DARK SIGNS ● FEBRUARY 2026 EVENT

[uruz]

EVENT: DARK SIGNS

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Omens in your skies (week 1)

CONTENT WARNINGS: Psychological horror, disorientation, body horror (coughing up parasites, feeling choked/stuck), existential dread, implied loss of autonomy, mild environmental horror

The later half of the previous month had been both exciting and eerily calm. The effects of sundowning continue, though most vessels have perhaps learned how to steer it by now. The biting chill of winter nights grow mild, the worst of it creeping at the peak of late night hours. It smells like autumn, strangely enough, as if the seasons are working in reverse. The city, though alive with II's fragment magic through electricity, has become a landscape of unsettling contrasts by the skip into February. Lights bloom unnaturally bright, then die, plunging blocks into profound, unnatural darkness. These are Voids: pockets where reality itself warps, mirroring a desolate, corrupted dimension. Stepping into Voids causes an instant, absolute blackout of artificial light, and a chilling cold descends, absorbing sound, making the air heavy and still. Within these zones, surfaces are often choked in thick, black fungal growths and pulsing tendrils, the ground slick and spongy with them. Prolonged exposure here means a gradual draining of your mental clarity, magical potency, and physical stamina, leaving you increasingly weak.

There's hardly a way to know where one lies until it's too late. You can't see them ahead of you, and by the time you realize— You're already in it, by then.

Within these oppressive stretches of distorted dream-bleeding, grotesque, humanoid figures fused with fungal matter and bone-like protrusions cling dormant to walls or lie contorted on the ground, their movements sluggish. These are Lesser Guardians. The principal way they attack prey is through the emission of a subtle siphon; should they activate, or if you linger too close, they possess the terrifying ability to drain your very "light"— the efficacy of your magic, your energy, even your internal spark of hope.

That is not the only danger that lurks here. Even if you manage to avoid the Lesser Guardians, the Void itself will drain you. It will change you. It will attempt to lock you in at all costs. Something within you might stir unnaturally, make you feel ill and invaded— until you're too weak to leave on your own. There is a dark, thick influence here that is hard to pinpoint. A sickly-sweet scent clings to the Voids, mingled with decay. Whispers caress the edge of hearing when you find yourself at the worst of this nasty mirror-world, and in warped reflections, fleeting, distorted images of yourself might appear (luckily, they don't act independantly this time; they simply show how you could look, one day, succumbed). Within them, The Murmur carries waves of profound melancholy and desperate longing, sometimes causing a crushing despair not your own. Trying to track it down could lead to something— or, it could feel like something has just smacked you back for even trying to reach it.

Sleep's voice, a soft, almost comforting current in the Murmur, offers a chilling reassurance:

My Vessel, do not fear the dark that holds you close. Only I can truly see you, truly protect you from what lurks in these shadows.

Should you listen— Sleep requires prayer. Sacrifice. Make an offering to Her of any kind, physical or emotional, and she shall rid you of the Void near instantly. She grows stronger, and something within you will feel tight . . . Like being embraced. Perhaps a little too hard. Or perhaps, that is only the aftereffects of leaving the Void itself. Yet, a counterpoint exists. Before getting too close to the Voids, all light around you may begin to flicker irratically, wildly— before the darkness consumes you. When near a dangerous section of the Voids, or if you feel truly lost, defunct light sources— an old streetlamp, an abandoned car's headlights might briefly flicker to life in a soft, steady rhythm, then fade. This pulsing is Two's attempted communication, a warning or guiding hand against the encroaching dread swallowing you.

It's the best he could do.

NOTES:

• Prolonged exposure or unlucky encounters in The Void might trigger unsettling physical reactions that include: coughing up slug-like parasites, throat constriction, temporary physical entrapment by tendrils, or the decay of your physical appearance.
• Even if characters find their way out, either alone or with help, they may still experience the aftershock of being trapped in the Void, such as seeing brief flashes of the twisted world around them even when not in it, coughing up blood or expelling the slug-like creatures for up to a week after the occurance.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Within The Void, a Token's senses are painfully heightened. They may perceive minute vibrations of dormant Guardians and the faint hum of the unknown presence. This could amplify the draining effects.
• A Token's magic becomes wildly unpredictable within The Void. Spells may flare with unprecedented power but are equally prone to backfiring, draining them of more energy, or drawing the sluggish attention of Guardians who siphon from their casting.
• A Token's mask or sigil subtly vibrates/warms when Two's light communication is active nearby, allowing them to easily identify his signals, understand direction, and decipher warnings. However, this connection makes them a faint beacon to Sleep's presence, causing an unsettling hum in their teeth when her influence is strongest. If you would like to play this out with Two, visit the NPC page.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• An Offering feels an unsettling, primal pull towards The Void and its Guardians. Their body reacts instinctively with a strange, magnetic draw. This guides them unknowingly towards danger but also allows them to recognize Guardian presence, which could be used to intentionally bait or avoid them.
• The Void's draining effect feels less like a loss and more like a strange, unsettling fulfillment for an Offering. They experience a perverse comfort, a sensation of being perfectly "aligned" with Sleep. This grants resistance to immediate debilitation but amplifies physical manifestations, making them feel like an internal, transforming bloom.
• An Offering's personal "hunger" is amplified and twisted by The Void. They crave its total darkness and stillness, finding strange satisfaction. Near a dormant Guardian, they might feel a compulsive urge to touch it, to experience its siphoning directly, a temptation to offer a piece of themselves for an unknown, disturbing reward.

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Alarm Bells in Your Eyes (week 2)

CONTENT WARNINGS: Psychological horror, intrusive thoughts, gaslighting, emotional distress, existential dread, paranoia, self-loathing, distorted reality.

The week passes, but not swiftly. The subtle unease of The Void has given way to something terrifyingly intimate. Sleep's influence now pierces directly into your mind, manifesting as pervasive unsettling visions, persistent hallucinations, and insidious intrusive thoughts. These are intensely personal, twisting your own fears, suppressed memories, or desires into chilling realities. You feel an unnerving sense of not being alone in your own mind, a phantom breath on your neck, or the chilling sensation of being watched from behind your own eyes, making alarm bells ring incessantly within your consciousness.

The Murmur now carries Sleep's voice with chilling clarity— soft, gentle like a siren's song. Her whispers directly address you, offering perverse comfort, false intimacy, and insidious "solutions" to the very fears she instills. She subtly attempts to make you forget your own independent self, tempting you to embrace the "safety" she offers, blurring the lines between your identity and her will. These whispers may urge you towards self-isolation, to distrust your allies, or to abandon your objectives, all under the guise of finding a deeper, "true" understanding only she can seemingly provide.

One and Espera are, for some reason, completely unreachable.

Even outside The Void, its presence is felt. Lesser Sacred Guardians now appear as uncanny shifts of inanimate objects at the periphery of your vision.

The warp of the wall might've been just been your eyes playing tricks again.

NOTES:

• Sleep will actively exploit and project a Vessel's personal fears or psychological wounds, forcing a confrontation with their own vulnerabilities.
• Vessels may be confronted with conflicting sensory inputs and pervasive illusions perfectly designed to destabilize their grip on reality and seek out the only help that seems readily available: Sleep. Tethers may help, but they do not resolve the problem. This will be a battle of stamina and will.
• Lights may flicker wildly around the warped presence of the Lesser Guardians attempting to break into the Waking World. They have yet to manage, but being in the presence of one is incredibly suffocating and intense.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• The Murmur's direct transmission of One's agony may cause a Token's own magical essence to waver. Spells cast might occasionally manifest with a corrupted or distorted version of their intended effect.
• When witnessing or feeling One's heightened torment, a Token may experience a physical manifestation of his new scars. This can be a sharp phantom pain or sudden bleeding from minor, non-existent wounds, acting as a direct conduit for One's suffering.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The deep despair transmitted from One, or Sleep's tempting whispers, can trigger a profound, compulsive urge in an Offering towards self-sacrifice. This might manifest as an impulse to offer a piece of their sanity, their physical well-being, or even a part of their will to Sleep in exchange for a perceived alleviation of One's suffering or a deeper "understanding."
• Sleep's manipulative whispers offer an unsettling, corrupt comfort to an Offering, a sensation of being truly seen and understood. This makes them more receptive to her gaslighting but also grants a brief surge of deceptive calm amidst the chaos.

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I Miss the Man I Was (week 3)

CONTENT WARNINGS: Psychological horror, overwhelming dread, physical violence, existential despair, gaslighting, forced choices, body horror (due to draining).

The fragile illusion of a city untouched by true nightmare shatters. The localized ruptures of The Void have burst, bleeding fully into the Waking World. Entire districts now lie submerged in a chilling blackout, their familiar contours consumed by sprawling, black fungal growths and pulsing, root-like tendrils. This is no longer merely an encroaching darkness; it is a hostile, living environment where the very air drains you. Every step through these zones saps your mental clarity, magical potency, and physical stamina, leaving you increasingly hollowed out and weary. The once-bright magic electricity, your fragile hope, now struggles desperately against this tide, flickering wildly, dying in vast swathes, plunging the city into an unnatural twilight or sudden, absolute darkness.

From the depths of this encroaching nightmare, the Lesser Guardians are fully unleashed and break through the walls of their containment. No longer sluggish, they slither and lunge through the Void, their grotesque forms distorting the shadows as they hunt. Their terrifying purpose is remanifest: to drain your "light." Your personal glow dims, your magic withers, and your inner spark feels physically siphoned away, leaving you exposed and despairing. Joining this harrowing tide are the Dreamhounds: smaller, yet aggressively agile creatures that prowl in packs of three or four. These raw, physical predators attack with ugly, bloom-like jaws, razor-sharp tendrils, teeth, and claws. Their intent is clear: to maul, to tear, to overwhelm. Their erratic, frenzied movements make evasion a desperate, fleeting hope.

Sleep's presence is now a constant hum in the Murmur, clearer and more compelling than any thought of your own. She orchestrates this escalating terror with a calm, almost sympathetic voice in a tyrannical lullaby. Her whispers are direct, flowing into your mind with the persuasive force of truth, framing One as the architect of this widespread calamity with purrs and silken promises.

"Do you not feel his anguish? His fractured mind unravels the very fabric of this world. In his selfish desperation, he tears the city apart around you. He is slowly killing you. Give me your belief, your fear, your devotion. Only I can contain him. Only I can protect you from his chaos."

Her offers are devilish in their tangibility: promises of safe havens, fleeting immunity from the draining, or even a brief, empowering surge of magic, all in exchange for the deep, unyielding faith she craves. Distorted images of One might flicker through the dying lights, appearing to tear at reality, or his cries of anguish seem to fuel the Void's hungry advance, all reinforcing Sleep's narrative.

You stand at the precipice of an impossible choice with the world screaming around you.

NOTES:

• During a moment of intense danger or draining, Sleep's whispers in the Murmur become overwhelmingly appealing, offering a profound sense of calm and immediate relief if you simply yield to her presence.
• As you move, familiar architecture around you suddenly melts or shifts, then reforms into something grotesque and alien, making navigation impossible for a few disorienting seconds.
• A powerful, psychic wave of agony, presented by Sleep as One's destructive rage, washes over you, threatening to incapacitate you with despair and physical nausea.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• The direct feeling of One's rage causes a Token's magic to become volatile; spells might manifest with painful feedback.
• If Tethered to an ally, a Token can draw some of their shared magical or physical endurance to resist The Void's draining. This creates a visible energy link that might attract both Guardian siphoning and Dreamhound aggression.
• A Token's mask might pulse brightly when resisting Sleep's offers, briefly repelling nearby Guardians or briefly stunning Dreamhounds, but making them a prime target for future attacks.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• Sleep's promises of safety and power resonate deeply with an Offering. They feel a powerful, almost irresistible urge to accept her offers, finding a strange calm when considering surrender.
• If Tethered to an ally, an Offering's own "hunger" or primal urges might intensify, manifesting as a desire to absorb energy or solace from their tethered partner, potentially leaving the ally feeling depleted or uneasy, especially if facing Dreamhound aggression.
• An Offering feels a twisted fascination with The Void's rampant spread and the Guardians'/Dreamhounds' destructive energy. They find a source of strength in the chaos, gaining brief bursts of speed or power when directly threatened by either creature type.

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The Moment We Left Off (week 4)

CONTENT WARNING: Overwhelming exhaustion, lingering dread, emotional desolation, fragility of peace, psychological uncertainty.

The roaring storm has broken. The all-consuming chaos of the Void has abruptly ceased, its ravenous tendrils recoiling from the city as if burned. What remains is a world held in a breathless, unsettling quiet. The darkness lifts with one final, massive city-wide pulse of all lights to the point that some even burst, as Two gives it his all to push it away. You find yourself amidst a city profoundly scarred, its broken structures and lingering black fungal growths a stark testament to the recent terror. The magic electricity, once so vital, now pulses with a dim, steady, almost mournful light, exhausted from its fight.

One's agonizing screams, his desperate pleas for release, have faded from the Murmur. His presence is now a profound, quiet sadness, a chilling melancholy that washes over you like a cold mist, heavy with sorrow but devoid of rage. He isn't healed or free, but his furious torment has been momentarily soothed. There's no direct connection, no insight into his tormented thoughts, just the heartbreaking stillness of his immense suffering.

Sleep's omnipresent voice has receded dramatically. Her presence in the Murmur is now a faint, frustrated hum, a barely perceptible undercurrent of simmering rage and thwarted plans. Her usual whispers are absent, almost as if she's temporarily stunned or regrouping, leaving a silence that is unnerving in its depth. Her immediate triumph has been averted, but her essence lingers, a promise of future machinations yet to unfold.

Amidst this heavy quiet, Two's beacon now burns with a constant, soft, almost exhausted glow. It's a persistent, unwavering presence, a silent sentinel that feels like a fragile anchor in the returning silence. He is here, observing, but perhaps weakened from the immense effort required to bring this precarious peace. His light offers no direct answers, only a steady, enduring vigil.

The Lesser Sacred Guardians and Dreamhounds have vanished entirely. The city streets, once teeming with their grotesque forms, are now empty save for their lingering stench and the scattered evidence of their destructive rampage. A profound exhaustion settles over all Vessels, a bone-deep weariness that penetrates beyond the physical, born from the intense struggle and the emotional toll. The peace is palpable, but unsettlingly fragile, like holding your breath after a scream.


Though faint, Sleep's voice sometimes brushes the edge of your perception, a soft, tempting hum that promises an even deeper peace if only you had . . . Chosen differently.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• A Token's magic will mirror the Murmur's new quiet and Two's exhaustion. Their spells may now be subtly muted or require unexpected effort
• If Tethered to an ally, a Token can extend a psychic or physical ward, offering minor protection to their partner against residual psychic backlash or exhaustion, but this causes a momentary sense of shared vulnerability in the Token.
• A Token's mask or sigil resonates with Two's steady beacon, allowing them to draw a brief, pure burst of light energy to soothe minor lingering anxieties or restore a small amount of 'light' to themselves or an ally, at the cost of intense physical fatigue.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• An Offering feels a disturbing affinity with the new, silent aftermath. They find an unsettling comfort in the stillness, gaining a brief resistance to exhaustion or residual environmental effects by embracing the eerie calm.
• Though Sleep is distant, her lingering frustration subtly targets an Offering. They might experience brief, unsettling illusions or disturbing dreams, a silent punishment for the collective choice that did not favor Her.
• If Tethered to an ally, an Offering might feel a lingering urge to draw their tethered partner closer, subtly absorbing their presence or emotional energy from them to stabilize their own unsettling peace, potentially leaving the ally feeling drained.

Comments

QUESTIONS

[uruz]

[faa]

I have a question about Week 3! Can we tailor Sleep's offers and false promises to a character's specific insecurities - the things they want the most? Or are they more generic?

[writetheway]

How far does Sleep's protection go if a character gives in? Are they completely shielded from the event effects (except the monsters, presumably?) or is it still bad, just maybe less so?

[whomthebelltolls]

Alright, so question of the year: What happens when you [game show voice:] DISSECT. THAT. GUARDIAN?

[snaggletooth]

Coming out swinging again with how edible are the Lesser Guardians and Dreamhounds?

[for_sake]

hi hi! how might the nightmares (honses) fare during week 3 when the Lesser Guardians and Dreamhounds come around? will they be able to help Vessels escape, or will they be completely absent now that the Void bleeds fully into reality?

and is there anything notable about them in week 4? (maybe exhausted too? absent altogether?)

PLOT CLUE ROLLS

[uruz]

If you'd like to roll for a plot clue and brief insight on unresponsive NPCs (One and Espera), comment here. There will be no NPC interactions in these threads. Anything above 11 is a success roll, and anything below that will be a failed roll. One roll per character.

[dethangel]

rollin rollin rollin rollin

Toki Wartooth | Metalocalypse | ota

[dethangel]

[nested prompts for easier... prompts. wildcard options always available, just post to this one if you want something different. bring your own prompt, plot with me, or ask for your very own starter here or at agentkaz! doing a lot of winging it but plotting comment here if you need it.]

week 1

[dethangel]

[Toki's been having... a time, to say the least. Ups and downs. He's got plenty of really cool friends here, but one of them turned out to be a giant dick. He helped kick some ass and help people out. There was a lovely party where he got to get out his anger and aggression. He's been working on music. He's been flying around for the hell of it. He has no idea what day it is and the weather isn't helping.

So he's out, because he needs to go out sometimes, and things are strange. There's something dark and uncomfortable behind him. There's something bright and flashing in front of him. There's no question which direction he's heading, at least at first.

But the Void is close. It feels like it wants him, for some reason, and he feels like he wants it in return. It wouldn't hurt to step in for a little bit, would it? He's torn. He's not paying attention to his surroundings otherwise. One distraction could shove him in either direction and he just might startle way too easily.

He turns, eyes wide, taking an involuntary step.]

[easy method to have him in the void or out of it. just lemme know which.]

sakurazuka seishirou | x/1999

[hallowedly]

( Helloooooooooo! If the below prompts don't scratch an itch, or if you're hosting Seishirou in Feb and the cockles of your black heart crave an eerie domestic scene, just holler with your week of choice, and I'll stitch up something custom! )

week i | elevator jokes have their ups and downs

[hallowedly]

( First fizzling, then rupture. The elevator groans to a halt, and the void eats another microcosm of concrete and plaster. He feels it, abyssal nothingness that blooms, a vast singularity. Gravity lullabying a gelid apocalypse. On the button plate, cold gathers like silver’s tarnish of condensation.

And he thinks first: ARD. The back-up generator will deliver them to the nearest — first — floor, though they’ve only just slipped by the lip of the second. But then the fatigued screech, the bright choking of a machine ill greased, and the absent, gutting certainty that what dregs of electricity have fueled the sleeping Manhattan in recent weeks were never rerouted toward rescue devices.

And chills drip-drip down, and the old-world velvet gilding of the elevator’s carcass dress it like their tomb, and he spies in tears of textile the gardening start of spores, fungal. Wonderful. Thus their fate is sealed as two waiting minnows in a distinctly rickety drum skirting the trench for the entertainment of cosmic hagfish.

There is a moment, feet slipping in sudden inertia, fingers clawing the soft innards of the elevator’s padding, when he chases the start of urgency. Then, the carriage settles in bartered equilibrium, a sheen of synthetic anemia ladens his limbs, and in utter dark, like fresh divinity, he produces the flickering of his lighter, waving it in a baulking arc to showcase their surroundings. )

This is an old elevator. ( Obviously. But for the sake of his audience: ) There will be a ceiling hatch.

( And taking the knee — ) Would you like to climb my shoulders and check?

( Tick-tock, after all, beat of their lids slowing to treacle. )

Shelley Lang | oc | ota

[dustyroad]

Week 1 - A

[Shelley Lang, loner and outdoorsman, was living in a car.

Sure, there were a multitude of other places that he could hit up and someone he was keeping an eye on at the University, but sleeping in a car near Central Park was something he was comfortable with. Having found pillows, a wool blanket, window shades, and an instrument to occupy his time, he had all he needed--

Or, so he thought.

He was deep asleep when the interior lights suddenly flashed and the radio blared static at him. Shelley started back to wakefulness, heart pounding, and fell into the foot well before he could get his bearings. With a grunt, he slammed one of the doors open and crawled out- a ragged mess of a man in his wrinkled coat- to just look askance at the headlights that continued blinking in a steady rhythm.]

Damn... What's all this?

[He asked aloud, pulling out his backpack and the case for his small ukulele. Thoughtless, his foot tapped in time with the blinking lights.]

I'm gonna need a coffee if we're dealing with this now.

Week 1 - B

[It was the darkness that was harder to deal with than the blinking lights.

Shelley could deal with the light and the gauzey, kaleidoscopic halos that the lights had acquired for him in recent weeks- before Sleep took him. He could still make out general details. The darkness was harder because there was no light to rely on.

Not even his glowing chalk seemed to help. It was just him...

And that lady's voice.]

I don't need your help.

[He said aloud, trying to block out the silken whisper that played directly into his brain. ]

I've faced shadows for years. They don't scare me.

[Don't make him sicc an earworm into the Murmur to block this out!]

Week 2

[By this time he was checking in at the Columbia University, wanting the grounding presence of people he knew was real rather than the faces of old friends whispering to him in the darkness. Most of the time, there was a woman- long dark curls, dark eyes like soft, rich earth that awaited the warmth of spring after a brutal winter, that stood there on the corner of where he was getting organized.

"Why did you leave?" she asked. "I needed you. Georgie needed you."]

Shut up, [Shelley said, peering at his trusty crow bar as he inspected for damage.]

You're not Percy, so shut up.

Week 3

Damnit - that's my fishing spot!

[Shelley swung his crowbar as if it were a blade, knocking one of the hounds in the jaw while he stood over his backpack, full of supplies he was trying to deliver to a cache. He was near Central Park once again, and was heading for some of the shops nearby- it was a central location (obviously) and a good place to leave helpful information and tools.

Except. Hosts in the form of dogs were in the way.]

I knew I shoulda found a gun!

[He hissed, hitting another beast on the back swing. Running wasn't going to be an option with this many, and he couldn't afford to stand down.]

Wildcard

[Doing see a prompt you're interested in? Make one up! HMU on Plurk @ woodrift ]

Week 1 - A

[lupusxylem]

[Though his own living situation is a little less fluid than it was before, Wolfwood gets stir-crazy. Even moreso somehow in the too-empty confines of an abandoned hospital, so it isn't long before he heads outside to stretch his wings. Not the smartest idea when he still hasn't fully learned to fly, but he's taken to gliding off short rooftops so it's not nothing. Plus, he's never been afraid of heading out on his own before, and that's not going to change now even with the shit that's been going on.

What sucks the most though is having the vision that he does, being a bird and all, and suddenly being flash-banged with strobing lights basically all over the city. He has no choice but to get to lower ground, which ends up in him landing awkwardly near to where Shelley has his car parked. With a ruffle of feathers, Wolfwood manages to get himself upright just in time for the door of the car to slam open, gaze narrowed as he watches someone climb out to check on the car lights.]

Ain't just your car. Shit's happenin' all over the damn city.

[He mutters, taking a few steps closer as he examines the car's front bumper while the lights continue to flash.]

Does this thing even run?

Ain (Bluhen) | Elsword

[eidxiety]

week 2

[Ain, admittedly, is very lonely. Sleep knows this about him. His mind twists and bends as easily as a thin jewellery wire, the pervasive illusions taking root in his psyche — of his friends he hasn't seen in months, of goodbyes he never got to give and would have liked to before he got stuck here. The first day is somewhat tolerable, whispers in his brain of "that's not how you cook that" and "what a weird book you're reading" and "is that a horse?" Normal. Nice.

And of course, as expected, they twist. Ain was his group's sole healer — a role that the youngest of their group had been learning to help with, but being a child meant she had limited knowledge and that he'd been her mentor for the longest time. They're wounded. They need his help. They're crying out for him, asking why he left, asking why he's abandoned them to die. For the most part, Ain manages to suppress the impulse to listen to them, shaking with an anxious energy that becomes increasingly obvious the more anyone talks to him. He's scared. Horrified. And during several moments, he reaches out toward the spectres of his found family in an earnest thought that they might be real.

(They're never real. He should know better.)

He looks like a deer in headlights as he approaches you. Maybe you aren't real, either, but he bothers asking:]

Is there a man with red hair next to me bleeding out, or am I crazy?

[He's crazy. He knows he's crazy. But if you could just confirm that he is, real quick, it might put some of the paranoia to rest.

There's a chance, though, that you don't meet him like this. Instead, you could meet him outside in Central Park, sitting in the grass and motioning wildly like he might be holding somebody. There's no one there, not to you — but the way Ain is collapsed in the grass suggests that he sees someone there, laying across his lap. His fingertips never make contact with the illusion properly, but to Ain, the dying body of his closest friend feels too real to deny. The aching wails of someone losing a friend, a lover, a family member — they reach your ears through piercing sobs.

There's no one there, but he sure as hell is convinced there is.]

week 3a - yakety sax plays while we run for our lives

[All Ain wanted to do was see if any of the grocery stores around here had any more snacks, or if they'd all been looted by now. All he wants are those stupid little Hostess snack cakes, ones that he has to hope are chock-full of enough preservatives to make them survive a nuclear blast somehow and that they haven't all turned to sludge in their wrappers. There are simple indulgences in life, and cupcakes are one of them, alright?

So, before he decided to go on this venture, he'd grabbed you by the arm — stranger or friend or otherwise — and said the words: Come grocery stealing with me.

That's it. This should have been quick, easy, and you both would've had snack cakes. Alas, the store he takes you to — a Trader Joe's with half the sign missing — is full of Hosts and Dreamhounds both, which is only apparent when you're already in the store and the exit is blocked by them.

Surely if you're very quiet or distract them, you both can leave, right? That's the thought Ain has, as he suddenly leaves you on the ground and scrambles on top of a wobbly display shelf to survey the area.]

I think we should try going around the back of the store, [he hisses down to you,] that's probably safer than going back out the front.

[And then his tail lashes something off the top of the shelf and shatters it on the ground... and all the monsters in the area suddenly snap to attention. Sigh.]

week 3b - no more yakety sax :(

[Several days after his grocery trip gone sour, Ain decides he's going to do his usual rounds of checking up on people — and that he's going to do it in-person simply because he prefers face-to-face chats. If he finds someone dead, at least that's closure for him rather than wondering why he's being ignored via Murmur. And so, through the blackout he ventures, figuring he'll be fine. He's always been fine, somehow.

Ain doesn't make it much further than three whole blocks from where he lives before he's accosted. A Dreamhound rushes out from behind a building too warped for Ain to make out what it used to be, and one pirouetting dodge leads him into the maws of a second. He falls like a lead balloon, chin smacking on the pavement as he rolls onto his back in some attempt to kick them away to minimal avail. They bite, they tear, and his momentary bursts of hellfire are ineffective against anything but the scenery. A nearby tree lights up like a bonfire and Ain shrieks for help, the last dregs of power carrying his voice in an echo across the city block.]

wildcard

[Hiii! I'm available for whatever, if you need to plot hit me here: wolfchan !! Weeks 1 & 4 will largely be spent with Ain moping so I didn't write anything for those, but if you want him to be soggy feel free to hit me up!!]

3a Watch this space bc I am double dipping

[lupusxylem]

[Given that he'd agreed to stay (for now) with Ain at his little hospital refuge, it's not surprising that Ain has decided to drag Wolfwood on his grocery stealing escapades. He has no problems with stealing- though he honestly wouldn't call looting in a world like this stealing, because if people had problems with that they'd all be dead or embroiled in some civil war by now- but the fact that they're walking right into the Hosts territory makes that a little tricky. He has a gun by now thanks to working with folks to get one put together with a meager bit of ammo, but he's only got the one. He's not going to miss his shots, but he also can't just conjure more bullets from thin air. He has to hope they can find some while looting. Surely a Trader Joe's would have bullets right-

Anyway this isn't going to be that easy, because now they're stuck inside with no clear way out, and their cover's just been blown.]

Son of a bitch-

[Well don't look now Ain, Wolfwood is, honestly without thinking it's the bird brain taking over, scrambling up to join you on top of the already very unsteady shelf, perching with his talons gripping the top shelf tightly as he keeps himself balanced with his wings.]

You coordinated enough to stay on the shelves? If we can make it to the back there might be an old ventilation shaft we can climb through.

[He's not waiting to see whether Ain is or not, as he does a BIG bird hop from one to the other, causing the shelf to groan and sway ominously before it comes to a perilous stop.]

Lady Maria | Bloodborne | Lycan

[whomthebelltolls]

[1: Omens in your Skies]

[Another month, another... well whatever this is. She should have known the respite from the end of the previous month was only to be temporary; it always was, from the pattern she'd picked up.

These are new, however. Stepping forward, a flash of light in the corner of her eye to warn her, and her toes stopping right where a curve of tendril blackens the already dark tarmac.

Go forward, a voice says within her, without speaking. She already know it's the Beast within pushing her onward. Even though the wounds are yet too raw from the previous month, she eyes the darkness.

And then, even though it's giving the Beast what it wants, she steps right on into it, fearlessly.

There's something in there, clung to the wall, head trembling in the darkness.

She wants its blood.

But it's too much for her, and her Beast fights her, wants nothing more than to give up and to let the thing within in, and so she retreats not long afterward.

She stumbles, breathless, from the void, and doubles over against a nearby car whose lights flash twice at her as though relieved.] ... I'm going to need more help.

[2: Alarm Bells in Your Eyes]

[The experience in the Void gives her much to think about. Much to chew on. Sleep is sweet nothings in her ear - promises of safety, of an end to the chaos. Those are not what Maria wants to hear. Everything that happens is a curiosity. Everything that Sleep promises is something to be studied, dissected. To look for clues. This being One's fault doesn't really ring true to what Maria saw at the end of the last Nightmare, but it doesn't really matter.

What are you actually going to give me, is Maria's answer. What can someone like you offer that I actually want; and safety is not it. Danger has always been my life.

Sleep will have to change tactics.

It's not a relief, the whispers are always there, but it keeps attention off her. Away.

She walks through Manhattan during the days of the second week, and sets herself up between Voids and throngs of hosts, sword at the ready. Combat always helped her focus, and now is no different. She bounds between a trio of hosts, cuts them open with the slice and crack of her swords through meat, and allows them to fall.

Then, she flicks the blood off her blade, and stands upright. If someone is there, she's surprisingly steady when she says;] Should be clear between here and that next Void, but take care.

[3: I Miss the Man I Was]

[This time, she has help.

This time, she has her swords, her Beast slavering in the back of her mind, ready for blood. She bares her fangs, and they're larger than ever.

The Voids explode outward in a chaos of dogs and guardians, and Maria rises to meet them halfway, toeing the line of the voids; any dogs that come out she cuts down like the animals they are. Her prey is larger, more dangerous. She steps across the threshold to taunt the guardians, but though the pull toward them is immediate, she steps back before it sinks into her mind too thoroughly.

And she cuts down another dog. In the distance, a shadow, looming, galloping across the pavement on a collision course with the giant of a woman holding her swords out, ready to meet it. She stands as guardian, and she eyes whoever is behind her, over her shoulder.] It's coming - are you ready?

[Let's kill an abomination :)]

[4: Wildcard]

[Maria will be around killing Hosts when she's not teasing the edges of the Voids, or poking around inside. She is available for helping kill Hosts, if characters want to run into her there, or for weapon lessons if characters want to visit her at her home in the Met Cloisters. Afterward, let the vivisection begin!

Otherwise, plotting post is here.]

3

[trashblaze]

[ The streets have become so dangerous to navigate… But that doesn't stop Caelus from wanting to check on his dear friends and those around him. There must be something he can do to help, especially knowing that unknown monsters have begun to prowl across the city. They need to be culled right away. That's why he eventually ended up in this situation with her— this powerful woman, who easily cuts down her foes with such efficient swings of her swords.

When the woman asks if he's ready, Caelus responds with a determined nod, tightly holding onto his baseball bat as he secures his position. Those monstrous canines aren't much of a problem alone, but they will surely cause issues if they attack in packs. But the real issue is… those.

What the hell are those? Coming out from the very depths of these abysses, the Lesser Guardians sprawl slowly, formlessly. Regardless, Caelus remains unfazed. After witnessing the likes of the Rat King and other grotesque abominations even back in his own universe, another one isn't going to shock him anymore. ]

I'll cover you, miss! … By the way, I'm Caelus!

[ Knowing each other's names will be preferable since they're fighting together now. ]

Baek Saheon | GDCG | OTA

[inverseye]

week 1-2: void

Ack-! No!

[ Black fungal growths drip down from what once one a normal hallway, bursting with protrusions that bloom like the shriveled eye of a waterlogged corpse. The stench is immediate, worse then the floor which clings to the foot as Saheon dances backward, trying to lift a boot away from the tarry mass.

The door he just entered from rattles as he shakes it, but the wood has long since rotted into the wall in another wave of malignant transformation. The rest of the building that stretches out before him (and a prospective partner!) is impossible to make out in the gloomy shadows. ]

We're stuck... Do you want to- [ Saheon rubs his throat, trying to find the right words to say, but they spill out impulsively, like he's suddenly unable to lie. ] -go risk your neck first?

week 3: beat the dog - tw for harm to (demo)dogs.

[ The world is falling apart, obviously, which is nothing new or interesting. Saheon has been very stressed by his chances of survival, but the totality of the collapse, the omnipresent terror of no safe place and no hope but to capitulate (and yet some people have clearly not capitulated has cooled his usual mania into a sickly focus.

This is how he finds himself leaning on a fencepost in a ruined city, watching one of the horrific dog-like monsters. The slobbering thing had clearly been chasing another vessel but had gotten itself tangled in the messy remains of a chain linked fence. It's flower like head opens and closes as it struggle fruitlessly, scenting the humans nearby but with no hope of escape. ]

Want to free it? [ Saheon raises one eyebrow at a passerby, before shaking his head with a cough. Parasites. Will he ever be rid of them? ] Sorry. That was a joke.

Wildcard!
[ Come find Saheon throughout the city this month, or come hit him up on the Hanbit Event log (pending!). ]

3

[roedeer]

[ that passerby is.... a cat. not a perfect cat, but one regardless that never faces saheon. an eye drifts from the face down to the neck to look in direction of him though, it analyzes the circumstances of the dog and him making sense of it. the cat is an anomaly, one that doesn't seem afraid of the barking dog where its head splits in twos, then threes and fours.

a long stare.

the parasites too, the slugs that leak from a just as filthy mouth. the cat's curious, when it walks close with one step— a leg shudders and disappears, causing it to fall. ]

Maria | Silent Hill 2

[heavensnight]

▸ Week 1
a. void.
[Maria has joked with many about her horrible luck but it's hardly a joke when it's simply her existence. her purpose is to be someone else's punishment, being punished herself, and a big part of her still expects that she will be facing that here. every sound makes her jump, every movement makes her ready to run, and she thinks she's being safe. Maria still doesn't know the rules, the script, and she knows risks won't be good here.

and then she walks right into a void.

she staggers, confused and scared. Maria doesn't know how long she's been in there, her appearance slowly changing, and she's ready to scream. it's just darkness and Maria doesn't know if she can do this if there isn't anybody else.

until she's face to face with a Guardian. Maria takes a step back but being an Offering, she feels drawn. and she's hungry. like she always is and she's already tired from her wandering. she almost reaches out to it until she hears somebody else. she brings her hand to herself and looks at her new acquaintance.]

I wasn't going to touch it. [she absolutely was.]

b. sleep.
[Maria listens to Sleep and she's tempted. very tempted. Maria knows that it isn't always good to do whatever a big power wants but something about Sleep just makes Maria feel sorry for her.

maybe she just relates a little too much.]

Kind of tempting, don't you think? [it's asked to someone nearby.]

▸ Week 2
[Maria has never hallucinated, she can say that much. maybe because she had always been part of the hallucination herself. but there's a first time for everything and Maria has been experiencing a lot of firsts. though she would have preferred not going through this.

it's like she's in Silent Hill again, its fog wrapping around her. the fog itself makes Maria feel on edge and she reminds herself that fog is normal. every place has fog. this place can have fog and it doesn't mean anything. but it felt different, deep down she knew what it meant. but if she didn't think about it then it didn't have to be so damn terrifying.

until a mannequin appears. there is absolutely no way one of these is native to the area. not when it had fully belonged to James's fucked up sense. right now, Maria doesn't have a weapon on her (her mistake) and so all she does is back up. stunned. she can't believe this is here. she backs up into somebody and screams, feeling as helpless as she did in Silent Hill.]

Kill it, kill it!

▸ Week 4
[the peace feels much like the beginning of her cycle. when she would first wake up in Heaven's Night and go to find James. she wouldn't be hurt right then, it was a momentary peace, but it wouldn't last. that is how it felt at this moment.

and there's the feeling that maybe she should have tried harder to reach out to Sleep, to try to understand her.

there is something peaceful about the stillness, though. she leans up against a wall and asks somebody nearby:] Got any idea how to meditate? Seems like a good time to learn.

_____
(let me know if there's something you'd like to do by PMing me or on plurk lachoy)

— CLOSED <3 Vander

[heavensnight]

[her and Vander have been attached to the hip. to the point that Maria continues to worry maybe she's being overbearing. potentially a little annoying. Vander would tell her, she knows. maybe she'd know through the tether. they get along very well and maybe part of her concerns is the risk of anything ruining that. it's tempting to stay with him but everybody needs space. certainly he does and she should try as well. not like she ever had it before.

yet when week two hits, when the hallucinations begin, Maria regrets not sticking with him. it starts with the fog, her mind and logic becoming blurry as she wanders. logic and sense do not seem to have a place in her mind as she struggles to find some sort of clarity. at times it seems like there is only Sleep murmuring in her mind and so sometimes Maria thinks she might be trying to run to her. but maybe she is also searching for Vander. when clarity does come to her.

there are movements that frighten her and she runs. she thinks she hears the scraping of the Executioner's weapon and there are tears in her eyes because no. not again. how she runs is blind, panicked, and there might be a few gasping sobs because she can't stand to have it all end here. not when she's found so much.

if she wasn't so focused on her own fears and terror, she would notice as the fog thins in some areas, she has run into another setting. a bridge, a place of tragedy as well, but it feels like all there is is the fog, her monsters, and her loneliness.]

Julian Bashir | Star Trek: Deep Space 9

[licencetoheal]

[Note: Due to his mental state, Julian's Kimera features are acting up. Whole limbs are covered in fur or scales. His hands sometimes shift to be more paw or talon-like when he's not focusing. There are feathers threaded more heavily through his hair and lining his hair line. His canines are lion canines more often than human canines. And his eyes are more often either lion, snake, or owl eyes more often than his human eyes. He also has full-sized owl-like wings and a lion's tail, except the part all the way to the tuft is covered in snake scales.]

Week 2 | Option A

[licencetoheal]

[note: ota to anyone that might swing by the Columbia University clinic because they live in the dorms/to visit/for an appointment/to help out etc.]

[cw: Not quite direct child abuse but really shitty ableist attitudes a parent has towards their child.]

[Julian is not having a good time of it. He doesn't really have any tethers. Oh sure there are a few people he's been friendly with, that he wants to spend more time with. A flirtation here, someone to possibly mentor there, people willing to problem solve with him. People he's mended and visited or who are grateful he's mended someone. People willing to help him with his work, cooperate on their mutual survival. People he's tried his very best to offer a professional lifeline to.]

[But that isn't exactly a bond, is it? That isn't a true connection. And all his interactions have been an exercise in utility. That's the risk when you step forward and introduce yourself as someone that can provide something, that can solve a problem, that can meet a need. That's the risk when your instinct is to offer yourself in service long before you offer yourself in friendship.]

[It's mostly his own fault. They only know "Dr. Bashir" because all he's really given them is "Dr. Bashir" and that is not the same as actually knowing "Julian." They have played no games with him. They have no inside jokes. They haven't goofed around playing pretend or really sat down and shared hobbies. They have only gotten a glimpse of the professional and the officer, not the man who gets jokingly wolf whistled at for showing leg by one of his female friends every time he and his best friend walk through the community bar - because they do it wearing no pants since they're dressed like Spartan hoplites to re-enact the battle of Thermopylae.]

[Nobody knows he likes spy stories or pretending to be a world war I fighter pilot. Or that he likes debating philosophy and literature with someone he knows will almost always take the most absurd stance imaginable. And the thing is: he hasn't taken the time to learn that much about anyone else either because he has occupied himself with the essentials. You can't get to know people if you're overly focused on their survival.]

[It's a cage of his own making, just as it always has been. Bashir, star pupil. Bashir, brilliant doctor. Bashir, competent officer. Look at him and his brilliant mind, look at him trying to solve all your problems, look at him and see his parents' gift to the world. Because he can't just try to make friends - he's always been rubbish at it - he must impress before being...just a person.]

[He keeps hearing that for some reason, his parents talking about him being their legacy. At first he thinks it's just that he hasn't slept enough. But then, to his horror, he realizes he actually hears it hears it, walking past the door of one of the dorms.]

[("That's our son! Our legacy, our gift to the world.") They'd said it often enough.]

[He shoves the door open but it's an unused room. Empty. Of course his father isn't on the other side. His father is probably a couple of universes and an entire quadrant away right now. His father isn't on the other side the second time it happens either.]

[("- maybe we should listen to his teacher about that program." "No son of mine is going in some - some remedial class!" "But Richard, it might help him. You can tell how frustrated he is -" "No, Amsha, it'll trap him. It'll doom him to a life of - of mediocrity and underachievement." "Not so loud, he might hear." His father's voice, ugly and bitter: "You say that like he'd even understand what we're talking about. He barely understands what's going on at any given time. No, no class that's meant to hold him back. We're going to fix this. There has to be something - some procedure, some treatment for whatever's wrong with him -")]

[Memories like this are why he'd started to pry when he was fifteen, to figure out the truth about his supposed hospital stay for "Lurasian flu" as a child. He'd remembered more than his parents thought. Understood more than they realized: including the fact that he'd been a great disappointment.]

[That's an empty room too. How very metaphorical.]

[Eventually, he decides the best thing to do is just... just leave all the doors open. All of them. They can't have any fights behind the doors if they're open, after all. Problem solved! The only ones he leaves closed are the ones that belong to other occupants of the dorms and fortunately something about the fact that they're claimed is making his brain not imagine voices behind them.]

[And then, every door in the place open wide, he sets himself up in the dorm infirmary, re-organizing his supplies. Yes, he will just keep busy. He will re-roll the bandages more tightly this time. He will re-organize the meds - he needs to work up a proper tray for if anyone codes, honestly.]

Idle hands. You know what they say about idle hands, Bashir. Just keep busy and you will be. Right. As. Rain.

[He didn't need to risk sharing by purposefully forming any Tethers. He doesn't need to risk anyone knowing the what of what he is, that it is a "what," that he is a freak and a liar and a fraud - and a monster even when he doesn't have a tail. He has at least one option that may be willing to if it gets bad but - but maybe it won't get that bad! He thinks. While clearly obsessively reorganizing the same stuff over and over and over and over and over. Anyone that walks in will see the supplies all sprawled out, spread over every surface.]

Lortel Kehelland | The Extra's Academy Survival Guide

[vixenish]

plotting post • siren song permissions • universal DNI/opt-out • heartfuls

Week 1 (OTA)

[vixenish]

[ the times she manages to resist—and they are many—she will always pause dead on the street, as if physically arrested. it's two things, you see.

most obviously, it's the flickering of the lights. she might have chalked it up to the new restoration of the power—had it not been restored for two weeks now without any such sign. the wild nature of the flickering is the more chilling sign. it stills her steps; makes her want to back away, however slowly and reluctantly she does it.

were it only that, she might not be able to resist after all. but she senses something else: a presence ahead that Should Not Be, hungering, hunting, and it's much too close. should someone be with her, or even close by; she will unthinkingly throw out an arm to stop or grab them, too. ]

Don't. [ there's a tension in her voice, her expression pale beneath wide eyes. ] Something isn't right. Something's there.

Kaiisteron | Witch King | OTA

[overearth]

[ plotting post | infosheet | permissions ]

⯕ ( week 1

[overearth]

OMENS IN YOUR SKIES;

in the darkness of the void

[ The void has mostly swallowed the bodega and the block that holds it. Black crepe shadows drape across windows and doorways, building facades, a darkness so deep it's almost oily; strange tendrils climb brick and stone, fingers of rot eating their way into the surface beneath. It smells wet, and a little like old meat, something unutterably wrong about the shape of the things swathed in decay.

Kai's head tilts at the sound of something moving outside, and he sets the package of food he'd been holding down on the counter in front of him. ]

Move away from the door.

[ His voice is quiet but commanding, and he'll take the wrist of anyone who isn't fast enough for his liking, pulling them back further into the darkness of the shop. Outside there's a crunch like something walking on broken glass or dead leaves, sharp and crackling.

The shelves in the bodega are just low enough for Kai to look over, watching as a Guardian shambles into the narrow sliver of doorway through which he can see the street. He ducks as far as he can while still keeping an eye on the creature and whispers to his companion, ] Don't make a sound. It may not notice us.

[ Would that they could be so lucky. ]

dan heng | honkai: star rail

[menhulu]

week one - void;

[ dan heng is well aware of the dangers that seem always to be lurking around every bend in this city, and yet one cannot simply live their lives in constant fear. holing up in one place is a sad existence, and there is knowledge here that he would seek - knowledge, and the freedom of fresh air.

but the voids are unexpected. before he knows it, the light around him is swallowed up, and dan heng is plunged into a preternatural darkness that seems to pull at his very soul, dragging, thick and viscous like cooling blood. there's a flash of fear in his heart, before it is smothered by.. something else, a strange, unfamiliar comfort, as if this is exactly where he is meant to be at this moment in time, as if he is home, in a warm embrace.

for a moment, it nearly drowns him willingly.

but dan heng is not so easily fooled by a sweet dream - after all, he has experienced this sort of thing before. with a gulp of air he startles from his reverie, stumbling through the darkness, away from the things that lurk and call to his spirit, reaching with his hands for something, anything to guide his way. flickers of light.. flickers of light in his periphery form a weak path, and so he follows them, until at last he is expelled from the void, dumped onto hard asphalt.

a rattling breath, and dan heng lurches forward, landing hard on his knees as the entire world seems to tilt. he retches, coughing, bringing up a mouthful of blood from his lungs. ]

week two - meditation;

[ the prolonged helplessness of being in this place is not easy for even dan heng to shoulder, reliable and stalwart as he is - the dreams prey on his troubled mind, digging up clawed handfuls of memory that he would prefer to leave behind him, gruesome scenes, old pain..

central park, at least, is as peaceful a place as any, he supposes. and so he sits in the grass with his eyes closed, meditating, a feeble attempt to wrest back his own thoughts.

for a little while, it works. dan heng calms, breathes, allows his focus to drift on the ebbing and flowing tides of his own meaningless thoughts. it's the best that he has felt, since these voids began rising into existence like infectious pustules - his mind feels comfortably at rest, able to rejuvenate, at least for a few moments. but then comes sleep, piercing through the protective veil like a needle, his head blazing with sharp pain as dan heng hisses and jerks back to awareness.

but when his eyes open, it isn't the park that he sees, but the walls of the shackling prison, the frigid, frozen chains that bind him, and the lash of the whip at his back. dan heng gasps, unseeing, scraping at his wrists in an attempt to pull away the manacles that are not there. ]

No, I won't go back -

wildcard;

[ happy to hash out things for other weeks as well, feel free to throw something new at me, or ask for a custom starter! i can be reached at plurk (owlcoholic) or discord (owlfox). ]

w2

[trashblaze]

[ For some reason, Caelus feels compelled to head in this direction in the park. He's not exactly sure why, but as he gets closer, he realizes it. This is a very precious tether of his, after all— his connection with Dan Heng in this world. Further drawn to it, he hurries his steps as he begins to sprint down the long paths, especially after sensing something wrong in the tether's stability.

But these feelings… Somehow, Caelus's instinct might already know what's going on. After all, it wasn't the first time it happened. It also happened way back when they first found themselves in that strange dream, the very first time they encountered Sleep's realm. And even before that, back in their own home universe, Dan Heng still suffered these nightmares repeatedly.

Finally, Caelus sees Dan Heng's figure in the distance, curled up by himself on the Sleep-influenced grass. Shock comes to the younger trailblazer. Did Dan Heng pass out!? ]

Dan Heng!!

[ Caelus attempts to call out as he's still running. And when he finally reaches Dan Heng, he lands his knees on the grass, lifting up the older Nameless immediately. He gently does so, then transfers the Vidyadhara's head onto his warm lap instead.

It's then he notices the older one is still conscious, but something is clearly wrong. The Vidyadhara's awake, but he's still having nightmares…? A soft palm is placed on that cold cheek, trying to gauge how conscious he really is. ]

Dan Heng, can you hear me?

Sharon da Silva | Silent Hill (Films)

[merged]

[ nested prompts below.
open to wildcards & if a prompt isn't hitting, let me know, and I'll write up something more specific for you ❤️ ]

Week 1

[merged]

▌ ▌ ▌ I. CW: potential for void shenanigans, game typical violence & horror

[ Sharon rides her Nightmare, Belladonna. It's a thin, ghastly mare, all ghost-white bone wrapped in thick, spiraling shadows, but Sharon keeps a steady hand on her when she suddenly shies, reeling back as if something unseen has spooked her. Overhead, a streetlight flickers, uneasy and stuttering. Sharon slips down from the great shadowed beast and tilts her head up toward the light. One by one, nearby building windows begin to flicker, too, and Belladonna retreats a few cautious steps, fear rolling through her frame. ]

What the hell? [ Sharon mutters, glancing back at her. ] What do you even have to be scared of, huh? Is it the lights? [ She steps beneath the streetlamp, staring up at it, trying to make sense of the malfunction. Above the intersection, the stoplights begin to flash red. Red, red, red. Danger. Danger. Danger!

Instinct takes over. She draws her knife, snapping it open with thumb and forefinger. ] ...maybe we should take a different route home today. [ The streetlight flashes green. ]

▌ ▌ ▌ II. CW: more potential for void shenanigans, game typical violence & horror

[ Sharon spots a Vessel several blocks ahead, barely sparing them a thought until a light flickers on in an apartment building to their left. Her stomach sinks as another follows, dim, weak. She breaks into a run, sprinting after them, driven by the need to reach them before they step straight into that warped reality. ]

Hey! [ She shouts, breathless now, panic sharp in her voice. ] Stop!

Rotorstorm | IDW Transformers | OTA

[didiwin]

Nested prompts below! If you want a wildcard, please feel free to hit me up on discord or on plurk trepan <3

Permissions here

Week 1

[didiwin]

cw: emeto

[Rotorstorm does not mean to enter the void. Not uncommon, by any means, but no more pleasant for it. The light leaves, and he's alone. He feels a pressure in his chest - not an effect of the void, but an increasing anxiety. Something he knows well, and is no more pleased to be reacquainted with.

In the void, he has no quips, no jokes to spare - for once. Only Sleep's voice in his ear, gentle and soft. He listens, though he's powerless to do otherwise.

And too weak to resist.

He begs quietly for release, offering up whatever he can, and suddenly - he's back. Leaning onto whatever's nearby for support - a lamppost, in this case - he bends over and retches. A parasite slithers out from his throat, landing onto the ground with a wet thwack. He wrinkles his nose in revulsion, wiping his mouth.]

Gross. I don't even want to know how long that was in there.

Harrier Du Bois | Disco Elysium | OTA

[tequila_sunset]

game info | opt-in/content warnings | kinks | Stanwick

i. BE MY PICTURE ON THE WALL, BE MY SHADOW WHEN I CALL (week one)

As shown on the murmur Harry has dragged all manner of things into the street. Mattresses, crates, metal and wooden scrap, televisions, cables, rope, chains, cinderblocks. He’s developed a pretty good memory of where to find things in this city. Some stashes of his own too. Now, in his time of need- everyone’s need!- they can be put to use.

First he constructs a rudimentary base, cinder blocks and tires. Faith needs a strong foundation or it’ll crumble. As haphazard as his materials look he knows how to build something that won’t simply topple atop the heads or feet of the faithful and curious.

With beak and claw he bends wire and coat hanger into a frame for the shape of antlers. He bleeds, the metal cuts his skin, open up his palms and nick his fingers. He bleeds. He doesn’t stop unless his grip is affected. His skin will start to heal itself on its own.

HALF LIGHT - (A little bleeding is good for the process.)

INLAND EMPIRE - (It makes it real. You create for her, you bleed for her.)

The ‘antlers’ are placed on each altar with their wide branches reaching outstretched to the sky. Lights. Lights are important. Sleep was in darkness once, all alone. He sets candles, finds metal barrels and trash cans.

Under his breath he prays as he builds.

The keen eared might be able to catch some of it:

“…gates of great bright white teeth…splitting the clouds in two…”

He has stretched and bent his upper body into the shape of a man, something more personable. Apparently. Personally, Harry doesn’t think his human face is any nicer than his beast faces. He’s taken some inspiration from Ivan, his lower body is long, shifting between bird and dog, writhing with squirming tentacles that are all at once feathers and fur.

Teeth, garlands of them are wrapped around his arms, around his hands like prayer beads, souvenirs of his work in the water plant. Sleep’s words still fill his head. You will be the teeth of god.


ii. I’LL PARADE THE MONSTERS IN MY HEART FOR YOU (week one)

As the days pass more of the altars spring up on street corners throughout the city. And more are defiled, knocked over.

And now he’s on break, drinking from an expired litre of soda. It’s sweet and flat. His lower body props him up comfortably. His neon yellow pleather jacket is stained with paint, with the altars come increasingly frantic graffiti. Simple, for he writes in Vespertine/English for the sake of the other vessels. END OF ENDS. ONE HOPE. OUR LADY.

He feels someone approaching. He reaches for a hammer.

“You can’t knock this one over. I haven’t finished with it yet.”


iii. I’M GONNA TEAR THAT MASK OFF AND SHOW YOU WHO I REALLY AM (week one + two)

“Shit…”

Now he attends to a ruined altar. His wings droop sadly as he hauls its sad pieces back together. He doesn’t notice you, engrossed in this process with meticulous care. He's crying, without sound his shoulders shake and his eyes water.


iv. I SLEEP WITH ONE EYE CLOSED AND MY BACK TO THE WALL (week two)

It’s cold. It’s March again, he’s wet from the sea, the freeze burns his fingers and wet feet. His body is once again a prison: forced into the soft fleshy shape of a human man. He can’t summon up the strength to break free. He walks, wanders, wrapped in a torn bathrobe.

The world stretches before him, it’s huddled masses, it’s yawning gutters with bodies piled high. Evil bastards high in their towers away from the streets that rot with pestilence and endless death. Mothers clutch their babies like they can protect them from the jaws of the world itself coming down on them. The acrid smell of vomit lingers over it all, stings his sensitive nose.

What good remains, beautiful and true, the shining outline of a woman. When she held him he felt safe, all savage and ugly things inside him coming still. When she told him everything would be ok he believed it. For awhile there was hope, there was tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow you’ll feel better. One day it won’t be so hard. We’ll all look back on this and laugh.

There was movie night, and dinners with her friends. There was lively conversation and laughter and the art museum in Revachol East.

He could be a better person for her. But now, he supposes he’s what he must’ve been all along. Weak, mean, wanting. He reaches for her.

He can’t. He can’t grip anything, it all slips from his bloody hands. She looks down at him, her feet not even the gracing the ground of this world with her steps. With disgusted pity she shakes her head.

“You failed me. You let me down. I believed in you, Harry.”

“You aren’t her! Give her back! Give her back…please. Please. Let me see Dora again.”

Twelve years of his life, his job. It was all a waste. It feels cold. It feels like being in an empty room. There isn’t much strength in his lungs to keep yelling, his jaw is stiffening. It aches, spreading across his face, down to his chest.

“Give her back, monster! War criminal! Bourgeois fuck!”


v. COME ON LET’S GO DANCING IN THE NIGHT (available for any week!)
[written initially as a starter for possible tethering shenanigans but no pressure, also Harry is using his ability to see tethers. they’re there he’s not just crazy]

Harry stares at you, looking past the grey ruins of the physical world. His eyes are watering, he seems overcome with emotion. When he speaks his voice is wistful.

“Your tethers are beautiful.”

There’s a twitch in his face, spastic and involuntary. It’s lifting the corners of his mouth into a pained grimace. He curses under his breath, gripping his cheeks and trying to bow his lower face out of sight. But his eyes are still focused on…your tethers. The invisible ties that bind all to all.

“She’s told me I shouldn’t be scared of it but I’m…a coward. Yeah.”


vi. AND I’LL SHOW YOU SOMETHING HOLY TO ME (wildcard)

[Harry is a busy little bee right now! HMU if you want an individualized prompt. Or feel free to just catch him as he runs around and avoids guardians. As more altars are messed with he’ll start building them higher up, climbing up the sides of buildings.]

i;

[salaryman]

Yuuto hum.

The state of the city feels much more fraught than usual. He can't go on morning jogs or feel particularly at ease. Yet if there is one thing he excels, it is ignoring the mood others are trying to set.

It isn't that he doesn't feel it; it isn't that his body doesn't shudder and tremble in fear. But in his words and actions, he covers up his real reactions.

All that said - he trots into the scene of the shrine. His hands feel slick with sweat and anxiety but his smile is bright and full of warm regards. The gesture - the action - of this devotion to Sleep that Harry offers -- it shows him how he was never going to win the goddess's heart.

He's just too flippant.

"Wow -- this is beautiful." Lightly papping his damp hands together, he praises the effort before him. "You're really amazing, but I already knew that when I spoke to you before."

His shoulders give a small bounce - a friendly jump. "How do you do? I'm Kigai Yuuto. It's a pleasure to meet you in person finally." Bending forward in a little bow, he finishes greeting him.

Yuji Itadori | Jujutsu Kaisen

[cursedvessel]

[Closed prompts nested below. If you would like to plot something out his plotting post is here.]

Week 1 | Closed to Sirius

[cursedvessel]

[He doesn't know how long he's been wandering in the darkness, just that it's been long enough for the chill of the air to have seeped into his bones, making him shiver. He's been searching helplessly for a source of light or some sign that he's getting close to the edges of the darkness, but every direction he turns seems just as dark and hopeless as the last.

He realized quickly how draining and unstable attempting to use his magic is when he tried giving himself a cat's night vision only for his sight to go complete black before he reversed the spell in a hurry. Without his magic to rely on he's been doing his best to avoid the Lesser Guardians, whose shadowy figures he can barely make out against the walls of the buildings they attach themselves to.

But it's impossible to escape the whispers, soft and caressing one moment, and then demanding the next. They sound both distant and as if they're being spoken right into his ear. Or like they're coming from inside his head.

Yuji is no stranger to sharing his body with another, but the very thought is enough to make him sick. Suddenly, Sleep's voice sounds eerily similar to another voice, one that sounds similar to his own.

'All those lives, destroyed by your hands. And you still think you can save anyone?]

Shut up. Shut up.

[He's walking past a row or windows, and the reflection suddenly catches his eye, holding his attention. His reflection looks back at him, but it's different, the expression more arrogant. There are tattoos lining his face, and a second pair of eyes squinting open underneath the first set. Sukuna.

Yuji feels a cold, piercing rage at the sight, and without thinking he's throwing back his fist and sending it straight through the glass. The glass shatters, but it sounds muted within the darkness. Still, it may be enough to draw some unwanted attention.]

Ardyn Izunia ↝ FFXV ↝ OTA (Token: Pyromancer)

[fatedfinality]

↝ Week 1.

The call of darkness is so strong and he's never been one to deny its pull before. It's why he steps willingly into one of those Voids. He's curious despite himself and ready to face whatever consequences that arise from it. After all, he can handle it. What will happen? He dies? Ha. They'll wish that he could.

Amber eyes are alight with fire as he journeys his way through the grotesque landscape. Literally and metaphorically, actually, as he's started to see some fascinating changes thanks to being a Token. Sparks of flame can be seen as he grits his teeth and growls at a Lesser Guardian; it might be hard to tell who looks more feral and threatening.

"Watch out!" he'll call, to anyone else trapped there with him. Following is the sound of a whip-crack of a row of flames that lights through the darkness before fizzling out. His power is waning, he can tell, but he doesn't care. The next strike of his weapon doesn't come with a warning though. If the other party doesn't have the sense to dodge after one, he figures they kind of deserve it.

( █ cw for: emetophobia )
Why would he give these shadows away? He wants it. And it's novel to feel, even if he feels bad- Oh. He feels really, really bad.

"Hm," he says, aloud, mostly to himself but also as a warning to anyone around him. It's all he can get out before he's doubling over and vomiting up blood. It isn't just blood either, which is actually more normal for him than not. The crimson is tinged with clumps of inky black that actually seem to start taking it over.

After a few deep breaths through his nose, he's standing back up straight and wiping off his mouth with his sleeve. He sniffs harshly and then declares: "Well! Better out than in, as they say. I feel better." He doesn't, actually, but he's still not as bothered as he probably should be about it.

↝ Week 2.

Hallucinations aren't anything new to Ardyn. These ones just feel... especially persistent. Somnus lingers than he usually would to stare him down judgmentally. Aera's smile is like not only a stab but twist in his heart.

"Just leave already," he hisses, to what he presumes is just another figment of his imagination when he's alone. But maybe it's not. Maybe it's someone trying to help the man seemingly talking to himself in the middle of the street.

↝ Week 4.

Ardyn is dealing with everything as he often does: by drinking. Even if everything in this place goes to hell in a hand basket, alcohol is a constant across universes to comfort him in his time of need.

"I never thought she'd get the hint I just wasn't interested," he says, about Sleep. "Like, please, I'm- Okay, well, I actually could be that desperate. I just wasn't this time." He's a little self-aware, at least. Sometimes.

week 4

[licencetoheal]

Julian has also found some booze. Normally, at a time like this, after stress and a disappointment like the one he's just dealt with (getting attacked by monsters and having the hospital OR get wrecked right after he fixed it up) he'd have given up on synthehol and would be getting utterly soused with the Chief on some of his prized and very select single malt Irish whiskey.

Julian has decided to just...help himself. And imagine Miles is here in spirit like he'd want to be.

But lo and behold, he found someone else near the alcohol that...he found. And it's nice to be around at least one other person, even if they're a stranger, who finds the situation miserable enough to beeline for the alcohol.

But lo and behold, he found someone else near the alcohol that...he found. And it's nice to be around at least one other person, even if they're a stranger, who finds the situation miserable enough to beeline for the intoxicants.

He's got his in a mug. A very large mug. Beer stein large. One thing hasn't changed with his new form and it's the amount of alcohol it takes to actually affect him. Something about his chimeric animal metabolism has given him a similar alcohol tolerance to his tolerance as a Gene Augment.

He waves the mug at him, sloshing the contents a bit over the rim.

"She's so needy," he slurs only slightly. "It's like..."

He shakes his head.

"'I know you weren't pretty enough to get asked out to prom, but no still means no.'"

Sirius Uhr | Original Character | OTA

[guidingbookworm]

Offering: Wraith
Nested open prompts down below. Wildcards are welcome! You can also talk to me on plurk Nicholaj, Discord: 25thNicholaj, or PM to plot or if you want a closed starter. Plotting comment, will match format. Enjoy!

Week 1 (cw: self harm)

[guidingbookworm]

[The void reminded Sirius of when he was hollowed out by the Abomination. It was a harrowing feeling but as much as his instincts were screaming for him to run away, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let anyone else face that nightmare alone and he plunged further into the darkness. It was fine. His nature as a wraith gave him some resistance to the fungal growths so he could endure the voids longer than most people.

The darkness was the biggest problem but he often couldn’t see when he got lost to his magic when he was a mage. Although he had magical senses to help him navigate the darkness then. Without anything to guide him the darkness felt endless, like it would swallow him whole. He stifled a startled gasp when he tripped and fell. He winced from the sharp sting as his hand was cut by something. A trickle of glowing, starry sand flowed from the wound. His veins of moonlight? He supposed it made sense that a gift from Sleep would work in the void. It certainly wasn’t its intended use but desperate times called for desperate measures. He pulled out his knife and cut his hand so he could gather more sand to create a decent amount of light. Now he just needs something to put it in.

He was startled from his search when he heard a noise in the darkness.]

Is someone there?

yuuto kigai | x/1999 | bloodwright

[salaryman]

week ii

[salaryman]

[ Ah.

It is the only thought he has upon seeing his boss. His hands lightly come together as he attempts to stand properly to meet Kamui. ]

Oh, but this can't be real --

[ He starts to say with a smile, but there is an answer smile back and a question if he wants to test that belief. A cold sensation drops into his stomach as he doesn't. ]

a. back to work it seems (cw: gore, paranoia)

[ The building is already ruined, already rundown.

Blood runs down his arms as he forms the self-made gore into whips to smash against the side of the brick. He sighs each time he does - shattering breaking; the cracks in front running up the wall. But he isn't getting much further in his demolishing. ]

Chancing it is too dangerous, I suppose.

[ Yuuto chats to himself as he keeps letting more runes bleed to help him with smashing up the side of the dilapidated building. ]

b. never agreed to overtime (cw: gore)

[ -- but such wholesale destruction can't go on forever. If he was using water, he might have been able to put in more work hours.

Unfortunately, he's burning through his own life to break down the buildings around him. He eventually does end up collapsing on the sidewalk. His eyes roll to glance to his bloody sleeves and feel the slick sweat of exhaustion run down his neck. ]

... ah... is this punishment?

[ For not putting in more time and effort back in Japan? Most likely. He is making up for it now. Destroy these foundations and perhaps -- wait, why is he doing this, again?

He swallows and huffs out a breath - breathing in dirt and the taste of concrete seconds later. ]

... no, no, I'll get back to work. I'm working to be employee of the month this time around, I promise. [ ... ha... ha. ]