowly, she stepped forwards, wrapping her arms around her white-haired other half.
Serene, Tymantha whispered three sylvan words into his ear.
"Get dunked on."
With that, she pulled with all her might, sweeping Colin off his feet and tossing him to the side. He impacted the railing, and flipped over it, spinning head over heels as he fell into the glowing abyss.
Tymantha stood and watched, clutching the railing tightly. She straightened her back, and looked at the end of the walkway.
The console.
She raced towards the glowing pillar, the final cog in the nuclear reactor that kept Site-19 running. She started to punch in the countdown codes on the console, until she had a thought.
"If what he said was true," she said to herself, words echoing in the lonely reactor. "Site-19 isn't the problem. I am."
She thought about her mother, who had made her sacrifice so many years ago to ensure a safe, platonic future for all of humanity.
And then Tymantha walked into the radioactive glow.

Three days later…
Site-19 had existed in a dull state of acceptance for the days since the incident. Many people were left scarred, but they knew their lives would continue in friendly, platonic bliss. And they knew their hero had sacrificed herself for their well-being. And that she would not be forgotten.
But there was a void in the city. And naught to fill it.

Although...

Although...

Three hundred meters below the remains of the Hall of Judgement, a familiar figure stepped out from a glowing pillar. Her hair was still slightly twinged, but her face was smiling.
Tymantha Gones, currently O5-9, stepped into the light, practically radiating with platonic energy.
And boy, were there things to do.


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This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.
Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts
Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.
Explicit depiction of sexual acts.
Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Depiction of severe mistreatment of children
Depiction of self-harm
Depiction of suicide
Depiction of torture
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(a/n - this fanfic is set in a parallel universe where everyone in the devil may cry universe is a different type of fish! i like fishies, so it's just what i'd like! virgil is a really really hot girl in this universe too!!!! she's a goldfish to be precise. also in this universe dante was never born because he's an asshole and i don't like him fuck you dante. instead davsto (oc don't steal) is virgil's brother, and they are bestest bestest friends of all time, and they're also married (don't worry, it's not illegal, this is set in my home state of texas). also this story has some wet (hehe get it because fish) s*x scenes so if you don't like that then get out. there's no need to leave crticisism because i know it's perfect - DON'T LIKE DON'T READ THAT MEANS YOU FRED I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK IT'S COOL TO BULLY ME AT SCHOOL ABOUT IT I'M GOING TO GET THE POLICE INVOLVED SERIOUSLY STOP IT YOU M**NIE)
"lol" laughed virgil, her golden fins shining in the sun. she always laughed at davsto's jokes - he's f*cking hilarious after all, the funniest guy in his school (hehe get it because fish). she was beautiful, but he was more - his scales were striped red, blue, purple and white like hair dye kinda colors, because he's a cool emo (NOT GOTH) fish. he looked at her and smiled, reaching forwards his mouth to kiss her lips, tongues swirling in and out of each others' mouths (a/n i think this is how you do it? that's how it looks in the movies, idk i've never kissed anyone lol). "oh yeah" she said as they pulled away, both smiling.
"so" davsto said, "wanna go back to mine for some hot s*x??" "i thought you'd never ask" she replied and we swimmed off to our house. on the way we met jim the fish (you know from doctor who the best tv program) and he laughed at them. he's a bit of a d*ck though to be honest. "hey virgil" he said, with a really creepy glowing look in his eyes. "f*ck off you wet (hehe get it because fish) assh***".
davsto got his fin and yelled "HADUKEN" and punched jim right in his little p**pyface and he flew off crying "wow davsto you really are the best fighter!" and virgil kissed him because he was a strong fish who is super cool and loved by everyone including his dad (see not a self-insert).
"oh yeah davsto" whispered virgil into my ear "you are so strong and handsome i want to do the s*x with you alllll night" "oh yeah" i replied and they started swimming back to my house but suddenly a big black shape wibbled into the water
"oh no it's the big scary monster of the sea" davsto screamed because he hated the colour black and it terrified him (see there's a flaw he's not a mary sue stop pming me fred). suddenly, virgil grabbed my hand "it's okay davsto, i'll kill this shith**d" she said to me and she made a big ball of fire and fired it at the big scary monster of the sea "arrrgh" it yelled as it fell into the bottom of the sea.
"your so s*xy baby" i moaned into virgil's ear "come on" she said, "gladly, on which part of you? ;)" i replied. "stop it you" she giggled and then we swimmed back for some hot fish s*x.
(a/n s*x scene coming up please don't read if you're not into that sorry)
i took off her fish bra and the sight of her b**bs really turned me on. my fish stick (hehe get it because fish) started to stiffen as we made out moaning at each other, it grew and grew to 8 inches (my real size lol girls ;)). i put it in her wet, fishy (fishy because she's a fish, not because she stinks) v*gina and pumped in and out, making her moan and scream and tilt her head back as i put my mouth on her neck and kissed and man it felt so good so much better than touching myself. i started to lick her n*pples and she moaned louder and screamed "put it right there in my cunt" so i put it in her v*gina deeper until she screamed and squirted and c*me everywhere
(a/n that's the s*x scene over really hot it evaporated the water ahahaha)
"well that was fun" said virgil, i smiled and said "yeah", until we heard a knocking on the door…..
a/n ooooh how exciting isn't that a hell of a cliffhanger! exciting in more ways than one… please rate!
a/n edit: OKAY i've received a lot of pms and they've really upset me and i'd like to address them here. first, apparently fish don't have s*x like normal people and they don't have n*pples, and to that i'd like to say FR*CK YOU!!!! this is FICTION and i can say WHATEVER I WANT because it's not real, i'm an AUTHOR not a BIOLOGYIST. second, i've been told that "virgil the goldfish" is a character from scp and i say that's stupid, i HATE the scp, i used to like them but they hated me and deleted everything i wrote for them even though they were good my teacher told me so


Listen.
First thing first, I have absolutely no idea who Dr. Bjornsen is. I might, it is possible he's the guy I just clocked in the face with a sock with a brick innit, but evidence regarding this matter remain inconclusive for the moment.
I mean, sure, he has a name tag with "Dr. Bjornsen" on it, and sure, his wallet is filled with lovely pictures of him and his family, all conveniently tagged "Dr. Bjornsen and Beloved Family+ Despised Parakeet (Boy Oh Boy, I Sure Hope No One Clocks Me in the Face with a Sock with a Brick Innit)", but would you really trust a guy who tags his own family pictures? Using Helvitca font? I sure wouldn't. That's why I clocked him in the face with that sock-and-brick combo meal to begin with. It makes sense, shut up.
So, about the chicken. I don't actually eat chicken, I heard it's filled with all sorts of hormones that make the chickens grow like five breasts and ten wings and an inner, baleful third eye. Not that I mind the animal cruelty involved, god knows chickens have it all coming and more, but I have this rare phobia for animals with more than twice the number of body parts, but less than ten times as many. That, and third eyes give me the heaves.
This leaves the jello, at least if you want the title of this particular story to make any sort of sense. Well, that's actually an interesting story. See, when I was in the first grade, my homeroom teacher (a fantastic woman by the name of Miss Veronica Jerky) had us each prepare a traditional dish of our family's for the annual class picnic. Now, Miss Jerky wasn't to know that I came from a family of South Samothricans, and that our traditional foods consist entirely of various fried dishes of tungsten, so obviously I couldn't bring that to class. On my dear old mum's suggestion, however, I decided that a proper alternative would be a nice big bowl of lime jello.
Needless to say that as a twelve years-old first grader I had no real idea of how to actually make said dish, and mum didn't know either what with her entirely tungsten-based diet, so I had no real choice but to consult an expert. That expert happened to be my great uncle Brett, who I now suspect was not really my uncle, what with him being a ten-foot tall rock that was standing in the middle of our yard. Regardless of blood relations though, Brett was known around the neighborhood to be a world-class maker of all things lime-jello related. Well, I say around the neighborhood, but I'm really only talking about our street. And when I say our street, I mean my house. And when I say house, I mean I figured asking him would be a good idea.
So anyway, I go to Brett and I ask him how to make the jello for my class picnic, but Brett doesn't answer. Now, you might think this was because he was a rock, but Brett was usually as loquacious as any rock you'd ever meet, so this silence on his part was very unusual. I mean, to be fair I wasn't being very polite, what with me starting the conversation by calling him a rat bastard and basically demanding the recipe under threat of whiffle bat, but you'd expect a mature individual like grand uncle Brett to look past that and help a kid out. Long story short, he only agreed to tell me how to make the jello after I took out my stone grinder and sliced me a nice piece of Brett. That's the origin of the brick portion of the brick-in-sock combo I just applied to the suspected Dr. Bjornsen, if any of you were curious.
So I have the jello, and the class picnic is here, and there I am in my Thursday best with my bowl of jello at Hatsfield Park. All the other students are there too, but we can't find Miss Jerky nowhere. This makes us very worried, of course, since Hatsfield Park is where we buried our previous homeroom teacher and we don't like the idea of Miss Jerky sniffing about there, so we go look for her.
So there I am, crawling through the bushes with my Thursday best and my bowl of jello and getting dried leaves and lizards on and in both, when I come across the strangest scene. See, I crawl out of the bush near the statue commemorating the battle of Lukewarm Point (which is the pride and joy of the park, needless to say) and there I find Miss Jerky, all wrapped up. Now when I say "all-wrapped up", I mean that very literally, as the poor woman was stuck in what I can only describe as a seething cauldron of gauze-snakes. If you've never seen a gauze-snake, well, they're like snakes, but made outta gauze. Miss Jerky is naturally not very happy with this turn of affairs, and she's struggling and cursing and casting cantrips all over the place. But the gauze snakes they don't let up, since they reproduce by turning people into mummies and this was in the middle of their mating season.
Am I rambling? Nah, not possible, I'm like the most concise story teller to ever set foot on this teal, square earth. Which reminds me, did I ever tell you the story of how I got this sock? No? Well, I'm not gonna, since it's a personal story and not fit for the earholes of the likes of you. I mean, just look at yourselves, reading this bullshit when there are so many better things you could do. Me, for example, I docked an alleged Scandinavian PhD with in the face today. I bet none of you people can claim the same. Bet you never even had a sock, let alone a brick. You strike me as sandal people, and everyone knows sandal people cannot be trusted. Like the wood. Fuck sandalwood.
Continue with the jello story, you say? Well, I was going to, but now I'm not in the mood anymore. So instead I'm going to tell you about something else. Let's see, what should I tell you about… ah! Got it! I will sing you a little song! It's my favorite, so listen carefully:
There… once was a man named Mr. Lizard
Who once had a bone stuck in his gizzard
He fell down a well
He died and he smelled
Then everyone died in a blizzard
Yeah. Bet that blew your MINDS.
Hrm. I have like a thousand words more to go if I wanted to use them, but honestly I figure most of you already tuned off like a while ago, so no real reason to bother. Instead, I will end this with something a bit different. My final piece of art:
+-+-+ +-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+
|I|f| |i|t| |h|a|d|n|'|t| |b|e|e|n| |f|o|r| |C|o|t|t|o|n|-|E|y|e| |J|o|e| |I|'|d| |b|e|e|n| |m|a|r|r|i|e|d| |a| |l|o|n|g| |t|i|m|e| |a|g|o| |W|h|e|r|e| |d|i|d| |y|o|u| |c|o|m|e| |f|r|o|m|,| |C|o|t|t|o|n|-|E|y|e| |J|o|e|?|
+-+-+ +-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+
+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+
|W|h|e|r|e| |d|i|d| |y|o|u| |c|o|m|e| |f|r|o|m|,| |w|h|e|r|e| |d|i|d| |y|o|u| |g|o|?| |W|h|e|r|e| |d|i|d| |y|o|u| |c|o|m|e| |f|r|o|m|,| |C|o|t|t|o|n|-|E|y|e| |J|o|e|?|
+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+ +-+-+-+-+


Where seconds ago was a stern and tall and generally rather intimidating Doctor Gears was now a tiny, fluffy kitten. Well. A cat. A very old and thin cat. The tape that Gears was passing to you fell on to the floor, making an unpleasant sound and you couldn't help but wince because apparently this thing was filled to the brim with all sorts of memetic shit and, no, movement (probably) wouldn't make any of those horrors bursts into the world of living without a proper VHS player (and where the hell you'd get one of those) and did I mention Gears is a cat? Suddenly he is a cat. A fucking cat.
You blinked. Turned around. In the corner where Agent Lament was chilling suddenly was a Bengal cat, casually cleaning it's privates. His. Since it was probably Agent Lament. Most likely. Something told you that it was him. Somehow.
You thought about taking that damn cassette off the floor but decided against it. It was probably safe anyway to touch it but if Foundation thought you something in your years it was that nothing labelled as safe is actually safe in the most common meaning of this word.
Which was also the reason why you decided that touching cats around you was a wrong thing to do. Gears-Cat decided otherwise and hopped off the table and started rubbing himself against your leg. And shedding. You regretted wearing white pants to work. Those thin black hair were everywhere and everything that happened in paragraphs above took maybe less than a minute.
You tried taking few steps back and the moment you saw Lament-Cat casually marking his theory you decide to whoop your ass out of here asap.
Except there were cats in the corridor too. And in the elevator. And in the bureau of Site Director (yes, the bureau. Those high on the ladder had an official bureau and office for researching the research stuff because when you need someone you have to check both places because… convenience!) which was, thank the God (whichever one comes to mind, there is always bound to be at least one out there listening1 at any given moment. Instead of guards, there were cats.
In that moment you also realized how shitty situation was and that the fate of entire Foundation rests on your shoulders.
You had better days in life.2
As you were looking for anything remotely useful inside the bureau, you briefly pondered on possibility of you being a reality bender. For a second you imagined that the cat staring at you from the shelf which resembled Cat-Lament a bit too much for your liking was, in fact, Agent Lament. Nothing did happen, so that theory can go to trash.
Also, Lament was staring at you angrily so you tried to hurry the fuck up but Jesus Fucking Christ and all the Archons Gears somehow found his way here what the fuck and why the hell he's again rubbing against your calves.
Also, you found the key to the elevator. Yay.
So you went to the elevator, Lament and Gears casually following you. You had no heart to allow elevator door to damage either of them (too much) and so when those damn cats finally entered, you tried, as casually as it was only possible while looking straight into the camera on the ceiling, slid the key in and waited for elevator to respond to take you to the usually off-access part of facility.
The O5 part. You were kind of excited, despite the relative seriousness of the situation. You petted Gears and he started to lick your fingers, which was kinda nice and maybe would relax you a little if not the fact that Lament tried to stab you and, hooray, he was declawed. He wasn't neutered, though. That was super unpleasant and unnecessary.
You entered the new hallway which was super nice, aesthetically. Black and sleek and good lord how long someone polished the walls and floor, that is bloody ridiculous. You took in the cautious step inside, looking around.
It would be quiet and silent if not the fact that Lament started to make some sort of unholy noises and just sped across the entire fucking hallway into wherever. Gears didn't want to move, so you gently took the cat into your arms, trying to ignore amount of fur on your fingers and how you could probably feel his every single bone through thin layer of fur and skin. A tad disturbing but Gears seemed pretty cool with being held, actually trying to nest inside your arms, which would be cool if it wasn't, you know, Gears.
Where now? You followed Lament, paws imprinted on the floor (good god, every step was visible on it, including yours and that didn't help your paranoia, helpfully pounded into your head by oh-so-amazing-Foundation) and the shiny, shiny hallway brought you to a dark room, filled only with a big table, thirteen chairs and a big, big shiny red button in the middle of the table. There were no cats there.
A shiny, metallic letters and numbers on the button formed "SCP-2000 DO NOT PRESS WITHOUT A BLOODY GOOD DAMN REASON". Next to it sat a cat, trying to insert his nonexistent claws under the glass that protected the button. Also, the cat was black and made of shadows which was super fucking disturbing but it still had same patterns on fur as Lament so, yeah, that was probably Lament. Somehow. You decided to not question it.
Gears carefully moved in your arms and you allowed him to land on the table. He came closer to Shadow-Cat-Lament and pushed him away with his paw. Lament just stared at him, as if surprised and took few steps back. Somehow the shadowy-ness or whatever disappeared. Was it even there in the first place? You couldn't wonder for too long because Gears opened the glass case and stared at you, as if waiting.
So.
Was Foundation filled with cats a good enough of a reason to push the button?
An unholy screeching in the background assured you that it was. You didn't want to meet catified version of the indestructible gecko.
You pushed the big red shiny button, silently hoping that maybe this time out you won't get -7 C skin because come on, that made cuddling difficult.

Footnotes
1. You heard a mechanism clicking in the back of your mind and you had a vague feeling someone gave you a thumbs-up.
2. Now if you were potentially a cat person, the entire trip would be an agony because there is so much cats and you can't pet either of them. If you were a dog person, the entire trip also would be an agony because there are fucking cats everywhere.


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Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts
Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.
Explicit depiction of sexual acts.
Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Depiction of severe mistreatment of children
Depiction of self-harm
Depiction of suicide
Depiction of torture
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Pepper's enormous G-Cup breasts squished against Natasha's equally impressive pair as the two women engaged in a furious bout of open-mouthed tongue-wrestling. She felt small but strong hands find her shapely ass and squeeze it hard, just the way she liked.
“Ohhh fuck, Nat. That's just how I like it.” Pepper moaned, breaking the kiss. “Who knew showering with you could be more fun than showering with Tony?”
“Tony has no idea how to please a woman,” Natasha sighed with a smirk, giving Pepper's big beautiful bootylicious badonkadonk another firm squeeze “Trust me, baby. I know what you like.”
With that, Nat moved her head down to between Pepper's melons, and went “BRLBRRBRBLRBLRLBRLBRLR,” motorboating the hell out of them. Pepper tingled with euphoria as her chesticles jiggled to and fro from Natasha's action, and she moaned again, even louder than before. This truly was heaven.
It was right at that point that two more women, considerably less naked than Natasha and Pepper, appeared in the middle of the spacious bathroom.
Upon regaining her bearings and catching sight of the two red-headed women in the shower, Adams cursed loudly. “Another fucking slash-fic universe!? Jesus! What are the fucking odds!?”
Iris didn't respond, her eyes fixed on the two naked bodies standing before her, beckoning for her and Adams to join in their fun. Her gaze was not one of lust, or even the slightest bit of attraction, but rather one of amazement and exasperation. “Just when I thought they couldn't get any bigger. I mean, Scarlet Johansson's got a hell of a rack, but come on.”
“You like what you see?” Natasha cooed as she caressed her figure, clearly attempting to entice the two new arrivals, but, as her body looked like the product of a hormone-addled teenager's first attempt at writing erotica, the act was not exactly successful in this endeavor.
The same could be said of Pepper's drawn out moan as she squeezed her large breasts. “Mmm, I've always loved the way you look in that suit, Andrea. Almost as much as I love the way you look when you take it off. How about you and Iris come on in and join us?”
Adams's eyes widened in dawning horror when she heard her name. Then she punched a hole in the wall to her left and swore loudly. “She knows our names. She knows our FUCKING names, Iris. Do you realize what that means?” The two women in the shower paid little mind to what was playing out before them, as they quickly became much more interested in playing with each other.
“That…that we're supposed to be a part of this story?” Iris ventured the guess in a tone of trepidation, clearly hoping against hope that she was mistaken. But unfortunately for her, the bathroom door opened, as if on cue, and two familiar-looking yet unfamiliarly voluptuous ladies walked into the room.
“Hey gals,” the new Adams purred. The suit she wore looked similar to the one her doppelganger was in, but there were a number of details that made hers distinct. For one, she left her head exposed, revealing a sly grin and a cocked eyebrow. For another, this new Adams' suit was somehow so form-fitting that her nipples could clearly be seen poking out from beneath it.
The new Iris, dressed in a crop-top and short-shorts ensemble that promptly ruined crop-tops and short-shorts forever in the eyes of her counterpart, smirked as she took in the sight before her. “Well, this is unexpected. But definitely not unwelcome…” As if to punctuate this statement, she bit her bottom lip and twirled some of her hair through her finger.
The Iris wearing a ballistic vest and fatigues turned to face the Adams wearing the suit that wasn't designed to be eye-candy. “We gotta get the hell out of here.” She cringed as she heard a particularly loud moan come from the shower. Nat and Pepper had rounded third base, and would slide into home plate any minute now.
“Noooo shit.” Adams concurred, already fumbling for the small device that got them into this mess. “Sayonara ladies.” She grabbed her Iris and pressed the button that would get them the hell out of there.
Nothing happened.
Iris shifted her gaze between the small gray remote and Adams' face. “We…we should be gone now, right?”
“Yeah…we should.” Adams pressed the button again. Then she shook the remote. Then she tried swearing at it. Then begging for it to work. Then she combined swearing and begging, along with some frantic pressing and shaking. Her doppelganger came up from behind her to give her a backrub, in an attempt to help alleviate the stress she was feeling. Said doppelganger was then soundly thrown across the spacious bathroom into a mirror, and toppled down to the floor, only to get up, showing no sign of injury, or even agitation. The only feeling her face showed was one of arousal.
“It's not fucking working!”
“What do you mean it's not fucking working!?”
“I mean the goddamn thing isn't fucking working!”
“Well shit, isn't there like, an instruction manual or something?” Iris asked, frantic, stepping away from the other-her, who had stripped nude by now and was getting a little too close for comfort. Speaking of comfort, Nat was getting comfortable while adjusting her large strap-on dildo (did they just have it in there the whole time, or?…) while Pepper bent over, asking for Natasha to “shove that thing so far up [her] ass that [she would] taste it.”
Adams shook her head “Black box tech. Even the eggheads weren't entirely sure how it works. Just that, when they found it, it was carbon-dated back to a thousand fucking years ago, and worked perfectly fine until FUCKING NOW!” she kicked the wall next to her, making another hole. And speaking of holes, Natasha was positively drilling Pepper's, the two of them making so much noise at this point that Adams and Iris had to shout to be heard over them.
“Look, let's at least get the hell out of this bathroom so we can hear ourselves think,” and with that, Iris immediately strode to the door, shoving her counterpart out of the way when the latter went in for a kiss, and threw it open. To her surprise, there was no room on the other side of the door, but a blank white wall. “Oh shit, Adams!”
Already aware of the situation, Adams charged towards the door, barely giving Iris enough time to jump away before a fist enhanced with superhuman strength slammed into the white wall at nearly sixty miles per hour.
Said fist promptly bounced off the wall and nearly flung Adams across the bathroom. And speaking of fists, Nat and Pepper were-you know what? You can probably guess what was happening there. Apparently there's a big ol' jug of lube in that shower too.
“Oh dear God…” Iris went pale as Adams immediately reassessed the situation (While at the same time throwing the other Adams into the ceiling.) and decided to try the holes she had made before. Unfortunately, as she tore into the walls of the bathroom, she was greeted by that same white barrier. She kept up her efforts for another minute or so, the sounds of the walls being smashed and her profanity-laced pleading enough to drown out the sounds coming from the shower and from the floor, where the other Adams now lay, butt-naked and pleasuring herself (her suit, inexplicably enough, was nowhere to be found). Eventually, she (the angry Adams, not the horny one) gave up and slumped down onto the ground, defeated.
“What do we do? We're fucking stuck in a lemon that stars you, me, Black Widow, and Pepper fucking Potts!” Iris said, throwing up her hands in defeat. “We can't escape! We can't do anything to them, can't have an actual conversation, can't kill them, can't do anything except fuck them!” The other Iris came up behind her and began touching her neck. The clothed Iris promptly reeled around with a scathing glare “Oh go fuck yourself.”
Upon reflection of her choice of words, and noticing that her twin was about to make a comment, she immediately put a finger up to the other's lips, and cut her off before she began with a sharp and vehement “SHH.”
The other Iris began to suck on that finger.
Normally, Adams would have been impressed of the stream of profanity that her companion let loose. However, Adams wasn't exactly in the mood for anything of that sort at the moment.
“WOULD EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR TWO GODDAMN SECONDS?” With that, Adams popped up onto her feet and kicked her twin so hard that she went face first into one of the few walls left intact. Landing on the ground, she went right back to what she was doing before (that is to say, herself). “JUST LET ME FUCKING THINK, GOD FUCKING DAMN?”
Iris promptly shut up. The rest of the bathroom did not. Other-Adams and Other-Iris had apparently given up on seducing their respective doppelgangers, and joined Pepper and Natasha in the shower.
Adams and Iris remained silent for a long time, the reality of their situation sinking in as the gratuitous sexual activities continued on around them. Unless they could figure out a way to fix the universe-hopping device, they would be trapped there for the rest of their lives, stuck in the middle of a lesbian orgy conjured up by the mind of someone who only had the barest idea of what such a thing would even entail.
However, just as the two agents were trying to think of ways to cope (Adams took some solace in the idea of kicking the crap out of herself for the rest of her life. Iris took some solace in the idea of watching Adams do so for the rest of her life) the door of the bathroom, along with the wall surrounding it, burst open as a hovering saucer plowed through it.
“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Adams leapt up and took a defensive stance, immediately taking stock of what the craft looked like and of who was inside of it. The transparent hatch on top opened up, allowing the two figures inside to climb out. There was an older man with blue-gray hair next to a pubescent boy. The boy looked frightened. The man looked irritated.
“Godammit, Morty! You-urp¬-you said you were ready this time! Did we-did we kill the Simpsons again!”
“Uhh I-I'm sorry! I uh, I don't think we did?”
“Well let's figure out where the hell we are. Alright, it looks like a bathroom. Big and fancy, owned by some rich douche. That's someone in a supersuit, who looks-urp-I mean, I can't see their face, but they look pissed. That's a girl who looks terrified over there. Aaaand that's a… uhhh, yeah that's an orgy going on in that shower.”
“Ohh, that's pretty…that's hot?”
“Trust me Morty, no it's not. You see how big those tits are? That's not-that's not how tits work, Morty. This looks like some kind of fan-urp-fiction come to life. Written by someone who doesn't know anything about sex except from what abstinence-only curriculums and the internet's taught them. That's not hot Morty.”
There was another period of silence (with the exception of the noise of the shower and its occupants.) If Iris had actually spent the rest of her life in that bathroom counting how many questions she had at the moment, she would die before she was halfway through the task.
But luckily, Adams, as usual, got down to brass tacks straight away.
“How the fuck did you get here?”
“This thing.” The old man patted his craft.
“Can you get us the fuck out of here?”
“Yeah, sure. Hop in. C'mon Morty. Scooch over, make some room.”
Morty looked unsure “Uhh Rick, I don't know if-I mean, can we trust them?”
“Morty, seriously, why you gotta be like that? Be a-urp- be a pal and scooch your -urp- pooch, god damn.”
“Oh…okay.”
With that, Rick and Morty climbed back into the saucer's cockpit, immediately followed by Adams and Iris. The four of them just barely managed to squeeze in, and after a few moments, the craft hovered up into the air and spun around to smash into the same wall it had entered through. Within an instant of doing so, it vanished with a flash, and the four ladies in the shower were now the only inhabitants of that room, and thus, that universe.

“Yeah it sounds like-urp- like a really easy fix. I'll take a look at your thing as soon as we touch down somewhere.”
“Thanks again. We really appreciate it.”
“Hey, no biggie. It's like I always say: Gotta help a motherfucker out, man.”
“Rick you don't always-I've never heard you say that.”
“Well shit, Morty, there's shit about me that you don't know about, god damn. Let's-urp- we can get out here.”
“Hold that thought, Rick. Iris…is that who I think it is?”
“Who? I don't-oh…ohhh…oh Christ I think it is.”
“What's up? You know that fat bastards who's fu-urp-cking The Doctor?”
“Next universe.”
“What? It's not like they care, we can just-“
“NEXT UNIVERSE.”

He hits the stopwatch and resets the counter. Then he takes inventory of his surroundings, absent-mindedly tugging at the cloth he's using as a makeshift bandage on his arm.
He's in a large, luxurious bathroom that totally pristine. He turns around and sees a large shower. In that shower are four women, who are very amorous, very naked, and very improbably-proportioned. They have not noticed him yet.
He stares for a moment, slack-jawed. If they notice him, they may pose a threat. They may be frightened. They may react in any number of ways. Maybe it would be best not to be noticed.
He mulls it over for a while, before his curiosity trumps his caution, and he clears his throat and asks a question.
“Excuse me… you ladies wouldn't happen to know where I could find some dandelion wine, would you?”


Death, some say, is an inevitability. The entire cosmos attempts to kill us; Meteors endeavor to crash into us, anomalies vie to redact us, the sun sends solar waves towards our humble planet, galaxies collide bombastically, and the paradigm terror of entropy dictates doom of a cold or hot end. This, I accepted without fear or anger. One day, however, I found a new aspect, a new chapter to death, a most unbearable mortality: turning into a goose with human legs while I slept.
My name is Buckchamp McFuckmeup, and it is short to say I was bumfuck terrified of what happened. I worked for the Foundation, I knew what happened to people who experienced anomalous changes while they slept. I was not prepared to be locked up in a “standard humanoid containment cell” for the rest of my avian life. So, I took the only approach that I could think of at the time: hope that nobody would notice. I slapped on a gasmask to mask my beak and head, and shoved my wings through my suit. Thankfully, it turned out my cover was as covert as one could expect from an anthropomorphic gosling; that is, rather. However, I found that things were quick to change under the influence of an anomaly.
The job was a response to an anomalous occurrence in a decrepit factory. As soon as we entered, the disrepair of the place was apparent, it's condemned interior flush with a veneer of ash and rust, gins and dynamos either in hefty disrepair or too obsolete to be useful; reminded me of my local laundromat… except today I forgot my quarters. The progression down the spacious machine house went slow, every now and then a spark of energy spurring a long dead tool to life (giving the squad a healthy spook and ridding them of a few bullets), but steadily in our search for whatever the fuck was in here. All we were told was that some teenagers broke in, heard something weird, and one of them died because a monster ate them "or something." By that information, we could capture this dust for being anomalously allergenic and I think the bureaucraps and I would go home happy, but I was shut down when I brought it up. I was weighing the benefits of doing it anyway when I tripped over some anomalously large detritus and fell face first into an inactive furnace, meeting whatever "it" was face to visage after a tall drop.
It was a sight too peculiar, perhaps, to forget. In the middle of the small chamber lay a pie, cherry I think, untouched among the ash, charcoal, and coke rife in the forge. The pastry, I felt, resonated in the chamber, nay, my very soul, with an innocence greater than that of a puppy superimposed on a lollipop. I shook it out of my mind, realizing the cognitohazard for what it was, ready to call out my squad for containment. But I looked once more, gazing at it thoughtfully. I could call my team, get this stupid skip, and get home. But, I could also capture it, because fuck it and my team, I am a goddamn adult, and should be treated as such. Well, I thought I was. So I took a step. Then another. I kept stepping towards the pie, splayed perfectly in the center of the stove. I was nary a meter away from the delicious treat with my wings outreached when the tin suddenly stirred, and I whispered a prayer and a fuck for bad luck.
It rose up like a possessed child caught on a pulley system, slowly and surely, orienting itself in some way I inferred to be facing front. At first, it just stayed there, until I decided to resume my attempts at containment. It then slowly started circling me, occasionally scattering dust from the sides of the chamber and freakin me the hell out. So, I did what I could at the time to try and stop it: throw some ash at it, because pies taste terrible when they're covered in ashes. I thought it was worth a shot, and soon the burnt wood remains volleyed something surrounding the tin and dessert, a vaguely fishlike form about the size of a man lengthwise appearing from the void. Well, I would say it was vaguely fishlike, but I saw Jaws, and I knew what the fuck a shark looked like. It was a shark, and there was a pie in it, and I didn't want to be in a room with a fucking flying shark. So, I grabbed an outcropping pipe near the furnace mouth and started to climb out.
I was getting the fuck out of there like a tree when I stepped on the stupid pipe and I slipped off, falling to the side and making me all dirty and shit. Whatever, I reached for it again, but the furnace seemed to disagree with me. The rungs decided they had enough shit, and their rusty smug body crumbled at my second attempt, and things started getting uncomfortably warm in there. Not the sexy kind, I wasn't planning on getting it on with a shark as much as my goose side wanted it, but the temperature kind. Flames started to lick the rim of the chamber, and I was trapped in with the dumb fish.
Note to self: Maybe omit some of this
This was it. Goose versus shark, bird versus pastry; I dashed towards the blur of dust, but my leg was caught quick by an invisible assailant. "Fuck, more?" I thought, quickly tripping and finding myself being dragged to the flames. Struggling, I kicked up another clod of dust with my wing, and I immediately regretted it. The thing was revealed further, more terrifying than I initially anticipated; it was, indeed, a shark in form, but in lieu of fins it had what appeared to be tentacles. With rope-like-appendages tethering me down, I decided to calmly assess my options. "WELL FUCK ME NOPE NOPE NOPE!" I yelled aloud, but this did not deter the beast.

In fact, it obliged.

It was consensual, you sick fuck.

But I managed to shake my leg free after 3 hours (this I knew because I was at least some part rooster), and I kicked the abomination straight in the cherries. It's body understandably collapsed, slowly gliding into the wall like a remote control airplane that had the controller shotgunned and immolated. It crashed into the flames, and then all was silent… except for the flames roasting the creature. I had… lived. Even if it wasn't climactic, I commissioned, and subsequently decommissioned, my first skip. But I wasn't satisfied, oh no.
I had came there for a job, and I planned to leave with a trophy of said job. Plunging my wing into the creature's burning corpse, I felt for the pie, and quickly retrieved it. I blinked. The next moment, all that was left was a tin. I was terrified, and thought I had a hint of cherry on my tongue. Then, I blinked once again.
There was something on the bottom of the tin. Wiping away some of the jelly I was shocked to discover an aged and wet picture of Alto Clef; what the hell did he have to do with this? I licked yet more; the corpse of a whale… no, of a shark… became clearer- I searched my memory for something that would link the two. Synapses burst, neuroms nyoomed, and it dawned on me: It was SCP-682, something my team had dealt with in the past. I was horrified; I dropped the tin, and then picked it up again. There was yet one last bit of jelly in the tin; grimacing at the ash now on it, I licked the tin clean. I dropped the tin one final time.
It read, "Good luck, son!"
But there just wasn't time to think about pies or shark/human mating, nor for shedding a tear for my lost lover; I needed to get the fuck out of there because everything was on fire. I had just the idea, however.
Taking what remained of Alto Clef Jr., I proceeded to fling it into the wall; it bounced off, and I took to action. Flapping as hard as I could to overcome my sheer mass (mostly muscles of course), I quickly rose to the same altitude of the tin. Triangulating my target, I kicked the tin as hard as I could, and glided to the rim of the furnace with the feeble upper weight. I was home free, if I could climb up. But, fuck, no hands. I started to slip. This was it. I embraced the ashy fate that I was entitled to, and let go, and my vision went dark amongst the fire and the flames and the coke.
No… No, it couldn't end like this. Not like this. I had so much to live for, so many people supporting me. Like… Fuck. Okay, the only being who really cared about me I ended up eating, so I had to use the energy their body gave me at the least. I got up; the ashes collapsed from my body, and I was subsequently lit on fire. In hindsight, the symbolism was painfully clear: I was a phoenix, born to rise again from the ashes of my failure. In the moment, the symbolism was painfully clear: I was fucking burning alive.
So I flapped my damn fucking head off like every good bird should. I reached the lip of the furnace; then the entry; finally, I reached solid ground. I had made it. And then a gigantic clockwork arm grabbed me and tore me from where I was, still aflame. I recoiled, but was suddenly hit by a wash of saltwater. I was no longer goddamn on fire! But, as a side effect, I couldn't breathe, as the shit got in my gasmask. And I looked up at my savior; there, holding a clockwork arm in his hands, was Commander.
I was reduced to tears. "C-commander? Oh my god, I'm alive! Oh Jesus fucking CHRIST I'M ALIVE! I FUCKING DID IT, I KICKED AN ANOMALOUS ASS AND LIVED TO TELL THE TALE!" I was screaming this when my compatriot let go of me, and let me crumble to the floor. "You've passed. Welcome to MTF Sigma-1.618, pride of the Shark Punching Center, the premier task force for giving sharks their just deserts."
ALTO CLEF JR.: FINS OF THE FATHER - FIN


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My love has the beauty of primeval life, the beauty of the slime mould under the trees, the protean beauty of the shapeless, the formless, pure and clean.
Naked I step into its presence, and naked I bear witness to its silent majesty. Skin rippling and twisting over musculature without form. Bones ground into powder, faceless pores weeping blood and pus and mucus all over my upturned face.
Gently I lay myself down into its embrace, feel the warm pulsating throbbing of its gangrene-scented limbs wrap around me, caress me, embrace and kiss me. Limbs with too many fingers slither over my naked legs, press between my legs, cover my skin in slickness and flood my nostrils with the sickly-sweet scent of decay and rot.
My lover is a gentle lover, and it teases at my entrance with a member covered in the aqueous humor of a thousand dead men's eyes, burst like grapes pressed under the feet of a sun-kissed maiden under a warm Tuscan sun. It waits until my entrance is slick with its fluids, until my every nerve burns with desire and every synapse is taut with tension, and only then am I granted the sweet release of penetration, feeling its warm, keratin-encrusted member slip inside, fill me to bursting, sending electricity racing up my spine until I arch my back and moan, only to find my mouth filled with flesh. Into my mouth, down into my throat, until my vision darkens and my heartbeat pounds, only to be granted the sweet release of breath just as I feel my mind start to go.
Wrapped in a second womb made of flesh, penetrated and caressed and violated from every possible angle, I moan and writhe, helpless in my lover's embrace. It brings me to fruition, explodes me into a screaming, broken husk of a mind, heart pounding in my temples and skin burning aflame, and as I finally come down from that final, desperate release, the last sensation I know before sleep overtakes me is my love wrapping itself close, embracing me in its boneless arms, the scent of formaldehyde and blood singing me to sleep.


The gods gathered at the Great Abyss like flies attracted to rotten meat, hunting each other down and licking the wounds of the universe. They were also throwing a party.
"I just don't get it!" exclaimed the DEER, "What's with that Daleport place? How is that any better than here?"
"Well," answered Pangloss, "Things are pretty hyped there. I had to get some locals out, if anything."
"Half of the gods here left!" DEER grunted, turning to the bartender, "Somebody turn the Pattern Screamers down please?"
As the screams died out, MEKHANE and Yaldabaoth could be heard arguing in the background. As the huge pile of clockwork emitted a series of ticking noises, the flesh god roared mindlessly in response.
"Not again," DEER facehooved, "Will they just get a room."
"Why would you say that?" asked Pangloss, "They've been at each others throats for ages."
"Oh, you have no idea Pangie." DEER emitted a short laugh, "I'm betting you, they will mate before tearing each other apart."
"No way."
"If that actually happens, you're going to write me one of your dumb poems." DEER laughed.
"They're not dumb!" Pangloss protested, "They're expressions of my deeper feelings!"
"Okay then," shrugged DEER, "If I win, you're gonna write me one of your brilliant poems."
MEKHANE had now begun to make sharp grinding sounds and Yaldabaoth called up his six Archons to the fight.
"Why can't we just get those two out!" Scarlet King began pounding the counter, "This is disgusting!"
"Oh shut up Red!" DEER turned to him annoyingly, "You can't even get laid!"
"What, nonsense!" Scarlet King roared, "There is no way the great Scarlet King can't accomplish such insignificant task! You'll regret this when you witness my beautiful bride—"
"Excuse me," he was interrupted by Ptah, who just poked his head in, "Has anyone seen my wife?"
"You asked the same question just a thousand years ago!" DEER shouted, "Give it a break!"
"But she's going to to destroy the world again," Ptah whined.
"Look in Daleport, maybe?" Pangloss suggested.
The god nodded before rushing out of the Great Abyss. The Scarlet King proceed to protest that he did not get the respect he deserved, crushing the counter with his fists. The Hanged King murmured something, but literally nobody paid him any attention. While the flesh and metal war intensified, He-Who-Made-Light was yelling at this brother to get back to his room.
"This is getting more absurd by each second. I mean, where is that planet sized sundae I ordered a hundred years ago?" DEER started yelling at a waitress, "Get my dessert please? With satellites on top?"
Hearing him, the waitress turned around, and handed him a slice of toast.
"Uh-oh." Pangloss gasped.
"Oh not this shit again." DEER rolled his eyes and got up.
Pangloss looked around to find several of the staff had been putting slices of bread into their mouths. DEER turned to the exit but huge colorless green tentacles are slipping in, unnoticed by a majority of the gods. They were too occupied with myself to focus on the intense chanting of "fifth" in the background.
"Oh of course," DEER frowned, "Bad things just have to come all at once."
"Now you'd wish you have gone to Daleport instead." Pangloss took a deep breath, "He-Who-Walks-Beneath-Dreams told me he was having a great time there."
"Worst party ever!" DEER yelled before making his way past the giant starfish god.

"So," DEER said, "The party is crashed."
"Yeah." Pangloss replied, looking at the five giant tentacle-hands protruding from the Abyss.
"And I didn't even get my sundae." DEER grunted, "You know what I'm gonna go down there and demand blood of the innocent."
"Wait what."
"I'll have the Foundation play music for me." DEER announced, "At least they would have decent taste, if anything, better than screamers."
"This is dumb." Pangloss eyed him.
"It is but I don't even care anymore." DEER eyed back, "And you're going to write that poem for me."
So with the giant starfish approaching closer, DEER willingly went into containment; the Scarlet King got his seven brides (before being bound within THE PEARL OF THE FATHER OF OYSTERS); MEKHANE and Yaldabaoth mated before tearing each other apart; and I am still a toaster.

Once in the Great Abyss there was a place of joy, where gods gathered and— No, you know what DEER, this is just stupid, I don't even care if those two actually got a room. I'm outta here.
-Pangloss


Context: This was an entry in the 2015 April Fool's Crackfic Contest
Senior researcher Mars sucked in one last desperate, gasping death as she began to die. The hole in her chested burned. She could feel herself, floating upwards, lighter and lighter, as though she was made of feathers. A burst of color struck her senses. It even tasted and smelled bright.
Senior researcher Mars sucked in one last desperate, gasping death as she began to die. The hole in her chested burned. She could feel herself, floating upwards, lighter and lighter, as though she was made of feathers. A burst of color struck her senses. It even tasted and smelled bright. Was this what the afterlife was like?
Mars opened her eyes….
And saw Sophia Light.
"What is this? Is this the afterlife? Are you dead too?" Mars shook her head, trying to clear out the last vestiges of yellow from her eyes and ears.
Sophia turned to stare at Mars. "I… recognize you."
Mars tried to stand up. Shakily, she managed to crawl up to her knees. She looked up again and saw 682 staring back at her.
"Oh god! Sophia! Why are you… riding 682? What is this place? What's going on?"
"Oh." Sophia looked down at her mount. "Um… just because? This is the afterlife. To some degree." 682 huffed in agreement, before growing out several more eyes and limbs.
"But… Argh. This is confusing. Why are you in the afterlife if you are not dead? I don't remember hearing about you dying. Was there another containment breach?"
All around, an seemingly infinite plane stretched. Mars tentatively reached out a hand, and unexpectedly found a wall. The only source of light seemed to be coming from…. Sophia, apparently.
"This… it might be easier to show you."
The floor cleared. All of a sudden, the 3 of them were floating a mile above a frozen mountain range. Below, shifting ice crackled as massive chunks collapsed into a bay.
"Site-6. You used to work here, right?"
"Yes… I used to. And I still do." The landscape stretched, and a cubicle was shown. Space curved around the visitors, allowing them all to fit. Nobody seemed to notice anything. Sophia Light was hard at work, typing on a computer a new report for a new SCP. And yet Sophia Light looked over her shoulder with an old friend behind. "And yet I never did."
With a single hand wave, the Sophia working at the desk was gone. And with another wave, she was back again. This time, she turned around and gave a blank smile to the invisible visitors, before going back to her work.
"I'm not really here, Mars." Sophia gave a little smile.
Mars was shocked. "Explain, Sophia. How can this be? Showing isn't enough."
"I..I'll do my best. Nearly 2000 years ago, I was transported out of the timeline, due to… Events. I could see everything. Including you, who had been changed. We had separated, neither remembering the other. I could not bear this. So, using my new abilities, I began changing things. You kept your identity. I influenced the subconscious of this timelines version of me. Now, when she dies, she'll be a part of me. And we'll all be together!" The shining Sophia suddenly increasing her luminosity.
"Look!" And the white plain was back. "Look what I have done, Mars!"
Shifting icons began appearing. Codes, names, SCP numbers. They collapsed into a sphere of spinning letters and phrases, going faster and faster and faster. 682 reared its head and roared in triumph.
"All of these are my changes to this reality. All of this is for you! I've learned so much… And now, at least, we can be together. Forever. Nothing separating us. You were a Nobody. Now, you can be my everything. The entire afterlife, ours to enjoy forever!"
The infinite plane yawned before Mars, its emptiness echoing in upon itself. Mars, 682 and Sophia stood alone.
Mars collapsed in despair and shock. The whole afterlife? Gone? What about the others who had died? "No, Sophia. This is not how things should have turned out. You were an expert in biology for crying out loud! How can you know for sure the consequences of your actions? And this after life. Its not right. There is more to life than you and me. I know you did this out of love, and I love you too, but you have to let go. In the end, to the passing of time, we are.. nothing. Nobody. Shut this down. "
"NO! This is it. There is no other afterlife. I did this for you. For You! You can't turn it down! You can't!" Sophia's glow had become unbearably bright. All of 682's eyes had closed, and its back had developed reflective armor. Had they both become larger? Was there really no way out?
Mars sobbed. She could do nothing for the others by herself. Helpless. "Fine then. Just… tell me. Is there anything you can do to restore things? Just a little bit? There has to be other people in left in this place. Just one person would be enough. Just one."
Sophia smiled, a little smile, and she dimmed to a bearable level. 682 stood up, and carried her over to Mars. Sophia leaned close, caressing Mars's cheek, and whispered: "Nobody."

92.95 million miles away
"What the hell man, I need a rocket launcher. Its not that hard. It doesn't even have to be a big one. Give it to me and I'll be on my way."
"Clef. This is the afterlife. Why do you think we have rocket launchers? Yes, we have some. No, I am not letting you take any. If the O5 council won't give you any, why should I? Besides, we need them for the everlasting torment. I mean, you have the ability to come back to life. Isn't that enough?"
"I'll sell you my soul."
"Clef, we all know you don't have one. Even if you did, I wouldn't take the dirty thing. I'm tired of your damn shenanigans and claiming to be me all the time. I have a reputation to protect, you know. Get out, and next time, Loki or Hades or whoever the fuck you choose to bother that's not me can deal with you."
"After coming all this way to visit you, my friend?"
"Yes."
"Fine. So be it. But I'm taking the Fedora."
"No, you are not taking my damn Fedora."
"Why does the devil even need a Fedora? All it does is cover up your horns and make you look old."
"Just… shut up Clef. Just shut up."


My Lover, the Dog - Part one
I'd always heard about Kain Pathos Crow, but I'd neve understood what he really was. He was a dog, but like that, so much a man.
We were alone, I his new lab asisstant, supposed to be an extra set of hands, or paws.
"Could you hand me that?"he asked. I caught mystelf watching him, intent on his physicue. How could he talk, or do anything? He moved like a dancer. "What?"
"Nevermind" he said, jumping upp to the table to grab his beakers.. Hed had installed a set of stools, to reach up.
"Dr. Crow? I asked, but he stopped me.
"I dont want to talk about my disability." "It''s hard enough tp be the laughing stock of the Fundation, I dont want to be that in my own office!" He scared me, but I saw his pain.
Please Mr. Crow", I said, "I know that your hurting. I just want to be abel to help!"
"No!" He Barked at me, throwing his test tubes to the ground.
"Every day oits the same things! What would you know about how I feel/?!" Because he was standing at eye-to-eye level with me, for the first time I could really look at him. I saw his humanity,..
and I felt like I wanted him.
His expresion melted, and I could see tears well in his dog face. "Mr. Crow, did you ever havbe a wife?" I asked
"I did" he said "but she never knew what happened to me, or about that I became a dog. She would hate because I did this to myself."
"Dr. Crow, I dont hate you." I said ,and kissed him.
It lasted a long time, and soon we were on the ground, kissing passionately. I slowly reached down his underside, and saw his tail wagg. It was so worng, but so right. We made love there.
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