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Your OC writes down their deepest, innermost secrets for only their eyes to see... except for one other person. Unbeknownst to them, the OC below will read and react to their entry, as so:
Character 1: I had a really bad day at work today... I'm thinking about quitting my job. :(
Character 2: Aww man, that's a bummer. /// I went on a date today, it was fantastic!
Etc.
Rules:
1. Comment after three other posts have gone by, unless 24 hours have passed.
2. No racism, homophobia, transphobia, all that jazz. Just be chill to each other!
3. Black out any sensitive topics, like so! In fact, try to keep it PG-13 so minors can play, too.
4. I don't wanna put a hard limit on how much you can write, just try not to write a whole book report.
Jigsaw looked to the paper, then to the door, then back at the paper. He scracted his head, confused, then tucked the note back where he found it. "I'll just.. leave that... there..." he muttered as he stepped away. "I should get.. going..."
December 14
Dear nobody,
I wonder what I should get Elliot for Christmas. I tried to go shopping today for him but there's so much snow i couldn't really go anywhere. its so cold outside..
i wonder, how is Scrap doing? I haven't heard from him in a while. Maybe he found his wife after all.
That weird guy that hangs out on the street corner tried to talk to me today. I don't think he knows English very well. I wonder what he was trying to tell me. He kept pointing. He looked a little scared.
-J
En silently read the diary. It was lathered in innocence. Caring about friends and little things like gifts, he remembered having worries like that. Those were simpler times, back when he still had his friends. His expression darkened. Those friends. He hated them, but missed them. Where were they, he wondered. Did they care about him? Were they worried like the person who wrote this? Or were they more concerned about his bounty?
En closed the book and set it back where it once was. As much as he despised them, he still treasured those days.
Writing was something En never was very interested in, but it was something he was forced to spend more time over once his voice was gone. It was his most common way to communicate, and lately, it was a way for him to vent his feelings. He sat against the brick wall in the alley as he gazed at his journal, glancing over the words and deciding whether he should add more or not. However, the animals that traveled with him whined for their dinner, so he had no choice but to put a pause on this.
He thought he had put the journal in his jacket pocket when he got up to leave, but it slipped out and landed on the floor, opening right on that page.
"I thought I was stronger.
I went to visit him, my old teacher. He smiled at me and offered me food and shelter.
I hated it.
It was like he was pretending nothing had happened to me. Maybe that's what he really thought. After all, he wasn't there when everyone turned on me, or when I was exiled.
No one was there for me.
I wanted to kill him. I almost did. But I ended up sparing him. I hate myself for doing it. I can't explain why I did it, either. I just felt so... sad. Like I wanted to cry. At the same time, I felt so mad for wanting to cry. It was like I was betraying myself, in a sense. I don't know what to think of it even today. I think about it a lot, though.
I also saw him. I missed him.
He wanted to help me, but I wouldn't let him touch me. I feel bad, and it still hurts, but it was for the best.
I'm... scared. Every single time I've trusted someone, it's backfired. That pain I felt with him and my teacher, I think it was that part of me that wanted to trust them, or some desperate part of me that still wants some love, but I'm so scared of losing everything all over again. I can't handle that pain again. That's why I have to get stronger. I have to cut out this weak side of me and close it up that way nothing will ever hurt again."
Picking up the fallen journal, A-Sheep finds their gaze drawn down to the words despite their better reasoning.
This whole entry sounds so... sad, is all they can think of. Whoever wrote this was clearly going through something, and something that hurts deep. They hope that the teacher was genuinely just trying to be helpful. This person sounds like they need all the positive support they can get. Who is 'him,' though? A friend? They should probably make up, if this person is hurting so badly. It sounds like they don't have anybody to depend on.
Glancing up and looking quickly around them, A-Sheep realizes the owner is nowhere to be found. Puzzled, they jog after the last place they saw them, but after several minutes of walking, they begin to doubt being able to find him. With a sigh, A-Sheep sinks to the ground, letting the journal rest in their lap.
Trapped beneath a scrap of broken wood, surrounded by the burned aftermath of what used to be a farmhouse cottage, there is a piece of thick, lineless paper that's been singed around its edges. The handwriting is rounded and small, with large spaces between the words.
May 16th, [The year has been made illegible by ash.]
As much as I want to go visit Z-9281, I think my new wool is going to make that interaction hard without him calling someone to ship me off somewhere. He's all responsible and to the code like that. I can't blame him, but... I guess I could say it's just a mutation, but I don't know if he'll buy that. Z-9281 is a great friend and I'd like to hug him one last time but I don't want him passing out in my arms. He lets me look at his sheep and even let me take a lamb home a few years ago. He said Miss Truffles was too sick, but I only had Missy to look at, and he has so many sheep and other animals to look at. Right now she's sleeping in my living room. I accidentally sent her asleep after brushing her wool today. This keeps happening and... I'm kinda scared. What if she doesn't wake up this time? Am I dangerous now? Does this make me a D-ud? Or worse, an
I can't give her to Z-9281 because he works in making veal and stuff. I don't know anyone who'd want to take care of a sheep. Or could. I wish I could be like her and just go live all peacefully in someone's pasture. Wouldn't that be nice? Maybe me and Miss Truffles could be sheep friends. I think I'll go to bed thinking about that. Hopefully tomorrow is better. ewe
Lorento would be exploring around the area of the burned farmhouse. As he explored about, he soon discovered a piece of paper, with words written on it. The rather curious sniper picked up the paper, and began to read.
He took a good 30 minutes to read the entire thing, becoming confused and having many questions in the end. But once he was finished, he gently placed the paper back in it's original area, and walked off to his next assigned location, forgetting what he just read.
.
TW TOPICS ARE SHOWN IN THIS DIARY ENTRY: Spoilered, proceed with caution! Warning for s**cide, and s**cidal thoughts in general.
(Context: This "diary entry" is written in 1969, a day before Lorento dies. The entire thing is written in German, so it is best if your OC can read German! Read his past life profile to know more the context behind this!)
March 15th, 1969
"I miss Billy so much. I miss him I miss him I miss him. If only he didn't die during D-Day, if only he didn't die...I want to die myself, I will die, I want to see Billy again. I wan't to see my brother again. Tomorrow, I shall kill myself, and hope to see my beloved twin brother again...I miss Billy so much I miss Billy so much I miss Billy so much I miss Billy so much. Goodbye forever cruel world of Earth.
Goodbye."
(TW for more suicide talk.)
Black stared down at the note in pure German. He had literally no idea what any of it said, but it looked like the page was pretty damn old. How did it survive this long? Black had no clue. But either way, he was curious. So, he painstakingly transcribed the entire thing into Google. Sure, maybe some of its integrity, but it was the best he could do-
… Oh. Oh, shit.
Black’s eyes scanned the translation, then the note. Well, journal entry, maybe, but it read more like a suicide note to him. Because, in effect, that was what it was: A suicide note from 54 years ago. This person was long, long gone, and their suicide note outlived them. What a shame, honestly… But that was what they wanted. They wanted to leave this world, and he could only assume they did. As for seeing their brother again… Well, he didn’t know.
What he did know was that he would probably go out the exact same way. Or, at least, if he did manage to not be a pussy and actually commit suicide, that would be the way he would want to be remembered, by a single note carried by someone who never knew him.
… Or maybe Silver. Maybe Silver would carry his note if he ever killed himself.
Either way, Black did what he thought that the person would have wanted: He carefully folded up the piece of paper, and put it gingerly in his wallet. He whispered to himself, “Rest in peace, German stranger,” then went on his way.
(Here's the journal entry. TW for more mentions of suicide, mass murder, self-harm, and a single mention of racism/police brutality.)
A ripped-out page of a journal rested on a bench. The thing had tape on its side, implying that its owner didn’t want to lose it, but ultimately did. Which was unfortunate, considering its contents.
December 21, 2022
Fucking hell. Fuck. What the fuck have I done? I thought doing this would help me. I thought it would make me feel better, but now I just feel empty.
Six fucking people. Six people, all killed by me for a hefty amount of cash. The first one was suffocation. The second I pushed down the stairs (still can’t fucking believe that worked). The third and fourth I poisoned. And the fifth and sixth, I blew their goddamn brains out.
I lost the only person I cared about in that damn apartment complex, because I was greedy. I lose everyone I care about eventually, so what the fuck?
I’m on the run now. I’m seriously considering, for the first time in my life, to fucking end it. I’ve hurt myself and hurt myself, ever since I was a child, and fucking yet… It never stops. I keep feeling like I’m sinking, with no escape. Sinking and drowning. If I hang myself, or get shot down by the racist pigs they call “police officers” (unless the fact that I’m white makes them decide to not fucking shoot me down like the stupid fucks they are), at least I wouldn’t feel like I’m suffocating anymore. Fucking hell. I’m a murderer now, a contract killer, so at least nobody would care about my death. At least I know I wouldn’t dare allow myself to live a day on death row. I’d rather fucking give myself my death sentence now. I don’t know why I haven’t yet, considering I just killed 6 people in a week.
Maybe it’ll be soon, unless I pussy out yet again.
BVH
CRYING BECAUSE I HAD IT ALL WRITTEN OUT BUT I ACCIDENTALLY CLICKED SOMETHING ELSE sorry for short response :sob:
Levi had been taking a walk, a longer one than usual that had led him to a peculiar piece of paper. Not that it was paper, just Levi didn't know it wasn't. He grabbed it, feeling it with his paw for a moment. It.. didnt feel like paper. Levi flipped it over, skimming over the diagram. He cringed.. he didn't like it. Too graphic. Levi quickly looked to the writing, skimming over that as well since he just knew the rest would probably be familiar to the diagram. Surely enough- Levi found himself covering his mouth, wanting to look away. What was a Wer? Why was this person scared they were going to be killed for being one? Wolves? Levi paused. Wolves- wolves ate people? His fur began to prickle up. Levi looked around quickly before rushing over to a tree that had a cavity in it. He hid the parchment in the cavity, soon continuing on his walk, though very hesitantly. Maybe whoever wrote that wouldn't want someone to find it. Good thing he hid it. Levi rushed off, a bit wary now.
just spoilerized for length lmao there isnt anything bad rlly
There was 2 small papers on the sidewalk, obviously seeming to be left in a hurry. One paper was just a schedule for his day. Unfortunate that he lost that. It included his meetings and people he had to talk to. The other was more descriptive.
I wish this kid would understand, he's going to end up in jail in the future if he doesn't get his act together. I've already had multiple calls from teachers and parents- both for bullying or plain harassment. I wonder what's troubling him so much- or if he just acts like this regularly. But nobody else does is the problem. I've had way too many parents calling me that their child is being harassed by him. I should definitely talk to him about it, hopefully he'll listen- though I doubt it. I don't even know how he could be like this- his grandmother is the nicest person I've ever met! I'm sure she would've rubbed off on him somehow? Anyways. I have to get ready for work. I'll have to speak with him when I get there. - 3/26/21
(Time to revive this thread)
Kai Jia was walking as the two papers slapped him on the face by the wind. The Chinese screeched but then read the two papers. The first paper he could barely read, as he was not the type to make schedules or whatever that was. The second he read a bit better, and he took a good while to understand the entry due to English not being his native language.
"Oh...I feel sorry for the boy and those affected by him..." Kai Jia mumbled in Chinese.
He was reminded of his days after moving to the U.S from China. He suffered from anger issues and depression since the Battle of Shanghai, the Chinese army failing to save the important city, which was also the birthplace of Kai Jia himself.
Kai Jia mumbled a recommendation that the boy should get therapy like he did, and set the two notes down, before walking back to wherever he was going.
.
Spoilered by this entry might contain trigger topics as this was written a few years after Kai Jia moved to the U.S and got therapy for his mental health! Might be s**cide talk, mentions of depression, etc (possibly!). The entire thing is written in Chinese, so it is best if your OC can read Chinese!
.
Columbia, South Carolina, 1950.
The therapist gave me this journal and told me "Write in it, it will help you feel better when you are feeling angry, sad, etc.". So now this is my first writing in this journal book. To be honest, I like it here in Columbia better than in Atlanta or Ann Arbor. It is small, peaceful, the government is (fine) I suppose, and it was a city. Not as big as Shanghai, but not too chaotic as China itself.
But even if Columbia is welcoming I feel lonely...Nobody can understand Chinese in this city. People give me funny looks and call me names I don't understand and that makes me feel angry. If they decide to be assholes then they are being assholes to China. Are they making fun of China for their inefficiency in the damned wars? I hate it. Sometimes I wanna shoot at those who defy China, then shoot myself to die with my home country.
The therapist will see this journal entry, as he wanted me to show what I have written tomorrow when I see him. I hope he will understand my feelings...
I hope I can one day meet a fellow Chinese like me, as my English is not that good. Sometimes I still break down trying to order something in English, thank God that a small Chinese store exists where I live, or I will die.
Will my home be once again standing tall and glorious in the future,
-Kai Jia.
It was by accident that she had stumbled upon the little book that turned out to be a diary. Carefully she brushed the dirt off of it and opened it. To her surprise it was in Chinese? "Well, would you look at that..." she mumbled, smiling a bit at the fond memories she had of her mother teaching her how to write like this. Of course that smile soon died as she read the first few lines. Now reading it felt kind of wrong... that was personal. Ying took a deep breath and closed the book again after quickly glancing over the first entry. She just wanted to find a name so she could hopefully hand it back to its owner.
Gladly it didn't take Adair too long to find out who this diary belonged to so she just went to the address and threw it in the mailbox of its respective owner, a sticky not with "It does get easier, I promise!" written in Chinese on it. How Kai Jia would interpret these words was left to him.
(Spoiler bc mention of violence, though not in a too literal sense)
Hooo boy, it's been a while since I've written a diary entry, hasn't it?
But it's not like I have much to write... life is boring as ever, Nexus and Aden are still fighting like an old married couple and I feel like Adair will bash their heads in soon. Rightfully so, sometimes it just gets out of hand... but then again, they have their reasons I suppose? Anyway, maybe we should just lock them in a room for a few days and see how it goes?
Right now I feel like Adair might even agree to that. Good thing Set exists and drags Aden off whenever he's about to strangle someone.
Hazard is... well, Hazard, so nothing new there.
God... Sometimes I do miss my family... but I feel like I've found a new one right here, so I'm good!
Fulvous picked up what appeared to be a journal entry on the ground. Ooh! Maybe it had some spicy drama! They wanted to read something dramatic! Spicy! Interesting!
… And they were very disappointed. Wow, this bitch wasn’t kidding when they said their life was boring as shit, huh? They miss their family, but they found a new one… Cool, but families suck ASS. Or maybe they didn’t understand families. They didn’t know...
… They would be interested in seeing the violence play out, though. That seemed really, really fun to watch! Maybe he could watch those three- Nexus, Aden, and Adair, were they?- fucking beat the shit out of each other. That would be fun as fuuuuck!
Spoiled for mentions of domestic abuse.
An entire journal was dropped here. Its cover was comic-themed. Most of the pages are absolutely covered in drawings of many kinds, and some are missing or had parts cut out of it, except for some blank ones near the end and the first few pages, which has a single actual entry written there.
5/6/2023
Dear Petrol (that’s what I’m naming this journal),
It’s my favorite day! The day to beat all days! FREE COMIC BOOK DAY! God, there is nothing I love more than comic books, and get some for free? Legally? Wonderful! Just wonderful! Time to drive around Diamond County and go to every single comic book store I can, so I can collect all the comics I can get my hands on! I wish the comic I wanted to publish was done so I can give out copies, but… Unfortunately not. That’s my fault, though. I’ve been focusing more on my vent/comfort comic series than the one I wanted to actually make.
… I guess that’s because I can’t cope for shit. Hell, what do I do to cope? Draw, write comic scripts, and be an ABSOLUTE FUCKING MENACE TO SOCIETY LIKE THE SUPERVILLAIN I AM. That’s… Pretty much it. Even today, I still feel like I’m going to panic at any moment because of what happened. It’s been over a year now. I thought I would get over it, but…
… I can’t. I pissed Vermilion off, and he attacked me. I loved him, he loved me, and yet… Maybe he was right. Maybe it is my fault. Everything’s my fault.
Or maybe I’ll fuck him up one of these days. Who knows?
Anyway, Petrol… If I end up burning you in the incinerator at the Headquarters or “accidentally” dropping you, sorry. I’m just bad at this journaling shit. Sienna bought you for me, though, so I guess I have to use you for what you’re meant for at least once. If I do drop you, I’ll cut out and keep whatever comic strips I draw in my comic strip binder. Oh, since I've named you, I may as well give you a character design as well... You'd be a good listener. I should throw you in my main comic. I think I'm already full on characters in my vent/comfort comic.
Thanks, Petrol. See ya later.
Dr. Fulvous Robinson, B.S. in Engineering, Ph.D. in Supervillainy
Lana had been exploring in the area, finding a journal that looked much like a comic book. They picked it up, holding it with both sets of arms, inspecting every detail. They gasped, looking through and seeing all sorts of drawings, and finally getting to the only actual entry. Lana read over it all, reading everything about who this “Petrol” was, soon realizing it was the journal. They closed it, going to now look after the true owner of the journal, without saying a peep about what they had read...
“Poor Dr. Robinson...”
—————————————————————————
A journal laid on the ground, it seemed out of place by anything there. The journal was sparkly, with glitter everywhere all beside it and on it, even in the pages. There was a ton of stickers too, with an actual entry.
June 10th.
Nyaz! I get to go to a rave again! After all of the other places closed down or aren’t allowing a creature like me in, I found one that lets me in and ISN’T shut down! Isn’t that great? (A little UwU sticker was present before going into the next words.) I’ve got a ton of kandi and monsters for the trip, and can’t wait to go and see it all! Who knows what’ll be hiding...
It’s a mystery!! Well, goodbye journal, I’ve gotta get my well-deserved nap! Keep your life kawaii!
* cotton lifed the book and read, fear and worry growing on her face * places like that really exsist?!" She asked herself " i should make that poor person a new shawl... if I can only figure out who they are! " she floated crisscross and took some time to think " im going on a adventure to find this person! "
-
June 21st
its a peaceful day were I live... people keep trying to hurt me, be it physical or with vocab... sadly people are scared of what they can't understand which i find things i can't understand quite intresting to figure out! I guess being part human part God would be harder than most people expect. I should wrap up my arm, its bleeding bad. * a little doodle of herself is in the corner *
bye until next time journal!
There was a small doodle in the corner of Cotton's journal. August softly placed the delicate journal aside and grabbed a pen. The pen quietly tip-toed across Cotton's journal, until it found itself next to Cotton, who suddenly seemed to have a friend. The paper that had colored her arm was not so red anymore next to the mirage of purple that seeped into its fibers, lovingly muddying the crude wound of Cotton's depiction. Lovingly fixing, lovingly speaking without writing a word. This wasn't just any blob of purple. This was a man, with wings and a crown, whose purple appendages stretched far between the lines and around Cotton's waist. Some would say it looked like a hug, but the smudge of August's glove had ruined the prospect before he could return it to her.
August lowered his lids and stared at the ruined page.
"......."
7/2/21
Dear Diary
At four o'clock today, I returned to my room to find a baby sparrow, deserted, outside my window. Upon further examination, it seemed to have injured its wing.
I coddled it in my hands, feeding it bread.
The thick gardens surrounding it had seemingly complicated its mothers efforts. Those gardens were of my request, planted for solely for me. No one else is allowed to tread through that acre.
Despite being partially pigeon, I am not very good at handling small things. Most small things seem to wiggle and dart when placed in my palms. Even though I've become accustomed to wearing gloves, the curse seeps through my palms and instills terror into even the smallest of larvae.
I don't wish to abandon my gardens. Picking daises and catching butterflies is pleasantly comforting. I want to keep feeding ducks and small frogs. As long as I don't touch them, they will be pampered and loved.
They all seem to pass in my hands.