For the magical handcuffs, there’s a space limit of six feet, but is there a corporeal feel to the psychic “chain” connecting the two bracelets, or is it just entirely intangible? I ask because if it’s the former, I know of at least one duo that’s going to use the chain to strangle a minotaur
Without End ♡1》cw emotional manipulation, abuse, general disturbing themes [ The memory seems to reach out to those who approach with the sweet scent of sugar and fruit, almost cloyingly so. Enticed further in, it’s… vibrant. The sun shines, warming the skin as they lay there, and a hand strokes through their hair. All is calm, birdsong and a woman’s humming filling the silence. Taking in the surroundings is hard, you’re so sleepy… but it’s easy to make out flowers and the babble of a juice stream somewhere nearby. The pale tones of sugar statues peek through the greens and pinks of the Garden. It’s beautiful, but something weighs heavily at the back of your mind. Something’s wrong. What is it? ]
Isn’t it lovely here, Pavlova Cookie? Now no one will know pain or fear again. They’ll be safe here. You’ll help me, won’t you?
[ She doesn’t wait for an answer, or perhaps acceptance was implied. ]
You’re such a good boy.
[ The humming and petting continue, view restricted to where Pavlova lay with his head in his mother’s lap. Between blinks the surroundings change. A cookie distressed as their limbs harden, contorting into a sugar statue. The garden animals hunting each other, countless jars filled with jam, sleeping cookies preserved inside, the slow descent into madness of some of their guests. The sweet scent seems fit to suffocate as it goes on. ]
It’s so sad, isn’t it? I wonder why they would want to leave. They’ll be back, don’t you worry.
[ The sound of scissors snipping slowly begins near their ears, soft feather tips falling past their face. ]
It’s for your safety, just hold still darling. Besides, you don’t need to fly in the garden.
You’d never leave me, right, Pavlova Cookie?
[ And then the view changes, looking up. The woman is angelic at first, kind eyes, a gentle smile, pink swirls of hair that frame her face… But it melts away and suddenly the warmth is gone, eyes sharp and looking for any hint of dissent. The smile remains, but it no longer reads as love, but as a promise. Perhaps not intentional, but a threat all the same. It’s still her, but changed. His head tucks, eyes averting. ]
… Of course, Eternal Sugar Cookie. Who would ever… want to leave the Garden?
Into the Unknown ♡2》 [ Having had a vision last month relating to his mother, he’s not surprised that he’s found himself in some kind of distressing situation. It was only a matter of time, especially with those creepy lights having lingered around the town for as long as they did. Even so, complete, all consuming darkness is even more terrifying than he could have assumed. It takes him a moment to find the bracelet and put it on just by virtue of assuming he’s gone blind somehow.
The rush of feelings that aren’t his have his hackles raising at once. Sure he might be naturally in tune with such things, but it was never this acute. ]
– What’s going on?
[ Realistically, he doesn’t expect anyone to know, but sue him for feeling threatened by this. ]
Wildcard ♡3》 [ If you’re after a different memory or something more low key we can tackle it here! He does have some less intense memories running around as well. Just poke me on plotting post or in discord if you want something nicer. ]
[It's incredibly surreal to experience a vision like this. A strange memory, because it shows him two very conflicting feelings. Eternal Sugar Cookie is one of the Beasts, one of his colleagues, and someone he cares about intrinsically. While his motivations for a very long time are self serving in nature, he too, did many things for them as well. He freed them all from the tree, after all, not just himself. Earthbread was theirs, not just his. The Beasts were as close to family as he knew, in a misery loves company kind of way.]
[Of course he knew of her faults, her corruption, the way her virtue twisted itself, but then to see it be used on Pavlova in this way, after all this time, after he's been allowed the chance to actually be a father to him, it makes something sour churn in him. He isn't so sure he likes this thing where he has to experience empathy. It makes him uncertain and he hates that more than anything.]
[Once it's gone, he takes a deep breath, and looks to find Pavlova.]
i. From Childhood’s Hour I have Not Been — Wake Up
[Castorice, by some chance, is not facing anyone directly when she arrives. This is not a good thing.
Her body is positioned facing away, hands gripping her scythe as she wields it in a vicious uppercut. Beneath the sharp edge of the blade, reality itself seems to tear apart, and for a split second, violet eyes can be seen beyond the rift she starts to open.
Luckily, she seems to realize the shift. She turns abruptly, and whatever spell she had been wielding, whatever reality bending magic was at work, seems to dissipate, albeit with a slightly alarmed chuff.
Immediately, the tone shifts. The scythe disappears in a wash of purple, petal-like particles. Her hands fold in front of her, and she gives a gentle bow.]
My apologies. I do not know what came over me, or - [Her eyes dart around, finally taking in her surroundings.] … Where I happen to be, actually.
ii. My Sorrow—I Could Not Awaken — A Lantern Hanging in the Tree
[Stumbling into Castorice’s lantern means finding yourself in one of two memories.
In the first, a graveyard — filled with headstones as far as the eye can see — sits beneath a dreary sky of clouds that threaten rain. The cloaked Castorice stands before a withered and elderly woman. The latter takes the former’s hand into hers, almost immediately sparking a reaction upon her skin. Bit by bit, she seems to erode away, all while Castorice watches in horror, silent tears turning to outright sobs as she kneels down and embraces the woman. Tender though the touch is, it only exacerbates the process.
In a matter of seconds, Castorice is the only one who remains.
The second, though filled with flowers within an old amphitheatre, is no less morose than the first. Castorice stands before a man — perhaps familiar, perhaps not. Again and again they clash, forms twisting and transforming. The memory seems to overlap with itself, twisting around its own vision. It is hard to keep track of how many times it happens, or how many memories exist within the memory.
Do you help? Or do you watch the horror play out? Perhaps there is no right answer.]
iii. From the Lightning in the Sky — Somber Rainy Mornings
[Unnerving though her arrival might have been, Castorice tries to make the best of it. As the beautiful bird flies overhead, Castorice quickly pulls her teleslate out. She snaps as many pictures as she can, beautiful bursting things rife with color. Aurora isn’t the only victim, though. Those that find themselves doused by the beautiful rains will have the colorful case turned upon them. So many pictures of so many people — all things she simply must make up for.
If any attention flits to her, she offers a sheepish little smile.]
It is such a beautiful sight. I don’t think I could bare not remembering it. But if you wish for me to delete the photo itself, I can.
iv. When the Rest of Heaven was Blue — Wildcard
[Wildcard, you know what to do! DM me your ideas, or just hit me up with whatever.]
[As a child of Remembrance, it's easy enough to see when you've found yourself within the depths of a memory — as the author who penned the pages of the epic that is Amphoreus, it's easier yet still to grasp the context of this one in particular.
She finds herself standing before the Castorice of memory, and her reaction is immediate, no hesitation in her actions despite what devastation the memory had shown. After all, she knew the truth of it all: after cycle upon cycle of her being Death's Maiden, there was nothing to fear in Castorice's touch any longer.
She reaches out and takes the demigod's hands in her own. A warm and loving touch, a gentle squeeze.
And then she blinks, the memory clearing from her vision like dust upon the wind. Yet here Castorice still stood in reality, with Cyrene suddenly grasping her hands, seemingly in a trance before the haze of memory left her gaze. There's a short pause before her surprise and mild confusion makes way for happiness, her expression softening with a gentle smile.]
[His heart was pounding like a war drum, and his blood was boiling in his veins as Mydei spun around to swing at the next opponent. Red crystals formed around him with every swing, destroying clone after clone that came at him.
They were unrelenting, and each cut of their blade stung enough to make the fire in his body spur him forward. His duty was here, holding the line against the Flame Reaver and the Black Tide, to ensure that the Deliverer was able to complete his own mission.
And so he fought, not once staggering as the clones kept coming, until a sharp pain stole his breath away.
Mydei stumbled, his ears ringing and golden blood seeping from his wounds. He knew the feeling of death intimately: the cold hand of Thanatos reaching up to catch him as he fell, ice filling his veins and dragging him under the waters of the Sea of Souls.
In the next instance, Mydei took a step forward, spinning around as red crystals ripped from his body and erupted from the ground around him, a crazed predatory look in his golden eyes as he swung to collide his fist with whoever so happened to be behind him.
… Which wasn't the Flame Reaver he had just been fighting seconds ago. Nor was he in Dawn Cloud.
Luckily, Mydei was able to stop just mere seconds before making contact, and the glare of battle in his eyes morphed into confusion.]
II. Believe in the Prophecy CW: drowning, child death, patricide
[Appraching Mydei's lantern will provide one of two memories:]
a. [The memory is fuzzy, almost as if the cognitive parts of his brain hadn't developed enough to really retain information. The inky darkness of the sky mixed with the ice-cold waters of the Sea of Souls. Even when he surfaced, he couldn't tell what was around him. The darkness of the Sea and Sky was so absolute that even with his eyes open, he never knew where he was.
Seconds passed, and the waves crashed over him and forced him under once more. Small hands, belonging to that of a child no older than four, reached for the surface to no avail. Hands grabbed at his small body, wrapping around his legs and arms and dragging him further into the cold abyss until his lungs burst and the pain returned.
Pain.
Pain.
The salt water made his lungs bleed until gold mixed with the darkness. Tears and gold and cold and a voiceless scream until it was only silence.
When he opened his eyes, he was on the surface again, floating on his back, gasping for air. His raw lungs, now healed, burned. Tears still streamed down his face, though the relief of life was short-lived. Scales brushed against his legs as a fin broke the surface of the water.
Sharp teeth ripped into his side and dragged his small body down into the Sea once more. Gold blood tainted the waters as his body was ripped apart, only to be remade again.
And again.
And again.]
b. [ War had been his life ever since emerging from the Sea of Souls. His body had been honed to be the perfect weapon to liberate his people, to destroy the monsters that threaten the lands of Amphoreus, and to ensure the legacy of his father died at his hand.
And now, here he was.
Having fought through hordes of Kremnoan soldiers that were more monsters than men, their blood staining his spear. He now stood over the broken body of his father, the man not even recognizing him.
That all changed the moment he spoke his name out loud.]
It is you… the beast spurned by all.
[ Pride towards a worthy opponent melted, morphing into anger and fear. Eurypon's voice dripped with venom, cursing his own son's name. ]
Then swing your blade!
[ Crimson blood foamed at Eurypon's mouth, a wide, crazed grin encompassing his broken features as the spear pressed against his chest. ]
The crown means nothing to me. [ Mydei's own voice was harsh, filled with anger and desperation. ] All I want is your life! To avenge my mother and my comrades!
[ Eurypon's laughter chilled Mydei's blood, though his hand remained steady. ]
Do you truly think you can escape fate's grasp, my son? You and I… we're both the same… We feast on strife and fear… Now…! Kill me!
[ Mydei plunged his spear through his father's chest, Eurypon's choking laughter ringing in his ear as his dying words echoed in the stillness of Mydei's chest. ]
The son of Gorgo is destined to be crowned in blood.
III. Wildcard
[Go ham! DM me, we can plot things or just idk post something, and I will respond!]
[Equally as disoriented by her circumstance, at first Castorice can only process the oncoming attack. She lifts her scythe to meet the assault — her place may have been that of a reaper haunting a bloodied battlefield rather than a soldier, but she still needed to fight. Only Kephale knew how a crazed soul could fight when he knew his life was on the line.
They are both lucky, then, that her instincts had long been honed. Just as her opponent stops short, so too does her strike. The tip of her scythe kisses the tip of a knuckle, life and death balanced on a single moment.
Immediately, she steps back, allowing her weapon to disperse. Her eyes trace along gauntlets of gold and skin of red, until finally coming to rest upon the sight of a familiar face.
She isn't sure if she should sigh in relief or cry out in despair. Something surely was not right in this moment. Nothing about the dreary sky above them, nor the gnarled and haunted trees in their periphery seemed familiar.]
Lord Mydei-?
[Shamefully, no other words seem capable of forming.]
✿ the stars have all aligned – a lantern in the hanging tree content warnings: child abuse, child death, slavery, vague suicidal ideation
[ Though the faint light the lanterns provide compels, the glow filtering from Kanao's will be still and comforting as the grave. The moment the person in question steps near, one of two memories will curl round them.
The first is one defined by cold and starvation, sharp fractals of strung-together days spent in abject poverty. A family that could not bolster itself: a dirty, hungry girl in tattered clothing, who exists in a day-to-day defined by fear. That fear grows and balloons until it one day bursts, far too heavy a burden for one so young. And then there is nothing. The scene flattens, from poison-bright color into blissful, unabating apathy.
The perspective shifts. Her parents make a deal. She is exchanged. She is strung along by a rope tied round her waist so that she will not run. The thought never occurs. She has not been afraid since that day, nor sad, nor angry. This existence is equally colorless, and it is hardly terrible, for she does not care.
The reintroduction of color is in flowering pinks and vibrant purples. Two girls, one kind and one sharp: beautifully adorned, with hairpins shaped like butterflies. They grab her hand in hand and drag her out of the mire of that existence, and she is not grateful for it. In the moment, she does not care.
The memory shifts, exploding into kaleidoscopic color. There is the suggestion of time leaping forward an imperceptible amount. Her name is Kanao, and she stands outside of a resplendent Japanese-styled mansion that smells, ever-present, of wisteria. There is budding emotion tangled in her chest. She thumbs a coin in her right hand, turning it over, and over, and over.
She counts the number of times she must turn it before she permits herself to enter the mansion. Five. She counts the number of steps it will take to bring her to her master's – sister's – room. Twenty-three. Her eyes alight upon a back draped in a butterfly-patterned haori, as slight as it has been since the year she donned it, and those emotions coalesce.
She is overwhelmed by the urge to be near this person. To hold painfully tight. She kneels on the tatami and balls the ends of her skirt in her hands. Kanao longs to call her sister.
Instead, she says: ] "I would like to train more with you, master."
[ Shinobu smiles at her. It is a smile more free of anger than she has seen from her in years. For a single crystallized moment, Kanao allows herself to hope.
The memory ends with a shattering sensation of immense loss. The apathy erodes all at once, actualized into pain with such sharp clarity that the scene itself fractures. ]
✿ the wind has blown but now i know – guiding bonds in the dark
[ When Kanao's world slides into unexpected darkness, she is not as panicked as she ought to be, initially. Her first understanding of the situation is that she has finally fully lost vision in both her eyes, overtaxed from overuse long after her technique's use. When her hands grope in the dark and slip something onto her wrist, it is only out of instinct.
Sight and clarity return. Kaburamaru, thankfully, still remains coiled about her neck. The scene that she finds herself in is... unfamiliar, as the Grove had been, but far more immediately concerning. It is dark, and damp, and unpleasant. Her skin crawls with reproach, then fear as the weight round her wrist tightens when she adjusts her arm.
She turns her head fully to stare at the person beside her, then focuses ahead. ]
... we should move.
✿ that tomorrow will be kinder – wildcard
You know the drill! I am flexible, so put anything you would like in here. If you would also like to explore a different memshare, please feel free to DM me!
[By now, Genya should be used to the sort of bullshit the Grove puts them through. Should being the operative word. But he also should have gotten used to the shenanigans that came from fighting demons, and still managed to get startled there, so...
Regardless, even as he throws on a bracelet, he finds himself muttering and swearing. Irritation creeps through him, and likely through the newly formed bond. He opens his mouth to complain -
and snaps it shut when he spots Kanao. Fuck. Humiliation spirals through their shared bond, and he quickly tries to pull away -
I. Beginning of the End [As far as greatswords go, Dawnmaker is quite the formidable weapon. Forged by the Grand Craftsman Chartonus, it is a blade that has bathed itself in the divine ichor of slaughtered gods. Perfectly balanced, heavy enough that not just any soldier is able to wield it.
Perhaps most formidable of all is the way it swings toward you with the deadly weight of an unstoppable guillotine.
The blow, naturally, never lands, because its master pivots the blade sideways to strike empty air instead mere moments before disaster. Wild-eyed and breathless, Phainon stares at you as if he's just as confused about where the attack came from. Crystalline blue eyes dart down to the tip of the sword now buried in the dirt, then back up, and down again. When they settle on you for the last time, there's a clear pang of guilt that crosses his face.]
…Sorry, I don't… Know why I did that. Are you alright? I didn't cut you anywhere, did I? II. Stride to Deliverance [The little motes of golden light that contain Phainon's scatterings of memory are warm, radiant suns in their own right. Encountering one in the wild will leave the viewer transported to one of two possibilities.
The first comes with the balmy scent of wheat on a sea-misted breeze, the swaying golden stalks stretching tall as far as the eye can see. It's almost like one of those peaceful utopias that only exist in storybooks, a place eternally untouched by the fires of war and strife. Birdsong wafts through the air alongside auburn leaves carried along by the gentle winds, and a boy no older than ten lays amidst the fields of grain. His eyes are on the cerulean blue of the sky, watching lazy white clouds drift across as if he has nothing better to do than to squish the crops he's laid himself onto.
Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, a fluffy white puppy leaps out from between the stalks of wheat to slam down directly on the boy's chest. It knocks the wind out of him, and he fights for breath that his laughter steals away the moment it enters his lungs.
The second memory... Is far less pleasant. The acrid stench of blood and ash has strangled all other fragrance from the air, and the sky is darkened beneath a blood-red sun. The fields have all been burned to nothingness, and the nearby farmhouses seem to sag in disrepair beneath the weight of their own desolation. The wind whistles, sharp and mean as it rakes across all that's left in the wake of complete, utter destruction.
What once was an idyllic utopia is now nothing more than ruin.
The boy from before is the only one who remains, older now and covered in soot and blood that has long since dried to his skin in swatches of crimson red and molten gold. Tear tracks cut stripes down his cheeks, and it's clear that he's still crying even as his face remains worryingly blank. His arms shake as he lifts a final shovelful of earth onto the mound he's compiled, chest heaving from the strain as he lets the shovel clatter to the ground. His steps are unsteady as he moves to pick up a crude slab of battered wood, upon which has been carved the name CYRENE.
He hesitates.
His hands tremble.
He drives the wood into the earthen mound to serve as a grave marker and stands motionless before it for... Quite some time. Then, finally, he retrieves his shovel and sets about digging the next one.
As an extra third bonus memory, if you roll a d100 and get above an 80 you can be treated to... Whatever the hell this is. Don't play this in front of company and turn your volume down. I'm sorry.]
III. By Sword and Thread — (Closed to warchiseled) [If it had been entirely up to Phainon, he would have left the mysterious bracelets alone. He was once a student beneath the Great Blasphemer after all, and was no stranger to alchemical creations hidden in plain sight as mundane items. Unfortunately, he did still need his sight, as he lacked the ability to navigate the world via the golden threads under Aglaea's employ.
So, on his wrist the thing had gone. Which had lead to...]
Would you quit yanking on the thing? [The complaint is snapped with no real venom, although he punctuates it with a tug of his own against the invisible tie that seems to bind his wrist to Mydei's own.] We can't exactly find a way out of here if we're playing tug-of-war the whole time, now can we?
[...Bickering aside, there's really no one else he'd rather be stuck to in this situation. Which is probably made apparent by the simmering emotion of warm affection that underlays every snipe he makes. Ugh.]
I wish we had something to mark the ways we've already been. Thread would be ideal, but maybe you can gnaw scores of teeth marks into the roots?
IV. Sky and Earth Churn Mortal Froth [Once upon a time, in a day of youthful indulgence long since past, a much younger Phainon would have been scolded by his pair of doting parents for the scene currently unfolding. He's never been quite sure whether the insistence of being out too long in the rain being the cause illness holds any real weight, but the specifics don't quite matter now.
What does matter is this: he is very much an adult these days, and therefore he's entitled to make his own dumb decisions as long as he is willing to contend with the consequences. Said decisions involve finding him sprawled out flat on his back in the middle of the town, the royal blue of his chlamys a stripe of contrast against the grass where he's rolled it beneath his head to serve as a pillow. His eyes are closed, and he's soaked to the bone as he simply... Lounges. Comfortable beneath the spray of shimmering divine rain. A rare moment of pure, selfish indulgence.
...Actually, with the steady rising of his chest, he might just be napping. Which, really, is just as rare.] V. The Wheel Spins Forevermore — Wildcard! [Have a plot bunny you want to throw at me and nothing here suits your fancy? Go nuts! Alternatively, feel free to pm me to hash something out. You can find me at NeoSin, or as neo.sin on discord!]
( you find yourself standing in a tatami room. it smells of flowers, and two kind looking adults- a man and a woman in fine kimono- are getting ready to put their daughters to bed. yes, they're both old enough to do it themselves, but they are loving and attentive parents, who enjoy getting one last chat before it's time to sleep. there's a noise outside, something scraping against the wall, but none of the four notice.
they unfold the futons together, and there's a sound of grinding teeth. claws dig into the wood of the windowsil, and moonlight frames horns and a crouching demon as it sits- and then lunges for mother. it's teeth rip into her throat, and father screams her name, places between it and the girls before trying to free his wife- kanae holds shinobu close, backs into a corner closet where they futons had been, neither girl able to look away. father tries to fend the demon off, but claws tear into his stomach and the demon screeches something incomprehensible to little ears. father instead turns, stumbles close- is he reaching for the girls one last time, trying to shield them? or trying to get them and run with his last strength? it matters not, the demon leaps on his back and blood splatters on the girls' clothes as father's hand falls on the wood they sit on.
the demon looks to them. tilts its head with a clicking noise. and then a large mace flings its way into it's head. a man taller than anyone they've ever seen with milky white eyes and a scar on his forehead appears. and he weeps. )
A) New Frontier | Closed to the Bunnkery and anyone who comes to visit him
[The month begins, and Wolfwood blinks awake in a different world. As he finds himself back on the unbearably hot sands of No Man's Land, he forgets every bit of the last three years spent in the Grove. Two years have passed since the loss of JuLai, and another third will be the hallmark of the end of the world.
Back in the Grove, he falls into a deep, impenetrable sleep. Confined to the bed, he looks peaceful, yet no amount of attempting to shake him awake will cause him to stir. Hours bleed into days with no change, but by day two or three...his hair color begins to fade. Black turns silvery grey at the roots, beginning to spread upwards through his bangs towards the back of his hair, worsening with each day that passes until he's more salt than pepper towards the end of the week.
On the last day, Wolfwood- very briefly, but nonetheless- disappears. He'd awoken and walked into the forest to complete his transformation, his hair now a full silvery grey. His neck, still marred with faint, yellowish bruises from where Legato crushed his windpipe. The lenses of his shades, cracked and spiderwebbed from the moment Midvalley blew his eardrums and broke the vessels in his eyes with his saxophone. But despite the physical damage, he's alive. Somehow...
Somehow. He lived. And that completely contradicts what Livio told him what feels like forever ago now, that he was going to die. Destined to die young, huh...?
He stumbles back into the bakery, dragging his leg behind him as he rubs at his temple, looking a bit haggard but no worse for wear. The memories still feel jumbled up, and it's taking him some time to pry apart that of the Grove, and that of what he'd lived through back home. A year's worth of time.]
B) Memory of a Memory | OTA
1) CW: Child experimentation
[You find yourself behind a glass wall, looking in on a very sterile environment beyond. There's a bespeckled older man at your left with a clipboard giving instructions to others unseen, and inside of the room a dark-haired child lays strapped to a cross-shaped table. His arms and legs are locked down, and the cross is positioned upside-down, held at a slight angle from where it's locked in place. Tubes, IVs, and all manner of wires stretch from the boy's body- who can't be older than 12- culminating in a helmet of sorts that wraps over his skull and part of the top of his head.
The scientist says something unintelligible, and then a machine inside the chamber is switched on before the child starts to scream.
He screams in agony, blood suddenly splattering across the white cross and dripping off onto the floor as his body is crushed under an unseen force, only for the machine he's hooked into to quickly pump him full of an unknown substance through the tubes hooked up to his head. It takes a gruesomely long time, but the injuries heal...slowly but surely. The scientist writes something down, makes adjustments on the console, then instructs them to try again.
The memory fades here, reforming to reveal another part of the facility. A long hallway lined with caged-off rooms, though most of them are empty and bloodstained. They'd been occupied at some point, but clearly aren't anymore. At the furthest end, the same boy from before sits curled up on the hard floor, his legs pulled to his chest with his head buried in his knees.]
2)
[In another memory, Wolfwood stands across from a man dressed in a white suit, far enough away that it suggests the two have reason not to be too close. He's winded...he's not winning this fight, so far. But talking keeps Midvalley from playing.]
I know how good your hearing is. [Silence.] Anyone can change, whenever, wherever.
You can only say that because you were able to leave him. All I can do is follow the score I'm given-
Really, though? Maybe you don't have to follow the score. I thought improvisation was the heart of jazz. Just rip up that weirdo's score. Play the sound and the music you want. I wouldn't have been able to dodge it. But you're only using focused attacks...
[This goes on for a while, back and forth with Midvalley eventually attacking Wolfwood head on after his attempts to speak to him bear no fruit, hitting him with a blast so violent it knocks Wolfwood nearly off his feet.
He stands there breathing heavily, bleeding...his eyes pool with blood...]
When did it get so dark? Did all the moons set?
3) CW: gore, blood consumption sorry
[One more memory.
The last memory.
Wolfwood...is dying.
A standoff is happening. Razlo, some may remember, is fighting against Wolfwood tooth-and-nail, crosses clashing against one another in showers of sparks. Wolfwood barely dodged plumes of flames coming from one of Razlo's Punishers, matching him beat for beat until he suddenly isn't anymore. He's been thrown to the sand, his entire body battered and bloody. Razlo approaches him, cackling and madly shouting words that are hard to discern in the din of the memory, and just as he lifts his gun to blow Wolfwood's head off-
The Undertaker surges forward and bites down hard on Razlo's leg, teeth ripping into his flesh. He sucks, pulling blood through the fabric of his tattered slacks, the white streaks in his hair rushing deeper past the roots as he finds the strength to grab his own gun and force it upwards.
The force of the blast takes Razlo's entire face with it, though it still won't be any match for his regeneration as Wolfwood collapses back into the sand once more.]
C) The Labyrinth | OTA
[He's so fucking tired of being blind dude-
When the darkness finally swims into light, the expanse of the labyrinth makes itself known, and Wolfwood finds himself chained to someone else. This all feels oddly familiar in a way that makes him groan, a sound that echoes against the rocky walls.]
Not this shit again.
hi :) B1 pls but slightly? wildcardy? idk yell at me if this sucks
[While Kanda is cosplaying Wolfwood, Wolfwood is cosplaying Kanda. Very briefly, one of these things will be nicer than the other.
It's something that looks like a facility, filled with glowing golden holes in the ground filled with bodies submerged in liquid. That perhaps isn't the focus, as a boy with a short bob and a scar over his nose comes into view. It's clearly cold in here, as his and Kanda's own breaths come out in thick plumes of fog.
"Whoa! It's freezing!"
"It's w-w-w-winter!"
Shivering, Kanda regards Alma with a baffled stare. "Winter? Who's that?"
"There's this guy in the outside world called Winter. He makes it cold."
"He must be a real jerk, then!"
Then, Alma dashes forward to greet the sleeping bodies in the holes, overshooting his run and plummeting into the waters below to the tune of Kanda's laughter.
Echoes ♡1》 [ The lights associated with Baby’s memories are less a light and more like… an ember. They’re small, barely there, and flicker like they could go out any moment. It’s likely that running across them is a complete accident with how faint they are.
But all the same, they settle across whomever finds them like all the others. It’s a wash of white with the impression of color. Like a painting that’s been bleached by the sun and became indistinct with time. Interestingly the setting is clearer than any one person in the memory. A village in Korea somewhere, from the details that remain.
A boy stands with a group of indistinct people, happy, then over time more and more of the people begin disappearing or leaving, creating a feeling of panic as the boy is left alone to look for where they’ve all gone.
A voice softly speaks: ]
All you can count on is yourself. Who needs anyone else?
[ And then it’s over, and you’ve been dropped right in front of someone. Baby tilts his head and raises an eyebrow ]
Anyone home? You’ve been kind of staring into space.
[ He thinks you’re kind of weird. Congratulations! ]
Into the Unknown ♡2》 [ Sure, he was a demon and he’s used to the darkness, but this was a bit much for even him, he finds. He can’t see a single thing where he’s been dropped and he can tell from how his hands feel against the ground that his claws are out- why was he in this form? He’s pretty sure he’s been consistently human-passing up to this point? He comes across the bracelet quickly once he starts feeling around, and he seems more startled by the fact that it restores his sight than anything else. He doesn’t notice anyone else there immediately– or he purposely ignores them. One or the other. It doesn’t occur to him that there’s a link between the bracelets until he starts walking and his arm is tugged back. ]
– What?
[ He tests it again, tugging gently, then follows the line back to another person. Oh. Lovely. ]
I guess they want us to do this in pairs?
[ He doesn’t sound upset or anything, but he feels quite pointedly unenthused. ]
Wildcard ♡3》 [ Any downtime stuff can go here! Cmere i love bothering people. Dm me if you want something specific. ]
[ Truly, the last scenario Nicole is anticipating being pressed into so soon after the ridiculousness of summer camp is a labyrinth. Being tied together to a stranger and forced to fumble their way through a dark and unpleasant maze is the exact sort of thing she might write in a novel!
And, notably, not the kind of scenario she would imagine herself in! Especially with a person she has never met! She can practically taste the disdain.
Sorry, Baby. Telepathic communication time. ]
I... suppose so! I am certainly not looking forward to doing this in heels. And with a complete stranger. Or with us chained together. Or not knowing where we are. Or –.
[There's something about the tree that pulls Lavi to it, perhaps it's the ties that it has to memories and his own memory—the way it never lets go. So he'll be there, staring up into the branches as the storm is starting to roll in. Until his gaze is pulled from the side to a glow nearby.]
Mm?
[Head level now, you can see that he's got an eye-patch over the right eye that was previously closed. Question is, do you stop him before he reaches out to touch this nearby light holding (as yet unknown) a memory of yours? Or is Lavi able to grasp at the insubstantial mote?
Worse yet, do you rush into it yourself and get one of Lavi's memories instead? Side note: he will not be thrilled at this. Not that he'll blame you. As a reminder, for Lavi's memories you have a choice of a) him having to kill his first friend, b) his fight inside his own mind/Rhode's dream, c) his body fighting Allen while trapped in his own mind/Rhode's dream, and d) watching his mentor die whilst Lavi is pinned against the wall.]
✑ HELIX UNRAVELED
[The darkness, while temporary, has left him feeling as if he were back home, locked once again in his mind in that bed. Fumbling, again, he reaches out into the void, trying to find anything to ground him. The panic that starts to set in might still leak through as Lavi somehow reaches his hand through the bracelet without even noticing it was there.
And he stumbles. Catching himself just shy of the limits of the bracelet with a grunt, barely seeing the flare of the chain before it disappears. It gets his head to turn towards it and thus, seeing his new buddy-pal-broski for this whole...trap.]
...Please don't tell me this is 'nother camp, yeah?
[At least this one doesn't have booty-shorts.]
✑ WILDCARD
[See Lavi. See Lavi either on his way to or from the river, despite the horrible weather, with a bucket in hand. If he's on his way back then he's got shells in there.
Or maybe you see Lavi at the river itself? Digging in the shoreline and telling stories to his golem. At least for as long as the summon is active. David and Goliath, anyone?
Might also spy him at the bar, huddled in a booth, with either one of Ydalir's many magic books to try and translate or he's got a notebook (not the netbook) out and is charting out...stars??? Some of them might look familiar, if you're from Earth.
Don't see anything you like? Reach out on plurk or discord (astrellaria/astrell.aria) and we can plot things. Sorry things short, brain distracted.]
[aka show Kanda option A there. thanks, they can bond over this.
Lavi of course will experience his own horrors as the pathways of memories cross and weave together. Kanda had vaguely described this battlefield in the mess hall at camp while trying to put Allen's ADHD-addled babbling into proper words, but he also isn't the most descriptive person either. Seeing it is something else entirely...
It's scorching hot under the sun out here, and utter chaos has broken out across the entire area. On one side of the battlefield stand the Earl and a handful of Noah Clan members, mostly being ignored by everything around them in favour of the chaos on the ground. On another are blurs of what Kanda largely perceives as just blurs of bodies — a mix of the Alma cells in the Thirds going insane, Allen getting thrashed around, Tyki getting involved in the battle and Fo intercepting...
Most of the focus is on the man in front of Kanda, though, at least for a few minutes. He and Alma tear into each other like rabid animals, rip and tear, hack and slash to bits. To the limit, really, until Kanda's hair is white and his body is starting to crack. Uncanny, for something that should be human, to chip away like porcelain. Somewhere in the chaos of weapons clashing and the torrential downpour of emotions from Kanda — rage, misery, giving up on happy endings, the need to finish what he started, duty, obligation — comes Allen fucking Walker, flying out of the woodwork to body-block an attack Kanda intended to land on Alma instead.
In the end, this is what snaps Kanda out of his fugue state of rage, is watching Allen fall back and his skin start rapidly changing as he fights off Nea.
If the poor soul on the other end of the puzzle agent’s wrath is perceptive enough, they can catch the exact moment he comes to his senses. His eyes shifting from animalistic rage to mere confusion as the lead pipe in his hands halted mere inches from the victim’s skull.
Nelson blinks a few times, swaying side to side as if he just woke up. His eyes glance around, trying to make sense of what is going on.
And then he sees the person. And the pipe.
Safe to say, whatever daze Nelson was in is gone. He drops the pipe like it bit him, wheeling backwards a foot or two.
And speaking of biting…an awful, copper taste does not seem to leave his mouth.
His hands slap over his mouth as his tongue runs over his teeth, trying to find a gap to no avail. Just more of that sickening, copper taste.
His eyes never leave the person in front of him, watching as if they were the one who almost killed him.
1) Memory Lane | OTA (CW: all prompts involve human slavery/abuse)
1A)
[It starts out soft. Gentle. A young child, no older than 4 or 5, being held in the arms of a woman who is undoubtedly his mother, even if their overseers would never call her that. She cradles him in her arms, cooing to him softly as he reaches up and touches her face. The two look identical as she brushes aside her boy's hair, tilting her head as she presses their foreheads together. There's a notch in one of her ears, signifying her status.
Provider.
This is not her son. Not in their eyes.
She has tears in her eyes, because she knows what's coming. But she can't cry. She won't, not in front of him. His last memories of her, however fleeting, can't be like that. So she holds him, speaks to him softly, whispering the name she gave him that the Segyien will overwrite with their own.
It isn't long before two burly aliens step in and pull Till from her arms, who starts to cry the moment she has to let him go. Though she doesn't struggle as she knows what would come if she did, she finally lets her tears fall as her son is carried off, lifted up high and pushed into a container on a high shelf to be sent off. He cries for her, even as they lead her away to start the cycle anew.]
It's supposed to be a duet. The song starts, and he and his opponent are brought up through the stage, with his guitar in his hands and his knee bouncing as he taps out a hidden beat that doesn't match the one that plays.
Something shifts. The music suddenly changes, and as Till plays on the guitar and starts to sing, his voice overpowers everything. It's loud and strong, and he sings with passion despite knowing that it could very well be his last words. Sweat runs down his cheek and neck, flashing against the name branded into his skin.
T I L L
His partner steps forward in a panic as their score plummets, but before he can open his mouth to join the song, Till suddenly swings his guitar with all his strength onto the stage. It explodes, breaking not just into metal and wire, but something organic. Flesh, blood. Whatever he was playing was alive too, and within moments he's tackled to the stage, his head held down as they clasp a collar to his neck.
But despite it all, he's smiling towards where the other contestants are kept, even though he knows she isn't looking at him.
He's won, for now.]
1C)
[Another memory. Till is standing on a smaller stage this time, older, his eyes tired and holding so much pain. It's hard to tell what exactly he's thinking, other than the fact that he'd rather be anywhere else but here.
The audience has no humans in it, obviously. It never would, never does. It's like a rich gathering but for aliens, all of them watching Till expectantly. But he stands there on a stage like he's at karaoke, and he doesn't move. He doesn't...do anything. The microphone is pushed into his face to encourage him to sing, but he jolts away.
And this angers one of the aliens. Greatly.
His Guardian, Urak, suddenly surges to his feet and marches to the front, th, shouting something unintelligible as he grabs Till by the mouth and pulls him forward. He's embarrassing him. He's useless. A disgrace.
He throws him against the table, causing Till to inadvertently be forced to stare at a newspaper on top reporting about Mizi's disappearance. No one knows if she's alive or dead, and that reminder sets off something in him, causing him to whip around and grab a wine bottle off a table, smashing it over the nearest Segyein's head.
Chaos ensues. In seconds, he's been shoved down to the table and has the collar clapped back onto his neck again. No leniency for troublemakers, and Till has already been on his last legs for a while. The memory wavers, and Till is propped up sitting tableside with the Segyien he'd assaulted, forced to sit on the floor beside him while he strokes his head.
He doesn't do anything anymore. He just looks...empty.]
[It might be evident that Min-Gi has seen one of Till's memories as he unintentionally locks eyes with him. They aren't exactly close, so there are limited reasons for his expression to drop this dramatically.
Min does try to save face, smiling and raising an awkward hand, but it might be too late to undo the damage.]
[With the number of residents in the grove steadily increasing, one may find it difficult to avoid the bobbing lights. To make matters worse, their temptations must surely call to someone - and maybe that someone is you. Maybe curiosity simply gets the better of you. Whatever the case, should you meet any of these lights, you'll find yourself in a memory belonging to a Tengen Uzui - for better or for worse.
[Each vibe could be one of several memshares - possible cws are in the dropdowns, let me know if you want to avoid any of the optional cws for whatever gets picked <3]
i. The mote will project an unfamiliar, but cloying scent, sweet but Wrong, layered heavily over something metallic. Those who reach out to touch the light may feel dizzy or ill before making contact. Content warnings will include: Child Abuse Content warnings may include: Child death, poisoning, emeto, gore ii. The light will feel like a cold autumn evening, with the taste of a chill bite to the air. It, too, will smell metallic and cold, but will cause a feeling akin to excitement. Content warnings will include: Battle Royale style child death, fratricide, child abuse iii. This light will project warmth, happiness, nervousness. The scent of sakura and incense. The laughter of young women. Content warnings may include: underage marriage, suicidal ideation
[ II | Bonds ]
[For several long moments after darkness clouds his vision, Tengen is left to wonder if something has happened to his good eye. It's... less unsettling than it would be otherwise, if he's honest - he still has his hearing, and after taking a breath to steady his nerves, he can sense... someone else nearby, as well as what could be some kind of... equipment?
A bracelet, apparently. Surely some magical item with some kind of twist, from what he's heard and seen of this place, but there's usually only one way out of this kind of thing, so with some effort he slides it over his hand and onto his right wrist. Sight returns, along with sensation that isn't his own, and immediately his gaze snaps to the person with him here, noting that, unfortunately, both are unarmed.]
Let's go.
[ III | Wildcard ]
[If you want anything else, hit me up! Also let me know if you want a specific memshare and don't want to spin the wheel. <3]
[Indeed, rife as the surroundings are with lanterns, its only a matter of time before even someone as wary as Kyojuro bumps into one. He doesn't even have the chance to complain. His mouth opens around a gasp, but the noise becomes choked as his vision distorts and blurs.
The scent hits him first — he knows the smell of blood, after all. His hand falls to his sword even before his vision clears properly. Whatever may come, he will be ready for a fight.]
i. a lantern hanging in the dark content warning for possession.
[ The golden lights bloom across the Grove, bright spots in the rain-laden dreariness. Approaching one in particular will introduce the distinctly sharp scent of ozone into the air. Though it should be disconcerting, once coaxed closer, you will find yourself drawn into the swimming depths of a vivid memory.
Lodi – Louis Yero, a disembodied voice corrects, like a thrum in the back of that onlooker's mind – stands in a nondescript office building in a sharp brown suit. Both are symbolic of the times. The hour is late – he ought to have gone home for the evening, to a waiting apartment, to normalcy. Instead, he stands face to face with a door slightly ajar. He knows that it should be closed. He knows that there is a ringing coming from within that should not be possible. When he pushes the door open and steps inside, the rotary phone sat in the center of the table still boasts a cut, untethered wire.
It rings, nonetheless. Lodi – you – They – acknowledges a single truth nearly as easily as one might draw breath, but with the distinct sensation that it has been slide into his consciousness: if he does not answer this call, he will regret it for the rest of his life.
He picks up the phone.
The very world tips sideways, then continues to spiral unabated, into impossible angles. The floor has disappeared from beneath his feet, borne away by a roaring subway train. He tips upside down. The city of Chicago is a spattering of ruin in the backdrop of his mind splitting into nine pieces. The sky is painted a blood red, and the distant shape of massive, encroaching pyramids yawns across the horizon. Something is coming. Something is ending. The – world. Everything.
The sensation of loss and change are as real and intimate as his own organs. Something reaches across time and space and physicality to touch his outstretched fingertips, and he is cleaved in twain. He awakens with the worst headache he has ever experienced, in a suit so singed it is nearly unrecognizable.
He is told, in no uncertain terms, that he cannot go home. A woman that wears a face he recognizes from a hundred lifetimes ago does not recognize him and tells him that there is one city left – how could that be possible? How could they all be gone?
He is told that all those vibrant lives that he had touched what feels like weeks ago have been summarily blotted out, and that there is nothing he can do. There is nothing anyone can do.
He cannot go home. A sense of loss so cavernous that he feels hollowed out digs into his soft underbelly. There are nine points of weight settled onto the breadth of his shoulders. They cannot shake.
He has to remember it. He is the only one alive who remembers his family. Their names. Hundreds of cities. Thousands of languages. Millions of species. Billions upon billions of human lives. Remember. Remember.
Time is incongruous. Fallible. Lodi – Louis – sits with his face in his hands. He misses so terribly that the grief feels as though it has consumed his whole being. They are gone, and he is here. The sorrow rings in his ears like a distant death knell, and he cannot quiet it no matter how hard he presses his palms against them.
He lies down in bed, repeating his family's names aloud. When he last slept it was for fourteen hours, dragged behind the tail of a comet. The prior week, he straddled two timelines thousands of years apart, and lost a week in the present. The Nine bring him up to speed in great leaps, uncaring for the limits of human physicality or psychology. They twist him inside out.
Eventually, he sleeps. When he rouses, he is four-legged. He is wrong. He is six-legged. He cannot speak. He scrambles across blistering sand and betwixt the ruins of the underground of Chicago, wretchedly nauseous with the understanding that he is not meant to be here. He does not know where – where is he supposed to be, if not here?
The question rings in the back of his mind like a second voice when he snaps to lucidity. He has turned his blanket to platinum. His skin has shifted on the Periodic Table, and he forces it back between layers of minerals and gases with the corner of his thumbnail until he feels realigned.
When he lays back down, he feels less human than he has ever felt. The memory fizzles. ]
ii. guiding bonds in the dark content warning for smoking.
[ It would be one thing for the entirety of this month to be composed solely of ridiculous invasions of privacy and unreasonable buckets of rain. The cherry on the top is when he rouses and cannot discern the time, nor the location. There is the distinct scent of damp soil in the air. No matter how many times he shoves a hand up beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes, he cannot will them to work.
Instinct dictates he grope blindly in the dark. When his fingers glance upon an object, that same instinct guides it onto his wrist. It becomes heavy and inescapable in the same breath that his vision returns. He nearly wishes it hadn't when his senses finally acclimate to the dark.
He had experienced the horrors of the Grove in an incredibly limited capacity. The woodcrawlers, and the Deep Root disease – he had not been present for anything further. And, yet, he finds himself exasperatedly unsurprised by the state of affairs. For a brief moment, he is so utterly overwhelmed by that anger that his hands shake in their bonds.
That is what, eventually, clues him in to the other person at the other end of their tether. Lodi's anger shifts into something undefined, then reformats into anxious concern. His lips twist around a bitter taste in his mouth. ]
Shit. ¡Ya valió madre! [ Practically bristling from the onset of frayed nerves, Lodi carelessly shoves his unshackled hand into his pocket. He yanks out a tattered box of cigarettes and an equally aged lighter. He is mildly careful not to wrench at the tether as he swaps the lighter to his opposite hand, shoving a cigarette between his teeth. ] ¡Ya nos cargó el payaso!
[ In one smooth, practiced motion, he lights the cigarette. He takes a generous amount of smoke in, pulling it into his lungs. When he exhales, his breath shakes. He lingers in the aftermath of the nicotine for a precious few seconds before pocketing the lighter. He shoots an apologetic glance sidelong. ]
Sorry, uh – I hope the smell doesn't bother you. I – was gonna go crazy otherwise.
iii. wildcard
You know what to do with this one!!!! Tag me with anything! Or DM me if you'd like to discuss something more specific!
[Cool, something is making everyone see each other's memories. He's glad for once, this isn't his fault. That mess happened two years ago and he likes to think he's got way better control of his powers now than he did before. His hand clasps the pendant around his neck, the glass vial filled with green that helps offset his powers.]
[He doesn't want to go find this guy and be like "Hey, man, just saw you having the WORST time, sorry dude." that's weird and awkward and probably patronizing? But ...something struck home about some of that in a way that makes Dipper think maybe he should let him know he's not quite as alone as he might think.]
[So Dipper does what he does best when he's not sure how to tackle something and needs to work through how to communicate to another person like a normal ass human: he bakes. Hopefully Lodi doesn't have any glaring allergies.]
[Lodi gets a knock on his door at some point, accompanied by the smell of baked goods.]
[The memory starts with a violent change of scenery. Gone is the forest, the idyllic little village. The bright pops of flowers and whimsical animals. Instead your feet hit the hard stone of a dark and dreary street. The sky above is dark and overcast, the architecture, while beautiful, is foreboding and almost hostile. There's the scent in the air of the city- an intermingling of smells like waste and rot that may be more inline with an urban city out of the industrial era, but there is one other thing that permeates, and that's blood, it's tang clings to your senses and is impossible to shake off.]
[Maybe you'll get used to it? It's not your current focus, anyway. Yours- no, Dipper's focus is something else. He walks with a purpose down these streets, and a few things become clear. He's much younger, not a single scar on his face, and he fits in with the rest of environment. Though the city appears dense and vast, there aren't much in the way of people out on the streets. It's almost like something's got them scared.]
[The look in his eyes is determined, but there is something off about it. The circles around his eyes, the near pallidness of his skin. His eyes dart about in a way that doesn't seem ...right. Dipper does not look to have gotten sleep in a very long time, he does not look to have been taking care of himself, and he his jumpy and paranoid. Yet, he carries on, moving through the streets and alleys like he's looking for something. He checks down small paths, looks up at fire escapes, touches seemingly random objects left in the gutter before shaking his head and muttering and continuing on.]
[Then ...something changes. Dipper goes still, but not like something caught his attention, like his entire body was put on pause. He blinks before his eyes start to widen. He can't move, something is totally negating his powers. Something has him, and he feels the way the hair on the back of his neck starts to stand on end. Danger, he's in danger. Is this what happened to his uncle? Is this why he can't find him?]
[He hears a laugh, but it rings like tinnitus in his ears. The entity soon makes itself known. Something that may have once been a person, but their features are warped, skin removed, stretched and stitched, limbs twisted, held in place with chains and hooks. They walk in a ghastly, uncanny way as the come to face Dipper. Eyes that no longer line up, one pulled down, the other up, focus on him with delight, smiling a smile that splits the mouth literally.]
"New and fresh...how fortuitous. So fresh from Mariana's embrace you know not what power you hoooold...Your blood will be a lovely offering to the Patrons."
Let me go! Are you the one who took Great Uncle Ford?!
[The laugh again, and he feels something touch his face.]
"I remember ...when I was so young and naive. Unenlightened. Ignorant to the power our blood holds. The things I could show you, you'd never look back. What a pity I need you for the alter. In order to continue turning the great wheel, blood must spill. Blood is life, blood is all, blood is-"
[Lightning, something hot blasts close enough to him that he feels the heat sting on his skin. It strikes the other with a force strong enough to send them flying, and Dipper feels his body his own again. He steps back quickly, getting behind whoever came to his rescue. One thing stays in his mind as he's trying to get to safety.]
[Blood-crazed Zealots were Sleepers once. Was it time that twisted them? The blood pollution in the air? Is this the fate that eventually awaits all of them..?]
[The memory ends with those lingering thoughts, that uncertainty and anxiety. It fizzles with the light.]
i. A LANTERN IN THE HANGING TREE content warnings: abuse, child death, suicidal ideation[ Approaching the gentle golden glow of this particular memory will bring with it warring emotions. Though it coaxes you closer by its very nature, stepping any nearer will immediately cause the hair to raise on the back of your neck. A budding sense of foreboding will begin to grow the further you encroach into the memory.
The first few moments of the memory are collapsed into shards, sharp and painful as glass. Agony stretched over years condensed into mere seconds, with only glimpses displayed in startling, grotesque clarity. An eldest, forced to shelter an increasing number of bodies from angry blows. An intensely fostered desire to protect a mother. Immense relief and uncertainty, at odds, when his father is found dead. A promise: he will take care of their family, somehow.
The memory hones. The scene narrows.
The clicking buzz of crickets fills the air. The ambience sets the nerves on edge in spite of the prevailing quiet blanketing the night. There is a single room clustered with sleeping bodies: they are all children, and a range of ages. The youngest, at three years old, sleeps soundly. The sense of foreboding persists, pervading even this seemingly quiet scene.
A hand rattles at the door. The children leap to their feet, roused into hopefulness. Their mother had been missing since the early hours of the morning. When they rush to the door, feet pounding on the cheap flooring, it caves beneath a sudden, immense pressure.
Four lives are snuffed out in the span of an instant. Blood sprays across the cramped interior. The children have no time to react as their mother shoves her way inside, slavering teeth bared. Her nails, twisted and gnarled into inhuman claws, cut through them with unabating, primal hunger. A familiar face to some swims into view: Genya curls against a far wall, bleeding from a cut hewn by those very claws. Five bodies end up strewn across the tatami before Sanemi sprints into the room, tackling his mother with the full weight of his body before she can snap her teeth into Genya.
His hand clings to the first weapon he had been able to get his hands on: a butcher's knife. He doesn't know what had come over his mother. She had always been overwhelmingly gentle even in the face of terrible adversity. She had never shown her children an ounce of cruelty, even while weathering unbelievable amounts of it. Now, she howls and claws at him. It is as if she has become a different person entirely.
Her demeanor changes when Sanemi bleeds. Her movements grow sluggish, almost drunken. She staggers at him with a renewed hunger, saliva pouring from her bloodied fangs. He is afraid, but – she hurt Genya. She hurt his siblings. He can't – he has to protect him. He swings until her movements start to flag, until the sun starts to rise over the distant horizon, and then he stands saturated in her blood while the light blooms.
Genya cradles their mother's body in his arms as her limbs begin to unfurl into ash and, wailing and desperate, calls him murderer.
He stumbles out of their hometown that very day to a world steeped in grey. Life had lost every last vestige of worth and color. He is pushed forward by a single, burning determination: to rid this world of the very creature his mother had been twisted into.
The scene snaps, then frays, unfurling outward. The time is marked by every new scar on Sanemi's body. The demons slaver the very instant his blood is spilled. The pain, the risk – they don't matter, so long as he can kill demons. He collects every manner of weaponry that he can utilize to cobble together his makeshift arsenal. He throws himself carelessly at demon after demon, bleeding freely. He never once thinks about dying, except in brief moments of relief.
There are spots of positivity. Vicious triumph when he strings the demons up and watches them burn to ash in the morning's rays. He does not know how long he does this for, only that he must.
And then – he is found. Bloodied, bristling, by a young man not much older than he, in a black uniform with a blade at his hip. He is swanned unceremoniously under his wing, and told he will be cultivated. To properly kill demons. That scene ends in blood, too, but it is so viscous and black that it saturates every point of perspective into the memory. It ends with a distinct, hollowing sense of loss. ]
ii. SOMBER RAINY MORNINGS content warnings: expected content warnings for corruption. body horror!
[ Sanemi has come to a distinct understanding within the month that he has been present here in the Grove. This place was shit. It might possibly be even shittier than the place he had come from, and that was saying something.
He can only recall what occurred in the labyrinth in fragments. Being strung up in gnarled roots – the roots taking hold, keeping their hold, even as he was coaxed down – an ever-present pain, and a budding understanding over the course of the month that something had sunk deep inside him. He had spent the rest of that month feeling as though he was back in that halfway point between alive and dead, experiencing his comeuppance for escaping the fight with Upper Moon One solely due to his arrival in that stupid summer camp.
Then, suddenly, as he finds himself moving painfully outdoors, the clouds are cleaved in twain. A creature out of a fairytale swims through the sky overhead, clustered in stars. Rain weeps from the sky and Sanemi finds himself stricken by a sudden, primal fear. At the same time, he feels… for one reason or another, that he should let the rain wash over him, in spite of his misgvings. He had been weathering a constant whispering in the back of his mind since the roots had taken hold, and had learned not to trust them.
He forces himself into a polite kneel outside, tipping his head back. If a passerby sees him, they might notice that his fingers are white-knuckling the grass, and that his posture is strung tight like a bow. ]
iii. WILDCARD As per usual! The one important note is: Sanemi is set to #die in the Labyrinth, so that is open season for a wildcard. Otherwise, I'm flexible as always! If you have any specific ideas in mind, please feel free to DM.
By now, he has learned that death is never permanent. Yet it does not take away the way something painful, something agony inducing, fractures its way through his heart.
It feels like it takes forever to slash the roots holding Sanemi up. Maybe it takes hours. Maybe it takes only seconds. He'll have to resharpen the blade later. That doesn't matter. He'd snape the damn thing in two if it meant being able to get his friend down faster.
He pries Sanemi from the grasp of those roots, but he can see that fragments remain. Somehow, that's the worst part.
How long he sits in the rain, clutching that body, he does not know. He wonders if the corpse will disappear before long, as so many seemed to do. Maybe it would be better, if it did. Certainly, Kyojuro does not want Genya to see this.
Urbain has canon updated to the end of the DLC and we're long past spoiler embargo, so gestures broadly. Watch out if you're currently working through Z-A!
i. urbain is in a maze
[Hello. You have been tethered to a terrified normie. This will surely go well.
Urbain doesn't exactly like that the bracelets or handcuffs or whatever they are broadcast his emotions directly into others and vice versa, but this is what he has to deal with. He's coping mostly by trying to lock in and focus, though it's easy to tell even without the assistance of the bracelets that he's irritated. He keeps running his hand back through his hair and rapidly scratching the back of his head, toe-tapping, surging forward only to get pulled back.
He's really had enough of the goddamn horrors. Summer camp was fun, why couldn't they just do that again...?]
Oookay, so, uh... left? Left. We go left. [The two of you just went left. Someone isn't very locked in.] We go left, then we get out. Easy GG.
ii. floette gets put in a hamster ball (NOT CLICKBAIT) (EMOTIONAL)
[Outside the maze, escapees may see a very sudden Light of Ruin cast off into the woods nebulously where Floette thinks Suri is. Apparently this does enough to piss him off as it cleaves through a bunch of trees and probably nearly destroys several buildings (before they repair themselves anyway, thanks Aldric's Grove for your contributions to everyone's continued success), because with a pop...
She is in a giant hamster ball. And can't use any of her moves. And she is losing her Fucking Mind in here. Excuse you sir you put her Trainer in a fucking DEATH MAZE get over here let her beat your ass—!!!
Anyway, whether you missed the laser beam or not, you will see a very small flower rolling around the Grove in some desperate bid to get out and go kill that fucking guy. Behind her trail Urbain's Meganium and Meowstic, who have surely had their fill of already trying to explain to Floette that she just needs to wait for their Trainer to come back.
Alas.]
iii. after rain vibing
[The month has been so chock full of bullshit that Urbain really hasn't had time to chirp at people about the studio he opened up. Or about anything else going on in his life (like being a fucking CEO suddenly, he hates it here). What visits you to tell you about the studio isn't necessarily Urbain himself, however, as instead... a full fucking teal blue hologram of him warps into the space next to you and waves.]
Hey bestie! Do you have time? I wanna show you something real quick. It'll be so quick, for real for real.
iv. wildcarde
[you know where i live etc memshares not off the table but come talk to me first so we can hash smth out bc i suck at them lol]
[On the opposite side of the connection between the two of them, Cyrene herself is staying remarkably calm and composed, all things considered. It's distinctly possible she might even be purposefully running her happiest thoughts through her mind over and over as they walk together to try to send Urbain the most positive energy possible, given the state of him... but she'll never tell ♪]
Friend, shall we try going right this time? Maybe a change of strategy will do us some good.
[A mysterious hole and lanterns aren't the only thing this cool new tree has in store for the curious passerby! As you nosily (don't deny it) inspect around the tree to see what kinds of secrets it holds, you might begin to hear mysterious noises around the back: scratching, grumbling, and the sounds of wet dirt shifting. Huh! What could that be? As thunder cracks and lightning streaks across the sky in a heavenly cacophony, you see it.
There's someone coming out of the ground.]
Cat 2: Return of Cat.
[After clawing his way out of being half buried in the mud, Astrid is quite grumpy, to say the least. Covered in mud and leaves, each step he takes gives a disgusting squelch of wet socks with the squeak of dampened leather, which only seems to make him that much more grumpy from the complete textural nightmare he was enduring at this moment. Woe is him. No one understands the trials he faces. He also probably maybe definitely died at some point, but this ain't about that right now.
Ears flat against his head, he seems to be on a determined mission to beeline straight towards the bath house, not even paying attention to his surroundings or anyone nearby. Out of his way this is an emergency—]
Wildcard.
wanna do something else? msg me on disc or just throw it at me :)
[Luca is just coming out of the bathhouse for the evening, wet hair carefully pulled back and out of his face. He does not expect to be bowled over the moment he starts to open the door, and quickly finds himself taking several steps back.
An excellent decision, considering the fact he would have been splattered with mud otherwise.
He turns to face the culprit fully, a number of colorful words ready on his lips, but finds them dying on his tongue almost immediately. He recognizes those ears, you see, even stained with mud and slicked down as they are.]
[ After spending the latter half of two years in near-constant conflict, feeling utterly entangled in danger feels nearly as familiar as the blistering heat of his quirk.
The surroundings do not immediately register. All he is aware of in the present moment is that there is a need to defend himself and an obvious means to do so. The ignition clicks from the extended points of each finger, traveling up the length of one steadily extended arm. The heat builds from palm to forearm and he grits his teeth in preparation to unleash a characteristically bombastic blast when... abruptly, reason prevails.
Wow. Talk about a rare occurrence! Not that this complete stranger would know such a thing.
He swings his arm away, points it in the most immediately open direction, and directs a series of clustered ignitions up into the sky. The sound and the visuals are as suitably earth-shattering as one might expect for literal explosions, but other than leaving a ringing in the ears they are, thankfully, otherwise harmless.
At least for the moment. The look on Bakugo's face is rather far from apologetic. In fact, he's curling his lip. ]
Do you mind?! Back the hell up.
💥 WILDCARD!
I'M ONLY DOING ONE PROMPT BUT FEEL FREE TO PUT OTHER STUFF HERE THANKS BYE.
[ Oh, the way he shrieks. At least it's mostly drowned out by the sound of the explosions. He clapped his hands over his ears out of reflex but it did't help that much ]
I-- I'm sorry? You weren't there a second ago! Are you okay?
[ Because in his mind the guy must feel threatened if he's attacking out of nowhere. And uh Aira is possibly the least threatening boy to exist. ]
YOUR STAR IS RESTRICTED (childhood memory, no cw just cute) Although recognizable as Ryan and Min-Gi, the two boys inside the bathroom are much younger than they are today. Maybe around twelve or thirteen. The younger Min is sat on the toilet with the seat down while Ryan messes with his hair. The air is thick and chemical, and Min's hair is stood on end, sticking out at all angles. It's a stark contrast with his slacks and button up, and he's clearly worried about whatever it is Ryan's doing. His posture is ramrod straight, his fists clenched, one resting uncomfortably on each knee.
"Dude, you are going to look so cool!" the young Ryan chatters. "If we borrow Kim's eyeliner we could make you look so new wave. Or glam rock! We've just gotta thrift you some cooler clothes. You've gotta spend your allowance at some point."
Min-Gi looks increasingly horrified, but there's no time to interject before the bathroom door rattles as someone pounds on it from the other side. Both boys jump guiltily even before they hear an angry voice through it.
"Ryan! I know you took my hairspray! Davey saw you."
The handle turns, and the door swings open with no resistance. Ryan gives Min-Gi a sheepish look, apparently the one who forgot to lock the door. A young woman stands on the other side, one hand on her hip and ready to rip into Ryan.
"Hi, Kimmie..."
"Don't call me that." She rolls her eyes at her brother, but her anger has already dissipated and she's trying not to laugh. "What did you do to him, Ryan?"
Ryan looks stroppy at his efforts being laughed at, while Min-Gi looks like he's willing himself to evaporate. She steps the rest of the way into the bathroom, snatching the hairspray off the counter.
"Don't worry, Min. I can fix this," she reassures him, ruffling his messy hair while he grimaces. She looks pleased at his irritation, turning to call loudly through the door. "Nancy! Bring my round brush. And some mousse. Min-Gi wants a makeover~"
He does not look as though he wants that, eyes widening in pure panic, but he doesn't argue as another teenager bursts in, younger than Kimberly but older than Ryan is. Neither does Ryan, though he is visibly sulky as the two girls giggle about his attempt to give Min-Gi a new look. Min is blushing heavily throughout his styling session, red-faced and hunched in on himself as he waits for them to finish.
"Wow! You almost look cool," Nancy snickers as they finally step away. Min looks hurt by the teasing, but Kimberly doesn't give him time to stew in it, pulling him up so she can stand him in front of the mirror.
"Almost?" she challenges. "Put him in a leather jacket and he's Danny Zuko."
Nancy sticks her tongue out, wrinkling her nose at the idea her little brother's dorky friend could compare to Danny Zuko. Min-Gi doesn't even notice. He's still flushed, but much more lightly, completely transfixed by his reflection.
"Do you think my parents would be okay with this?"
Kimberly looks at him, sobering considerably upon seeing just how much he actually likes this. It isn't a game now, and she's mature enough not to keep treating it as one. After a pause she picks up her brush to sweep the Travolta curl back to blend with the rest of his hair.
"Yeah. I think so. Here, let me show you how to do it yourself..." AND YOUR MOONS ARE BLACK AND GREY (train memory, cw: bones, the boys are fighting) The environment is an unusual one. Some kind of small space rock, one of several floating above a much larger one with little else but a singular tower in the centre. There are two portals behind where Ryan and Min-Gi are, a row of astronauts stood silently on a track that leads from one portal to another. They don't look much younger than they are now, but are dressed in matching grey jumpsuits that don't look like anything they've ever worn in the Grove. They're in the midst of a fight, Ryan looking hurt and angry, Min-Gi outright furious.
"I'm sorry," Ryan tries, arms outstretched as he attempts to at least deescalate the situation a little. "Okay?"
It's not okay. Not with Min-Gi, whose expression doesn't soften remotely at the apology.
"No, you're not! You say the word, but you don't change!"
That's it for Ryan. He's done trying to play nice, and squares up to Min, ready to stand his ground.
"You know what really helps people change? What's super helpful? Having someone needle you over every. Little. Thing you do!"
He punctuates the last few sentences by jabbing his finger to Min-Gi's chest, driving him back. Ryan keeps coming, and even as he counters Min-Gi continues walking backwards, so absorbed by the argument he's oblivious to his surroundings.
"You're right! I should keep my mouth shut and let you get yourself killed. If you would have just listened to me to begin with we could have just... huh?!"
Luckily for Min, it's the row of astronauts he steps back into, not the edge of the rock. None of them put up any fight, collapsing in a heap against the track. It would be all too easy to think the suits had been empty all along if not for the skull that comes tumbling out of one of them.
"Whoa." Both men startle, but it's Ryan who verbalizes the horrible truth Min's stumbled upon. "They're all... dead?"
Min-Gi crouches down by the track, picking up a now empty helmet and wiping away the weeds from the visor to see his own horrified face staring back at him.
"So... waiting didn't work. You can mess up even if you stand still." He takes away his right hand so he can stare at his palm, a glowing green 202 briefly visible before it whirs, numbers spinning until they settle on 194. "It's... my number, too."
Whatever that might mean, it doesn't sound like a good thing. He continues to stare at it, helmet tucked under his other arm until Ryan walks up behind him, stooping so he's at Min's level. There's little sympathy for the revelation, at least at first.
"Do I get a turn at being smug now?" he teases, waiting for the apology he surely deserves after Min had made such a big thing of Ryan being the one screwing up.
"Ryan, I'm... I..."
The words catch in his throat, and Ryan's smile fades away as he realizes they aren't going to come. Min sighs, turning his head so he doesn't have to look at him.
"Let's just get out of here," Min says instead. Sorry comes so easily to him when it doesn't really matter, but now? After talking down to Ryan for so long over something he shares blame in? It feels impossible to say it.
"Yeah," he hears Ryan sigh next to him. "Okay."
All his can do is watch as the numbers spin back to 202. Like they had never even changed in the first place.
ELSEWHERE (functionally a wildcard, please make stuff up if you want)
[Min-Gi isn't at the tree when you find him, but once Ydalirquest is over he is around to talk about one or both of his memories to. He has a number of haunts. The inn is a safe bet. It's easy to find him in the common area playing his mini-synth, or reading books on healing magic. Particularly early in the morning before Ryan wakes, or in the evening before bed.
He might also be at the Watchtower if you want him looser lipped, nursing a drink in a quiet corner.
Or maybe he's sat by the river, playing with the seaborn. It's been maybe a year now since he was changed into a merman and forced to make a temporary home in the river, but he still feels comfortable there and thinks of the strange little creatures as his friends.]
[The last time he and Min-Gi were at the bar together, both of them were crashing out about their respective love interest kissing other dudes. Glad to see that liquor can still bring people together.
For as depressed and sort of out of it as Vildred has been for a while, he's still finding himself able to flounce into the seat across from Min-Gi easily enough.]
[Upon gleaming at Alma's lanterns, you feel dizzy.
A young Alma, wearing black shorts and a white long-sleeved crop top that leaves his stomach and chest exposed. He's crouched over an opening in the ground, leaning his small frame over it at an almost concerning degree. He has a bright smile on his face, despite shivering from the obvious cold.
If you linger on this memory long enough, you'll listen to him yap about everything and nothing at all. He seems to talk to whoever is inside the hole, telling them about his day, what he's learned, what new foods he's tried, and how nasty they were. Sometimes you see him move to another hole, and another, and another, until he's gone through each one and greeted them all with a happy good morning!
... Perhaps, though... the memory becomes fuzzy, and your head begins to hurt. Perhaps among the happy laughter and all the talking... there's static. You taste blood in your mouth, the smell of it almost suffocating.
The static clears long enough for you to see the same holes again. Blood is everywhere, tainting the waters, the floor, and your hands. You can see, floating in the now blood-stained waters, pieces of... people?]
II. Ros Manes
[Alma had been sitting out in the rain, staring up at the clouds. He doesn't seem to be doing much, other than letting the rain pour down on him, despite the cold or the discomfort. When the gloom had parted with the serpent overhead, and the flowers around him began to bloom, Alma couldn't help but let out an almost childish laugh.
It was beautiful, and beauty was so sorely missed sometimes when life was difficult.
With his mind made up, and the warmth of the sun drying him off, Alma crossed his legs and began to weave flowers together into a flower crown.]
III. Wildcard
[DM me if you wanna plot something or if you have ideas you wanna do bring em here :3]
[ So. This is awkward! He had had this conversation with Kanda before. "Hey, if people come here back from the dead, then Alma might." After all, it's how Allen has Timcanpy now, despite his "death". But he didn't actually think he'd...
...
Allen tries to get himself to speak several times, opening and closing his mouth as if words will just come tumbling out from that alone. And it's funny, because Alma barely knows Allen, despite the fact that Allen knows far too much about him than he should. Something that was meant to be private, between him and Kanda.
His eye has flared automatically, signifying the "demon" in front of him, but he does not care. He just staggers over to Alma finally and collapses to his knees to give him a hug. ]
[Something about that distant roar breaking through the quiet inspires Cyrene to set down her book and head out the door, a sort of keen anticipation welling in her chest as she shifts her gaze skyward expectantly.
As the cosmic serpent appears and splits the skies in two, bringing with it rain and the warmth of gentle sunlight, Cyrene stares in pure childlike wonderment at every second, eyes fixated on the serpent's path through the heavens above. She steps out into the shower of luminous rain without a care and stretches her hands out, watching the iridescent drops pitter patter into her palms as she can't help but just smile.
For all the trials and tribulations this month, in this moment, she feels like her heart is full to the brim.]
What a romantic end to this chapter~. ♪
[Perhaps this was just a momentary and fleeting respite for this little village, but even so, she thinks she actually doesn't mind being here one bit.]
ii. (late month)
[Now that the plantimals were calm once more after the passing of the storm, Cyrene was very curious to meet some of the cute little critters. They looked like something straight out of a story book or faerie tale, which was exactly her niche. Perhaps she could even craft a new story starring some of these creatures... a cross-over of Grove magic and the faerie friends of her youth~.
Outside of the general store, Cyrene can be found crouched by a patch of flowers, trying to tempt a cute little moss hedgehog with a wedge of apple she had cut.]
C'mere, little cutie... [A thought seems to occur to her.] Oh goodness, you don't just use the sun for nutrients, do you...?
iii. (any time)
[In the lobby of the inn, Cyrene is seated by the fire very studiously reading a book — upon closer inspection, it seems to read "Tarot Cards for Dummies". In fact, across from her on the table is what appears to be a tarot deck with the cards spread out in neat rows, as if she'd been carefully inspecting them. When she hears the footsteps of someone approaching, she looks up from her book and visibly perks, giving them a keen look.]
[ Joshua may not live in the Inn anymore, but that doesn't mean he isn't here on a regular basis anyway. Just in case they're trapped within for months at a time again, it's a wise idea to both keep a stock of supplies here and to make sure that they remain safely usable.
It's as he's passing by with a small crate in his arms that Cyrene calls to him, and his steps hesitate, eyebrows lifting as he turns to look at her. He... doesn't think he's seen her before? He'd remember hair that color, certainly. ]
Ah... Begging your pardon, my lady. Are you hailing me?
[ There isn't anyone else in the immediate vicinity, but still. ]
[Glitches, memory lapses, brief loss of consciousness. None of this is new. It's all shit he's done and seen before. Hell, with what Kinger had managed to do, it's a miracle it isn't worse. He was expecting gaping holes in the ground where code ceased to function, objects colliding and glitching into themselves, the entire world as they know it ceasing to be.
What were they supposed to do, then? Where were they meant to go?
For a long time, Jax had accepted the fact that none of them could die, not even if they wanted to. But maybe this was the first time in a while where he thought that it would have been a mercy compared to-]
...huh?
[Not unlike the way he'd popped into the circus for the first time all those years ago, Jax blinks and finds himself someplace else entirely. No circus of broken greys and blacks, and no gaggle of freaks in the same boat to commiserate with. It's a forest, and it's upsettingly realistic. He can feel the grass beneath his paws, and when a plantimal in the distance darts through the trees, he catches himself startling and looking up, finally pulled from his reverie to realize he's holding a metal pipe and is standing in front of someone he doesn't know with it.
His eyes dart, and without thinking he drops (almost throws) the pipe to the ground and holds up both gloved hands, a grin spreading on his face that's uncanny. A little too wide to be comforting.
He isn't human, but you are.]
Don't look at me like that, I wasn't- look, if I was gonna bash your brains in, I would've done it by now. Now who the hell are you?
[Right. Filter's gone. Silver linings.]
B) Run Rabbit Run | The Grove Outskirts
[Being inhuman has its perks.
Being a rabbit in a wood full of predators, however, is the worst thing possible.
The creatures out here are already restless and agitated to begin with, so maybe it isn't all that surprising that the rose hounds spotted a technicolor rabbit and assumed him to be an easy target. Now, the only thing he can do is run, staggering through the trees and pushing aside branches to try to put as much distance between him and them as possible. He doesn't have any weapons, and he's cursing himself for tossing the pipe from before aside.]
Fuck, fuck, fuck-!
[Jax crashes through the underbrush, his foot catching on a gnarled root as he tumbles head-over-tail down a steep slope as the dogs bark and howl above, and he's struck by how much falling hurts. He feels his chest heaving as he gets back up and keeps going, not realizing that he'd cut his forehead. Blood is dripping down into the purple fur, but he doesn't feel it as he sprints.
Why can't he be able to will a gun into existence, or something??]
Get away from me! Tcchhh- leave me alone!
C) Netbook | OTA
[Someone has told him what this thing does by now, so of COURSE he's going to get on it and be a dick. What did you expect?]
Got a few questions for you all. For starters:
1) Looks like some of you lucked out with more "normal" bodies. Good for you. Now tell me how many of you are out there, cause last time I checked there were only ever 6 of us at once, and Caine's dead so it's not like there's going to be any more NPCs running around.
2) Dunno how long this place is going to keep itself together, and since we're all gonna die anyway, I propose we enact Purge rules. Who's with me?
3) Pompom, if you're reading this, tell me where the hell you ended up. I figured a goodie twoshoes like you would have stormed the place by now.
P.S. The other Guys, I guess if you're here too sound off or whatever.
P.S.S. Zooble if you're reading this, no you're not.
[ It is pure circumstance that has her positioned perfectly within the depths of the woods to hear the frantic crashing. The fraught state of affairs had delivered her to and fro throughout the expanse of the Grove, pulled along by an innate need to assist those in distress.
At first, the howling leads her to believe that the plant-twined hounds were in baying pursuit of some poor prey animal. When the prey animal in question speaks out in abject dismay, she discovers her initial assumption was not quite correct.
The distressed party in question appeared to be a tall, humanoid… purple rabbit? How novel! Oh, but he was in danger. And bleeding! She really ought to focus on the more immediate details. But how to steer him to safety… perhaps more expedient intervention was required? ]
Mr. Rabbit! Hello! If you would be so kind as to slow down for just a moment, I would be more than happy to offer my assistance!
[ Pay no mind to the fact that the communication is entirely telepathic. Or do! She really is trying to help, but she hasn’t managed to not startle the majority she’s tried to speak to unprompted. ]
[ This rain just isn't letting up. Even during the day, the clouds block the sun, leaving it overcast and dreary at the best of times and rain-dark at others. Nasty weather, to be sure, and weather one certainly wouldn't want to be out in. Luckily, there are common spaces to get in out of the dampened air. The archives, the clinic, the Inn.
Today, in the lobby area of the Inn, there is a girl. Her blue-tipped pink pigtails gently bounce like the fluffiest clouds as she flits about, fluffing cushions and arranging what snacks she could find on a tray. A pot of tea sits on a small, folded cloth, with cups stacked carefully beside it. On one of the chairs sits a partially-finished project, a chipped teacup with a long bit of twine glued to the center of the inside.
Behind her floats a, frankly, very fat little pegasus that follows her as she moves about the space, occasionally trilling out a little noise. In fact, it's trilling now, as it sees someone entering the little nook Hyacine has set up. She turns to look, eyes bright and smile warm. ]
Oh, hello. Are you hiding away from this weather? It may be a dreary day outside, but in here, it's nice and warm and comfortable. Would you like to join me for tea? I have snacks as well, of course!
ii. 「I can go twice as high」late month
[ The roar from the sky has surely caught the attention of most, if not all, of the Grove. For Hyacine, briefly, it evoked memories of battle, of Aquila's frantic siege. But upon rushing outside, fueled by a cold wave of adrenaline, it couldn't be any further from the case. There is a creature, some sort of dragon or serpent, but it isn't attacking. Instead, it parts the clouds, scattering them like shadows, leaving--
Iridescent raindrops falling from a bright blue sky painted in rainbows. Hyacine gasps softly, lips parting in a wide smile. ]
Oh... Little Ica, look! Isn't it beautiful?
Dudu duu!
[ Her hands clasp in front of her chest. For a long moment, she closes her eyes, her chin tilted up as the sun shines on her face and the gentle, shimmering rain splashes against her cheeks. ]
Now, the flowers will grow even brighter.
iii.「wildcard」
[ If you wanna do something else that doesn't fit into these prompts, feel free to plot with me on discord! ]
[From down the hall, as Castorice emerges from her room, a familiar trilling noise meets her ears. The few belongings she had gathered to bring to their new home almsot slip from her arms as her steps quicken. The rapid clip, however, means she finds herself standing in the lobby before too long, an all too familiar sight on display.]
Miss Hyacine? Is that you?
[Of course she would want to make people feel at home, even when she was still getting settled herself.]
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sticksandbones2026-05-01 12:05 pm
QUESTIONS
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Corruption questions -
Re: Corruption questions -
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INVESTIGATIONS
Character(s):
Location:
Action: What are they looking for? What are they doing?
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Location: Probably in the cookie house, avoiding the rain
Action: Its time for monthly vision!
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cw: body horror
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Mx Morrigannnnn
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Pavlova Cookie // Cookie Run Kingdom // Current Player + Muse
[ The memory seems to reach out to those who approach with the sweet scent of sugar and fruit, almost cloyingly so. Enticed further in, it’s… vibrant. The sun shines, warming the skin as they lay there, and a hand strokes through their hair. All is calm, birdsong and a woman’s humming filling the silence. Taking in the surroundings is hard, you’re so sleepy… but it’s easy to make out flowers and the babble of a juice stream somewhere nearby. The pale tones of sugar statues peek through the greens and pinks of the Garden. It’s beautiful, but something weighs heavily at the back of your mind. Something’s wrong. What is it? ]
Isn’t it lovely here, Pavlova Cookie? Now no one will know pain or fear again. They’ll be safe here. You’ll help me, won’t you?
[ She doesn’t wait for an answer, or perhaps acceptance was implied. ]
You’re such a good boy.
[ The humming and petting continue, view restricted to where Pavlova lay with his head in his mother’s lap. Between blinks the surroundings change. A cookie distressed as their limbs harden, contorting into a sugar statue. The garden animals hunting each other, countless jars filled with jam, sleeping cookies preserved inside, the slow descent into madness of some of their guests. The sweet scent seems fit to suffocate as it goes on. ]
It’s so sad, isn’t it? I wonder why they would want to leave. They’ll be back, don’t you worry.
[ The sound of scissors snipping slowly begins near their ears, soft feather tips falling past their face. ]
It’s for your safety, just hold still darling. Besides, you don’t need to fly in the garden.
You’d never leave me, right, Pavlova Cookie?
[ And then the view changes, looking up. The woman is angelic at first, kind eyes, a gentle smile, pink swirls of hair that frame her face… But it melts away and suddenly the warmth is gone, eyes sharp and looking for any hint of dissent. The smile remains, but it no longer reads as love, but as a promise. Perhaps not intentional, but a threat all the same. It’s still her, but changed. His head tucks, eyes averting. ]
… Of course, Eternal Sugar Cookie. Who would ever… want to leave the Garden?
Into the Unknown ♡2》
[ Having had a vision last month relating to his mother, he’s not surprised that he’s found himself in some kind of distressing situation. It was only a matter of time, especially with those creepy lights having lingered around the town for as long as they did. Even so, complete, all consuming darkness is even more terrifying than he could have assumed. It takes him a moment to find the bracelet and put it on just by virtue of assuming he’s gone blind somehow.
The rush of feelings that aren’t his have his hackles raising at once. Sure he might be naturally in tune with such things, but it was never this acute. ]
– What’s going on?
[ Realistically, he doesn’t expect anyone to know, but sue him for feeling threatened by this. ]
Wildcard ♡3》
[ If you’re after a different memory or something more low key we can tackle it here! He does have some less intense memories running around as well. Just poke me on plotting post or in discord if you want something nicer. ]
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[Of course he knew of her faults, her corruption, the way her virtue twisted itself, but then to see it be used on Pavlova in this way, after all this time, after he's been allowed the chance to actually be a father to him, it makes something sour churn in him. He isn't so sure he likes this thing where he has to experience empathy. It makes him uncertain and he hates that more than anything.]
[Once it's gone, he takes a deep breath, and looks to find Pavlova.]
Cherub?
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Castorice | Honkai: Star Rail | Current Player, New Character
[Castorice, by some chance, is not facing anyone directly when she arrives. This is not a good thing.
Her body is positioned facing away, hands gripping her scythe as she wields it in a vicious uppercut. Beneath the sharp edge of the blade, reality itself seems to tear apart, and for a split second, violet eyes can be seen beyond the rift she starts to open.
Luckily, she seems to realize the shift. She turns abruptly, and whatever spell she had been wielding, whatever reality bending magic was at work, seems to dissipate, albeit with a slightly alarmed chuff.
Immediately, the tone shifts. The scythe disappears in a wash of purple, petal-like particles. Her hands fold in front of her, and she gives a gentle bow.]
My apologies. I do not know what came over me, or - [Her eyes dart around, finally taking in her surroundings.] … Where I happen to be, actually.
ii. My Sorrow—I Could Not Awaken — A Lantern Hanging in the Tree
[Stumbling into Castorice’s lantern means finding yourself in one of two memories.
In the first, a graveyard — filled with headstones as far as the eye can see — sits beneath a dreary sky of clouds that threaten rain. The cloaked Castorice stands before a withered and elderly woman. The latter takes the former’s hand into hers, almost immediately sparking a reaction upon her skin. Bit by bit, she seems to erode away, all while Castorice watches in horror, silent tears turning to outright sobs as she kneels down and embraces the woman. Tender though the touch is, it only exacerbates the process.
In a matter of seconds, Castorice is the only one who remains.
The second, though filled with flowers within an old amphitheatre, is no less morose than the first. Castorice stands before a man — perhaps familiar, perhaps not. Again and again they clash, forms twisting and transforming. The memory seems to overlap with itself, twisting around its own vision. It is hard to keep track of how many times it happens, or how many memories exist within the memory.
Do you help? Or do you watch the horror play out? Perhaps there is no right answer.]
iii. From the Lightning in the Sky — Somber Rainy Mornings
[Unnerving though her arrival might have been, Castorice tries to make the best of it. As the beautiful bird flies overhead, Castorice quickly pulls her teleslate out. She snaps as many pictures as she can, beautiful bursting things rife with color. Aurora isn’t the only victim, though. Those that find themselves doused by the beautiful rains will have the colorful case turned upon them. So many pictures of so many people — all things she simply must make up for.
If any attention flits to her, she offers a sheepish little smile.]
It is such a beautiful sight. I don’t think I could bare not remembering it. But if you wish for me to delete the photo itself, I can.
iv. When the Rest of Heaven was Blue — Wildcard
[Wildcard, you know what to do! DM me your ideas, or just hit me up with whatever.]
ii. hiiiiiii
She finds herself standing before the Castorice of memory, and her reaction is immediate, no hesitation in her actions despite what devastation the memory had shown. After all, she knew the truth of it all: after cycle upon cycle of her being Death's Maiden, there was nothing to fear in Castorice's touch any longer.
She reaches out and takes the demigod's hands in her own. A warm and loving touch, a gentle squeeze.
And then she blinks, the memory clearing from her vision like dust upon the wind. Yet here Castorice still stood in reality, with Cyrene suddenly grasping her hands, seemingly in a trance before the haze of memory left her gaze. There's a short pause before her surprise and mild confusion makes way for happiness, her expression softening with a gentle smile.]
Why, hello there, stranger. ♪
HIIIII hi hi hiiii
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iii (i need this interaction more than i need cohesion)
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II.b because :)
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ii.a :)
roblox oof noises
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iii.
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Mydei | Honkai: Star Rail | TDM
[His heart was pounding like a war drum, and his blood was boiling in his veins as Mydei spun around to swing at the next opponent. Red crystals formed around him with every swing, destroying clone after clone that came at him.
They were unrelenting, and each cut of their blade stung enough to make the fire in his body spur him forward. His duty was here, holding the line against the Flame Reaver and the Black Tide, to ensure that the Deliverer was able to complete his own mission.
And so he fought, not once staggering as the clones kept coming, until a sharp pain stole his breath away.
Mydei stumbled, his ears ringing and golden blood seeping from his wounds. He knew the feeling of death intimately: the cold hand of Thanatos reaching up to catch him as he fell, ice filling his veins and dragging him under the waters of the Sea of Souls.
In the next instance, Mydei took a step forward, spinning around as red crystals ripped from his body and erupted from the ground around him, a crazed predatory look in his golden eyes as he swung to collide his fist with whoever so happened to be behind him.
… Which wasn't the Flame Reaver he had just been fighting seconds ago. Nor was he in Dawn Cloud.
Luckily, Mydei was able to stop just mere seconds before making contact, and the glare of battle in his eyes morphed into confusion.]
II. Believe in the Prophecy CW: drowning, child death, patricide
[Appraching Mydei's lantern will provide one of two memories:]
a.
[The memory is fuzzy, almost as if the cognitive parts of his brain hadn't developed enough to really retain information. The inky darkness of the sky mixed with the ice-cold waters of the Sea of Souls. Even when he surfaced, he couldn't tell what was around him. The darkness of the Sea and Sky was so absolute that even with his eyes open, he never knew where he was.
Seconds passed, and the waves crashed over him and forced him under once more. Small hands, belonging to that of a child no older than four, reached for the surface to no avail. Hands grabbed at his small body, wrapping around his legs and arms and dragging him further into the cold abyss until his lungs burst and the pain returned.
Pain.
Pain.
The salt water made his lungs bleed until gold mixed with the darkness. Tears and gold and cold and a voiceless scream until it was only silence.
When he opened his eyes, he was on the surface again, floating on his back, gasping for air. His raw lungs, now healed, burned. Tears still streamed down his face, though the relief of life was short-lived. Scales brushed against his legs as a fin broke the surface of the water.
Sharp teeth ripped into his side and dragged his small body down into the Sea once more. Gold blood tainted the waters as his body was ripped apart, only to be remade again.
And again.
And again.]
b.
[ War had been his life ever since emerging from the Sea of Souls. His body had been honed to be the perfect weapon to liberate his people, to destroy the monsters that threaten the lands of Amphoreus, and to ensure the legacy of his father died at his hand.
And now, here he was.
Having fought through hordes of Kremnoan soldiers that were more monsters than men, their blood staining his spear. He now stood over the broken body of his father, the man not even recognizing him.
That all changed the moment he spoke his name out loud.]
It is you… the beast spurned by all.
[ Pride towards a worthy opponent melted, morphing into anger and fear. Eurypon's voice dripped with venom, cursing his own son's name. ]
Then swing your blade!
[ Crimson blood foamed at Eurypon's mouth, a wide, crazed grin encompassing his broken features as the spear pressed against his chest. ]
The crown means nothing to me. [ Mydei's own voice was harsh, filled with anger and desperation. ] All I want is your life! To avenge my mother and my comrades!
[ Eurypon's laughter chilled Mydei's blood, though his hand remained steady. ]
Do you truly think you can escape fate's grasp, my son? You and I… we're both the same… We feast on strife and fear… Now…! Kill me!
[ Mydei plunged his spear through his father's chest, Eurypon's choking laughter ringing in his ear as his dying words echoed in the stillness of Mydei's chest. ]
The son of Gorgo is destined to be crowned in blood.
III. Wildcard
[Go ham! DM me, we can plot things or just idk post something, and I will respond!]
i
They are both lucky, then, that her instincts had long been honed. Just as her opponent stops short, so too does her strike. The tip of her scythe kisses the tip of a knuckle, life and death balanced on a single moment.
Immediately, she steps back, allowing her weapon to disperse. Her eyes trace along gauntlets of gold and skin of red, until finally coming to rest upon the sight of a familiar face.
She isn't sure if she should sigh in relief or cry out in despair. Something surely was not right in this moment. Nothing about the dreary sky above them, nor the gnarled and haunted trees in their periphery seemed familiar.]
Lord Mydei-?
[Shamefully, no other words seem capable of forming.]
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i. as promised
sorry cyrene
she might be sorry but im not
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i. crystal rain
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i. i fear this is a bad way for them to meet
no this is just a meet cute
meetcute: we nearly kill each other and we're basically the same dude
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ii.b
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iia
sorry Allen
hi im back. wildcard like we talked about :)
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Kanao Tsuyuri | Demon Slayer | Current player, current character
content warnings: child abuse, child death, slavery, vague suicidal ideation
[ Though the faint light the lanterns provide compels, the glow filtering from Kanao's will be still and comforting as the grave. The moment the person in question steps near, one of two memories will curl round them.
The first is one defined by cold and starvation, sharp fractals of strung-together days spent in abject poverty. A family that could not bolster itself: a dirty, hungry girl in tattered clothing, who exists in a day-to-day defined by fear. That fear grows and balloons until it one day bursts, far too heavy a burden for one so young. And then there is nothing. The scene flattens, from poison-bright color into blissful, unabating apathy.
The perspective shifts. Her parents make a deal. She is exchanged. She is strung along by a rope tied round her waist so that she will not run. The thought never occurs. She has not been afraid since that day, nor sad, nor angry. This existence is equally colorless, and it is hardly terrible, for she does not care.
The reintroduction of color is in flowering pinks and vibrant purples. Two girls, one kind and one sharp: beautifully adorned, with hairpins shaped like butterflies. They grab her hand in hand and drag her out of the mire of that existence, and she is not grateful for it. In the moment, she does not care.
The memory shifts, exploding into kaleidoscopic color. There is the suggestion of time leaping forward an imperceptible amount. Her name is Kanao, and she stands outside of a resplendent Japanese-styled mansion that smells, ever-present, of wisteria. There is budding emotion tangled in her chest. She thumbs a coin in her right hand, turning it over, and over, and over.
She counts the number of times she must turn it before she permits herself to enter the mansion. Five. She counts the number of steps it will take to bring her to her master's – sister's – room. Twenty-three. Her eyes alight upon a back draped in a butterfly-patterned haori, as slight as it has been since the year she donned it, and those emotions coalesce.
She is overwhelmed by the urge to be near this person. To hold painfully tight. She kneels on the tatami and balls the ends of her skirt in her hands. Kanao longs to call her sister.
Instead, she says: ] "I would like to train more with you, master."
[ Shinobu smiles at her. It is a smile more free of anger than she has seen from her in years. For a single crystallized moment, Kanao allows herself to hope.
The memory ends with a shattering sensation of immense loss. The apathy erodes all at once, actualized into pain with such sharp clarity that the scene itself fractures. ]
✿ the wind has blown but now i know – guiding bonds in the dark
[ When Kanao's world slides into unexpected darkness, she is not as panicked as she ought to be, initially. Her first understanding of the situation is that she has finally fully lost vision in both her eyes, overtaxed from overuse long after her technique's use. When her hands grope in the dark and slip something onto her wrist, it is only out of instinct.
Sight and clarity return. Kaburamaru, thankfully, still remains coiled about her neck. The scene that she finds herself in is... unfamiliar, as the Grove had been, but far more immediately concerning. It is dark, and damp, and unpleasant. Her skin crawls with reproach, then fear as the weight round her wrist tightens when she adjusts her arm.
She turns her head fully to stare at the person beside her, then focuses ahead. ]
... we should move.
✿ that tomorrow will be kinder – wildcard
You know the drill! I am flexible, so put anything you would like in here. If you would also like to explore a different memshare, please feel free to DM me!
bonds because i must
Regardless, even as he throws on a bracelet, he finds himself muttering and swearing. Irritation creeps through him, and likely through the newly formed bond. He opens his mouth to complain -
and snaps it shut when he spots Kanao. Fuck. Humiliation spirals through their shared bond, and he quickly tries to pull away -
only to feel that faint tether between them.]
Shit.
Yay!!
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Lanterns. Its sibling time.
SIBLING TIME.
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Phainon | Honkai: Star Rail | TDM!
I. Beginning of the End
[As far as greatswords go, Dawnmaker is quite the formidable weapon. Forged by the Grand Craftsman Chartonus, it is a blade that has bathed itself in the divine ichor of slaughtered gods. Perfectly balanced, heavy enough that not just any soldier is able to wield it.
Perhaps most formidable of all is the way it swings toward you with the deadly weight of an unstoppable guillotine.
The blow, naturally, never lands, because its master pivots the blade sideways to strike empty air instead mere moments before disaster. Wild-eyed and breathless, Phainon stares at you as if he's just as confused about where the attack came from. Crystalline blue eyes dart down to the tip of the sword now buried in the dirt, then back up, and down again. When they settle on you for the last time, there's a clear pang of guilt that crosses his face.]
…Sorry, I don't… Know why I did that. Are you alright? I didn't cut you anywhere, did I?
II. Stride to Deliverance
[The little motes of golden light that contain Phainon's scatterings of memory are warm, radiant suns in their own right. Encountering one in the wild will leave the viewer transported to one of two possibilities.
The first comes with the balmy scent of wheat on a sea-misted breeze, the swaying golden stalks stretching tall as far as the eye can see. It's almost like one of those peaceful utopias that only exist in storybooks, a place eternally untouched by the fires of war and strife. Birdsong wafts through the air alongside auburn leaves carried along by the gentle winds, and a boy no older than ten lays amidst the fields of grain. His eyes are on the cerulean blue of the sky, watching lazy white clouds drift across as if he has nothing better to do than to squish the crops he's laid himself onto.
Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, a fluffy white puppy leaps out from between the stalks of wheat to slam down directly on the boy's chest. It knocks the wind out of him, and he fights for breath that his laughter steals away the moment it enters his lungs.
The second memory... Is far less pleasant. The acrid stench of blood and ash has strangled all other fragrance from the air, and the sky is darkened beneath a blood-red sun. The fields have all been burned to nothingness, and the nearby farmhouses seem to sag in disrepair beneath the weight of their own desolation. The wind whistles, sharp and mean as it rakes across all that's left in the wake of complete, utter destruction.
What once was an idyllic utopia is now nothing more than ruin.
The boy from before is the only one who remains, older now and covered in soot and blood that has long since dried to his skin in swatches of crimson red and molten gold. Tear tracks cut stripes down his cheeks, and it's clear that he's still crying even as his face remains worryingly blank. His arms shake as he lifts a final shovelful of earth onto the mound he's compiled, chest heaving from the strain as he lets the shovel clatter to the ground. His steps are unsteady as he moves to pick up a crude slab of battered wood, upon which has been carved the name CYRENE.
He hesitates.
His hands tremble.
He drives the wood into the earthen mound to serve as a grave marker and stands motionless before it for... Quite some time. Then, finally, he retrieves his shovel and sets about digging the next one.
As an extra third bonus memory, if you roll a d100 and get above an 80 you can be treated to... Whatever the hell this is. Don't play this in front of company and turn your volume down. I'm sorry.]
III. By Sword and Thread — (Closed to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
warchiseled)
[If it had been entirely up to Phainon, he would have left the mysterious bracelets alone. He was once a student beneath the Great Blasphemer after all, and was no stranger to alchemical creations hidden in plain sight as mundane items. Unfortunately, he did still need his sight, as he lacked the ability to navigate the world via the golden threads under Aglaea's employ.
So, on his wrist the thing had gone. Which had lead to...]
Would you quit yanking on the thing? [The complaint is snapped with no real venom, although he punctuates it with a tug of his own against the invisible tie that seems to bind his wrist to Mydei's own.] We can't exactly find a way out of here if we're playing tug-of-war the whole time, now can we?
[...Bickering aside, there's really no one else he'd rather be stuck to in this situation. Which is probably made apparent by the simmering emotion of warm affection that underlays every snipe he makes. Ugh.]
I wish we had something to mark the ways we've already been. Thread would be ideal, but maybe you can gnaw scores of teeth marks into the roots?
IV. Sky and Earth Churn Mortal Froth
[Once upon a time, in a day of youthful indulgence long since past, a much younger Phainon would have been scolded by his pair of doting parents for the scene currently unfolding. He's never been quite sure whether the insistence of being out too long in the rain being the cause illness holds any real weight, but the specifics don't quite matter now.
What does matter is this: he is very much an adult these days, and therefore he's entitled to make his own dumb decisions as long as he is willing to contend with the consequences. Said decisions involve finding him sprawled out flat on his back in the middle of the town, the royal blue of his chlamys a stripe of contrast against the grass where he's rolled it beneath his head to serve as a pillow. His eyes are closed, and he's soaked to the bone as he simply... Lounges. Comfortable beneath the spray of shimmering divine rain. A rare moment of pure, selfish indulgence.
...Actually, with the steady rising of his chest, he might just be napping. Which, really, is just as rare.]
V. The Wheel Spins Forevermore — Wildcard!
[Have a plot bunny you want to throw at me and nothing here suits your fancy? Go nuts! Alternatively, feel free to pm me to hash something out. You can find me at
III. Time to Choke out a Minotaur
Mydei turned to look at him, eyes settling on the man beside him that even without the bond very much indicated that he was fed up with Phainon.]
HKS. What kind of suggestion is that? What do you think I am? A beaver?
[He yanked at the bracelet again, hoping that it was hard enough to knock Phainon off his feet, even just a little.]
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iv :)
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i want iv :)
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i !
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shinobu kocho 🦋 demon slayer 🦋 oldbie
the lantern in the hanging tree - childhood
( you find yourself standing in a tatami room. it smells of flowers, and two kind looking adults- a man and a woman in fine kimono- are getting ready to put their daughters to bed. yes, they're both old enough to do it themselves, but they are loving and attentive parents, who enjoy getting one last chat before it's time to sleep. there's a noise outside, something scraping against the wall, but none of the four notice.
they unfold the futons together, and there's a sound of grinding teeth. claws dig into the wood of the windowsil, and moonlight frames horns and a crouching demon as it sits- and then lunges for mother. it's teeth rip into her throat, and father screams her name, places between it and the girls before trying to free his wife- kanae holds shinobu close, backs into a corner closet where they futons had been, neither girl able to look away. father tries to fend the demon off, but claws tear into his stomach and the demon screeches something incomprehensible to little ears. father instead turns, stumbles close- is he reaching for the girls one last time, trying to shield them? or trying to get them and run with his last strength? it matters not, the demon leaps on his back and blood splatters on the girls' clothes as father's hand falls on the wood they sit on.
the demon looks to them. tilts its head with a clicking noise. and then a large mace flings its way into it's head. a man taller than anyone they've ever seen with milky white eyes and a scar on his forehead appears. and he weeps. )
the lantern in the hanging tree - the last dance
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guiding bonds in the dark - closed to akaza
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Nicholas D. Wolfwood | Trigun Stargaze | Current Player
B) Memory of a Memory | OTA
C) The Labyrinth | OTA
hi :) B1 pls but slightly? wildcardy? idk yell at me if this sucks
]
no I love you
just blows through this bc you saw the anime i dont have to mansplain to you-
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A pwease
:)
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Baby Saja // K-Pop Demon Hunters // Current muse + player
[ The lights associated with Baby’s memories are less a light and more like… an ember. They’re small, barely there, and flicker like they could go out any moment. It’s likely that running across them is a complete accident with how faint they are.
But all the same, they settle across whomever finds them like all the others. It’s a wash of white with the impression of color. Like a painting that’s been bleached by the sun and became indistinct with time. Interestingly the setting is clearer than any one person in the memory. A village in Korea somewhere, from the details that remain.
A boy stands with a group of indistinct people, happy, then over time more and more of the people begin disappearing or leaving, creating a feeling of panic as the boy is left alone to look for where they’ve all gone.
A voice softly speaks: ]
All you can count on is yourself. Who needs anyone else?
[ And then it’s over, and you’ve been dropped right in front of someone. Baby tilts his head and raises an eyebrow ]
Anyone home? You’ve been kind of staring into space.
[ He thinks you’re kind of weird. Congratulations! ]
Into the Unknown ♡2》
[ Sure, he was a demon and he’s used to the darkness, but this was a bit much for even him, he finds. He can’t see a single thing where he’s been dropped and he can tell from how his hands feel against the ground that his claws are out- why was he in this form? He’s pretty sure he’s been consistently human-passing up to this point? He comes across the bracelet quickly once he starts feeling around, and he seems more startled by the fact that it restores his sight than anything else. He doesn’t notice anyone else there immediately– or he purposely ignores them. One or the other. It doesn’t occur to him that there’s a link between the bracelets until he starts walking and his arm is tugged back. ]
– What?
[ He tests it again, tugging gently, then follows the line back to another person. Oh. Lovely. ]
I guess they want us to do this in pairs?
[ He doesn’t sound upset or anything, but he feels quite pointedly unenthused. ]
Wildcard ♡3》
[ Any downtime stuff can go here! Cmere i love bothering people. Dm me if you want something specific. ]
2
And, notably, not the kind of scenario she would imagine herself in! Especially with a person she has never met! She can practically taste the disdain.
Sorry, Baby. Telepathic communication time. ]
I... suppose so! I am certainly not looking forward to doing this in heels. And with a complete stranger. Or with us chained together. Or not knowing where we are. Or –.
1
Lavi | D.Gray-Man | currents
✑ COMING TO THE TREE
[There's something about the tree that pulls Lavi to it, perhaps it's the ties that it has to memories and his own memory—the way it never lets go. So he'll be there, staring up into the branches as the storm is starting to roll in. Until his gaze is pulled from the side to a glow nearby.]
Mm?
[Head level now, you can see that he's got an eye-patch over the right eye that was previously closed. Question is, do you stop him before he reaches out to touch this nearby light holding (as yet unknown) a memory of yours? Or is Lavi able to grasp at the insubstantial mote?
Worse yet, do you rush into it yourself and get one of Lavi's memories instead?
Side note: he will not be thrilled at this. Not that he'll blame you.As a reminder, for Lavi's memories you have a choice of a) him having to kill his first friend, b) his fight inside his own mind/Rhode's dream, c) his body fighting Allen while trapped in his own mind/Rhode's dream, and d) watching his mentor die whilst Lavi is pinned against the wall.]✑ HELIX UNRAVELED
[The darkness, while temporary, has left him feeling as if he were back home, locked once again in his mind in that bed. Fumbling, again, he reaches out into the void, trying to find anything to ground him. The panic that starts to set in might still leak through as Lavi somehow reaches his hand through the bracelet without even noticing it was there.
And he stumbles. Catching himself just shy of the limits of the bracelet with a grunt, barely seeing the flare of the chain before it disappears. It gets his head to turn towards it and thus, seeing his new buddy-pal-broski for this whole...trap.]
...Please don't tell me this is 'nother camp, yeah?
[At least this one doesn't have booty-shorts.]
✑ WILDCARD
[See Lavi. See Lavi either on his way to or from the river, despite the horrible weather, with a bucket in hand. If he's on his way back then he's got shells in there.
Or maybe you see Lavi at the river itself? Digging in the shoreline and telling stories to his golem. At least for as long as the summon is active. David and Goliath, anyone?
Might also spy him at the bar, huddled in a booth, with either one of Ydalir's many magic books to try and translate or he's got a notebook (not the netbook) out and is charting out...stars??? Some of them might look familiar, if you're from Earth.
Don't see anything you like? Reach out on plurk or discord (astrellaria/astrell.aria) and we can plot things. Sorry things short, brain distracted.]
✨let's swap tree memories
Lavi of course will experience his own horrors as the pathways of memories cross and weave together. Kanda had vaguely described this battlefield in the mess hall at camp while trying to put Allen's ADHD-addled babbling into proper words, but he also isn't the most descriptive person either. Seeing it is something else entirely...
]
🌳
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helix time
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holds my hands out for memories (surprise me)
lmao this one is so much meatier...also probably less coherent somehow????
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i choose... wildcard
sorry for the delay!!!
Helix Unraveled
sorry for the delay!!!
No worries!
Nelson Tethers | Puzzle Agent | TDM!
1 | WAKE UP! *SLAP*
Nelson blinks a few times, swaying side to side as if he just woke up. His eyes glance around, trying to make sense of what is going on.
And then he sees the person. And the pipe.
Safe to say, whatever daze Nelson was in is gone. He drops the pipe like it bit him, wheeling backwards a foot or two.
And speaking of biting…an awful, copper taste does not seem to leave his mouth.
His hands slap over his mouth as his tongue runs over his teeth, trying to find a gap to no avail. Just more of that sickening, copper taste.
His eyes never leave the person in front of him, watching as if they were the one who almost killed him.
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2 | A Stroll Down Memory Lane
Till | Alien Stage | Current Player
1C
Min does try to save face, smiling and raising an awkward hand, but it might be too late to undo the damage.]
Hi. Good to see you.
[Is it???]
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Tengen Uzui | Demon Slayer | Current
i-ii
The scent hits him first — he knows the smell of blood, after all. His hand falls to his sword even before his vision clears properly. Whatever may come, he will be ready for a fight.]
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ii
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Sorry for this in the horrors month –
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i-iii
i-i fuck me up fam
II
Lodi | Destiny 2 | Current
content warning for possession.
[ The golden lights bloom across the Grove, bright spots in the rain-laden dreariness. Approaching one in particular will introduce the distinctly sharp scent of ozone into the air. Though it should be disconcerting, once coaxed closer, you will find yourself drawn into the swimming depths of a vivid memory.
Lodi – Louis Yero, a disembodied voice corrects, like a thrum in the back of that onlooker's mind – stands in a nondescript office building in a sharp brown suit. Both are symbolic of the times. The hour is late – he ought to have gone home for the evening, to a waiting apartment, to normalcy. Instead, he stands face to face with a door slightly ajar. He knows that it should be closed. He knows that there is a ringing coming from within that should not be possible. When he pushes the door open and steps inside, the rotary phone sat in the center of the table still boasts a cut, untethered wire.
It rings, nonetheless. Lodi – you – They – acknowledges a single truth nearly as easily as one might draw breath, but with the distinct sensation that it has been slide into his consciousness: if he does not answer this call, he will regret it for the rest of his life.
He picks up the phone.
The very world tips sideways, then continues to spiral unabated, into impossible angles. The floor has disappeared from beneath his feet, borne away by a roaring subway train. He tips upside down. The city of Chicago is a spattering of ruin in the backdrop of his mind splitting into nine pieces. The sky is painted a blood red, and the distant shape of massive, encroaching pyramids yawns across the horizon. Something is coming. Something is ending. The – world. Everything.
The sensation of loss and change are as real and intimate as his own organs. Something reaches across time and space and physicality to touch his outstretched fingertips, and he is cleaved in twain. He awakens with the worst headache he has ever experienced, in a suit so singed it is nearly unrecognizable.
He is told, in no uncertain terms, that he cannot go home. A woman that wears a face he recognizes from a hundred lifetimes ago does not recognize him and tells him that there is one city left – how could that be possible? How could they all be gone?
He is told that all those vibrant lives that he had touched what feels like weeks ago have been summarily blotted out, and that there is nothing he can do. There is nothing anyone can do.
He cannot go home. A sense of loss so cavernous that he feels hollowed out digs into his soft underbelly. There are nine points of weight settled onto the breadth of his shoulders. They cannot shake.
He has to remember it. He is the only one alive who remembers his family. Their names. Hundreds of cities. Thousands of languages. Millions of species. Billions upon billions of human lives. Remember. Remember.
Time is incongruous. Fallible. Lodi – Louis – sits with his face in his hands. He misses so terribly that the grief feels as though it has consumed his whole being. They are gone, and he is here. The sorrow rings in his ears like a distant death knell, and he cannot quiet it no matter how hard he presses his palms against them.
He lies down in bed, repeating his family's names aloud. When he last slept it was for fourteen hours, dragged behind the tail of a comet. The prior week, he straddled two timelines thousands of years apart, and lost a week in the present. The Nine bring him up to speed in great leaps, uncaring for the limits of human physicality or psychology. They twist him inside out.
Eventually, he sleeps. When he rouses, he is four-legged. He is wrong. He is six-legged. He cannot speak. He scrambles across blistering sand and betwixt the ruins of the underground of Chicago, wretchedly nauseous with the understanding that he is not meant to be here. He does not know where – where is he supposed to be, if not here?
The question rings in the back of his mind like a second voice when he snaps to lucidity. He has turned his blanket to platinum. His skin has shifted on the Periodic Table, and he forces it back between layers of minerals and gases with the corner of his thumbnail until he feels realigned.
When he lays back down, he feels less human than he has ever felt. The memory fizzles. ]
ii. guiding bonds in the dark
content warning for smoking.
[ It would be one thing for the entirety of this month to be composed solely of ridiculous invasions of privacy and unreasonable buckets of rain. The cherry on the top is when he rouses and cannot discern the time, nor the location. There is the distinct scent of damp soil in the air. No matter how many times he shoves a hand up beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes, he cannot will them to work.
Instinct dictates he grope blindly in the dark. When his fingers glance upon an object, that same instinct guides it onto his wrist. It becomes heavy and inescapable in the same breath that his vision returns. He nearly wishes it hadn't when his senses finally acclimate to the dark.
He had experienced the horrors of the Grove in an incredibly limited capacity. The woodcrawlers, and the Deep Root disease – he had not been present for anything further. And, yet, he finds himself exasperatedly unsurprised by the state of affairs. For a brief moment, he is so utterly overwhelmed by that anger that his hands shake in their bonds.
That is what, eventually, clues him in to the other person at the other end of their tether. Lodi's anger shifts into something undefined, then reformats into anxious concern. His lips twist around a bitter taste in his mouth. ]
Shit. ¡Ya valió madre! [ Practically bristling from the onset of frayed nerves, Lodi carelessly shoves his unshackled hand into his pocket. He yanks out a tattered box of cigarettes and an equally aged lighter. He is mildly careful not to wrench at the tether as he swaps the lighter to his opposite hand, shoving a cigarette between his teeth. ] ¡Ya nos cargó el payaso!
[ In one smooth, practiced motion, he lights the cigarette. He takes a generous amount of smoke in, pulling it into his lungs. When he exhales, his breath shakes. He lingers in the aftermath of the nicotine for a precious few seconds before pocketing the lighter. He shoots an apologetic glance sidelong. ]
Sorry, uh – I hope the smell doesn't bother you. I – was gonna go crazy otherwise.
iii. wildcard
You know what to do with this one!!!! Tag me with anything! Or DM me if you'd like to discuss something more specific!
i
[He doesn't want to go find this guy and be like "Hey, man, just saw you having the WORST time, sorry dude." that's weird and awkward and probably patronizing? But ...something struck home about some of that in a way that makes Dipper think maybe he should let him know he's not quite as alone as he might think.]
[So Dipper does what he does best when he's not sure how to tackle something and needs to work through how to communicate to another person like a normal ass human: he bakes. Hopefully Lodi doesn't have any glaring allergies.]
[Lodi gets a knock on his door at some point, accompanied by the smell of baked goods.]
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i :)
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Dipper Pines | Gravity Falls/Deer Country CRAU | Current
Memshare cw: blood, horror, madness, detailed description of monsterous body modification
[The memory starts with a violent change of scenery. Gone is the forest, the idyllic little village. The bright pops of flowers and whimsical animals. Instead your feet hit the hard stone of a dark and dreary street. The sky above is dark and overcast, the architecture, while beautiful, is foreboding and almost hostile. There's the scent in the air of the city- an intermingling of smells like waste and rot that may be more inline with an urban city out of the industrial era, but there is one other thing that permeates, and that's blood, it's tang clings to your senses and is impossible to shake off.]
[Maybe you'll get used to it? It's not your current focus, anyway. Yours- no, Dipper's focus is something else. He walks with a purpose down these streets, and a few things become clear. He's much younger, not a single scar on his face, and he fits in with the rest of environment. Though the city appears dense and vast, there aren't much in the way of people out on the streets. It's almost like something's got them scared.]
[The look in his eyes is determined, but there is something off about it. The circles around his eyes, the near pallidness of his skin. His eyes dart about in a way that doesn't seem ...right. Dipper does not look to have gotten sleep in a very long time, he does not look to have been taking care of himself, and he his jumpy and paranoid. Yet, he carries on, moving through the streets and alleys like he's looking for something. He checks down small paths, looks up at fire escapes, touches seemingly random objects left in the gutter before shaking his head and muttering and continuing on.]
[Then ...something changes. Dipper goes still, but not like something caught his attention, like his entire body was put on pause. He blinks before his eyes start to widen. He can't move, something is totally negating his powers. Something has him, and he feels the way the hair on the back of his neck starts to stand on end. Danger, he's in danger. Is this what happened to his uncle? Is this why he can't find him?]
[He hears a laugh, but it rings like tinnitus in his ears. The entity soon makes itself known. Something that may have once been a person, but their features are warped, skin removed, stretched and stitched, limbs twisted, held in place with chains and hooks. They walk in a ghastly, uncanny way as the come to face Dipper. Eyes that no longer line up, one pulled down, the other up, focus on him with delight, smiling a smile that splits the mouth literally.]
"New and fresh...how fortuitous. So fresh from Mariana's embrace you know not what power you hoooold...Your blood will be a lovely offering to the Patrons."
Let me go! Are you the one who took Great Uncle Ford?!
[The laugh again, and he feels something touch his face.]
"I remember ...when I was so young and naive. Unenlightened. Ignorant to the power our blood holds. The things I could show you, you'd never look back. What a pity I need you for the alter. In order to continue turning the great wheel, blood must spill. Blood is life, blood is all, blood is-"
[Lightning, something hot blasts close enough to him that he feels the heat sting on his skin. It strikes the other with a force strong enough to send them flying, and Dipper feels his body his own again. He steps back quickly, getting behind whoever came to his rescue. One thing stays in his mind as he's trying to get to safety.]
[Blood-crazed Zealots were Sleepers once. Was it time that twisted them? The blood pollution in the air? Is this the fate that eventually awaits all of them..?]
[The memory ends with those lingering thoughts, that uncertainty and anxiety. It fizzles with the light.]
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Sanemi Shinazuguwa | Demon Slayer | Current
content warnings: abuse, child death, suicidal ideation
[ Approaching the gentle golden glow of this particular memory will bring with it warring emotions. Though it coaxes you closer by its very nature, stepping any nearer will immediately cause the hair to raise on the back of your neck. A budding sense of foreboding will begin to grow the further you encroach into the memory.The first few moments of the memory are collapsed into shards, sharp and painful as glass. Agony stretched over years condensed into mere seconds, with only glimpses displayed in startling, grotesque clarity. An eldest, forced to shelter an increasing number of bodies from angry blows. An intensely fostered desire to protect a mother. Immense relief and uncertainty, at odds, when his father is found dead. A promise: he will take care of their family, somehow.
The memory hones. The scene narrows.
The clicking buzz of crickets fills the air. The ambience sets the nerves on edge in spite of the prevailing quiet blanketing the night. There is a single room clustered with sleeping bodies: they are all children, and a range of ages. The youngest, at three years old, sleeps soundly. The sense of foreboding persists, pervading even this seemingly quiet scene.
A hand rattles at the door. The children leap to their feet, roused into hopefulness. Their mother had been missing since the early hours of the morning. When they rush to the door, feet pounding on the cheap flooring, it caves beneath a sudden, immense pressure.
Four lives are snuffed out in the span of an instant. Blood sprays across the cramped interior. The children have no time to react as their mother shoves her way inside, slavering teeth bared. Her nails, twisted and gnarled into inhuman claws, cut through them with unabating, primal hunger. A familiar face to some swims into view: Genya curls against a far wall, bleeding from a cut hewn by those very claws. Five bodies end up strewn across the tatami before Sanemi sprints into the room, tackling his mother with the full weight of his body before she can snap her teeth into Genya.
His hand clings to the first weapon he had been able to get his hands on: a butcher's knife. He doesn't know what had come over his mother. She had always been overwhelmingly gentle even in the face of terrible adversity. She had never shown her children an ounce of cruelty, even while weathering unbelievable amounts of it. Now, she howls and claws at him. It is as if she has become a different person entirely.
Her demeanor changes when Sanemi bleeds. Her movements grow sluggish, almost drunken. She staggers at him with a renewed hunger, saliva pouring from her bloodied fangs. He is afraid, but – she hurt Genya. She hurt his siblings. He can't – he has to protect him. He swings until her movements start to flag, until the sun starts to rise over the distant horizon, and then he stands saturated in her blood while the light blooms.
Genya cradles their mother's body in his arms as her limbs begin to unfurl into ash and, wailing and desperate, calls him murderer.
He stumbles out of their hometown that very day to a world steeped in grey. Life had lost every last vestige of worth and color. He is pushed forward by a single, burning determination: to rid this world of the very creature his mother had been twisted into.
The scene snaps, then frays, unfurling outward. The time is marked by every new scar on Sanemi's body. The demons slaver the very instant his blood is spilled. The pain, the risk – they don't matter, so long as he can kill demons. He collects every manner of weaponry that he can utilize to cobble together his makeshift arsenal. He throws himself carelessly at demon after demon, bleeding freely. He never once thinks about dying, except in brief moments of relief.
There are spots of positivity. Vicious triumph when he strings the demons up and watches them burn to ash in the morning's rays. He does not know how long he does this for, only that he must.
And then – he is found. Bloodied, bristling, by a young man not much older than he, in a black uniform with a blade at his hip. He is swanned unceremoniously under his wing, and told he will be cultivated. To properly kill demons. That scene ends in blood, too, but it is so viscous and black that it saturates every point of perspective into the memory. It ends with a distinct, hollowing sense of loss. ]
ii. SOMBER RAINY MORNINGS
content warnings: expected content warnings for corruption. body horror!
[ Sanemi has come to a distinct understanding within the month that he has been present here in the Grove. This place was shit. It might possibly be even shittier than the place he had come from, and that was saying something.
He can only recall what occurred in the labyrinth in fragments. Being strung up in gnarled roots – the roots taking hold, keeping their hold, even as he was coaxed down – an ever-present pain, and a budding understanding over the course of the month that something had sunk deep inside him. He had spent the rest of that month feeling as though he was back in that halfway point between alive and dead, experiencing his comeuppance for escaping the fight with Upper Moon One solely due to his arrival in that stupid summer camp.
Then, suddenly, as he finds himself moving painfully outdoors, the clouds are cleaved in twain. A creature out of a fairytale swims through the sky overhead, clustered in stars. Rain weeps from the sky and Sanemi finds himself stricken by a sudden, primal fear. At the same time, he feels… for one reason or another, that he should let the rain wash over him, in spite of his misgvings. He had been weathering a constant whispering in the back of his mind since the roots had taken hold, and had learned not to trust them.
He forces himself into a polite kneel outside, tipping his head back. If a passerby sees him, they might notice that his fingers are white-knuckling the grass, and that his posture is strung tight like a bow. ]
iii. WILDCARD
As per usual! The one important note is: Sanemi is set to #die in the Labyrinth, so that is open season for a wildcard. Otherwise, I'm flexible as always! If you have any specific ideas in mind, please feel free to DM.
iii. you know what this is
Strung up.
Unbreathing.
Dead.
By now, he has learned that death is never permanent. Yet it does not take away the way something painful, something agony inducing, fractures its way through his heart.
It feels like it takes forever to slash the roots holding Sanemi up. Maybe it takes hours. Maybe it takes only seconds. He'll have to resharpen the blade later. That doesn't matter. He'd snape the damn thing in two if it meant being able to get his friend down faster.
He pries Sanemi from the grasp of those roots, but he can see that fragments remain. Somehow, that's the worst part.
How long he sits in the rain, clutching that body, he does not know. He wonders if the corpse will disappear before long, as so many seemed to do. Maybe it would be better, if it did. Certainly, Kyojuro does not want Genya to see this.
Time continues to pass. He does not let go.]
YIPPEE! CW body horror
CW body horror
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ii - we corrupt together, we uncorrupt together-
Just two guys sitting in the rain...
no feet apart bc it is gay
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Urbain | Pokemon Legends: Z-A | Current
i. urbain is in a maze
ii. floette gets put in a hamster ball (NOT CLICKBAIT) (EMOTIONAL)
iii. after rain vibing
iv. wildcarde
i.
Friend, shall we try going right this time? Maybe a change of strategy will do us some good.
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Astrid | OC | Current
Cat 2: Return of Cat.
Wildcard.
cat 2 received excellent reviews i hear
An excellent decision, considering the fact he would have been splattered with mud otherwise.
He turns to face the culprit fully, a number of colorful words ready on his lips, but finds them dying on his tongue almost immediately. He recognizes those ears, you see, even stained with mud and slicked down as they are.]
Astrid?
[What a cruel twist of face this was.]
box office hit 4 weeks running
damn can't wait to see the international returns
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tree time-
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Hanging Tree
Katsuki Bakugo | My Hero Academia | TDM
[ After spending the latter half of two years in near-constant conflict, feeling utterly entangled in danger feels nearly as familiar as the blistering heat of his quirk.
The surroundings do not immediately register. All he is aware of in the present moment is that there is a need to defend himself and an obvious means to do so. The ignition clicks from the extended points of each finger, traveling up the length of one steadily extended arm. The heat builds from palm to forearm and he grits his teeth in preparation to unleash a characteristically bombastic blast when... abruptly, reason prevails.
Wow. Talk about a rare occurrence! Not that this complete stranger would know such a thing.
He swings his arm away, points it in the most immediately open direction, and directs a series of clustered ignitions up into the sky. The sound and the visuals are as suitably earth-shattering as one might expect for literal explosions, but other than leaving a ringing in the ears they are, thankfully, otherwise harmless.
At least for the moment. The look on Bakugo's face is rather far from apologetic. In fact, he's curling his lip. ]
Do you mind?! Back the hell up.
💥 WILDCARD!
I'M ONLY DOING ONE PROMPT BUT FEEL FREE TO PUT OTHER STUFF HERE THANKS BYE.
i
I-- I'm sorry? You weren't there a second ago! Are you okay?
[ Because in his mind the guy must feel threatened if he's attacking out of nowhere. And uh Aira is possibly the least threatening boy to exist. ]
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Min-Gi Park | Infinity Train | Current Player, Current Character
wildcard - watchtower :3
For as depressed and sort of out of it as Vildred has been for a while, he's still finding himself able to flounce into the seat across from Min-Gi easily enough.]
Hey Min-Gi! You don't care if I join you, right?
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Alma Karma | D.Gray-Man | TDM
II. Ros Manes
III. Wildcard
II hi hello hey-
...
Allen tries to get himself to speak several times, opening and closing his mouth as if words will just come tumbling out from that alone. And it's funny, because Alma barely knows Allen, despite the fact that Allen knows far too much about him than he should. Something that was meant to be private, between him and Kanda.
His eye has flared automatically, signifying the "demon" in front of him, but he does not care. He just staggers over to Alma finally and collapses to his knees to give him a hug. ]
hello! I am here to cause pain and problems
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also II. hi :) hello. goodbye to kanda's mental health
no trust Alma is here to make it better
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i—bc it took me a hot moment to decide....
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Cyrene | HSR | Current
i. (late month)
ii. (late month)
iii. (any time)
iii
It's as he's passing by with a small crate in his arms that Cyrene calls to him, and his steps hesitate, eyebrows lifting as he turns to look at her. He... doesn't think he's seen her before? He'd remember hair that color, certainly. ]
Ah... Begging your pardon, my lady. Are you hailing me?
[ There isn't anyone else in the immediate vicinity, but still. ]
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i. I'M HERE. FINALLY.
YOU'RE RIGHT ON TIME!!
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i. :)
:)
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ii
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Jax | The Amazing Digital Circus | Current Player, New Character
A) Arrival | The Grove | OTA
B) Run Rabbit Run | The Grove Outskirts
C) Netbook | OTA
[Hi it's Chi the brainworms got me.]
B.
At first, the howling leads her to believe that the plant-twined hounds were in baying pursuit of some poor prey animal. When the prey animal in question speaks out in abject dismay, she discovers her initial assumption was not quite correct.
The distressed party in question appeared to be a tall, humanoid… purple rabbit? How novel! Oh, but he was in danger. And bleeding! She really ought to focus on the more immediate details. But how to steer him to safety… perhaps more expedient intervention was required? ]
Mr. Rabbit! Hello! If you would be so kind as to slow down for just a moment, I would be more than happy to offer my assistance!
[ Pay no mind to the fact that the communication is entirely telepathic. Or do! She really is trying to help, but she hasn’t managed to not startle the majority she’s tried to speak to unprompted. ]
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B!
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Hyacine | Honkai: Star Rail | Current Player, New Character
[ This rain just isn't letting up. Even during the day, the clouds block the sun, leaving it overcast and dreary at the best of times and rain-dark at others. Nasty weather, to be sure, and weather one certainly wouldn't want to be out in. Luckily, there are common spaces to get in out of the dampened air. The archives, the clinic, the Inn.
Today, in the lobby area of the Inn, there is a girl. Her blue-tipped pink pigtails gently bounce like the fluffiest clouds as she flits about, fluffing cushions and arranging what snacks she could find on a tray. A pot of tea sits on a small, folded cloth, with cups stacked carefully beside it. On one of the chairs sits a partially-finished project, a chipped teacup with a long bit of twine glued to the center of the inside.
Behind her floats a, frankly, very fat little pegasus that follows her as she moves about the space, occasionally trilling out a little noise. In fact, it's trilling now, as it sees someone entering the little nook Hyacine has set up. She turns to look, eyes bright and smile warm. ]
Oh, hello. Are you hiding away from this weather? It may be a dreary day outside, but in here, it's nice and warm and comfortable. Would you like to join me for tea? I have snacks as well, of course!
ii. 「I can go twice as high」 late month
[ The roar from the sky has surely caught the attention of most, if not all, of the Grove. For Hyacine, briefly, it evoked memories of battle, of Aquila's frantic siege. But upon rushing outside, fueled by a cold wave of adrenaline, it couldn't be any further from the case. There is a creature, some sort of dragon or serpent, but it isn't attacking. Instead, it parts the clouds, scattering them like shadows, leaving--
Iridescent raindrops falling from a bright blue sky painted in rainbows. Hyacine gasps softly, lips parting in a wide smile. ]
Oh... Little Ica, look! Isn't it beautiful?
Dudu duu!
[ Her hands clasp in front of her chest. For a long moment, she closes her eyes, her chin tilted up as the sun shines on her face and the gentle, shimmering rain splashes against her cheeks. ]
Now, the flowers will grow even brighter.
iii.「wildcard」
[ If you wanna do something else that doesn't fit into these prompts, feel free to plot with me on discord! ]
i
Miss Hyacine? Is that you?
[Of course she would want to make people feel at home, even when she was still getting settled herself.]
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II!
i
i. sort of but different