#lab notebook entry

[labratcult]

Lil dancey dance tonight :)

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

Stuck in the endless loop of suffering (have so much homework and a migraine)

[lowrisemiller]

ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ

you can imagine whichever Reed you want ;)

reed richards x assistant!fem!reader

you're reed richards’ long-suffering lab assistant. brilliant in your own right, you handle everything from data entry to inter-dimensional rift control. you’ve been nursing a hopeless crush on him for months. the man can design a quantum field stabilizer in his sleep, but he’s absolutely blind to the way you touch his shoulder a beat too long or always bring him his favorite coffee without asking. how could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

masterlist | 4.7k words | MDNI SMUT | reed neglecting basic things bc scientist duh, reader(me) is DOWN BAD, reed is oblivious to everything that isn’t science, finger & oral f!receiving, reed stretching things, him being a nerd while eating ur pussy😍 unprotected piv sex DONT DO THAT ! aftercare:)

The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.

You’d seen that look a hundred times.

It meant he was close to a breakthrough.

It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.

You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.

Ten months.

That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.

He hadn’t looked twice.

You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.

And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.

Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.

Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.

“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.

You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.

Like how you lingered in his orbit.

Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.

Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.

Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.

God, you were losing it.

You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”

He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.

“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”

He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”

You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.

He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.

Your pulse skipped.

Your patience is snapping.

You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.

It was a new day, but nothing had changed.

Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.

You weren’t pretending very well.

This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.

Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.

You sat your coffee down a little too hard.

“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.

“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”

Of course it had.

You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.

You were starting to feel stupid.

Or worse—transparent.

You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.

“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.

He glanced up.

You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:

“…Do you want lunch?”

He blinked. “No, thanks.”

You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”

A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”

That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?

“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.

Still, you stayed.

He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.

Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.

You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.

You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.

And more importantly… you were starting to plan.

Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.

You started small.

A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.

Still, nothing overt.

But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.

So you adjusted variables.

Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.

You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.

You smirked, barely.

He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.

His eyes flicked to you more than once.

Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.

When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.

You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”

He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.

You kept working. Quiet. Focused.

But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”

You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”

His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.

There it is.

It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.

You’d pushed the threshold.

And Reed felt it.

It happened again.

Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.

And for once, he noticed you noticing.

You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?

“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile.

Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.

“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”

He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Liar.

You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.

You kept it casual. Calculated.

You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.

He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.

You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.

You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.

Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”

He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”

He coughed. “I’m distracted.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.

You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:

“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”

You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.

And he was.

Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.

It was working.

He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.

So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.

You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.

His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”

You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”

He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.

Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”

He turned his head, barely. “Off?”

You tilted your head. “Distracted.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:

“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”

Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.

“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”

You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”

He looked stunned. Then—guilty.

You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.

“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”

Reed was frozen in place.

“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”

You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.

“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”

His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”

You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”

You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.

He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”

“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched.

“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”

You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”

And that’s when Reed snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.

You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”

“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—

“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.

“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”

Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”

“Reed—”

“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”

And then his fingers stretched.

Not just in confidence. Literally.

You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.

He was everywhere.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”

You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”

“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.

“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”

You did.

Just to see.

A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”

He did.

God, he did.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.

“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”

You shivered.

Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

Your hips jolted, and he smiled.

He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”

Then he finally—finally—tasted you.

His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.

And then the muttering started.

Low. Incoherent. So Reed.

“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”

“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”

“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”

You moaned.

He grinned. “Good girl.”

That made your whole body jolt.

Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”

His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.

You looked down.

Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.

“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.

“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”

And then he did it all at once.

Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.

“Oh my god—Reed—”

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.

You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.

When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.

And then—his belt hit the floor.

“You think I’m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”

He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.

“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”

And then he pushed in.

All the way.

Slow and deep and perfect.

You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.

His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He started to move.

Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.

“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”

“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”

“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”

And he did.

He lost it.

His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.

You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”

“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”

He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.

It took a full minute before either of you spoke.

Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:

“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”

After.

The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.

“...I think I blacked out for a second.”

You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”

He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.

Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.

When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.

“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”

He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.

The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.

Then he joined you.

And just… looked at you.

Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.

His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”

You swallowed.

He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.

He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then you reached for him.

His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.

“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”

You smiled. “You want another trial?”

His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”

dividers by @cyberbeat @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @bleed-4-bey @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @pandapetals @kellielovesmovies @rafeysgirl5 @dearstcupid @ivuravix @worhols @hoeforsirius @axshadows @aj0elap0l0gist @ladyshrike

[sqgeism]

based on your most recent anaxa post... would he be sad if he found reader's journal entries, full of their misery but unwilling love for him, and in the last one they just write: "he is the knife i turn inside myself." and stop there

(anaxa mental breakdown?)

love mail — 🍒 ⨾ IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY WHEN PEOPLE READ THAT HC POST AND ASK ME TO ELABORATE FURTHER ON IT! not exactly the request but i still feel like it's gut wrenching,, this was acc v personal to me cause that diary entry came from my own poetry lol

after another late night, anaxagoras is finally walking out of the jail cell that is his lab. he wasn't doing anything interesting either, just grading a couple of papers, which brings more dread as he comes to a conclusion that some of his students will definitely be seeing him over the summer break.

but nevermind that, he just wants to be in bed, and by your side. because if he stands for any longer or has to think about another grammatical error, he's going to start pulling his hair out. and at this rate he really doesn't want to die young, and also bald.

as he opens the door, he calls out to you. "dove?" he also just wants to see if you're awake, and considering the fact it's 3am, he's glad to not get a response. quietly walking into the room and towards the closet, he passes by your desk that still has the lamp on and an open notebook. noting that it's probably research or something personal, he makes sure to close it after changing.

when he had already slipped into much comfier clothing, anaxa walks back to flip off the light, when a page from the notebook caught his attention.

the handwriting is messier, seemingly written during an unfocused state of mind. but then he notices his name, and how it seems to be a diary entry written about him.

the date of entry catches his eye and makes him shiver, this was written three years ago. and to sugarcoat it with a bucket of sucrose, anaxa was not a good man. hell, he could barely consider himself one for how he treated you. he was immature, cruel, and worst of all—undeserving. he didn't deserve your kindness or patience with him, for all the nights he knew you cried as you slept alone in a cold, empty bed.

the curiosity is eating away at him, you had forgiven him for his horrible attitude and he had learned to forgive himself, but he just.. he can't explain it. to understand just how much he hurt you will feel like the punishment he deserves, and so he brings the diary close and begins to read.

"ask me about anaxagoras and i'll tell you that the very same lips that kiss my head goodnight would argue with me for hours, that his hatred for the world ran deeper than the love he had for me—that the person he chose, he wouldn't dare to lay in the same bed with.

ask me about anaxagoras and i'll tell you that I know he can be good, that I can see the love he tries to bury so deep inside. but then he'll blow up, his anger gets the better of him, and suddenly we are strangers again. that our time together, our progress, becomes nothing. and his need to be right consumes the caring, loving part of him. even if he doesn't think it's there, i see it. but i'm starting to think that our conversations don't work because he's just a nicer person in my head.

but if you asked me to truly be honest about him, i would say he is the knife that i turn inside myself. i deeply crave his love, but the closer i try to get, the further the blade pierces through my heart.

i admit that i'm soft, but i don't want to have to bleed in order to love you. i need you to admit that you're too rough."

the room is quiet, and anaxa turns to your sleeping form with tears in his eyes. you were always so much stronger than him, and would say you are more deserving of the flamechaser title but he would never want you to suffer the fate he will.

to think that he could have died making you feel so unloved, it makes him sick. though he knows that you, in all your kindness, had forgiven him completely.

but how many nights have you cried for arms that never held you? how many conversations became simple exchanges of hello because you could never speak to him?

how much guilt must he carry for it to purify him?

and so he walks to the bed, quietly. he can't wake you now, not after he's done enough wrongdoings.

"my sweet dove." he mumbles, barely above a whisper. "please do not wake, don't stir. just sleep and let me carry the weight of the world for you for once."

he cups your face into his hands and press gentle kisses to your temple, your nose, your cheeks, the corners of your lips—muttering promises and apologies that you deserve to hear, but have also heard a thousand times.

he must reassure himself quietly, that his hatred will not last forever. that he is above the high that comes in indulging in these bad habits.

and that you will still be there when he comes back down.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[deadhands69]

Encyclopedia of the Apocalypse [1: A Collection of Things That Don’t Matter Anymore]

Toge Inumaki x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU (Curseless)

Bombarded by zombies and plagued by recent experiences, you and your new found friend, Toge Inumaki, try to find more than survival in the remnants of civilization. this series contains: graphic violence, gory wound depictions, sexual assault (not Toge!!), angst/character deaths, mentions/thoughts of suicide, cussing.

It’s nothing personal, that’s just how the world is now. You tell yourself that every time you slash one of their heads off. 

Just as the newly decapitated skull begins to roll down the street, another approaches behind you.

It took a long time for you to be able to get them in a few swings. Turns out lobbing a machete through a human spine requires a considerable amount of strength and effort, but like most things in life you learn as you go. It’s never easy though. 

Your apocalypse buddy, Toge Inumaki, takes care of the one creeping up behind you with a few well placed stabs before kicking the body over. The two of you hover over them, observing the grotesque forms they’ve been melting into lately. As time passes, the less human they look. Especially the ones that froze over the winter and are starting to thaw out now. You feel a little less bad for leaving them like this.

Well, maybe some parts of it get easier.

“Eww,” you exclaim, Toge nods in agreement.

Sick of the smell, you glance at each other then down the street, indicating it’s time to move on. Spending this much time with someone gives you insight into their subtle cues. In your situation, that’s great because he can’t talk.

You’ve known Toge for a little over two months, or something close to that. The new moon was emerging the night after you met and now, nearly two cycles later, it’s fading again. Initially you tried to keep track of time the old way, but the days faded into each other and it stopped feeling important. Especially when you were alone. 

Time passes strangely anyways. Every day feeling like it’s flying by as you struggle for survival, then as you lay your head down to rest, the entirety of it hits you as if a whole year has passed. Like many things, exact dates shouldn’t have any meaning to you. It’s all moon cycles and seasons now. Preparing for the unsettling dark, extreme heat, and skin burning cold. You don't know which is worse.

Fortunately, right now you have a brief reprieve from the harsh elements. Little green buds are beginning to emerge from the tree branches. That also means it’s been slightly over three seasons since this all began.

Whatever this is. Maybe it’s a virus or some random natural occurrence. You have no clue. It doesn’t really matter what caused it.

You’re not a scientist or doctor. There’s no way you could fix this even if you had a full lab at your disposal. Like every other survivor you’ve met, you had no influence or knowledge of how this happened, yet you’re now living in it. You’d love to say you’ve gotten the hang of things but you’re not sure that you ever will.

Admittedly, your first reaction was “I should google this,” but cell towers went down quickly. You’re also not sure if any servers are up and running anymore, even if you did have service. As a long time resident of the internet, you came up with another solution – creating your own personal version of wikipedia. What started as a composition notebook quickly turned into five with polaroids and stray pages taped in. With the amount you’ve scribbled into the margins, you should copy some of these into new books but haven’t had time for that.

Your makeshift articles have proven themselves to be well worth the weight of carrying them so you continue to write. Keeping them safely tucked into a massive plastic bag in your backpack for the sake of keeping dry. 

You make a mental note of the level of decomposition you saw today, you’d like to add it to your entry on them.

page 1

ZOMBIES!?!?!!!!

Outbreak day zero: October 31, 2028

What you know so far:

They’re slow. Very slow. Initially, that was one of the many problems that allowed this to spread so easily: there was no rush. No one was running at first so people carried on with their day, not realizing the severity of the issue until it was too late. At that point, their speed was less of a concern than their numbers.

What they lack in quickness they make up for in endurance, they can trudge along forever at the same pace. You’re not sure how that’s possible given that movement requires energy which they should run out of at some point, but humans aren’t supposed to turn into the undead either so most previous knowledge may not be applicable here.

They don’t talk or ever seem to communicate or express emotion in any way. Their faces stay slack, pupils unresponsive. They do respond to outside stimuli, but more in an attack onsight kind of way, especially if it’s something they can eat.  Interestingly, they never go after each other. Bumbling through the world as if the others don’t exist. Honestly, that part doesn’t look any different from the old world.

Most importantly: they bite. A lot. And, if you’re bit by one you will become one of them. Excruciatingly transforming for hours until every part of the you that was ever you is gone. You aren't sure if it's just bites or if their saliva finding it's way into an open wound would have the same effect; with any luck you'll never find out.

They also like to scratch. Movies did nothing to warn you about this one, but it’s nearly as deadly without appropriate antibiotics.

You can’t fully kill them without burning the bodies, but you can stop them from being able to chase you. Separating the head renders them relatively useless. They can’t bite without a mouth or follow you without a body. Just be careful where you step and don’t let them swipe at you.

That, plus their decaying skin and stench, leads you to believe they’re not alive anymore (but you haven’t gotten close enough to check for a pulse to find out and you have no intention of doing so any time soon.) Maybe one day they will all rot away into nothing, but for now you’re stuck on this planet with them.

Added: they are definitely decaying rapidly, more so after thawing.

You shudder at the thought.

At least an hour has passed since you ran into the last mobile infected. Toge walks a few steps ahead of you, checking the corner with a mirror. He nods that it’s clear and the two of you turn, making your way down what was once probably a very nice place to spend the afternoon. 

Umbrellaed tables line the street outside of what was previously a restaurant. You could imagine yourself sitting outside on a sunny day, chatting with friends without a care in the world.

Not now though. 

Now it’s just you, Toge, and the occasional body to avoid walking too close to. 

Some part of you feels bad for missing nonessentials. With the death and violence you’ve seen, you could easily make a list of things to mourn and outside cafe seating should be at the absolute bottom of it. Still, your heart pangs a bit at the thought. It was a piece of something larger, something simple connecting you to everything else you’ve lost. 

Given that there’s no immediate danger and you’ve been walking for hours without a break, Toge takes advantage of the tables, throwing his bag on a chair, and pulling out another to sit. You join him. Each of you dig your water bottles out, happy for the moment of rest.

“Do you ever miss things from before, like silly things?” you ask. He pauses, considering. After a moment, he nods and pulls out his notebook, scribbling something before handing it to you. 

“Talk Trolling people online.”

You laugh, trying not to think too hard about what he initially started to write. “That’s definitely not an easy one to replace now.”

He smiles, making the tattoos on his cheeks curve-up. You don’t have many calm chances to look at him, especially without his face hidden under the mask he usually wears, but he’s pretty. His long eyelashes catch the sunlight, making his eyes glow. They look nearly purple in this lighting. His face is cute too, you’re certain if you’d met Toge under any other circumstances you would have had a massive crush on him. You probably still do, it’s just hidden under layers of walls you need to build around yourself to survive in this world. 

Whatever your feelings for him are, you’re glad he’s in your life.

Being alone out here for long enough is a death sentence, you know that as well as he does. It’s probably why he’s stuck with you for so long. Sometimes you wonder if he would have given you the time of day before all of this. You remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That world doesn’t exist anymore so any hypotheticals within it don’t need to either. Still, like everything else, you find it nearly impossible to extricate one from the other. You learned to socialize in another world and thus, you and everyone else you meet are taking bits of that world along with you whether you mean to or not. 

After thinking a bit, he poses a new question: “what are you glad you did in your old life?”

It’s a nice thought, given that it’s easy to spend your time in regrets instead. “I’m glad the hours I spent falling into wikipedia holes resulted in some usable knowledge. How about you?”

His smile widens, giving you a rare glimpse at his teeth. “I’m just glad I spent all my money on video games instead of bitcoin. Learned a lot about zombies that way!”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, not all of it was correct.” He rolls his eyes. You both laugh.

A while passes as the two of you converse back and forth about life. It almost feels normal again, if not for the lack of liveliness and the twitching bodies in the street. A few scrape along the concrete, making their way towards you. Toge promptly deals with them. It’s sweet of him, you think, not feeling as horrified by it as you were when this all started. 

You’re getting used to this new life.

The sun hangs low in the sky; you both know that means it’s time to find somewhere safe for the night. You organize your belongings and begin the search.

page 3

FINDING SHELTER

What to look for:

High ground is nice, but not always necessary.

A solid door or place you can lock yourself in, with a reasonable exit is best. The undead are slow, clumsy, and you will hear them from a distance. In this area, it’s the living you need to worry about. Not most of them, but it’s always best to be safe. For the same reason, stay away from apartment buildings or any spaces that used to house people en masse. Given the convenience of many rooms filled with food and cushy furniture, nearly all of these spaces were taken by people or groups who had no issue using force to remove the remaining occupants from their own homes and steal their resources.

After that, you want to spend your time in places that won’t make you sick. So, you look for clean, dry areas. Without a warm bed or medicine, a simple cold is a lot more severe than it used to be. Plus, everything is dirty now. You had no idea how much collective cleaning went into keeping the world hygienic, but none of that is happening anymore. You don’t even have running water to wash your hands with. So, keeping clean takes effort, but it’s just as important as safety.

If you have the option, somewhere nice to sleep comes next. It’s typically quiet now, as long as you’re used to the faint scraping in the distance. The trick is to keep that as far away as possible. Level ground is great too, but it’s not always a luxury you’re afforded all the time.

Toge points to what was once a coffee shop down the street. The front window is smashed out, but it appears to be void of bodies. There are far fewer on the street in this area, but enough remnants that no human still alive at this point would dare to walk through here after sundown.

If you can use one of the tables to block the opening it should be a reasonable spot for the night, none of the undead here can do more than crawl so they won't be a concern tonight. 

The sun is setting fast, you unclip the solar light hanging from your backpack and point it inside. 

Coast is clear.

The two of you have done your nighttime routine together so many times that it’s second nature. He unfolds the tent while you begin securing the space. It doesn't take much. You pull a few shelves off a bookcase and slide them lengthwise between the bar-type table in front of the window opening and the sill. They would be more secure with nails, but you're not about to make that much noise and draw the attention of everything on the block to you. This will work for the night. You climb into the tent after him, rolling out your sleeping bag.

Toge hums something you assume is close to “night” before rolling over to sleep. 

“Good night,” you say, turning off the light.

Sleep is almost never immediate, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Initially, Toge didn’t tell you what happened to him. You asked when you first met and he jokingly told you a zombie bit his tongue off. At least, you thought it was a joke considering that he’s still alive. A week ago, settled in under the full moon, it came up again.

A few months before he met you, his party ran into trouble in a warehouse when three of the undead scurried out of the shadows. They had just taken off their backpacks for the night and were about to check the rest of the building when they came across a cluster of them in a back room. The first was taken down immediately by his friend Megumi. Nobara bludgeoned the next with a hammer. The last approached him, slowly.

It could have been a simple kill. However, Toge was being a little shit. He grabbed it by the hair and slashed off its head. In any video game, that would be the end of it. Assuming it was done for, he held the head in front of his face and stuck his tongue out to taunt it. With a snap of its mouth, he became likely one of the few people in history who’ve sustained a zombie bite to the tongue. He also became the only human you’ve ever heard of who has survived a bite. 

In spite of his insolence, he’s still tough. After it nipped him, he threw the head to the ground before it could even unlatch its teeth. Immediately, he turned away from the rest of his party - cutting off and cauterizing most of his own tongue with a pocket knife and lighter to stop the infection from spreading. Everyone stood in disbelief.

Not knowing what else to do, they locked him in the back of a box truck overnight. They chained the door shut to be safe, checking in by knocking every hour or so. By sunrise, the tongue came back to life. Well, “life.” Twitching and flicking around on its own. He heard that his teacher threw up at the sight.

Weapons drawn, the group worked up the nerve to slide open the hatch to check on Toge, fearing the worst. And there he was, fast asleep.

Initially when he told you this story, you were horrified. In your new life, you’ve all had to do things you never dreamed you’d even be capable of, but that's still one of the worst you’ve heard. 

After dwelling on it all night, by morning you have a thought.

“It’s like rattlesnake bite statistics,” you say, while stuffing your backpack full of sugar packets and napkins. “There’s a reason it’s always younger men being bit around the face, mouth, and hands.” He laughs, pulling out his notebook. “That’s the reason for the tattoo,” he writes. “Maki and Nobara said the same thing. They made jokes for so long that when we made our way to a small encampment with a tattoo artist, I traded a bag of coffee for the tattoo. It already felt like it should be there.” 

He smiles, dimples puckering the circles on his cheeks. They suit him. 

If you and his friends came to the same obscure conclusion, you probably have a good amount in common. Maybe the two of you would have been friends outside of all of this.

[series masterlist] [jjk masterlist]

taglist: @kennys-partner @moonstonejpg @wealltiredherelol @crowned-gemini @kitkat13001

[dokidokitsuna]

O.R.C.A.’s Directory

(Finally coming back to this concept after several months ^^;)

O.R.C.A. in #re_rise doesn’t just run Alterna in the background and give you orders– it’s a system you interact with regularly as the player; a database that facilitates your adventure and keeps track of your accomplishments. It is accessed through terminals placed at key spots on each site, which you have to find, activate, and physically walk to if you want to use them.

Most of the contents of the Menu (except the Sunken Scrolls) are now consolidated into O.R.C.A., along with a few bonus features~

Alterna Archive: Basically the Alterna Logs– all the information about Alterna’s history, from creation to collapse (referencing my rewritten version of this backstory, of course). As you clear lab spaces with different weapons, earn Golden Eggs, activate terminals, collect Nostalgic Devices, etc., the files will be decrypted line by line. Basically, anything that contributes to your percent completion of the game will count towards this…so just enjoy Alterna the way you like, and you’ll eventually reveal the entire archive without too much extra effort. ^^ This story is O.R.C.A.’s gift to you; your reward for reawakening its home.

Lab Notebook: Notes written by the ‘mysterious researcher’ currently working in Alterna, earned in order from newest to oldest, so we can gradually learn what the Fuzzy Ooze is and why he made it, as well as his origin story and true identity (in his own words~). These replace ‘Log.exe’ from the actual game. Lab notes are found by reaching computers hidden within the lab spaces, kinda like the Power Egg packs. They are purposely placed in the more challenging spaces, and you must clear the space in order to take the note with you– if you wanna learn the main antagonist’s secrets, you gotta put in the work. ^^

Wellness File: Records of Neo Agent 3’s responses to the environment, once you obtain the biometric monitor in Cryogenic Hopetown (more on that later). This is essentially an account of how the player character is feeling at each point in the story– a new entry will be created after each encounter with a major character (Deep Cut, the King Salmonids, the Squid Sisters, etc.) or a particularly interesting Alterna landmark. ;)

Nostalgia Index: List of all the Nostalgic Devices you’ve collected, which Alterna citizens they belonged to, and what they used them for. The citizens’ names are redacted, but you do get to learn a bit about the different kinds of people who lived in Alterna, and connect with them through the items they left behind.

Skill Tree: Basically the same as the in-game version, minus the Hero Shot buffs– in #re_rise you don’t get the Hero Shot until you gain the Hero Gear in the last stretch of the game. Instead you borrow from weapons’ lockers placed around Alterna…meaning you can carry the weapon of your choice as you explore each site, offering you a wider variety of strategies to use on those balloon challenges, for instance. ^^ But I digress…

Camera Roll: One of the Nostalgic Devices you can find is a digital camera, and once you’ve obtained it, you can take pictures with it and upload them to the terminal (as well as your regular photo gallery, when you’re back on the surface). The Alterna Camera comes with its own special filters, and characters you aim it at will pose for you. ^^ This feature is basically just for funzies, but if you can snap a picture of that large figure lurking in the shadows, you’ll earn a special clothing item.

Messages: Occasionally you will receive mysterious messages, warning you with increasing severity to stay out of their laboratory (and bring back their golden eggs…sure sounds familiar). Are these warnings for their sake or for yours…?

Map: Even the site maps are only accessible through the terminals, they’re not available whenever. Maybe that would be a controversial choice…but I think it’d be okay in this instance, since (a) the Alterna islands are pretty small, and (b) I’ve invented a fun system that might help– the Sticker Beakons! ^^

Around Alterna, you can find Sticker Sheets with 3 Sticker Beakons each, to place and replace wherever you want on any island. They shine like actual beacons so you can use them to navigate while you wander around on foot, and once you reach a terminal you can jump to them like normal Squid Beakons. They come in different shapes and designs like the stickers from Hotlantis, and double as actual stickers you can place on your locker, once you’ve found them in Alterna. ^^

I feel like forcing the player to walk around is more forgivable when you give them something cute and customizable like this to play with. :D If you want to use all 18 Sticker Beakons on one island at a time because you’re super directionally-challenged, you can. If you want to use them to simply mark your favorite Alterna landmarks so you can jump to them easily, you can do that too. 

Maybe as a compromise, I might add a ‘Return to Nearest Terminal’ option in the Menu…but I think encouraging the player to get out there and actively explore can’t hurt. Part of my philosophy with this re-concept is to make Alterna an interesting place that the player would WANT to explore, and all these added collectibles are part of that.

[cmdrfupa]

Unfortunately for Nanami, he just can't help but be a gentleman.

tw:obsessive/yandere reader, stalking, mentioning of blade(s), unhealthy obsession, boundaries being ignored. (pls, don't read if you aren't comfortable with yandere anything.)

an: an attempt at spooky/unsettling/heebie jeebies. idk. But I watched swim fan and now here we are only loosely inspired. Thanks for reading!

Journal Entry 487:

ALMOST THERE!

The way Nanami walked into class today—quiet, focused—made my heart swell in a way it always does when he’s near. It’s these little moments that I live for. The way he brushes the hair from his forehead as he sits down, the silent glances we share across the room. He probably doesn’t even realize how much I love him, I think. But he doesn’t have to—not yet. It’s enough to just be here, to watch, to know him better than anyone else ever will.

He’s so busy lately, buried in textbooks, study groups, and long hours at the library. I know it isn’t easy for him to find time for us, and I understand. I’ve always been patient with Nanami. He’s been stressed, pushing himself too hard, but I’ve learned to be the quiet support he needs. That’s why I don’t mind when he doesn’t text me back right away. It’s why I don’t ask for too much. I don’t want to add to his burden.

It’s just… sometimes I wonder why he keeps his distance. I’ve heard him talk to our classmates—his voice always calm and measured—but when it comes to me, there’s this… hesitation. This space between us that wasn’t there before. But it’s fine. I’m giving him time. That’s what good partners do, right?

I overheard one of his friends, some girl named Utahime, trying to give him advice the other day. She kept insisting he needed “better boundaries.” Boundaries? He never needed boundaries with me before. Who was she to tell him how to deal with his relationship? I wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but that would have made things awkward. And I don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend. Not like the others.

I told my therapist that everything’s been fine, that I’ve been “working on myself” just like she said. No more following him, she’d said with that concerned expression, scribbling in her notebook like she knew anything about what we’ve been through. As if my feelings for Nanami were some obsession to “get over.” She doesn't get it.

Nanami does. Deep down, he does. He just needs time.

But she’s right about one thing—I have changed. I’ve learned to let him breathe, to be patient, to play the long game. I stopped following him for weeks now. I haven’t stayed outside his apartment like I used to. That’s progress, right? I’m healthy now. But that’s what makes it so perfect. He can relax now, finally, and I can move closer.

I watch him now, across the classroom, as the professor drones on about some lecture. He’s not even paying attention, just staring out the window, his chin propped up on one hand. He’s probably thinking about me. How could he not? After everything we’ve been through.

But he doesn’t text me anymore. He doesn’t talk to me after class like he used to, even though I’ve apologized for my transgressions. I know he’s been pulling away ever since… well, since the incident. But again, I already told him I was sorry for that. It wasn’t my fault things got out of hand. He was the one who acted like I was some stranger when I followed him home that night. I was only making sure he was safe after being so nice during labs. If he’d just listened to me, we wouldn’t have had to go through all of that.

It’s okay, though. We’re past that now. I’ve given him space, and that’s what he needed. And it’s working. He’s not looking over his shoulder as much anymore, he’s not acting so distant. He’s ready to take the next step with me. I can feel it.

And now, tonight, when I show him just how far I’ve gone to prove my love, he’ll realize how foolish he’s been to deny me. He’ll understand why I had to do everything I did. This is all for him.

I left class early, unnoticed by everyone except Nanami. I know he saw me leave. That’s good. He’ll be wondering where I went, probably thinking about me already. I’m always on his mind, whether he wants to admit it or not.

The apartment was dark, streetlamps bleeding through the blinds, casting thin slashes of light across the floor. You were crouched in the closet, the musty smell of Nanami’s winter coat mingling with the faint scent of laundry detergent. His scent—familiar, comforting. You pressed your face deeper into the fabric, breathing it in, feeling your pulse quicken. This was where you belonged, wrapped in the traces of him, tucked away in the dark, waiting for the perfect moment.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as You shifted your position, careful not to let the wooden hangers above clatter together.

You spent an hour rolling around in his bed enjoying the scent and his pajama pants while you used his pillow as if it were his face between your thighs. He was so soft, so perfect even in his home life.

The knife in your hand felt warm against your skin, an extension of your devotion. It’s not for him, You reminded yourself. It was for anyone who tried to come between your love. Anyone who would ruin this perfect night.

The soft hum of traffic outside disappeared as the door to the apartment clicked open. Your heart stopped, breath caught in your throat. There he was. You could picture it perfectly, even from here. Nanami would walk in, his broad shoulders slumping after a long day at his internship. He’d run a hand through his hair, tired, as always, but never too tired for you. He just didn’t know it yet.

You pressed closer to the door of the closet, peering through the sliver of space, watching as his familiar silhouette passed in front of the living room window. Your fingers tightened around the handle of the knife, not in fear, but in anticipation.

He’ll be surprised at first. Of course, who wouldn’t be? But once he sees you, once he understands the effort you’ve gone through—the sleepless nights, the waiting, the watching—it’ll all make sense. He’ll realize that no one can love him the way you do. No one can know him the way you do. Not the superficial glances his classmates give him, or the fleeting smiles from strangers. None of that is real. You are the only one who sees him.

He moved towards the kitchen, unaware of the eyes following his every step. He loosened his tie, his movements slow, methodical, just like always. It was one of the things you loved about him—his reliability. He wasn’t like the others, full of meaningless chaos. Nanami was steady, and you... you were the constant in his life, even if he didn’t know it yet.

You ran your fingers lightly over the blade, imagining what it would feel like to run them across his skin. Not to hurt him—never to hurt him. Just to feel that closeness, the unbreakable bond. The sound of him pouring water from the sink was hypnotic, as if every second stretched out just for you. He was so close now. Just a few feet away. Soon, he’d finish, and he’d head to his bedroom. He’d see the rose petals you left on the bed, the sign of your love. And then he’d come looking for you.

And you’ll be waiting. Here, in the dark.

You could almost feel his hands on yours already, gently pulling you out of the shadows, his deep voice saying your name, softer than he’d ever spoken before. His eyes would soften too, just for you. And then, the moment you’d both been waiting for. Consummating your love in the most intimate of ways.

He’ll understand.

The thought of it sent a thrill down your spine. you had to stifle a giggle, pressing your palm to your mouth, your body trembling with excitement. you didn’t want to ruin the surprise. No, not yet. It had to be perfect.

The sound of his footsteps grew closer again. This time, heading toward the bedroom. your heart pounded in your chest, each beat syncing with his movements. you could hear him stop in the doorway.

“What the—?”

The shock in his voice was everything you’d hoped for. He sees it now. The roses, the delicate scent of the candles you’d placed around the room. The photos you’d taken of him from far distances. Yes, that is Utahime’s hair bow. Glad he noticed.

He knows you’re here. He’s probably smiling, confused, but intrigued. you bet he’s thinking how silly he was to ever doubt you.

The closet door was all that separated you now. Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped the handle tighter, waiting for the perfect moment.

Any second now.

You pressed your forehead against the wood, closing your eyes, imagining how its going to feel—his arms around you, holding you tight, telling you how much he missed you, how stupid he’d been for taking your acts of affection as anything but that. You bit your lip, feeling the anticipation flood your veins.

To be loved is to be seen. And he showed his love when he saw you while you w invisible to everyone else.

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 12- The Shower Task

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New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: I cut open my foot in July when I was outlining this chapter and couldn't shower for a couple days. Was awful. It's also shocking how much a simple cut can bleed. I have a scar now, it's purple and sticks out a little

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

Sleep does its best to evade you that night. Between the unwelcoming unfamiliarity of the guest room to the slight ache in your leg, you just lay there awake. Finally, late into the night you begin to fall asleep. Resting uneasily.  It's quiet all the way out here. A silence only cut into by the occasional bark of coyotes. It feels like as soon as you close your eyes you're opening them again. Valeria sharply knocks on the door and doesn't wait for you to bid her entry. She walks in and sets down a pair of crutches next to you.

"You can't do much with your leg," She starts. "you'll help me around my office."

You rub your face and sit up, feeling as heavy as two and a half bags of bricks. "... Okay." It's not what you want to be doing but your options are sorely limited.

Not only are you supposed to help her in her office, it turns out, you're confined to the office. Having to ask her for permission to use the bathroom like you're a child in school. It seems she doesn't trust you with the important paperwork, so you're stuck reading the official contracts and agreements that need to be signed in order for her to keep her possession of the fisheries and warehouses. The subtle scratching of Valeria's pen makes it difficult to focus on the swimming words in front of you.

"Valeria?" You pipe up.

"Hm?"

"... I think... could you send someone to look through the lab for my notes?" You ask.

The scratching stops.

"Your notes were in the lab when it exploded." Valeria says flatly. You look up from the documents and meet her gaze. She's backlit by the harsh sun shining through the window behind her. Making her shadow lunge imposingly across the floor towards you.

"Yeah." You frown. "Can you send someone?"

"Yeah, I can send someone." She sighs. "You could still cook without them though right?" She asks.

"Yeah." You reply calmly. You're not sure though. You know how to make passible meth, but you'll have to try and get all the ratios right again. You decide not to tell her that. "Just makes me feel better to have them on hand."

Your notes haven't been recovered.  So you've been spending the last couple of nights trying to rewrite everything you can remember. Maybe it's time to move onto a more modern way of keeping notes. Digital notes can't burn in fires, but it doesn't feel right. The first night insomnia has disappeared and you're stuck fighting sleep. Not wanting to stop now that you're going, hand moving faster than your mind. Scribbled out mistakes litter the lined pages of your brand-new notebook. Risk of destruction isn't the only issue with physical notes. It's hard evidence. Or perhaps soft evidence.

Your mind comes to a blank and you resign, closing the notebook and lazily pushing it to the side of the bed. Due to your injuries, your hygiene isn't what it should be. Valeria had taken you back to your apartment for the essentials like she had promised, hair care, bodywash, toothbrush and toothpaste, spare clothes. All you've managed was changing each day and brushing your teeth. You still can't fully stand on your bad leg but it's healing fast. Faster than a fracture should. You're starting to suspect the doctor is an idiot and that your fibula and tibia weren't injured at all. Or at least, not at severely as he said.

The need to clean yourself beyond sitting on the bathroom floor with a soaked rag tugs at you. You want more water, soap. You feel filthy, like you've grown a second skin made of grease. You struggle off the bed, considerate of your leg and ribs and slowly make your way out of your room. Casting a glance into the hallway that leads into the living room. 

In the bathroom you lean your hip against the sink and discard your crutches. Stripping out of your clothes is frustratingly harder than it needs to be, especially with the unnecessary cast. You lumber into the bathtub, struggling with how little weight you're able to put on your leg. It's worse some days. The shower is still wet from when Valeria used it. The water slickens the porcelain. You bend down and turn on the water, flinching at the cold spray of water,  and adjusting it to be warmer. You curse, realising you forgot a rag to clean yourself with. Warm water pelts your back as you contemplate if maneuvering back out of the tub for one is worth it. 

You decide that it is. Getting out is harder than getting in. Your knee almost slips out from under you when you kneel. You swing your good leg over and push yourself to an unsteady stand. Placing a hand on one pale blue tiled wall to keep yourself up right. You reach up and snag a rag. The sound of the shower drowns out all noise as you awkwardly climb back into the tub. Your blood freezes as you step on the curved edge and slip, Slamming into the wall and knocking bottles off of the side. You gasp, feeling a burn in your thigh and leg. You look down, checking it over.

The white bandage along your upper thigh, soaked gray from the water blooms red. The fall reopened the large cut. It dilutes in the water, swirling into the drain. In seconds the bandage has turned red.

"Valeria!" You panic. It heightens when she doesn't come so you call her name louder. The burn in your thigh hurts more than the throbbing in your leg. The bathroom door flies open and Valeria shoves the curtain out of the way.

You can imagine what you must look like right now. Laying in the tub naked getting sprayed in the face by the shower, a river of red running from your leg.

"What the hell happened?" She barks, leaning over and turning off the shower, getting her arms and shoulders wet.

"I fell." You reply sharply.

"Really? I thought you were just laying on your side and bleeding for the fun of it." She retorts. "Come here." Valeria carefully pulls you from the tub, ignoring the hiss of pain as the skin on your thigh stretches.

The feeling of her warm hands along your bare ribs is overwhelming. She doesn't offer you a towel to cover yourself, instead just sitting you down on the side of the tub. Water droplets drip down you and pool on the ground as she retrieves something from under the sink. It's a bucket of supplies. Bandages, stitches, alcohol, scissors.

"You're bleeding all over my bathroom." She says, beginning to cut away at the soiled bandage. You know you are, you can smell the nauseating metallic tang of it. "You tore the stitches, I'll need to fix them." Valeria comments. You wish you were a little more prepared to be seen naked. You wonder what she thinks of the sight. 

Valeria painstakingly takes out and restitches your thigh. Leaving the skin tender and delicate to the touch. She even wraps your thigh in a new bandage. Giving it a gentle pat when she's finished.

"You'll live."  She says. You don't respond, feeling embarrassed. You can't even shower properly without turning it into an issue of some kind. Valeria goes quiet as well. The silence is oppressive and uncomfortable. You're far too aware of the fact that you're naked in front of your boss, who had to drag you from the tub like a wounded soldier and fix your injury for you. She places a hand around your shoulders. "Come on, you need to lie down and stop putting strain on your leg."

Valeria walks you back to your room, arm still around your shoulders, keeping you pressed against her. You feel tired and gladly lean against her. Giving up on caring about your nudity. The white sheets suddenly feel welcoming as you lay in them. Pulling the covers over your body. Valeria lingers beside the bed. Seemingly unable to trust you to settle down without hurting yourself. You're left wondering what else will go wrong this month.

[study-with-aura]

old photo

Tuesday, March 25, 2025

School work was definitely easy today. I had very little written work, just some definitions and an update to my History study guide, not enough to really photograph, so enjoy an older photo. Algebra was fully online, mostly Khan Academy exercises which can be worked out on their platform saving paper. This is good because I only have a few sheets left in my Algebra 2 notebook and still 37 days of studying left after today. It looks like a lot of what is coming up is review from Algebra 1 and Geometry, so I have my old notes for all of that.

What is coming up? Ballet exams for me start tomorrow and Thursday. May 9th is my scheduled harmony/counterpoint exam with my practical at May 28th. Mom will be gone all next weekend, and as long as I stay on track, I should be done with school on May 9th or May 12th depending on how I decide to work in any exams since my harmony/counterpoint exam is that same Friday.

The end of the school year is almost here!🦄

Tasks Completed:

Algebra 2 - Reviewed geometric sequences + practice

American Literature - Copied vocabulary words + read about Norman Mailer

Spanish 3 - Rest day!

Bible 2 - Read Psalms 51 and 52

Early American History - Read about Uncle Tom's Cabin + read about Harriet Beecher Stowe + updated study guide + wrote a journal entry

Earth Science with Lab - Watched video about the moon's surface + read about the moon's atmosphere + read about the formation of the moon from a creationist perspective

Art Appreciation - Completed daily critiquing assignment on Manet’s Rest

Khan Academy - Completed U.S. History Unit 5: Lesson 1.7-1.9

Duolingo - Studied for approximately 15 minutes (Spanish + French + Chinese) + completed daily quests

Piano - Piano lesson + practiced for two hours

Reading - Read pages 127-166 of All That’s Left to Say by Emery Lord

Chores - Laundry + took trash and recycling out

Activities of the Day:

Personal Bible Study (Ephesians 2:10)

6-Week Devotional Journey (John 14:6)

Group Bible Study (Joshua 9-11) + week 12 discussion questions

Ballet

Pointe

Journal/Mindfulness

[labratcult]

I love how much Tupperware loves to have her little clementine head palmed like a basketball

[simkaswriting]

Hoodie- Human!Jake Sully

Word count: 950 A/N: this is just a little drabble I thought of while I definitely should have been focusing on my course work... Human Jake is kind of my weakness (ily Sam Worthington) And yes I am now shamelessly writing for Avatar too ;)

It was that pesky lab setting, the low temperature necessary to keep the teams samples stable and usable. To keep months of ground-breaking work and discoveries safe. And, to your chagrin, eliciting goosebumps upon entry to the lab every single morning, day by day. You of course understood the need for the cold environment, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it. And a certain ex-marine had picked up on it.

-

“Video log seven, time is… twenty-three forty-nine, and I’m, uh… I’m in the lab again.” Jake’s eyes flick to the analogue clock to his left with a sigh before settling back on his own reflection in the camera, a slightly dishevelled face staring back at him, a biproduct of spending so much time in his avatar.

“Location, shack.” He sighs again. He doesn’t have time for this. There are other things to do, places to be. And taping one of these stupid video logs per Grace’s request doesn’t even begin to scratch the list of things on his mind. He gets their purpose, sure, and he understands why Grace places so much urgency on doing them right after he ‘exits’ his avatar. So, if he has to do them, he’ll do them his way. And his way involves you.

Jake swivels in his seat, eyes landing on your hunched over form at the desk behind his, your hand furiously writing in your little notebook like usual. He watches you for a few moments. The way your hair frames the features he religiously studies when you’re deep in thought, risk free of being found out. Your near-death grip on the pen in your hand as you scribble whatever thoughts or findings race through your beautiful mind. Your eyes, nose, lips, features he desperately wants to run his fingers over, like a man starved of touch.

Jake has had his eye on you ever since Grace had her very first, but certainly not last, rant about how she did not need him. How she needed his brother. You were rolling your eyes behind Grace as she went on her tangent. And to his delight when he was in the canteen later that night, alone and picking at the strange amalgamation of dehydrated meats and vegetables he’s never seen before, you stopped by. Just for a second, just to say words that have played in his mind every night when he lays in his bed, some parts more than others. ‘Hi, we briefly met earlier but I’m (y/n), and unlike Grace, I’m actually happy to have someone who doesn’t have a stick up their ass in the lab with us. And you look like the type of fun I desperately need here.’

And that was it for Jake. He took your words as challenge, as a personal goal of his. Every morning he wheeled himself into the lab, he took it upon himself to act a fool to any extent, if it meant he got a smile from you. Some days he even settled for one of those scoffs of yours you gave when laughing was one of the last things on your mind. And over time, what seemed like months to him but was just weeks in reality, he grew fond of you. And by association, began to dislike the cold of the lab.

-

He tells himself to focus on the video vlog, the camera propped up against random shit he scrounged up on his desk still taping. But he doesn’t care, you take precedence.

“I can hear your teeth all the way from my station.” Jake chimes, eyes still on you as you continue to write. As Jake realises his words went right over your head, he smiles. He’s always admired your ability to lose yourself entirely in whatever you were doing.

He grips the edges of the hoodie he’s wearing, an old tattered grey thing he thinks has lived in his closet for longer than anything else he owns, before pulling it up his chest and over his head. He shakes it out a little to fix the left sleeve before he turns around and wheels himself over to your desk.

“Here.” Jake places the hoodie on your lap, the only available place as he eyes the paper towers stacked all across your desk. He squints at one of the papers near him but doesn’t read further than the title. He doesn’t understand the scientific jargon.

You flinch a little as the material lands in your lap and drop the pen. You look down at the clump of grey, Jake’s hoodie you realise, before turning your head to face him with a confused frown.

“What’s this for?”

Jake throws one of his grins your way that unbeknownst to him give you minor heart palpitations.

“Don’t want my favourite girl catching a cold.” He croons before turning himself back around and heading back to his own desk, heartrate slightly higher. Then again, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him.

He looks back into the camera, but this time not at his reflection. No, he watches as you play with the material of the hoodie for a few seconds before deciding that the ex-marine’s hoodie is probably your best option at staving off the cold. His eyes stay focused on you as you pull the hoodie over your head and down your torso, adjusting the hood of it. And for a second, he swears he sees you nuzzle your nose into the material through the camera’s reflection. His heart kicks up the pace, a small smile filled to the brim with pride not adorning his lips.

And as the low temperatures raise goosebumps on his own arms, he thinks it’s worth it to see you wearing his hoodie.  

[shaihuludhours]

april 24, 2025.

at my grand advanced age of [long moment of silence as i calculate my age] 37 i am finally actively pursuing my bachelor's degree in DA GEOSCIENCES at A University. after this week there will only be two weeks left to the semester, and then i will have two more lovely weeks in which i have NOTHING and then, tragically, so begin summer classes; and i am looking forward to the two weeks of nothing with the sort of glooming intensity bordering on desperation that has historically led me to acts of tremendous and some might say horrendous psychological violence. & also i want a cat very badly

anyway, today's to do:

finish lab 12 for ig-met: draw two more thin sections

finish buffalo mountain field notebook entries

draw topo map for field obs

italian homework #5

go to ig-met lab tonight........

[maleyanderecafe]

Love, Sam (Game)

Created by: Korean Linguistics Lab

Genre: Horror

This one is a bit of an old game so you might have seen youtubers and other streamers play it, but I haven't until now so that's why this post is here. It is a very good short game about a story of an obsessive yandere where things are not how they seem. I would recommend watching or playing this game before I go in and spoil the entire thing. As a horror game, does include things like jump scares and loud noises so do be warned.

The story is mostly focused inside a single apartment. The player reads through a diary of someone who is trying to let go of their crush, with papers of the diary written inside of them, all with the ending signature, Love, Sam. The entries recount their crush on another student named Brian, a jock at the high school. As the story goes on the player faces various hallucinations of things moving and destroying their house, coming through the windows, lights turning off suddenly all in relation with the various events happening in the diary. Eventually as the story goes on, we come to realize that the character "Sam" is not actually the one who is the player character but rather another named Kyle, who is deeply in love with Brian.

The story of Kyle and Sam are written in parallel with each other so that you mistakenly believe that they are both written by Sam. Kyle's diary starts with him recounting all of the things that he and B do together, going to various places in town and how much he loves him. Between those pages are pages from Sam's diary, about her moving to a new town and trying to make friends, being annoyed by Stacy and Kyle, the mean girl and the mean jock respectively before eventually meeting another jock named Brian. Brian takes a liking to Sam and shows her around town, eventually leading to Sam developing a strong crush on him. Kyle gets jealous and joins Stacy on getting Sam drunk during a party she's attending but Brian is able to save her from it, instead bringing her to a secluded hill area, something that Kyle eventually gets angry for as he believed that it was a special place for just him and Brian. Kyle, extremely bitter of Sam's appearance in their lives proceeds to team up with Stacy to frame Sam, by taking pictures of Brian in various locations to put in Sam's locker, drawing hearts everywhere and writing notes to make it seem like she's a huge stalker. He even has Stacy dredge up Sam's past about her dad who was a pedophile, something that Sam was desperately trying to run away from. At some point though, Stacy starts to see Kyle's obsessive behavior as too much ,even believing that he's doing this to be with Sam. In the end, she ends up telling Brian what Kyle did, leading to Kyle desperately trying to get him back. Full of rage, he blames everything on Sam, and forges a note to have them meet on the hill. Kyle ends up pushing Sam off of it (whether or not on purpose or not) and then burns all of the items she had on her to prevent the police from finding out it was a murder. We also find out that Brian ends up leaving town, much to Kyle's detriment.

There are three endings to the game. One where he refuses to throw away his diary, leading to him staying in the infinite guilt he has, forced to relieve the events of the game over and over again. One where he burns the notebook and proceeds to die in the fire and finally one where he burns the notebook but confesses to the police about the murder, never able to confess to Brian.

Love, Sam does a really good job of fooling the player into thinking that they are actually Sam with the way that the two different diaries parallel each other but there are some giveaways to the fact that they actually are two different people before the ultimate reveal. The easiest is likely the clothes and the general living space as it is (at least from what I can tell in media) a lot more stereotypical of a guy, with the clothes being more masculine. There's also the fact that the two diaries have a different writing styles, with Sam's notes always signing "Love, Sam" at the end along with the fact that she often writes in the third person, and Kyle's diary never mentioning his own name and writing in the first person. Even the fact that the pages are separate from Kyle's diary are a good indication that they aren't from the same writer. Finally, is the nickname that Kyle has for Brian, "B" which Sam never calls him. There are the small details you might find strange if you didn't know what the twist might have been. Even if you do know the twist though, I think it's really interesting seeing how everything does come to play- like what Sam's actual deal is and how the other characters are interacting with it all. The fact that the two different diaries also parallel each other is also very interesting though, as it shows that they actually are not as different as you might think they are, with various actions or events paralleling each other as well.

I'm not really used to playing a lot of horror based games but this one was very fun to play and it does honestly make me want to look more for these games (it's a nice change from visual novels, that's for sure). The way that the player has to mess around with the room while the story goes on really showcases how Kyle is feeling in these different situations, either with the various scares from Sam's death haunting him, to the various events of happiness when he goes to take pictures of Brian that end up used to frame Sam, though still set in the showcase of horror. It really heightens his obsessive feelings towards Brian and the other characters as it goes on. It's able to use the room that Kyle is in so that you're not always stuck reading, and that you feel more sucked into the game as you go on.

Kyle as a yandere is a character that is someone who is very self deprecating and worships Brian to a strong level. You can tell that it's part of the fact that he's gay (he literally has to hide and come out of the closet multiple times in the game) and the fact that the town seems to be very closed off to anything that's outsider, as exemplified with Sam's journey as she's moved in. To him, there's not really any way out- he's afraid that Brian will reject him and even if that doesn't turn out disastrously, Brian is still attempting to leave town, so Kyle himself will be stuck without anyone he really cares about. He gets extremely jealous when Brian brings Sam around the places that the two hang out (whether it's out of romantic feels or simply because Brian is a nice person is never really explicitly stated) which causes Kyle to get revenge on her. Kyle is just so scared of him finding out that he's basically trapped himself, which is pretty symbolic of the room that we never seem to be able to escape from. There isn't any way out for him, unless he either dies or reveals his guilt- and even in that ending, Kyle likely never sees Brian again much less tells him what his true feelings were. You do feel sympathetic for him as he unravels, eventually leading to the death of Sam, and even he himself seems to be trying to figure out if he can really let go or not. In terms of yandere actions, of course there's the obvious obsessiveness- pretty much his entire diary is about Brian and his feelings towards him, his envy which drives him to stalk and take pictures of Brian, write letters, sabotaging Sam by writing their initials all over school and of course at the end of the game, going to kill her, even if it was possibly by accident. As per usual, I always find games that are done in the yandere's point of view are incredibly interesting because I love seeing the spiral and thought process of the yandere- why they do the things they do, how they justify it, and the kind of obsessive love that they have for their lover. It's always really nice to be able to see those kinds of games.

Overall, I really enjoyed playing this game. As I said for me, it was a nice break from visual novels and the way that the story played out was very engaging and interesting. I hope I get to play different games like this. If you are interested, please try the game out, it is very good.

[wei75631]

Mythos: If They Were Real

Unicorn: The One-Horned Beast

Prologue – It Was Never a Horse Deep within Oxford’s Bodleian Library, Dr. Nora Halberg quietly flipped through a 12th-century bestiary manuscript.

The page was yellowed; the illustration depicted a unicorn crouching in a meadow, its horn spiral-shaped, hooves resembling those of an ox or goat, a mane like a lion’s, and feathers at the tip of its tail. “This isn’t a horse,” she said softly. “It never was.” In her notes, she wrote: “From an iconographic perspective, the horse-like association with unicorns is a modern invention. Before the Middle Ages, they were imagined more like composite even-toed ungulates.”

Chapter One – A Beast Born of Fusion Back in her lab, Nora examined unicorn depictions from Europe, the Middle East, and India. Spiral horn, cloven hooves, a beard, a lion’s tail—these features were almost universal. Her voice recorder captured: “This isn’t a depiction of a single species, but a fusion of collective biological memory. A horn like an oryx, a body like a musk ox, tail and mane borrowed from goats and lions.” She placed a cross-section of an oryx horn beside the medieval illustrations. Silence filled the room. “If this is a misunderstanding,” she said, “then it’s a remarkably systematic one.”

Chapter Two – An Evolutionary Hypothesis of the One-Horned In a simulation, a population of even-toed ungulates displayed genetic mutations resulting in a “single-horned” morphology. Some had fused central horns; others developed asymmetric midline growths. “In evolution, mutations are usually considered disadvantageous,” Nora explained, “but a single horn may have provided an edge in sexual selection.” Males sparred using the horn, which carried scent glands that marked dominance and reproductive fitness. These traits stabilized over time on arid grasslands. She wrote: “The unicorn is not a decorative fantasy, but the result of adaptive survival.”

Chapter Three – Remnants and Wanderers Rare cases still exist today: a goat with a central horn, a reindeer with asymmetrical antler mutation. Nora overlaid these images with post-Ice Age migration maps of Eurasian fauna, revealing a path of cross-cultural zoological memory: from the Central Asian steppes to the Iranian plateau, westward to Anatolia and Greece, eastward to the Tarim Basin and the Hexi Corridor. Elders of the Mongolian plains spoke of a “silent beast with golden horn,” appearing only for three days before the first snow, then vanishing into the mountains. “That’s not mythology,” she whispered, “it’s the shape of memory.”

Chapter Four – The Path of the Qilin In a Taoist temple mural in Shaanxi, China, she saw a sacred beast with rounded hooves, scale-like patterns, and a single horn on its forehead—a Qilin. Its structure closely resembled early Western unicorn imagery. Persian reliefs and Sikkimese wall paintings showed similar forms. “Perhaps they were once the same creature,” she proposed, “reshaped by language and belief as cultures flowed east and west.” She drew two arrows in her notebook: One led westward—becoming the unicorn, symbol of purity and divinity; One led east—becoming the Qilin, symbol of blessing and royal virtue. “They are twin beasts in the mirror—dual dreams of the same memory.”

Chapter Five – The Divine and the Untamable “Unicorns are always said to approach only the pure of heart, and cannot be tamed.” This mirrors the behavior of wild antelopes and musk oxen: wary, territorial, appearing only at dawn or dusk. From The Song of Solomon to The Alexander Chronicles, they were described with mystery and aloofness. “Perhaps they were never sacred,” Nora said. “Perhaps we simply failed to understand their silence.”

Epilogue – From the Wild to the Dream Nightfall, Central Asian plateau. Wind swept through dry grass and poplar groves. A distant low roar echoed—wind, or something unnamed. Nora recorded her final entry: “The unicorn is not a fantasy, but a forgotten outline. It once brushed shoulders with our ancestors, leaving tracks between the steppes and the snowline. As civilization advanced, it became a symbol, a dream. Its real form has faded into the night. But we have seen it— in totems, in tales, and in the echo of what remains.”

[dreamerpills]

Diary of the inferior

Scp x reader

(isn't really proof-read )

This is something I had written a few words of, stored in my drafts and didn't let it see the light of day (see what I did there hehe) for some time. But I have now finished it (kinda) and its certainly one of my longest pieces. 

(The first few entries are short and poorly written, but it becomes better after some time.)

warnings: gore, kinda pessimistic views, I hate Entry 1 with all my heart, false reality, violence, euthanasia, body horror, religious talk, death.

Scp 105 is post Omega-7, she’s 24 here.

Entry 1: New Beginnings

Dear Diary, 

Maybe I should’ve listened when people told me to never take strange job opportunities.  

I thought it was perfect, I was working in a shop on minimum wage, and I could barely afford simple life necessities.

I still had to pay off my student debt and that made life all the harder. When I saw this strange opportunity presented to me by a shady caucasian man, I believed that this would be my saving light. 

I wish I had been shot that day. A bullet mysteriously found its way into my skull. A news reported merely stated it was an accident; or running from that horrid officer only to “disappear” and never see the light of day again.

I just wish that death had claimed me as one of their countless victims before immortality and the infinite loop of time laid hands upon me.

—-

Entry 2: the flower of beloved Iris

Dear Diary, 

On my photo ID, there was my smiling face. It was a smile of pure joy. You could glance at it and call it cheeky if you dared. But I was merely innocent. Innocent as a human could be. 

After the photo had been taken, I was briefed on what I’d be doing. A rambling speech about the foundation's lack of care for qualified staff and instead people with logic and reasoning. 

That gave you a fighting chance, because how bad could this job be if you just needed a little logic?  I met a girl a few weeks later. I always wondered why she had that camera with her. Perhaps it had been a dear hobby of hers? 

I found out my presumption was wrong when she took a photograph of a flower in a vase some distance away, took the picture out and then proceeded to stick her hand in the image; giving me the flower after twirling it in her fingers. 

Iris seemed proud of making me joyful, I believed I laughed all night. I later placed the flower on my desk, and even after it wilted and its petals fragile and bleak; I still folded it into my pocket and to this day it still resides there. 

She was more on the quiet side but still gave me those sad smiles with dimples on her cheeks.  I had distinctively remembered wondering about the cause of those scars on her eyelid, jaw and hands.  — 

Entry 3: false reality

Dear Diary, 

I found out Iris was an anomaly; an Scp, if you wanted a more precise definition. This was told to me by a person higher on the foundation hierarchy for its staff. Not Iris herself. 

Was I slightly hurt? Yes. 

It had left me staring into a void, although I had seen her camera doing its magic. I must have created some false reality in my head that explained this bizarre situation. 

At the time, I was scrawling through my notebook with such vigour it was comparable to an inspired writer. I was not inspired in a awestriking way. Simply wanting to write about my trepidations concerning this topic and send the letter to me in a shitty way of making myself laugh.

(Mind you, if you too were stuck as a lab assistant watching sentient doughnuts bite people, you almost certainly develop terrible humour.)

—

Entry 4: the beginning of the end

Dear Diary, 

Something strange had occurred.

I had been assigned a mission. Naturally I was confused. Lab assistants being assigned things other than cleaning up the blood after cross-testings? It was something I found most peculiar. 

They, (foundation staff),had suited me up in some strange black equipment, handed me a gun and pushed me over to some people waiting inside a black van.

I don't even have a formal qualification to handle a gun; I had screamed. Why would this be happening? I remember saying that to myself. over and over again.

A pathetic mantra that I so feebly considered answered by the many voices in my head. I cried. Then I wiped the liquid with my hand; I had refused the notion that I was a weak, feeble creature hiding the true meaning of my nature. 

When I really was just that. 

All those other people had kept their heads down, mindlessly fidgeting with their hands or drumming their fingers nervously on the knee. I merely stared at the wall, already feeling the sensation of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. 

I didn't know them, and at this rate; I would never.

—

Entry 5: pathetic chess games

Dear diary, 

They had gotten off the van, dressed in full tactical gear and shivering with a dreadful fear. This situation felt wrong and I memorized the look of someone who knew too much. It was in a puddle of water. It was my face.

Perhaps I was seeing the foreshadows of fate that dangled right in front of my eyes. But I saw nothing, heard nothing and knew nothing. This was all one of the many cruel games the foundation played, killing people as if they were mere chess pieces. 

All just to win to the game, only for another to proceed after that.

—

Entry 6: the majority and the minority

Dear Diary, 

 Scp-001 S. D. Locke’s proposal is one of the many 001 proposals that exist: detailing the sun becoming a hostile being that eradicates human beings, converts them into sentient piles of flesh which aim to find unconverted humans and drag them into the sunlight, for them too to become those hideous masses of skin. 

The scenario occurred in my timeline, at first I didn't know what was happening, only that the other staff members had screamed about the light being good and holy before I heard the most awful noises.

It squelched, moaned and cried. I suppressed gags and muffled my mouth with a cloth. What the fuck was happening? Where had they all gone? Why do they sound not human anymore?

I had ran out from the cover of the van to shield under the safety of a building, not before looking back and laying my eyes upon a horror of flesh melting away under the rays of the hostile sun, dragging its amorphous clumps of bodies towards me. 

They had once been human like myself. I had only saved myself but not them. I should go join them to redeem myself to the judging light and have my sins cleansed. I was a wretched human not worthy of being alive. 

I kept on running, determined to never let the sun touch my skin ever again. I had slammed the door of the building. It was desolate and empty. When I’d step on the ground too hard, I could hear the echoes of the impact.

The was a distinctive waft of bleach, specifically chlorine that reminded me of swimming pools. There was a lack of furnacing; which reminisced the not-so-distant memory of my office. I took shallow breaths, slumping down to the ground and rubbing a sore ligament. 

This was a weak thing a human could do, but I sobbed. I cried and cried until I felt like everything went numb. But it cleared my mind slightly, feeling less like a suffocating cloth and more so like a haze of cloud. 

I felt around in my breast pocket, closing my fingers around a packet and tearing it off and chewed on the granola bar slowly. My mouth felt dry and my throat burned, however, despite the lack of comfort, I still ate. 

I pondered on what I could do. Could I stay here and call for backup or try to find someone who was still alive? 

I sighed, then fiddled with the packet from the granola bar. Was I at fault for my comrades being turned into those abominations of flesh? I could've saved them; told them to stay inside the van and that I’d go out and check. It would’ve resulted in my death, but wasn't appeasing the majority a more important factor than the minority? 

—

Entry 7: The silence of the lamb

Dear Diary,  

I had a radio that I had snatched last minute from the van before dashing off. I had tried reaching out to anyone I could. But there was only silence.

—

Entry 8: Nihilism

Dear Diary, 

I had successfully contacted a person without being disoriented by loud static. I heard heavy breathing, it was loud and quite alarming. There was a persistent sloshing of liquid in the background. It was quiet for a few seconds; eerily quiet. Before someone spoke. 

“You are alone. You will stay forever alone if you do not accept the beautiful light. Go outside.” 

I threw the radio to a corner of the room, and it broke into several pieces. The voice didn't sound human anymore, it was distorted with an otherworldly passion. I was so blinded by the anger that had irrationally consumed me for a second I broke my only means of communication.  

Maybe I would be truly alone if I didn't go outside.

There was nothing to live for anymore.

—

Entry 9: kiss away the gore

Dear Diary, 

If loneliness was the way I would die, perhaps it would be better to perish in the sun than of hunger and the echoing quiet. I lived in cowardliness and fear. I can be free where I belong. 

I opened the door I had blocked two days ago. Such a feeble mind, but I had found revelation.  I will cleanse my body of this impurity, harbouring sins and the devil's hands caressing my skin. 

I will burn it all away. 

This was the only way I would be accepted, then I’d find peace. 

I stepped into the sunlight and stared at the scarlet sun's beauty. I felt my skin being pulled apart, melting into a puddle of goo, bones liquefying and a boiling feeling. My human mouth shrieked, but that was insignificant. My fingers merged together before becoming a singular stump and my body was crafted new.

There was an agony I couldn't describe in words. No matter how many times I may rip out this page and rewrite it countless times, no work of poetry could ever shed light on the feeling. 

My body was crafted pristine, I now moved surprisingly fast. The puddle of goo had moulded itself into the body of my absolute nature. I sought new flesh. That I would bind myself to another pure being. 

Later, I stumbled across a facility devoid of people, there were only pools of blood on the floor. The once pure white walls had undertones of fleshy colours. If I were still human, I would've gagged at the goriness of it all.

But I didn't, instead I lurked deeper into the building. A net ensnared my body all of a sudden, and I choked out a throaty snarl. A familiar figure loomed over me, with a knife poised at my throat. 

I gnashed my fleshy teeth together, reaching out to capture this impure human and bring it to the light. But the creases under their eyes faded, tossed the knife to the side and removed the netting. 

What was this revolting human doing-

I was engulfed in an embrace, a hand of theirs resting on the small of my back and the other placed upon my throat, pushing it back. Almost as if it was endeavouring for me not to rip out their face.

“I can't believe something like this could happen to such a beautiful person like you.” They murmured, gripping my body tighter like I would dissolve into ash at any moment. My jaw snapped abruptly and they hushed me. 

I heard the shuffling of fabric. Cool metal grazed my face before I heard them speak again; “It must be painful for you, I’ll shoot you so you can rest peacefully.” 

Then they squeezed my back with such gentleness it would be hard to imagine that someone like this would shoot me. 

The last things I felt were the soft fluttering of my dead heart, a soft kiss on the lips and seeing their appearance one more time. Admiring their shortly cut blond hair, scars adorning their face and cerulean blue eyes. 

Those beloved dimples showed as they smiled so miserably at the prospect of being alone once again. But this was for your sake. 

“Wait-”

She pulled the trigger. 

And you saw nothing. 

[shelledsnientist]

📒 📒 gimme!!

𝓙𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓵 — send 📒 for your muse to find the journal of my muse. For a peak into their life.

It wasn't really a journal so much as a handful of pages that must have come loose from a very well-used notebook.

One page was largely ruined by a murky green-brown stain that blurred already messy writing on the page.

[ --subject still incoherent but shows understanding when spoken to. Highly distressed at all times --

- difficulty adjusting to lack of bones. Has at least made progress --calms down when parents are mentioned. He remembers-- ]

The other entry was at least fully readable with a lot of squinting.

[ 12/3/25

REMINDER : demand Crown to stop letting his little wannabe spies crawl into the lab's ceilings. They suck at staying in there.

Also, contact someone to fix our ceiling. ]