MISSION 005 (part 1)

[etrayamods]

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: September 13th-September 27th
WHERE: Throughout Etraya
WHAT: Mission Log!
NOTES\WARNINGS: Horror elements, including fear-inducing landscapes, distorted environments, unseen predators, mental/emotional distress, potential body horror, corruption, possession, brainwashing, and compulsion.

⏵ reality bends ⏴ A strange anomaly has overtaken Etraya. The skies, once familiar, now shift unpredictably, cycling through hues of unnatural colors as an eerie hum fills the air. Tension crackles beneath the surface, leaving an unsettling heaviness across the land. Aurora’s mission announcement offers little clarity—more cryptic than comforting—and she remains unavailable for further explanation. Reality begins to warp, twisting Etraya into a surreal, haunting reflection of its former self. The hospital deteriorates into a decaying structure, its halls haunted by phantom patients, endless corridors leading to nowhere. Rooms morph into massive white padded cells where characters may find themselves imprisoned, alone with spectral figures who whisper of treatments yet to come. Some of these apparitions seek the attention of those roaming the hospital, warning them of a dire fate: failure in this mission means not just the death of their worlds, but their souls becoming trapped in this fractured reality, far from home, forever. The forest transforms into a dark and twisted labyrinth. The trees close in, their branches twisting unnaturally as unseen predators howl from the shadows. Narrow pathways wind through the maze, and while some may navigate unscathed, others will be violently pulled into the depths by horrors lurking just out of sight. Within this twisted forest, a small cottage appears, its walls echoing eerie whispers: "little scorpion," "selfish bitch," and "by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." The rivers, usually calm, have become a dangerous, volatile force. Their waters churn violently, and inky black tendrils rise from the depths, lashing out at anyone who strays too close. These dark appendages drag their victims beneath the surface, where those who resist must battle their way to freedom. But those who surrender will be drawn into an otherworldly dome beneath the water, surrounded by strange fish, far from where they should be. Inside, they will find an eerie stillness, but their earpieces still allow contact with the world above. A large mirror dominates the dome, offering an uncertain way back. ⏵ shadowy haunts ⏴ Those inside the zones come face to face with an echo of fear - a personalized manifestation of what scares them most. It could be an oppressive figure from their past, or something more abstract, such as the feeling of failure, or isolation. These echoes are relentless, feeding off their weaknesses and digging into what makes them most vulnerable. The Im'mari hungers, and preying on characters' weaknesses appears to be its chosen way of feeding itself. While characters may become stuck in their nightmares by themselves, some of these nightmares are shared between companions. Characters may become trapped within their friends' fears, or strangers'. However, the emotional distress felt by the individual the nightmare belongs to will affect everyone within the nightmare. An emotional prison built to torment those whom it belongs to, these echoes of fears may test the bond between companions, forcing them to face truths they may have rather avoided touching on. Earpieces will still be functional and may prove to be crucial in assisting characters when it comes to escaping their nightmares. ⏵ contamination ⏴ Im'mari may be weaker than before, but it is slowly regaining power, and the creature’s influence is spreading. It infects the wolves, the plants, and even the very essence of Vanessa Ives (and in addition, Aelwyn Abernant), feeding off the deep-seated fears of those around it. Im'mari thrives in the shadows of fear and darkness, growing stronger with every moment of doubt, pain, and despair. Its presence lingers beyond the edges of awareness, whispering to its victims, urging them to succumb. Through Vanessa and those she has infected, Im'mari extends its reach, turning once-familiar faces into agents of fear, pushing their companions to the brink. For those who fall under its sway, the transformation is slow, at first nearly undetectable. Perhaps a friend acts off, says something out of character, or expresses sudden, unprovoked anger. But as Im'mari’s power grows, so does the darkness in its agents, until they are no longer themselves—twisted into something monstrous, compelled to spread fear and destruction. Welcome to your nightmares. We hope you have a pleasant stay. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the plotting post. We will be utilizing this post throughout the mission - including when we process the next round of applications, so please keep an eye out for new comments! All other questions can be directed to the FAQ. ⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Comments

ava starr * ota

[decohere]

(cw: existential body horror, the nightmares win)

i. reality bends
The eerie atmosphere doesn't do much to sway Ava's impression of the Etraya. She's not scared of green or purple skies or weird humming. Her alias is Ghost, and she's used to being the creepy lurking thing in the shadows.

The actual horror to this place is the same as it's been since she arrived, the itching under her skin that she can't escape, that something is trying to control her. She's made no progress in understanding what, or how to fight back against it.

But it's becoming obvious that the constant state of anxiety is wearing her down, and she can't properly put up a fight at all if she's on the verge of falling apart. The theme of this mission is supposedly facing her fears, and it's mostly bad timing that she decides that means finally paying a trip to the hospital for help despite all the many reasons she doesn't trust a single substance they might provide her for the pain.

The hospital appears to be fittingly on theme, like a haunted house out of some made for television Halloween horror special. Ava doesn't allow that to deter her from entering, but once inside she's uncertain it's a good idea after all. She wanders the halls, peeking into rooms, determined to at least discover where the painkillers are stashed away if there's nobody around to actually provide assistance. She's not even too picky as to what at this point, if it can take the edge off.

She gets turned around, disoriented, even though she can pass easily through the walls she's no longer certain which way she came. "I don't care! I don't want to go back!" she shouts angrily at one of the spectral figures, taunting her about failing to save her doomed world.

ii. shadowy haunts
The unfortunate thing about Ava's existential fears is that the inevitability is constantly looming over her, so when the nightmare begins she can't quite tell the difference. She glitches. That's normal, and again. The resulting pain is too, and her tolerance for it is so screwed up anymore that she can't tell if she's gaslighting herself as it amps up. She drops a cup straight through trembling hands that have gone translucent, flustered when she can't seem to clean it up. The shards resemble the scattered pieces of mirror, and she imagines she can hear Yelena laughing at her through them. Hadn't she managed to get out? No thanks to her.

But despite efforts to regain tangibility, one by one her fingers dissolve out of existence. Twisting and straining to grasp onto anything at all in futile attempt to pull herself back to a reality that's harshly trying to scrub her out of it like a stubborn stain. Every movement overlays upon itself in erratic distortions, taking just a bit more of her with as they fade out too. The light around her deteriorating form blurs out in red and cyan aberrations, her own vision fracturing between far too many deviations of here and now. She can't focus on a singular position to return to, the disorientation furthering her blinding panic.

Ava tries to scream, but either she's now incapable of producing sound, or hearing it.

It's all happening far too quickly when there's no amount of struggling to reverse it... and far too slowly, the molecular decay takes a few days to fully eat away at her physical being. Bit by bit, cell by molecule by atom by particle until she finally is no more. But the pain, the awareness, the fear clings on, whatever fragment of her left refuses to let go entirely. Disembodied yet still trembling because she's more terrified of what happens if she lets go.

Her thoughts slip in and out of coherence. How long has it been? She can't tell, without reference time feels at a complete standstill and yet an eternity. How long has it been? ... Since what? No, she used to be something once. (Really? Were you?) She used to feel something more than just pain. (Like what?) But in all the uncertainty, there's one thing that remains clear. That she deserves this, even if she can't remember why. And that nobody out there (where?) is looking for her (who?) Because she's nothing.

She's nothing.

It takes ten days for the nightmare to finally spit her back out. And even then, she lays there. Unresponsive.

iii.
If Ava was doing poorly at adjusting before, she's doing far worse now. The tremors result in her keeping her arms tightly wrapped around her midsection. Her expression haunted and miserable, she outright avoids looking anyone in the eye, shakes her head when anyone tries to talk to her.

(But she doesn't want to be alone, she just can't quite express it.)

Sometimes she stops, in the middle of a pathway, staring blankly at nothing. Completely disassociated. She's nothing.

(And anyone that tries to shake her out of it will be violently attacked.)

iv. wildcard
(yeah so there's nothing particularly fun going on here but feel free to hit me up if you have any interest or ideas!)

ii;

[waytodie]

Everything has gone to shit in Etraya. Again. Yelena was already in a bad headspace and the creeping eerie mess sprawling across the city isn’t helping. She keeps her arms folded across her chest as she moves through the city, not entirely sure what she should be doing.

In her meandering, she keeps feeling watched or followed, and it’s got her hackles raised. Only a spy of her particular caliber could make the sharp glances she makes seem so damn casual.

Wrr-wo-wrr.

The strange warbling noise makes her head snap around to find the source, but there’s nothing.

No one

Except… there is something, a flicker or a flash, barely visible but definitely there. Enough to register to Yelena’s eyes that it isn’t completely empty air she’s squinting at.

“This isn’t funny, you know.” She’s sure this isn’t some prank being played on her, but she doesn’t know what else to say. Something. Anything. Just to try to get a reaction of some kind from her present company.

But she doesn’t even have to wait for that, because the next flicker is, briefly, a little bit stronger, though somehow even less controlled than the last. “Ava?” She gasps out the name she’s hardly used even since being handed it in that cafe.

i.

[levelshift]

Given the mission parameters, it also happens to be bad luck for Accelerator that he's made his way into the hospital. He isn't alone - rather, he wasn't alone when he entered, but looking around it appears that stupid creature has seen fit to separate him from the rest of the group. Probably because it's aware of his history with hospitals and hospital-like research facilities, he muses. While it wasn't all bad, the majority of it was. And the majority is something he isn't keen on reliving, if he can help it.

God, why did Aurora's home base have to be a hospital? He would've taken some other horror cliche, like an old theme park or a subway station or some ruined house in the woods over this.

At least he's doing a good job of keeping a handle on his emotions as he walks down what he figures is supposed to be some existential nightmare in the form of an endless white hallway with flickering lighting. He's even been keeping a lid on his powers due to his time limit, but this is aggravating him enough that he's tempted to start punching holes in walls.

Fortunately, he blinks and finds himself coming to a dead end with a corner, and with it is a familiar voice. He rounds the corner, the feet of his crutch tapping on the floor as he rolls his eyes. "You're being noisy."

iii

[maximumlegend]

The mood really has plummeted here, huh.

Not that Fabian wasn't expecting this. Maybe that's the exact problem - he was expecting this a little bit too much. There's a reason he was already on the network yelling about how awful this place was only a little while ago, after all. This feels like this place showing its true colors at this point - but Fabian still hates it.

And he hates even more what it does to people. So when he sees Ava out there looking absolutely miserable, Fabian can't quite leave her alone. He can't leave anyone alone, even more so when everyone must be feeling like shit right now. He doesn't even realize engaging with her right now may be the wrong idea.

"Hey!" He calls out - seeing if he can draw her attention. "Are you alright over there?"

iii

[shabuir]

One would be forgiven for assuming that Fett has been unaffected by the nightmares plaguing Etraya this month. After all, his routine hasn't changed at all. Before they'd come, he'd been wholly preoccupied with rebuilding the Beviin-Vasur Farm after a falling space station had nearly crushed it—and now that the nightmares have passed, he's back doing the very same. Patching roofs, installing new supports, replacing destroyed supplies... He applies himself to all of it with the robotic focus of a man not thinking of anything else—

—because he won't let himself think about anything else.

He's out front cutting apart a metallic sheet of space debris with a plasma cutter when he sees the figure in the distance. People usually don't come out this way, though passersby have been more common since the station crash. Mostly, it's people who want to get a closer look at the wreckage, but this person doesn't continue on towards the impact site. Instead, they stop and simply stand there, eyes fixed on... nothing as far as Fett can tell.

At first, Fett ignores them—mostly. He's cagey enough about strangers on the farm that he doesn't completely let them out of his sight as he works, but they aren't his main focus. Yet, as time passes and the dim evening light gives way to darkness, the figure still hasn't moved—even as the distant sound of wolves howling begins to ring through the trees.

Finally, Fett rises from his work, placing the plasma cutter down next to the stacked pile of newly-cut metal beams. Distantly, he registers the pain from remaining crouched over for so long, ribbons of white heat shooting from his knees and spine. That's another thing about this month: the hospital being compromised means he has to ration what painkillers he has left—and he's already strict about his usage. Hard manual labor isn't sufficient justification.

He begins to walk towards the figure, half-expecting them to retreat. But they don't. Instead, they stay perfectly still, even as Fett draws close enough to recognize them in the darkness. It's the woman from the diner. The one who'd phased through a chair.

"What are you doing here?"

Fett's usually monotone voice is tinged with fatigue. He hasn't been sleeping much these past few days.

iii

[tinflower]

Ah. It's them.

There's something about seeing familiar faces, close or not, that spark of recognition that's different from strangers. Gorgug doesn't make nice with every person he meets, but Ava was helpful, useful, and she cared about her not-friend--their time with working out the shards and the palimpsests leaves some fondness with him, even if it doesn't make him presume anything about their relationship.

But he's fond, and she's standing there, and Gorgug can feel every taste of emotion, even in its absence, like an odour radiating from people. Concern twists into interest, and he doesn't stay paused where he is when he first spots her, recognises her shape.

He moves a little closer, though far from getting too close to her immediate proximity.

"Are you hurt? It's dangerous out here.... it's getting worse. There's things out here."

At least he can still sound as concerned as he would, his brow lowered in worried, looking at her even if she doesn't look at him.

Loki | MCU | OTA

[abit_ofboth]

Reality Bends

As he stands outside the apartment complex, the sky shifts into unexpected colours. There’s something strange in the air, like it’s alive somehow. There’s a general sense of strangeness, of otherness all over the city now and Loki…

Well, Loki can’t quite bring himself to care. There’s part of him that recognizes that’s odd. That he should care, at least enough to try and get out of here and back to saving the multiverse and blah blah blah. It’s all just so tiresome. He really doesn’t know why he bothers anymore.


Shadowy Haunts

More and more, Loki has felt like being on his own. Not that he’s met that many people here, but even the few he’s previously enjoyed spending time with seem tedious at best. The truth of it is, he’s starting to feel more like his old self.

Those old fears have been coming back to him. The ones that tell him he’ll never be enough, he’ll never live up to Thor, he’ll never be able to prove himself to his father, or anyone else. How he’d ever become the one who was saving the multiverse is totally beyond him. Mobius had been wrong, he couldn’t be anything and simply the fact that he’s here, trying to prove himself again should be evidence enough of that.

As this feeling in him grows, Loki finds himself unable to sleep and wandering the area. One night he comes across the diner and enters, vaguely surprised that anything is open in the wee hours of the morning. He can be found here any given night during the mission.


Contamination

Ever since he ran into Vanessa while cleaning up after the space station crashed down, Loki has been feeling off. Though, if you ask him, he’s been feeling more like himself. It’s like the weight of the world (or more accurately the multiverse) has been lifted from his shoulders. He can no longer remember why it is so important to get back. Why was he even trying to help in the first place? That was really more Thor’s thing.

Though in his mind, he feels relaxed and honestly a little relieved, anyone who comes across Loki might think he looks tired and worn down and possibly not in the best of moods. But who needs sleep when you’ve just freed yourself from the ultimate responsibility? As time goes by, he’ll be more snappy, rude and will start to look more sickly.

Approach with caution.

Contamination

[100more]

The world doesn't seem quite right lately, and that leaves Hob worrying for the few friends he's made in this place so far. Luckily, several live in the same apartment building as he does. Rather than use the device, Hob thinks it would be better to pay a visit, so he goes looking for Loki at his flat.

Knocking on the door, he waits for the god to answer, or maybe Loki isn't in and Hob will encounter him out on the street or as the Asgardian is coming home. Either way, he'll continue to keep an eye out for his handsome friend.

Once he does lay eyes on Loki, Hob smiles and greets him. "Hey. Just wanted to see how you're doing."

Shadowy Haunts

[tinflower]

It's hard to sleep. The mission, Aurora leaving that half-mangled message, everything before that--it's been a lot, and it's been gnawing at Gorgug, making his dreams unpleasant. He hasn't been bothering his friends about it (what can they do?), so he tries to burn off energy--stays out at his lab, or tries to exhaust himself to a point where he can't be woken by the anger that's always sitting in his belly. Wandering around while Etraya's in the state it's in is...maybe not the best, but what the hell else is he supposed to do? Isn't surviving this part of the test, or whatever?

Fucking stupid set up. Fucking stupid mission. And those companion bots, just staring at him, making him argue with his friends, making him a joke.

All that is to say, there is someone inside the diner when Loki enters in: there's a green figure standing with his back to the door, by the serving counter but facing the floor between it and a table. His head snaps back to see Loki, and he scrambles to try and hide something in his hands that's too deliberate to be sneaky.

It probly has something to do with the companion bot on the floor, knocked down, a shattered plate of muffins scattered about. And the object he's failing to hide? Is one of the bots arms, its hand and part of its metal crushed where the half-orc holds it.

"It's closed," he says--half a snarl to begin with, deep, but twisting into something younger and startled, scared by the end of the flimsy tactic he's trying to deploy here. It's the latter that matches his expressiont too, a panic on his face as he breathes heavily, trying to calm a rage.

(And there's something in there, in him, familiar to what Loki has--an encounter with Vanessa that left in them a gift.)

Asano Rin | Blade of the Immortal

[revengeisalie]

Reality Bends

The wind rustles the leaves in the forest, the sun shining through the canopy as Rin walks toward her house. She goes there at least once a day now, doing her best to put things in order. It may just be a cheap replica conjured by Echo, or Aurora, or the companion bots, but it looks and smells and the floorboards creak like hers.

Today, though, she never makes it there. Instead, her surroundings warp and twist, and Rin has to broaden her stance so she's stable throughout the transformation; reflexively, she throws her arms up. When it seems like her surroundings have settled, she lowers them again and opens her eyes.

Oh. A labyrinth. Again.

It's not like she's entirely unprepared for is; she's been reading the network. Something has been coming. In light of that, going to the outskirts of Etraya on her own was perhaps unwise, but she couldn't quite stop herself. It was also the only thing that really helped her distract herself from the sense of oncoming doom recent happenings have installed in her.

Well. At least whatever it is, now it's definitely here. Time to face the music.

Rin pulls out the long strips of leather that hold her throwing knives and fastens them to her upper arms and calves. Then she touches the sword at her hip, just to reassure herself that it's there.

She starts walking.

Shadowy Haunts (cw: gore, body horror)

It's hard to tell time in the dark. And so, Rin doesn't know how long she's been making her way through the labyrinth when things shift. A cold, wet breeze; a faint odor of rot, of death. Nothing artificial about it, just normal decay, just earth doing what it does. She's smelled this before. Where was it... ?

Then, in the dark, she sees a glow: the lights of a companion bot. Rin perks up, lets out a small gasp and walks faster toward it, but the bot already turns around away from her. Heart beating fast, Rin follows it, and is led to a place where the walls part to show a room. It's lit by torches, and -- chained to the wall, there are bodies.

Bodies of Doa, of Hyakurin, of Isaku, of some of the people she's met in Etraya. Their eyes are glassy, staring into nowhere, and their bodies distorted; some are missing parts, others have extra parts sticking out where they really, really shouldn't. And in the center of it all, on a solid wood table, lies Manji, clearly unconscious, his body cut up in various ways.

"M-Manji-san!" She goes to him first, but as she steps forward, suddenly the floor under her feet feels... soft.

Fleshy.

She looks down and sees that she's standing on a bed of corpses, and a few people how have not yet died but are clearly not far from it.

A scream rips from her throat.

Wildcard

[ If you wanna plot anything, feel free to hit me up! I'm honeyfoot on plurk, and same on discord. ]

Reality Bends

[tinflower]

Everything sure got fuckery, quick.

Some of us truly are just trying to walk here when it happens, the world becoming enclosed by trees that reach too high, the skies unsure of what darkened, uncomfortable hue to take. Gorgug's reached for one of his own weapons, just for the discomfort that it wraps around his shoulders, a familiarity to this setting that blinks in and out of his vision, but lingers even when he doesn't think he sees it.

(Silver trees, bogs filled with blood. There's no safety, nothing comforting.)

It might be the best call, for him to have a weapon in hand, a large axe only meant for slicing through opponents, too big to be necessary for anything else. But the reason it might not be a great call, too, is the reaction of the one wielding it when a figure emerges from the trees--unheard until their appearance, and not even Rin heard true footsteps coming upon her (except, that is, the footsteps the forest wanted her to hear; the sense of danger creeping up her spine).

"A-ah!"

Gorgug's reaction, though she isn't anywhere near to him, is to pull back the axe like he might be readying to attack her--except he looks far more spooked and startled and stuck in headlights to do any of that.

P-please don't knife him. (Or do.)

Edward Elric | FMA: Brotherhood (open)

[fullmeddle]

reality bends (medical horror, loss of prosthetic limbs)

It's unfortunate that Ed is in the hospital when the world shifts around him - he hadn't much wanted to be here, but eventually his arm and leg are going to need maintenance. Without his mechanic, he's going to have to do his best to fix it himself (or find someone else with the skills for it), which means he has to scout out what tools might be compatible. He's in the midst of squinting at something wrench-like and trying to figure out if it's close enough to something Winry uses to adjust his arm to be used as-is or transformed without much difficulty, when -

(Was there a prick at his neck?)

It's like when he woke up in the hospital here the first time, but a thousand times worse. The bed he wakes up in is filthy, the sheets scratchy against his skin. The lights in his room flicker and cast weird shadows on the walls, and as much as he disliked her, there's no Aurora to tell him what's going on. And he -

He -

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU BASTARDS DO?! WHERE ARE THEY?? I SWEAR I'M GOING TO - TO - "

There's no one around to hear his raging. On the chart hung on the frame of his bed, there's a note stating that patient E. Elric's automail was removed for testing and maintenance. Patient was uncooperative and had to be sedated prior to the procedure for his own safety.

When he's finally yelled himself hoarse, he finds the wheelchair tucked away in a corner of the room that's semi-obscured by equipment. He manages to drag himself across the floor and into it and finds that at least it has some kind of mechanical assist built into it. It doesn't work too well, but he can steer himself around okay with only his left arm and right leg, and he uses it to start exploring outside the room he woke up in to find out what the hell is happening and where the fuck they took his automail.

[contact here or on Plurk at goodnonsense for plotting purposes! More possible starts to be added below.]

[tinflower]

This is not how the hospital normally looks, Gorgug thinks.

Ghostly apparitions, a certain horror movie decor to set a mood that honestly, Gorgug doesn't like. He doesn't like being here, but he's been getting turned around, and the spectres make him turn around more so, certain memories of pulsating hearts being grabbed and leaving him with the signs of age in his hair far too easy to remember.

And now there's sounds of wheels on the other side of the door he's come to? Oh no. Gorgug isn't sure if he wants to find out the source (the hospital is spooky enough!), but he does dare, to open the door an inch....

And he sees someone in a wheelchair, who--doesn't look like a ghost, but they could still be something spooky? So Gorgug speaks up, trying to get their attention:

"Heeey-- are you a ghost?"

Don't mind the half-orc with green skin, black scleras, and white pupils who looks like he's Not a Fan at the doorway, Ed. Nor the unsure way he asked that very sensible question. You're the more scary one here!! (Potentially.)

dean winchester | supernatural - ota

[venatoris]

reality bends;

[ Another labyrinth shouldn't be a huge surprise. He barely managed to survive the first one, so maybe his luck will continue, although that sort of thing doesn't ever seem to be in the cards for him.

He moves cautiously through the twisted forest, every muscle tense as gnarled trees try to close in around him, trap him in darkness, branches curling reaching like skeletal fingers. He can hear the howls, the things in the dark, things he should be used to but in this situation, something pricks at his senses, has him on edge, tightlipped, grip right on the gun in his hand.

Steel toe boots crunch against brittle undergrowth, the cottage appearing, a thing he stops to stare at, because he's seen something similar before; a little girl dressed in white, red ribbon in her hair, killing violently like the fairy tales she's hearing until her father finally lets her go.

Dean backs away, stomach twisting in his abdomen. This is wrong. Far more so than last time - sirens, dragons, even puzzles - that he can handle. This is new. Worse.

He leaves the cottage, firmly ignoring the voices in his head, purposefully striding in the opposite direction, searching, tearing through bramble and undergrowth that scratches at his skin, tears at his clothes. A way out, there has to be. There was last time, this can't be an exception. Killing them all defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

The river he stumbles on is volatile, a violent, churning force of nature and he moves back, thinking to simple press on, get away from this, get out. Back to the safety of the bunker and lock the doors. He's too close, though - he'd gotten too close and a thick tendril wraps around his ankle and yanks, sending him to the ground with a shout, dragging him into the water and down, down, down into the dome.

Shit. ]

shadowy haunts;

(( cw; implied child abuse, descriptions of being buried alive and torture - giving/receiving, lightly implied demonic noncon ))

[ Fear is a funny thing, you know? A person can be afraid of the most mundane things; slipping into a gutter, dropping keys into a storm drain, dropping their phone into a river. There's more severe ones, of course - spiders, crowds. The fear of death, of being buried alive. Of a parent. Of hell.

Pure fear is a primal, gut-wrenching thing, a feeling that seizes the body and mind with an overwhelming intensity, that latches on and squeezes with a vice-like grip. Dean's breathing becomes shallow, heart slamming in his chest, a beat steadily increasing, loud in his ears.

He can see him clear as day, his old man approaching, the rage in his eyes. I told you to watch out for Sammy! He can still feel the marks, the hidden bruises, the ache in his ribs. He's coming, John Winchester approaches and Dean backs up as far as he can, the memory - nightmare surrounding him, clear as day. Sammy is in what serves as the motel living room, John and Dean outside, the rage in his voice real, alcohol on his breath tangible.

A litany of cutting remarks spill out, how useless Dean can be, how can he let Sammy get hurt, how could he be so negligent, it isn't like it's difficult, keep him in the room, stay there, and watch over him, how dare you leave? But Dean doesn't scream, he doesn't cry, he stays there and takes it like a man because that's what Winchesters do, isn't it? They take their poundings like men and the move on, they learn from it.

A shift, then it's just darkness all around, suffocating, the air still and stale and running low. It's a pine box lit with the tiniest flicker of Dean's lighter, a rasped cry for help. Time distorts and fear takes hold even more than it did with his father because he isn't terrified of being buried alive, slowly suffocating to death? Logic and reason evaporate, replaced by a raw instinct for survival and he screams and screams, voice already hoarse, until there's nothing left but a whisper, a wrecked sob when he cannot get out. Was he raised from hell only to suffocate and die again, or is this some cruel trick of Alastair?

The world blurs once more, sounds dulling before coming back into sharp focus and this time it's the screams of the damned echoing in your ears.

It's vicious; a twisted loop of every imaginable torture, Hell is nothing what most people imagine it to be. Fire and brimstone, certainly - but watching tragedy after tragedy, stuck in a continuous loop, experiencing it again and again and again -- it’s incomparable. There aren’t words, and Dean has never been able to properly articulate how the time there affected him.

It’s fiery and painful, suffering inflicted upon guilty souls, endless torture, flesh and muscle stripped from bone, every layer - mental and physical - peeled back or perusal, for pleasure. It’s sick, and Dean is a priceless morsel for the demon Alastair. He remembers this pain, remembers it vividly, still dreams about it every night but never speaks of it. The dream - the memory is strong, so strong - it’s as if you’re right there with him, on the rack. Broken and bloodsoaked, screams echoing through the room, bouncing off walls, reverberating through bone, twisting and screaming and begging for mercy all while a white-eyed demon laughs in your face, the knife glinting in his fingers.

A shift and then it's Dean holding the knife, a righteous man broken after thirty years of saying no, no, no!, unable to take it anymore, unable to withstand it. And so he takes over and learns from Hell's best torturer, from Alastair who is pleased with Dean's work, rewards given that Dean does not want.

He is both present and not, remembering, seeing, experiencing, the scent of blood and viscera too thick in the air to breath anything more than shallow breaths through his mouth.

Dean is in the nightmare for twelve days before he's finally spit out, unconscious on the ground. ]

(( feel free to hit either prompt/pick any memory! if you want to do something specific feel free to pm me or hmu at virtuously. more starters will probably appear below as the mission progresses - Dean will be succumbing to Im'mari eventually, and once he's spit free from the mission he will be a lot like when he had the Mark of Cain, sullen, angry, volatile, prone to lashing out, etc. eventually his eyes will blacken and he'll hit stage three, and he will be keeping color changing (green to black) eyes! ))

[magike]

( this isn't a fear that rowena has, not of hell, having spent time there, knowing that her soul is destined for hell when she does finally die, but here in this nightmare now she feels the fear, the suffering, the conflict of the man who owns this particular memory. dean with a knife, torturing another soul.

but it's not the only thing she sees, rooted on the spot as she is, more recovered in the days since she'd caught up with him. she sees him there, a more solid appearance than the memory they're trapped in-- )

Dean?

( her voice is quieter, a little hesitant, trying to piece together what she knows with what she sees. except dean has never been an open book to her, rowena not knowing much about his time spent in hell )

lisa "tattletale" wilbourn | worm | ota

[thinkerseven]

i: outside.

[ There are no insects in Etraya.

It's something Lisa was able to conclude after her first rainstorm here. It was the first thing she ever learned about this place. The exception that proved the rule was the labyrinth, but those bugs were huge, meant to be monsters rather than anything else in the ecosystem.

But Etraya has changed. There's tension in the sky and in the earth. The whole city is a monster, and maybe that means Lisa can see some of the creatures she's so sorely missed.

She spends most of her time this month in the decaying hospital, ignoring the apparitions of patients begging for a cure, or the ghostly doctors promise them. She runs her fingers across splintering wood, peers under rickety carts, picks at rotting food in a decrepit cafeteria. Occasionally, she'll slump against the cushioned wall of a cell, closing her eyes for a minute before resuming her search. She doesn't sleep a lot.

Lisa smiles at anyone who crosses her path in the hospital, a smile with too many teeth that nonetheless doesn't reach her eyes. ]

I'd warn against being in here unless you have a reason. Some of those rooms are pretty fucked up.

ii: inside.

[ Maybe you didn't heed Lisa's warning. Maybe you aren't in the hospital at all, but you're instead stepping into another room, in another place. Whatever the origin, your destination is the same: as soon as the door closes behind you, the scene shifts.

You're in a windowless room, deep underground. The door behind you is now heavy steel, and it is locked. In the room is a desk, a switched-off desktop computer, a cot, and a telephone. The room is stuffy, with cobwebs in the corner, and the flickering overhead fluorescent light does a mediocre job of brightening the place up.

There's a young woman sitting on the cot, staring at the blank wall in front of her. She wears a tight purple bodysuit with a long black stripe running down the side. Across her waist is a belt with an eye as a buckle; attached to the belt is a holstered pistol. Her long blonde hair falls over her shoulders, and her face is partially obscured by a black domino mask.

The phone is ringing. Even if you both stand or sit there for several minutes, it won't stop. Compared to the rest of this silent cell, it's awfully loud.

Eventually, Tattletale grins. She still doesn't look at you. ]

Well? Aren't you going to answer it?

[ It's just an ordinary landline telephone. But something about it smacks of dread. Maybe it's that it's not plugged into anything, or that someone who's trying this hard to reach you in a place like this can't possibly be happy with you. ]

ooc notes.

[ The second prompt has warnings for the imprisonment and forced exploitation of children and teenagers. It is also possible to encounter Francis Krouse in the second prompt. Please let me know if you'd like me to go easy on the content warning-related aspects of the above, or if you'd like a thread with both Lisa and Krouse, or just Lisa! ]

closed

[thinkerseven]

Francis Krouse | Worm | OTA

[equivo]

i. shadowy haunts/nightmares entwined: cell
[ cw: past child exploitation, imprisonment, grief, persistent noise, ambient body horror ]

[ Somewhere in the hospital, you step through a door, and end up somewhere you didn't intend to be.

You're in a cell. Either a cell of your own, strangely familiar to you, full of echoes of some moment in your past where you were trapped, or you find yourself sharing a cell with an individual you may not know at first glance, or at all.

The cell that he belongs to is a concrete-walled one with a plexiglass front, otherwise windowless, sunken deep in the earth. The walls are cold to the touch, slightly touched by condensation from the air, and roughly textured. They would hurt to rub skin against too hard, if you didn't have a choice to avoid them.

It's a sparsely furnished space. A low steel-framed bed, a table with two chairs and an unopened deck of cards in the centre, the overhead fluorescent lights buzzing behind tamper-proofed sheets of more plexiglass. The air is close, with the faint smell of staled disinfectant overlying something vaguely like the feverish reek of a sick animal. Somewhere, something is beeping repetitively, a dully piercing low battery alarm going off every few seconds, just loud enough to be not quite ignorable, just quiet enough to not interfere with even murmured conversation.

A young man is sitting on the bed, his head bowed. He's wearing a red and black suit, like something a stage magician or ringleader would wear in a performance, a red vest under a dramatic black coat, but it's apparent that the outfit is more structured and durable than a mere costume. Or, for those familiar with the concept, it's a certain type of costume - one concealing panels of armour, with protective, practical black boots for running, the belt around his waist studded with pouches to hold any number of hidden tricks to pull out in a pinch. There's a red-banded top hat sitting next to him on the dull grey bedspread, and he's wearing a full red face mask with vague features, holes for his lowered eyes, and a hole set in the suggestion of a mouth over his real one just large enough to insert something as thin as a cigarette filter.

His gloved hands are clasped loosely between his knees as he rests his forearms on his thighs, seeming to ignore the new arrival in his cell or the one across the hall. But after a few moments, he lifts his head, and meets their eyes with his own dark, intense, hollowed out ones. ]

What are you in for?

[ He asks, quietly, like it's a joke. Behind him, on the wall above the bed, painted in stark orange warning letters, reads: TRICKSTER: SIMURGH EXPOSURE PROTOCOLS IN EFFECT. ]

ii. shadowy haunts/nightmares entwined: coil
[ cw: past child exploitation, child abuse, extortion, threats of violence, manipulation, imprisonment ]

[ Or you find yourself, instead, stepping into a windowless office, also buried underground. The office is darkly elegant, simple in design but luxurious in execution, dominated by a large, faintly shining black desk. Someone is sitting behind it, although whoever it is, only their folded hands sheathed in form-fitted black fabric are visible - somehow, the shadows at the back of the office conspire to conceal the man at the desk.

The young man from the cell is standing in the center of the room, not seated at the sole chair across from the desk, like he hasn't earned the right to it. He's in full costume, his top hat planted on his short black hair, and his hands are raised as he speaks - or was speaking, until the new arrival interrupted. ]

- we'll improve, and I take full responsibility for the aspects of the situation that my team was -

[ The young man cuts himself short, his raised hands closing into fists that are defensive in the sense that he seems to want to catch the words he had been speaking out of the air as he glances over his shoulder. The pair of hands folded above the desk flex slightly, fingers working against each other, as the concealed individual takes note. ]

Hello. [ Says the man behind the desk, his voice rich, smooth, authoritative without being brusque. ] I wasn't expecting an interruption, but I'll permit it. Perhaps you can provide some insight into the...aspects of the situation I seem to be unaware of.

[ The young man's face isn't visible, but his flinch shows in the slight tensing of his shoulders under his jacket. ]

They weren't involved. [ He says, quickly, turning back to face the desk and squaring his shoulders. ] As I was saying -

Two interruptions, [ the man in the shadows says, as though he finds that interesting ] Let's avoid a third. I'll ask for your opinion when it's relevant. Now, let's hear from our new arrival.

[ The young man drops his fists to his sides, then makes a conscious effort to relax them. The sound of his inhale fills the silence. It is, apparently, the new arrival's turn to speak - perhaps to make a comment, or ask a clarifying question, or anything else that comes to mind. ]

iii. wildcard/contact
[ You can reach me by PM, terriblepurpose, or same username on Discord. Feel free to hit me up for a wildcard or plotting at the plotting post as well! Please indicate if you would like Lisa Wilbourn to also be present (as a voice from the adjacent, unseen cell next to his) in the first prompt. ]

closed

[equivo]

shadowheart | baldur's gate 3

[tocastashadow]

i. reality bends / contamination

[Shadowheart's eyes, normally a pale, pretty colour, glow a sicklier shade of green as she treads the dark, decaying halls of the hospital. The friendly dog that can usually be found trotting along beside her ran off scared some time ago. She misses him, she wants to make amends, she loves that dog, but something swirling around inside her was pleased to see him so terrified. It's an ugly, alien feeling, one that has slowly grown since she encountered Vanessa in the forest.

It wants to see other people terrified, too.

The point of her spear scrapes along the floor, catching on every crack, the jittery screech of steel against tile echoing down the corridors. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a flicker. Someone moving.]

Not trying to hide, are you?


ii. shadowy haunts / contamination (cw: religious trauma/religious abuse)

[Everything is dark. Her elven senses are failing her; where she should at least be able to discern shapes or movement, there's only impenetrable darkness. She can't even see as far as the point of her nose. Her breathing sounds deafeningly loud. Shadowheart doesn't fear the dark, but she does fear what the darkness whispers.

I am the only mother who would ever want you. I am the only friend you could ever keep.

A woman's voice, deep, soft, almost seductive. Despite the voice, Shadowheart feels utterly and completely alone, more alone than she's ever been. It's only her and the darkness here, cut off from everything and everyone she's ever known. She recalls what the spectres in the hospital had told her, that if she fails here, her soul will be trapped forever in this place, alone for eternity in death as she is now in life. Forsaken. Unloved. Unremembered.

You think that the woman who gave birth to you will call you 'daughter?' After everything you've done? Do you think anyone you've met here will so much as look at you again, once they see you for what you really are? They will all turn their backs on you, in the end. Love cannot endure, child. You know this.]

Love is a lie. [There's little enough conviction in her voice as she frowns at the darkness around her. She still remembers the words. They beat them into her well enough that she might forget the hand that brandished the rod, she might forget the darkened halls of the cloister and Mother's face and even her own name, but she could never forget the words. And as she continues, the conviction begins to creep back. She knows what will happen to her if she doesn't say the words right, if she fails to speak with sufficient devotion.] Only hate endures.

[There's someone coming towards her, their form coming into focus as the darkness seems to part around them. Her next victim.

You crave their terror, don't you? the darkness says. Even now, my darkness lives within you. My Shadowheart. You chose your name well.

She doesn't want to go back to Shar, nothing could ever make her want to go back, she doesn't want to be dragged down into the abyss of darkness and loneliness and pain that she's so recently clawed her way out of. And she tells herself that she doesn't want this. But gods help her, it's a lie. Whoever this person is moving through the darkness, she wants to see them afraid. Ever since her encounter with Vanessa, she's become more and more desperate to taste the fear of those around her.

Show them who you were always meant to be. My Dark Justiciar. My Chosen.

She raises a hand, preparing to cast a spell on the person coming towards her as her eyes begin to glow violet.]


iii. wildcard!

[Feel free to wildcard me, or hit me up at sprucemoose or sprucemooses@discord if you want to plot!]

ii (she's here to make things worse)

[dangerousmind]

[The Cat is starved, her paws pad across the great halls of this extensive labyrinth of nightmares, not making a single sound.

The dark, the lonely, they cloud the air surrounding this girl, filling her pretty little head with everything she feels, making her take that poison inside of herself and spit it outward.

She listens to the woman as she preaches her rot, and The Cat can only smile. It's not the same, of course, but she knows the preaching demands of a mother very well. Her voice comes out, smooth and playful.]

Are you going to kill me? [She's amused. Somewhat endeared by the raw foolish spirit behind it.] You really are quite far gone already, aren't you?

[The Cat's eyes shine a bright green in the dark. It would be impossible to spot her otherwise, she fits into the dream like a puzzle piece or a charging port. This is where she belongs.]

castiel (au), supernatural

[depressant]

—long shadows
cw: violence, domestic abuse, implied noncon

[ he's visiting the hospital when things change.

no one could be blamed for thinking nothing has, except that castiel recognizes the shift like a spot-the-differences puzzle, eyes jumping to each change in turn, one-two-three-four. that wonderful attention to detail. there are piles of refuse gathered up in the corners of the rooms, stacked, stained mattresses, upturned carts and bent bed frames in the hallways, which all lie open and empty as a gasping throat. the windows are rusted shut and bleeding red-and-ocher down the off-white walls, the tile floor caked with grime. plants climb in at spidering cracks and then yellow and curl in the lack of light, the long dessicated corpses of small animals falling apart amongst the sickly foliage. somewhere, a room or two away, echoes the marching footfalls of heavy boots. a voice shouts, familiar — it's dean winchester. castiel forgets the spot-the-difference puzzle, forgets that he was ever anywhere else but here.

it's not the dean winchester who was brought here to etraya. it's the dean winchester that only castiel knows, the dean winchester who lost his brother, the dean winchester who doesn't hunt only monsters.

they meet two hallways down, as castiel sprints to catch up to the group— he's falling behind again, shit— heart thrilling in his chest. he doesn't smile when he sees dean, and dean doesn't smile when he sees him, but there's a sense of lightness through the encroaching dark. a pair of headlights glimpsed flickering like twin stars down a dark highway, before tail lights burn red, leaving a long comet trail as they move beyond the range of sight. they return together to camp chitaqua, and everything is fine as it can be.

how many nights have he and dean drank away together? he can't remember. these nights used to be for talking.

the days were always silent. too busy training the new recruits. it was the task that dean set him to when he was still an angel and could take a slipped blade or a wrong feint, when he could heal a broken wrist or bruised jaw. he kept doing it, even after he lost everything that made him who he was, or what he was— and it's fine until it wasn't. the first time he tried to block a blade with his hand was his last.

dean shouted all night. didn't talk to him the next day. he's just worried, cas wants to tell himself—

someday, this will be every day, castiel thinks, a year ago. today, it is. silent nights are traded for shouting matches like a bad hand of cards played too late, but castiel can't keep from doing the same thing. over and over. throwing the match. it's the definition of insanity — repetition. so why did his father see fit to make a world that turns? yes, every day is the same. castiel fucks up. dean gets angry. someone else fucks up. dean takes it out on him. their fights are bad. their fights get bloody.

the shadow has him scuffling on the floor, days into the nightmare. blood and black ichor running all across his face and blacking his teeth and throat and the ground and staining his hand-me-down clothes. he scratches and bites. he curses and cries. he comes away with bruises, with scratches, with black eyes, with aches in wrong places. he limps into next days, and no one says anything about anything at all. the days are silent.

time bends again. and then dean stops shouting.

he finds he misses the sound.

when the nightmare spits him out, he doesn't know how many days it's been. three years, give or take.

he knows what his future looks like. ]

—in nightmares (network)
cw: see above

VOICE, UN:Castiel_2
This isn't real, is it?

[ his voice is strained, rough with a sore throat. the call comes through in the middle of the night, his time and real time, which means he isn't sleeping, even though he's supposed to be. ]

—everything after
cw: alcohol, smoking

[ after castiel has been to the bunker, and spoken to dean, he sits outside with his back to the building, gut hollowed out, head hollowed out, heart ticking like a time bomb. he has a half-empty bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand and a cigarette in the other, unlit because he left it waiting too long. just like everything else they've ever done. too late. too late.

dean was the one who taught him that fate was a whole bunch of bullshit.

he was right. so was anna.

it gets worse. ]

( everything written after "someday, this will be every day" in the first prompt is what the nightmare created, and everything before is hallucinatory memories. anyone who wants to pull castiel out of his nightmare will have to war with his loyalty to dean, so don't expect him to go easy. if you'd like to plot, find me at chayot! )

long shadows

[sruth]

[ Carpenter's trip to the hospital, which begins some time after Castiel arrives, is meant to be a strategic strike. Get in, get some more gauze and topical antibiotic, and get out. Her side's doing better than it was on the ship, and her wounds are blessedly avoiding infection, but her shoulder could still use some care.

To the extent that Carpenter registers a change in the hospital, she mostly parses it as a change in the air. There's a god here, and it's not a kind one. Not that any of them are ever kind.

Then she finds the person she half-mockingly called Saint Thursday, and it's clear he's in greater need than any of Carpenter's silly old injuries.

She doesn't know how the shadows work. She understands the power of a steady hand and a tight grip, and when she tries to haul him to his feet, away from whatever he's fighting, she hopes that's enough. ]

That's enough. Get up, that's enough.

rosie | ota

[hasitsthorns]

❥ reality bends.

Having been spending more time in the forest lately with the wolves, Rosie is caught in the unexpected tilt into the horrific while out there. Suddenly, she feels much more at home in the worst ways imaginable; the winding, unfamiliar labyrinth echoes The Makai and how parts of it were seemingly made to turn people around. All the better for yokai to prey on and devour them.

It's strange to be the role of prey though rather than predator for once.

"Hello?" she'll call out, wondering if anyone else is caught out here with her. Was she being isolated or would she be given the false hope of someone familiar to help her through the forested maze? She's not sure, honestly, which would be worse in the end.
Despite how independent she acts and claims to be though, she's suddenly feeling keenly how alone she is.

How alone she's always been.

"...Anyone?"

❥ shadowy haunts.
( █ cw for: references to abusive relationships, sexual abuse, human trafficking, forced violence )

Eventually, she is faced with someone familiar but not from Etraya. It's also not exactly who she originally assumes from either. His eyes are brown rather than amber, his hair red but peppered with black instead of the white she used to joke about making him look old. When he speaks, it's an echoed doubled-tone of two voices that she knows all too well because they haunt her nightmares still.

"Hello, songbird," he speaks, a nickname that used to spark affection now discordant and unsettling.
"No," she answers, sharp and immediate, "you're dead. Both of you. You're not here, not real-"

She drops her eyes as she speaks like not looking at him means he'll dissipate. It doesn't quite work like that though. Instead, she gives a small whimper of pain as her wrist is grabbed tight enough to bruise and another hand snaps around her chin to force her to look at the man now towering over her. Her snarl in response sees a malicious smile form on his lips instead of a flinch.

"You're so beautiful when you bare your teeth," he speaks. It causes a glassy sheen to appear over her eyes but she tries to will herself to not cry. She doesn't want to give him, either of them, that power over her again. She doesn't want to feel small, scared, and helpless again. "And I only understood that, didn't I? No one could ever understand you like I did."

The woman starts to wilt as her fight leaves her gradually in the wake of his words. For a second, she wonders if he isn't right. No one here really knows her, do they? And it's better that way. It's better they don't, that they don't understand her because the real her isn't anyone they'd want to know.

"So, go ahead. Fight me off. Prove you're the monster you pretend you're not."

So, is that her choice? Prove she's the monster everyone has always believed her to be or be stuck here, trapped here, for kami knows how long? Be trapped, again, like a songbird in a gilded cage, or a beast behind bars, or a little girl all alone after being rejected by the only love she thought she'd known.*

❥ "waking up" / aftermath.
( █ cw for: all in the previous prompt + maladaptive coping/self-harm & potentially lashing out at others )

She's not sure when it's over, only that it is. When she's free of the nightmare, she should be relieved. Shouldn't she? It feels like she should, but all she feels is bitter. Angry. Ugly.

Afraid to sleep again and suffer more nightmares, she simply doesn't. Eating also falls to the wayside. It's fine, she tells anyone concerned, just recovering from all that she went through. Aren't they all? No one needs to be worried about her.

It's fine. She's fine. Everything is fine so stop asking her- 'Don't pretend like you care,' she'll think sardonically about anyone that pushes the issue or tries to talk to her about everything that happened. No one really cares. No one actually knows her.

No one would want to. And it's better for everyone if they don't. Despite everything, echoes of her nightmare still linger and probably will for some time as she attempts to avoid addressing any of it.

❥ notes / plot with me.

(( hi hi, it's chai! rosie's obviously going through it here so as mentioned in my plotting post: please mind the cw's!

for the *, I wanted to note that the scene of her nightmare can shift to one of the 3 scenarios mentioned that fall under those cw umbrellas but I'll specify still as they come up! basically, it'll be

1) her life as a courtesan and how fucked that was for her,
2) her time in the fighting ring, or
3) even earlier, her father's attempted filicide and subsequent abandonment as a young girl.

we can hash out which one people would like to see or if they'd just like to punch her phantom in his stupid smug face to help her escape because that's also a possibility!

lmk on plurk/discord @ tentamenace or you can PM this journal! ))

shadowy haunts.

[tinflower]

"Rosie?"

The voice speaks up, another within this elaboration created from Rosie's memories, her fears--one that certainly doesn't fit, and from one who sounds as confused as he sometimes does, but...there's something else to it.

She can turn her head, and see Gorgug standing there, as real as everything else: dressed as he usually is, axe at his back, and his eyes on her, a startled yet unsure expression.

And in this moment, does she want to be seen? With an expression that looks so unsure, and when Gorgug asks, says more than just her name:

"What are they talking about...? Who are they?"

Are those questions she wants to hear right now? Are those answers she wants to give?

Padmé Amidala | OTA

[politicallyinclined]

Reality Bends

She is dragged into the forest, lost among the shadows and trees. Her breath comes in sharp, painful spurts and she realizes that she has to master herself. She is being tested. Relaxing her hands at her sides, she uses her other senses since her sight isn't dependable.

"Is anyone there?" she raises her voice - just to give comfort to anyone else who might have been kidnapped - and then she takes a step. Making sure her foot is firmly planted against the forest floor - and not sinking or touching something disturbing - she then takes another step, her hands outstretched. Light comes and goes, playing in pools and making strange shadows seem to peek around the tree trunks.

Or maybe that isn't the light's doing?

"Selfish bitch."

Hardly polite! Padmé frowns and tries to keep watch over her trail. If she needs to run, she doesn't want to collide with any trees.

"Do you mean me?" she asks flatly, coming to a pause before...a cottage. The shadows dart at her, threatening her, and she narrows her eyes.

"What do you want?"

Shadowy Haunts

The door to the cottage opens and out steps...her. Yet this Padmé is covered in blood and her expression is...detached. There is no warmth in her; no empathy.

"This is the only way to secure peace." the woman speaks coldly and she smiles, sweeping her dark skirt to the side as she approaches Padmé.

"You're not a child. Peace must be acquired by force or it will never last."

"With democracy, it can last without any blood being shed." she counters the dark queen - because she is obviously not a senator!

The other Padmé laughs and she steps closer...and closer...

"He knows the truth. He has hinted at it, hasn't he? Even here...?"

Her stomach twists and she turns her head, closing her eyes stubbornly.

"You always do that."

"You don't know him like I do. He's good. He would never become like you."

Wildcard

(Want to find her elsewhere? Poke me on Plurk at tiger_eyes or through PMs~ Of course you are welcome to just put a starter up, too.)

shadowy haunts

[maximumlegend]

Does Fabian know what's up with the double Padmés?

No. Of course not. He has no idea what he just walked in on, really, other than the fact that it's obviously bad. People covered in blood is one thing - he's been there before! - and people saying mean things is yet another - he's.. also been there before, yes - but the combination of both just seems bad. Even more so when this is some sort of weird doppelganger situation.

So the young man doesn't hesitate. Rather than questioning what's going on here, he's just running up to Padmé - the one that isn't covered in blood, of course - and latches onto her hand, applying force like he's trying to drag her away.

"Come on, Padmé! We have to get out of here!"

Stop talking to the obviously evil other Padmé!

Izuku "Deku" Midoriya | My Hero Academia

[wannasmash]

cw: blood, corruption, mental/emotional distress, possession, stab wounds, teen (illusion) with serious injury, MHA spoilers (anime-friendly)

Nightmares + Devourer

Izuku could have had some pretty good camouflage in the forest, his hair and hero jumpsuit being a dark green, but the treeline opens onto an inexplicably destroyed landscape. Only concrete rubble remains of what was once a large complex. Remnants of medical signage and equipment suggest this may have been a hospital.

Someone splattered with blood lies in the dust, and Izuku rushes to them with his super speed sparking around him because that's what heroes do. His survival instinct always extends to saving another. He recognizes the blond figure in black and fiery orange.

"Kacchan!" comes his high panicked cry. He dispels the light-and-wind cloak of his Quirk. Even as tears wet his face, he yanks his glove off and checks the fallen hero's vitals with the care that rescue exercises drilled into him. He clamps his hands on the stab wounds in chest and shoulder.

"Wake up..." he half sobs and half orders him. "You can't leave now, we're supposed to help each other... You want to beat me and be the #1 Hero, remember?!"

He whips his head around at the person approaching. His eyes glow, seemingly with the familiar sparks of his Quirk, but his face contorts into anything but a familiar expression. He bares his teeth and snarls. He must protect Katsuki against this intruder, no matter who they are.

Plotting comment

she's here to make things worse

[dangerousmind]

[Except the intruder is hardly a threat at all. Little more than a black house cat, staring at him through too bright and too intelligent green eyes.

The Cat only cocks her head, blending into the backdrop of the dream as an independent actor. A set piece to blanket this fear. A show for her and her new friend.

Dinner first. Grief bubbling up in this boy as his stupid dreams crumble around him, a full course meal as she feeds on his suffering. Her plan can wait just a little longer. She's been good for so long, after all. So she jumps up on top of a pile of rubble, and were this a real event one might notice that the rubble doesn't react at all to her. She does not belong here, but she is welcome all the same.]

He really matters to you, doesn't he? [The Cat speaks up, her voice casual and deceptively gentle.] It's a cute nickname. Who is he? Was he, I suppose.

rowena macleod ★ supernatural

[magike]

★ REALITY BENDS

( she'd been in the hospital when everything had changed, e ill-fitting shirt and trousers that she'd managed to find, having been asleep in her hospital bed when everything had changed. but waking up it's easy to see and feel that something is different and it pulls her out of the bed in concern.

though the door isn't as quick to open, rowena finding herself trapped in there and not strong enough to teleport herself out of there. it doesn't stop herself from casting another spell though and to whoever might be walking down the corridor will find words burning into the door )

TRAPPED. GET ME OUT.

★ SHADOWY HAUNTS

( she'd been in an open space when she'd caught sight of him, nowhere to hide, nothing to stand behind or cover herself with, leaving her very open. and vulnerable, already weaker.

lucifer. and whilst he hasn't turned yet, hasn't appeared to have noticed her she can already hear the taunting in her mind, him calling her red, reminding her of the times that he'd killed her.

it leaves her frozen on the spot, her fear obvious in her expression, her hands clenching when he does finally turn. and it feels over for her now )

★ NOTES
rowena is not going to be getting infected at all, she's going to be fighting it in part two by fighting vanessa. her physical and magical selves are still quite weak (though she's more healed than in the mingle) and her magic will grow to almost full strength by the time part two hits when she's 99% healed. my plotting comment was also over here

reality bends!

[reconstruction]

[Connor had wanted to investigate the hospital after the crash with or without a group. having more people helped, certainly, but he decided to take a peek to ensure that the inside of it was tolerable. he promised that he wouldn't go further than the first floor, but wanted to scan for any potential (harmful) biological samples.

he isn't finding anything dangerous - not physically, that is.

except for the spectres that haunt the halls. he isn't scared of them, but his first encounter had certainly been a shock. no reasonable deduction to make sense of them aside from the words spilling from their mouths. fearful, urgent voices insisting on the success of the mission. it's as he's apprehensively stepping around these wraiths in the halls that he notices another new addition to the walls. the flicker of red catches his eye, then the word - trapped. LED pulses yellow. cautiously, he approaches, one hand pressing against the door to test it while the other jiggles the knob.]

Hello? Is someone in there?

[this could be a trick too, for all he knows.]

Linhardt von Hevring | Ota

[sleepfan]

Shadowy Haunts: River Dome

[ Linhardt doesn't enjoy nearly drowning, but sometimes observing giant horrible monsters requires personal sacrifice. He could have lashed out against the tentacle, could have severed the appendage from its body, but then he'd never discover what said body looked like or if there was a creature in the depths causing the river's tumult.

To his frustration and disappointment, instead of being brought to the creature Linhardt is deposited into some sort of underwater bubble, deposited unceremoniously on his behind in the center. The mage forces himself to his feet and inhales deeply, wringing out his now wet and stringy hair and retying it to get it out of his face. At least there's air. Linhardt follows a long grey fish - one that looks like a sea snake - around the edge of the dome, staring at the odd aquatic life in open fascination. He's occasionally seen fish in personal environments, but he's never had the opportunity to observe fish swimming in the ocean from eye level - there is so much to observe. From the way the fins undulate to how schools of small silvery fish swim in motions so fluid they seem to form a larger whole, to which plants or rocks they choose to hide behind. He also has a good look at the riverbed itself, an entirely foreign landscape to any that Linhardt has ever encountered. He continues walking around the dome, eyes firmly locked on the river outside rather than the ground in front of him.

Thus ensuring he runs directly into the giant mirror on the north side of the dome.]

What is this place's preoccupation with mirrors?

[Linhardt grumbles and reaches up to rub his now bruised head, last word lapsing into a yawn at the end. Looking at the mirror spitefully, Linhardt kicks it with one foot. He's grown tired of mirrors - they remind him of the other him that knew his inner most thoughts.]

Echoes of Fear 1: All That Glitters Is Not Gold

[ Not all nightmares look like nightmares. This one, as a matter of fact, is rather cozy. While some stone towers are cold and musty, this one is not, with walls draped in heavy tapestries in muted colors, floors covered in thick, lush carpeting, and even a fireplace crackling in the corner. Both the table and the chairs in the center of the room (as well as the ones by the fireplace) are made of solid, hand-crafted wood, complete with small, aesthetic flourishes. A late summer sunlight streams through the windows, showering the room in the particular golden glow unique to evenings at the end of summer when the singing of crickets intermingles with the sunset.

It is, all in all, a very comfortable place to be. At first, Linhardt does not mind being here: It is by far a more pleasant teleportation than his arrival to Etraya had been. It isn't until Linhardt walks up to the table and reads the parchments stacked there that his face goes white and he decides he needs to leave. Immediately.

The only problem is that there is no way to leave. The first and most obvious clue, of course, is the lack of a door. A glance out the windows proves to be disorienting: Despite the clearness of the sky, Linhardt can spy no solid ground upon which the tower is built. How could a tower even stand this high? Linhardt frowns and his eyebrows furrow.

Finally, he turns his attention to the other person in the room. For once, another presence is welcome, a reminder (along with the earpiece Linhardt has yet to adjust to the feeling of) that Etraya is real. Which means the papers on the table are not. Even as he tries to talk himself into the logical proposition 'If Etraya is real then this is not', he finds all the proposition's flaws. They don't know if this is real. It could be. It could not be. The lack of knowledge is driving him mad - Linhart finds his pulse picking up and he's suddenly subjected to the unpleasant experience of feeling his heart beat.

Focus. Linhardt looks at the other person.]

We're going to need to move the carpets.

[The odds of there being a trap door are small but not zero. It would be remiss not to check.]

Echoes of Fear 2: Escher and Carrol, Eat Your Hearts Out.

[ Where the last nightmare had no doors, this one has entirely too many. 53 to be exact - Linhardt had counted them immediately upon arrival. Fifty three doors ranging in size from the giant gates of a fortress spanning all four stories of the room down to a door fit for a mouse, stuck haphazardly not only on the walls but also on the floors and ceilings. Linhardt finds himself on the top story, looking down over the ledge into the courtyard like center. There doesn't appear to be any way out - or down - except for a deceptively normal sized door. (Or jumping over the ledge onto the courtroom below, but Linhardt is well aware that is a bad idea.)

There is no immediate danger and therefore no immediate reason to panic. The walls are white, all running into one another and made of a substance Linhardt can't easily identify - running his fingers across them provide no useful information. The only sound present is a ticking that sounds like a clock, though Linhardt cannot see any timekeeping device from his vantage point.

The clock chimes, and the walls move. With a grating sound somewhere between stone grinding on stone and the groans of the miserable, the white walls move inward, doors and all. Not far - Linhardt would guess less than 3 inches - but the room is unmistakably smaller than it had been before.

Time to try the door.

Rather than leading to another room or to some sort of staircase as Linhardt would have expected, opening the door and stepping through it somehow leads to the mouse sized door on the second story. Stepping into the room, Linhardt looks up at what had been, from the fourth floor, an ordinary sized desk that now seemed akin to a desk for giants, with a chair upon which Linhardt could have mounted a climbing exhibition.

Panic wells up in Linhardt as the unseen clock chimes again (was the time between chimes shorter this time?). Linhardt, for lack of any better idea, runs towards the center of the room - a longer run than one would expect due to his newly diminutive stature. If the walls are moving inward, then surely the most immediate concern is to stay in the center of whichever story he finds himself upon.

Making sure to stay away from the moving walls, Linhardt experimentally attempts to call upon his elemental magics - they aren't very efficient means of generating purely kinetic energy, but given his size at the moment, it's his best option.

Nothing happens.

Just as it had been in the tower, nothing happens. A deep dread settles into Linhardt, draping over him like a weighted blanket of helplessness.

How is he supposed to escape? He's too small to use any of the doors except the one he's come from, and there's no magic. He doesn't know what is happening, he has no magic, and he is going to die.

Chime.

Maybe he should simply accept the situation. After all, he's been somewhat certain he was going to die horribly for years. At least being squished to death by an angry building is somewhat better than bleeding out on a battlefield. Maybe. The last few contractions are going to be extremely unpleasant.

Not knowing what else to do, the small healer crouches down, holds his hands over his ears, and screws his eyes shut, freezing in place and giving in to his body's screaming demand to 'stop!'.]

echo of fears 1

[tinflower]

[ Gorgug may be a frustrating figure to behold at this time. He's been looking around the room with the sort of curiosity that doesn't signal any worry in his features, slowly taking in the environment, and not even commenting on the lack of doors (for now). He's without his axe as well on his back, nor his smaller axes at his sides; only his goggles sit on top of his head above his brow, dressed otherwise in his usual state of hoodie and jeans.

Linhardt may be reaching the limit to his patience in being here, what Gorgug is reaching is walking distance over to the table with the parchments, though he doesn't read them yet. Looks over at Linhardt first instead, who's spoken up about the carpets, but what Gorgug finds more pressing is: ]

Where is this?

[ But what about explanations first, Linhardt. ]

aerith | ffvii:r | ota - spoilers for rebirth, cw for mention of violence

[anciently]

❀ dream girl evil (shadowy haunts)

[ Maybe it happens on a routine swing by the hospital, to see how she can help. Or a walk in the forest, to get away from the city and just breathe. Or passing by the river, on her way from point A to point B.

It doesn't matter where it happens, because she doesn't remember any of that now. Not when a normal day has darkened, the figurative storm clouds rolling quickly in over her head, and the deluge, the cacophony, is upon her.

Nightmares. Before she can really even grasp what's happening, Aerith is in the eye of the hurricane, except instead of being pelted by rain and flying debris, she's trapped in the center of something much more sinister. As reality warps around her, some of the darker corners of her mind - her fears - step into the spotlight.


(001) The end of the world. In one vision, an unrecognizable planet - though one that is clearly at its end - takes the stage. Its surface is razed, barren, and thoroughly wiped clean of all the life that once called it home. There is an overwhelming presence, too: the sovereign entity that took the Planet over and brought down world-ending magic...the meteor...upon it.

JENOVA is unseen, but her twisted influence can be felt everywhere. There is another visible figure in the nightmare, but Sephiroth is some distance away, and seems perfectly unconcerned with anyone, or anything, else. He gazes up into the sky with a self-satisfied smile, gripping a long, bloodstained sword in one hand. ]

Nothing we did...mattered. [ Aerith's voice is hollow, and she stares out at the landscape with an expression to match. ] I couldn't make a difference after all. It was for nothing...

[ Crimson blooms in the midsection of her dress, suggesting a wound beneath. Aerith seems not to notice. ]


(002) [ Hojo's lab. The visiting Etrayan might instead find themselves in a high-tech laboratory, one filled with the predictable suite of instruments like vats in varying sizes, tortuous-looking tools, and more. This time, Aerith is actually in one of the glass test tubes large enough to hold a human, and though it's full of some kind of liquid, she doesn't appear to be drowning. There's not much other solace to be found, though, because her expression is one of intense fear, and she's trembling as she smashes bruised fists against the inner glass.

For some reason, her voice is silenced within. ]

If you continue on like that, my dear, you'll only hurt yourself.

[ The other figure in the scene can apparently speak. A man is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand, leering at Aerith from the other side of the glass. There' an unquestionable wrongness, a creepiness, about him that can easily be gleaned by spending any amount of time in his presence.

Hojo doesn't seem to notice the interloper...or doesn't care. ]


(003) The end of the world (again). Before Sephiroth and JENOVA can even try to have their way with Gaia, there's another threat. In this nightmare, Aerith is on the roof of the apartment building in Etraya, staring up at the sky. A light rain falls, soaking her through, but she seems not to notice. ]

...Seems like...our world didn't make it. [ Aurora had just announced it, after all, and she has no way to confirm or deny. Aerith looks down at her hand, where she holds the communication device that had relayed the message. ] After everything, I thought...I thought for sure we'd be able to do it. That we could save them all.

[ But they'd just been informed of a handful that would not make the cut, as it were: Gaia among them. She pictures all the people who'd been left behind there as she, Cloud, and the others fought for their Planet, and when faced with the information that none of them were around anymore, feels the bottom drop out of her stomach. As if she's falling through endless space, sick and disoriented. ]

It shouldn't have been me. [ She murmurs. ] I couldn't save them.


❀ caught (contamination)

[ Aerith is infected. She doesn't realize, of course. Once freed from her nightmares, things...don't exactly improve much. Though she's regained agency, the flower peddler finds her spirit, her mood, to still be definitively mired in darkness and fear. Though she tries her usual suite of tricks to bounce back, it's like struggling against quicksand.

It's all she can do to isolate herself, which she does in her usual place: the church. There, though she still struggles with the new strength of old demons, she's at least unable to do any emotional harm to others.

So long as they stay away, that is... ]


❀ choose your own adventure!

( don't see what you're looking for? feel free to leave a starter! )

Shadowy Haunts - Hojo's Lab

[sleepfan]

[ Absolutely nothing about this place is familiar to Linhardt. Ordinarily, he would assume this is one of those odd dreams he has after sifting through ancient materials in Fodlan or drawing diagrams of the electricity systems in Etraya: Dreams filled with fantastical places and strange sights, many of them mechanical. But there aren't any people like the man in the white coat in those dreams. If Linhardt is honest, everything about the man gives him what Caspar would term 'the creeps' - especially the way he's speaking to the woman being held captive in what seems to be an oversized glass vial. He backs away out of instinctive revulsion and bumps into one of the consoles, prompting the disturbing man to look at him (or more specifically, the white coat Linhardt had stolen from the hospital to replace the one he'd lost) and say something about interns before turning away.

Thank the Goddess.

He might not understand where he is (or what this place is other than some form of laboratory), Linhardt does know that people don't belong in glass cells, particularly when they very clearly don't want to be there. Even prisoners deserve - and have - more freedom of movement than the woman inside the glass tube does.

And he can read the handwritten note taped on top of a switch elsewhere in the room that says 'Do NOT switch OFF! Resets customized cell growth environmental conditions.' with the 'NOT' underlined multiple times.

So obviously, Linhardt flicks the switch from ON to OFF and then quickly ducks behind some metal boxes as an obnoxious beeping fills the room along with several flashing lights - some white and some red. Keeping behind the boxes, Linhardt carefully moves closer to the glass until he's confident he's out of the man's line of sight.

When the other white-coated man moves towards the now beeping and flashing console, muttering something about shins and inadequate equipment, Linhardt risks looking up at the woman, blue eyes making contact with her green. He holds a finger to his lips to indicate that they need to be quiet, then he looks around the lab in a clear pantomime of confusion, shrugging his shoulders and looking around in an exaggerated fashion. He doesn't know this place. Finally, he mimics flicking one of the switches, then turning a knob. Hopefully, he's conveying what he wants to without warning the woman's warden: Does she know what he should do to release her?

The other option would be to break the glass, but Linhardt doesn't want to hurt the woman inside, and he doesn't want to attract attention until absolutely necessary. His magic has been unreliable at best lately and, even if it were functioning, there is a decent chance that a laboratory is full of combustible or volatile compounds. Immolating himself and the woman is to be avoided.]

Muriel | Good Omens | ota!

[cupperty]

Shadowy Haunts (cw: religious guilt, forced isolation, so much anxiety)


Some days, it doesn't pay to stand by the riverbank and hope that some ducks will finally show up. Some days, a horrible black tentacle drags you into the water instead, and that isn't even the worst of it.

Muriel opens their eyes, and sees white. It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust to the brightness of their environment, but once things snap into focus, things become nauseatingly familiar - and Muriel, who has only had a corporeal body for a few months and finds most physical needs a suggestion at best, hadn't known what 'nausea' felt like until just now, so that's another awful surprise.

The room itself is almost blindingly white, with bright fluorescent lights spaced evenly across the endless ceiling, and the vague suggestion of windows in the distance. It's hard to tell exactly how far away the walls are - in fact, it's impossible to tell how big the room actually is. It's as if someone had taken an empty white void, and then added a few things to give it the impression of a corporate open office, but had forgotten to take things like 'physical space' and 'doors' into account.

In the middle of the office sits a pristine glass desk, and Muriel approaches it cautiously, like it's about to bite. They glance around nervously, but... no, of course there wouldn't be anyone here, there was never anybody here, that was why it had been so crushingly lonely, and they didn't want to be back here already.

That thought hits them like a train. Muriel involuntarily lets out a small whimper, and instantly clamps a hand over their mouth once they remember that someone, somewhere in Heaven, could potentially hear it. They should be happy to be back, shouldn't they? What does it say about them that they'd rather be anywhere else?


[ ((Open to other prompts too! Hit me at sonopants for plotting!)) ]

Shadowy Haunts

[sleepfan]

Linhardt had not intended to end up here - he had just happened to be sleeping in the fascinating underwater dome and had woken up somewhere else. Somewhere annoyingly white - Linhardt has barely opened his eyes before he is taken with a strong desire to close them again. There is entirely too much light here. It's an area completely unsuited for sleeping. With a sigh and a yawn, Linhardt forces himself into a seated position, a blotch of color on the gleaming floor.

He could have sworn he'd heard something - or sensed someone - in his half awake state. Ah, there they are.

A woman. Approaching the odd reflective desk like it's a dog about to attack. An extremely reasonable response, in Linhardt's opinion. Desks frequently were used for paperwork. Especially in somewhere as clean as this - it somehow reminds him of the census room, with its exquisitely sorted and lifeless reams of information. It isn't until the woman grabs her mouth in what is clearly fear that Linhardt frowns; it reminds him too much of Bernadetta. Ugh. There's that sinking feeling in his stomach - the one that sometimes demand he do something and not just ignore the situation.

"Displeasure is a perfectly rational response to this place. I certainly am not fond it thus far." Standing up is too much effort, but the healer has pulled himself into a sitting position. He rubs his eyes again and gives the woman what he hopes is a calming look.

"I hate this room."

He says the words, then waits. Nothing happens. Linhardt gives the woman a small, encouraging smile. 'Now you try', his face says. Complaining is an excellent way to help oneself feel better.

Johanna Constantine | The Sandman (Netflix) + The City CRAU | OTA

[keepgodwaiting]

reality bends: welcome to ravenscar

cw for forced institutionalization and solitary confinement; references to needles, electroconvulsive therapy, forced medication; restraints. Also gross bodily fluids.

You have entered the hospital.

The halls stink of bleach. It's as if the staff have looked at the grime that gathers on the baseboards and coats the flickering fluorescents, and decided that the illusion of cleanliness will do in lieu of actual sanitization. There's a sour-sweet smell underneath the chemicals that invade your sinuses, though. Sweat. Piss. Fear. Despair.

Inmates are not allowed in the halls.

The voice scratches out of an unseen PA system. You are being observed. You shouldn't be out here. Maybe you'd better move along before an orderly comes to see what you're doing.

This hall is lined with half a dozen doors. Each one is sturdy metal, equipped with a smaller trapdoor at the bottom, and a window at eye-level that can be covered by a sliding panel. A couple yawn open, revealing padded rooms inside, their lights burnt out and foul messes in their corners. If you peer through the window of one closed door, you'll see a wheeled box covered in dials; a set of wires and pads come out of it and lay across the reclining bed beside it. The bed is equipped with leather restraints. Peer into another and see darkness. Maybe things move in it.

At the end of the hall, the sixth door is closed and locked, the window covered. And a frantic pounding is coming from behind it.

contamination: wouldn't you like to get away

Johanna hasn't been feeling like herself.

Is that true? No. No, it's not. She feels exactly like herself. There's a hollow place behind her sternum that's always been there, shadowy and scared and hissing with hurt. She knows she's a coward, a piss-poor representative of the world she came from, a liability to those around her. Ruin in a trench coat.

What's a self-respecting self-hater to do, when the world is full of fear and darkness?

Go to the pub, of course.

You might see her stalking through the streets on her way to Harry's Hideaway; when she passes through shadow, her eyes glow faintly like a cat's eyeshine. In the bar itself, Johanna leans on the pool table and balances a third empty beer bottle on the rail. If someone catches her eye, she gives them a humorless smile.

"Fancy a game?" She pulls her hair up into a ponytail and turns to pick up a cue. At the edge of her hairline, easy to miss in her dark hair, is a black spiral like a galaxy. "Not like anything else we're doing will help."

[ ooc: Johanna is at stage 2 of infection and very much here to stoke your characters' fears. Feel free to hit me up for a custom starter or wildcard if these settings don't click for you! You can DM, find me at AdivaCalandia, or check out my plotting comment.

Will match prose or brackets! ]

[mostdangerousbird]

[ What's an introvert supposed to do, when the problem is the induction of a nebulous emotion that can't really be picked up by monitoring?

(Well, not until people start losing their marbles to it, but by then there are bigger problems.)

(Sigh.)

Go to where people are, of course. Technically speaking, he's too young to be in a bar, but he's careful not to offend the bots by trying to order, and he's never actually given them an accurate truth. They probably know, but Tim likes to think they have an accord. ]

Yeah, why not? I'm not ready to say there's nothing we can do, but I'm out of ideas and I don't want to get rusty. What'll happen to the dream of running away and making a living hustling pool in Fresno?

[ He doesn't grab the first cue in the rack. He finds the right length, checks the weight, and rolls it between his hands to check if it's straight. He's not a pool shark, but there's a lot of greasy bars with pool tables in Gotham. It pays to know. ]

I thought they played more snooker in the UK.

jessica jones . mcu

[ebrius]

01 REALITY BENDS

[ Jessica tends to walk...a lot. She doesn't want to be cooped up in the small place she'd been given because it just feels like the walls are constantly closing in and she can't stand it. So, she walks.

Tonight, she finds herself down by the river, not paying particularly close attention. There's been a feeling of...something in the air for awhile and she's been trying to ignore it because she's trying to convince herself that it's just the way this place feels.

Until something slithers its way out of the river and wraps itself around her ankle. It tugs and she hits the ground hard but digs her hands into the mud and muck, refusing to let it pull her in just yet. She kicks at it with her other foot, trying to dislodge but it's strong and it starts tugging her closer and closer to the edge of the river and whatever lies below. ]

02 SHADOWY HAUNTS

[ Jessica doesn't know how long she's been there. It's hard to keep track of time stuck underneath the churning black of the water. She's tried to swim out, tried to escape but it's proved futile.

One moment, she's trying to get back to the surface, the next everything just turns...purple. She opens her eyes and she knows where she is. She knows who she's with and she wants to scream. But, she can't. She's being told to smile. She's being told walk a certain way, she's being told to hold his hand and kiss his cheek and just be the pretty, pretty person she is.

She's being told and she's listening and her body screams and her mind aches but she cannot get herself out of it. She tries but nothing works. When Kilgrave steps in front of her, she wants to reach out and claw his eyes out but instead, she leans into him, unable to do anything else.

Her mind is not her own, invaded by this man, invaded by his machinations. All she can do is obey and it kills her.

Ten days later, whatever nightmare has her in its grip relents and she reappears, laying flat on her back and shivering violently. ]

03 WILDCARD

[ For anything else that doesn't fit the above. Find me at jortles for any discussion. ]

2

[maximumlegend]

[ At this point Fabian knows something is wrong with the river. Or maybe wrong with this place in general, but-- he's seen too many people emerge from there looking like they have been through hell and back for him to not feel like something is centered around this place.

It's why he keeps watch. Not too close, since he doesn't want to be an idiot and get trapped, but Fabian stays near it enough to see if someone shows up again.

This time, when he arrives there in the morning, there's already someone there. His eye widens as he realizes it's someone familiar, and he quickly runs over to kneel next to the figure. ]

Hey. [ He says, and then a touch louder, a little more intense: ] Hey. Can you hear me?