rkdreamer



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    A kid is clinging to a crouching man, ugly cries welling out of his throat, face scrunched like dread is too big for his body to hold. Till watches from afar, struck by his resemblance to himself and Ivan, the annoying boy whose features his mind sometimes forgets—the ache his body spreads in numbing curls along his limbs stunning him in place at the harrowing sight.
    He hates that the aliens are cloning them like this, finds it sickening, as if ghosts are still truly haunting him, refusing to let go of the living. But there is comfort in seeing familiar features again—like proof that they existed at all, that he didn’t dream them into being.
    Then the man brushes the kid’s head and straightens, turning slightly toward Till and saying something to a fellow rebel a few steps away, voice brisk, movements efficient-looking even from where Till stands.
    The whole world freezes.

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    29 Jul 2026

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    "To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once." - Ocean Vuong

    Megumi Fushiguro works as a D-Class member at the SCP Foundation. He has a new assignment - to assist essential personnel with the research of SCP-1224, a dangerous anomaly with six eyes and an unknown motive.

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    13 Apr 2026

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    Reflexively, Till kicks upward, and Ivan crumbles, a knee hitting the center of his stomach as Till tries scrambling away. More rebels are running for their vehicles. He needs to get to his bike. He needs to get out.

    “Till,” Ivan chokes out, voice hoarse from the agony of being kicked straight in the stomach.

    Till’s throat closes in on itself. Ivan’s voice. It’s not a hallucination.

    Nearly two years after being saved from the fire, Till runs into someone on a rebel mission with the same face of the person who has done nothing but haunt him.

    For the life of him, he can't let himself believe that Ivan is alive. Not while he's still hallucinating a version of him that keeps him from being able to speak.

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    20 Feb 2026

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    Oh, Katsuki wants.

    He wants to touch, to play with Izuku’s sweaty curls and caress his tense neck. To fix his posture and massage his shoulders. Would Izuku let him? In another reality where Katsuki’s hands weren’t so deadly and the thread holding their relationship so fragile, would Izuku let him stroke his skin? Would he let Katsuki spend hours feeling the bumps of his scars, memorizing the texture of his moles? Would he let him trace over his freckles without leaving another mark behind?

    Katsuki hopes so. He really, really does.

    _____

    In which Katsuki spent fourteen years resisting the urge to touch Izuku until it all becomes too much and he gives in. But maybe, just maybe, things don't go quite as badly as he expects.

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    06 Jan 2026

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    “Where would we have gone, anyway?” Till is unable not to ask. The desert comes with a sky that’s all but fake; framed by the sharp corners of the vehicle is an endless sea of bright scarlet, scarred and stitched up by falling tears of gold and swirling nebulas. Till remembers running. In that hallucinating haze, he cannot phantom a good enough reason to dig his heels in and stop. “We pass that glitch in the gates to get out, and we run — and then what?” 

    Ivan hums. His clothes are a confusing bundle — the too-long pants from the Garden, the rain-soaked jacket from the stage. His fringe is scarlet wet, plastered against his forehead. 

    “Who knows,” he offers.

    or: Till leaves Round 7 on his own feet. The rest is consequential. 

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    26 Oct 2024