Hominophobia - SCP Foundation

Incident Log SCP-6118-7

On 6/2/2021 at approximately 16:48, a banging sound was heard coming from the HVAC vent that leads into SCP-6118's containment chamber. The anomaly appeared alarmed and stood up to face the noise. At 16:49, cameras in the room recorded the vent cover being violently uninstalled and falling to the floor of the containment chamber. Seconds later, researcher Jacob R. Dylan crawled out of the ventilation shaft, covered in a thick green substance, and made impact with the floor beside the vent cover.

This occurence was especially strange, as Jacob Dylan disappeared under suspicious circumstances quite a while prior and was not heard from up until that point. There was also no way he could have accessed the HVAC system, as it is restricted to maintenance personnel.

Video recording of the following interaction is as follows.

Video Log 6118.VL.3

Researcher Dylan groans and rolls onto his back, leaving a trail of the unknown substance coating his body.

SCP-6118: Wow. Are you supposed to be here?

Dylan: Uh… [coughs] Where is "here", exactly?

SCP-6118 slowly approaches Dylan.

SCP-6118: They tell me we're on Earth. I've never seen the sky, though.

Dylan squints at SCP-6118 as he wipes some of the green substance off his face.

Dylan: The sky? God damn, the sky. I miss the sky. It's the most beautiful thing in the world. Blue, with clouds so fluffy you could sleep on them. On nice days, at least.

SCP-6118: What about not-nice days?

Dylan: Sometimes it pours— [coughs] —pours rain and shit, and ice too. Don't get caught in it.

SCP-6118 kneels next to Dylan and observes the substance coating him.

SCP-6118: Did this come from the sky, too?

Dylan: No, it came from these liza— Wait, don't—

SCP-6118 attempts to help Dylan clean the substance off of himself, but recoils upon touching it. It observes its hand while displaying an uncomfortable facial expression.

SCP-6118: It's sticky.

Dylan: Great observational skills. The— [coughs] —the Foundation would be envious as hell, would be if they had anything left in those empty skulls.

Despite still appearing uncomfortable, SCP-6118 uses its hands to scoop more of the substance off of Dylan. Silence continues for approximately six seconds as it does so.

Dylan: Hey… what are you doing that for, anyways? It's pretty gross, you shouldn't touch it.

SCP-6118: Gross to me to touch it… but it would be grosser to be covered in it. And you keep coughing. I think it's hurting you.

SCP-6118 continues to remove the substance. Approximately ten seconds of silence pass.

Dylan: Hey… thanks.

SCP-6118: I just hope you can take a shower. I can't get all of it off.

Dylan grasps SCP-6118's hand and sits up to look at the alien.

Dylan: No, I mean it. I've been stuck in some kind of strange Las Vegas for… well, who knows how long. And it's— [coughs] --it's nice to see someone else. It's nice to talk to-- [coughs] —to someone who isn't a computer.

SCP-6118: I don't know what a Las Vegas is, but— [coughs] —on my planet they call me a meat robot. So sorry if… that… [trails off]

Dylan is looking at SCP-6118 with an expression of horror, which it appears to be confused by.

Dylan: You coughed. Were you sick before I came here?

SCP-6118: I don't think so.

At 16:51, an on-call biohazard response team entered the room, ending the conversation. SCP-6118 was subsequently separated from Researcher Dylan, the latter being immediately transported to Site-19's Biohazard Isolation Wing. During transit and arrival, Dylan repeatedly informed staff that SCP-6118 may be sick as well, and therefore should also be attended to.

SCP-6118 had been sitting in its containment cell for 49 minutes before the biohazard response personnel returned to the cell. The SCP was exhibiting symptoms of persistent cough and, upon being asked to stand, experienced prodrome syncope; staff took fall risk into consideration during transport to the Biohazard Isolation Wing.

Staff debated on ideal isolation methods before ultimately deciding to place Researcher Dylan and SCP-6118 in the same isolation room, for minimised decontamination time and cost of resources as compared to separate rooms. A combat-trained guard was installed in the room in order to dissuade SCP-6118 from acting violently. Both Researcher Dylan and SCP-6118 were thoroughly disinfected…

Jacob's minor consolation was that the Foundation personnel he interacted with seemed to mostly possess a consciousness. They still didn't make idle conversation, nor display any real emotion as they hauled him to the isolation room, but he imagined that was within normal limits of brainrot one acquired from working at the Foundation.

That, and the fact that he was more or less a skip to them at that moment, having just burst out of a random vent whose entrance was in another reality. He had the urge to ask about Break Room 3, just to see what'd happen, but he resolved not to test his luck for now.

Jacob's major consolation was the individual brought in maybe an hour later. Even with his aching chest and the dry, filmy feeling in his mouth, he managed a friendly smile as he watched the alien be led into the room.

He had a sway to his steps as he walked to the room's second bed, and sat on it readily; his head drooped with fatigue, and Jacob suddenly felt a pang of guilt for introducing the slime to his cell. In the vents, too— he grimaced at the idea of the stuff becoming airborne.

But even so, the researcher was glad to have some company, especially that which was both non-Foundation and non-reptilian. Even if the former acted normally in present, he couldn't shake the image of their dead eyes, slack jaws, shuffling steps, and most importantly, weapons they drew to keep him away from that fated room. The latter, he didn't want to think about at all; the image of those grotesquely stretched human faces was downright sickening.

He had to make an active effort not to recoil from the Foundation personnel who'd brought him there, with their peering faces, their flat, bored voices as they asked him pointless questions, the scratching of their cheap pens on printer paper. He'd had a lot of time to think about humanity during his many months of isolation, and it was to the point he barely managed to hold in a cringe looking at his own face.

Eventually, the hazmat-clad scientists dispersed, and Jacob almost sighed with relief— but his premature celebration was cut short by someone new stepping into the room.

Avery Morris was similarly clad in a hazmat suit, but this one wasn't just protective to viral and chemical threats. The outline of her bulky uniform was visible underneath, the shoulder strap of her bulletproof vest catching the suit's covering as she reached to close the door.

"Who are you?" Jacob blurted out, confused by the tall and imposing woman.

"I'm the guard assigned to this room. To him," Avery answered as she pointed to SCP-6118.

"Why?"

"They don't trust me," the alien spoke up. "It's not because of you. It's my fault."

"Oh, no, it's nobody's fault," Avery said with a shake of her head. "Just standard protocol."

SCP-6118 gave her a brief look of doubt, but didn't comment on it as he wiped a goo-covered hand on his jumpsuit. Both him and Jacob were still covered in the stuff, since the Foundation hadn't yet decided on their course of action. The administration was likely too busy freaking out to concern themselves with the pair's discomfort, RAISA especially so.

But Jacob did not know about his cadaver, all he knew was that SCP-6118's idea of a shower was getting more and more appealing with every minute he spent covered in sticky green stuff.

"So… do we get—" Jacob began to ask, before doubling over in another coughing fit. Once recovered, he continued, "Do we get to, like, get clean? 'Cause I haven't had a shower in a good few weeks, and I'm pretty sure you guys don't wanna be smelling that. And, you know, these web things."

Avery made a face of disgust behind her PPE. SCP-6118 just nodded, once again glad to not be the type of organism that sweats.

"That's a good point. Your grime is unacceptable," the guard agreed. "I'll radio the station, see where they are about their decision about getting samples…"

Ultimately, they were poked and prodded and swabbed and photographed, and then, at last, allowed to rinse themselves off in the small shower in the corner of the room.

Jacob insisted that SCP-6118 go first, apologising repeatedly for having gotten him sick in the first place. Besides, he said, if it could keep the infection from developing into something more severe, it would make much more of a difference for the alien— he'd been around the stuff for months at that point, so he was sure to be beyond any kind of intervention.

He said this lightheartedly, but there was an unmistakable frown on SCP-6118's face as he reluctantly walked to the curtained area.

"Are you sure?" he asked, for what must have been the third time.

"Oh, please, it's really not that big of a deal," Jacob insisted. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. See it as a thank-you for trying to help me."

SCP-6118 could have mumbled something about how he didn't really do that much in the end, except for get himself sick as well, which would force both Jacob and Avery to endure his presence for who knew how long— but he refrained, visually examining the shower once he stepped into its downwards sloping square of tiles.

There were temperature settings! He was thankful for that, as during his time in the Foundation, the options were to take a cold shower or none at all. It made sense that they wouldn't make one of their own employees face the same, though.

He pulled the curtain closed, enclosing himself in the small space as he began to work off his jumpsuit. First the buttons at the top, then the zipper, and then it dropped to the floor around his feet. He took off his underclothes and socks and placed them on top of the pile, then kicked it all to the side and turned on the shower; the water was hard, and fell in uneven droplets, but nonetheless was warm and cleansing.

Besides for the faint sound of water hitting skin and dripping onto tiles underneath, the room was silent. Avery stood next to the shower with a towel and packet of fresh clothes in her hand, ready to hand it to SCP-6118 once he was done; Jacob tried to stop it, but his gaze kept drifting to the curtain. The faintest of outlines could be seen through the white plastic, the greyish wall against starkly white flesh, and he forced his eyes to the glob of green web that he was stretching between his fingers. At least it was pretty fun to play with.

The shower handle squeaked as it was turned off, and the flow of water ceased shortly afterwards. Avery wordlessly held the towel through a small gap where the curtain met the wall, and SCP-6118 dried himself off, then got dressed in the clothes given shortly afterwards. He returned to his bed and sat on the edge of it, waiting for Jacob to partake in the same ritual.

But before doing so, Jacob asked him a question.

"What are you?"

He looked up, confused. He parted some wet hair away from his eyes in an anxious movement.

"I mean, you're clearly not… human," Jacob explained, gesturing vaguely with his hands, one of which he then used to cover a spontaneous cough.

It was true, as the warm water from the shower had caused the blood in the alien's body to flow closer to the surface of his skin. He had been kept in a cold containment cell for quite a while, and so his blood vessels had gotten into the habit of constricting, holding the blood in close in order not to lose more heat— though it was in vain. Being reheated had the opposite effect, and so a blue flush was visible over his cheeks and the various blood-rich joints of his body.

He tucked his quadriphalangeal feet underneath his legs, perhaps in an effort to hide an element of his inhuman-ness. But there was still the matter of the copper in his blood and eyes, and the points of his ears that peeked out of the wet, blonde hair that existed only on his head.

And when he opened his mouth to speak, he grew self-conscious of its purple inside and dull fangs, so he turned his face away from the researcher before continuing.

"You're right, I'm not."

"And you said you've never even seen the sky?" Jacob pressed. It wasn't to humiliate, or for a lack of a better word, alienate him, rather from a point of genuine curiosity. The human-sick researcher was quite happy to be in his company; he was so different from any of the homo sapiens he'd been forced to interact with, yet still an entire person, even an endearing one at that.

"Not on Earth," he responded. He was oblivious to Jacob's intentions, but had nonetheless grown comfortable with the researcher, at least enough to make small conversation.

"I see."

"On my planet, it's very white, well, more like a light grey," SCP-6118 explained. "Fog is everywhere. If you go outside, you barely have a shadow, if at all, because sunlight is just not that much."

Jacob thought about this. "That sounds depressing. Maybe I can bring you out to one of the courtyards, and you can see what the sky is like here."

"Hey," Avery interjected. "Don't forget that you're just another researcher turned Class E. You're not in the position to say such things. Besides, you're supposed to be showering right now."

The researcher bristled, but didn't argue, peeling himself— and sticky residue coating him— off of the bed to stand up. His items were not handed to him, so he had to gingerly hold them in such a way they didn't become as dirtied as he was.

When he was a few steps away from the curtain, SCP-6118 spoke again.

"Thank you for telling me about your sky. It sounds nice."

Jacob twisted his head around to smile at the alien. "No problem. Thanks for telling me about yours."

Their coughs persisted for a bit, and Jacob's skin was discoloured in some places the substance had soaked through his clothes, but otherwise they were doing pretty well.

SCP-6118 tended to be quiet and reserved, but was happy to listen to Jacob recount his expeditions into the strange cabinet-dimension of Los Angeles. He found the researcher's fervor intriguing, as the other Foundation personnel tended to be cold to the point of apathy.

Jacob found the alien's fractured english and mispronunciations intriguing in return, as well as the small things he would give away about the place he came from. He didn't speak about the subject spontaneously, but he also didn't seem to be unhappy when prompted on it.

One instance of this was around their bedtime, when Doctor Wheeler came into the isolation room to set up intravenous feeding for SCP-6118. It had happened every night, and the equipment was taken away every morning, though Jacob had managed to keep his mouth shut for the most part. But it was at the point where he was teeming with curiosity, so when the doctor had parted, he posed a question.

"Why do you need that?" Jacob pointed to the bag of clear fluid, and then his index finger drifted down as if he were tracing from afar the shape of the tubing connected to it. He dropped his hand before getting to the other end, the one that connected to the skip's chest; the way it interfaced with the flesh was rather uncanny to him.

"They serve you meals," SCP-6118 stated with a gesture to the empty plastic tray sitting on Jacob's bed. "And you eat them, because you have a stomach. And because you need it to live."

"Also because it's tasty," Jacob pointed out. "Not the best I've eaten, but it's better than nothing."

The alien nodded, even though he didn't have any idea of what constituted something being 'tasty' or not. "My food doesn't taste like anything. It's just this clear stuff. It goes into my left heart and gets circulated around my body."

"Left heart?" Jacob asked.

"It surprised me when I found out humans only have one," SCP-6118 responded sympathetically. "Though it makes sense, since your planet's gravity isn't too strong, so circulation is easier."

"Do you have doubles of all organs?"

"No, I have one brain, and one… well, it's to us to humans what's a kidney. And two lungs, and two hearts." He pointed at his chest with both hands as he said this, on either side of his breastbone. "And I mean, I have a few other things, like these," he said as he touched his abdomen just inside either hipbone, "but anyways, what I'm trying to say is that I don't have a stomach, or any of the things that go along with it."

Jacob considered this information. "You know, that makes sense."

A look from SCP-6118 prompted him to explain. He thought of the bodily outline he'd glimpsed through the curtain, not just once but multiple times by then; the alien was more than happy to be allowed to shower when he wanted, and Jacob's eyes always snuck to the corner as he did so. What stood out about it to him was the silhouette, and its shape. The notable curve of some areas and the notable flatness of others. And thinking about it scrambled his brain up a bit, so he took a moment before speaking.

"It's this… shape that humans have to them, right here?" Jacob said as he placed his hand on his stomach. "Intestines are big. They take up a lot of space. So it's normal to have at least a little bit of a swell here, but on you it's just… straight. Like, empty looking, I guess."

SCP-6118 looked down at his own stomach. He hadn't really thought about it before. It was true that one of the marked differences between the bodies of genetically engineered clones like him, and the naturally evolved keploids of his planet, was the unnatural silhouette their torsos took.

He thought about asking how Jacob had figured it out, since the jumpsuit he wore was rather big on his frame and thus hid it rather effectively. He also thought about asking what it was like to have intestines, since he was curious and hadn't really ever had someone to ask. But the former he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, and the latter had the possibility to get a rather gross response.

So he went for a different question. "Do you think it's strange? That I don't look like a human, and I don't eat like a human? And that my organs are different from human organs?"

That was very easy for Jacob to answer, and he did so while shaking his head. "No, I don't. Sure, it's real different from anything I've ever known, but that's why it's cool. I've gotten sick of…" He shot a troubled glance at Avery. "You know. Humans. Every time I talk to one, I just cringe, 'cause it reminds me of those three months I spent surrounded by those… zombies."

"You would hate my planet, there everyone acts a little bit like a zombie. It's like there's this mindlessness, we just take orders like glorified puppets," SCP-6118 said in what he hoped was a joking tone. "And if you're grown in a tube like me, you come out all dull, because warm coloured pigment only comes from being attached to a parent's skin."

"Oh, please, I'd easily take it over Earth," Jacob laughed.

SCP-6118 glanced over at him, and saw that there was a real earnestness in his expression. The researcher was sick of everything he knew, and he wanted something new, something that hadn't been desecrated for him. It was what had pushed him to going on the strange expeditions in the first place, to get into that damned break room despite all the menaces from the shells of what used to be his coworkers. He wanted to know what was in there, and now he wanted to know what was out there, out beyond the atmosphere; what had ended up sitting on the bed just across from his.

"Maybe someday I can take you there," SCP-6118 said quietly. He wasn't being entirely serious, but he wasn't entirely not serious, either. It was one of those things you said to someone that you knew was nearly impossible, but you said it anyways, because you wanted to make them happy. Because it made you happy.

"I would like that. I would love that." It ended in a nervous chuckle, as he was more than well aware of the guard's eyes that bore into him. The walls around him, with their impenetrable reinforcements and the hallways with checkpoints, sensors, armed personnel.

But even if it was a pipe dream, it made his heart do a strange dance in his chest, and his stomach flip-flopped when he thought about stepping foot on the faraway planet with the alien's hand in his.

It was rather early in the evening, but SCP-6118 was still recovering from whatever strange sickness he'd caught from the green goo, so he elected to go to bed. Jacob watched as he got under the covers and rolled onto his side, making sure the IV line didn't get caught on anything before he closed his eyes and silently waited for sleep to take him.

Jacob picked up a book and flipped through pages, not truly reading it but it was better than having nothing at all to occupy his mind. It was Republic by Plato, something he'd requested in order to look smart and advanced, but the only books he actually enjoyed were those of Stephen King.

After maybe half an hour of skimming through the book, he looked up at the sound of footsteps, and was alarmed to see Avery coming towards him.

She walked right up to his bed and ripped the book out of his hand, setting it down carlessly somewhere to the side. Her face was serious, cold.

"How dare you?" Avery whisper-shouted, brow creasing in anger as she stooped lower towards the confused researcher.

"How dare—" Jacob started, only to be shushed harshly with a finger to his lips. He made a face and pushed her hand aside.

"Don't wake him up," she hissed.

Jacob started again, this time in a lower voice. "How dare I what?"

"Are you stupid? I'm not blind and deaf, I see all this, all of this," Avery strained out with an exasperated waving of her hands. "I hear your conversations, the horrible way you talk to him."

Jacob was aside himself with bewilderment. "Horrible? Did I say something wrong?"

She grabbed the front of his shirt and brought her PPE-covered face real close to his. "He's mine, do you understand? I don't kiss ass to my superiors for nothing, I do it so I can stay on this assignment. So I can stay close to him." She emphasized the last word with a thrust of her finger towards the sleeping alien.

"What?" was all the researcher got out.

Avery shook him like a maraca. His teeth clacked together as she did so, making a noise not entirely unlike a maraca as well. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? You don't get to just come in here and mess everything up for me."

Once she stopped shaking him, Jacob's brow furrowed in confusion as he thought about what she was saying. "So… are you two dating or something?"

Avery huffed in annoyance and let go of his shirt with a shove. She didn't say anything in response, though; she may have been delusionally hopeful, but she wasn't a liar. But she also didn't have the heart to say the truth.

It was like he didn't even notice she existed! Because he didn't. To him, she was just another unit of uniformed personnel who blended into the background, the noise of the Foundation.

There was also another thing.

SCP-6118 stirred in the bed beside them, making a soft noise as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His species had exeptional hearing to make up for their poor eyesight, and even at a whisper, their words were alarming enough to rouse him.

"Go back to sleep, idiot," Avery scolded with barely a glance towards him. "This is a bad time, can't you see?"

The alien's eyes widened, but he didn't move. A combination of confusion and fatigue kept him frozen in place, one arm bearing his weight while the other fidgeted with the sheet whose end rested on his thighs.

"I said, go back to sleep!" she exclaimed over her shoulder with great impatience.

"Don't talk to him like that!" Jacob cut in, similarly exasperated.

She glared directly at the researcher. "I get to talk to him how I very well please."

"No, you don't. This is why I hate the stupid Foundation, and the stupid people who work in it. You all think you can act however, do and say whatever you want! That's not how life works!"

"Shut up!" she shouted. "I could have you taken out back and shot like a dog for that kind of speak!"

SCP-6118 instinctively reached for the side of his thigh, but there was no holster and no gun to be found. He began to run simulations in his mind, calculate whether or not he would be able to intervene if something became physical, how much the aching inflammation in his muscles would prevent him from doing so.

"This is ridiculous! 6118, isn't this ridiculous?" Jacob demanded.

The alien looked between the two but ultimately said nothing.

Without his input, their voices kept raising, the argument growing worse— he found a gap in the hurling of insults and took an opportunity.

"I think we can just talk about this—" SCP-6118 started, his voice kept carefully even despite the stress of the situation.

Avery turned to face him, glowering, hands balled into fists. Her hot breath streamed up the inside of her biohazard suit, with small droplets codensating together on the clear plastic in front of her face. Jacob grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back. A struggle ensued, the personnel knocking each other into the metal bedframes, yelling vague insults— and then the door of the isolation room opened, flooding the dimmed room with light and the scent of fresh antiseptic, and people were dragging them apart.

"She started it!" Jacob was shouting.

"I absolutely did not!" Avery argued.

They were both held down on opposite sides of the room until they wore themselves out. Jacob, who stopped fighting first, was eventually allowed to go back to his bed and stay there under extremely close observation. Avery, who obviously didn't care whether or not she injured the guards restraining her, was dragged out and did not return.

"Um… hey."

SCP-6118 looked up and placed a bookmark in between the pages he was reading. "Yes?"

"Is that good?" Jacob asked, nodding to the book.

"Yes, and it's about a human who gets put onto Mars," the alien explained. "He has to survive, and it's very hard for him, but he's clever."

He held up the book so that Jacob could see the cover. He would have simply read the title, The Martian, out loud, but he didn't know if it would be prononuced 'mar-tee-an' or rather 'mar-shun', and didn't want to sound unintelligent by saying it wrong.

"What's yours about?" he asked, looking over at the neglected copy of Republic that hadn't moved from the place Avery had thrown it down.

"Oh, it's…" Jacob waved his hand with a flourish. "It's about justice. You know, the kind of stuff everyone pretends they want to read."

SCP-6118 tilted his head to the side in confusion. "So you do not actually read the book? Then the point is?"

"No, no, I read the book," Jacob lied. He'd wanted to give it an honest try, but in reality, he couldn't stand one paragraph of the stuff. "Don't I look cool doing it? I'm all pensive and stuff."

"You look 'cool' without reading justice books," SCP-6118 responded.

This took Jacob a bit off guard. "Wait, really?" he asked.

The alien nodded earnestly. "I would say that you're the coolest person I've met at this organisation."

"Oh, you must have been around some real boring… stuffy old guys…"

"I have been around a lot of not-stuffy young people. Pretty boring, but that's all you can get around here." SCP-6118 smiled subtly as he ran his finger along the corner of the book, parting the pages with the pad of it.

"But you don't find me boring?" Jacob ventured.

"No, I don't. You talk a lot and I find that interesting. We don't talk a lot where I come from, unless you have a reason, or are close to the other person. And you don't always have a reason, so it makes me feel close to you," he explained.

Jacob struggled to keep an overly large smile off of his face. "Well, I'm glad my senseless blabbering finally made someone feel an emotion other than hate for me."

They sat in silence for a few moments as they both thought about each other. It was pleasant, uncomplicated. Jacob broke it by clearing his throat.

"I… I don't know about you, but I feel emotions for you, too. That aren't hate. Very far separated from hate."

SCP-6118 looked up at him, and his chest constricted when their eyes met. The alien had seldom done so, and never maintained eye contact with him, nor anyone else, for more than a fleeting glance. But he was looking at him now, and something about the blue and the way the copper rings took up so much space in the eye— almost as much space as the alien occupied in Jacob's mind. Both things were large, inhuman, and undeniably beautiful.

The researcher's mouth went dry, so he slid his tounge against his teeth in hopes of telling his salivary glands to pull their own weight. He was also doing absolutely everything he could to keep from saying the next part.

"Hey… I meant it, meant it when I said I'd like to get away with you sometime," he finally got out.

"How far away?" SCP-6118 asked.

"No, no… you don't understand. It's not about where we go," Jacob explained. "It's… going there, going wherever we go, together. I… I don't want to just part ways after this."

"I would be happy to go places with you."

But as what, what would we be? Jacob wanted to ask. Not to mention the logistics of it all…

He must have appeared troubled, because SCP-6118 grew slightly concerned as the silence progressed once more. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all!" Jacob quickly responded. "Just… thinking about big things, you know? But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you're right here, right now, and so am I."

They sat in silence for a little while longer. Jacob visually examined his hands, rubbed them together, picked at his fingernails.

"Is this how humans tell people they like them?" SCP-6118 asked.

Jacob smiled once more. "Now aren't you a good anthropologist. Yes, that is in fact what I'm trying to do, though I know I'm not doing it very well."

"I think you're doing a great job. Definitely better than me," SCP-6118 reassured him.

Jacob's eyes widened, and he looked back over at the alien. He was suddenly acting quite shy, his head tilted down so that his hair formed a blonde curtain over his face, his hands folded tightly over each other in his lap. The pointed ends of his ears had taken on a blue flush that was more prominant than before.

Jacob looked back down at his hands. He decided he should ask for some nail clippers.

This Tale was written for RomCon. Thank you notgull for lending me Jacob; their counterpart of this pairing is available under the title Burn, Baby, Burn!