EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

[inthenightmods]

EVENT LOG:
BURY A FRIEND

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: october 9-17.
content: the hallucinations begin...
warnings: psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.

it's probably something that shouldn't be said out loud

October 9 feels like a normal day at first, save for the red lighthouse beam cutting through the darkness overhead. You know by now—or you've heard—that the lighthouse is only active during ferry arrivals and events... And there's definitely no ferry docked at the, er. Beach. The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! Will did warn you all about the effects of living without a sun and a proper day/night cycle.

As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...

While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever!

...Right?

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Comments

Jon Snow | Game of Thrones | OTA (CW: for descriptions of corpse features, blood, etc.)

[song_of_ice]

[The first few days had been brushed off to a number of excuses, mainly his lack of sleep and the quiet beginning to play on his mind. If his lantern wasn't where he left it or seemingly moved places, it was because he wasn't keeping track properly. His blankets being near the edge of the forest instead of in his tent? That was fatigue getting to him. The smell of rotting flesh or the flash of a shadow out of the corner of his eye? He was simply being jumpy.

But the week wore on and things seemed to continue, not relenting or easing up, but fully making him feel that his mind was slipping out of his control. Faces no longer looked like faces if the light of the fire hit them in a certain way. Empty sockets gazed back at him where eyes should have been. The color of the skin changed to an almost putrid gray, peeling away and revealing bone beneath. Sometimes when they smiled, he had to look hard and reassure himself that there wasn't blood on the edges of their teeth.

He stopped sleeping after that, not sure what was coming but not feeling safe to sleep on his own. It was around that point that the hands started to appear, flashes of them against the trees or reaching behind someone. Something was grabbing for them in the dark and he couldn't shake the image from his mind.

He stayed close to the fire, but as the night wore on, that didn't seem to do much good. Something would tug at his cloak or he'd feel a brush of something against his arm. By the third time, he was already getting to his feet, his eyes wide and fearful, the feeling of a hand gripping his ankle before he looked down and saw nothing there.]

Do see them too? The hands in the dark?

[moderatelymaladjusted]

[Head down and Quentin is doing his level best to ignore the simmering, nauseating fear churning in his stomach. There are whispers from the fire, from the trees and hands trying to pull the book out of his grasp. Not people, just hands and he answers without even looking up at first. Just a carefully neutral nod as fingers brush over his ear.]

Sometimes. I think maybe--

[And he snaps his mouth shut, looking up and seeing the blue fire flashing underneath the man's skin, shimmering just under the surface for an instant before a hand snakes out of the dark to brush the man's hair out of his face. Quentin swallows hard, fear leaving his mouth dry.]

Yeah. Sometimes. You, too?

Kettara Bloodthirst | World of Warcraft | OTA

[oldtonew]

ONE

[ It’s difficult to tell night from day in this place and Kettara distrusts her tablet too much to try the timer feature that was mentioned on the network. She hasn’t been sleeping well and her dreams are fragmented and strange when she does manage it. She’s been training constantly as a result, forcing her body to adapt and endure.

This might be the afterlife, in which case it’s likely a trial in which she most atone for her failings. The least she can do is be prepared.

When she’s not training, she wanders. There’s a spark of light in the distance that catches her eye, and she’s been following it from a distance.

She can be found by the lighthouse, staring into the forest. ]

Someone has lit a fire.

[ She can see it flickering through the trees. ]

I hear voices.

[ There is nothing there. ]

TWO

[ She has been seeing things in the dark. Pale hands reaching, clenching at something. Sometimes she thinks they are pulling strings, like some strange puppeteer, and other times Kettara is convinced it is her mind playing tricks.

It’s been several days since she’s slept.

She’s standing ankle deep in the water by the lighthouse, trying to commune with the elemental spirits. Surely the Spirits of Water, known as great healers, would have some wisdom to offer her.

There is no response. Nothing but the gentle press of water against her legs. ]

Something is wrong here.

[ Her eyes are wide and bright in the dark. ]

You can tell, can’t you?

THREE (cw for gore, description of bodies)

[ She’s been told it’s dangerous to go into the trees, so Kettara hasn’t gone far. Just a little ways off the path.

It’s enough.

It’s the smell that gets to her first, the acidic scent of burning meat. The sound comes later, the soft crack of bones giving way to the heat.

There are bodies in the trees, blackened and slumped. Some of them wear armor and carry familiar weapons, symbols of the Earthen Ring scorched alongside their sorry bones. Their faces are gone, burned down to the bone, their teeth bared in awful grins. All of them are dead.

One of them used to be a woman with long hair and curved, elegant horns. Her staff lies broken by her side, still curled in a charred hand.

Kettara has been weeping. She’s kneeling before a tree, head bowed and surrounded by pulsing totems. Fire burns all around her, red and hot.

You need to fight, my student.

Master Muln’s voice is low and rough, a constant promise in her ear. He’s concealed somewhere in the dark, trapped just beyond her reach, but still able to guide her hand. ]

I know.

[ Be strong.

There is pain in his voice. He sounds like he’s been inhaling smoke, like he’s been burnt.

Kettara stands slowly. She can hear someone approaching.

Avenge them, Kettara.

She only nods, and turns to face the approaching figure. It’s a warrior, face blackened with ash, and body wreathed in flame.

She offers no warning. She only lunges, summoning lightning to charge her weapons.

There is no fire. There are no bodies, no ash, no voices in the woods. There is only a young orc woman with tears running down her face and the power of the elements at her command, charging forward. ]

WILDCARD

[ Hit me! ]

THREE

[scarsolderthanyou]

[Stone is tracking a scent. None of his hallucinations have really been visual, mostly because he can't see well enough for decent visual hallucinations. But sometimes a scent will pop up that reminds him of something, or someone, and he has to follow it to make sure it's not a problem that needs to be dealt with.

The current scent is Raksuran rather than one of the various predators it could be, so he's not expecting an attack. So hearing Kettara rushing towards him startles him into leaping back, bumping into a tree.]

What the shit, Kettara!

[The attempt at a roar comes out wheezy-sounding. Shit, he hates being old.]

Ignis Scientia | Final Fantasy XV | ota | Event CWs

[reigniter]

Early in the Event

1. [When Ignis woke up that day (normal), everything seemed normal. He went around doing his stuff, from making coffee and breakfast to taking a stroll to the library and Bonfire. It was unusally calm... or was it just him? The spirits acted normal, although not many wandered around the edges of the Forest. That's fine, Ignis figured. They were probably wary of new arrivals, and vice versa.

Still, as he takes a seat at the usual table in the Library, he could have sworn he heard a giggle. Not just any kind of giggle- a giggle of a small girl. Or was it a boy? He lifts his gaze and looks around but refocuses on the pages once again.

But when it happens again, he places the book down and straightens, frowning. The Librarian never giggles. They hoot and hum and and chew on the pages and glide over the bookcases. He lifts his lantern as exits the bookshelf row.]

...Hello?

[...could be nothing.]

Middle of the Event

2. [To say that Ignis is a clean freak would be an understatement. He really appreciates when everything is in order. Yet somehow everything in the house seems to be misplaced.

And those cobwebs! They are driving him insane!

He's on the porch, in front of his house, with a broom, cleaning up the corners and the walls of the wooden cottage of the webs... that don't really exist. After dusting off his broom from "cobwebs" he "cleaned up" he returns to wiping windows from (non-existent) dust and ash.]

3. Isn't this a bit excessive...?

[Ignis' question is quiet and mostly to himself, as he stares at, well, nothing. Just an empty space between the trees. But his hallucinating mind sees a lot of hands and bones hanging on the nearby branch. Are spirits trying to freak out the newcomers? Because they are doing a hell of a good job because Ignis almost got a heart attack. He seriously hopes those hands aren't real and just made from a lot of very... convincing-looking material and ketchup.]

Excuse me, [he stops the first person that comes his way,] would you mind helping me take these off the branches? Spirits are being a bit too playful tonight.

End of the Event

4. [It happened again. Only this time on his way back from the Bonfire and just as he stepped onto the bridge. At first, Ignis didn't want to believe what he was seeing, that it was mere trick of the light. But now he can't deny it. He is here. And standing on the bridge, bolcking his way.

A tall figure with ragged attire; long, tattered scarves, drenched in filth of the scourge, mud from the battle and water; skin so pale with demonic liquid dripping down his cheeks, grinning toothily at Ignis as he raises both of his hands, as if beckoning Ignis to come closer.]

I knew you would come here eventually... [Ignis says and gets into fighting stance, summoning his blades and infusing them with lightning. The shadowy figure cackles, tilting the hat up with finger-]

How the mighty have fallen, [Ardyn speaks in his ominously silky and sickly voice. The figure charges at him from the bridge to where Ignis is standing near the forest, and Ignis' blades strike the ground, making it explode loudly, sending rocks flying everywhere. In his vision, he had pushed Ardyn back- for a second- and he's getting ready to do it again.]

Wonderful. I get to kill you this time.

WILDCARD

5. [OOC: If you have any idea or you want to plot something up, hit me up at WindsongWitch ]

3

[notthatjason]

[Jason had adapted a schedule for himself and it was the time of day that he had dedicated to odd jobs, though recently those jobs mostly seemed to consist of repairing broken buildings. First the church and then the docks and now the boat house. He wondered how he could live in a camp with hundreds of demigods and their legacies with hardly a dent and yet a building seemed to be destroyed once a week around here.

At least it kept him distracted from the most recent strangeness. Well, most of the time, he hadn't given it much thought but he was pretty sure it was starting to get worse. He stops walking when he hears a familiar voice and notices Ignis standing near some trees and looking kind of worried.

Jason's eyes drift to the branches, glancing over them.]

Take what off?

OTA - CW on each prompt

[worthallthis]

I. 10/9 - 10/11 CW physical/mental abuse, flashback

The first time the Soldier sees a cattle prod coming for it out of the corner of its eye, while on patrol passing the bonfire, it shies violently sideways, only to find there's not actually anything there. There's the echo of laughter in its head, the sound of a voice somewhere distant saying, Hold still, Soldat. I order you not to move. But there's nothing. The Soldier stands still, trembling, for a long moment before picking up its patrol again.

Memory malfunctions. That's all it is.

The second time it sees a handler it knows isn't in Beacon swinging a fist for its face, while in the middle of a lesson at the gymnasium, it flinches but doesn't stop, and just tries to ignore the voice that comes with it. Fuck, this thing is useless. Throw it back into cryo, maybe next time it comes out it'll be more compliant. It's not very steady for the rest of the lesson, though, doesn't practice any more holds with the students that session, and requires twice as long walking around the gym to calm down afterwards.

The third time it sees a handler, pushing up from a chair in the Invincible after a quick meal-- suddenly it's pushing up from the Chair, after a wipe and a briefing, and its on its way to kill someone. ((If anyone wants to be the Target, feel free. Otherwise the Soldier will be stalking ghosts.))


II. 10/12 - 10/13 CW medical experimentation, extreme disassociation, potential violence

It's getting worse. It actually feels the cuts in its skin when the scalpels come (wipes helplessly at the blood not actually on its flesh arm and chest, feeling bare skin and not the layers of clothing its bundled up in), the grip of hands on its face and arms and one memorable occasion on its ass (lashing out with a knife in each hand at nothing, or at any unlucky passerby), the press of the Chair on its face and arms and back as the electricity starts and takes everything away (stops stock still in the path between the village and the bonfire, and will stand there until someone literally moves it somewhere else, gentle or otherwise).

And now... now the Soldier knows it's not the only one this is happening to. It's not just memory malfunctions. Other people are seeing things, too. And worse, it's seeing things happening to other people. Half the time it sees someone sitting down, it's seeing them pushed into the Chair themselves and it launches forward to yank them back to their feet with an expression of panic. Half the time someone comes around a corner, it sees them walking into a hand with a gun that it has to desperately swat away.

To say the Soldier is on a hair-trigger to violence at the moment is understating it.


III. 10/14 - 10/15 CW disassociation

(You do it! You're less likely to fucking kill someone! Wait, what--)

And from sometime early in the day about four or five days into this mess, the twitchiness suddenly downgrades to something a little more manageable and a little less violent, eye contact actually happens for more than a split second at a time, and the Soldier's voice goes from a vaguely middle-American mixed liberally with actual Russian, to powerfully Brooklyn from the 1940s. The actual Soldier is hiding and the Sergeant got booted out to play.

Not much really changes, aside from demeanor, and the fact that the Sergeant actually takes a little time with his hair and clothes, and might call somebody "pal" or "doll" if he's not paying attention. And half the time he forgets to answer to "Soldat", because that's not his fucking name (not that he knows what his fucking name is, but still).

Well, the hallucinations change. Sometimes it's explosions and gunfire in the background, flares of blue light at the edges of his vision, a table with straps on it... it can mostly deal with those. Just ignore them and it's fine, really. But then it's Words. Out of nowhere, he'll hear a word in Russian (a language that the Sergeant doesn't even fucking understand), and flinch into a freeze, something painful happening in his head, something echoing and bouncing around the spaces the Soldier part of his brain is hiding. Never more than one at a time, never in any kind of sequence, but at least three times a day. It leaves him feeling a little tender around the brain.


IV. 10/15 Closed to Crowley

The Words are too much. The Soldier comes rushing back from the spaces where the Words have slowly been building up into some kind of avalanche waiting to fall, in the cabin it shares with Crowley and Aziraphale, and makes a grabbing motion in Crowley's direction. Doesn't quite grab him, but comes close. "Make it go away," it pleads, fists opening and closing. "You said you could make the fear go away. Please. Please try. Before we hurt someone."


V. 10/15 - 10/17 CW only mild disassociation and Utter Fearlessness

And now? Now the twitchiness is gone. The Words are gone. The fear is gone. The Soldier stalks around Beacon with a serious expression, ready to protect people from each other, and from themselves if it must. Crowley left behind diamond-hard purpose, infinite protectiveness, and the ability to shake off phantom sensations like the ghosts the are.

It stops by anyone who appears afraid or unhappy, staring at something that isn't there or isn't like it should be, and says, "Tell me what's frightening you. I'll protect you from it."

IV.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley hasn't been sleeping on the couch, but that's basically where he lives now, with his fantastic broken leg. He doesn't know much about what's going on in the town because he's utterly cut himself off from them in his little sulk following the ferry incident. And he doesn't expect the sudden arrival of the human soldier person----in this level of distress.

"What is it?" he says. "Did you----did the Sergeant person come back or something?"

Where the hell is Aziraphale? Why is he having to be the nice guy again? He is fucking terrible at this!

OTA

[scarsolderthanyou]

I. First half of the event

Stone doesn't really see that well, except at a distance, and distance vision doesn't do shit when everything's dark. So, it's probably not surprising that for several days, he doesn't know what the shit has gone wrong with everyone else in this damn village. He perches on roofs and in trees in an attempt to get a better look from higher up, he calls down, "Hey. You okay, kid?" Even if the person he's talking to isn't actually a kid.


II. Second half of the event

Then the hallucinations ramp up a little, and the hands are more like vaguely distracting fluttery things he swats half-heartedly at, occasionally one worms its way into his own hand and he spends a few minutes holding a wrist no one else can see and... smiling a little. Because that feels right, holding somebody's wrist as he eats dinner or walks down the path.

But the worst part is the scent. Stone is sitting at the shoreline, minding his own business, when the wind lofts the scent of Fell at him. He surges to his feet, and into his full winged form-- spines all flared like a giant dragonic porcupine, tail lashing, wings mantled like an angry hawk. The water and vegetation next to him literally vibrates with the depth of his growl.

After that, smells keep popping up at random times, and sometimes he realizes they're not real and just growls low in his (still groundling-sized) throat, but sometimes they send him prowling through town in search of the source. Just in case something needs tearing apart to protect the town. Once it makes him stop short, hitch a breath, and make a low, keening sound in the back of his throat.

Most of the time, though, he's fairly steady, and ready to say to anyone who looks like they're having a hard time, "What do you see? I'll tell you if I smell it, if I don't smell it, it can't be there. All right?"

I

[knifecollecting]

Jo isn't sleeping well. Unfortunately for her, her vision is good. She's seeing all kinds of things she doesn't want to see.

The hands are disconcerting. No one looks right when she looks at them.

For a moment, she thinks the voice is another hallucination. She doesn't recognize it, but that doesn't mean it isn't fake. Still, she looks around, just in case.

She sees a lantern and relaxes just slightly. It's real.

"Maybe. Why are you up there?"

OTA + 1 closed | CW: injury, gore

[callada]

1. Oct. 9 - Bonfire

It's in passing the bonfire that he sees it first - that faint reflection, that glimmer of light off a strand hanging in the air. Someone walks by, heading this way or that, but they're not moving of their own will for from the center of their shoulders sprouts a string that shoots upward into the sky.

It puts him immediately on edge and he stares, watching. He's seen this before. The village was destroyed soon after as his brother tested the limits of his powers. But surely if Doflamingo had arrived here, he would have known already. Wouldn't have missed him coming off the ferry. Doffy doesn't make subtle entrances.

He waits, he watches, then eventually he calls out "Hey," and waves his good hand. The other, his left, remains in its sling at his side from his earlier injury. He sounds casual, despite the fear seizing his chest. Wouldn't want to tip anyone off that he's noticed, after all.

2. Oct. 13 - Library

By now, Rosinante is certain he's going mad, but at least he's not alone. Enough of the people here have seen strange things that make no sense, things that shouldn't be happening, and it brings the jellyfish spirits to mind. Trying to read and shut out everything else is a new attempt at escape, but it hasn't helped, because the hands keep turning the pages of his books. Keep picking up books off the shelves and throwing them violently at him, causing him to duck or fall right out of his chair. Finally, frustrated, he grinds his teeth and throws his own book at the nearest sign of movement, which might just be you. Better dodge fast, he has good aim!

3. Oct. 15 - Boathouse ruins

Maybe there's something here worth salvaging. Maybe it can be rebuilt. He'll do anything at this point to avoid being around other people, because the hands and their puppeteering strings and the laughter ringing in his ears, too familiar for comfort, have him in a foul mood.

He's overtaken by the stench of blood and gunpowder as he passes a collapsed section of the former wall. Had someone been shot here? Shit, is it too late? He leans down and sets his lantern on the ground in order to free up his hand and lift the wood panel from where it leans on another, and reveals a body. Headless, dressed in patched and decaying clothing, once fine linen now soaked with dark crimson. Recognition rocks through him, sends him sprawling backward with a clatter of wood and a strangled cry before he claps a hand over his own mouth and silences every sound. But even silenced, he can't hide the visible anguish as he turns sideways and his chest contracts in a dry heave.

4. Oct. 17, outside the Invincible. Closed to Kuai.

Staying locked indoors isn't helping. He tried that already. His room smells like wood smoke and the hands reach up the walls and fill the space with pitchforks and stones, swords and arrows. They slice and carve at his skin, and even though by now he's satisfied that the blood isn't real, sometimes the scars linger long enough that he fears they'll become as permanent as the rest.

He staggers down the stairs and out the door, rounds the corner of the building and finds himself merely feet away from the very person he's been running from this entire week, dressed in his finest suit and sunglasses, shrouded in feathers, and it no longer matters if this is real or not because Rosi only knows how to react. He's too exhausted to think his actions through. In one swift motion he drops his lantern and palms his flintlock, sweeping it up in an arc to aim at his brother, his killer, finger already twitching to squeeze the trigger.

4. Time to bring the trauma

[paletteswap]

Kuai has been trying the same strategy: if he stays in his room can he pretend none of this is happening? As it turns out, he can't. He can hear people long since dead speaking from beyond the walls, he keeps catching glimpses of those he lost out of the corner of his eye. But the final breaking point is closing his eyes to steady himself and when opening them he was briefly back in his room in Arctika.

He darted out of the building after that, staring pointedly at the ground and clenching his fists as he goes... Anywhere really. It doesn't help as he can see the hands reaching out of the ground, some of them look shadowy like his brother's clone had multiplied and was trying to physically drag him down to the Netherrealm.

He's so distracted by that he doesn't notice Rosinante until he nearly walks face first into a gun. He can fight his way out of a lot of situations, but being shot in the head from two feet away isn't one of them.

Reacting immediately he dodges to the side, shooting a barrage of icicles at Rosinante's chest, expecting the trigger to be pulled any moment.

"Rosinante?"

His eyes widen. Maybe this isn't Rosinante. Maybe its whatever he fished up on the beach and it's finally reformed and gotten the ability to walk. And it's going on a killing rampage? That sounds plausible.

jason todd | ota

[mind_blown]

early half of the event.

[ honestly, the day seems mostly normal to him. Yes, he's seen the hands-- but they blend in well with the visions he sees every day whether he would like it or not. taking a dip in a lazarus pool changes you. something he had fought and denied at first, but eventually had to relent on if he ever wanted to make up for some of his... less restrained actions. So, for Jason?

None of this seemed weird.

But he notices others acting strange, and he might follow, partially out of curiosity, partially out of concern. you don't just ignore when someone is obvious distress. ]

a little exploration. (locked to Bruce)

[ honestly, everyone's acting weird. maybe it's best to duck your head a bit, while you try to figure out exactly what the hell is going on? and also, put to use that glorified alarm that Will had mentioned. Jason's circadian rhythm had been fucked up for far too long, but the mention of a psychotic break actually managed to shake him a little.

to convince him it was probably worth trying to be a little more 'normal' than usual.

but it doesn't mean he's going to just reveal what he's found, in the basement of the invincible.

but he pauses when he realizes someone else is already there. ]

the end.

[ towards the middle of the month, it's impossible for him to not have realized what was going on. what was driving people to nervous, raging fits. even his own hallucinations had grown in severity-- to the point of actually feeling a hand on him, or the whoosh of a quickly dodged crowbar-- even though he knows that none of those things are real.

So, comparatively, he seems calm. And he'll try to remember every trick that he learned at Arkham, if he notices someone struggling near-by.

part of that is just talking. ]

You okay?

it's bnb not b&e

[pearlstrings]

[Bruce doesn't spend much time at the Invincible if he can avoid it; there's too much traffic and privacy is a valuable commodity. But he's come by enough to identify a pattern- to gauge times of high and low traffic, to figure out which faces are fixtures and which ones aren't. Sometimes he comes near just to listen, or to watch.

He's been staying in the museum because that's what he's studying right now and without the routine of a sun and moon Bruce had made a counter for himself- a mechanical clock to record the hours. He's drafted a calendar of sorts to mark off the days. He'd read a book once as a child, about men in submarines needing to train themselves to a similar standard- and while they all seem to need less sleep than they once did, while Bruce still has a habit of stretching that to the absolute limit- it helps.

For all of these reasons, his trip to the inn isn't wholly out of the ordinary. Bruce comes at an hour when the bar isn't usually populated. There isn't much noise in the common areas and there are few shapes milling around in town square. He has a small bag over his shoulder and means to use the kitchen briefly, pack what he can, and leave again. He's done it just enough times that there's a kind of muscle memory that's developed- so maybe that's what it is, in the end, that leads to the discovery. Bruce has enough empty space that he can divide his attention and he isn't actively looking. He just- hears.

It sounds like a conversation though all he can hear is one man's voice, very softly. Bruce's hand lowers, folding a tin can into his pack as his weight comes to rest on the balls of his feet- and then as it carries him further. One step. Another.

The voice never seems to get louder though Bruce has the sense that he must be getting closer to it. He moves down a side hallway where the floor slopes almost imperceptibly. And then he crouches, presses his palm to the wall and leans his ear towards it. There's something almost familiar, about it- that's lost as the wall gives. It yields only an inch, but it's enough. Curiosity piqued Bruce wiggles his fingers beneath the small gap and when he pulls it doesn't creak, it just opens. A false wall. There's enough light from his lantern that Bruce can see narrow stairs.

Instead of turning back Bruce hesitates for just a moment- and then closes the door behind him- descending into the dark. It doesn't go on forever, he finds a floor waiting for him at the bottom, a basement that looks as if it was always part of this building. And that also looks... lived in.

There's no more voice down here, but there is a blanket. There are signs of life.
There's more than that too when Bruce comes closer, because there's a small shift in the air current, in the dust motes that drift by the light of his lantern. He isn't alone.]

daylight vis lornlit. | original. | ota.

[sunborne]

content warning: graphic descriptions of bodily harm + body horror. possible third-person description of child neglect.

i;; we broke the looking glass.

[ when the first dew days roll around, daylight, slowly but surely, notices that something is... off about his frame. he notices it whenever he sees his reflection on something. something is... off. he isn't sure what it is because- he's used to the weirdness of this world by now, he thinks. after all, he's now used to the fact that the colour grey replaces where gold and yellow should be on his armour or on others. it's a struggle still but he's no longer shocked by it.

but when he looks down his arm one day as he's making his way to the general store for some minor art supplies, he's horrified to see a large crack beginning to form on his forearm that is now suddenly an unsettling hue of dirty greys and eerie blues. it's a lot to take in: the sight of the ungainly fissure exposing his protometal. the way his armour has taken on the colours of a dead mech.

it causes day to stop dead in his tracks and scream out of fear and surprise, not realising he had hit someone in the process. ]

-Oh! Hey! [ thankfully, daylight comes to his senses and focuses his attention on whoever he hit. tries to, at least. the arm and the whispers(?) are kinda distracting him. ] Oh my gosh- I'm so sorry about that. I was... distracted. You're not hurt, are you?

ii;;; and it deserves our pity.

[ in the middle of the event, daylight is definitely feeling off and, more importantly, looking off. he can barely stand the sight of his own body these days; his colours have mostly faded into an upsetting palette of blues and greys. thick, foul-smelling ichor is now beginning to leak out of his torn joints and from under his cracked, exposed armour. he tries to keep it together, tries to tell himself that this isn't happening despite how much everything of him hurts now, how much it feels like somethings or someones are trying to tear him apart, piece by piece and armour by armour.

but it really comes to a head when he's speaking with someone one day. one minute, everything is fine and he's trying his best to keep his cheer as he explains his ideas for a possible memorial and to further figure out the spirits' language. but in the next minute, he hears his words begin to dissolve into static and white noise, nonsense and screeches. it isn't long before he sees and feels a hand breaking through his neck and closing in on his vocoder, cracking the delicate mechanism under their punishing hold.

to whoever he's speaking with at this time, daylight still sounds absolutely normal. but to daylight? to him, it sounds like he's losing one of the few things that keep him as, well, him during this awful occurrence. to say he doesn't take it well is an understatement. ]

No! No, please! No no no! No no no no no- [ daylight is practically shouting at this point, optics wide in fright at what he thinks is happening. he grabbed at his neck and he tried to hook his fingers under the cables, tugging at it in a frantic attempt to clear his vocoder. ] Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Hello?

iv;;; the pages won't stop turning. (locked to kol, unpredict.)

[ he isn't sure how he got here. during the middle of the event, he finds himself stumbling towards a door and banging on it with enough force to make a racket but not enough to break it down, thanks to the hands and servos gripping at his limbs and neck. is this someone's home? someone's apartment? a building's door, now locked up for safety's sake? daylight isn't sure and he really can't bring himself to care.

what's important is him trying to get this door open, to meet face-to-face with someone while he can still talk. ]

Hello? Is someone there? [ with this being one of the rare few times he can speak clearly, daylight is frantic to take advantage of the situation. ] Please- I need help! Please!

v;;; wildcard!! + info

[ want to do something else? feel free to do it here! also, you’re welcome to hit me up/plot with me via my plurk prognostic if there’s something specific you want.

prompt iii will be added as a bonus toplevel on the 15th, when daylight's final fate has been decided depending on his interactions in his toplevel + threads. :> ]

ii

[worthallthis]

The Sergeant is only half-listening to Daylight's ramble, mostly because he's caught between the warring emotions of I am actually talking to a goddamn robot, and There's HYDRA weapons being fired over there only I know it's not real, it just makes me wanna flinch. He's good at nodding when he's supposed to, though, and making appropriately interested-sounding noises. He even got an actual comment in there once, about the spirits and how he wishes he could actually use the damn ocharinas but his metal fingers don't have enough give for the fingerings.

And then Daylight is fucking screaming and tearing at his own neck.

"Fuck!" Is something wrong? The Sergeant is sure somewhere in his rusty brain, there's some knowledge of engineering, but nothing looks wrong. He reaches up automatically with the metal arm to pull Daylight's arm away. "Cut that out, buddy, you're gonna damage something and I don't know if I can fix it!"

Misty Day | OTA | CW: I mean just the usual warning for gore/fire injury mentions

[shadowsran]

MID-EVENT

It is only now Misty begins to quite understand what she has undoubtedly heard murmurings about. Fleeting things, ones she can largely dismiss as impossible as they come - because none of you could be walking and talking so plainly with viscera hanging from your open midsections, and the phantom death throes, phantom screaming ringing in her ears are unmistakably her own, long past. With restraint, she tries not to react physically beyond panicked double-takes and slipping into a thousand yard stare when left to her own devices.

It is with no pleasure she will have to occasionally ask, looking vaguely pained, "You don't smell that, do you?" Burnt hair.

And as events continue, people begin disappearing. Simply failing to register in any notable way, until and unless contact is made - intentionally or otherwise. It's only then she notices the infamous hands, and will bodily, violently wrench or duck away from whatever poor soul has been going about normal business. Were it anything more deliberate-feeling than a brush, that same soul may expect the heaviest, nearest thing she can support one-armed to be swung their way.

END OF EVENT

Everyone disappears. Surely some trick, though the blank tablet screen that greets her is especially unnerving. Holing herself up further begs something to snap, but she takes a valiant stab at it anyway that lasts all of three days. Several subsequent hours are spent pacing around town, grateful to the downpour if only for providing some stimulation. When this has been milked of what little value found in it she takes up residence on one of the benches by the bonfire.

And doesn't leave. Not once, as this still must be some kind of trick. On the off chance everyone's been physically relocated, she assumes the only thing worth doing is watching over the fire. (That whatever civilization returns, when and if it does, would surely pass by this hub is a point in its favor.) Slumped forward, headphones on and blaring, broken arm carefully cradling her functional one, Misty remains statue still through all dismal weather, lack of sleep, and complete lack of any outside influence her mind will process. Even the hands, by and large, seem to be absent.

She'll be quite happy to see whoever finally happens to be nearby when she's permitted her full senses, needless to say.

STANDARD WILDCARD OPTION/GET YOUR OWN (EARLY EVENT) CALM HELPER

End of Event

[worthallthis]

When Misty finally gets some sense of people actually around her, she'll find the Soldier crouched in front of her, closer to eye level for someone sitting down, talking quietly, just audible over the sound of her headphones.

"Misty. It's me. You can come back. Misty. You need to come back so you can tell me what you're listening to. Misty. It's me. Come back."

It doesn't sound upset or afraid, just calm and patient, like talking to her might actually help. (Given its own experience with catatonia just a few days before, it figures it might.) At the very least, it wants her to see something friendly when she does come out of it.

Quentin Coldwater | The Magicians|open to all (cw; blood, gore, suicidal ideation, possible suicide)

[moderatelymaladjusted]

[ooc - please fill out permission / opt-out if you want to. Warning, possible suicide.]


« « « Grit your teeth [Event, early days]

[Quentin sits close to the bonfire, the blazing flames close enough to keep him warm, even without a coat and it brings enough light for him to read by. Better, so much better than the lantern still clipped to his belt and just watching the flicking firelight feels soothing. Not that he needs soothing, as such.

But he couldn't stay at the cabin right now. Not today, not when waking up slowly, stretching his arms and looking briefly as Eliot opens his eyes and seeing the horrible orange light flashing through them before Eliot closes them again. He's losing it, and he knows it. Maybe it's the stress of staying here, maybe it's the ferry going down with Eliot on it. Whatever it is, it's making Quentin see things. Making him hear faint whispering when he walks through the woods on the way to town, and sometimes even here.

He thinks it might be Julia, her face flashing before his eyes in the faces of strangers and Quentin keeps his head down on his books until the antsy feeling creeping under his skin becomes too much to bear, and he looks up, watching everyone at the town square. Gentle hands pushing at his head until he turns it to look up. A soft voice, whispering You're having an episode, Quentin. Come back to me]

Excuse me? Hey! Did you just--

« « « let it hurt [Event, middle] cw: suicidal ideation, blood

[He's spending more and more time at the bonfire, letting the flames warm him and letting himself get lost in the books in his lap, carried all the way from the shared cabin to here in his make-shift bag. Made from a pillowcase he stole from one of the unused cabins close by and using as little magic as possible, he made a strap, so he could sling it over his shoulder and still have his hands free and carry things at the same time.

Hands.

There are more of them now.

Sneaking up on him from out of the dark; sliding softly, too softly through his hair. Trailing down his neck and over his chest. And the fucking thing is, he knows these hands, and he hates himself for it. Hates that the touch makes him go still, go quiet and limp, hiding in his own skin, shivering from the ghost of a breath over the side of his face.

Hates what this means, that the Monster isn't gone. Isn't locked away in the Seam that Quentin gave his life for, but here. Somewhere around here, always just out of sight and his heart pounds like a jackhammer in his chest, beats so hard and so fast it leaves him breathless with it. Terror, cold and dark and endless slithering like creeping vines through his mind.]

No. No, please, you don't have to-- please, don't. We, uh, we can play a game?

« « « it will not last forever [Event, the final days] cw: suicidal ideation, bodily harm, gore, blood, possible suicide

[It doesn't end. From he opens his eyes in the dark underneath his bed in the morning and until he falls, crawls exhausted, scared, terrified back under it at night, it never stops. Julia is shouting at him now, her voice coming from the very walls themselves -you need to wake up, Quentin! Come on, Q, come back to me, her voice calling from the drains in the cabin and Quentin stops going in to the kitchen or the bathroom. He can't stand her pleading, tearful voice coming from the tiny black holes- This isn't real, Quentin! Trust me, come back to me! You NEED TO WAKE UP!.

He's avoiding the thing that's pretending to be Eliot. The flashing flames in its eyes a dead giveaway, but Quentin isn't fooled. Not again. Not when he doesn't have the axes or any bottles to push the spirit in to. He lies low, hides even when he knows, knows, knows that hiding is never going to do any good. Is never going to save him, not this time around. The hands, you see, that's how he knows. That's how he knows he's been found again, when they slide softly, so softly, so gentle and carefully over his body, over his head, his face, his hands.

But he still runs, rushes off to read at the bonfire again, fleeing in to his books again like always, this always worked before why not now? Why not here? Forcing his eyes to follow the lines, the words, the plot and it all slips away from him again, his eyes tracking over the people around the fire - walking, minding their own business WAKE UP and lost in their own WAKE UP worlds.

Hands.

Hands on him.

And Quentin leaves his books by the fire, fear coloring everything in a red haze. Leaves them by the large bonfire at the impossible town square, leaves them and follows the voice, follows as Alice, Niffin and terrifyingly beautiful, shimmering with blue fire in the dark in front of him, her hands reaching. But I saved you, he wants to say, wants to know. I saved you and Alice laughs, words spilling over her lips - with Julia, calling for him, soothing and loved- walks away from the light and in to the dark, in to the forest, following his own path as the Monster follows whispering I like you, play with me, always just a step too close, the scent of burned sugar, fresh blood and cinnamon churros heavy in the air.

Quentin walks, keeps putting one foot in front of the other as hands wrap themselves around his neck, squeezing, cutting off his breath. Beyond terror, beyond the helpless slippery fear of losing his life, of this being the fucking end. Too tired, too ground down and torn up too many times in a row, and Quentin grits his teeth, clenches his jaw.]

Do it. Just fucking do it, because I'm too tired to care.

grit your teeth

[unpredict]

[ things are feeling a little off in town. kol knows it, even if a part of him wants to label it the usual mikaelson paranoia. but that pesky dagger and coffin isn't here, and neither is his family—there's no need to worry about every little useless noise, expecting the next footfall behind him to be that of niklaus' or elijah's vengeful ones.

the bonfire is warm, but the warmth he feels seems… unusual. not like the bonfire's fire, but something else. he stands near it, expecting to be overcome by this realm's idea of fire, when all he feels is pinpricks of it kiss his skin. ]

Just what?

[ kol looks at quentin with a frown. he's almost on the opposite side of the bonfire to him, but he can still hear his voice as if he'd shouted it directly into his ear.

it's much easier to focus on someone else—a familiar voice, even if it takes him a moment to pinpoint the name. his feeling of becoming fire subsides as a heightened version of confusion overtakes him. kol welcomes that. ]

[pearlstrings]

beginning. open.
[He's due to make a trip into town square. Bruce doesn't spend much time there if he can avoid it, he keeps himself occupied near the village instead and lives inside the museum. When he does cross the bridge it's to visit the general store or use the facilities at the Invincible. It's to check whatever records he can get his hands on or it's to go to the lake and wash up.

It's on his way out that something seems... amiss. What sounds like a conversation on while he's at the threshold of the bar. Bruce pauses momentarily. He makes a point to come here during off-peak hours, where traffic is at it's lowest and the risk of coming across others has decreased. It isn't just the sound that gives him pause, there's a quality to it that feels familiar.

Bruce doesn't want to recognize it right away- there are too many emotions that come with it, too many sensory memories. He tells himself instead that it isn't possible. He monitors the network and registered usernames. He hadn't come in on the ferry. It's statistically unlikely. But where anyone else might shy from knowing, turn back or convince themselves that this is the truth- Bruce can't be satisfied with the question. He comes around the other side of the wall in two quick strides and looks.]


middle. open.
[Alcohol. It won't solve anything, but if he drinks enough of it he'll probably be able to sleep through the worst of it. He fits one bottle, two, three, four into his bag from the shelves. Their medical supplies have always been slim and though Bruce has a collection to meet his needs and tend to emergencies, there are a marked lack of sedatives. This will have to do.

The bag goes back over his shoulder and Bruce pushes his fringe back from his face, where beads of sweat have begun to gather. Strange. Given the gradual change in climate. He heads for the door of the bar only to be stopped short once he reaches it, wrist caught by a- hand.]


end. open.
[He makes a second trip earlier than he'd wanted, but that isn't the only reason that he pulls a mask down to cover his face. It isn't the first vision he's had- he knows that he's hallucinating because this has happened before. Not just beneath Ivy's toxins and not solely from the work done by Ra's al Ghul's men- their attempt to change him.

He makes notes in the earlier days- a way to keep track of what he hears and smells, the sensations that he experiences as reality even when he can't rationalize a cause. By extension it becomes easier to recognize it as it happens and to force his attention away. He's afraid that at some point, he'll hear his mother or father.

But fear doesn't change anything.

Bruce is careful to stay outside of the warm light of the bonfire and to conceal his lantern- both of which have become habitual with practice. The hands that reach out are another story entirely because there is no predicting them. One pulls him across the ground along the way- another shoves at him. He walks carefully and takes his time, an attempt to equalize around the constant yanking and pushing that's escalated as the days have passed.]


end. closed to riku.
[They've only met once, if it could be called that at all.

They'd coordinated briefly over the sinking of the ferry which had left no room for pleasantries, and then they'd spoken again over the network. He keeps himself busy and his activity on the network suggests that he'd been one of the first to arrive. Bruce hears his voice outside the museum one night, talking about a kind of cloak for the torches, and he pays closer attention. He comports himself well when he engages with others- goal oriented and polite.

It stands at odds to his character, the boy he sees now.

Bruce watches from between the trees, nearly invisible for his clothes and his mask- as his pale head turns. Looks from one direction to the other. As if he's searching for something no one else can see, or following it.]

end;

[originallutece]

[Her own hallucinations have been . . . worrying, to say the least. Disturbing. Heartbreaking, as she sees the ghosts of those she knows aren't here, as hands push her into bowing, stumbling, clumsily dropping her things and leaving her scattered and unorganized. And now this: faces blurring and distorting, smeared expressions and warped features that turn her stomach.

She's learned to ignore them for the most part.

But as she exits her lab, to her immediate right there's there's a jerking, twitching thing coming towards her, just outside the bounds of the bonfire. Five feet away, if that, and approaching swiftly. She stares in revulsion at the way it moves, limbs thrashing against nothing. Its expression is still, the mouthpiece twisted up in what appears to her a lopsided grin, its face split and smeared, warping even as she stares. Four feet, then, three, and before she knows it she's moving swiftly: her right hand striking out, palm striking hard against the creature's cheek, the movement more instinctive than deliberate, shock and terror surging in her veins.]

ambrose spellman ( chilling adventures of sabrina )

[necromantiae]

▶ 01 BEGINNING

---

( he doesn't really pay that much attention to things at first. maybe he put that book on his bed and maybe his shoes were shoved in the rubbish bin and he just didn't remember.

it's small things, things so insignificant that he barely pays attention to them because they're not really affecting his daily life.

the first time he realizes something is amiss is when he's sitting at the bar, not drinking, and he hears...something. a whisper. his name in a voice that slithers, that smothers and he can't stop himself from whirling around and saying accusingly: )

All right, who said that?

▶ 02 MIDDLE

---

( the voices only get worse. soon enough, he's hearing them constantly, insidious and overwhelming. he tries spells, he tries shoving cotton in his years, he tries everything but nothing works.

even getting so drunk that he passes out doesn't stop them so he just...doesn't drink. he tries to keep busy, visiting the general store, the church, the beach, anything to keep himself from going out of his head.

but that doesn't help because the doors appear smaller, the shadows larger and ambrose is really starting to hate this place. )

I'm already dead. Don't I get to do the haunting?

▶ 03 END

---

( staying in his room has become the best way to limit what he sees.

the walls bleed, the voices howl and every time he lays down, it feels like there's hands grabbing him, holding him down, sliding over his mouth, keeping him from screaming.

he opens his door at one point, peering up and down the hall and immediately backs away when he sees something. something that looks like his cousin but she's off.

she's melting. she's falling apart, limbs trailing behind her. ambrose doesn't scream but he absolutely throws a chair out the door. )

▶ 04 WILDCARD

---

( feel free to throw anything else at me. i'm at spoonishly for plotting and these are all ota! )

middle

[lunchbreaks]

[ Aziraphale reaches out and places a hand on Ambrose's shoulder, trying to be reassuring. ]

It's alright. Whatever it is, it's merely a vision. No need to be afraid.

I think-- I think they might be affecting us all. But whatever you are seeing, I don't think it is real.

OTA

[sauntered_downward]

October 15 The Cabins One responder only

Crowley leaves the cabin after his discussion with the human soldier person. He'd spent the last week entirely isolated, more or less licking his wounds and trying to pretend that he wasn't entirely at fault for what happened with the ferry, because that's how adults handle a situation like this. But after the human soldier person's reaction, he decides it's time to see what's going on.

That's when he sees him. There are coworkers you never want to see, and then there are the coworkers you have when you're in Hell. Crowley has some coworkers he's not fond of, and then there's Hastur. With slimy skin, rotting flesh, and a frog planted squarely on his head, the Duke of Hell is absolutely the last person Crowley wants to deal with here in this town. But there he is, and Crowley can see him, just at the edge of the woods.

"Shitshitshitshitshit----"

He can't run, not with his leg. But he also knows he can't possibly beat Hastur at a one on one fight, not with his powers so diminished.

He extends his wings and turns, ready to flee.



October 16 I - Bonfire OTA

Hell is a very distinctive place. There's a certain smell to it, first of all. Like everything is dying or rotting or worse. Crowley usually stayed in the upper levels, where everything was more like a really terrible office building, though he occasionally ventured to the level of Hell that was like your average Denny's for lunch.

Here, standing in front of the Bonfire, he can see another level entirely. He's been to these levels before. The deeper levels, the darker levels. The ones full of flame and misfortune and pure, unmitigated torture. People are writhing in the flames, he can see them, he can smell them burning.

"So, that's it, then?" he says, horrified, dropping back somewhere to sit. "Purgatory over, my side's been picked for me?"



October 16 II - The Cabins Closed to Aziraphale

He should not be putting as much weight on his leg as he has been. He knows this, but it's hard. What with all of the weird shit going on lately, it's especially hard. Still, time to go home, have Aziraphale carry him up to bed, and just lay there. He'll just stay in the cabin forever, he thinks. The human soldier person has no fear now, he can take care of getting them food or whatever.

He pulls open the door only to find the cabin ablaze. Everything is burning. The couch, the walls, the table. The flames lick up the side of the stairs and go up to the second floor. It's not regular fire, Crowley can feel it. It's Hellfire.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley runs into the cabin. His leg gives out under him immediately and he falls. He drags his leg, pulling himself into the flame. "Aziraphale!"

No. No, this can't happen! It can't happen here, not like this.


October 17 - The "Beach" Where the Dock Used to Be OTA

Crowley shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be out. But he can see it, he can see the ferry sinking. He knew it would be here, and he limped his way over to watch it sink again. Only this time, people are on it, everyone is going under. Aziraphale is on it. The human soldier person is on it. Everyone's going under.

He knows it's not real, but it looks so real. Everyone's seeing stuff like this, too. Everyone's affected.

He can see all of the hands, coming out of the woods. He sneers at them.

"We are all really fucked."

October 17th

[featherknives]

Snap out of it, snap out of it, snap out of it- there are no hands, she's sure. Whatever this trickery is, it's not real and she shouldn't be falling for it. Xayah stumbles through the forest and out on the road that leads to the docks. The feeling of being chased, stranged cold hands gripping on her shoulder and wanting to pull her back won't vanish, but she knows it's not real. And she's giving her best not to give in to that madness.

She trips and falls a few times until she reaches the docks and suddenly everything's quiet, except the water moving slowly. She can see Crowley several feet away and briefly wonders if the presence of another person cut through the illusion she was having. Shuddering, she pulls her cloak tighter around her and sneaks her way to him.

"Hey, smartass. You shouldn't be out of bed," she looks at his leg. She understands the urge to get up and move around but he really shouldn't.

ota; potential violence in all prompts

[withsadness]

come here

[It’s like a dream. Or, no, not a dream at all. It’s like waking up from a dream, slowly, and walking backwards into reality. The hands beckon her forward, and Mary understands. They’re greeting her, greeting, welcome back home, ushering, desperate, we’re so glad that you’re okay.

But she’s not okay, not really, if she’s home again, because home doesn’t have her heart. Home is where she doesn’t have a heart.

But Mary hums as she travels, slowly, methodically, sometimes taking hold of a grasping hand and giving it a squeeze as her vision swirls and warps and everything around her takes on a quality of unreality. Before long, the Town Hall is a vision of her gallery, and the statues turn and smile at her, big and lopsided and so happy for their Mary! Sweet, lovely, perfect little Mary!]

Oh, have you missed me, truly?

[Leaving her lantern on the floor, she curtsies, and moves from one bust to the next, greeting each in turn.]

I missed you, too. And you, and you, big brother, big sister! Shall the hands help you to dance with me?

[Mary spins on her good leg, stumbles, giggles, and maybe it hurts but it’s okay because what does it matter when here is home and home is here?]

listen

[Sitting on a bench by the bonfire, Mary appears to have a friend! A blue doll with an unsettlingly-stitched smile. She talks to it in soft, harsh tones, as if they’re having an argument. There’s something off about the way she sits, tensed in a half-crouch like an animal that’s been backed into a corner. But get close enough and you can make out the words:]

I’ll tear you to pieces. I’ll eat you up. I’ll smear you with your insides.

careful

[There’s a little girl and a tall, tall man that Mary wants to find. Needs to find, because they left. Because they’re her friends. Because they aren’t allowed to leave. She turns the palette knife in her hand as she searches, until suddenly she finds you. You, but you’re not you. You’re the little girl with the red rose. You’re the tall man with the blue rose. A hand has snatched you by the clothing on your back, and Mary smiles.

It’s not a very nice smile. It stretches her skin in a way that makes her look like tensed fabric pulled to its ripping point. Her pretty blue eyes have pinprick pupils. Mary swings her knife upward and points it forward.]

I found you! Now it’s time to play.

( prompt: careful. :) )

[sunborne]

-Mary?

[ daylight, at some point during the madness that seems to be engulfing everyone, tried to retreat to his avaform. just to see if hiding away from his body that's breaking down will give him some refuge. it does, but only barely.

his body still hurts and he still hears his family's cries and screams and he's still disoriented enough that he doesn't realise someone's got a 'hold' of his jacket. not until he tries to move ford and feels the tug, hardlight following the physics that his bomber jacket should obey.

he turns around and his eyes widen at the sight of mary. ]

Mary? Mary? [ to daylight's ears, his voice sounds garbled and heavy with static thanks to his vocoder falling apart on itself. he raises his voice when he realises what she has in her hands, trying to (carefully) shake her off and take a step back. he doesn't want to hurt her. he doesn't want to harm her. he doesn't want to but the knife- ] Mary- What are you doing? What- What's the knife for?

two open, one semi-closed prompt

[axegirlfriend]

step on the glass

[It’s nauseating. His vision is bad enough as it is, so when his eyes seem to boggle inside of his skull, he nearly falls over, taking off his glasses so he can rub at his face.]

What…what in the world?

[But it’s worse when he puts them back on. Because now it’s not just vertigo. Now it’s like the forest has scaled up and up and up to impossible heights, and what’s worse…the hands. Stuck to trunks, reaching from the ground, pulling, prodding, and reaching for everything they can. He stammers, backing up abruptly and without thought, crashing bodily into someone who hadn’t been too far behind him. Swinging around, Remington holds up his lantern like it’s the only thing that can keep him from a certain monstrosity.]

Sorry, um—I…did you see, do you see…the…the…

[He can’t even say it.]

staple your tongue

[It only gets worse. Again. Later into the event and Remington’s found a paper baggy in the grocery store to breathe deeply into. As he walks unsteadily around town, now with his axe in hand, despite having seemed to begun keeping it in his home in the village, he appears to be teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

What’s worse is the way he talks, and not to anyone in particular.]

You don’t understand. Things are different here and I don’t think we can keep this up. You saw how it ended back home, and there wasn’t anything either of us could do about it. This isn’t a good idea…we have to think of something else. You have to know that. Please…please reconsider.

[Shaking his head, over and over, Remington repeats the same thing, his voice a pathetic and miserable whisper.]

Please don’t ask me that. Please, please, don’t ask me that. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

try to wake up
(closed to characters who are adult women; warning for attempted murder and possible injury)

[By the end of the event, it’s a different sort of defeated attitude that’s set in. It’s resignation. His head bowed, he walks forward like a guilty man on his way to the chopping block. In a way, that’s exactly what’s happening. The hands help him. They lead him to his target like sniffer dogs, and when he looks up, she’s there. His lip quivers, and he tries to stay quiet, but in the end, Remington cries.

So much for the element of surprise.

He puts down his lantern so he can hold his axe in two hands. His voice is small.]

…I’m sorry.

wake me up inside (can't wake up)

[originallutece]

[In the end, it's her lab she's more fearful towards than herself. Isn't that odd? But it's her lab he's wandered into, standing in the doorframe, the light of the bonfire and his own lantern framing him and throwing his face into shadow. His axe glints, though, and she thinks of all the damage it could do, tearing down months worth of work in an instant.

And her life, too. But her life has never been worth very much, when all's said and done, stacked up against her work.]

Put down the axe, Remington.

[That being said: nor does she want to die (again). Her eyes are locked on him, but mentally she's running through the inventory of her lab. Swordplay and knifeplay are all very well and good in practice, but she's still an amateur. She hasn't a chance against a proper opponent-- but perhaps he isn't. Perhaps he's just a boy with an axe, delusional and dreamy.

Perhaps she's a chance.]

I shan't tell you again.

[It's firm, her no-nonsense-school-marm voice that so easily cows others. But she edges to the left as she says it, because if nothing else, she's at least a long length of lumber she can try to use.]

Lunafreya | ota

[luxoraculi]

[ 1 - the beginning; October 9th ]

[ It starts out as a normal day, for the most part. Lunafreya awakens and goes about her daily business; her room is tidied up, she makes sure to greet each of the boys in her household and wish them a good day before she heads out to go offer up her magic and assistance to those who may want or need it.

The lighthouse thing is a little dubious, though. She squints at it from the distance, frowning. That's strange.

She swears, though, that she is hearing whispering. It's all around, but not constant; and it sounds a lot like people she knew from home. Maria, her beloved attendant, for instance. ]

Did you hear that? [ She's speaking to you, good sir or ma'am, who happens to be closest to her. ]

[ 2 - Days go by; cw: death by fire and attacks on children in general ]

[ As the days go on, the whispering is getting more frequent. It comes in the middle of the night sometimes; she hears her brother, Ravus, calling out for her. It makes her sit up and look around, draws her outside of the safety of the cabin to prowl about and make sure that it was just a dream. Because that's all it is, it has to be. A dream. She misses Ravus, after all.

Sometimes, in the evenings, she can glance out the window and see people standing there, staring. King Regis, she's seen, staring at her from outside with a sad smile on his face. But he'd been gone just as quickly as she'd seen him, in the literal blink of an eye.

She's not sleeping a whole lot these days. Which is why she finds herself outside by the bonfire, dark circles under her eyes. The flames, unfortunately, only seem to wreak more havoc for her. She hears Ravus again, though he sounds far younger, and it makes her eyes widen.

Please, help us! King Regis!

There he is. Young and wounded and covered in the blood of their mother, who lays slumped in front of him, stabbed and burned. The fire spreads, everything around them burning, and Lunafreya stands up, staggering towards the bonfire with an arm reached out. ]

Brother--!

[ Someone... may want to stop her from throwing herself into the bonefire... ]

[ 3 - Getting a little handsy, are we? ]

[ This is getting tiresome. The whispers and cries of those she knows at home, the visions of her dying mother, the way Ravus morphs from a broken hearted, wounded child to someone cold and brooding that she hardly knows right in front of her eyes is getting old.

Watching King Regis die is getting old.

Something else that's getting old? The feeling of being touched. Despite her mantle of Oracle, she doesn't particularly enjoy being touched. She wasn't shown much affection after the Nifs took Tenebrae, quite the opposite; most touches that she felt after that usually involved pain of some sort.

These touches, they don't necessarily hurt, but she doesn't like it, either.

She can be found in various locations of Beacon; the General Store, by the 'Beach', by the Bonfire. She's twitchy, brushing these touches off to the best of her ability, though she keeps her gaze low as if it will make whatever she is seeing and hearing just not appear.

It also means she's bumping into someone. ]

Oh! Goodness, forgive me...

[ 4 - Wildcard ]

[ Got something else to throw at Luna? Go for it! ]

[[ ooc; as a reference, I will leave you with this. It's basically the opening of Kingsglaive and what inspired Lunafreya's hallucinations by the bonfire; though that ends at 3:31 though i will never not encourage people to watch the whole clip or you know, the movie in general huehue). ]]

October 9 - Crowley's cabin (well, he has roommates but he thinks of it as his cabin)

[sauntered_downward]

[Crowley has taken Lunafreya up on her offer to heal him every day. First off, it's better than just sulking all day because his leg is constantly hurting. Second, it's keeping him from sulking all day alone in the cabin every day. He has no intention of leaving the cabin any time soon because he still has a good mid-day sulk to get to, so he's going to ask her to come to him for this weird blessing head-touching thing she does.

He listens and gives her a look.]

No? What? Is something out there?

javert | ota, cw: drowning, suicide mention

[policier]

stay calm

( The hallucinations are no better than nuisances, at first. It's irritating, finding his gloves moved from one end of the table to the other, watching hands seize others and puppet them while he's trying to talk to them. He doesn't lash out, he doesn't even say anything. Nothing ever seems to rattle him, until one morning when he wakes up and finds his room submerged underwater.

He panics, of course. Anyone would in that situation. He tries to tussle his way out from under the bedcovers, but his body gets caught and he tumbles right off of the mattress. His shoulder hits the floor hard, and he groans, his heart beating rapidly and frantically. He finds that can breathe, though, and that is enough to shake him out of it.

He dresses himself as quickly as possible, feeling foolish and irritated with himself. Donned in his shirt, waistcoat, trousers, and boots, he goes down to the Invincible's bar and orders a coffee. He doesn't give a damn about rationing, he needs to have his wits about him. If he sees anyone nearby, talking to themselves or staring at something that isn't there, he immediately snaps and barks out at them, )

It's not real. Stop being foolish.

hearing voices

( As unnerving as that hallucination was, it doesn't hold a candle to the voices. Javert hears them every day, calling out to him, insulting him. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, though, so it's easy for him to ignore. The only ones that make it difficult are the one that he recognizes. Gisquet, Chabouillet, Fantine, Valjean. Javert grits his teeth.

Letting a criminal go? Chabouillet says to him one evening. His disappointment is like a knife in the inspector's chest. It twists and burns. I thought you were better than this, Javert. )

I am not.

( He mutters, drawing his coat collar up to protect against the chill. He's out on patrols, pushing himself harder than he needs to, hoping that the exercise and the cold will drive away his ever-growing madness. He knows how irrational it is. Chabouillet doesn't know anything about what happened, what had driven him to commit suicide, but it is unpleasant to hear, all the same. )

I am a scoundrel and always have been.

hearing voices, but also kinda wildcard

[originallutece]

Tell me who it is.

[She demands it in the doorway frame, frowning faintly. It's rare they talk to one another after Rosalind heads to bed, but this week has been highly irregular. From the hallucinations to the bizarre, awful way they've all been puppetted . . . honestly, Rosalind with her hair down is the least of it.]

You've been muttering all day. I know you're hearing someone.

[As if she hasn't been. Oh, no. No, she's just as affected as anyone, and it comes out in nervous glances and a pale expression; in shaky hands and an unwillingness to be alone.]

Tell me who, that you might at least resolve this.

masaomi kida | durarara!! | ota

[mellowyellow]

i. too early

[Wherever your poor, unsuspecting character is trying to go, they have now been blocked by a very determined teenager. Masaomi's arms are outspread, boots firmly planted in the dirt, as he glares at an invisible object in their hand. He bites his lip, clearly nervous, but stands his ground nonetheless.

One deep breath later, he enunciates slowly and clearly.]

Where did you get that?

[Too many people are seeing too many things. Everyone's jumpy and scared and trigger happy. The last thing Masaomi wants to see anyone carrying right now is an actual gun. So, naturally, that's the illusion he's been saddled with.]


ii. too late

[The shadowy tendrils have been encroaching on the edges of his vision for days, snaking around his peripherals as if to taunt him. They know he can't catch them, and he knows too. All he can do is whirl around every time he hears the neighing of an otherworldly horse and hope he won't see anything this time either.

Dullahan are creatures directly connected to death, after all. It's not that strange, Masaomi hates to admit, that Tokyo's own Dullahan could have followed him here after he was shot in her presence. The Headless Rider is one fine lady he's not sure he wants to meet again though. She'd protected Anri and Mikado for him. If she continues to do so, he will be forever grateful to her. But by the time they'd confronted each other in person, he'd already cemented his status as her enemy, their enemy. Everyone's enemy, really.

That's why he's dead right now.

Dead and hungry and tired and tense as he stands back flat against a tree, gripping a crowbar to his chest.]

It's not real.

[He breathes for the umpteenth time. Then he hears that phantom whinny echoing through the dark again.

This time a helpful hand reaches out to yank his sleeve, and with a yelp, Masaomi stumbles right into someone or something very solid.

Hi.]

too late

[unpredict]

[ kol's a hunter by nature. if he thinks something fun is in his midsts, he follows it. there's been numerous times where he had chased men and women into the neighbouring woods for a fun game of cat and mouse, honing his senses to try and track them while they try to remain as mute as their pounding hearts could be.

in and out of hallucinations, kol still would've tracked that racing heartbeat. a part of him thinks it's davina—she's the only person he'd ever run after, after all—and since something in the back of his mind keeps niggling on and on about davina not being safe in this realm, it's all he can think of. he tracks that heartbeat that isn't davina's (he knows it, but something in him won't let it go) into the woods.

it's easy to find them. he keeps his footsteps loud, uncaring if he's heard. coming to the tree, he reaches around to grip solid flesh and pulls whoever it is behind the tree out rather roughly to find—

someone he doesn't know.

he frowns. ] What are you doing behind a tree?

[ there's judgement in his voice, but it's far better than his explosive anger. ]

kol mikaelson | ota

[unpredict]

warnings for: mention of burning, organ failure, abusive parent, blood, probably gore, and maybe shirtlessness.

1. BURN, BABY BURN (DISCO INFERNO)
BURNING TO DEATH | THROUGHOUT ENTIRE WEEK: 9 OCT - 17 OCT

[ when you live in a realm where it's near impossible to burn anything, it's easy to catch the scent of smoke—especially when you're a supernatural being capable of smelling even the smallest hint of a scent.

throughout the week, kol will catch vague hints of it, turning his nose up ever so slightly at times in confusion to what he's smelling. most of the time, he doesn't try to investigate it, imagining it's merely a play from his imagination or a misinterpretation of a smell. but during the times he doesn't let it go so easily… ]

a [ it doesn't matter where kol is—the library, the bonfire, the invincible—he'll stop in place and turn his head ever so slightly. his sense of smell is supernaturally sharper than most. the scent of smoke is thin but pungent, enough to stop him mid-riveting conversation. eyes narrowing, he inhales deeply. ]

Do you smell smoke?

b [ he can be in the middle of a conversation, a laugh, or a walk, but it doesn't take much for kol to suddenly flinch his arm rather hard. to him, he can see the curls of black smoke… all before it roars to life as a thick, warm flame.

standing or sitting, kol stumbles back. peering down at his left arm with a sharp frown, he slaps his bare arm as hard as he can. the flames only grow, spreading up his arm and to his shoulder.

when they reach his neck, kol starts screaming. he can feel it. it's like it had been before—it eats at him, ripping him apart. it's teeth take the form of something sharper than his own fangs, and despite trying to tear them away from his neck, they only sink in further.

as if fuelled by his terrified sounds, the fire eats the underarm of his shirt before it swallows whole his side.

if he doesn't snap out of it, he'll end up blindly stumbling, screams ripping from his throat. ]

2. I KEEP BLEEDING, KEEP, KEEP BLEEDING
SLOWLY DYING VIA BODY GIVING UP | 12 OCT - 15 OCT

[ for anyone who's spent a few hours with kol, they may have noticed he rarely coughs or sneezes. it's a little strange to him to be coughing more than once—it's more than needing to clear his throat.

if in conversation, he'll excuse himself—he may be a killer in his free time, but he doesn't lack manners.

despite having gotten himself under control, kol's hand is back to his mouth as he coughs. it sounds full, from somewhere deep and ill, and when he seems to clear his throat and have gained some semblance of control… kol peers down and sees blood. ] What the fuck?

[ sorry for the cursing, but, seriously—what the fuck. ]

3. TAKE MY LOVE
DYING GIRLFRIEND | 15 OCT - 16 OCT

[ you know what's greater than experiencing your two permanent deaths all over? hearing your girlfriend scream. no one is more important than davina—not even a conversation, not even a quick errand, and most certainly not himself. a pair of hands reach for him, grabbing his elbow, but he's quick to pull his arm free, focused on nothing but that sound.

kol whips his head around, brows furrowed deeply. ] Davina? [ a hand glides featherlight down his back, causing him to turn. he hears a higher pitched scream and a muffling of his name. ] Davina!

[ sorry if you were in the middle of talking to him—kol's off like a bull out of the gate in the direction of the woods. ]

4. DADDY COOL
RUNNING FROM CRAZY VAMPIRE HUNTER DAD | THROUGHOUT ENTIRE WEEK: 9 OCT - 17 OCT

[ fingers brush against his temple, leaving something cool and sticky in its wake. easily, kol reaches his hand up to his forehead; when he draws his hand away, he looks down and sees blood.

i haven't had a bloody scar for a thousand years!

the deep, english accent seems to shake something awake. from the corner of his eye, he can see him—tall, regal, lethal. his short blonde hair sometimes grows in length, reminding kol of what his father once looked like as a highly regarded viking.

hearing a whipping through the air, he can feel a hand brush against his back, then a finger dig deep into his spine before wandering to the opposite side of his heart. sharp as a stake, but unable to penetrate. then it goes, but the voice only echoes louder.

release me! or i will kill you right now! it's a faint roar, but a roar all the same. a brief flash of the familiar figure of mikael is gone before he can even process it.

appearing spooked, kol does his best to swallow his fear. ] We need to leave. [ his voice is as tense as his throat. ] Now.

[ Pick a day! You can pick the location that's easiest for your character—Kol will most likely be bumbling around the town centre, general store, library, bonfire, and anywhere else.

I'm happy for it to be hallucination on hallucination. Let me know if it's okay for Kol to attack your character—he can bite/feed from your character if you want, but please note that he'll compel your character to forget him feeding off them with a very low possibility of them ever remembering this encounter without him undoing his mind control. You can ping me @ bogans, jaded#0421, or my plotting comment for anything! I don't apologise for some of my song choices. ]

3 - Oct 15

[notthatjason]

[At this point Jason was stubbornly refusing to change his normal routine. Something had to be causing this, causing everyone here to see things, and he wasn't going to let that stop him. Although it was getting harder to ignore it and he was starting to worry about what would happen when someone got pushed too far. After all, even before this someone had been going around busting up churches, crashing into docks, and destroying boat docks and that was arguably when they'd all had their wits about them.

Still, it was easier to ignore the moving objects, the bark-skinned people, and the hands pushing out of the ground when he was working on something else. At least it had been before they started also grabbing and moving his tools around. He really should have known better than to be digging, not when all of his hallucinations seemed to be centered on the earth.

Jason jabbed the shovel into the soil, purposefully stabbing at one of the hands. It gripped the spade and pulled it down. Jason grunted and had to use all of his strength not to fall to the ground. He could feel the ground starting to become muddy and bit at his lip. He tells himself: She's not here. She's scattered and can't reform. She's not here.

But a voice whispers from the ground, dust swirling and making faces at his feet]

Oh but I am here Jason Grace. Little Roman soldier far from either home, eh? Come, let m---

[It's cut off by a cry and Jason's eyes shoot up in time to catch sight of Kol taking off into the woods.]

Huh? Kol?

[Jason blinks and the ground settles. He shakes off the caked dirt and the hands from his shovel. He snatches up his lantern and takes off after him.]

Kol! Wait!

Jo Harvelle | OTA

[knifecollecting]

Early in the event

[At first, Jo wonders if the lighthouse is just malfunctioning. Is that possible? She ignores the ominous red beam, going about her days the best she can.

When her furniture looks like it's trying to walk, she closes her eyes and rests.

When faces seem to change or something might be reaching for her, she writes it off as a trick of the low light.

It's because she's tired. It has to be.]

Hellhounds?!

[The light has been messing with her more. She's almost worried about her eyes. Still, she soldiers on, trying to help others where she can and learning about Beacon.

She is headed back to the Village one evening(?) when there's a loud thud at the far end of the bridge. In the darkness, she can't really see if there's someone there. She is pretty sure that if something from the river was trying to get to her it would be closer to her, not at the end of the bridge.

She holds her lantern higher, trying to get a better view as she continues to move forward. Jo nears the end of the bridge when there's a second loud step. This time, she's close enough to see something - claw marks on the wood of the bridge.]

Shit!

[A hellhound? How is there a hellhound here? It doesn't make sense unless this place really is the afterlife and she ended up in Hell.

A low growl echoes through the air and she turns, taking off in the opposite direction from the perceived threat. She knows they don't mess around. She also knows no one will be able to see them either.

Oh, this is bad.

Jo runs to Bonfire Square, looking for anyone who might be out and about. They need to get somewhere with doors to barricade.]

Hey! Get inside! It's a hellhound! [She doesn't wait for the person to respond, immediately grabbing their hand and tugging them toward the nearest building.]

Wildcards are welcome too! Jo will be all over town with this event.

( prompt: hellhound?! )

[sunborne]

-Whoa!

[ daylight doesn't know how jo has the strength to tug him along but he chalks it up to, of course, his ailing frame just breaking down some more. he's honestly surprised that she's willing to hold him, given how broken down and leaky his entire body is starting to become.

he finds himself trailing after jo, a little dazed and unsure of how to react. but only for a few seconds. when he gathers his wits and realises what's happening, he tries to stop them both in his tracks and figure out what's going on. ]

Jo- Jo- What's wrong? Is something happening?

elektra natchios | daredevil | ota

[ultraviolents]

BEGINNING.

[ it's a welcome relief to be able to walk outside again without the stench of the once-blooming flowers invading her senses. elektra doesn't venture out to socialize too often; she's out today to replenish some of her supplies and maybe check in on a few people. on her way to the store, something darts across her field of vision, and she'd typically ignore it, dismiss it as a spirit. except that it doesn't leave her peripheral, no matter how far she moves into town. and whenever she tries to turn to catch who or what's following her, no one's there.

she's near the bonfire when she starts to hear things in addition to what she sees - footsteps and the cracking of twigs beneath their feet, laughter, and finally and most frighteningly, a whisper in her ear, drawing out her name.

she whirls around again, a strike aimed at the throat of her would-be stalker, but the hit lands on nothing. her face falls into an expression of bewilderment and terror, eyes darting around to try and spot whoever it was that she could have sworn was just there. ]

MIDDLE.

[ sleep offers no relief. when she closes her eyes, the voices become louder; stick and her father and a female voice, completely unfamiliar to her, but she feels like she knows it all the same. she's huddled in a seat by the bonfire, staring into it with an alert and frightened gaze, trying not to close her eyes.

eventually the exhaustion gets the better of her and her eyes slide shut, the tension seeping from her shoulders. but before too long (it could be a few seconds or a few minutes), they snap back open and she leaps up as a hand winds around her ankle, kicking at it as it grips tight. ]

Get off. Don't touch me.

WILDCARD

[ if you'd like to do something separate from what i've outlined, go nuts and i'll roll with it! i can be reached via PMs or we can hash things out in her plotting comment. ]

END. (closed to matt murdock; cw: blood, injury, mentions of verbal abuse)

[ultraviolents]

[ it's been a few days, and she's heard by now that she's not alone in what she's been hearing and seeing. that's of little comfort when what she has been hearing and seeing are of the people in her life she'd needed the most that had failed her the hardest. stick reiterating his disappointment, how he should have put her down before she became this dangerous. her adoptive parents voicing their concerns and frustrations that she couldn't be the daughter they'd wanted. a woman she can't recognize expressing her disgust at what she'd created, blaming her for her death, a mother she'd never known.

the hands claw at her whenever she tries to rest, covering her mouth, wrapping around her limbs so she can't move, constricting her throat. she tells herself it isn't real, tries to ignore it, tries in vain to rest. sleep eventually comes, her body can't resist it anymore, but it's a far cry from what she needs.

and she wakes to find her mortal wounds reopened, spilling blood over her hands and sheets.

she doesn't know how she pulls herself together enough to wrap one of the ruined sheets around her middle; the wounds are as painful now as when they'd killed her and her hands shake the whole time. but once she's secured it she clutches her lantern with blood-soaked fingers and leaves the inn, staggering to matthew's place in the dark.

once there she bangs at his door, the knocks heavy and urgent. her hands leave streaks of blood and she shakes, her vision narrowing and darkening until she collapses.

she's not unconscious, that would be too much of a mercy. but she can't move. ]

aziraphale | good omens | ota

[lunchbreaks]

BEGINNING
[ At first it's just whispers, shadows of things. He whips his head around only to find nothing there. He blinks owlishly when he reaches for something that he spots in the corner of his vision, only to have it disappear.

He must be tired, he thinks. It's the stress. He shouldn't be going around trying to do any work like this; he needs a nap. He hates this body, with all its weaknesses. Distracted, he thinks he hears someone calling for him. ]

--Yes? Can I... who was that?

MIDDLE
--Unhand me!

[ He swats away at a hand trying to take his coat. And then one trying to ruffle up his hair. Two of them wave behind his back pretending to be wings, but then flick him on his shoulders. ]

Euugh--!

[ He starts walking faster, but while looking back over his shoulder, one of the hands comes out to trip him. He tumbles into the nearest person, pole, or thing. ]

END
[ Let's just say Aziraphale isn't going into boatmaking anytime soon, but he's been at the docks for the better part of the month trying to put something together. Anything together, like two pieces of a particularly large puzzle. A shadow falls over him, which is odd, because there's hardly any light. ]

Yes, can I help you--

[ He turns around and scrambles to his feet when he sees Gabriel standing in front of him with a sour expression on his face. Aziraphale, the apparition says. She put you here to give you one last test, and.... well, you failed it! ]

Gabriel, I can explain.

[ No, it continues. No you can't, Sunshine. Aziraphale barely has the time to grab his lantern before he starts moving backwards as the apparition of Gabriel accusingly pokes him in the chest. I always knew you were a problem. Not fit to be an angel, it spits, giving Aziraphale less and less shoreline. Soft. Lazy. Useless. Can't leave you alone for two minutes before you start relying on the enemy. And for what? You died to delay the war eleven years, Aziraphale. You died for nothing. You're as stupid as you are weak, but She wanted to give you another shot. You're Her biggest disappointment yet. You know, there haven't been any Fallen since the first crowd? But congratu-fucking-lations Aziraphale, you're always the exception--

He trips on a piece of driftwood, and stumbles back into the water, lantern precariously wetting at the bottom. ]

End

[sauntered_downward]

[All right, Crowley really needs to stop doing this to his leg. He's taken a piece of driftwood and has fashioned it into a sort of crutch and he's limping around the town, over towards the dock. He spends far too much time there, really. It's where his first and last plan in this town failed spectacularly and, like a serial killer returning to his last kill for a high, Crowley returns to the dock to remind himself of his failure.

There are definitely healthier ways to deal with his problems. It's time he started working on his next plan. He figures he can start working on building a boat, getting just himself, the human soldier person, and Aziraphale out of here.

He arrives just in time to see Aziraphale fall back into the water]

Aziraphale!

[he hobbles over towards him, stepping into the water]

Prompto Argentum | Final Fantasy XV | OTA

[techtype]

Early event

[Prompto's kind of a nervous person by nature. This fact is not helped by being in a place with constant darkness and only a fire and lanterns to provide light and warmth. He's gotten somewhat used to the lack of real 'daytime' by now, but he doesn't stray far from 'home' or whatever buildings he needs to go to very much.

He's not getting used to...whatever's happening now. It's not weird to see people out of the corners of his eyes--it's not a big village, but there are definitely people around at most times--and some look close enough that he turns to greet them.]

Heya--oh. [There's no one there. Maybe he was mistaken.] ...n-nevermind.

[It's even worse when the hands start appearing. And by that time, he's not even sure if the people are real, let alone the hands.]

Didja know you have a...right on your arm there? [There's a hand closed loosely around whoever he's talking to's wrist, unmoving but creepy nonetheless.]


Mid event 1

[There are more people appearing in his peripheral vision, and they're starting to look more familiar. He's sure he's seen Cindy at least twice, but both times she's disappeared before he could look her direction properly. A couple trees were masquerading as some of his former classmates.]

Please don't tell me I'm losing it already.

2 - Hallucinations intensify

[It's snowing. He can see it very clearly, and although it only started a few minutes ago, he's already standing in several inches of powder. It's not putting out the Bonfire, though, and he's standing as physically close to it as he possibly can to keep warm, because he's really not dressed for this weather. You might find him there, either curled up as small as he can be or standing uncomfortably close to the flames, shivering.]

3 - More hallucinations, now with more robots (cw: creepy robots?)

[Were you attempting to have a conversation with Prompto? Or interact with him in any way? You might have to postpone it, because he's suddenly looking very terrified and a little sick.

Everything was fine, up until he blinked. Or looked away and then back. Whoever he's with, it's still them, but part of them's been replaced with that of a mechanical soldier. It changes when he closes his eyes, no matter how long, and he can't deal with it.]

I gotta...I need to go. Right now. S-sorry.


Wildcard

[Choose your own adventure! Hit me up on plurk or Discord if these prompts don't work, and we can plan something else.]

[catholicisms]

( the weather has changed in Beacon, it's definitely not as warm as it was when Matt arrived. (it is very unsettling to him that he's been in this place long enough for the season to change.) that said, it's probably not cold enough to merit shivering — not unless you're fresh in from the lake, after a very untimely swim.

he still hears the chattering of teeth and the vibrating of a particularly intense shiver, despite it. it's not quiet, considering he can hear it over the roar of the fire. mildly concerned, he follows the sound, heat tilted like a dog listening for something far away. ) Are you all right? ( he asks, a little uncertain. his senses aren't as good as they used to be, and Matt of all people is incredibly aware. still, he thinks he'd be able to tell if his freezing company was wet. they don't seem to be, so why are they so cold? it's not much under sixty degrees. )

peter parker → closed

[webshoots]

—closed to wanda, middle(ish).

[ at first, it'd been fine. nothing he hadn't already dealt with a dozen times before. or — it wasn't fine, but he could deal with it, loosely, vaguely, although he'd quickly found himself wishing there was something tangible, a someone to blame and punch and web and hey, it'd be over and they could all move on with their (un)lives.

but then it wasn't fine.

the hands and the forest spirits (they were, right?) were easier to deal with in that they didn't ping his spider-sense — or at least, hadn't to begin with, but the longer it's gone on, the more it feels like there's something there. the tingling at the base of his skull seems to ebb and flow depending on how close he is to the forest and though he knows it'd be sheer stupidity to run in there and see if he can find what it is and how it's doing this when what-feels-like every other hour, he's hearing the voice of someone he knows, or seeing strands of red hair disappearing round a corner, sometimes blonde, or he'll head towards the village and reach the bridge, and he'll imagine a flash of orange.

(or he hopes he imagines it.)

at first, he'd sort of made a joke about it — it was thematic, he'd said. october, right? it only seemed right that a creepy death town would take the month to be a creepier death town; and he'd made a point of checking in with a few people to make sure they were okay.

but then it continues, and it's a little more difficult to shake just how on edge he feels.

he makes a point, then, of staying away from people the longer it goes on and the less he feels he can trust himself. it's ironic, he thinks, that all of this came about just after doc ingram had made a point of mentioning they all need to make a regular effort of sleep. (who can sleep at a time like this? when you close your eyes but you still hear whispering and mutters, and feel hands crawling (can hands crawl? or is that strictly limited to creatures with legs?) and grasping over and at you. in a way, it's better being able to see what is(n't) there—.)

but then, not for the first time, he sees red. red hair, again, and freckles, and he'd said he'd be back; she'd said "I'll be here when you get back", but that'd been four months ago; and he'd seen her, calling for him. kraven had called it a vision, that the mists don't just cause hallucinations, and—

there's a twist of something in his stomach and in his chest: panic and fear, and thinks, just for a moment, that he can't do this again. ]

MJ! [ he calls out. ] Wait—. [ there's desperation in his voice that he can't quite hide, doesn't try to hide. (it's not real, he thinks. it can't be. she didn't come in on the ferry, but—)

what if? what if it is her?

he follows, in quick, fluid movements. ]

—note.

( if anyone wants to do something and we haven't plotted yet, please feel free to hmu via pm or pp @ ruffians )

vanitas | ota

[evulsed]

my lucifer is lonely (early hallucinations)

[ He doesn't see it head on. Not at first. When he sees is a flicker of gold, what he feels is the press of light. It's like the sun moving between two giant rocks, there one moment and then gone the next. Vanitas turns his head to look for it, and sees nothing.

It takes time, before he realizes who it is. He's not sure what drives him, when he finally sees him. Full bodied, in that back and white outfit, with his hair like sunlight. He looks to his right, Vanitas doesn't see his face, but he doesn't need to— he would know Ventus anywhere. He would know Ventus blind.

Initially, the surge of excitement that pushes through him is indescribable— but he stays just out of reach. Vanitas starts chasing him in earnest, and he slips behind a tree. He disappears. Over and over. And as the frustration takes over— he realizes what the real problem is.

He can't feel Ventus.

He's not really there.

But Vanitas can't stop looking at him.

Vanitas sits at the edge of the bonfire, watching, almost unblinking. Ventus never turns to look at him. He didn't, not even when Vanitas finally caved and screamed for his attention— he's facing away, always. Even now, sitting on the log opposite Vanitas, his back is to him. Vanitas picks up a rock from his feet, flips it over twice in his hand, then hucks at the still figure of his other half. ]

Peter's on vacation (trash mob fight)

[ He really starts to feel it midway through the week. When the word has gotten out, when everyone knows that the hallucinations are happening. It doesn't really matter if they know, though, because the feelings don't change.

All that misery. All that despair. It fills him up in a way he hasn't been full since Sora disappeared— so Vanitas cleaves to it. He spreads his Unversed out, lets them run rabid all through Beacon, all into the woods, through the square, swallowing up all that emotion.

They attack at the slightest provocation, with claws and teeth. Scratching and biting, swarming. Maybe they look like someone, or something, familiar— but they don't need to be approached to be instigated. ]

an open invitation (full on villain mode)

[ The hands are incessant. They pull and push, and Vanitas watches them yank and shove other people to the ground without ever trying to intervene. They don't affect him the same way. Maybe it's because of his Darkness, maybe it's all the strength all this negative emotion pours into him. Maybe it's because he doesn't resist them the way everyone else does. After all, isn't this what Darkness does? Pull you this way and that.

Vanitas lets it happen. The grip buffets him like a storm, and he lets himself fall into the cradle of the hands. It has the effect of making him look almost like a doll, like the strings have been cut. But they set him down, as they always do, and Vanitas pulls himself up to his full height— inhales deeply. Rolls his head against his shoulders.

He can feel a steadying hand on the back of his neck. It stays there. Lingers.

When he opens his eyes, his pupils are full and the gold of his irises are slivers. It has less to do with the hands, though, and more to do with the high of all the power he's siphoning off all the residents of Beacon. He smiles toothily at whomever stopped to witness it. ]

Are you still fighting it?

( early )

[isochrone]

[ Elizabeth had been sitting across from the bonfire, minding her own business. The rock sails just past her, at a fast enough clip that it would have seriously hurt had it struck her. ]

Hey! Be careful with-- why are you throwing things at me!