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Chapters: 7/? Fandom: SCP Foundation, Poppy Playtime (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jack Bright & Dr. Alto Clef, Jack Bright & Original SCP Character(s), Dr. Alto Clef & Original SCP Character(s), Jack Bright & Huggy Wuggy, Jack Bright & Kissy Missy, Dr. Alto Clef & Huggy Wuggy, Dr. Alto Clef & Kissy Missy, Jack Bright & Poppy, Dr. Alto Clef & Poppy Characters: Jack Bright, Dr. Alto Clef, Original SCP Character(s) (SCP Foundation), Original SCP Guard(s) (SCP Foundation), Mobile Task Force Zeta-9 "Mole Rats", Mobile Task Force (SCP Foundation), Poppy (Poppy Playtime), Huggy Wuggy (Poppy Playtime), CatNap (Poppy Playtime), Mommy Long Legs (Poppy Playtime), Kissy Missy (Poppy Playtime), DogDay (Poppy Playtime), Miss Delight (Poppy Playtime), Doey the Doughman (Poppy Playtime), Harley Sawyer, Harley Bodies (Poppy Playtime), Experiment 1006 | The Prototype (Poppy Playtime), Yarnaby (Poppy Playtime), SCP-2295 (SCP Foundation), SCP-427 (SCP Foundation) Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, CatNap and Theodore Grambell are the Same Person, Huggy Wuggy Needs a Hug (Poppy Playtime), Mommy Long Legs Lives (Poppy Playtime), CatNap Needs a Hug (Poppy Playtime), CatNap Lives (Poppy Playtime), DogDay Needs a Hug (Poppy Playtime), DogDay Lives (Poppy Playtime), Chapter 01: A Tight Squeeze (Poppy Playtime), Doey the Doughman Needs a Hug (Poppy Playtime), Doey the Doughman Lives (Poppy Playtime), Blood and Injury, Fluff and Angst, Badass, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Chapter 02: Fly in a Web (Poppy Playtime) Summary:

The factory wasn't supposed to be here. In this universe. Something had gone horribly wrong.

The SCP Foundation, the organization behind the shadows that safeguarded humanity, were already securing the area. They sent in three separate MTF teams to secure the area, to assess the anomaly, to search for any lingering dangers. None of them came back.

But the Foundation knew better.

Something still stirred in the dark.

Dr. Jack Bright, Dr. Alto Clef, and another MTF operative from Zeta-9 are sent to investigate in the wake of their disappearances. As they enter, they quickly realize the facility is riddled with non-Euclidean geometry, cognitohazards, and an unsettling presence that watches their every move. The deeper they go, the clearer it becomes that Playtime Co. was not just a toy company. It was something much worse.

With the factory shifting around them, its mechanical horrors lurking in the shadows, and an unknown force actively working against them, the team is faced with an impossible task: uncover the truth, escape with their sanity, and—if necessary—contain whatever they find.

This fic has a TVTropes page! https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/SCPExploredPlaytimeCo

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Some of my friends already have so this is a no-brainer

Reblog if you’d be okay if your friend came out as transgender

let’s see how many transphobics we can weed out

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reblog if you’re okay with people writing fanfics of your fanfics and/or fanfics inspired by your fanfics

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RE-BLOG THIS IF YOU ARE ASEXUAL AND PROUD ♠️💜

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New chapter dropped

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63419953/chapters/164011111

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Just MTF thoughts

I love putting my OC's through pain and angst, I have such a hyperfixation on my Zeta-9 MTF OC rn, it's making me go

Zeta gripped the dog tags in their palm, knuckles white, as if the force alone could will them back—could make it so that Maverick hadn’t been wiped out in the assault. But no amount of strength could undo what had been done.

It was just them now. Them and Nuke.

The silence was suffocating, the weight of three dead pressing down like a lead blanket. Maverick-1, Maverick-3, and Maverick-4—gone. Three more lives taken under their command, three more ghosts added to the collection of voices whispering in the back of their mind. Their vision blurred, tears slipping down their cheeks and soaking into the interior of their gas mask. They made no move to wipe them away.

Gone, but not forgotten.

The words were automatic. A mantra. A flimsy shield against the grief that threatened to drown them.

Die in the dark, so they may live in the light.

That damn saying. That damn Foundation motto. How many times had they clung to it? How many times had they repeated it like it could justify the bodies they left behind?

They wanted to scream. To rage against the world. Against the Foundation. Against themself.

How many?

How many would they lose before they couldn’t carry the weight anymore?

The dog tags rattled in their grip, the metal biting into their skin. They didn’t even know their real names. Just callsigns and numbers. Just another casualty, another necessary loss. Wasn’t that the point? Harder to mourn when they were nothing more than designations.

Wasn’t that right, Feral-2?

A sharp inhale from behind them. Nuke. Zeta had almost forgotten he was there, standing just outside their grief, close enough to see but not quite able to touch it.

“Feral.” Nuke’s voice was low, rough, the kind of voice that had seen too much but still carried the weight anyway. “We have to move.”

Zeta exhaled shakily, the grief settling like stones in their gut. Heavy, but bearable. Because it had to be. Because there was still a mission. There was always a mission.

They closed their fist over the tags, tucked them into their vest, and turned to Nuke. Their voice, when it came, was steady. A soldier’s voice. The voice of someone who could still move forward.

“I know.”

But damn, if it didn’t get harder every time.

Picking themselves up felt like a monumental task, weighing down every one of their limbs. It was automatic to check their weapons and supplies, down to only a few magazines for their firearms. Next to no grenades. Next to no other supplies. Zeta exhaled, tightening their grip.

They wouldn’t die here. They promised the world that. Someone had to survive to remember all those lives. Remember those sacrifices. They ghosted a hand over one of their pouches at their belt: the one that held dozens upon dozens of dog tags. The reminder to themself that they did this job for a reason. They had made themselves too damn competent and too hard to kill.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Zeta had someone waiting for them. They wouldn’t fail them.

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New chapter out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63419953/chapters/162491101

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Current Projects and in the Works

I need to keep myself accountable, so I'm keeping a list of active Projects on the Tumblr page. Maybe it'll help with finishing these up.

Projects that are posted and ACTIVELY being worked on:

SCP Explored: Playtime Co. (scp / Poppy Playtime)

Projects that are posted and NOT ACTIVELY being worked on:

Tomorrow is Another Day (FNAF)

Honestly, Tomorrow is Another Day is on hiatus until I can figure out how to continue that or just completely rewrite it. Lore is so wack with FNAF that it's severely outdated.

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🥺

anyone interested in beta reading my WIPS? I'm mostly focused on this SCP x Poppy Playtime crossover. The actual archive link to get an idea of what I'm working on is this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63419953/chapters/162491101 Full disclaimer, I might talk your ear off about it if you do reach out to me. Just send me a message on tumblr, I should have my inbox open. Thanks for the interest!

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New laptop came in, i love it already. i've forgotten how good a new keyboard feels, it's so much smaller than my last one :)

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Reblog if you think asexuality is a legitimate sexuality.

I'm trying to prove something.

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New Story dropped

Finally made that story I wrote a WIP about like last week. It's been living in my head rent-free for the past month! I'm foaming at the mouth, anyway here it is! SCP x Poppy Playtime crossover fanfic, hope you like, cuz I'm struggling over here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63419953/chapters/162491101

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Well shit, bois, my laptop I'm had for the past 6-7 years has finally bit the dust. 😔 Bout to drop $700-800 on a new one, I'm extra broke now. Thank God, I use Google docs. See you guys probs wendesday unless I just use my desktop 🫡

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I'm currently editing this WIP and adding more to it, and I've come to an important decision. Figured I would ask those of liked the concept: Should that driver operative (who I'm switching to a Zeta-9 operative since it fits better) join Dr. Clef and Dr. Bright on their adventure?

I need to get this off my chest, I'm too obsessed. I've been so busy that I haven't really been able to write, but Poppy Playtime Chapter 4 got me feeling things... I'm hoping I will get more time to write this or finish it one day. I'm not entirely happy with it, but it's a WIP. 🥺

Scp x Poppy Playtime: What would happen if Dr. Clef and Dr. Bright were assigned to the newest anomalous site, Playtime Co?

“Why do you think they sent us?” Jack asked, noisily crunching on a handful of potato chips. “Other than the whole spiel about you being a reality sink and, well… my condition.”

“Oh, they totally just want us dead,” Clef replied, casually polishing his shotgun. “Though, usually, they’re a little less subtle about it.”

Jack frowned, lowering the bag. “Yeah, that’s what’s bothering me. If they wanted to off us, there are easier ways. I heard they sent in at least three MTF teams already… none of them came back.”

Clef paused mid-polish, his head tilting slightly. For the first time, he seemed to be taking the assignment seriously.

“Three teams?” he muttered. “What do we know, then?”

Jack sighed, setting the chips aside and pulling out the dossier. Flipping it open, he skimmed the text before reading aloud. “Recovered comms suggest the environment is non-Euclidean—it folds in on itself and generally doesn’t adhere to the laws of reality. Confirmed cognitive hazards and identity warping. But get this… reality anchors don’t work there.”

Clef immediately snatched the file from his hands, flipping through the pages with growing urgency. His expression darkened with every line he read.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he suddenly roared.

Jack winced, clapping his hands over his ears. “Jesus, warn a guy next time!”

He stared at Clef, surprised by the uncharacteristic outburst. It wasn’t like him to lose his cool—not like this.

Something was seriously wrong.

"Now you’ve got me worried," Jack tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Clef threw down the dossier in disgust. "I knew this was a suicide mission, but this is fucking ridiculous. Confirmed reality manipulation in an enclosed environment, confirmed memetic agents—and reality anchors don’t even work?"

Bright shrugged and reached for his bag of chips. "Yeah, we’re cooked. GG, chat."

Clef shot him a withering glare, but he knew better than to argue. Jack Bright didn’t fear death—he embraced it. The only thing that ever shook that confidence was the risk to his close friends and family. And while Clef fell under close friend, he was far from frail, much less in any danger.

Jack seemed to realize his friend was actually distressed, letting out a soft sigh. "Seriously, Alto. If you’re not comfortable coming in, you can call it off. As a senior staff member, you can tell the council to go fuck themselves."

Clef scoffed, shaking his head. "Call it off? And what, abandon you to a reality-warping hellhole? As much as your ugly mug pisses me off, I don’t want you dead. Definitely don’t want you permanently stuck in some non-Euclidean pocket dimension."

Jack was momentarily touched, though he quickly masked it with his usual sarcastic remarks. "Ah, good. So I’ve guilt-tripped you into helping me. God knows the council would've thrown me in there regardless!"

Neither of them could argue with that.

“Jackass,” Clef said.

He would’ve said more, but the truck came to an abrupt stop, throwing both men against the metal benches with a painful thud.

“Fuck! Give some warning next time!” Jack screeched to the front of the carrier.

The MTF either didn’t hear or give a damn since they spoke with a tired undertone, “Out. We’ve arrived.”

“Don’t you just love Lambda 5?” The immortal asked sarcastically.

“Personally, I like Zata-9 more,” Clef said, purposely raising his voice to irritate their MTF handler.

The Lambda-5 operative didn’t react. Instead, they simply slumped, their whole body radiating pure exhaustion. With a groan, they let their head bang against the steering wheel, saying nothing but letting their actions speak for them. As the two doctors gathered their things, they shared a laugh at the poor MTF’s misery.

The moment they jumped out of the carrier, the armored truck was already speeding away, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Both men broke into coughing fits, waving at the debris as if it would make a difference.

As the dust settled, they took a moment to take in the newly quarantined SCP site. It was massive, sprawling across several acres, its faded yellows, reds, and blues giving it a deceptively harmless appearance. Towering buildings and rusted smokestacks loomed overhead, stretching hundreds of feet into the air.

“Am I the only one getting Site-13 vibes?” Clef asked, shouldering his shotgun.

“This reminds me more of the infinite IKEA, honestly,” Jack admitted.

They exchanged another glance before stepping up to the factory’s front doors. Jack gave the handle a test jiggle—and to their surprise, it swung open without resistance. Both men froze. Then, without a word, they drew their weapons, leveling them at the crack.

“Put that down,” Clef hissed, half-heartedly swatting at Jack’s arm. “Who the fuck even gave you a gun after last time?”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent shot,” Jack huffed, holding the glock defensively.

Clef just stared at him. “Are you hearing yourself right now? Do you not remember the Wii incident?”

Jack sniffed and waved a hand dismissively. “That was over ten years ago, Alto! And besides, that was a new body—I didn’t have good hand-eye coordination yet.”

Clef scoffed. “Motherfucker, you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn!”

Clef was tempted to keep arguing with his delusional co-worker, but they had a job to do. With a begrudging sigh, he let it go.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered.

Without any countdown or fanfare, Clef kicked in the door, the loud bang echoing through the empty space. He slipped in first, shotgun raised, with Jack close behind. They quickly swept the room, checking for movement. Nothing.

After a moment of silence, both men holstered their weapons.

“What’s the backstory on this place?” Jack asked, eyeing the faded murals along the walls—cheerful cartoon mascots grinning down at them like they knew something.

“Didn’t you read the dossier?” Clef asked, already knowing the answer.

“Only the important bits.” Jack shrugged.

Clef sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re hopeless. As far as MTF reported, this is an abandoned toy factory. Though, for a place that just made toys, it’s pretty damn massive.”

Jack hummed in agreement but didn’t respond. Instead, he wandered over to the front desk, sifting through the stacks of old paperwork until something caught his eye.

“Hey, look what I found.” He held up a bright green VHS tape with a grin. “An antique—just like me!”

“What the fuck?” Clef snatched it from his hands. “Who still has VHS tapes and VHS player? It’s 2025.”

Jack shrugged. “They did say this place appeared suddenly—maybe it’s from a universe with a different timeline. Besides, it looks like it’s been abandoned for a while.”

Clef flipped the tape over, reading the simple label: “Leith Pierre – Closing.” The name didn’t ring any bells. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on a matching bright green VHS player, shoved into the corner like an afterthought. Above it, a massive CRT TV loomed over them, its thick screen coated in a fine layer of dust.

“Wow, that thing is huge,” Jack whistled. “I’m more surprised it’s still mounted up there. That has to weigh, what, a hundred pounds?”

Clef sighed. “You have no understanding of scale, do you?”

“Dude, CRTs were heavy as shit,” Jack shot back. “I would know—I had to help install some when the Foundation first started switching over. Then, after blowing my back out like twenty times, they finally had D-Class do it. I do not miss those days.”

He gestured at the wall-mounted behemoth above them. “That’s gotta be, what, a 32-inch? Depending on the brand, that thing easily weighs over a hundred pounds.” Jack paused, then waved a hand dismissively. “But—ya know what? You don’t care. Just put the damn tape in.”

Clef rolled his eyes but complied, wiping a layer of dust off the VHS player before sliding the tape in. With a low screech of static, the CRT TV flickered to life. The screen briefly filled with black and white fuzz before sharpening into a dark background, a yellow object sitting motionless in the center.

“What is that—” Jack started, only to be cut off.

A voice crackled through the speakers.

“Hi, my name is Leith Pierre, and I’m the Head of Innovation here at Playtime Co. Toy Factory,” the TV announced in a smooth but eerily rehearsed tone. “If you’re seeing this, then you’re trespassing.”

Jack and Clef exchanged a glance.

“Yeah, we play this little tape on loop whenever we close the factory for the day. So, trespasser, just to make you aware: While we pride ourselves primarily on our high-quality toys and excellent childcare… we also pride ourselves on our security.”

A chill crept into the room. Both men instinctively stiffened, their casual demeanor evaporating. Clef already had his shotgun back in his hands, while Jack’s fingers hovered uneasily over his holster.

“For example, this facility is full of hidden motion triggers which, once set off, will activate the factory’s emergency alarms and directly contact the authorities. And that’s one of the more tame aspects of our security system...”

The voice on the tape paused, as if letting the weight of those words settle.

“So, you’ve been warned. It’s not too late to turn around. I just hope you’re certain that whatever you’re doing is worth it.”

With a final click, the VCR spat out the tape, and the TV cut to static before going completely dark.

The room was silent.

Jack exhaled slowly. “Well… that wasn’t ominous at all.”

Clef didn’t bother responding. Instead, he quietly slipped into the next room, shotgun at the ready. He wouldn’t relax until the area was completely secured.

Jack watched him disappear, then sighed. His gaze drifted back to the blank CRT screen, feeling an odd pull—a compulsion to stare into the darkness.

For a split second…

He swore he saw a giant blue eye staring back.

Then, he blinked—and it was gone.

“Bright, wake the fuck up,” Clef snapped, startled the shit out of the immortal.

Jack jumped, nearly losing his footing. “Shit, dude, don’t scare me like that!” He shook his head, rubbing his temples. “I don’t like this. I’m getting flashbacks to the Forde Education incident.”

Clef gave him a blank stare. “The what?”

Jack opened his mouth, ready to tear Clef a new one, before pausing mid-thought.

“Oh. Wait. You weren’t there.” He frowned. “Shit, this needs context. Okay, look, do you know about SCP-2528?”

Clef raised an eyebrow, and dryly said, “Jack, not all of us have encyclopedic knowledge of every SCP designation number.”

“Listen here, you little shit,” Jack pointed at the other with a mock serious face.

Clef smacked the hand down and rolled his eyes, again, “Just fucking tell me, you're wasting daylight.”

Jack huffed but continued. “TLDR: SCP-2528 is split into three parts—2528-A, B, and C. The entire system acts as an organic computer. A is what we know as bamboo, but it acts as data storage, B are giant pandas and they act as processors, and C are the little beings from another universe that just hitch a ride with them.”

Clef stared at him for a moment.

“So, wait, there's aliens in our bamboo and giant pandas?”

“Honestly, I'm surprised you even understand that much,” Jack muttered.

Clef opened his mouth, no doubt about to say some stupid shit, but Jack cut him off before he could get a word in.

“Anyway. There’s another SCP—7528. Basically, it’s just 2528-C—the little alien people—but instead of bamboo and pandas, they jumped to TV and computer screens.”

Jack paused here for a moment, “The Forde Education incident was when they had a massive 7528 outbreak. 7528 has the unique ability to explode any person’s head that is in their line of sight. Almost everyone died, they had to send in Zeta-9 to destroy all the screens, so 7528 was neutralized.”

Clef blinked. “Oh. Well. I hope we don’t have to deal with anything like that.”

With that, he turned and headed toward the ‘Gift Shop’ without another word.

Jack hesitated, his eyes flicking back toward the CRT screen.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw the blue eye again—watching.

Then it was gone.

Not willing to stick around and find out, Jack shook off the unease and hurried after Clef. He decided to hold off on telling the other doctor, knowing how volatile Clef could be.

“What are we looking for?” Jack asked.

He absentmindedly poked at an empty box on one of the shelves, somewhat intrigued. For all his years on Earth—fighting demons, gods, and everything in between—Jack had never actually been inside a toy factory before. It was oddly novel.

“A code,” Clef replied, jerking his thumb back toward the lobby. “There’s a locked security door over there—four-digit color code.”

Jack took another glance around, his eyes assaulted by the factory’s bright, clashing colors. Blues, reds, yellows, and oranges were smeared across every wall, a chaotic assault on the senses. His gaze landed on something sitting atop the counter by the cash register.

A toy.

Or at least, what was left of one.

The head was completely separated from the rest of its body, chest concave from where it had been smashed in. Both its right arm and leg were ripped off, leaving a bloody mess across the counter. The black visor was cracked, staring off into nothing.

Jack groaned. “Ah, shit, don’t tell me this is gonna be like SCP-3325.”

Clef gave him a blank look. “The hell is that?”

Jack didn’t even hesitate. “Bunch of scientists were too busy asking if they could and not if they should—classic. They made these weird-ass mascot puppet things, kinda like Sesame Street, except nobody actually knows how they were made. The records just don’t exist. And then, one by one, the damn things started melting. We don’t know why. We don’t know what they’re made of. All we know is that they break down into some kind of organic sludge after a while. Last I checked, we’ve only got three of them left in containment.”

Clef snorted, shouldering his shotgun. “Great. So we’re either dealing with head-exploding aliens or self-destructing Muppets. Love that for us.”

Jack shot him finger guns. “The SCP Foundation: We really don’t get paid enough.”

“That’s an understatement,” Clef muttered.

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair as his gaze swept the room. The place was a mess—shelves either empty or filled with dust-covered boxes, walls covered in garish splashes of color that felt more hostile than playful. If there was a clue somewhere, it wasn’t going to jump out and introduce itself.

Then something caught his eye.

A small train model, mounted near the ceiling, its plastic body suspended on a track that ran along the room’s perimeter. It was old, the colors faded, but still intact. More importantly, it had four train cars, each painted a different color.

Jack pointed up at it. “That whatcha lookin’ for?”

Clef followed his gaze, squinting at the train before breaking into a sharp grin. “Bingo.”

Green. Pink. Yellow. Red. Jack silently mouthed the colors to himself as they made their way across the lobby towards security. He let Clef handle the keypad, keeping his eyes on their surroundings. Just because nothing had jumped out yet didn’t mean something wasn’t watching.

Clef punched in the code, and the door unlocked with a soft click, sliding open far too smoothly for a place this old.

Inside, the security room was small and utilitarian—bare walls, a row of outdated monitors flickering weakly, and a handful of chairs. But Jack’s attention was immediately drawn to two things: yet another massive CRT television dominating the far wall and an enclosed glass case in the wall, housing something he didn’t recognize.

“What the fuck is with the massive-ass CRTs?” Jack muttered, eyeing the ancient screen like it had personally offended him.

“I really don’t get your obsession with them,” Clef responded, already distracted by the security monitors.

“They’re way too big!” Jack stressed, jabbing a finger at the monstrosity. The backend of the TV hung off the cart in a way that defied all known laws of physics. “It’s not natural, Clef! It’s wrong on a fundamental level.”

Clef gave him a flat look. “You literally work at the Foundation, and this is what breaks you?”

Jack opened and closed his mouth like a fish, scrambling for words to describe his unease. As much as he wanted to rant about the absurdity of the CRTs, he couldn’t bring himself to mention the unsettling hallucination—or whatever it was—he’d experienced earlier with the blue eye. Not when they still had no clue what they were walking into.

Could’ve been a memetic agent, though Jack was usually immune to those. Perks of keeping your consciousness separate from your body, he supposed.

Clef’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Another tape.”

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I need to get this off my chest, I'm too obsessed. I've been so busy that I haven't really been able to write, but Poppy Playtime Chapter 4 got me feeling things... I'm hoping I will get more time to write this or finish it one day. I'm not entirely happy with it, but it's a WIP. 🥺

Scp x Poppy Playtime: What would happen if Dr. Clef and Dr. Bright were assigned to the newest anomalous site, Playtime Co?

“Why do you think they sent us?” Jack asked, noisily crunching on a handful of potato chips. “Other than the whole spiel about you being a reality sink and, well… my condition.”

“Oh, they totally just want us dead,” Clef replied, casually polishing his shotgun. “Though, usually, they’re a little less subtle about it.”

Jack frowned, lowering the bag. “Yeah, that’s what’s bothering me. If they wanted to off us, there are easier ways. I heard they sent in at least three MTF teams already… none of them came back.”

Clef paused mid-polish, his head tilting slightly. For the first time, he seemed to be taking the assignment seriously.

“Three teams?” he muttered. “What do we know, then?”

Jack sighed, setting the chips aside and pulling out the dossier. Flipping it open, he skimmed the text before reading aloud. “Recovered comms suggest the environment is non-Euclidean—it folds in on itself and generally doesn’t adhere to the laws of reality. Confirmed cognitive hazards and identity warping. But get this… reality anchors don’t work there.”

Clef immediately snatched the file from his hands, flipping through the pages with growing urgency. His expression darkened with every line he read.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he suddenly roared.

Jack winced, clapping his hands over his ears. “Jesus, warn a guy next time!”

He stared at Clef, surprised by the uncharacteristic outburst. It wasn’t like him to lose his cool—not like this.

Something was seriously wrong.

"Now you’ve got me worried," Jack tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Clef threw down the dossier in disgust. "I knew this was a suicide mission, but this is fucking ridiculous. Confirmed reality manipulation in an enclosed environment, confirmed memetic agents—and reality anchors don’t even work?"

Bright shrugged and reached for his bag of chips. "Yeah, we’re cooked. GG, chat."

Clef shot him a withering glare, but he knew better than to argue. Jack Bright didn’t fear death—he embraced it. The only thing that ever shook that confidence was the risk to his close friends and family. And while Clef fell under close friend, he was far from frail, much less in any danger.

Jack seemed to realize his friend was actually distressed, letting out a soft sigh. "Seriously, Alto. If you’re not comfortable coming in, you can call it off. As a senior staff member, you can tell the council to go fuck themselves."

Clef scoffed, shaking his head. "Call it off? And what, abandon you to a reality-warping hellhole? As much as your ugly mug pisses me off, I don’t want you dead. Definitely don’t want you permanently stuck in some non-Euclidean pocket dimension."

Jack was momentarily touched, though he quickly masked it with his usual sarcastic remarks. "Ah, good. So I’ve guilt-tripped you into helping me. God knows the council would've thrown me in there regardless!"

Neither of them could argue with that.

“Jackass,” Clef said.

He would’ve said more, but the truck came to an abrupt stop, throwing both men against the metal benches with a painful thud.

“Fuck! Give some warning next time!” Jack screeched to the front of the carrier.

The MTF either didn’t hear or give a damn since they spoke with a tired undertone, “Out. We’ve arrived.”

“Don’t you just love Lambda 5?” The immortal asked sarcastically.

“Personally, I like Zata-9 more,” Clef said, purposely raising his voice to irritate their MTF handler.

The Lambda-5 operative didn’t react. Instead, they simply slumped, their whole body radiating pure exhaustion. With a groan, they let their head bang against the steering wheel, saying nothing but letting their actions speak for them. As the two doctors gathered their things, they shared a laugh at the poor MTF’s misery.

The moment they jumped out of the carrier, the armored truck was already speeding away, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Both men broke into coughing fits, waving at the debris as if it would make a difference.

As the dust settled, they took a moment to take in the newly quarantined SCP site. It was massive, sprawling across several acres, its faded yellows, reds, and blues giving it a deceptively harmless appearance. Towering buildings and rusted smokestacks loomed overhead, stretching hundreds of feet into the air.

“Am I the only one getting Site-13 vibes?” Clef asked, shouldering his shotgun.

“This reminds me more of the infinite IKEA, honestly,” Jack admitted.

They exchanged another glance before stepping up to the factory’s front doors. Jack gave the handle a test jiggle—and to their surprise, it swung open without resistance. Both men froze. Then, without a word, they drew their weapons, leveling them at the crack.

“Put that down,” Clef hissed, half-heartedly swatting at Jack’s arm. “Who the fuck even gave you a gun after last time?”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent shot,” Jack huffed, holding the glock defensively.

Clef just stared at him. “Are you hearing yourself right now? Do you not remember the Wii incident?”

Jack sniffed and waved a hand dismissively. “That was over ten years ago, Alto! And besides, that was a new body—I didn’t have good hand-eye coordination yet.”

Clef scoffed. “Motherfucker, you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn!”

Clef was tempted to keep arguing with his delusional co-worker, but they had a job to do. With a begrudging sigh, he let it go.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered.

Without any countdown or fanfare, Clef kicked in the door, the loud bang echoing through the empty space. He slipped in first, shotgun raised, with Jack close behind. They quickly swept the room, checking for movement. Nothing.

After a moment of silence, both men holstered their weapons.

“What’s the backstory on this place?” Jack asked, eyeing the faded murals along the walls—cheerful cartoon mascots grinning down at them like they knew something.

“Didn’t you read the dossier?” Clef asked, already knowing the answer.

“Only the important bits.” Jack shrugged.

Clef sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re hopeless. As far as MTF reported, this is an abandoned toy factory. Though, for a place that just made toys, it’s pretty damn massive.”

Jack hummed in agreement but didn’t respond. Instead, he wandered over to the front desk, sifting through the stacks of old paperwork until something caught his eye.

“Hey, look what I found.” He held up a bright green VHS tape with a grin. “An antique—just like me!”

“What the fuck?” Clef snatched it from his hands. “Who still has VHS tapes and VHS player? It’s 2025.”

Jack shrugged. “They did say this place appeared suddenly—maybe it’s from a universe with a different timeline. Besides, it looks like it’s been abandoned for a while.”

Clef flipped the tape over, reading the simple label: “Leith Pierre – Closing.” The name didn’t ring any bells. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on a matching bright green VHS player, shoved into the corner like an afterthought. Above it, a massive CRT TV loomed over them, its thick screen coated in a fine layer of dust.

“Wow, that thing is huge,” Jack whistled. “I’m more surprised it’s still mounted up there. That has to weigh, what, a hundred pounds?”

Clef sighed. “You have no understanding of scale, do you?”

“Dude, CRTs were heavy as shit,” Jack shot back. “I would know—I had to help install some when the Foundation first started switching over. Then, after blowing my back out like twenty times, they finally had D-Class do it. I do not miss those days.”

He gestured at the wall-mounted behemoth above them. “That’s gotta be, what, a 32-inch? Depending on the brand, that thing easily weighs over a hundred pounds.” Jack paused, then waved a hand dismissively. “But—ya know what? You don’t care. Just put the damn tape in.”

Clef rolled his eyes but complied, wiping a layer of dust off the VHS player before sliding the tape in. With a low screech of static, the CRT TV flickered to life. The screen briefly filled with black and white fuzz before sharpening into a dark background, a yellow object sitting motionless in the center.

“What is that—” Jack started, only to be cut off.

A voice crackled through the speakers.

“Hi, my name is Leith Pierre, and I’m the Head of Innovation here at Playtime Co. Toy Factory,” the TV announced in a smooth but eerily rehearsed tone. “If you’re seeing this, then you’re trespassing.”

Jack and Clef exchanged a glance.

“Yeah, we play this little tape on loop whenever we close the factory for the day. So, trespasser, just to make you aware: While we pride ourselves primarily on our high-quality toys and excellent childcare… we also pride ourselves on our security.”

A chill crept into the room. Both men instinctively stiffened, their casual demeanor evaporating. Clef already had his shotgun back in his hands, while Jack’s fingers hovered uneasily over his holster.

“For example, this facility is full of hidden motion triggers which, once set off, will activate the factory’s emergency alarms and directly contact the authorities. And that’s one of the more tame aspects of our security system...”

The voice on the tape paused, as if letting the weight of those words settle.

“So, you’ve been warned. It’s not too late to turn around. I just hope you’re certain that whatever you’re doing is worth it.”

With a final click, the VCR spat out the tape, and the TV cut to static before going completely dark.

The room was silent.

Jack exhaled slowly. “Well… that wasn’t ominous at all.”

Clef didn’t bother responding. Instead, he quietly slipped into the next room, shotgun at the ready. He wouldn’t relax until the area was completely secured.

Jack watched him disappear, then sighed. His gaze drifted back to the blank CRT screen, feeling an odd pull—a compulsion to stare into the darkness.

For a split second…

He swore he saw a giant blue eye staring back.

Then, he blinked—and it was gone.

“Bright, wake the fuck up,” Clef snapped, startled the shit out of the immortal.

Jack jumped, nearly losing his footing. “Shit, dude, don’t scare me like that!” He shook his head, rubbing his temples. “I don’t like this. I’m getting flashbacks to the Forde Education incident.”

Clef gave him a blank stare. “The what?”

Jack opened his mouth, ready to tear Clef a new one, before pausing mid-thought.

“Oh. Wait. You weren’t there.” He frowned. “Shit, this needs context. Okay, look, do you know about SCP-2528?”

Clef raised an eyebrow, and dryly said, “Jack, not all of us have encyclopedic knowledge of every SCP designation number.”

“Listen here, you little shit,” Jack pointed at the other with a mock serious face.

Clef smacked the hand down and rolled his eyes, again, “Just fucking tell me, you're wasting daylight.”

Jack huffed but continued. “TLDR: SCP-2528 is split into three parts—2528-A, B, and C. The entire system acts as an organic computer. A is what we know as bamboo, but it acts as data storage, B are giant pandas and they act as processors, and C are the little beings from another universe that just hitch a ride with them.”

Clef stared at him for a moment.

“So, wait, there's aliens in our bamboo and giant pandas?”

“Honestly, I'm surprised you even understand that much,” Jack muttered.

Clef opened his mouth, no doubt about to say some stupid shit, but Jack cut him off before he could get a word in.

“Anyway. There’s another SCP—7528. Basically, it’s just 2528-C—the little alien people—but instead of bamboo and pandas, they jumped to TV and computer screens.”

Jack paused here for a moment, “The Forde Education incident was when they had a massive 7528 outbreak. 7528 has the unique ability to explode any person’s head that is in their line of sight. Almost everyone died, they had to send in Zeta-9 to destroy all the screens, so 7528 was neutralized.”

Clef blinked. “Oh. Well. I hope we don’t have to deal with anything like that.”

With that, he turned and headed toward the ‘Gift Shop’ without another word.

Jack hesitated, his eyes flicking back toward the CRT screen.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw the blue eye again—watching.

Then it was gone.

Not willing to stick around and find out, Jack shook off the unease and hurried after Clef. He decided to hold off on telling the other doctor, knowing how volatile Clef could be.

“What are we looking for?” Jack asked.

He absentmindedly poked at an empty box on one of the shelves, somewhat intrigued. For all his years on Earth—fighting demons, gods, and everything in between—Jack had never actually been inside a toy factory before. It was oddly novel.

“A code,” Clef replied, jerking his thumb back toward the lobby. “There’s a locked security door over there—four-digit color code.”

Jack took another glance around, his eyes assaulted by the factory’s bright, clashing colors. Blues, reds, yellows, and oranges were smeared across every wall, a chaotic assault on the senses. His gaze landed on something sitting atop the counter by the cash register.

A toy.

Or at least, what was left of one.

The head was completely separated from the rest of its body, chest concave from where it had been smashed in. Both its right arm and leg were ripped off, leaving a bloody mess across the counter. The black visor was cracked, staring off into nothing.

Jack groaned. “Ah, shit, don’t tell me this is gonna be like SCP-3325.”

Clef gave him a blank look. “The hell is that?”

Jack didn’t even hesitate. “Bunch of scientists were too busy asking if they could and not if they should—classic. They made these weird-ass mascot puppet things, kinda like Sesame Street, except nobody actually knows how they were made. The records just don’t exist. And then, one by one, the damn things started melting. We don’t know why. We don’t know what they’re made of. All we know is that they break down into some kind of organic sludge after a while. Last I checked, we’ve only got three of them left in containment.”

Clef snorted, shouldering his shotgun. “Great. So we’re either dealing with head-exploding aliens or self-destructing Muppets. Love that for us.”

Jack shot him finger guns. “The SCP Foundation: We really don’t get paid enough.”

“That’s an understatement,” Clef muttered.

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair as his gaze swept the room. The place was a mess—shelves either empty or filled with dust-covered boxes, walls covered in garish splashes of color that felt more hostile than playful. If there was a clue somewhere, it wasn’t going to jump out and introduce itself.

Then something caught his eye.

A small train model, mounted near the ceiling, its plastic body suspended on a track that ran along the room’s perimeter. It was old, the colors faded, but still intact. More importantly, it had four train cars, each painted a different color.

Jack pointed up at it. “That whatcha lookin’ for?”

Clef followed his gaze, squinting at the train before breaking into a sharp grin. “Bingo.”

Green. Pink. Yellow. Red. Jack silently mouthed the colors to himself as they made their way across the lobby towards security. He let Clef handle the keypad, keeping his eyes on their surroundings. Just because nothing had jumped out yet didn’t mean something wasn’t watching.

Clef punched in the code, and the door unlocked with a soft click, sliding open far too smoothly for a place this old.

Inside, the security room was small and utilitarian—bare walls, a row of outdated monitors flickering weakly, and a handful of chairs. But Jack’s attention was immediately drawn to two things: yet another massive CRT television dominating the far wall and an enclosed glass case in the wall, housing something he didn’t recognize.

“What the fuck is with the massive-ass CRTs?” Jack muttered, eyeing the ancient screen like it had personally offended him.

“I really don’t get your obsession with them,” Clef responded, already distracted by the security monitors.

“They’re way too big!” Jack stressed, jabbing a finger at the monstrosity. The backend of the TV hung off the cart in a way that defied all known laws of physics. “It’s not natural, Clef! It’s wrong on a fundamental level.”

Clef gave him a flat look. “You literally work at the Foundation, and this is what breaks you?”

Jack opened and closed his mouth like a fish, scrambling for words to describe his unease. As much as he wanted to rant about the absurdity of the CRTs, he couldn’t bring himself to mention the unsettling hallucination—or whatever it was—he’d experienced earlier with the blue eye. Not when they still had no clue what they were walking into.

Could’ve been a memetic agent, though Jack was usually immune to those. Perks of keeping your consciousness separate from your body, he supposed.

Clef’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Another tape.”

[newswoop]

Introduction

So, I've had this blog for a long time and I'm only now really doing anything with it. Figured I would do a quick introduction to get this out of the way: I'm mainly a fanfiction writer on ao3 that goes by the username NewsWoop.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewsWoop/profile

Anyway, figured it would be a time to start a tumblr since I've been neglecting my ao3 for oof... 2 years now? Almost 2 years? It's been.. uh, rough. Anyway, this is mostly just a place for odd little drabbles, prompts, or anything of that nature. I've never been good about finishing stories or anything, so I can't promise anything.

I swing alot between a variety of fandoms, but as of posting this is Dec, 2023: I'm currently hyperfixated on Alan Wake 2, Batman, and Constantine, so you're bound to see posts about those sooner or later. Anyway, that's all I have. Have a good one, guys

Edit 2/16/25: I'm super busy, working a job and finishing up my last year of college so I'm not gonna be active all the time. I'm trying to post some WIPs or just ideas as I go, maybe I can get some feedback. I'm focused on SCP, Poppy Playtime, and anything horror related at the moment.