It's 12:14 PM. You're on your way to, depending on who you ask, the worst/best place in this here side of Midwest America: Denny's. You can't exactly remember the last time you ate at Denny's, but you definitely remember the fried eggs being EXTREMELY chewy.
Before you can head inside and start your lower than average eating experience, you're stopped by a mysterious, bald figure, with a very similar appearance to former President Dwight D. Eisenhower.

"You. Me. Denny's Parking lot. Now."
Such a commanding voice, you thought. What does Eisenhower want with you?
"My name is Elenee Fishtruck. I am a member of the SCP Wiki Licensing Team, and you are found guilty of using an image found on a subreddit! Without confirmation that it's compatible with the Creative Commons license, no less."
Oh right, you did do that.
"I'm here to apprehend you and bring you to justice."
Well that's not fair! You were just going to go eat a slice of bacon or two and this jackass comes and tries to ruin your day. You know you won't escape this without a fight, and fight you shall.
What shall you do?
Tab #1: Punch them.
Tab #2: Kick them.

Home
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Click on the tabs to the right when prompted to choose your fate.

You start with an ol' reliable: a simple jab to the nose. Elenee is surprised by the swiftness that you perform this action and fails to block it in time, resulting in a clean hit in the face.
So far so good, you thought! If the rest of the hits are this easy, shit's gonna be easy. But you shouldn't kid yourself, you know it won't be THAT easy.
Your punch apparently got them good, as it has them bleeding from the mouth. They wipe it off with their coat sleeve.
"Not bad, kid. I see you're a punchy kind of fighter. Well, let me respond in kind!"
Before you know it, Elenee throws their first ever attack, which is a left jab.

What shall you do?
Tab #3: Block it.
Tab #4: Dodge it.

A somewhat rarer way to start a fight, but definitely not inferior. You sweep the leg, knocking Elenee to the ground. Elenee stays on the ground for a couple seconds, looking flabberghasted, before slowly getting back up.
"You got some skill in ya, little dog. I'm game for a fight of kicks!"
Delivering on their promise, Elenee attempts to perform a roundhouse kick with their left leg, aiming for the right side of your head.

What shall you do?
Tab #9: Block it.
Tab #10: Dodge it.

You decide the best course of action is to block it, in which you succeed. With their hands occupied, you deliver a swift kick to their torso.

Elenee stumbles back, rather frustrated that their initial attack failed.
"The young pup has teeth! You have done well so far, young one."
They're saying this like we've been fighting for 20 minutes when we've been fighting for like 5 seconds, you think to yourself.
"But, I'd rather not have this fight take so long. Get ready…"
They appear to ready another left, this time a hook.
Seriously? This person's an idiot, you think to yourself. Why are you using the same attack twice?
Wait. What's that? You notice that Elenee is holding their right hand behind their back. They're intentionally keeping it out of your view. What are they hiding?
Tab #5: Call their bluff.
Tab #6: Be weary of their right hand.

You decide the best course of action would be to dodge it. You attempt to do so, but your body isn't quite fast enough to move out of the way of their fist, and you get clobbered straight in the face, nearly getting shoved to the ground in the process. Elenee begins to laugh.
"Pitiful. One punch and you almost got knocked out? You may pack a punch, but you can't take one."
Elenee takes a stance.
"I plan on finishing this… quickly."
Elenee charges at you at incredible speed. You don't know what move they're planning, but by the way they're running, they're putting everything into this one.

What shall you do?
Tab #7: Block it.
Tab #8: Dodge it.

You scoff. Surely it's not intentional. It's just some way to position their body to put more power into their punch. If this is the case, it's in your best interest to dodge the right hook and land a punch on their left.
You successfully manage to dodge the right hook, and begin motioning to knock their lights out. You too, also don't want this to last long, you're very hungry after all.
But wait… they were hiding something!

In Elenee's hand held a fistful of glass shards, needles, knives, syringes filled with knives, tarot cards, dirt and ketchup. How the hell did they get that stuff? But then you realize, you've found weirder things at less cursed parking lots.
"Here's the Denny's Special!" announced Elenee before slamming the cacophony of hell into your face. This attack mangles both your face and quite possibly your immune system as you fall on your ass on the rough asphalt. You try your very best not to pass out from the pain while Elenee stands over you, victorious. Eventually, the pain is unbearable and it all goes dark.
Go again?

Whether it be your potential Spidey-Sense or just common sense, you decide not to take the chance with whatever they have in their other hand. You retract your left jab and quickly leap backwards. Elenee swings at the air, where it's revealed that they were carrying a fistful of glass shards, syringes, knives, syringes filled with knives, tarot cards, dirt and ketchup.

How the hell did they get that stuff? But then you realize, you have found weirder things at less cursed parking lots.
You think to yourself: that would have absolutely demolished me if that connected, glad I got out of the way.
After throwing the punch, Elenee seemingly remembers that, yes, they were literally carrying broken glass, syringes and knives, and starts clutching their hand as it starts to bleed out. You take this opportunity to strike while the iron is hot, and deliver a finishing blow to their temple, putting an end to their suffering.

They're not dead, they'll wake up after a while and still be in massive pain, but that's their problem now.
GOOD ENDING!

Such a big attack must require a lot of energy, you think. Once they do it, it'll take them probably half a minute to catch their breath and continue fighting at full capacity. If I can just survive whatever this is, the rest of the fight is mine!
You stand your ground, dig your heels into the earth, and ready yourself to block whatever comes your way.
"My ultimate attack! You won't escape from this!"
You're more ready than you've ever been.
When Elenee makes it up to you, they attempt to strike you with their palm. What? That's easy! That's so easy to block! And so you did by crossing your arms in front of you. Though you may have to change your battle plan, since that move wasn't as intensive as you tho-
Your train of thought is interrupted by a large flash of light erupting from Elenee's palm as it contacts your skin. You compare it to a flash grenade as it illuminates the entire parking lot. When the light clears, you notice a very familiar symbol on the palm of Elenee's hand. It's the SCP Emblem!

"The mark that I have placed upon you is cc-compliant with the SCP wiki's license (CC BY-SA 3.0), and will soon replace you with an alternative that is also cc-compliant."
Did they just say "parenthesis" out lo-
Again, that thought is swiftly interrupted by you noticing the SCP Emblem appearing all over your arms and body. You look down and see more symbols spontaneously appearing on your legs. It's spreading!
Suddenly, chains of light erupt from the emblems, which proceed to wrap around you and chain you to the ground. As you attempt to move, the chains tighten, nearly choking you to death.
"Let me show you what happens to those that violate the license."
You can't turn your head to look, but you hear the zapping and zipping of what is probably an multidimensional portal opening behind you. Once the portal is fully opened, the chains drag you into the dark abyss, where you are never seen again.
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Where am I? It's dark, warm, and smells weird. You're sitting on a hard chair with a large cloth covering your face. Before you can get accustomed to these circumstances, the cloth is forcefully removed off your head, and you find yourself in the worst hell possible: a Polish courtroom.
Try again?

You get a bad feeling in your stomach. They are obviously powerful, evidenced by the fact that they practically lovetapped you and nearly knocked you over. Taking hits willy nilly is gonna do you in eventually, so whether or not you lose any potential ground, you need to dodge this.
You stand light on your feet, ready to move in any direction to react to any attack.
"My ultimate attack! You won't escape from this!"
You're more ready than you've ever been.
When Elenee makes it up to you, they attempts to strike you with their palm. You know better than to underestimate their strength. Who knows how hard they hit, attempting to block it could result in me getting pushed to the ground at best, and my arms broken at worst. You sidestep away from the palm strike, moving to the right. Before you know it, a large beam of light shoots out from Elenee's palm, way too fast for you to react. It hits a large tree behind you.
When the light clears, you notice a very familiar symbol on the palm of Elenee's hand. It's the SCP Emblem!

"This mark that I can place upon you is cc-compliant with the SCP wiki's license (CC BY-SA 3.0), and is capable of replacing you with an alternative that is also cc-compliant."
Did they just say "parenthesis" out loud?
You turn back to look at the tree that was hit by the beam of light. Smack dab in the middle is another SCP Emblem which appears to have been branded onto the base of the tree. Soon, multiple SCP Emblems start appearing throughout the tree, covering it entirely. After it is fully covered, chains of light erupt from the Emblems and wrap around it, attempting to bind it to the ground. You sure as hell know you won't escape from that if you're hit.
You think to yourself, I can't risk getting up close to actually deal any damage, all they need is one hit and I'm down.
But that's when it hits you.
It looked like a light based attack. Maybe you could use a mirror to redirect back at them and immobilize them with their own chains. But how?
You immediately realize you're in a Denny's parking lot and pick up a nearby shattered piece of a car's side-view mirror. You have to act quick, and position the shard before Elenee fires. You can't react to the beam of light otherwise.
You notice Elenee behind you, holding their palm to the back of your head. You quickly turn around and hold the mirror up to their palm before they fire. Another blinding flash of light occurs.
"Wait! Wait, no! Did you… did you just…"
The light clears, and Elenee has a SCP emblem right in the middle of their forehead. Soon enough, it spreads to the rest of their body.

"Curse you, you bastard! Using my own attack against me!"
Chains erupt from the emblems and chain them to the ground. You walk over and stand over them, victorious.
Before you can fully celebrate, a portal opens up behind Elenee, where even more chains erupt from it and drag them into it. Inside the portal is a large, black abyss. Unsurprisingly, Elenee is not very happy about this.
"You will pay for this!"
Elenee is pulled into the darkness.
GOOD ENDING!

That's a pretty gnarly move. You sure as hell don't want to be on the receiving end of that. To deal with it, you decide the best thing to do is to block it. It'll leave their foot hanging in the air for an extra second while also leaving their left side completely unguarded.
You hold your forearm up to the side of your head and block the kick. Even when blocked it nearly knocks you off your feet, but you stay grounded.
"You're more skilled than I thought. You're surely very troublesome…"
What's this? Their right hand is quickly moving towards their waist. Like they're going to grab something.

Or are you just seeing things? You can't tell, and have to make a choice.
Tab #11: Ignore it and deliver a left jab.
Tab #12: Stay your guard and prepare for whatever they're going to bring out.

A roundhouse kick, eh? All things considered, it's pretty slow, but pretty deadly. You think the best course of action would be to duck down and dodge it, and counterattack while their foot's still in the air.
Before the kick connects, you duck down underneath the strike, quickly stand up, and dash at Elenee to deliver a right jab. Before you can, however, Elenee slams their right foot into the ground and transfers the momentum of their first kick into their left leg, preforming an even nastier kick, aimed directly at your ribs.

"Dodge this one, prick! I dare you!"
What shall you do?
Tab #13: Go all in and prepare to get kicked. Hard.
Tab #14: Dodge the kick and lose out on an attack opportunity.

It's just a coincidence, you thought. Even if it is something, it's probably something like a throwing knife, which you can easily dodge. Besides, prolonging the battle any further is a losing battle, you're not that fit and this person is probably a trained assassin. You'll lose the long game.
You continue your assault with a left jab, putting everything you got into this one.
As it turns out, their hand motions weren't just you overreacting. It's not a throwing weapon, however. It's a gun.

But you can't back out now, you're in too deep. Stop your advance now and Elenee has plenty of time to aim and shoot at you, putting an end to the fight. You continue on and put everything you have into the punch.
However, the punch is just centimeters from Elenee's face when you feel a bullet entering your forehead and exiting the back of your head. There's no fanfare, no quippy monologue (probably because you lost your hearing on account of, well, death), one shot and you're dead.
Uh. Yeah that's it.
Try again?

Even if you lose ground and decrease the pressure you have on them, you still believe it's better than the alternative; being that whether it be a knife, gun, or freakin lazer beam, one hit from any of those and you're down for the count. You stay in your current position, but put your full attention in whatever Elenee has in store for you.
Surprising almost no one reading this, Elenee pulls out a gun.

Worst case scenario, you think to yourself (well, second worst case, there was always the lazer beams), you're not nearly fast enough to dodge a bullet after it's been fired, but maybe you can juke them by acting erratic and unpredictably to make them miss. Once they've fired, there's a small period of time where they can't really shoot again due to recoil, which will be the perfect time to counteract.
You jump back away from Elenee, and begin jump back and forth, left and right, at random intervals and distances. In a showdown that feels like decades, but only lasts 3 seconds, Elenee finally fires their gun, missing you completely. You run up to them while they're dealing with the consequences of firing a gun one handed, and snatch the gun out of their hands.
Once in the left knee, once in the right elbow. Enough to make any future fight against you pointless.

You believe it to be the best decision to leave them alive, so you only deliver a haymaker that knocks them out.
They'll live. Probably.
GOOD ENDING!

Are you really going to get kicked in the ribs just for a chance at a punch in the face that might not even knock them out? Well, maybe it's just the Denny's Madness inside you, but that sounds like a good idea. You decide to exchange blows with Elenee, and put everything you have into this punch.
"Get fucked, asshole!"
Elenee's kick connects first, striking directly at your ribs. You hear as three of your ribs instantly break, you feel as your left lung gets punctured and you start bleeding internally in several places, none good.
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Despite all odds, you charge through the pain and deliver the biggest haymaker of your entire life, directly into Elenee's unprotected face.

Way harder than the kick could ever be, you smile as you launch Elenee directly into the Denny's window, shattering it. The patrons inside the restaurant are momentarily distracted by this event, but continue on with their business shortly after.
You are absolutely going to need an ambulance after that, but the difference is you're conscious and Elenee isn't, so that's absolutely a win.
GOOD ENDING!

You'd rather not prolong the fight longer than it needs to, but you'd rather leave the fight in your car and not an ambulance. So you jump back and narrowly dodge the roundhouse kick. That was close, you thought.
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But Elenee isn't stopping.
Like a spinning top of sorts, like they're a street fighter character, Elenee continues spinning in place, rapidly gaining speed. Soon enough, they become a blue and peached colored blur.
In case you weren't already confused enough, air begins to coalesce around Elenee, turning them into what looks like a tornado. A tornado of kicks.

From the chaos, Elenee cries out:
"You fool! You've given me enough room! Behold! My penultimate technique! Hurri-CC-ane! I will kick you into Kingdom Come…pliance with the license!"
Before you can put up a somewhat formidable defense, the Elenee-nado rushes you down and sucks you into its vortex. You're lifted into the air by the force of several hundred kicks directed all over your body in quick succession. You're not given enough time to process the pain before you're catapulted out of the tornado at high speeds, far away from the Denny's parking lot.
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After falling for what felt like years, you hoped to hit soft ground but instead hit a familiar rough and hot asphalt. You know that you won't survive these injuries for long, but can't get up to get medical attention, so you're basically as good as dead.
Before you breathe your final breath, you look up to view your surroundings.

Son of a bitch.
Try again?


Please take a shot everytime the word ‘clown' is used in some form as you read. If you cannot, pussy.
‘…How'd you like to make a man disappear?'
Was the motto of the annual clown meetup in Somewhere, West Virginia (sorry for being european idk where the places are).


"Of course it has to happen the one day I have a day off." Doctor Stephen Strange clapped his hands, an amber circle of levitation spell appearing in them. The attire of Sorcerer Supreme and the Cloak of Levitation replaced his street wear.
If the Ancient One heard me she'd probably laugh, saying that the Sorcerer Supreme has no days off.
And she would be right.
Doctor Strange flew towards the tilted and corroded Chrysler building, coated in slime and goo. He paused for a moment to pay respect to the unfortunately consumed inhabitants. SCP-106 did not have the same reverence towards the dead, however, and the rotting old man jumped from the building towards the levitating Doctor.
Only to phase through him harmlessly, and plunge right down to the 42nd Street.
"Ha." Doctor Strange let out a laugh, relishing the short few second of his enemy's folly, before opening a sling portal right where the old man would impact to the depth of Mariana trench.
But of course, the Master of Mystic Arts was not the only one that could play with Portals—everyone could, really, the bundle is just ten bucks on Steam. Instead of disappearing into the abyssal darkness of oceanic depth, 106 reappeared behind Strange, from a corroded portal surface on the building across Chrysler in 42nd1, his arms ready to hug Strange from behind.
In the first time for millennia, 106 spoke.
"Nothing personnel, kid." And his power activated, digestive goo starting to coat Strange's Cloak of Levitation.
Empty, Cloak of Levitation.
Strange plummeted towards the sling portal he opened earlier, smug in his superiority, nevermind that his prized Cloak is now consumed by the rotting old man, nevermind that he hasn't actually won, and nevermind that the portal was linked to the darkest pit on Earth.

Wong wiped tears from his eyes. "He was a good man, and a good friend. A bit of a prick, but good friend nevertheless. And he died as he lived: with poorly landed jokes."

Footnotes
1. I've never been to old york let alone new york so hell if I know what it's called


Thank you all for coming.
Today we lament the tragic passing of one of our finest agents and researchers, dearest Jared, who died last Saturday by accidentally falling down the stairs and straight into the containment chamber for the blood-sucking bone-breaking brain-eviscerating monster fetus spider-snakes, which was left open by pure happenstance and no-one is really to blame, I think we can all agree on that.
Well, who just was Jared? Friendly, funny, always aiming to do his best. He will be very well remembered by every single one of us, due to his many astounding accomplishments and unfathomable achievements during the twenty years of his employment. Who could forget the time Jared spilled hot coffee all over Dr. Gears' extremely important papers, which directly led to the gruesome torture and murder of thirty retrospectively innocent D-Class subjects?
Some words from you, Charles? No? Well, I think he still remembers it, don't you, Charles?
Speaking of remembering, didn't we all have a laugh when Jared managed to delete the concept of his own surname, along with good ol' Dr. Fjord's ability to comprehend numbers above seven and the entire east-wing of the radioactive wasteland Site-59 would transform into by causally completely unrelated events?
Yes, Jared always left a striking impression on people, even without the memetic agent on his name plate which he wore for thirteen hours straight and made people peel off their faces. Some might say without Jared we wouldn't have an Antimemetics Division today - ah, there they are, still made it - and wouldn't that just be awful?
From Site-19 to Overwatch, Jared's journey through the inner mechanics of the Foundation gave us many opportunities to test the capabilities of our most hazardous and cruel containment protocols and I just have to say thank you, Jared. Words alone cannot express our gratitude and appreciation, which is why you all have a bow and some arrows under your chairs to show his mutilated corpse how much we all miss him.
I can assure you that all movements and gestures his body might make are merely involuntary muscular spasms caused by the still active neurotoxins in his circulatory system.
With that said, who wants to be the first?


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Canon Hub » From 120's Archives Hub / Cack Hub » 049 x minion x reader (reader is a minion) (blame varaxous im sorry)
Creck Fection Contest 2 (TWO DAY EXTRAVAGANZA!) » 049 x minion x reader (reader is a minion) (blame varaxous im sorry)

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Ralliston's entry in the Creck Fection Contest 2.

Image Sources:

Name of the file: 049
Source: link
License: CC BY-SA 3.0
Notes: Edited by me

All other images were created by me.

dr minion1

dr minion2 was at his office in site-120 when phone rang "hello this is director rivera i need u very much doctor minion ur a very important asset i need your help in 049 because they shipped us 049"
doctor minion was naturally automatically flushed because he never thought he'd meet 049 "funny doctor? funny cure?", he thought "funny plague man? in my site?"
"yes the doctor has arrived he needs ur help very much dr minion. he said he has a romantic problem and as you are our most valuable asset when it comes to romance you need to help plz" the voice from within the phone said, almost excited
"i will dont worr"
doctor minion was really happy because he always wanted to meet scp-049 (and also 999 (uwu we stan) and maybe 682 (omg scary 😱😱😱😱)) as he was a long time fan so he was naturally really excited to take an interview with him. as minion ran quickly as a minecraft minecart on redstone powered railes he arrived at 049's containment cell shortly after3
as doctor minion opened the doors into the room he saw the most beautiful thing he ever witnessed…
"scp-049…." he said, coming close. "what happened"

please let the pain stop

scp-409 was nothing like he was before… he had become a… a… no! a… furry!
"094… no…" minion said, looking at 0-49's newly gotten cat ears and an uwu tail. "escipe… what happened…"
the doctor looked at minion with a raw nya4 in his eyes, all happy like he never was before. he was playful like a cat, with a wild smile showing on his face.
"uwu mr minion, what is the problem," 049 said, jumping from the sofa like a feline he never was. "do you hate me, minion-kun?" the doctor said, tears going down his face…
"no…!" doctor minion said, starting to cry himself. "no 049 please dont cry i just dont recognise you…"
minion paused for a second…
"what happened big guy?5 I… I don't cregonise you mr doctor. please xplain2"
"rawr," the doctor said, crawling on da floor with a ball near to dr minion. "i have met a very special someone that showed me how to become hap[py again///
the doctor paused, taking a breath in and looking at the doctor tools in the corner of the room
"you see i was really unhappy with my job no one wanted to listen to me wanting to make the cure6… but now, i have become happy again. after i met minion-kun, that is…"
"m-minion kun?!" dr miniono said, not believing his earz "m… me…?"
the plague doctor flusghed, knowing he had made a msitake "no… not you, dr minion. the other minion!"
as the plague doctor said these words, a small blue dwatrf came to the room from the site caffeteria (he wasn't employeed here previously). uypon noticing him the doctor smilied

you will be forgotten after your death

"this is minion-kun!" he said, hugging the small man.
"but… isnh't this… no… it cxouldn't be…. you wouldn't enjoy anything league of legends, would you…" doctor minion said, recognising the small man as a minion from league of legends7
"but how…" minion (the doctor) said, trying to understand… "how did a nonexistent character from a videogame come to life…"
"fuck if i know"
"that's fair" the vrave foundation doctor said, tears of hapiness in his eyes " i am so happy uou found hapiness 0498"
"me too" said the other minion, hugging both of them hapilly, like they were always familee, despite none of them being real

you will die alone

Notice from Site-120 Director Council
During the morning hours 01/04/2021, Site-120 had undergone a CK-Class Reality Restructuring Scenario, resulting in a total of 20 minutes of total dimensional chaos within the vicinity of said building. The following is the only recorded evidence of such event, being an altered version of documentation previously concerning the Site's renovation plans. Due to numerous testimonies by Site-120 personnel, it's believed to have entirely taken place.
Further research into this event revealed that it was most likely caused by a dying dimension momentarily colliding with baseline Site-120 and it temporarily intercepting some of its traits as a result.
Further research into this reality as well as the identity of "Dr. Minion" is ongoing.

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More From This Author

Ralliston's Works

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SCP-7572 (+50) •

SCP-5890 (+71) •

SCP-5672 (+34) •

SCP-7292 (+58) •

SCP-6789 (+316) •

SCP-5795 (+90) •

SCP-6292 (+131) •

SCP-6172 (+77) •

SCP-6871 (+408) •

SCP-0000-EX (+242) •

SCP-6672 (+71) •

SCP-7120 (+51) •

SCP-5292 (+74) •

SCP-6772 (+76) •

Tales/GoI Formats

O4's Summit (+51) •

Skyline (+60) •

Bury the Light (+33) •

The Holiday Special (+54) •

Creaking at the Seams (+63) •

Everchase (+55) •

Four Knights' Tango (+34) •

UIU File: 2014-158 (OPERATION: VENENUM) (+41) •

GRANT REQUEST FOR THE CREATION OF REMNANT HOST SYSTEMS TO PRESERVE HUMAN KNOWLEDGE POSTMORTEM (+47) •

Somewhere Out There (+30) •

A Baptism of Fire (+23) •

'Nexus HyperLine' (N7S2M/ER9C3/X56ID) (+78) •

The Beast that Shouted "I" at the End of the World (+48) •

Midnight Sun (+21) •

Jäger, Part 2 (+23) •

Other

Public Release of OPERATION: WITNESS Materials (+140) •

Artwork: Witches on the Moon (+37) •

Ralliston's Authorpage (+191) •

Footnotes
1. and no this isn't forbidden the rules only say "No Minions©" but they don't talk about a singular minion, which is, in fact, what dr minion is. not only this but also dr minion is in fact another species entirely, as it is a minion, not a Minion©, meaning that i am entirely right
2. u are doctor minion
3. and no site-120 doesn't only have magical bullshit this is my site i can do whatever you want fuck you
4. please i no longer understand what my son says what the hell does "based" even mean am i becoming old? no this is impossible i am only 33 years old and i dont understand anything anymore please Hhelen please come back please i have changed
5. please laugh i am quoting a meme daryll don't you say this is unfunny i need to stay hip with the youth so that they take care of me once they fire me for my procrastination after the bank didn't give us the cretid
6. please laugh reddit the internet points are the only way i can make myself feel goof for even a moment of my life i no longer know any emotions i dont know if everything good or of its bad every single day is the same and i havae no idea whats going on anymore or if people i care for will even make it to tomorrow please upvote
7. please the contests rules said i had to feature someone from an outside franchise and i no longer watch any shows or play other games the riot hivemind has consumed me and i cant stop playing this game despite hating it


UwU Funny Most Prolific Furry Person

Screw Shitposting. :|

Ten damn years on this Site, and what a ten years it's been.
I've had highs, lows, and everything in between. From coming on this site at sixteen with a bad article about an RP site I am no longer part of, and has progressed to the point where I'm the most prolific active author on the Site, with 200 articles on the horizon. I've made friends with some people, I've made an ass of myself to others. Mainly the latter.
I've learned a lot about myself here. I learned that I'm not too terrible at writing, I've learned that I self-deprecate a lot, I learned that the right medication is very, very important, and that the internet isn't as hateful of a place as people would like you to believe. People leave, people change, new people come in.
I find it fascinating that I, a twenty-six-year-old nutcase from Ohio, have people who look up to me and my work. Like, this might be the imposter syndrome talking, but what do you see in me? The vast majority of what I've written are articles about a podunk town in Wisconsin (a state I have never even been to! For all I know, it could be a myth! Like Massachusetts!) where weird shit happens, inhabited by equally weird people. I write by the seat of my damn pants 90% of the time— I come with backstories for people when prompted, not a second before. The other 10% is based off of my actual life.
And there's other fields that I don't know how I've impacted the site— I write a few tales about a UIU agent acting like they're FBI and not a damn rent-a-cop, and suddenly they're one of the more respected groups on the site. The Church of the Broken God has exploded in part because I wrote SCP-2217. S & C Plastics might have resulted in people making more fleshed out characters in the Foundation beyond the likes of Clef and Gears and Bright. Maybe I'm more influential than I think, maybe I'm just crazy.
And there's so much I want to do still. I want to finish Black Autumn IV, I want to eventually wrap up the whole thing with the UIU Series with No Name. I want to write a Joke SCP, an -EX SCP, I want to write more stuff about the Occult Wars (headcanon: the Fourth Occult War was a naval war, fought during the golden age of piracy) and I eventually want to write something that actually gets traction off-site enough that it gets +1000.
Granted, in order to do that, I have to start writing more SCPs, stop making them novel-length, and maybe betray my dignity and write an SCP about… fuckin' I don't know, Hazbin Hotel or something. (No offense to Vivzie Pop, she does good work, but Among Us and Minecraft have already been taken.)
So, uh, not much more to say, other than go read some actually good shit:
Dancing with Rachel-- Ascension by DarkStuff
The Hecatoncheires Cycle by Grigori Karpin
The Significant Others by HarryBlank
SCP-3508 by Dog Teeth
Content Warning: This Is Still a Foundation Story, After All by Athenodora
PLACEHOLDER by Placeholder McD
Temporal Site-01 (RCT-Δt Hub) and its associated works by HammerMaiden
SCP-783 by S D Locke
SCP-3807 by AbsentmindedNihilist
Critter Profile: Chel! by EthanHanson
Every Damn Time by ProcyonLotor (EAT SHIT PROCY)

I, Collapsible

These stories are shrieks

I, Ihp


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AHAHAHHAHA YOU MORON IMAGINE LOOKING IN THE RATING MODULE

In the depth of the night, Talloran crouched to the floor gayly, his hands around his Cobra Enterprise Inc CA380 380 ACP Carry Conceal Pistol with Pink Grips from sportsmansoutdoorsuperstore.com with an attached Sniper ZT 5-25x50 FFP First Focal Plane (FFP) Scope with Red/Green Illuminated Reticle and Gangster Spongebob custom decal.
In his sights, the greatest Evil-Doer of all history, a man guilty of Warmongering, skilled in Leadership, all while having a stare that could weaken even superheroes and a hobby of Spreading Hate… Adolf Hitler (Captain Planet) himself.

please stop commenting that i didnt write adolf as true to his character! i used trustworthy sources and i know that they are right! look i even have my sources cited:
“Adolf Hitler (Captain Planet).” Villains Wiki, villains.fandom.com/wiki/Adolf_Hitler_(Captain_Planet).
this also means you can't ban me for plagiarism because you hate me so much! nah nah nah boo boo!

With just one shot, Talloran could finally end adolfus's evil tyranny… his trigger finger tensed up as it began pressing down.
bang.
Talloran watched as the bullet exited the barrel of the Cobra Enterprise Inc CA380 380 ACP Carry Conceal Pistol with Pink Grips from sportsmansoutdoorsuperstore.com with an attached Sniper ZT 5-25x50 FFP First Focal Plane (FFP) Scope with Red/Green Illuminated Reticle and Gangster Spongebob custom decal in what felt like slow motion. But his world, his gay little world, his epic little reality… it crumbled before him. And he realized… that wasn't Adolf Hitler (Captain Planet)… that was Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria (Turtledove Book Series)! All he could do was watch as the bullet flew into the Archduke, leaving him dead as a dead guy.

will u guyz shut up already! I KNOW I AM WRITING FRANZY RIGHT!!! STOP TRYING TO SAY I AM NOT!!! i USE MY RESOURCES and RESEARCH on BING DOT COM unlike SOME OF YOU!!!!!!!! again i have left my sources below. >:(
“Franz Ferdinand of Austria.” Turtledove, turtledove.fandom.com/wiki/Franz_Ferdinand_of_Austria.

But that wasn't even the worst part. That's right, something even worse than the start of World War I happened.
The worst thing that happened, the event that made Talloran feel like throwing a tantrum… it was that his true love, his Cobra Enterprise Inc CA380 380 ACP Carry Conceal Pistol with Pink Grips from sportsmansoutdoorsuperstore.com with an attached Sniper ZT 5-25x50 FFP First Focal Plane (FFP) Scope with Red/Green Illuminated Reticle and Gangster Spongebob custom decal faded away.
Three nine nine nine slowly rose behind Talloran's back. And it spoke:
"your jordans are fake as FUCK"
and thats all i wrote


"Oh shi-"
Iceberg narrowly avoids certain death by ducking to avoid the controller at the last second. What the hell was that? Did someone just throw a controller with enough force to break through a wall? It's been one day since Site-19 got an Xbox, are people seriously already flipping their shit at video games? Unbelievable.
He grabs the controller and storms into the new Site-19 game room. If this were a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears right now.
"Who the fuck threw this? You almost killed me!"
He's expecting it to be either Clef or Kondraki. He's not expecting Gears to be the only person in the room, sitting in front of a game of Call of Duty. Gears doesn't react to Iceberg's loud entrance for a moment, but eventually turns to face the stunned doctor with the same blank expression he always has.
Iceberg is too shocked to react at first as Gears silently walks out of the room. When he's able to process information again, he turns back to the hallway.
"Gears?"
Gears turns back to face him. Now that Iceberg isn't completely floored, he can see that the other doctor's eye is twitching slightly.
"Hello, Doctor Iceberg. I apologize for endangering you. As you can see, I had a brief lapse of judgement while using the new entertainment system."
"I can see that, yeah. Are…are you alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine."
"You sure? You threw that controller really hard-"
"Yes, I'm aware, thank you. And yes, I am sure. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Gears begins to walk away, but turns around just before leaving Iceberg's vision.
"By the way, please inform xxDarkShadow42069xx that I had sexual intercourse with his mother last night. Thank you."

The next morning, Gears finds a small punching bag on his desk when he arrives at his office. There's a note taped to the top.
"This is a much better way to let out your anger. If you almost kill your assistant again, I will throw you out of this site.
-Aktus"


He knew he was fucked before he even got the call.
As Bright makes his way to the office that will almost certainly be his final resting place, he goes through possible excuses in his head. It was an accident, one of the researchers under him did it, he was taking a shit when it happened, none of those will do. Fuck, he's almost there. Come on, think of something!
…Will it even matter if he has the best damn excuse in the world?
Before he knows it, he's standing in front of the door to his doom. Before he enters, he takes a few deep breaths, building up confidence. He can do this.
He opens the door to find Jean Aktus, Site-19's director and one of the most widely-feared men in the Foundation, glaring at him. He can't do this.
"Have a seat, Jack."
Well, looks like this is it. After over a century, Jack Bright is about to die for the final time. He's hoping that he does a good job of hiding his fear as he sits in the chair across from Jean.
"Do you know why I've asked to speak to you today?"
How could he not?
"Yes, sir."
"Then why don't you tell me?"
Normally, he would crack a joke about Jean not being one for small talk right about now, but he might actually be drawn and quartered if he tries that here.
"You want to speak to me about the, uh, incident that happened a few hours ago."
Silence. Is Jean thinking about what to do next, or is he just dragging it out for his own amusement?
Finally, after five seconds that could have been an hour, Jean begins talking again.
"Jack, do you know how long I have been Site Director here?"
Oh God, where is this going?
"Twenty-two years, sir."
"Correct. That's twenty-two years of dealing with absurd nonsense because of you and your colleagues. I thought I had seen everything in that time, but you have proven me wrong today."
Jean pauses to take a breath of oxygen. Oh boy, here it comes.
"Jack, why the hell was a giant Furby tearing up my site earlier?"


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"Inadvertent Neolinguistics"
It's all fun and games until somebody dradf4tgrfd gfa4egdfgdsd.
Written by HarryBlank with the monstrous typos provided by Ralliston and JakdragonX
More by HarryBlank!
More by Ralliston!
More by JakdragonX!

Site-119/Site-120 Interlink

M_Kaufmann_120: I can beat that. Okay, so, you know how I said Dr. Asheworth dictates all his notes to his PDA? Using the voice recognition thing? Well, it has no idea what he's talking about half the time. Maybe it's a glitch in the software, or maybe it's his accent, or him just saying the wrong word entirely sometimes, but the results are just hilarious.
M_Kaufmann_120: Please find attached the Department of Ontokinetics collaborative Asheworth-to-English Dictionary.

What He Got
What He Said

able
name

acixdnetalt
accidentally

adding
hassling

ahir
shit/shut

aklrught
alright

andicke
milk

antönende
antimeme

any good
my god

applogizs
apologize

arupid
stupid

armit
armpit

artism
artistry

arty ole
article

ashy is
psychos

Audrey
suddenly

auspreisend
surprised

AWhatnt thick
what the fuck

bame
name

bewirft
beauty

be CA use
because

be dude
because

bears
heard

btich
bitch

bourse
horse

brithertab
brother

BS
Dr. K. Stuff

bulging of yoy hete
bullying of you here

bunk
think

b Elena
to mean

call loot
call-out

call spit
call-out

cawboy
cowboy

Chan gee d
changed

concent
content

concept
context

concerto
concept

Corrected-7
corrected

Council I Süd
consciousness

crest
great

crmmod9jgn
good morning

cock
cook

Cody less
cordless

cordless
costsless

costsless
priceless

coll
could

collage
collab

concostent
consistent

conesour
connoisseur

consitant
consistent

contained
consume

corn
CROM.aic

dad
sad

Daktstfuff
Dr. K. Stuff

destricting
disturbing

discionary
dictionary

distrusting
disturbing

diffused
surprised

daffy
draft

ding
Dr. J. Dune

diregarf
disregard

ducking
fucking

drakes ur g
Dr. K. Stuff

drying
dying

Elise
episode

Eloji
Emoji

Eluded
Dr. R. House [Somehow]

entkernen
antimeme

evbarassong
embarrassing

every
Dr. E. Mann

excessive
exercise

Excwstlu
exactly

expertise
excessive

ezciisnintl
Exceedingly

facists
fascists

faddists
fascists

fail wate of Tom
total waste of time

fair lc m
fairly

falling
calling

fart
fairly

fear
hear

ficitonal
fictional

fish
dish

FIXIDDID
fixed

fondation
Foundation

fritters
critters

fuck toy
fuck you

fun
fuck

FUXK
fuck

gal I g
talking

gebete
there

GOC
god

godbibisitvrealixed
god I just realized

Gödel
goddess

Goethe
each other's

gorier
you're

gos
god

got
god

Greenwood
Agent Green

guckers
fuckers

GURRY
furry

Harryl
Dr. H. Blank

Harrylvabk
Dr. H. Blank

hrhesyvlanj
Dr. H. Blank

HRry
Dr. H. Blank

hatw
hate

HatryBlank
Dr. H. Blank

hat3e
hate

have
hate

hear
heart

help
hell

He readingl
harassing

hiehertab
brithertab (see above)

hin
hub

holt shiyt
holy shit

host lost
not post

hot
not

homothicc
homophobic

hounds
sounds

House&
Dr. R. House

humants
humans

iCloud
Euclid

idiky
idiot

Ikke
Dr. R. House [We don't know either]

interesting the d
interested

intetesye
interested

int eh whake
in the chat

in exist I've
initiative

It Bing
nothing

i'd irs a profile
if it's a problem

I'm hee pepfilershye
on her profile

isea
idea

jadkcal
Jack Caulli

Jesus cgeist
Jesus Christ

Jews
jeez

jnlsss
unless

joner
boner

jostiu
just

kidding
missing

kigma
dogma

kilk
milk

kiss
miss

knownibwoudktn
know wouldn't

kogma
dogma

kolk
milk

kurderius fegie
murderous regime

lidded
pissed

lied
realized

life
luge [Yes, seriously]

like
kick

losing
posting

loss of
piss off

losses
pissed

mad Erbe
made the

maracbre
macabre

medical
medical

medical
medical

medical
medival

medival
medieval [You should've heard him screaming at the thing]

memeveeyoen
everyone

Mifepristone regimehahi
murderous regime

minecrtat
Minecraft

minets
minutes

modicum
MODULUM.aic

mom's milk
Mind Milk

morning
morning

morning
nothing

monetär
monster

money's
moments

money
Dr. Lee Citron

moyhercucker
motherfucker

moyhercuckers
motherfucker (plural)

muhh vu
much

musical gender
musical genre

Musial hender
musical gender

musician genderlsjnv
Musial hender

MYFCUKIGN GFOD
MY FUCKING GOD

nachzufinanzierende
macguffin

nad
bad

natolianist
nationalist

nature
maturity

nautrzalied
neutralized

neucance
nuance

never@kmd
nevermind

nice
much

nico pro hen
microphone

nietetest es
interested

Nobel
normal

noit
not

NoS
No

onsultimg
insulting

oit
out

oj
oh

Ökonomen
people

on her pepfile
on her profile

outl
out

ovoosult
obviously

ow
know

owerweight
overweight

padbdemic
pandemic

pain
paint

pantipticon
panopticon

patiency
patience

Pelshsteaa
please

permamently
permanently

Pissing Angela
Weeping Angels

pferdedecke
predecessor

predecesot
predecessor

pit h
idea

pisze
is

plejg
Dr. Paul Lague

plokish vranch
Polish branch [WHICH IS WHERE WE WORK]

pod ye s
posted

pribably
probably

prnounce
pronounce

pTawtatxbabdbtird
Parawatch

plcaholder
Dr. Placeholder McDoctorate

pope tent
moment

pot
pog

pushy o
psycho

racist
fascists

rad
read

reassure toon
Project Resurrection

reduse
refuse

red direction
Project Resurrection

repeadetly
repeatedly

repearedlyu
repeatedly

reslity sing
Reality sink

river
ever

Rom
CROM.aic

satyfying
satisfying

say our
stand out

Seite
series

seriosulu
seriously

Sensixa
sensible[?]

sharing ray
shrink ray

shate
shape

shit
shut

shite
shape

should tut
shouldn't I

shut
shit

silt
silly

sever
server

sewer
server

singlehadedily
singlehandedly

slee
sleep

slee all
skeeball

soariency
patiency (see above)

stormbreast
Henrik Sturmatem

strecjing
stretching

stuoid
stupid

sub o chili's
subconscious

sulrdised
surprised

s'mores
emotes

s fyzg-8
stories

s try pi's
stupid

tag
that

tak
yak

tbtiee
whole

tfanslTion
translation

thigh
though

Tilda koose
Tilda Moose

tilde loose
Tilda Moose

tewet
tweet

tebically
technically

thechbicly
technically

thinik
think

thin in
thing

titty
nippy

throwbii
thrown

tobwrite
to write

toy
Dr. D. Stanton

toy
you

to crèches
corrected

to sis
Dr. Y. Leiner

to the
and it

tupoed
typoed

Turks
titles

t meimestwly
was immediately

twtitter
Twitter

typoefd
typoed

undergrad
underrated

und Tomate lc
unfortunate

ungelogen
intelligent

uou
you

vat
Dr. V. Mercy

vesifudily
beautiful

Wandered Mibesey
Wanderer's Library

Weber
server

weshh Th u
wealthy

Westrin
question

wha't shte oposite
what's the opposite

whisk the
wouldn't

wir
wait

wohnt I
wouldn't

woudltn
wouldn't

wreird
weird

wirirjes
writes

w
sense

yhauamtoegisy
thaumaturgist [Which is WHAT HE IS]

you*&
you

you get my pinky
you get my point

yoy
you

Yo mewn
to mean

M_Kaufmann_120: And there's a bunch more I can't even show you.
K_Phillips_119: Hahaha wow, you guys have that too? Dr. Reigen sometimes sends messages to the notification system using his phone, and early in the morning or late at night that shit is not pretty. Check out our Reigen-to-English Dictionary while I read yours.

Gibberish he typed
What he was probably going for

9fobme
of me

ahcrennshot
screenshot

alajwhata
what's

anteater
antedate

autoxkyercy
autocorrect

baopelning
happening

bhellv
hell

Birther
birthday

bkuigieor9isw
bourgeoisie

bookmaklrk
bookmark

bozo
bonsai

burgarlier
burglar

cokesrhs
kosher

colonlization
colonization

damint
damnit

dumv
dumb

eitheohtt
teeth

fart
art

fjck
fuck

Forrest
forest

furry
guru

gait birthdays
happy birthday

godonighoith
goodnight

goodmoromooing evevetone
good morning everyone

goosmigut
goodnight

gpivueles
poggers [how old is this guy?]

happwpn8ng
happening

Harty
Dr. H. Blank

hauury
Dr. H. Blank

hilarjsious
hilarious

hoogoos.oming
good morning

Hrwlaclpist?
what list?

hyptoheisticallyl aspeakinhg
hypothetically speaking

ibcuxent
incident

impissivle
impossible

inhave
have

it sfjckingb
it's fucking

jakpp
Jakpoo

lile fekt
like feet

Lwrs
Let's

maolwl
make

me
the

mindnmill
Mind Milk

miseed
missed

moflm
not

mo
no

mom vore
MMM vore

named fropped
name dropped

not
now

np
no

ogodo nightl asdveveony
good night everyone

okaky
okay

P9goeors
poggers

pighers
poggers [WHY DOES HE TYPE THIS SO MUCH]

pleaww
please

proal;blebl!
probably

qhaitj is japppemokm
what is happening

qharhsl
what's

REALLG
really

remdoinders
reminders

screenshit
screenshot

send it my awy and I'll tookk at it kater
send it my way and I'll look at it later

tehehet
teeth

THIT
it

three
tell

the big ducks ass
the cold sucks ass

tobaject
abject

vchomniosss
homies

vlackmailes
blackmailed

wahtion
what in

wehat itin the fuck
what in the fuck

whantkhavecicm
what have I missed

who Oxnard
catch

M_Kaufmann_120: Oh my good lord, that's a thing of beauty!
M_Kaufmann_120: Wait, I just remembered! Asheworth sent this to the Ontokinetics groupchat the other day:

Dir. Asheworth
2/22/21

I pod ye s a pTawtatxbabdbtird to the t meimestwlt throwbii of to go

K_Phillips_119: Wow, that's like… a skill-testing question, or something.
D_Asheworth_120: You gentlemen are aware that your messages were sent to the full listservs for Site-119 and Site-120, yes?
M_Kaufmann_120: uh
J_Reigen_119: Hahaha wow, Asheworth, "Pissing Angela"?
D_Asheworth_120: You're one to talk, Mr. proal;blebl!
J_Reigen_119: I DISPUTE THAT ONE
D_Asheworth_120: I DISPUTE THEM ALL


After all, What is 682? It's a lizard. A hard-to-kill lizard that suffering from chronic abuse. Acid baths, isolation, gunshots, electroshock, burns, poisoning, cutting with industrial lasers, vacuum exposure, exposure to other hostile anomalies, etc., etc., etc. And worse, every day some other idiot comes up with a new method of termination, which results in the end in a new form of torture with no permanent results, right?
The point is, what does a lizard like? Think like a lizard, specifically a pet lizard. That lizard would like to live in a comfortable terrarium, with plants, plenty of sunshine, freshwater, delicious food, etc.
So what would happen if you gave the grumpy lizard a decent place to live????

This would happen:


You are currently viewing Additional Document, Iteration G of the documentation for this entity.

The Giver of Names, the Bestower of Wit, the Slayer of the Thunderbird, the Creator of Lies, the Sun-Stealer - the Trickster of all Tricksters - looked up from his altar, and saw what was happening.
The deity laughed - a cacophonous laugh that echoed towards the stars - the very ones he placed there eons ago.

The figure once known as Coyote laughed, for the foolish mortal had fallen for his trap.

"Pray tell… what exactly were you expecting to see here?"

"You even looked in the source code to try and find what you're looking for? You're one of the rare people to fall for it twice!"


RODEO CLOWNS: A BARREL LOAD OF WORK, A BARREL LOAD OF FUN (AND THAT'S NO BULL!)

* * *

Howdy!
Howdy Bambousio!
I have been a long-time fan of yours, I must say. Ever since Clown About Town magazine went and vanished all 'a sudden (what the heck was all that about? I'd just renewed my subscription two months before it happened!) your blog site has been my #1 go-to for keeping up with what's new in clownery.
Now, while I enjoyed your recent post, there was one thing mentioned in there that I don't want any of your readers to take the wrong impression about: Rodeo Clowns.
Of course, the breeding scene here has come to be known for a few of its seedier elements. But it's not fair to feather all ranchers with the same tar-brush.
I myself am a breeder of some experience, specializing on my ranch in the rearing of good quality Rodeo Clowns. On your main point against owners who are unprepared for the challenges of raising a breed like this, I could not agree more. But I do declare that these negatives are not inherent in the practice.
Well, first thing's first: Rodeo Clowns ARE a lot of work to raise. There are challenging demands, and it takes commitment. The first one, as most are already aware of, is space. Rodeo Clowns need plenty of wide open space to frolic in! The acreage at my ranch affords me to rear and stock a handful of clowns at a time, but most homes in the city or even suburbs do not have the kind of yard that will let your Rodeo Clown get the daily exercise they need.
Another caution for any potential breeders in such a neighborhood is the noise. Rodeo Clowns are LOUD! They will yip and hoot and holler, and they do not care what time it is. This is a part of their needs for attention - they love being chased by a big angry bull, but many breeders will find alternative ways to give their clowns that stimulation.
One other thing they do with that loud voice of theirs? Heckle and joke! They are great humorists, very talented performers - but a zinger or two is gonna come your way! If you're afraid your feelings could get hurt by a bit of wisecracking, toughen up buttercup because Rodeo Clowns might not be for you.
And then there's the barrel. Make no mistake here, a Rodeo Clown's barrel is practically a part of itself altogether. (I have heard tell of an Australian variant which goes without (?), but I've never imported any stock from overseas.) Now, if anyone knows about the hermit crab then they'll know what I mean when I say that a Clown's barrel is as crucial as that crab's shell. And boy, once a Rodeo Clown tucks down into that barrel, there ain't no doggone way anyone's gonna yank 'em back out. No limit to the kickin' they can withstand in there neither, them's some real tough ones, I tell you what.
Being typically so rough and rugged, they make some chores easier. Sleeping on a haybale suits them just fine, so long as it is properly bundled and baled. If you only go and toss some straw on the ground then call it a day, well that's just lower than the belly of a snake! Y'all can avoid the grooming hassles of a fancier breed (like the Italian Harlequin) too; these clowns will dress in baggy denim trousers and loose flannel shirts - and of course the distinctive cowboy hat! Brightly colored bandanas are another staple accessory. They'll get dirty, but that's little problem for the Rodeo Clown. Just keep that makeup fresh!
Gosh, after all of that you must be thinking "Waylon! At this point, what is the upshot here?" Well, I wholeheartedly believe that the Rodeo Clown is worth it. Because a good Rodeo Clown will live and die for you. They are loyal and fearless companions who will put themselves in harm's way without hesitation in order to protect you.
Of course let's not forget that thing which any of us enjoy most: the FUN! Rodeo Clowns are great fun; entertainment for all ages. They tell jokes, they act, they jump and tumble and dance. I had one who liked to play the little guitar and sing songs! (And then he'd go on and break that guitar over his head - smashed it to splinters, that wacky S.O.B.)
So fine, Rodeo Clowns are not suitable for everybody's situation. But with the right attitude, and plenty of care, the breeding of Rodeo Clowns can be a wholesome and rewarding endeavor.
Wishing you a very fine day,
~ Waylon Dickel
Owner & Proprietor of Dickel's "The Funny Bone" Ranch

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X

The Wasteland
By: UnnaHuz
As the last customer of this Ambrose Restaurant strides to the sun.

In
The dish was on the table. Rhythm Linn - the first and the last customer of the day - looked at it and held his knife, pondering his missing sister, Lyrics, "Is she still alive?" The waiter beside him seemed to ignore his musings and walked away; perhaps he would pay more attention if he knew of the gold coins in Rhythm's pocket.
The decoration of the Ambrose Restaurant was, without doubt, of the lowest class: the tables, chairs, and floor were made of old wood, and their coarse corners often stuck to the clothes of careless diners; the overhead chandelier kept swinging, emitting ominous blue light. All windows were firmly sealed by steel plates, blocking any trace of light from the outdoors. Few customers chose this restaurant as their haunt. Nevertheless, the unpopularity helped keep it standing after scores of sunrises and sunsets. Days ago, Rhythm had asked the impacts of daybreak upon the attractive Ambrose Restaurants. The bartender slouched and kept shaking his head:
"Meat! Ground meat! They just clustered together as a huge, HUGE meatball, blocking the god damn entrance and crushing down the door frame, and mercilessly gobbled down everything in the restaurant! Those half-human half-meat creatures posed as if they wanted to order, but as soon as other fresh meat approached them, they intertwined into a puddle of flesh. Ambrose welcomes any beings to come here and enjoy their meal, but the half-human stuff genuinely makes me want to throw up." Ambrose's waiters served countless non-humans and half-humans, but the "humans" melted by the ruthless red sun made them shiver. Strange.
Rhythm Linn picked up a piece of cooked "meat" and blew on it, letting it cool. According to the menu, specified thaumatic manipulation allowed some parts of the meat to be heated, other parts to be frozen; the isotherm traced beautiful arcs and stung the palate of the diners. He bit the meat, savoring it, while the treated EVE particles along the isotherm burst out in his mouth, affecting him "unexpectedly" (not anymore; he had ordered it dozens of times). Now that the meat had cooled, it felt slimy and hard on his tongue. The meat stubbornly remained a single piece even as Rhythm chewed it. He had to admit — the half-cooked meat from the sun was far chewier than gum.
"Still, you guys have no ingredients other than this thing in all dishes available," Rhythm repeated his complaints the hundredth time and pointed to the dish, where large chunks of food still lying, waiting to be cleared.
"You know that, Rhythm. We only used special thaumaturgy and memes to treat our food, but the ingredient itself comes from the Earth. But, you see, well, what it is like outside. "
"But that's not an excuse! What about places that are completely hidden from the sunlight?"
"These places were trampled by the flesh monsters, already! I'd told you before! Why did you keep asking me this? Aren't you satisfied?"
Then Rhythm shut up and silently ate the muddy beef ball which had been beef and the muddy rice ball which had been rice. He ate hastily, causing all the cut-up pieces of sunlit food to naturally combine in his stomach and be digested bit by bit.
Resting for an entire hour, Rhythm finally stood up, covering his whole body with reinforced compound armor. The electronic vision module was then activated.
"I'll go now, " Rhythm walked to the door and left some coins to pay for the meal. The doorway itself was a space anomaly, so as soon as he shut the door, it would slowly disappear, waiting for another thaumatic spell to wake it up.
He gave a 5-star rating.
Out
Rhythm Linn went out of the restaurant and strode to the sunlight, searching for his sister again on the way. Hours later, as the sun was setting, he trekked across a gentle hill. A few of his memories trickled back.
He used to come here years ago, especially when he was working in the Wanderers Library; the scattered thin plastic pieces on the ground reminded him of the fading memories of roaming through the ways of the Library, linking him to outer worlds. These plastic bits should have been the Library Cards. When those old Library dwellers held the cards and chanted, a green cursor would appear on the card, guiding them back from the Earth. Now it was different. Rhythm could guess that some dwellers left Earth on that morning. When the red sun rose, humans, flowers, grass, rabbits, mice…… all animals and plants on the surface were reduced to a thin layer of bloody-red mud on the bare soil. Each time Rhythm stamped on it, the red blanket wrapped around his soles a centimeter higher. If he walked too slow, the mud would gradually climb up to the ankles, legs, body, and finally the head. However, the compound armor safely protected him, and it kept his flesh safe from the red mire underfoot. "Always OK to sleep down on the ground, maybe, "Rhythm thought as he ran uphill.
He was tired and his spirit began to falter, so he failed to notice the dirt lump in front of him. Rhythm Linn stumbled a few steps and fell forward to the red.
He looked down; the ground was illuminated by the dim light of death.
He looked up; the bloody moon tore through the darkness of this long night.
While Rhythm struggled to get to his knees, the mud wriggled up his body and started to transform its shape. For one second a pinch of grass protruded from the mire, and for another second a mouse appeared on its side. Rhythm knew that the shapes of the ever-lived manifested randomly, but shapes were only shapes after all. When a lily suddenly grew under his feet, he grabbed it with all his strength, tearing it from the mud. It turned back into a puddle of sticky liquid when it settled down in Rhythm's plastic container.
Lily was the favorite flower of Lyrics.
Rhythm used fire to dispel the red blanket climbing up his armor, and a piece of paper clung to it, which was probably brought up by the mud. On it was a song by the wanderers:

"Let there be bright!"
To the sky, a man howls.
The full moon climbs up the valley;
Under the glittering light, the flower sprouts.

"Flowers…… sea of flowers……" Rhythm mumbled.
Before expelled by the Library, Rhythm had gone here with his sister before: the flower sea - right under his feet - was planted by many humans or non-humans from different worlds. Rhythm had no idea how many others sprinkled lily seeds before, but at this moment he would rather believe the lily in his hand was what he planted years ago, right at this place. Rhythm reread the poem once more, and the picturesque scenery occurred to him.
However, after the daybreak, the beauties of the past wiped out the former world's remnants. Only a fragment of art remained. Who could enjoy it except Rhythm himself? Maybe his teammates? Maybe Library settlers? Maybe his sister? Apart from all this, sadly, one kind of people could enjoy it at any time: the sunburnt.
Rhythm did not cry, but his breath sped up. Waving goodbye to his disquieting memories, he lay on the bloody ground and slept.
He would continue his voyage the next day.

  | The Wasteland | Before Twilight »


Day Trip

A Spin Around The Library

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Day Trip

A Spin Around The Library


“C'mon boy, let's go to the clown park, c'mon!”
Sweetie was walking her clown, Sazzle, to the local clown park. She didn't feel like it since she had homework to do, but her mom kicked her outside with the jester anyway.
‘Well, he hasn't been to the clown park in awhile, so I might as well,' she thought. She can let Sazzle clown around while she talks to others, but most people at the clown park were usually adults or old people. Boring…
The streets were fairly quiet for a Saturday afternoon, save for the constant squeak of Sazzle's giant shoes while he waddled along. He was slower now, almost 35. Mom had raised him since she was a child. Hopefully he'll feel included and comfortable around the younger clowns at the park.

“Agent Durian, do you have visuals on the location given by PoI-90958?”
“…What the hell am I looking at?”
“What do you see?”
“A dog park. Why did you send me on a whole expedition for a dog pa…”
The man scrunched his bristled face up in exasperation. He was assigned a location, given to the Foundation by some weirdo called ‘Bambousio'.
“Why is it a clown park? Command, why are there clowns in a dog park instead of dogs? Why me?”
The other voice hesitated. “There's clowns in the dog park?”
“There are clowns in the dog park. Are you sure you didn't just interview a guy involved in a weird LARP group or something?” Durian sighed. There were better things to spend his time on.
“…Classified information. Please continue with your investigation.”
Agent Durian scratched his head. Being in undercover casualwear, he could always try to talk to the…people.
“God, I don't even want to talk to my co-workers, nevermind clown owners.”

The clown park was a large, fenced area where owners could let their clowns have fun and socialise with other clowns. To the left, Sweetie could see a separate playpen for small porcelain and teacup clowns, and the park was covered in confetti and bunting, with lots of toys scattered around for the clown's leisure.
There were many types of clowns around that evening. There was a rednose clown entertaining, pulling handkerchiefs from it's sleeve. There were a giggle of scary clowns playing with fake knives, and a gaggle of various other breeds, running around and playing. Sazzle looked eager to get out and goof.
“Go on then!” Sweetie opened the gate, letting Sazzle run in and honk in excitement before closing it. She sat down, watching Sazzle cautiously approach a group of jesters and honk his nose in greeting. The jesters honked back, jingling the bells on their hats, inviting Sazzle to play. One pulled out a unicycle from seemingly nowhere, and began to balance on it. They seemed to be really enjoying themselves.
“Is that your one?” Sweetie heard beside her. She turned to see a girl around her age, with bright hair and some sick fashion sense, in her opinion.
“Yep! His name's Sazzle. Which one's yours?” She replied.
The girl pointed to one of the tall scary clowns, playfully jumping around with the other scary clowns, grinning with three sets of lovely teeth. “That one there, his name's Gargamel.”
Sweetie smiled, “Oh, he's lovely! He seems so excited to be here. Honestly I'm glad you came up to me because I was gonna be SO bored sitting around some old people.”
“Ugh, me too! I'm Una, by the way,” she said.
“I'm Sweetie. What's your IG so I can follow you?”
Una took out her phone. “Nah hold on, look at that dude talking over there.”
“Which one?” Sweetie looked around.
“The spiky-haired dude. He doesn't even have a clown.” Una motioned her head towards a scruffy man with dark shadows over his eyes, talking to one of the elderly people across from them. He seemed clueless as to why the clown park was here.
Sweetie huffed, a flash of annoyance went through her face. “Ugh, when will they learn? No clown, no clown park dude.”
“Tell me about it. Do you wanna hang out tomorrow, maybe…if you want?” Una asked.
“Sure! And we can bring our clowns.” Sweetie replied. Herself and Una continued to talk amongst themselves, while Sweetie noted the man's appearance. It didn't matter right now, she thought, the Foundation isn't getting in the way of her new friend.

Durian scowled. Out of all the things he could've been called on to do, he was told to investigate clowns. Out of all the literal millions of things on this wonderful and blessed earth, it had to be clowns.
“I'm going to speak to some of the things in the park. Are they dangerous?” He asked.
“Entities are confirmed non-lethal and human, at least the one's without facepaint.”
“I'm so lucky. I'm absolutely delighted.” Durian deadpanned. He inspected the park from afar, before cautiously approaching the gate. There were a two adolescents, a group of laughing adults his age, and an elderly man. He decided talking to the senior was much better than stand the awkwardness of integrating into a group.
“…Fine evening,” he said, sitting down beside the man, who's back was turned.
The man turned around, revealing bright greasepaint around his eyes. Durian flinched.
“…It sure is,” the old man replied.
“It's pretty busy around here, too.”
“It's actually pretty quiet. My dear Flopsy can't stand large crowds. She's so gentle. Just isn't as energetic as she used to be, you know?”
Durian nodded like he definitely knew what that meant.
The man continued, “People don't adopt the old clowns often. They're always left in the shelters. I felt bad for Flopsy, so I took her in. Abandoned once they get too old, just like all of us, hm?”
“Y-yeah… It's a shame,” Agent Durian said, “Where is the shelter, by the way? I was looking to adopt.”
“Oh, that's wonderful! What breed? Let me write the address for you…” He asked, while taking out an old receipt and a pen from his bag and using a shaky hand to write the shelter's address on it.
“I-uh…I don't really know, I'm new to, uhm, clowns. Do you think I can talk to the clowns inside there?”
“Talk to the clowns? What are you on about? They're not human like us! Anyway, a whiteface is good for beginners. Here you go, boy.” He handed over the receipt, which Durian took and put in his coat pocket.
“I'll probably head over tomorrow or something, thanks for the chat.” He got up.
The old man grinned, “No, thank you. It makes an old geezer's day, it does.”
Durian quickly exited the clown park and sighed. He didn't like playing detective, but someone had to do it. He noticed skin-toned greasepaint on his hands, from when him and the old man briefly brushed hands while taking the receipt. Looking back, he noticed the man had conveniently placed his hands in his pockets.

“Did you get Sazzle out?” Her mom asked as Sweetie came home.
“Yeah, brought him to the clown park.” Sweetie mumbled, taking off her shoes while texting Una about their plans tomorrow.
“Good, did you see the man?”
“Yeah, why do you care about the Foundation so much anyway? I honestly don't care. Why are you getting me to play spy?” Sweetie rolled her eyes, lazily making her way upstairs.
“I don't know, I just don't want the bigwigs messing with your father's business.”
“Is that what he's doing with the clown cars in the garage?”
“Yeah, they're for wild clowns, I think. He sends them to centres, or the ranches. You can tell me and your father about it when he gets home."
"But I don't get why you need me to do it!" Sweetie said, going up to her bedroom and sitting down with a sigh. Fine then, leave the fall of Bambousio Starswinger up to a teenage girl.

Agent Durian let out a defeated laugh.
“What do you mean the shelter isn't there right now?”
“I'm telling you, it's Time Clowns! The shelter just doesn't exist today.” Bambousio shrugged, “It's not my fault, if you're asking. In fact, I'm strongly against Time Clowns in general-”
“We know. Just…when will it, uh, ‘exist'?”
“I don't know. Whenever it shows up, just like the clown park.”
Durian rubbed his eyes. He better be getting overtime for this.
“…Can you untie me now? It's almost dinnertime for my porcelains.”


In…
Out…

In…
Out…

In…

Breathing has never helped with this sort of thing. Nothing ever does. It is always a roller coaster of stress that happened the week before an important event. One I willingly ride because it's always fun afterwards.
I willingly step up to the boarding platform, in excitement. I pull on the restraints. Not until the dispatch of the ride does the dread fill my body. The sound of the chain lift hill going up as the days pass. I feel okay at the beginning, but it just grows. I have already done everything I could possibly do to get ready for this. I know why I do what I do, and the fact I have signed up for this. Keep going over what I know obsessively, keep working at the music, or in this case, the presentation.
Now it is four days before the event, and something I've worked on for months still isn't good enough for myself. The car is climbing higher and higher into the air. The logical part of me knows I'm prepared, it knows that I've done everything I could do to be ready but it's still not good enough, not close enough to perfect. It's not as important as I've built it up to be in my mind. I know that, but I still can't shake the screaming building in my chest. I know this feeling will only grow more and more intense, until the minute I walk into that room.
The director knows me and he put his trust in me to do this. I've worked on containment of this SCP for months. I still review the document, continuing to read everything I can get my hand on. Knowing my presentation inside and out, the little intricacies on what needs to be done. What we're asking for.
I'm so afraid some stupid detail will slip my mind and will cause everything to be destroyed. I need to keep working on it, no matter how much I'm sure I'm ready. Even if it's almost too late to do anything for it.
It's not that I'm not prepared. I am, and I know I am! It's the fact that no matter what, the fear of failure lingers in my mind. The fear that it's not good enough. It pulls at threads that don't need to be pulled and makes me believe the what-ifs. The belief I will never be good enough. The fear that the second I step up my mind will grow blank and I will forget everything I've worked so fucking hard towards these last few months. That I will stumble over words, like notes in a song I've missed a beat of. That I will come out of that room less than satisfied. It's not that I'm unprepared. I could be considered over-prepared, but the anxiety still lingers in my mind.
I take a breath and hold it in. I puff my chest out and listen to the sound of my thudding heart. I'm great, I'm absolutely amazing and I can do this! I always go through this. I go through the same things going through my mind, trying so desperately to make it silent save for my own confidence. We're a click away from the top of the lift hill, just before the pause to stare down the rest of the coaster. My only option is to shove on some form of false confidence and act as though I own the place.
Because I do.
It sounds overly self-indulgent, but the need to build myself up just before going to the violent bloodbath in my mind is ever-present. My chest is so heavy, it feels as though I'll sink right through the floor. I am more than determined to shove these obnoxious feelings out of my mind and body. I keep going, starting my walk down the hall. The presentation and accompanying speech playing through my mind. It's like I'm staring down the roller coaster with one last satisfying click.
I hold my breath as the hairs on my arms and legs stand on end. I feel every inch of my body but it doesn't feel like mine. Every negative feeling builds a castle in my chest. The stress and anxiety threatening to spill over. It rips at my heart and lungs and grows bigger. It keeps pushing until everything goes silent the moment I introduce myself. I can feel my entire body shake underneath my weight but it subsides almost immediately.
The roller coaster drops from its highest point.
The false confidence gaining momentum, until it turns to real confidence. At the moment it begins, everything falls into place. It wrecks everything they built inside of me, freeing me from their sickening grasp.
The moment it begins, I'm not me. I'm not talking, it's someone else. I mean, they're still me, but it's not me talking. Every word flows from me, and the feeling of relief is overwhelming. I say each word clearly, not stumbling over anything as the car flies through tight inversions and loops.
I know where this goes, and the memories of the word I said last are slipping from my brain. It's a constant process of tearing myself apart to be built back up again. I love the feeling of air time from my work. It always spills over into pride the moment it begins.

Out…