#instructio

[unhumanrights]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Original Work Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: instructions, Fantasy, Magic Shop, how to, spec fic, Speculative fiction, Magic Summary:

A story, more lore than narrative, written like a set of instructions for opening a magic shop.

This is the same one I posted earlier, mind you. Just wanted to post its AO3 home here in case anyone wanted to check it out there instead.

[tsubasaclones]

went home over the weekend and now my mom is telling me she got a positive covid test. so cool and fun.

[allamericansbitch]

but isn't it real? 😭 I thought her in ear monitor sayings got leaked that's why there are also things she hears from other parts of the show

bestie none of the 'in-ear monitor' stuff is ever real. it's all edited and fake, always is. people can't 'leak' stuff like that, it's not saved anywhere. it's live, the people talking are the people backstage during the show, it's not like a saved file stored somewhere that can get leaked, it's not pre-recorded.

[mothpdf]

the paralyzing effect of having stuff to do

[newstrendline]

What is instructional technology

Instructional technology is a field that creates classroom technology tools to assist in teaching and learning. It encompasses the software and hardware needed to make education dynamic and engaging. It can be challenging for faculty members to translate their expertise to students, which is where instructional technologists come in. They serve as a bridge between faculty members and their…

[picklewednesday]

tired of people treating emmet like an idiot he is a construction worker. I hope you all remember that he is not an idiot

[fishthegenderwitch]

ASK ME STUFF

I AM DRUNK

for the first time since 2008

I have not been this schmammered in 15 years lets goooooooo

[dxnny-art]

Hslot Frankfurt n1 mini zine!

Print version here:

[unityrain24]

begging anyone who wants to learn how to cook to go look at just one cookbook dot com

seriously they have more recipes than i could ever count, they have clear instructions, step-by-step photos, and videos for their recipes (occasionally there are typos but just use logic. if it says to add the meat to the meat when we were just cutting vegetables, it means ad the vegetables to the meat). everything i've cooked from there is great and i'm at the point now i don't even need to always follow the recipes exactly bc now i'm familiar with how the cuisine works. so so yummy and it's totally friendly if you know nothing about japanese food, there are posts on her blog explaining what different ingredients and techniques are and everything. great place for both beginners to cooking and beginners to japanese food

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

The wheel dictates Aron must suffer an asthma attack! 👻

This ask was so interesting to write because Aron doesn't have asthma, but I found a way to make it work! I hope you like it!

Cross posted on AO3 and Wattpad

Deep breath (Sam x Aron)

Aron loved her job.

Growing up, she always knew she wanted to go into the medical field. She’d struggled with her health and chronic pain for as long as she could remember, and many of her family members did as well. She watched her own father battle cancer for years, a battle he lost. When he passed away, she knew she wanted to do something to make a difference in the medical field.

However, she never thought she’d be capable of medical school, since she barely was able to make it through high school. So that was a dream she gave up on pretty early on in her teen years.

However, when she turned eighteen and learned about magic from her late grandfather, he offered to find her a job at a hospital in the demon districts. Aron wasn’t sure how the legal aspect of it worked, but after about four years of training there, she had a medical degree. Finally she was a doctor, working with demons and humans alike, while also improving her magic skills.

Unfortunately, not long after she was finally officially able to call herself a doctor, her own health took a turn for the worst. Her seizures became a daily occurrence, her paralysis episodes becoming more intense, and the pain was unbearable. So, she had to quit the job she loved so much.

Then, after receiving a proper diagnosis of chiari malformation and then the surgery to treat it, she was finally able to go back to work. Her boyfriend Sam- who happened to be an incubus, had stood by her side every step of the way as she returned to work. 

The first few months were incredibly difficult, but no one could deny her increased mood as time went on.

That all being said, her complicated history made it even harder for her to take breaks when she needed it. It had been about a year since she returned to her job, so she had gotten used to the long hours. Human illness wasn’t contagious to demons, so she continued working when catching sickness she could work through, and asked other doctors to cover human patients until she was better.

She made extra sure to take precautions around sick demons, not only for her own sake, but also for the sake of the incubi. She didn’t want to get sick from demon illness, and she sure as hell didn’t want to get the others sick as well.

But that didn’t make her immune. Even the most effective ways of preventing herself from catching something didn’t stop her from coming down with something. 

Over the last three years, a new illness began spreading around the districts. It was believed to be brought over between planes, but no one could pinpoint the exact cause yet. It caused symptoms that heavily resembled a human illness known as asthma, a chronic lung condition that causes inflammation in the airways.

This new condition wasn’t exactly like asthma. It only lasted anywhere from a few weeks to a year, instead of being lifelong. It also caused fevers, not high enough to cause a problem but high enough to cause discomfort.

Aron and her colleagues had been looking for better treatments for a while to lessen the symptoms, and had begun prescribing steroid inhalers to the humans who contracted the condition. Unfortunately, the demon's immune systems were killing any possible effect the medication may have, so they were stuck on how to treat them.

Aron was currently drawing blood from a young witch patient. Her recently dyed hair- dark brown with baby blue streaks- was in a claw clip. She had on simple black pants and a blue t-shirt underneath her white coat, a name tag hanging around her neck.

The room felt extra cold, but she could feel herself beginning to sweat a little bit underneath the layers of clothing. She tried to brush it off as her own issues with temperature regulation. She smiled at the patient and gave her instructions to check out at the front desk before stepping out.

She walked through the hallway, planning to do some paperwork until the next case, when she started to feel a heaviness in her chest. She cleared her throat, feeling her breathing become a bit labored.

As she kept walking, it was quickly becoming harder to breathe. It felt like she was under water, gasping for air as she began coughing violently. She desperately tried to fight for air, the strain of her coughing sending waves of pain through her head and neck. 

Tears began streaming down Arons face as her lungs burned from lack of oxygen. She leaned against the wall, her throat feeling like she’d swallowed sandpaper. Her head felt like it was going to explode.

“Doctor Anderson?” she heard a voice call; it sounded like her coworker but she couldn’t make out the sound over the volume of her coughing and the ringing in her ears. “Aron? Aron!”

She heard the sound of a door opening, and some commotion before feeling something being placed against her mouth. An inhaler.

“Deep breath, take a deep breath,” she heard them say.

Aron parted her lips and took the inhaler in her mouth, inhaling the medication, then repeating. After twice, they pulled it away, placing a hand on Arons shoulder. “You okay?”

Her coughing calmed down, an ache still in her chest. She opened her eyes and looked at her coworker and friend, who had short blonde hair and big, silver eyes. “I’m…I’m okay…”

Aron was instructed to go home after an evaluation which revealed she’d contracted the illness. She argued otherwise, but was left with no choice. They sent her home with an inhaler and some pills.

She had a tight frown on her face as she stepped inside of the mansion. 

“Doofus? What are you doing home so early?” Sam asked her as he started to walk over.

Aron put her hands up and stepped back. “Don’t come near me, I’m contagious.”

He huffed and crossed his arms. “Human sickness can’t hurt me, remember?”

“‘S not human sickness,” she countered. “It’s fucking demon asthma.”

“Oh,” he said, the attitude leaving his tone. “Shit. What can we do?”

She held up the inhaler and pills wordlessly, not speaking.

Sam sighed and stepped closer, making her frown at him and step back. He gave her a pointed look. “I can handle some asthma, doofus. What, are you going to just stay away from me until you’re better?”

“That’s literally the only thing I can do to keep you and the others from being sick,” she said, beginning to walk up the stairs. "I hate my fucking job," she added in a grumble.

"No you don't," he sighed. “You can’t just stay locked in our room. I’m gonna need to get in there eventually.”

She paused and leaned against the wall, being hit with another coughing fit. She held the railing of the stairs as she tried to keep herself upright. Immediately, Sam was beside her, stopping her from falling and gently rubbing her back. “Sheesh. You’re gonna cough up a lung.”

“So will you if you don’t get away,” she told him as her coughing finally stopped. She didn't truly want him gone, but feeling sick made her grouchy.

“Whatever. Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he said, carefully picking her up and taking her to their room.

[judeable-brainrot]

OKAY. T4T. Art x reader. HIT IT.

Art Donaldson was someone you knew very much and yet very little about. You’d been friends and roommates for a couple years now, going on half a decade, and you’d grown really close. But you could always sense that there were parts of him you didn’t really know. Not like he knew you, anyhow. You were an open book, with him, with anyone.

You’d come out about a year before Art entered your life and even then, you never felt shame about your identity. Not even shame, you just never felt the need to be so quiet about it. It was who you were. Why should that bother others? Why should it bother you? So, you were open.

Correcting people, answering questions, invasive and non, talking about your experiences. You had flags, went to pride parades and queer events all over the city. And sure, you got hate and clapback. You were called slurs, attacked both verbally and physically. But this one particular day, it was too much.

You entered your apartment with Art, dejected and trying to hold back tears. You let out a deep breath as you shut the door, leaning against it for a moment to steady yourself. “Hey!” You heard Art call out from the living room where he was perched on the couch. “Welcome back. How was work?”

You don’t respond. You drop your bag at the door and walk into the living room, crawling onto the couch next to him and resting your head on his shoulder. He looks down at you, watching for a second before he muted the TV and turns his full attention to you. “Hey..” It’s softer than it was before. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pressing you closer to him. “What’s up?”

You take a shaky breath before speaking up. “You..Art you see me as a guy, right?” His face changed instantly into confusion and anger. “What? Of course I do. What asshole wouldn’t?” You sigh deeply. “Derick at work. He cornered me in the men’s bathroom today, talking about how I shouldn’t be in there, blah, blah, blah, transphobic shit.” His grip on your tightens and you can feel the anger rise in his body. “Fucking Derick.”

You chuckle. “You’re telling me.” You let your body relax against him, that familiar sadness creeping into your bones again. Art feels it, feels how you slouch against him, feels the shift in the air. "Is...you know you're a guy, dude. I see you as a guy, so does most everyone we know. Fuck Derick. He doesn't know what he's talking about." His words soothe that dysphoric ache in your body but it's not enough. Not enough to fight back that all to familiar self-hatred welling up.

"Maybe not but...it's just hard, Art. I don't know how to explain it to someone who's never experienced it." You mumble against his shirt. He takes a deep breath and it feels like he's about to say something, but then he stops and just exhales deeply. "Regardless, you're still...very handsome.." He mumbles out.

You look up at him, eyes searching his face. "I...Thank you.." Art gently reaches out and caresses your cheek. "I mean it. You're one of the most handsome men I've ever met. Fuck Derick, he has no idea what he's looking at." You feel a hot blush rise to your cheeks and you slowly smile, eyes flitting across his face. "Thanks." He nods, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of your face. "Can..can I do anything? To help?" He asks softly.

You shrug. “I don’t know.” Art looks down at you, his hand still on your face, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin. “I..I could help you with your injection..?” He offers softly. You raise a brow at him. “Really? You’d do that?” He nods. “Yeah.” You think on this before shrugging. “Okay. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Art helps you off the couch, leading you to the bathroom. You reach under the sink for your injection kit and then hoist yourself up to sit on the counter, handing it to him, watching as he unzips it and immediately starts to assemble the needle and grab the liquid. You watch him with curious eyes, watching how skilled he is at this, how he needed no help or instruction. It stirred the curiosity in you.

Art eventually finishes and sets the vial aside, hesitating as he reaches toward’s your shirt. “Can I..?” You nod, still in a confused daze. He gently lifts your shirt and then pinches a bit of skin between his fingers, lining up the needle. He looks up at you once before he pushes forward with the injection, doing it quickly so you feel as little pain as possible. He pops it out moments later and reaches for a Bandaid from the kit, gently smoothing it over the site. “There.”

You gape at him for a moment, confusion taking over your whole body but you regain yourself enough to be polite. "Thanks.." He beams up and you. "You're welcome. Did it help?" You smile softly, swinging your feet a bit. "Yeah, it did." He gently kisses your knee before pulling your shirt down. "Good. Now..um, could I have some privacy for a moment? I gotta piss."

You roll your eyes at his bluntness but slide off the counter, stashing your T kit away under the sink again. "Fine." You exit the bathroom, heading back into the living room but you remember you forgot to toss out the used needle. You return and knock on the door. "Art. I'm gonna come in for just a second, I forgot to toss out my needle."

His protest is lost as you creak open the door and find him standing with a near identical needle in hand, doing the same injection he just performed on you, shirt pulled up. He looks at you, horrified and surprised and you just stand there, everything clicking into place. "Oh..sorry."

He blushes but doesn't move. "S'okay.." You turn around to give him so privacy to finish up. You hear him exhale and then a clink of the needle hitting the counter and the rip of a Bandaid. "Okay.." You turn back around, the silence crushing. "So..um, you're..also.." He nods. "Yeah." "Neat, cool, okay." He laughs nervously. "Yup. You can turn around now, by the way." You sigh and turn to him, looking at him. "So...you're..also?" Art nods. "Mhm." You bob your head, taking in this information. "Okay..cool...can I ask like, how long?" "Since I was 18.." Again, you just nod.

"Neat. So, we're both just two dudes sharing an apartment?" He smiles nervously. "Yeah, yeah we are." "Cute. So, movie and pizza?" Art's smile turns more genuine. "Yeah, that sounds great."

[fanfiction4sooya]

So I’m kind of a new writer and I’m torn on my first piece between Momo Hirai and Jihyo Park I love both of them dearly but can’t figure out which to use.

So my question is how do you view Momo and Jihyo and what tone/ setting do you think would work for them?

🦕-anon

Oh honey 😭 That's a tough choice! And it actually depends on how I'm feeling about both of them. But if you see their personalities on cam you see that Jihyo is a natural born leader (duh), more dominant than everyone around her and very careful about others as well. Respectful and very playful, but won't ever play about your feelings!

Now momo is not into leading, but she'll follow instructios (cough cough sub). I feel like she is a very respectful, quiet person, often in her own head about things so she might get a bit ahead of things when it comes to her partners... Very possessive and whiny!!

That's it, those are some of my views. Hope it helps, honey!! 💖☺

[wolveria]

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 14

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Once the test is performed, terminate the subject and reanimate its corpse.” 

AO3

Daniel’s eyes went wide. He half-fell from the table in a clumsy rush, screaming pleas at the one-way observation window.

“No! No, please! I don’t want to—”

049 caught the movement out of the corner of its eye. Its head snapped forward, spine straighten, and it bolted.

In three long strides, it descended on Daniel. Its hand wrapped around his throat, and in an instant, Daniel’s body went limp, his wide eyes blank and empty.

The SCP’s momentum carried them forward and it slammed Daniel against the observation window so hard the glass bent under the force before bouncing back into place. The collar buzzed, much louder than before, and with a snarl SCP-049 dropped the body and clawed at the device to no avail.

The shocking eventually stopped when smoke begun to curdle from around the SCP’s neck.

“I will allow that. Once,” Leahy said, far too calmly. “The next time you interrupt testing, SCP-049, it will not be you who gets the collar.”

The entity raised its grey eyes to rest on you, still catching its breath.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked away from where Daniel had fallen. There hadn’t been time to gasp, or scream, or do anything. He was—had been—probably barely old enough to drink. And now he was staring blankly at the ceiling, his neck at an odd angle.

Not only had SCP-049 killed him with a touch, but it had also snapped his neck, probably not even on purpose.

One minute, the SCP had started to calm down, and the next…

It was as if there were two opposing sides living within the plague doctor. The side of the entity that was cordial and friendly and intelligent, that wanted to cooperate with Foundation personnel and aid humanity, even if its version of “help” wasn’t very helpful.

And then there was this version. The ruthless, raving, monstrous side that was all claws and gnashing teeth despite it having neither.

Mist drifted down from the ceiling, causing the SCP to stumble to its knees again, and that could only mean one thing. The outer doors opened, and another D-Class was pushed through, followed by another. Two of them now, perhaps one acting as a redundancy in case 049 lost control again.

You might have laughed if you were capable. Even now, you couldn’t stop observing like a researcher. Then again, what else did you have left?

The guards left, and the mist stopped after the door seals behind them.

“D-25867 and D-33248, approach the table.”

Both men obey, one of them looking ill as Daniel had, the other covered in bruises, lacerations, and welts. He swayed on his feet, like it might pass out at any moment.

A part of you wondered if this was just one long sequence of nightmares. But no, you wouldn’t be that lucky.

“Reid, go to SCP-049 before it decides to make another scene. No, leave the body where it is.”

It seemed the Site Director had tired of using your official designation. Good.

The two D-Class looked at Daniel’s body but said nothing, nor did they make a run for it, which was fortunate because 049 once again stared them down as if they were a pair of antelope and it was a stalking lion. You definitely recognized that look from when you’d been trapped in its cell that first time, and even before then on the other side of the observation glass.

Your approach to the SCP wasn’t as cautious this time, and you gripped its shoulder firmly. You just wanted to get this over with.

049 didn’t lunge when the D-Class walked to the autopsy table. Like before, it didn’t seem as agitated when you held onto it.

Not enough to help Daniel, a voice of guilt reminded you.

“SCP-049, make physical skin-to-skin contact with each D-Class using your hand. Reid, do not break contact with SCP-049 at any time.”

049 stalked forward as soon as the instructions were given, forcing you to scramble for its shoulder, your fingers slipping down to hook on its arm instead. The SCP didn’t slow at your difficulty, and you ended up half-hugging its arm just to keep pace. Your additional weight barely seemed to make a difference in its stride, as if you weighed nothing and it hardly noticed.

Both men next to the table flinched but otherwise didn’t move. They were both older than Daniel by at least two or three decades, and perhaps knew there was no escape. No point in running and screaming.

SCP-049 extended its arm and wrapped its fingers around the throat of one of the D-Class, the one that appeared ill. The prisoner stared up at its face with terror, but the fact he could be afraid at all meant he had survived the lethal touch.

The D-Class blinked, and something like confusion mixed with the fear, and you wondered if he was experiencing the same euphoria-like warmth you had. You didn’t recognize any sort of blissful haze in his eyes, just a sort of puzzlement.

049 slowly removed its hand, turnings its palm to look at it, confusion on its own features.

“SCP-049, make physical contact with the other subject.”

The masked SCP finally spoke, its soft voice in contrast to the violence it had carried out moments ago.

“This one does not need the cure. He is without Pestilence.”

“If you make me repeat myself about how I don’t like to repeat myself, your assistant will bear the burden of your punishment.”

You frowned. That was twice now that Leahy had threatened 049 with harming you in its place. Why would the SCP care what happened to you? What kind of game was Leahy playing now?

SCP-049 declined its head and reached for the other prisoner. The second D-Class survived 049’s touch just as the first had, but nothing seemed to happen. You weren’t sure what was supposed to happen besides simply not dying.

“SCP-049, remain where you are. Reid, don’t you move, either. D-Class, go to the door.”

Relief made your knees weak. You wouldn’t have to witness their deaths, at least, not today.

“Now, take your hand off the SCP.”

You were still holding onto its arm, your fingers digging into the “sleeves” from the force of your grip. You quickly moved away after letting go, and mist entered the room for a third time, causing 049 to slump and catch itself on the edge of the autopsy table.

When the living D-Class were led from the room and the outer doors were closed, the mist stopped, and 049 gained its feet. You stood close to the lab sink, unsure what would come next. Leahy answered the question with a most foul answer.

“SCP-049, relocate D-86992’s corpse to the autopsy table.”

Your stomach clenched. After enduring two days of tests and forced to watch as 049 killed without mercy, you were reaching the limits of what you could take. You would just have to take a little more.

049 picked up Daniel’s body with ease and placed it on the autopsy table with a gentle consideration it hadn’t shown him in life.

“Reanimate the subject,” the Site Director ordered. You took a step black, planning to retreat unnoticed, but he didn’t let you go that easy. “Reid, assist the good doctor. This is, after all, your job.”

The sneer in his words added insult to injury. This was your purpose now, and there was no fighting against it. You assisted the SCP in dissecting and dismantling a young man who didn’t deserved this, no matter what he’d done to earn a death row sentence. If that was even the case. There had been rumors that sometimes the Foundation wasn’t as selective with its D-Class when the supply pool ran low.

Before, you dismissed the rumors are just that. But now…

No words were spoken as you took the requested instruments out of the black bag, keeping your eyes fixed on the SCP’s elbow. It was easier to look there, watching for the motion of it turning toward you when it wanted a new instrument. Easier to block out everything else and simply focus on breathing.

Your inattention didn’t escape the plague doctor. When you handed it a bone saw instead of a bone chisel, it turned its grey eyes on you.

You froze under its scrutiny. It took a long moment to rove over the details of your face, its gloves dripping Daniel’s blood. There was even a drop splattered on the bridge of its beak.

“You mustn’t let your mind wander while reaching into my bag, assistant,” it said. “You may not like what you find.”

You numbly nodded, anything to get it to stop staring at you, and you paid closer attention from that point forward. It was still a hellish two hours of helping the SCP butcher Daniel’s body, replacing his blood with strange fluids, rearranging organs, even severing one arm and sewing it up inside the man’s chest.

And then, the mess of a human body somehow… twitched.

“Back away from the instance, Reid,” Leahy said. Apparently, the bastard was still riveted to the experiment. “Don’t touch it. We want to see how long it can last before decomposition.”

You were all too glad to back away from the table.

“Am I—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared it. “Am I done?”

“For now.”

The masked SCP had long since calmed down, regaining its composure and serenity as it had carried out the dissection. It was disturbing how the operation had seemed to relax 049, allowing it to enter a meditative state as it worked with the focus of any skilled surgeon.

“You did well, assistant,” it said with a touch of warm pride.

The praise was lost on you; you were already facing away at the sink, turning it on and scrubbing down your hands and arms as well as you could without soap or a towel. You never took your eyes off of the body on the table, even as you backed up until you were on the other side of the room, realizing too late you were on the opposite end of the outer doors. Your back was to the inner chamber, an area you’d always thought of as 049’s “bedroom.” It had few furnishings, such as a metal desk, chair, and a single-sized bed.

The only part of the room that wasn’t sterile and devoid of personality was at the head of the bed stood a small bookcase. It was filled with books, the same titles (though not the exact same copy) of those that it had at Site-19. The hope had been to engage 049 and bring it out of a lethargic state by providing it something familiar and entertaining, but it hadn’t touched the books since arriving.

You didn’t know where else to retreat as the corpse slowly sat up and surveyed the room with milky eyes. Its gaze passed over you and kept going, ignoring your presence.

“Do not be afraid,” 049 said in a soothing tone. “Daniel will only attempt to incapacitate those infected with the Pestilence. You will be unharmed.”

That thing wasn’t Daniel, and it would devour anything that moved if the Site-19 documents were accurate. You remained as still as possible, praying you wouldn’t draw its blank gaze.

Meanwhile, SCP-049 scribbled in its journal, its chains clinking as it moved about the room observing the shambling corpse, which truly did seem to be unaware of you as it aimlessly wandered. But whenever it started to get close, you would move further backwards, and eventually you were fully inside of 049’s inner containment cell. There was one security camera in the corner, and no observation window. That, at least, was a welcome break from being constantly observed through the glass. You knew from experience that the camera was an old security model that shot in black-and-white and didn’t have the best audio quality. Expensive observation equipment was reserved for those SCPs that were more dangerous and difficult to contain.

Your movement seemed to attract the walking corpse, or maybe it just happened to be meandering your way, and you retreated until you were physically blocked, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed.

049 tilted is head, and then turned to look at the observation window.

“Perhaps it would be best for my assistant to be separated from the patient. Should they come into contact, your experiment will be prematurely ended.”

“Keep your suggestions to yourself, SCP-049,” the Site Director said, the scowl evident in his voice. But despite his dickish response, he did in fact listen, and the inner containment doors slid shut.

You were now trapped within 049’s containment chamber, but at least you were alone. No vacant-eyed zombies, or the unsettling pseudo-doctors that brought them to life.

You sat on the bed and scooted backwards until your back was to the wall, pulling your legs up to your chest. Waiting for this nightmare to be over, at least you could rest your aching feet and take a moment to think.

Naively, you thought you’d been making some kind of progress. You were in a unique position to get to know 049 without the danger of being killed with a single touch, but the obstacles were numerous. Every step forward seemed to lead one step backwards.

Daniel, for instance. 049’s ferocity and speed had caught you completely off-guard. There was nothing in the SCP’s file that claimed it could move in such a way, and from the surveillance reports during the Site-19 containment breach, 049 had wandered the halls at a leisurely pace, taking its time whenever it saw Foundation staff or a D-Class fleeing from other SCPs.

The tall, strangely garbed plague doctor wasn’t easy to overlook, and yet it had snuck up on many of them without a sound, placing its fingers around their necks and dropping them cold. It would then drag them to the nearest room, pull its black bag from under the shadows of its coat, and begin to reanimate them. By the time a Mobile Task Force squad had arrived, they’d had to contend with a small army of the undead.

But 049 had stalked its victims with slow persistence, or simply caught them unawares. There were no reports of it moving with predatory strength and speed. Then again, maybe it hadn’t had to. Or maybe the “patients” it came across were easier prey than Daniel.

You didn’t know the reason; all you knew is you needed to be more careful. 049 wasn’t a colleague or a friend. It was a dangerous anomaly that sometimes chose to treat you with warmth and interest.

That was all. Letting down your guard, or worse, deriving sympathy for the SCP, would be a mistake. You had to focus on your own survival and put your attention on the actual threat: the Site Director. SCP-049 was simply a distraction.

Despite your new resolve, the stress of the last two days was catching up to your body and mind, and you caught yourself drifting off, head drooping to lean on your shoulder. You tried to shake yourself awake, but you needed rest. Trusting that being a light sleeper would work to your benefit if anyone entered the room, you lowered onto your side and laid your head on the single pillow.

It had a light, not unpleasant smell to it, and you remembered that 049 would sometimes use the bed even if it didn’t experience true sleep cycles. It had lain in this bed quite a lot during its strange dormancy period after arriving at Site-20, and 049 must have used it since the last time the sheets were changed, because the pillow carried its scent.

The sensible thing would be to sit back up and stay alert. Most people would have shied away from the scent after what had just happened during the test, but it wasn’t a bad smell. Nice, almost. Familiar, now that you were spending more time with the enigmatic SCP.

You let yourself relax until you were putting your full weight onto the pillow, unable to avoid breathing in the scent as you closed your eyes. Against all logic, it calmed your nerves and further loosened your sore muscles.

You were asleep before you could finish the thought of what would happen if 049 found you in its bed.

Next Chapter

[catnapcrochet]

[coolboykid123]

do you like playig with legos

yes i can build them w/o the instructios

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Can Gaza ever see peace? We hear much about Gaza today, but pro-Palestinians never mention the thousands of years of its history.

Upon the conquest of the land of Canaan, Gaza is mentioned as one of the cities of the tribe of Judah, but also as part of the rest of the land that the people of Israel did not dispossess.

Since the days of King David, while Gaza was being destroyed and rebuilt again and again, there was always a consistent Jewish presence there. From the Roman era, the Byzantine period, the Arab Muslim rule, the Mamluk’s reign, all the way to the Ottoman Empire, you would be able to find Jews living and praying...