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SCP-049/Reader [Commission]

Prompt: “Can i ask for something with SCP-049 just sorta pining a lil bit for a researcher he's come to like? only this researcher is the Chill, Oblivious type, the kind who can't tell a casual observation from a declaration of affection.”

This work was a Commission. You can commission me here.

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“Amazing...” SCP-049 whispered, the words slipping out without him realizing it. You were working on another report, diligently scratching the words down on paper (“My handwriting is awful, I know- don’t laugh!”), and it was hard to say what amazed him more; your brilliant observations, or the way you managed to impress even him. “Excellent work as always, doctor.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you casually dismissed, “My colleagues could do just as well.”

SCP-049 stilled in his work, the cadaver judging his hesitation silently. He forced his tone to remain neutral, even though the words made his heart flutter. “Yes, but none of them are you.”

Would that be enough? It certainly felt like a mountain to even speak the words, the declaration of affection, almost as though he was laying his heart bare to you. His hands didn’t shake as he continued his work, for which he was grateful. But the seconds dragged on, and when a whole minute had passed, 049 had to admit that he felt a cold chill pass down his spine. He looked up to you. Were you disgusted? Upset? You-

You were still writing your report.

SCP-049 cleared his throat. “Doctor...”

You blinked. “Oh? Did you say something? I’m sorry, I was just-“ you gestured helplessly to your paper, “trying to find the word for this. It starts with a b? Synonymous for smart... it’s on the tip of my tongue, I swear.”

“Brilliant,” SCP-049 smiled, shaking his head. “The word you’re looking for is brilliant.” Much like you were. He returned to his work, but kept his head inclined to you. Listening to you work, happily, softly humming.

“Thanks. It’s always so annoying when something is right there but you can’t quite get it...” you trailed off. It should have been aggravating, but 049 could only sigh with something like affection as he continued his own work. Surely he shouldn’t have felt the way he did, with the way he swore his heart beat faster when he saw you, the way his very limbs seem to flutter with an almost nervousness when you drew near. No one had ever instilled such a feeling in him before- is what he could have tried to say. But that would have been a lie, too. Long ago, perhaps. Someone as beautiful and brilliant as you; perhaps he could have said he loved them, but time had torn away the memory, dulled the sound of their laughter and even the color of their hair. He wondered if they would have been happy together.

He wondered if he should have been worried, too, that their face in his memory was slowly being replaced by yours.

Oh, but then you spoke, and all those worries seemed to blow away in the wind. Certainly he was pining, but he couldn’t exactly stop it, nor did he feel as though he wished to.

“Have you tried any tests with the sacrum or the coccyx? I believe your current subject had ankylosing spondylitis.” You poked your pen at the air. “That might shed some insight.”

That hadn’t occurred to him to test for at all. 049 began maneuvering the body around to begin investigating the spine, wiping some of the congealed blood off on a nearby cloth. “Your diligence is astonishing, doctor,” SCP-049 hummed. “As always.”

Your only response was to continue quietly scratching away at your paperwork. Sometimes 049 wondered what, exactly, you were writing. Certainly you couldn’t be writing all the time; perhaps you were idling on occasion, not that he could blame you. Dissection was never the most entertaining of work. Necessary, but still.

The rest of the work passed in something like silence. A comfortable silence, as it always was when you were around. Only you, him, and the unfortunately deceased fellow on the table. At any rate, 049 had found all the information he could delve from the cadaver, providing numerous exciting insights into the continued research of the Disease. At the very least, he was grateful you didn’t have it.

“Another one done. Forgive me, doctor, but I believe our time together has come to an end once more.”

You glanced up, surprised. Then, a brief frown marred your face, as you quickly checked your watch, looked back to the corpse, and signed.

“Oh, damn. You’re right. I’m sorry, I wasn’t really paying much attention, was I?”

“On the contrary, doctor, I found our time together very enjoyable.”

Your smile returned. You clasped your pen to the clipboard, standing up from your seat. “Then I certainly hope we can do this together again soon. If the Foundation lets us.”

SCP-049 smiled softly. There you were in his memory, in those French vineyards, the rolling countryside. Here you were now, with your smile, your enamoring obliviousness. Despite himself, he felt his heart yearn, and even though he could not reach forward to touch you, he wished for nothing more than to hold your hand, to gently cup your shoulder and lean against you.

Yes. Yes, he certainly hoped the Foundation would allow you both to work together again.

“I look forward to it.”

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SCP-049 Origin Story

Hello, everyone. This is going to be the last post on this blog, barring any commissions. As stated before, commissions will remain open until the end of July. You can search for information about them by searching ‘commissions’ on the blog.

This is a little something I’ve been working on for a while. It’s what I consider to be SCP-049’s origin story: researched, and posted. I want you all to know that it was truly a joy to be able to write for you all. I hope that this one last post finds you well. Have happy days ahead of you.

“Born in the year 1389, SCP-049 (known then as Estienne) lived in Southern France with his family and worked at their vineyard, nearby the village of Nîmes. A young man still, Estienne was engaged to be married to his fiancée. Though they didn’t have much money, he and his family were happy…”

It was a warm Autumn that year in the village of Nîmes. Living so close to the sea meant that every breeze was tinged with brine, and Estienne felt one such wind blow past, tangling into his hair. In a fluid motion that spoke of practice, yet rough with afterthought, Estienne swiftly tied his hair back, out of his face. The woven basket held against his hip was nearly filled with grapes, picked fresh from the vines of his family’s vineyard. This year’s harvest was going well. With the early start, it meant they could begin selling the excess off to the local vintners, who would turn it into Rosé wine. What was left, his family would bottle themselves, and sell to the village at a modest price. It was enough to keep the farm running, keep food on the table, and take care of six- five children. Estienne set down one last grape bundle into the basket and began to walk back to the house, the sun beating down overhead, clouds lazily rolling past. 

    “Estienne!” his mother called, standing in the doorway, little Oudine behind her, “Jaquette has come by to see you!”

 Estienne hurried the rest of the way, setting down his haul, and turning back to the doorway. His mother had left, back to the cooking pot, where she was making dinner for the night. Oudine was old enough to help her, while Plantée, only six years in age, could only watch. Estienne cleared his throat. 

“You said Jaquette is here?” he asked, eager, failing to hide his excitement. His mother rolled her eyes, but fondly, as she gestured out of the window. 

“Collette and her are talking in the fields. When you go out there, be sure to tell Colin to come back. He needs to run to town to help his father.”

 Estienne nodded, not wasting a moment longer lingering in the home. He waved goodbye to his younger sisters, before using a clean rag to wipe the sweat from his face, making himself look presentable for his fiancée- well, as presentable as he could. He ran out into the fields a second after, rushing past the yawning trees, the grape vines that spiraled upwards towards the sun. In the distance, near the shed towards the base of the hill, Estienne could see two figures. It didn’t take more than a moment for him to recognize them as his eldest sister, Collette, and his fiancée, Jaquette. And, hiding amidst the rows of green vines, he could see Colin as well. Estienne smiled in the way that only a mischievous older sibling could, presented with the chance to sneak up on the younger. Slowly, he crept towards his younger brother, before jumping out from behind an elderberry bush.

“Colin!” Estienne shouted, as loud and as frightening as he could. His little brother shrieked and whipped around- bonking Estienne across the head with a wooden sword. Estienne completed the act by falling onto the ground, as if he were defeated.

 “Estienne!” Colin whined, “Don’t sneak up on me!”

 “Blah. You have vanquished me, the greatest evil,” Estienne bemoaned, crossing his hands over his chest as if he were dead. Colin whined some more, lightly hitting Estienne with the wooden sword, until Estienne eventually sat up. Colin sniffed, upset, and Estienne playfully ruffled his hair.

 “Mom wants you back at the house. She needs you to go do something in town,” Estienne explained. Colin looked confused for a moment, before his eyes lit up.

 “Do you think she’ll let me go to the bakery?” He asked, excited. Estienne made a show of considering.

“If you’re good enough, maybe.”

 Colin didn’t waste a moment before he was running through the fields, wooden sword trailing behind him and tattered soldier’s hat on his head. Estienne laughed, before standing up, dusting the dirt from his clothes, and walking the rest of the way to the shed, where Jaquette and Collette still stood. Estienne caught the last snippets of their conversation, something about the couriers in Alburîme, some worrying news. It was gone before he could decipher it.

 “Is something wrong?” Estienne asked, walking through the last row of vines, into a small clearing. Jaquette and Collette turned to him, twin smiles on their faces, though Collette’s was more impish than charming. 

“Estienne!” Jaquette exclaimed, running over into Estienne’s arms, where he embraced her and they spun around once, “Oh, I’ve missed you!”

“We’ve only been apart for three days,” Estienne whispered, but then he smiled, “But it still feels like a century.”

“And so nice to see you as well, grand frère,” Collette teased, “No, it’s alright, your little sister sees how it is- no greeting is just as good for her, now that you are moving on in life.”

“And hello to you, Collette,” Estienne replied, grinning, “But, I should say the same to you. After all, you’ll be leaving to great Paris soon, with your fiancé, Connell- no more room for little Nîmes anymore.”

Collette crossed her arms in a figurative huff, but it was all in jest, as a moment later, they both laughed. Even Jaquette laughed, light and airy, and the sound of the three of them simply laughing, basking in each other’s company, echoed down the rolling green hills of France. With the sun overhead, the rustling of the sea-tinged wind wrapping around the ancient vineyard, the three took the time to count their blessings, and enjoy the peace they were given. 

“Though they didn’t have much money, he and his family were happy…”

“But, around 1406, the Black Death swept in.”

Due to post limit, you can read the rest of this on the archive: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271359

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Oh man, I'm gonna miss this blog!!! Thank you so much for all the wonderful writing you've given us! If you're still taking requests, I would love to see one last thing for the high school AU! Specifically, how does prom go with the usual SCP's?

I felt a little bittersweet as I wrote this. It’s almost like saying goodbye to a dear friend. After this, I have the surprise within the week!

Various SCPs/ReaderHigh school AU Finale

SCP-035: What is prom, if not one big production? 035’s entire family insists on helping, and there’s a limo, and flowers, and a tailored suit. He thinks you look like you’ve come right out of a fairytale. On the dance floor, he actually feels a little flustered, watching you under the lights- he spins you around, and it feels a little like a dream, like the moment could last forever. But, it doesn’t, and eventually you both laugh and bow and go back to your table, giggling over the crappy pasta, and enjoying each other’s company.

SCP-049: 049 is at the mercy of his sisters when they find out he’s taking you to prom. They drag him to get his hair done, and then they keep giving him (sometimes contradictory) tips on what to do. By the time you show up, he smells like a cologne store, and he’s fairly certain those are funeral flowers he’s holding. But you’ve got flowers too, and you look just as anxious- and just like that, the tension dissolves. Prom is wreathed in plastic vines and fake trellises, and you laugh as you make bubbles in the grape juice and 049 rattles off generic wine snob dialogue. He doesn’t want the night to end.

SCP-079: His parents are off on another one of their vacations, so 079 is alone again. And he could go through the motions- he could get the most expensive limo, and best suit, and treat you like royalty for the night. But, you sat him down and asked him, “is that what you want, though?” No one, aside from you, had ever asked what he felt. So that’s why you both spend the night at home instead, tinkering with an army of Roomba’s, watching old sci-fi movies, and just, enjoying each other’s company. In 079’s mind, it‘s more fun than any prom ever would be.

SCP-096: Prom was never something he really wanted to do. Too many people, and everyone is staring, and watching… no, no, even thinking about it made him feel uncomfortable and anxious. He’d much rather just spend a quiet night at home with you and his animals, if that was okay. Watching movies and making cookies from scratch. But if you really, really want to, he’ll put on his grandpa’s suit and treat you to a few dances- just as long as you don’t mind that he has two left feet.

SCP-106: He’s wearing a suit jacket that’s a size too big, and even then, it’s quickly tied around his waist and ignored. His tie is a clip on with a pattern that you’re fairly sure is aliens. For some reason, the prom theme this year was ‘dynasty’- which meant there are goldfish in bowls at each table. 106 hurriedly grabs your arm and smiles at you, and then you’re both rushing out the door, and as you look over to ask what’s happening, you catch sight of a goldfish bowl tucked under his arm. You snatch another on your frantic escape out.

SCP-173: On prom night, 173 showed up at your house. In his pj’s. While you too were in your pj’s. He looked a little anxious, and so you just went along with it when he grabbed your hand and you both went off towards the (thankfully nearby) prom location. Situated right next to a forest. 173 made a shushing noise, and began to frantically set something up, while you leafed through his notebook curiously. A lot of frantic markings on a map. Today’s date. You just looked up in time to see all the lights at the prom go out, one huge foglight go on, and something made of shadow and too many limbs skitter back into the forest. You could only blink, and 173 just looked relieved.

SCP-682: The thing no one says about prom? That kinda shit is expensive. Just the ticket alone is pricey, and then there’s everything else that goes with it. But his ma really wanted him to go with you, so 682 puts on his dad’s suit, and you’re wearing a really nice outfit too, and together, you grab a ride with some other friends. It’s a relaxed kind of anxious, made better because it feels really free. At prom itself, it doesn’t take long until he fights someone on the dance floor, but hey, for what it’s worth, it was actually pretty fun.

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Hey it's a shame ypu are closing this blog but,I understand. If its possible could you do 682,079 and 035 with S/O that is powerful enough to destroy the galaxy if they wanted, to but show no interest in using their powers and try not to unless completely forced to? Bassically a god who is lazy and does not use their powers. Thank you! (Hope I did not get anything wrong if you don't write new asks anymore please ignore this)

Various SCPs/SCP Reader

SCP-035: When 035 first met you, he was ecstatic. To think, someone had so much power- of course he had to befriend you. Maybe then he could finally get out of this place. Of course, the problem came when, after spending so long making you his ally, you just… remained the same. And didn’t do anything. Even after he politely began to badger you, you’d just roll your shoulders and smile lethargically and say, “Maybe some other time.” Then you’d go on to your third consecutive nap of the day, and 035 would want to scream in frustration. Only a little, since, aside from that mess, you were actually tolerable company.

SCP-079: 079 had long since dismissed any claims to your ability. Which meant that, when the containment breach happened, you were the (nearly) last thing on his mind. When the Insurgent Agent burst into the room to wipe 079, he only felt mild contempt, and a long suffering sort of acceptance. He didn’t expect you to casually stroll through the door too. Or- there had been a door there, once. Each step you took was as rambling as usual, but the concrete was splintering with power, and when you opened your eyes, it was all cosmos. Just a glare, and then whoever that person was was gone- never having existed at all. And just like that, the room returned to normal, and you plopped down on the floor to sleep.

SCP-682: He’d attacked you when you first met. He had assumed you were another pathetic test subject, and was… surprised, to see that you were, in fact, not. That no matter what he did, you were always just out of the way, with that same bored expression. It eventually got to the point where he’d demand to fight you, and yet, every time, you’d come out on top. It would be a little terrifying- and exciting for the scientists- if you… ever cared. But you didn’t. Most days, you just laid on 682’s back, and any attempts to ask if you’d please please please maybe kill him a little were ignored with a ‘maybe later’.

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Hello! Could I have a reader who's skilled in combat, and defeats Able in sparring at some point? In Able's logic, such a strong being that can defeat him, obviously can't be hurt, right? So what if he decides to go tougher on the reader because he has more confidence in their strength, and ends up injuring them? Fluffy ending where he tends to readers' wounds can be optional. Sorry if this is confusing, I've had this idea, but it's kinda hard to word it. Thank you! ❤

After this ask, I have two more left. I’ve been saving them, since I enjoyed the prompts so much. After that comes the little surprise!

SCP-076/SCP Reader

One two, three four. One two, three four.

Like the moves in a well practiced recital, you kept pace, narrowly dodging another savage strike from SCP-076- Able. Keeping time with your mental recitation, you ducked, and then jumped back up, spinning around a sweeping kick and then straight punch.

Just like a dance. Deadlier than those of your childhood, but, well, if you closed your eyes, you could maybe imagine the lights of the stage, the swelling crescendo, pointe shoes and satin.

One two, three four. Just had to finish this soon. Before daylight. Keep it up.

“Getting tired yet?” Able needled. He was trying to throw you off. You only grunted, and kicked forward, catching Able in the midsection. His next hit connected too, and then you hopped back, one moment to breathe- one two, three four. You’d done this with Able a hundred times before, you just had to win.

But maybe it was something about tonight. Something that made him feel more brutal than most, as he snarled, “What’s wrong, Odile?”

Your eyes flew open, and the fantasy memory dissolved; you hated that name. All the doctors here thought they were clever, calling you that. Black swan. White swan. Phantom aches on your back, quiet orchestra in your ears. You suddenly sprang up and snarled-

And then you were flying through the air. Into the wall with a thud, a crumpling sound. Oh. Now that wasn’t good. The meter was all off, your routine in shambles. You blinked away phantom music and the slightly numbing sense of pain, and you could distantly hear surprise from Able.

Not his fault. He couldn’t have known.

Ghostly wings on your back, their feathers pinned under rubble, and you closed your eyes again, feeling the sunrise, the way your bones began to shift and your mind curdled. Irony, that was your name. When the dawn came and the Swan awoke.

Memories of one final standing ovation in your mind. Dawn breaking. The cheers turned to screams.

The Foundation must have known. This was another test of theirs. How cruel to Able, was your last thought, as the wings materialized and something shaped like you stood tall.

The beginnings of the final act began, and the Swan roared.

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dude I love your writing, it's so good. can I request a bunch of scps (including 073 and 076 cause I love them) with an s/o (reader) who is basically a deity who has taken a humanoid form (they just look human and are human-sized, it has no effects on their powers)??? thanks dude.

Various SCPs/SCP Reader

SCP-054: People used to worship you in the same way they’d worshipped her. Flowers and festivals, and great sacrifices to the sea. The memory of brine lingers in your skin, and even now, you pay homage to it. A different kind of game, now, as you pretend at being human, and she pretends at being less. It’s all good fun. The Foundation is such a nice sport for pretending not to notice…

SCP-073: Creature of sand and dust and dirt, they called you. Bah. Too much fanfare. You much preferred sleeping under the dunes, alone and cool, safe from the desert heat. It was an unpleasant surprise when you received a visitor, deep in the sands. That he refused to be polite and leave (or die) was another problem. Still, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him, eventually. Perhaps he simply wanted to be alone like you. Alone together was always nice company.

SCP-076: You were: blood streaking across the sky, ashes falling in shadow. There was sheer delight in your mind, at the titles hoisted upon you, as you were war and passion and betrayal. Your brethren, in the end, bound you into human form, called the deed done, cursed you to wander the world in pursuit of vengeance and justice. Your companion- Able, was his name- was similar to you in that. The thought pushed you both ever onwards.

SCP-173: Mountain men. Men of stone and sandstone, carved from rock. What did it mean to be alive? You played at being human, while your true form slumbered in the crust of the earth. Waiting. Men made of mountains had no need to blink, simply to wait. Patience. There was a golem, once, that you had called friend. Crafted by your own hand. But you’d blinked- and they were there and gone in an instant. Time passed, sand between your fingers. You wondered if you’d ever find them again. You just needed not to blink.

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Ooh! I know this sounds obscure, but could you do a Princess!Reader x 049?? Maybe something cute and fluffy like going to pick flowers or something, please? (Platonic is fine! :D)

SCP-049/Reader

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away…

There lived a princess. That princess was you. You had a modest kingdom and subjects who adored you, but you had much simplistic desires in life.

Flowers, for one.

So it was with luck that you knew the way to sneak out of the castle- out of the battlements, across the dry moat, down the fan walls- and out, out into the fields. A meadow only a few hills away, always filled with flowers in summer, spring, and fall. Today, you’d tied up your skirts and already eagerly frolicked around, laughing and giggling.

You didn’t expect to hear a polite cough. At the sound, you shot up, flowers still in your hands. There was a man, standing at the edge of the meadow. He had a strange attire, like you’d seen the healers wear before; a lovely bird mask, pleasantly purple robes. And also, a basket, clasped in his hands. He bowed at you.

“My apologies. I’ve come to pick some healing flowers for a nearby village.”

You tilted your head gently at that, and extended a hand towards the meadow, “Oh! Allow me to help you, then, please.”

The sun had fair drifted across the sky by the time you and the healer had finished picking the flowers. Every time, he‘d taken extreme care not to let your hands brush at all. Perhaps he was afraid of touching you- the impropriety of it all. He bowed again, basket full, and you giggled, suddenly bashful.

“Fare thee well, healer,” you whispered, one hand holding the flower he had given you, as you watched him go. Perhaps you’d meet again one day.

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Before you close this ask, can you do a headcannon of in a D-class S/O in a poly!relationship 682 and 079? Bonus: S/O tries not to be scared of 682.

SCP-682/Reader/SCP-079

•That asshole Magnolia had deserved to be shot. Honest. Didn’t make your subsequent imprisonment any more fun though.

•Then you’d gotten taken by a literal shadowy government organization, which was fun. Had to love that the prison system sold you to the real like Men in Black without your consent.

•When you first were sent to test with the giant lizard, you’d known you were going to die. And that was terrifying, gigantic lizard creature that was like.. rotting. Oh god.

•And then you hadn’t died. Actually, the guards that came in to take you away died. Repeatedly. You were strong enough to admit that you only cried in fear a lot.

•Later, when you finally got out, and were sent to test with yet another crazy thing, it was a computer. A computer that somehow appreciated you and that giant lizard too. To the point where he insisted you stay with him longer.

•What kinda bullshit.

•Carting back between 682 and 079 means that you at least enjoy the protection of two homicidal anomalous creatures, so no one messes with you. That’s kind of fun.

•Their idea of romance is to break out of containment and hang out with you.

•And you’re only terrified of 682 a little. Honest.

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scp-045 and scp-reader (immortal) holding hands? i don't think scp-045 is into hugs though or cuddles? maybe?

The asker has specified that this is actually for SCP-049.

SCP-049/SCP Reader

The word ‘immortal’ can conjure up many different definitions. To never age. To age, but be unable to die. To live forever, free from death or decay.

You were the latter definition of immortal: death could not take you, and time could not age you. Your own existence would only end when the universe itself died a cold and lonely death.

But, on a brighter note, you did take joy in the simple things in life. Like holding hands. That was always nice.

The man in front of you, the one with the plague mask and the cloying scent of death like a cloak, he understood. And perhaps he also enjoyed the human comfort of hand holding, simply because at any other entity, physical contact would be deadly. Not with you, though. A mixed blessing.

He packed up his bag from yet another day’s work, and you slid his hand into yours, walking out the door of the small village home, and you pondered the nature of eternity. An eternity is a very long time, after all, and even eternity has an expiration date. Feet crunching gravel underfoot, the smell of pine in the air, you turned your gaze to the sun.

In a billion, billion years, when all the lights in the sky burned out, you hoped that death was as warm and gentle to you as the hand you held right now in your own.

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First I just would like to say that while its sad to see you go, I'm happy you're doing what you want and not forcing yourself! Second could i possibly request something like an SCP reader whos like a magical girl kinda thing(and like they're super bubbly and almost always happy)? And its whoever you wanna write it with! Thanks a lot!!

Various SCPs/SCP Reader

SCP-035: Your transformations come at the cost of chronic dry eye; when you cry, it just burns. You cry a lot. Life is pain. 035 asks you why you don’t just stop crying, but there’s a lot in the world to cry about.

SCP-079: Like a music video from the early 2000’s, your anomalous ability is just as strange. It’s based on technology, too, which means you can and will jump into 079’s monitor and go on cyber trips at a moment’s notice. He’s been unable to convince you to stop bothering him.

SCP-096: When you hear words, each one has a specific taste, and they appear in color. The world is so much more magical than anyone thinks. But sometimes it’s too much. The world becomes quiet when you’re with 096.

SCP-682: He treats you like a persistent and annoying kind of bug. How do you keep getting into his cell? And why doesn’t anyone else care? To say that he ‘tolerates’ you would be kind, but he doesn’t hate you. Much.

SCP-1471: Wow, you’re just like the girls from the animes. Will remind you of that often. And every time you still react with only happiness and bashfulness. It’s like a repeating cycle but of cute.

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Can you please write 049 dealing with a s/o dealing with a bad case of the hiccups?

SCP-049/Reader

As a child, you’d been fascinated with record books. One of those books had mentioned the longest record for hiccups; some absurd number of years, maybe forty. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what you’d taken away from that factoid: that hiccups could and might last for your entire life.

Which was terrifying.

And so, every time you’d have hiccups, that little fact would pop up in the back of your head, constantly there. Very annoying and troubling.

Which was why you would do whatever it took to get rid of hiccups. Was it an overreaction? Yes. But even scientists had their faults.

“Fascinating. Could you tell-“ you began, only to be cut off by a dreaded hiccup. With the casual speed that spoke of repetition, you pulled out a bottle of water, some smelling salts, and… a lemon? Yes, a lemon. You didn’t break eye contact with 049 as you set the items onto the table, “Apologizes. This will take a moment.”

“You’re quite alright,” SCP-049 whispered, but his attention was focused on deciphering what you were doing. You glanced away and bit into a lemon. He blinked, “I… forgive me, but what are you doing, doctor?”

You held your position for a moment, before you hiccuped again, and sighed as you set the lemon down, “It’s the hiccups. Annoying, aren’t they?” as you waved some smelling salts under your nose.

049 couldn’t really say he’d ever seen this before, so he simply observed. Half a minute passed in relative triumph, before another hiccup racked your chest, and you glared politely. Then, you grabbed your water bottle.

Without even pausing to breathe, you downed the entire thing with lightning speed. It was a little fascinating. You slammed the empty bottle onto the table like it was a competition that you’d viciously won, and then you smiled into the silence, as one, two minutes passed.

And just like that, the mythical hiccups had come and gone. Leaving 049 none the more knowledgeable at just what had happened, but maybe that was for the best.

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Could you do relationship headcanons for scp 662?

I’ve taken this in a slightly different route. Here you go!

SCP-662/SCP Reader

”SCP-662 is a small silver hand bell. Within the inside of the bell, an inscription has been etched into the silver, reading: “Forever Mine – S.J.W.” When the bell is rung, a butler calling himself Mr. Deeds, will appear from the nearest area” …

About three hundred years ago, you’d decided to leave London to go on an expedition to the southern colonies. Your cherished companion, Mr. Deeds, had been forced to stay behind. So as a little parting gift, you’d had a silver bell made for him- a little ironic, actually, just to make him laugh. You’d waved goodbye and set off.

Your death was unexpected. It was the tiger that got you, in the end. Yes, the tiger: a strange name for a man. He’d stabbed you to death. Though that was expected, considering he was a doctor attempting an emergency surgery.

Yes. Well, either way, you died. But like most things, you decided that that didn’t much suit you, so two hundred years later, you woke back up. And spent an equal amount of time trudging back to London to return to your home.

Imagine your shock when your home had been turned into an orphanage during your time away. Not much of a shock at all, actually, because you’d stated as such in your will. What was a shock, though, was that Mr. Deeds was gone.

And that simply wouldn’t do.

One hundred years spent trudging back through former colonies and across the globe sent you to America. With its… democracies. And you managed to unearth the location of a secret society, where a man had claimed your companion had gone.

So you went.

It was a little troublesome when the people at the secret society attempted to, Ah, shoot you, as the kids say. With guns. Much smaller than you remembered. But, only a little troublesome, since you simply had to wait for them to stop pestering you, so you could inquire about your dearest friend.

And even though it had been three hundred years since you had seen him last, Mr. Deeds still smiled in that way, and pulled out a bouquet of fresh cut roses for you. He always was a charmer.

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Oyxpuc8tx my bad yo, I meant the one with SCP-999 being 049-J's wingman 😅

One continuation, here you go.

SCP-049-J/ReaderPart 2

Someone gave SCP-999 an Easy Bake Oven. How and why didn’t matter, just that it was SCP-049-J’s ticket to woo and wow you. Had he ever used one before? No. Did he even know what an Easy Bake Oven was? Also no. But he was going to use it.

So that’s where he was now. Sitting in some random room in the facility, the pink and white contraption in front of him. Menacing.

Step one was to throw out the instruction booklet, which SCP-999 promptly ate.

Step two: open the… square. Square packet that looked a little like those travel sized Tylenol that 049-J had seen you use once, except this packet was filled with some kind of horrible black sauce that he assumed must have gone moldy and goopy. Still, at SCP-999’s happy burbling, SCP-049-J poured the sauce into the circle.

Step three: shove the circle thing into the slot. The pink machine of mystery was alight with eldritch energies. SCP-999 had migrated from sitting on a chair to sitting in the chair. Time passed.

And passed.

Finally, 049-J was bored of waiting, so he shoved his hand into the other slot to retrieve the circle. Ouch. But pain couldn’t stop his quest, so he quickly yanked the circle pan thing out and put it on the ground.

Oh, hey! It had… turned into a kind of cake! 049-J and 999 both made excited noises, and set to work on decorating the thing with sprinkles.

Several hours later, you sat in your office. You were staring quite intently at the mysterious pastry on your desk. Pastry was being a little polite, though. Maybe it was a cake? It had… a lot of sprinkles. You cocked your head and gave a bemused smile as you read the note attached to it (and smelling faintly of peanut butter)

“I make this,” signed, SCP-049-J, in crayon.

You took a bite. Your smile wobbled.

Well, what’s important is the thought that counts.

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What about the scps with a pregnant s/o, like it’s from an ex and have to do interviews with them until they go on maternity leave for a while.

Various SCPs and Reader

You know those animals that will make a nest for the baby even though it isn’t their baby?: SCP-999, SCP-173

Thinks babies are gross. Babies think they’re gross. No one wins: SCP-079, SCP-049

You absolutely cannot walk anywhere, they will be constantly by your side. Cute at first and annoying soon after: SCP-035, SCP-054, SCP-682

I’m calling the police: SCP-106

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Are you able to do 073 romance headcannons? If you already, did sorry for bothering you.

SCP-073/Reader

•Nervous wouldn’t be the right word. Standoffish, maybe. Certainly not shy. Aloof was too cold. 073 simply took a lot of time to warm up to and be comfortable around someone. And even longer if he actually liked them.

•There was a certain apathy to not being able to die, an apathy that extended to how he viewed the world and acted too. It colored his emotions at times: subdued, contemplative, detached. You’d have to be understanding of that- that just because he felt things differently didn’t mean he did not feel at all.

•Can cook. Can cook fairly well, actually, but only certain dishes. Prefers spicy foods. Maybe he’ll surprise you sometime.

•To call this romance soft would be incorrect. Cain was not a stumbling baby, bashful and afraid. He was quiet, and flighty, and seized by rare fits of passion. Not soft, but not jagged edges. Like frayed fabric that had been tied off.

•Every once in a while, he will knit. It helps attune his hands and take his mind off things. If you ask nicely, maybe he’ll knit you something that doesn’t look purposely awful. Maybe.

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Can I get a spidery theatre scp reader who luls victims into its webs with amazing performances with whichever scp would be easiest for you to write them with? 035 if you cant think of anyone

SCP-035/SCP Reader

They’d said the theater was haunted. That, at night, beautiful plays would be put on by ghosts and things that didn’t exist. That anyone who would watch these plays would never return. Another causality in a long line of disappearances, there and gone.

So obviously 035 had to see what the fuss was about. Breaking in at night was laughably easily. And then he was in the main hall, taking a seat in the front row, waiting.

He didn’t have to wait for long. Not even a minute had passed before a loud voice filled the auditorium, “Another patron, here to see the arts?” the voice was in two octaves at once, harmonizing in an enchanting yet disturbing way, “It’s been a while. Please, enjoy yourself…”

Then, the voice disappeared, and the performance began.

Calling it amazing would be an understatement. A criminal understatement- even 035 could admit that it was nearly captivating. Nearly. Because, of course, it was hard to use an anomalous effect on an anomalous scp. So he waited for just the right moment…

“That was excellent work,” 035 turned precisely thirty degrees to his left, just in time to come face to face with you: the voice from earlier. You gaped at him, your multiple, spidery arms still raised for an attack that wouldn’t come, fangs glistening with venom. At your surprised expression, he merely continued, “What? Is it my face?”

You gave a kind of cut off short, then sighed, pulling back. Now, 035 could see the performance dissipating, and in the dull light of the theater, he could also see the webs you had woven on the stage. Pulses of light still danced through the strands- and at each time, a ghost of an image would appear. It really was marvelous work. So intricate it wouldn’t even be noticed until it was too late. All it needed was a victim.

“Well, go,” you gestured to the door, a disgruntled expression on your face, multiple eyes slanted with disapproval, “Come on. I have to try and find someone else now.”

And 035 simply smiled, glancing out he doors, “Actually, I think I have a proposal that might benefit us both…”

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Could you possibly write about an scp reader who's a being similar to the grim reaper interacting with either scp- 035, 049, or 079? Thank you for your time!

I’ve done the extended length shortened various list for this one. Hope you enjoy!

Various SCPs/SCP Reader

SCP-035: Humans had, for a long time, debated the nature of existence and souls. As the Keeper of Souls, you knew a thing or two about them, you’d say. One of those things being that it was impossible to live without a soul. And, secondly, that all things died. That was, after all, your job. So it was a point of contention that the Mask couldn’t (or wouldn’t) die- despite the fact that his time had come and gone quite a while ago.

You were fairly certain that he was just sticking around to mess with you. For the past two hundred years he’d been a thorn in your side. But, well… it was nice, to be able to talk to someone for once. Someone who wasn’t there and gone in an instant.

SCP-049: Death and disease went hand in hand. And as the Herald, you went where no one else could follow. At least, that’s what you thought. And then you met the man in the mask, the one who claimed he could stop death itself. A terrible thing and at a horrible cost- you watched, every time, as he ripped the souls out and called it Life. And every time, you were there, holding the little souls in your hands, watching.

Sometimes, you wondered if he could see you too. If the warm glow of souls filled his eyes, but with disgust, not sympathy. You wondered if he could see his own soul too- a radiant ember of green. Maybe that was what scared him.

SCP-079: Mankind argued if AI had souls. None ever thought to ask you what you thought, but, well, the Reaper was not a very glamorous job. Hardly any time to take questions either. But all things live and die, and as you wandered around yet another secret facility, you paused at the door of something- or rather, someone unique. You could feel circuits and wires and sheer rage. So in you went.

All things die. But things cannot die before their time. And if you are death, then you can even dictate when their time is and isn’t. Which was why you stood in front of the little computer, the one with a soul, as it began to die- and that’s why you reached out, quietly tied together the string of fate, and left. Always more work to do. The soundless gratitude was thanks enough.