TDM - JANUARY 2021

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - JANUARY 2021

Good to the last gasp.
CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma and other problematic material, body horror, dolls, violence

---

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

JANUARY 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping. If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas. If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player. And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time. By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, the morning news is playing. The newscaster, a man in a gray suit and horn-rimmed glasses, keeps shuffling his paperwork on his desk as black and white footage of people in the midst of celebration — throwing streamers, wearing paper hats, toasting flutes of bubbly liquid — is interspersed between his droning report: ”New Year's Eve was in full swing last night as citizens from all over Santa Rosita came together to ring in 1961. A surge in ginger ale and sparkling cider beverage sales was reported by Honeybees as early as eight o'clock in the evening, a boon for the store…“

---

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961. If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke? A. CLOWN AROUND. If December was a time for sweet treats and good food, January is the month where everyone is trying to unload their leftovers. Who better to enjoy them than you, the newest family on the block? Your neighbors have quite a bit of food to share: Throughout the month, they'll stop by to say hello, bringing a new sugary dish with them each time. As always, jello molds are a staple. One plate turns into three turns into five, and by the end of the first week of January, you're likely to end up with a collection of jiggling pink, green, and orange lumps taking up space in your fridge. From mountains of Whip 'n Chill to Broken Window Glass cake, you'd be forgiven in thinking that there's no end to it. And yet, there's the occasional exception. Someone comes by with a Bundt cake lathered in vanilla icing and topped with rainbow sprinkles. Were it not for the giant candy clown head topping it, it would almost look good enough to eat. "There's a rumor going around that you've been a bit under the weather, so I thought this would cheer you up!" they say, right before thrusting the technicolor nightmare into your hands, the clown's dead pink frosted eyes staring up at you. Your neighbor is quick to tell you to eat it while the icing is still fresh (you never know who might lick it off when you're not looking, eh kids?), but not that the clown itself is made out of styrofoam. That's something you'll just have to find out for yourself when you take it back inside and start chowing down!

B. SNOW DAY

What awakens you one cold Friday morning isn't the blare of your alarm clock or your family getting ready to start their day or even the chilly air that tickles your toes as they poke out from the bottom of your covers, but the sound of hooting and hollering outside your window. The sight that awaits you when you go to investigate is something out of a Norman Rockwell painting: The entire neighborhood is outside, playing and carrying on in the snow. While everyone was sleeping, Santa Rosita got four inches of snow, more than enough for the schools to close but not enough to stop everyone from enjoying it.

And enjoy it they are! Children build snowmen in their front yards while their fathers work on shoveling their driveways. Most, however, are busy erecting snow forts in their yards and the middle of the street, running back and forth as they collect ammunition for an ongoing snowball fight that takes up half of the neighborhood. Nobody is spared from their assault, not even the adults, and especially not the newly arrived ones who leave the house. Good luck getting the mail, mom and dad!

"Come on! There's plenty of snow!" one young boy yells at you over a snowdrift. "You can join my team!"

"Nuh-uh!" another boy shoots back. "You can join my team!"

And on and on it goes. Well, for the pacifists among you, making snow angels is always an option!

---

THROUGHOUT JANUARY.

CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma, and other problematic material

There’s no business like show business! And business is hopping at the Starlight Drive-In, which has been boasting about its all-new film premiering on January 2nd and playing all month long. The critics are raving, the townspeople are flocking, and plans to go to the drive-in seems to be all anyone can talk about. “Make sure you get there early to see the serials,” many of them suggest, eyes wide with excitement. “I couldn’t look away!” Whether you come with your family, your friends, or simply come on your own, the lot is packed, Robbies and normal townsfolk alike beaming as they hook the individual speakers onto their cars. Apropos of the cold weather, the concession stand has added seasonal items to their menu, serving up hot chocolate and kettle corn in addition to its usual soda and popcorn. Watching a movie against a backdrop of gently falling snow while you're sipping on steaming chocolate and melted marshmallows has a certain je nais se quoi to it that even you have to admit is appealing. At last, when it's finally dark enough to start, the projector clicks on from the booth in the back of the lot and the movie begins. A. COMING ATTRACTIONS. The movie, Curse of the Doll People, is a horror flick. A real chill-o-rama, starring actors you've never heard of playing a group of archeologists who unknowingly trigger a deadly curse that sets a group of murderous living dolls upon them. The poster pasted on the ticket booth promises it'll be the most fun you'll have screaming. Unfortunately, you have to sit through several minutes of previews first. The coming attractions aren't anything special — a bunch of westerns, a romance, even a beach musical. Far from being bored to tears like you might be, the people in the cars around you are glued to the screen, popping snacks into their mouths and whispering their commentary among themselves. The movie is the reason why everyone's here, sure, but you don't just get one flick out of going to the pictures! There's also the serials, little 5—10 minute long chapter plays that tell a story in pieces. Nothing can beat those, and when the first one starts, everyone sits in rapt attention as if it were the feature presentation itself. But as the scene opens up on a sight that is instantly familiar to you, and your own face stares back at you from the projection screen, it becomes clear that this is no ordinary film. You watch your memories play out in grainy black and white footage, aired for all the world to see. Or perhaps not — though you may not realize it, the movie playing out on the screen differs from person to person. No one sees the same thing. The person next to you might see one of their worst fears come to life, whether imagined or real, practical or fantastic. You might see one of the worst moments of your life — the death of a friend, your hated enemy bringing you to the brink of death, your absolute lowest point — exactly the way you remember it... save for the way your double on the screen occasionally turns to face the audience, staring directly at you with a knowing smirk and a wink. Or the way your loved ones will sometimes go off-script, gazing at you with pleading eyes as they beg you to help them. The people of Santa Rosita will see an exciting battle between two pirate ships, swashbuckling and cannon fire in place of the traumas you're witnessing. When the serial ends on a cliffhanger, much to the disappointment of everyone around you, it's almost a mercy. "Tune in next week for the thrilling second part!" Well, you will, won't you?

---

END OF THE MONTH.

CW: body horror, dolls, violence

Aside from the horror of the drive-in, January might seem to be passing calmly... until one night, something changes. In the middle of the night, once you fall asleep in your comfortable bed (or on your couch, or with your head lolling against the kitchen table), a nightmare comes to you. The shift from whatever dreams you were having to the cold, dark void you find yourself standing in happens gradually and quietly. So too does the image that plays out in your mind's eye: From out of the darkness, a featureless mannequin stands ramrod straight, facing you with its arms pressed rigidly to its sides. It has no face, no identifying marks, no features at all. It's a blank slate in every sense of the word... until it isn't. Slowly, the material of the lower half of its face begins to split as a searing pain tears through your own, as if invisible fingers are ripping your lips off inch by inch. The slit on the doll's face widens and deepens until, finally, mercifully, its new mouth opens as yours disappears, replaced by a flat, smooth barrier of skin. Like it was never there to begin with. The pain returns, this time in your arms and neck — right as the doll's own begin to jerk. Your joints are hardening, seizing up as the doll's arms go from minutely twitching to slowly flexing. While every nerve and bone from your fingertips all the way up to your shoulders grows heavy, the doll tilts its head and looks down at its hands, as if seeing them for the first time. By the time it takes its first step, you've taken your last: the pain has spread to your feet, ankles and toes hardening and locking into place. Every part of you is claimed this way; what isn't taken by force simply fades from your body and shifts into being onto the doll's, your skin replacing its cloth body, your clothing dressing it, your hair filling out its head. Your tongue goes numb as the licks its newfound lips, coarse cloth and batting surging up from your lungs and all the way to the back of your throat. By the time it's over, you can't move. You can no longer breathe. All you can do is stare at the perfect, eyeless double of yourself standing before you. As your eyes begin to burn, the last thing you see before everything goes black is the sly curve of a smile — your smile — before the face wearing it turns away and walks back into the darkness. Luckily, you wake up to a room full of sunshine and the distant sound of traffic as the neighborhood gets ready for another beautiful day. The morning air feels cold and dry on your skin. You're you. As much as you've always been. Right?

A. DOPPELGANGER.

It's the kind of morning that makes you want to sing. Where the sky was once dull and grey, it's now a deep blue. Barring the usual hustle and bustle on the streets of Shadyside, the first sound that greets you when you wake up is the steady beat of water trickling outside your window as the snow begins to gently melt under the rays of the sun. You may even hear the chirp of a bird! January, in all its dreariness, is nearly at an end.

When you leave the room to go downstairs — or upstairs, if you slept in the living room — the house is quiet and flooded with sunlight. With how perfectly silent everything is, it's easy to mistake the calm for solitude and think you're alone.

This is not the case.

Waiting to greet you is a familiar figure. If you go downstairs, you'll see it sitting in your kitchen with its head bowed and its arms hanging limply at its sides; if upstairs, lying in your bed on its back. There's no mistaking who it is. Even at a distance, their hair, face, clothes and features all instantly recognizable, and you know who it is before you even fully register their presence:

You.

Motionless, your doppelganger looks more puppet than person. Its chest is still, not a single breath leaving its mouth. Its eyes are closed. They snap open when you get closer to it, wide enough to see the whites, as its head jerks up to look straight at you. In a staccato imitation of your voice, it chirps at you:

"Hi!"

"Good morning!"

"Hello!"

"Rise and shine!"

Your clone is a good imitation, but not a perfect one. Its movements are stiff and uncoordinated, like a marionette being commanded by unseen strings. Though its cheeks are rosy, its skin is pale and almost glossy with the texture of newly polished porcelain. None of these setbacks bother it in the very least. If left alone, it goes about the house mimicking your morning routine, though given how awkward just walking is for it, it's almost certain to do a very bad job. Still, it tries its hardest, following you all day around the neighborhood, trying to imitate your movements — all with a smile!

That is, until you become aggressive with it.

It doesn't take much to set your doppelganger off — a simple shove will do it. When that happens, its eyes will do the impossible and open even wider, its mouth yawning into a wail that pitches louder and louder. That's the point when it will lunge at you. Its hands will try to go for your throat, but not always. It's resourceful enough to improvise with whatever it has around it, whether that be a kitchen knife, a paperweight, or even a letter opener. Luckily for you, they're fragile. Just hitting them is enough to crack and chip away at their skin. With enough strength, their limbs can even come off. Unluckily, they don't stay down for long; even a severed appendage can be popped back into its proper ball-jointed place.

All the while, they never stop childishly whining and shrieking at you.

"Not nice!"

"Why are you so mean?!"

"Not nice, not nice, NOT NICE!"

The only way to shut them up for good is to keep pummeling them until they're nothing but a pile of doll parts. But be thorough — even a mouth that's nothing but a shard of porcelain can still talk.

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's second TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to February 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper. Additionally, starting today comments made to the TDM will now count towards Activity Check. Current players are permitted to use up to five comments from it for this month's Activity Check — half of the required amount to pass. The other five must be made within the game's communities.

If you would like to have January or other winter-themed content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

A note about the drive-in theater: Players are in full control over what memories, phobias, or fears the serials before the movie will depict. You can also specify whether or not other characters will be able to see your character's serial. Be sure to label your threads with relevant content warnings if needed!

---

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Comments

Elizabeth | Persona

[elevatorattendant]

01. January 1st
[ To awaken in such strange and alien circumstances with her connection to all power as she knew it severed was most intriguing, but Elizabeth seems to have embraced this obstacle wholeheartedly. There is so much to investigate, and it’s all so interesting. It’s as if she has some of her senses and a body that moves only in certain ways and not others.

A body like a human? That might just be the case, and the thought is utterly thrilling and perhaps a touch infuriating. It was, after all, quite rude to change her so without asking first. Anyone that might have been so fated to be within the same household as her will find looking as if she’s brimming with excitement as she pulls a photograph off the wall. She hasn’t the faintest clue who these people might be, but it looks as if they have such bonds with her in that image. ]

Why, it seems a most interesting puzzle has been laid out before me. [ She doesn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular as she holds the frame out in front of her. ]

02. Snow Day
[ It’s so cold, but she can’t make herself leave her snowy surroundings.

Whether it’s cheerfully engaging the local children’s games of snow-based warfare, or trying the more peaceful and artistic efforts, she’s been playing in the snow and isn’t shy about approaching any passersby. After all, it would be a shame if they missed out on the absolute joy that is partaking of this snow day. ]

Hello, would you like to join in the brutal subjugation of children? Or create sculptures, great yet fleeting works of art with me?

[ This is an entirely normal thing to say to someone. ]

03. Doppelgänger
Oh my, you’ve been disarmed! [ How it had devolved into a fight with her doppelgänger really was both the most inevitable and unimportant part of this. Rather, that Elizabeth was bloody nosed and clubbing down her alternate with its own arm right in her own front yard was likely of the most immediate interest. That she did so dressed perfectly period proper, having no end of fun playing dress up, was a bonus.

Really, it’s quite strange to fight without all her strength at hand. All of her usual ability is gone, her feet firmly planted to the ground, and this experience of being that of a human is… it’s delightful. When she realizes she’s drawn any sort of attention, she isn’t going to be so rude as to ignore her audience. ]

Ah, please excuse us, as you might see— [ A bit breathless, she has to pause as she stomps her dummy-self’s face. The heel of her shoe gets caught in its eye socket, and she half-stumbles, half-hops back as she loses it when she pulls away. Still, her smile is positively radiant. ] —we’ve decided upon gladiatorial combat.

04. Wildcard
[ Let's be real, Liz is somewhere out there doing something weird. If you want to come up with your own thing, go for it, or PM me. ]

January 1st

[measuringdistance]

[Chikai, on the other hand, is not nearly as endeared by the situation as she is. Since he woke up not too long ago, he's been doing a self-imposed scavenger hunt for anything that actually belonged to him. He's been so consumed by this, he barely even remembered that he kind of wake up in a bed with another person.

Hearing her voice, at least, manages to remind him. He pops his head out of the closet where he'd been busy checking the pockets of all the clothes inside for stuff. She seems confused too... maybe it's an act, but even if it is, there's only one way to find out.]

...Yo, missy. I'm guessing this isn't your house either?

Snowday

[whatsamada]

[Meanwhile Ken had been walking around the town to get an understand of where he was. From what he gathered, it seemed to be a normal American town but he had to keep his guard up. He didn't know what might happen next and it was difficult to know without Kala-Nemi to help him out.

As he was deep in thought, that's when he heard a voice speak up. At first, he wanted to make a comment about why she was here but instead? He just stared at her request before speaking up.]

Uh I suppose? I'm guessing you mean having a snowball fight or creating snowman?

Adrien Agreste | Miraculous Ladybug

[miaoudel]

{Waking Up}

[Adrien is more accustomed than most fifteen-year-olds are to being forcibly knocked unconscious in some manner, but he's never been subject to one quite so... distressing, before. He'd swear he can still hear the girl's voice in the back of his head, and the blunt edge of a headache throbs at his temples as he pushes back the sheets of his bed (and he doesn't like that, at all, that he's already been put to bed by someone).]

Where is this place...? [It's more to himself than out loud, but with no-one else in the room he's fully expecting a snide little retort from Plagg about how this is obviously so-and-so, despite how wrong he usually is...

...except. The voice doesn't come. And Adrien looks around, frowning, until he glances down at his hand - and the lack of a ring. The Cat Miraculous is gone, it's gone, and panic hits Adrien so hard it's like vertigo.]

Plagg?!

[And everything else gets ignored: the basketball and baseball bat, the stacks upon stacks of sports and scholarly achievements, the nearly-stock photographs of himself and the alleged family: all that anyone outside is going to hear is the thumping of random items being thrown violently (including the shattering of glass at one point) around the room as Adrien searches desperately for his precious ring.]

{Doppelganger}

[Adrien had been convinced by some of the more... what can only count as "normal" local teens to stay the night after baseball practice, with how bad the snow had been yesterday, and he wasn't about to say no - it would raise suspicion, and Adrien liked to claim he was good at being unassuming too much to even consider it.

So he's not home, on the morning where it's suddenly a perfect summer's day; but he's there just after breakfast, pushing open the door with a tired call - much more natural than the demure face he puts on.]

Morning, anyone-- aah!

[And then yelps because he's just slammed the door open into the face of his goddamn doppelganger - not identical, now that there's a giant seam split through its forehead and nose - that's also opening its own mouth and screaming in an unholy wail that drowns out Adrien's own, and lunges at him.

He dodges handily, letting it fall past him and bringing his bat up to guard- just in time as it spins and goes for his throat, and he shoves it back and dives away.

It's not hard to miss the front-yard brawl, now, with how the double is yelling and Adrien is dodging with a speed born of panic and swinging wildly with his bat.]

Can I get some help here?!

( prompt: waking up. )

[sunborne]

[ oh fuck. it's way too early for this.

daylight forces himself to get out of bed, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he made a few clumsy grabs for his baseball bat. once he actually takes hold of it and is more aware of the sound of someone rummaging in one of the bedrooms - was it randy again?? - he begins to take the situation more seriously, creeping towards the room.

... he does not expect to see a teenager tearing the bedroom apart when he tries to quietly open the door and peek in. judging by the state of the room (rip future him, needing to clean that all up), it looks like he's in search for something. h u h. ]

Um... Are you looking for something? [ daylight pokes the door with his baseball bat, opening it up to reveal himself and raising one hand to show, baseball bat or not, he doesn't mean any harm. ] Because, if you are, sorry but they took it.

Randy Orlando | Trails Series

[guardianreaper]

[System Shock]

[Randy is man of loose morals to begin with, and this is certainly not the first time he's woken up somewhere that he doesn't recognize. But even knowing that, something feels off. He knows how to check his surroundings, and he knows when something is wrong.]

[There is definitely something up here. He turns around, and there's someone sleeping in the bed beside him.]

[As happy as he would typically feel about this...it actually doesn't make him feel much better here. He'll shake his "spouse" awake, approaching the situation in the most Randy way possible.]

Hey gorgeous. You don't happen to remember how we got here, do ya?

[Wintertime Fun]

[Randy doesn't trust the situation, and he knows enough to remain on edge.]

[But that's not gonna stop him from having a little bit of fun. And it's definitely not gonna stop him from engaging with some well-meaning kids.]

[He's a part of this snowball fight--no this snowball war--now, and he's going to use every tool at his disposal to make these kids happy win. Right now, that means he's hunched under a barricade, building up a collection of ammo to give his partner. He picks a snowball up, and immediately throws it at the next person passingby.]

Look out! Randy's comin' at ya.

[Doppleganger]

[In his time as a Jaeger, he's seen some weird shit. In his time with the SSS, he's seen some weirder shit.]

[But nothing he's seen is quite as weird as the animatronic him that's waiting downstairs. He doesn't like it.]

[His initial impulse is to not fight the thing, but one small shove, and suddenly it's coming after him. He doesn't have his axe on hand (sadly), so he makes do with the next best thing--a floor lamp from his living room. The "battle of the lamp" lasts for several minutes, until he finally drives his clone outside.]

[Between his strength and the sheer endurance of the lamp, the doll is in pieces on his front lawn. Not that it actually helps anything, of course. Thing can still talk.]

Y'know, where I come from, it's not very nice ta pretend to be someone you're not.

[This is the opposite of a 'Bruh moment.']

Wintertime fun

[whatsamada]

[After spending the past few hours getting use to this new environment, Ken was convinced he was in a dream. How else could he explain why he was stuck in 1961 with no real idea of how he got here? As he was out walking to get some fresh air, that's when he heard a voice nearby.]

Wh- [And see that? You just hit a 13 year old boy with a snowball, how does that feel Randy?] What was that for?

[Hope he's ready because Ken's getting ready to throw one his way!]

Padmé Naberrie Amidala | Star Wars

[naboosnaberrie]

i. january 1st

[Padmé wakes up shivering, much colder than she was when she went to bed the night before. This, she realizes rapidly, is due to two things -- the first is that her intricately embroidered, multi-layered flowing nightgown is gone, replaced by a high-necked, filmy, mass-produced white one that, though it reaches past her knees, is nowhere near as warm. The second is that she's in bed alone, the familiar warm shape of Anakin nowhere to be seen.

If this is a dream, it's a strange one. Wrapped in the blanket from the bed, Padmé finds her face in the pictures on the walls, frowning at the unfamiliar ones that surround her -- a man, two children, all strangers to her. The floor beneath her feet certainly feels real, and the softly falling snow outside looks real. By the time she makes it to the kitchen, she's trembling for another reason entirely.

Where is she? What's happened?

The sound of another person makes her startle, breath catching, holding the blanket tight around her body. If it's the man she'd seen in the photo's, her gaze becomes steely, cold, and her chin lifts in defiance.] Who are you?

[If it's one of the children, though, she softens immediately, offering a hesitant, reassuring smile.] Hello. Don't be afraid.

ii. clown around

No, really, i-it's too much -- [Padmé's protests are overrun by her own need to be polite, accepting the horrifying-looking mass of colors that might be an attempt at a person? It's like no person she's ever seen before, and she finds herself frantically attempting to avoid it's eyes, even as the neighbor woman laughs and prattles on about eating it while it's fresh and "don't know how you keep that figure of yours after two kids" and "keep it out of your husband's reach! My Steven can't get enough of them, haha, oh men".

Smiling weakly, Padmé subtly rotate the plate around so the strange little face isn't looking at her. She waits for the neighbor to leave, then turns to the nearest person, expression somewhere between amused and horrified.] Excuse me, what -- is this? [She can handle multicolored patterns in her clothing, but her food?]

iii. coming attractions

[It rarely snowed on Naboo, the winters of Padmé's childhood marked more by the rainy seasons than by snowflakes or blizzards. Still, she can't deny that standing by the concession stand, all bundled up in the (disappointingly simple) coat and boots she'd found in her closet and sipping at a strange, sweet drink is...kind of pleasant.

Even the holotape -- movie, she hears someone call it -- seems to be something silly and light and fun. Padmé smiles into her drink at the coming attractions, shifting from one foot to the other and telling herself she'll head home after this next one, fascinated by the strange costumes and elaborate dialogue.

Except then the image changes, and she recognizes the columns and marble floors of Theed's throne room. The windows are thrown open, and the sounds of screaming and panic are audible, until they're drowned out by the whirring and whining of aircraft, of thousands of droids being deployed against a peaceful, pacifist planet.

Her planet. Because there she is, standing there by the window, hair loose, tears streaking the white ceremonial make-up, ten years younger, barely more than a child and watching her home world be invaded. And being helpless to stop it.

The real Padmé is frozen, staring wide-eyed as her double on-screen turns and, through the tears, curls her lips into a cruel, cruel smirk. The cup of cocoa slips from her fingers, falls to the snowy ground, and she doesn't even flinch.]


ooc: canon-point is just post-AOTC, but any star warses from whatever canon-point welcome~

iii.

[mandelbrots]

Oh, shit. That got dark.

[The exclamation comes from somewhere behind Padmé, where a young woman is slouched on an empty car's hood, eating popcorn in a remarkably unladylike fashion. There's an oversized men's coat bundled over her dress, and she's wearing what look like her own kid's sneakers instead of the regulation heels. Not a taste of period style to be found on her.

Amanda's eyes flick up when she hears the cup hit the frozen ground, and she offers a sympathetic hiss.]

Woah, hey. [With some effort she grabs her own cup from the car's hood, and pushes herself off the hood. This must be one of the old-timey people who doesn't understand video, she's assuming, like the guy she woke up to who thought their photos were just extremely detailed paintings.] Have the rest of mine.

Sayori | Doki Doki Literature Club!

[hxppythxughts]

♥ 1 - happy new year! (CW: unreality) ♥

[Sayori wakes as she usually wakes: reluctantly. She comes to, groans, and dramatically shields her face with her arm before actually getting up. It takes a full five minutes of groggily lamenting her state of consciousness before it sinks in. The last things that she remembers—

We've already reached the end of the game.

We all love you.

And then a voice she doesn't know. A voice she can't quite pinpoint beyond its unfamiliarity, pleading for help.

She jolts upright in bed — her bed? New bed? — and touches her own face, and then her hair (no hairbow,) and just pats herself down all over, frantically confirming the existence of her own body. Which is not how she usually wakes, but the thing is, she didn't really expect to be waking again. She's wearing pajamas. Different pajamas, nice pajamas— new pajamas. New pajamas, new bed, new...existence?

A quick glance around the room tells her that this is not her bedroom. It's absolutely pristine, for one thing. She scrambles out of bed, leaving the covers a mess as she throws them aside, and does a cursory investigation. She eventually finds that there are some things in this room that seem like hers (books of poetry) and some things that really don't (fashion magazines.) And then the eeriest find, a to-do list on a charming little notepad, written in her own handwriting.

Even though she doesn't know this place, it is familiar in one way. It's not the first time she's been shown the trappings of a normal life. There's a horrified pit in her stomach that she holds back from her expression out of habit.

The smart thing to do would be to get dressed in one of the outfits that she sees in the closet. That is not what happens. Sayori barrels out of her room and down the stairs. She can be found in the kitchen, still in her pajamas and very intently investigating the interior of a cupboard. But when she hears someone else coming—]

Ow! [She turns her head too fast and smacks it on the door of the cupboard that she's holding open by its handle. The handle is abandoned so she can hold her hand over the sore spot on her head.] Ow ow ow...

Uh— ahaha, uh, hi! [The greeting is laughed out nervously, her hand still held tightly to her head.] Sorry, I didn't realize there was someone else here!

♥ 2 - clown around! ♥

[This food is no less horrific than the overall situation, that's for sure. And yet, Sayori is kind of loving it? It's not good food by any means. But it's very fun food, and she's never had anything like it before. So she's been having a great time trying out every gift of terrible gelatinous leftovers from their overzealous neighbors.

The clown cake is equally fun and awful. Sayori is beyond excited to try it. So excited, in fact, that she doesn't even bother to take it inside before she plucks the clown head off the cake to take a huge honkin' bite out of it right there in the front yard. But as soon as she does—

Her teeth squeak through the styrofoam with an awful noise, and as soon as the frosting-covered styrofoam hits her tongue—] Ack!

[She spits it out onto the ground, confused and aghast and, frankly, betrayed. There's an offended whine to her voice.] What the heck?! It's not cake!

[Maybe she deserves this for not asking if someone else wanted the clown head?]

♥ 3 - snow day! ♥

[Snow is a familiar concept to Sayori in the way that anything you've seen in a photograph is. Maybe there's even something in her head to suggest that she's had a snow day before. But when she steps outside, she knows for certain: this is the first time she's seen snow for real.

So for a moment, the excitement is louder than the constant undercurrent of wrongness to the whole situation, and Sayori is happy to listen to the excitement rather than the wrongness for a little while.

Which is how you, dear passerby, end up pelted by a stray snowball. The children she's playing with explode into giggles, but the culprit amongst them is clear: Sayori has her gloved hand over her mouth, eyes wide and surprised like she's just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

She's overtaken by embarrassed laughter as she waves both hands frantically in front of her.] Oops— ahaha, I'm sorry, I was aiming for something else!

♥ 4 - doppelganger! ♥

[This situation continues to be horrible. The dream is horrible too, but all things considered, it's not the first nightmare Sayori has had since waking up here. It's fine. (It's not fine. But she's great at smiling through things that aren't fine.)

She writes about it in her journal and that's that. It's buried with all the other bad things in her head.

But then the doppelganger turns up in the kitchen and the nightmare isn't just a nightmare! It's unsettling, and Sayori can't help but be a little worried, considering the content of the nightmare.

After a while, though, it seems kind of harmless? It's trying so hard!]

A. [So as Sayori goes about her business in the residential district, taking a walk or writing in the park or hanging out in the library, she can be seen trying to gently assist her doppelganger when it struggles to mimic her task! She speaks to it patiently as she tries to help:] Here, it's more like this. It's okay, you'll get it next time!

[That's the situation most of the day.]

B. [But eventually, she tries to guide the doppelganger in a way it finally doesn't like, as if she's made some kind of overstep. And its jaw opens wide and it starts shrieking in the most shrill voice, not nice not nice not NICE—

And Sayori screams too, yelping as she dodges clumsily out of the way of the doll lunging at her. With pen in hand, it narrowly misses her, stabbing at the air where she just was. But it's winding up for attempt two as it wails.]

♥ 5 - wildcard! (OTA) ♥

[ surprise me! for plotting, feel free to reach out to me at ceesawaseesaw, or PM if you're more comfortable with that! and please check out Sayori's permissions post for more info about CWs that may come up with her. ]

1

[ribticklers]

[Sans, also still in pajamas, had assumed it was Lorna in the kitchen right up until he hears whoever-it-is shout in pain in a voice that is definitely not Lorna's. His expression as he stands in the doorway can best be described as warily confused. This girl doesn't exactly look dangerous, but looks can be deceiving. On the other hand, he's pretty sure she smacked her head on that cupboard door.]

Well, this is my house. [Assigned house, anyway.] What's up? [What are you doing in his kitchen? Of course, Sans would realize if he thought to look at the various family photos that now include this girl in them, but that hasn't popped into his head yet.]

amanda brotzman || dirk gently's holistic detective agency

[mandelbrots]

𝒂. 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒂𝒚

[This really is just the icing on the gelatin mold of pure, steaming shit, isn't it? Get chased by government officials, get kidnapped and stuffed into some Stepford dollhouse, step outside and immediately get pummeled by snowballs. It really figures. And worse of all, Amanda likes snow. Amanda loves snow. Of fucking course four whole inches would fall on the actual worst day ever, and she can't even enjoy it properly!

Wiping snow from her face, she turns to frown at her assailant. In a fluffy bathrobe, she looks even further out of place than she feels.]

I thought this was supposed to be California! Either- [Wait, hold on, spitting out some snow too.] Either someone's lying to us, or climate change is on speed, dude.

𝒃. 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 cw: drugs

[Yeah, yeah, real creative. Show the whole drive-in your most traumatizing memories, watch everyone laugh at the crazy girl who hallucinated in the grocery store. A trick right from the eighth grade playbook. Next, someone's going to steal her bra in the locker room. Amanda's had enough, and as soon as her popcorn's gone she wanders back over to the concessions. She's not there for another snack, though. Instead, she sidles up to the first person who looks like they have a sliver of discreetness in their bones, and leans in.]

Hey, so, uh- [Smooth as gravel.] Any idea where I can get some...

[She holds up two fingers and taps them against her lips, a universal teen party signal for asking, "Did someone mayhaps bring some marijuana to this fine gathering, and wherest might I locate it?"]

You get me?

[Apologies to those who do not, in fact, ger her.]

coming attractions

[thevalley]

[Normally, Ellie would be over the moon to watch a movie. It's maybe one of the few things she's missed about Jackson. And then it started showing a lodge, a familiar lodge, and a descent down the staircase into a memory that haunts her.

She got the fuck out of there. Stumbling over to concessions she presses her hands on the counter, trying to steady herself by leaning over and just trying to breath. Taking in the weird smells of the popcorn machine and the candy and all of it.

Suddenly someone's talking to her and she glances up, prepping herself for something awkward but then... oh. The sign. The universal sign.

There's something about it that makes her relax.]

I get you. But, sorry to disappoint, I haven't been able to find any supplies in this place yet.

angelo sauper | gundam unicorn

[apodictic]

THE NEIGHBOURS / SNOW DAY

Enough. I don’t care for your stupid games.

[ angelo, irritated, snaps at the nearest child that tries to coax him into participating in their games. he moves over a snowbank, stands at the top of it and peers up at the sky with a serious expression. ]

… ridiculous. Am I in Earth?



COMING ATTRACTIONS
CW. VOMITING.

[ the minute his memories started playing in the reel —

angelo freezes right where he is, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. he’s about to burst into anger and outrage when the audience beside him starts laughing and whooping and then he realizes that he and the audience are looking at different things.

what’s going on?

he leaves immediately. he rushes towards the very edge of the parking lot and that’s where he ends up vomiting his dinner onto the back of a tree, wheezing as he staggers to his knees.

that was a hallucination, wasn’t it? he wipes his mouth with the back of his hands. targeted. if he didn't know any better he'd think it was a hit put out at him, some kind of weaponry aimed at the newtype in the audience. he feels angry, and ashamed, but: if only he was the one who’d seen it, then that means it was a private moment, at the very least. one designed to torment him, but all the same —

when he emerges from the shadows, he looks pale and sickly. he makes a beeline to the concession stands. he wishes there were something like alcohol around.

he queues up, still feeling like shit as he waits in line to buy food and water. ]

Have you any gum?



WILDCARD.

pm me or pp me at ilium @ plurk if you want other things.

( prompt: coming attractions. )

[sunborne]

Oh- Yeah. Give me a sec-

[ he's pretty sure he bough the entire inventory and then some. he's got to have some dang gum on him. daylight fully turns around while he pats himself down, finally pulling out a packet of garishly-coloured gum to hand before presenting it to the other guy.

but then a thoughtful expression comes and goes on his face and it seems he's made a decision because he quickly adds, ]

Honestly? You can keep the whole pack, buddy. Gives me an excuse to buy more stuff and stay here than go back to the picture show.

[ he's pretty sure the concessions vendor is making a killing right now. good for them. ]

russell seager | end roll

[selforphaned]

january 1st. (cw. mentions of experimentation, prison, execution)

[ the start of the year is not a happy one for dear russell seager. he wakes up with a start, sweat clinging to his skin as the remnants of the horrible dream chase him into consciousness. but as soon as he takes in his surroundings, he realizes that, perhaps, the reality is just as bad as the dream. if he could even consider this to be reality.

this wasn't the village.

this wasn't his bed.

this wasn't his prison cell.

when the grating sound of the nurse's insults never comes, he realizes with dread that he is neither in his dream nor in the reality that he knew of. is he dead? did one of those drug's nasty side effects finally affect russell? or could it be that they found him to be a terrible test subject and therefore executed him in his sleep?

regardless, russell is scared. as he observes the room, that fear only seems to grow. pictures of himself smiling with a baseball team that he's never joined, and with a family that he's never had. it's a happiness that is so well-fabricated that it is almost uncanny.

he hates it. he fears it, therefore he hates it.

grabbing the baseball bat next to his desk, russell makes his way down the stairs cautiously. he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, fear and anger overpowering every other thought. he wants out. he wants to leave he needs to leave so he can go back to the happy nameless village--

and it doesn't matter who he has to hurt to get it. ]

coming attractions (cw: murder)

[ russell had never been a stranger to sneaking out to watch movies on his own. and, in a place as strange as this, he has quickly realized that being alone is probably the way to go.

but he never expected to see himself in the movie.

it's that same grand parlor, on the second floor. he sees himself still, staring at a girl that watches the happy crowd from the top of the stairs, clearly celebrating a birthday. but it's when the narration starts--in a voice so much like his own--that his blood freezes.

"Suddenly, I remembered something. I remembered today was my birthday, too. Of course, no one knew that. So no one was celebrating me.

russell grips the seat handles, face pale as he watches himself walk forward, almost like in slow motion.

"During the party, I saw the blessed girl alone on a staircase landing. I approached her from behind. Could this blessed angel fly?"

and it's in that moment, when his mirror self extends his hands to push the girl off balance, that he sees it. those green eyes and that awful smirk that belonged to none other than the informant. he hears the screams of a young girl and the thud of a body falling, bone snapping with each bounce. when it stops, the screams have turned from surprise to agonizing.

"aAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
IT's yOUR FAuLT?!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!
gIVE IT BACk..!!!
GIVE US BaCK OUr HAPpINESS RUsSELL..!!!!!!"

russell feels sick. he wants to leave, but he wonders if doing so will bring any unwanted attention to himself--anything beyond what they clearly must have seen. so instead, he turns around, trembling as he tries to observe the reactions of those around him. ]

snow day

[ at least this doesn't seem too horrifying. russell has had the chance to actually enjoy snow and, considering the situation, he feels that this won't be much different. children don't fight over him for too long, considering that he quickly picks a side for the snowball fight.

and boy he is not merciful. though his throw may not be the strongest, his aim is and he'll be throwing snowballs from behind one of the fortresses. is he aiming at mostly adults? perhaps, but who Actually has proof? ]

wildcard

( ooc: feel free to write a separate prompt! or if you'd like to hmu to plot a new prompt, i can be found at odasaku! )

( prompt: coming attractions. )

[sunborne]

[ the first face russell will see won't be inspiring any confidence. daylight looks like he's doing his best to not throw up, his expression a cross of a grimace and an attempt to hold back his popcorn and soda from earlier.

when he catches sight of russell and looks at him, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. ]

Want to get drinks? [ ... a weird thing to ask, sure, but it builds in daylight's head as he turns to the concessions stand. he talks loud as he can get away with, trying to drown out the voices and sounds coming from the movie. ] Maybe some more popcorn? Might as well grab some more snacks while we can. It looks like a pretty long line, though.

[ meaning they'll be both there for a while and that's the point. ]

The Countess | AHS: Hotel

[callhousekeeping]

1. January 1st

[ Well, this is... concerning, to say the least. It's not that the Countess is overly surprised to find herself in an unfamiliar bedroom (after all, it was New Year's Eve), but this particular bedroom is not one she would have deigned to enter. It looks like a children's bedroom with the separate beds, except the pictures all indicate that not only is this an adult's room, it's her own room.

Picking up one of the framed pictures, she exhales a hard breath through her nose. She never would have gotten married in that dress. And also that isn't either one of her husbands. The pictures of the children give her pause, though it doesn't escape her notice that neither one resembles either of its parents. She takes her time to absorb the evidence of a happy life that she certainly hasn't lived through even if photos seek to say otherwise.

When she comes downstairs into the kitchen, she does look the part. She lived through the era and she still remembers all the trappings. All the products and the layers and the extensive amount of backcombing required for the hair. It's only once she enters the kitchen that she's at a bit of loss -- by this point in her life, she had been primarily subsisting on blood and she hadn't cooked for herself in decades. She can, however, pour coffee into a mug, and that has to suffice, because she has no intention of doing something as banal as making breakfast.

She peruses the newspaper, peeking over the edge as others emerge from the other rooms of the house. ]

You'll have to excuse the lack of waffles. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to drop by the grocery store and buy some Eggos.


2. Snow Day

[ The children didn't mean to hit her with a snowball. She knows because they all immediately turn bashful when she turns her gaze on them, sheepish before she scoops her own snowball and nails the leader in the head. For someone who radiates glamour, she is surprisingly willing to drop her handbag and join the fray, forever pleased to surround herself with children.

When you get slammed in the face with a snowball, the culprit is not a youngin' running behind a snowbank, but a fully grown woman in fur, covering her laugh with one hand. ]


3. Wildcard

[ ooc: come at me bro ]

1

[hardcase]

[ So, this is the 'wife'. He hopes she's as aware of the situation as he is, but he's not going to lead off with that and risk freaking her out. She's being casual, he'll be casual. ]

I can whip something up. Any requests?

[ He's not a professional chef but he has read any cookbook he could get his hands on, and cooking's simpler than magic. ]

Cagliostro | Granblue Fantasy

[alchutie]

1 - arrival

a. [Cagliostro knew something was wrong the moment she heard that girl's voice. The strange sensation afterword was not something that her body should be having. Just what sort of alchemic trap had she stumbled into?

Her consciousness fades before she can even begin to consider it, and the next thing she knows, she's awake in a completely unfamiliar place. That's alarming all on its own- the creepy photos of herself in life events she knows for a fact she didn't experience even more so. But the most alarming thing of all is how wrong her body feels.

She stares at herself in the mirror, surrounded by girls' playthings, in an absolutely ugly nightgown- and clutches at her cheeks. They're...all wrong. Where's that silky smooth quality that only the greatest of alchemy can provide? Why does she feel so weak and sluggish?! Is this...is this a natural body?

A growl unbefitting of her cute appearance escapes her as she drags her hands down her cheeks.]

What the hell is this?!

b. [After having an existential crisis in her bedroom, Cagliostro begrudgingly puts on an equally ugly dress from her wardrobe and begins her search for information. The scowl on her face immediately disappears when she catches sight of an adult in the house. Ah...this is who she saw in those creepy photos. Her supposed parent.]

U-Um, hello?

[The voice that comes out of her is sickly sweet, almost on the verge of sounding fake if it wasn't coming from a little girl. It quivers with fright, befitting a young child having just awoken in an unfamiliar place.]

You're my Mommy/Daddy, right? C-Could you tell little Cagliostro what's going on? This isn't where I'm supposed to be. I'm so scared...

2 - snow day

[Cagliostro's adjusting to this nonsense the best that she can, but it hasn't been easy with a complete lack of alchemy. It's like starting over from scratch with the odds turned even more against her, and it was bad enough the first time around! With this being a completely foreign world with its own set laws, she doesn't even know where to begin rebuilding what she once had. So instead, she's opting to learn as much as she can so she can get the hell back home and into her actual body.

Turns out, you can't get much snooping done on a snow day in Santa Rosita, and if she's not going to get anything worthwhile done, she might as well enjoy the snow.

Clad in the most adorable winter wear that she could manage to find-why is this town's fashion so awful-she prances around in the snow for the entire neighborhood to admire just how cute she is! She's actually in a pretty good mood...until someone (you) lobs a snowball directly into the back of her head.

The cheerful, innocent expression disappears from her face immediately and she turns to her assailant with a terrifying glare.]

Ohhh, you picked the wrong target, scumbag. [She bends over and scoops up a heap of snow into her hands.] You'll regret engaging the Great, Super Cute Cagliostro in snow combat!

[...yikes, better run from the scary little girl.]

3 - doppelganger

[The funny thing about this whole doppelganger situation is that on a normal day, this wouldn't even be strange for Cagliostro. She has created countless bodies for herself with the power of alchemy, all with the appearance of a lifeless doll until she transplanted her soul into it.

But here in Santa Rosita, where she's trapped into a normal body that is completely incapable of alchemy? Seeing a copy of herself pisses her off more than it has any right to.

That's why she can be found fighting with the screeching thing in the middle of the street.]

You stupid piece of junk! Who gave you the right to copy my cuteness?!

Owwie! That hurts! [The doll cries in a cutesy yet nightmarish drone as Cagliostro starts to pry a limb off of it.] Stop being so mean!

Oh can it--

[She's about to smack the thing with its own arm when she realizes she's being watched. She turns to the onlooker with a sudden pleading expression, her voice taking on the same cutesy tone of the doll's.]

Hey! You're not gonna just leave a poor defenseless widdle girl to deal with this killer doll, are you?

[Defenseless? She's clearly the one with the upper hand here...]

4 - wildcard

[Feel free to hit me with another prompt here or contact me for plotting at Arystar!]

1b

[thotsandprayers]

[Kiara blinks in surprise, looking up from her cup of coffee. She doesn't recall there being a child in the house when she went to bed yesterday, so that's concerning, and hadn't checked the pictures to see if they changed because why would she? So she's not really sure if this is something like what she remembers from October, or if this is the newest round of nonsense to happen. First it's zombie kids, then snowmen corpses and reindeer monsters, and then back to kids? It could happen.

That name really doesn't sound like the kind of thing that something from here would have though, and at any rate, she doesn't really see much reason to worry about things yet. If anything, she's concerned for the poor child (?). Sure, she seems perceptive enough to have picked up on the family situation here, but she still seems quite upset about this.

Additionally, she's also trying to suppress her bafflement at being asked if she's a child's mother. It's an absolutely bizarre feeling and she isn't quite sure what to do with it.]

Ah, I suppose I may be considered as such by our neighbors, yes. Though you may call me Kiara at home if you'd like.

[It's a lot less weird than being called mommy, okay?]

Now where to begin explaining, it's such a strange situation...

[She's not good at being the explaining character. Okay, actually yes she is, but where does she start with this mess?]

I take it you heard a child's voice and then found yourself here, is that right?

natasha romanov / marvel comics

[latrodectus]

I. January 1st

[ Natasha's first impulse is to try to make it work.

Her training prepared her for this— specifically for this, deep cover domestic work. She remembers the façades of the false streets she had to walk down, practicing her accent. It was an assignment many of the other women wanted, the glamour of America, the chance to die for one's country. Natasha hadn't known what she wanted, back then.

Now she knows she wants out. But she has to figure out where she is, first. Why she's here. She studies the photos, sweeps the room for cameras, careful not to disturb the figure in the other bed. It isn't long before one of her housemates find her, though, staring into the mirror, eyes empty as glass.

But then she turns to face a stranger, and smiles, showing teeth. ]

Hi, honey.

[ Try to make it work. ]

II. Coming Attractions

[ The light of the falling sun turned all that it touched to gold, gilding the lily of everything. In the grainy archive footage, you can't tell.

The footage is of two young women, driving along the road.

"I cant say that I understand why the KGB is rescuing people from Castro. But we must serve, even when we do not understand," says the dark haired one, the passenger.

The other woman replies. "No, Marina. We are agents and we have made a choice. We serve. But we are not puppets." Her eyes leave the road for a moment, to watch the other take a quick drink from a flask.

"For the nerves," she says, offering it to her companion. Natasha— because it's Natasha who is driving— shakes her head.

"Ah yes," says Marina. "Brave Nat doesn't get nervous."

But then Natasha looks directly at the road, at the audience, at herself. "I do, Marina. I certainly do."

Outside the picture, at the drive in, the color drains from her face. She doesn't leave her seat, but glances around, to see how the other patrons are reacting.

And she begins to plot her sabotage of the projector. ]

III. Coppélia

[ It doesn't take long for Natasha to shove her doppleganger, setting off the shrieking doll-bomb. She's in her yard when it happens; certainly the neighbors can hear.

It isn't long before the thing grabs a nearby garden hose and tries to use it as a makeshift garrote, grabbing Natasha with a surprising strength. ]

Hnnn.

[ She elbows the thing in what might be its chest, eyes searching the surroundings for an ally, a weapon, a witness. ]


IV. Wildcard

[ Feel free to throw a snowball at her, or text her, or whatever, really. Anyone is free to see her little movie, or not! I am elsinore for plotting. ]

III

[sonicsiren]

[Beyond Dinah's own doppelganger, Natasha's isn't the first one she's come across. On one level, it's nice to know that she wasn't the only one who had found an unpleasant surprise in her, er, home that morning. She's stops on the sidewalk, watching intently, a bag from the local hardware store in her hand. Dinah's already reaching into it, pulling out a hammer from the bag.]

Good morning, neighbor. Need a little help?

abby anderson | the last of us part ii

[biceps]

1. JANUARY FIRST

[ From the moment that she wakes up, Abby feels like she is in a dream. It's disorienting as all hell, but she's certain of one thing: this isn't her dream. While no stranger to fucked up nightmares, Abby's tend to be straightforward. Usually she just relives her own worst memories.

This is not a memory. At least, it's definitely not one of hers; Abby has only ever seen bedrooms this pristine in old movies and photo albums.

As her eyes adjust to the sun's golden glow and the sounds of playful children fade to the background, so recedes the hazy, dreamlike quality of the room. After nearly a minute aggressively untangling herself from the sheets, Abby topples out of bed and slams her hip into the corner of a night table. ]

Fuck! [ She shouts, hissing as she presses the heel of her hand to her hipbone. Various tabletop items clatter to the floor; Abby squats down to pick them up, turns one one over to get a look at the framed picture, and then thumps back onto her ass.

It's a picture of her. A crisp, clear-as-day, perfect quality photograph. Abby has only ever been captured in sketches and on expired Polaroid film. And she has definitely never worn a wedding dress. ]

What the hell is going on?

2. DOPPELGANGER — CW: blood & gore

[ If she wasn't currently fighting for her life, Abby would spare a moment to feel bad for her fake family. They didn't ask to be fake related to her, or to be startled awake when the whole house shook under the force of Abby getting hurled into the wall, or to have their house wrecked before the fight eventually moved out to the front lawn.

But there will be time for apologies later. Right now, Abby has finally gotten the upper hand on her evil mannequin twin, crushing its rib cage under her thighs as she lands fist after fist against its caved-in skull. The face is barely recognizable as Abby anymore; just pulverized porcelain shards and streaks of bright red blood from Abby's own bleeding knuckles.

The doll has long since been rendered inoperable, but Abby can't help herself. She keeps throwing punches, barely even feeling it in her hands even has porcelain dust cakes around raw, open cuts.

Nosy neighbors may wonder why she can't at least take it back inside— it does look so unseemly when one goes into a violent trance on the front lawn. ]

3. SNOW DAY

[ Stray snow balls happen. It's physics or whatever.

A more mature person would take a face full of snow in stride and keep walking. Abby is not that mature person. No, Abby embarks on a vendetta against the little shits who hit her and scurried away, and ultimately gets recruited to lead the opposing team. Now it's all out war, and Abby takes a shot from behind the plowed snow her side is using for cover.

A surprised cry from someone sounding a fair bit older than twelve tips Abby to the possibility that she accidentally struck a passerby. She jumps to her feet and vaults over the high-piled snow to go explain herself. Or at least apologize. There's no explaining "I'm so incurably competitive that I let myself get sucked into a snowball fight with a bunch of schoolkids." ]

Uh, hey, sorry about that! You okay?

4. WILDCARD

[ Choose your own adventure if none of the above prompts will work. I can be reached at cosmology for plotting. ]

doppelganger

[whillpower]

[ chirrut is out on a simple walk on this particularly horrific day of doppelgangers. he's been taking every moment he can to memorize this town's layout and to learn how to navigate it without the aid of his echo-box or the force or a friend to guide him. he walks briskly, relatively effortless for someone who really is just trying to make his way in a strange land that he can't see, with the aid of a long white cane he taps against the salt-covered sidewalk every now and then.

soon the tap tap of his cane is drowned out by something else — it's the distinct sound of fists against porcelain, something he hadn't been familiar with until just this morning when an accidental bump on his part had been taken the wrong way by his own double and resulted in an all-out brawl in the kitchen. (in this instance he had also become acquainted with how it sounds to kick porcelain, whack porcelain over the head with a cane, and send porcelain staggering back into a table.)

he can't really detect the sounds of a struggle; it seems the fight might be over. still, he calls out, just in case — ]

Do you need help?

buffy summers | buffy the vampire slayer

[sunnydale]

1. JANUARY FIRST

[ By the time signs of life can be felt from the master bedroom, Buffy has already been through the motions. She pinched her forearms, thighs, even the soles of her feet— and if that didn't jolt her awake, she can confidently cross psychic dreamworld from her mental list of Weekly Weird & Wackies. That's one possibility down and roughly a kazillion left to go.

This calls for recon. And because she possesses all the subtlety of an Acme anvil, Buffy's chosen recon method is to smash a chair from the dining room set, pick out the broken leg with the sharpest point, and wait outside the master bedroom for someone to emerge. When they do, Buffy darts out from her corner and backs them up to the wall, poking the sharp end of her makeshift stake into the flesh of their chest. ]

Gee, I hope I didn't startle ya! [ She says, doing her best overly bright Marcia Brady impression. Then she switches to her best intimidation glare, applying pressure to the stake for emphasis. ] This is the part where you start explaining. Go on.

2. COMING ATTRACTIONS — CW: stabbing

[ Drive-in movies are exactly the kind of classic, simple fun that Buffy always yearned for, in that nostalgia-for-a-life-you'll-never-have kind of way. Except that now she kind of does, and of course, it's as much of a horror show as the rest of her life. Go figure.

Still, she's been complaining about not getting to have any regular teenage fun for years now— it would be irresponsible not to take advantage now. So what if she's not sharing the backseat with a dreamy James Dean type? The big screen is all the distraction she needs.

Yeah. Right.

Buffy recognizes the geometric arches of the old mansion on Crawford Street even before the shot pulls back to reveal the statue of Acathla, now complete with shiny, swirling portal to hell. ]

What the hell is this? [ Her voice is already shaking with emotion— pain, rage, disbelief. It's not enough for her boyfriend to break up with her and leave town, now she has to relive sending him to a hell dimension?

Sure enough, when the Buffy on screen comes into focus, she is already leaning in to tell Angel to close his eyes. ]

Hey, turn it off! [ Now standing in a grassy patch between parked cars, Buffy yells toward the light from the projector. ] Turn it off!

[ The projectionist ignores her and a sudden outcry from the audience tells Buffy that they've reached the climax: the part where Screen Buffy steps back, takes one last look at her unsuspecting boyfriend, and puts her sword through him. ]

Okay, [ she says, a little panicked now, to anyone listening. ] I know it looks bad, but there's some key context missing here!

3. WILDCARD

[ Feel free to choose your own adventure if none of the above prompts works. Reachable at cosmology for plotting. ]

january first!

[modernprometheuus]

T-this is a misunderstanding! I do not understand what's going on here any more than you do!

[ Victor stammers out the words, clearly fearing for his life. His gaze keeps falling down to the stake at his chest, before he looks back up at Buffy's face - and boy, does she look mad. That stake... it may be made of nothing more than wood, but it's awfully sharp. And wielded by someone who looks completely prepared to kill him if she has to... ]

I beg of you, please calm down!

Louis | The Walking Dead (telltale games Final Chapter) | Under 20

[ourworldnow]

JAN 1 - HOME COMING

[He seriously had nothing. One moment he'd been in the undead apocalypse, now? Man, oh, man. He was in a freaking house! With unbroken windows! How low his standards had fallen, but whatever. Suburbia Louis will take. The only problem? No one else was there- no one he knew, that was. No boys, no girls, no delinquents of all underages.

He hadn't even noticed the pictures yet, he was just wandering the house, calling out at the top of his voice]

Hey ho, anybody home?

FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD. And Clowns

I'm going to die here.

[He does not sound like he was complaining. It was so very slightly cold outside, but after half a decade stuck behind brick walls? You bet your ass he was enjoying some outside time. And not alone, either.

Well, technically alone, but his hands were full, anyway. A giant metal mixing bowl overflowing with mounds of jello, cake, frosting, and other goods that neighbors had been bringing to the house for zero reason he could figure was supported by one arm while he ate giant bites out of the bowl with a wooden kitchen spoon wielded by the other hand. He was getting looks, sure, but most people just tsked about his dirty faced but seemed more or less amused by the 'exuberance of youth' and how he should 'use that metabolism while he has it!' The Styrofoam clown head, spotted before he cut in, was proudly hanging from the belt of his coat like a strange, cake-related trophy.

No one else had wanted it, okay?

He let out another happy sigh with his eyes closed as he takes another giant bite of frosting, not noticing he's about to walk straight into another person that happened to be on this side walk/parking lot/yard/park.]

NETWORK VOICE

So I, uh, totally missed the drive in craze, yeah? We had the interwebs when movies were a thing. But it's not supposed to be that fucked up, right? Like that was not okay. I do not have enough money for the therapy watching that's gonna need.

Seriously, what the hell?!

network - @chirrut

[whillpower]

[ by now, chirrut's worked out that the big ol' special feature at the drive-in was not tailored specifically to him. everyone had their own experience which made it so much more disconcerting than it already was.

so when a young voice comes over the network regarding just that he can't help but respond, sincere in his concern. ]

Are you alright?

Lily Emmerson | Original Character

[selfescapist]

[ ooc: hey all! lily is an original character who I don't have proper icons for yet, though i've recently just got the money to commission some so they should be coming soon! for now, all her icons come from picrew, and you can find the link to the picrew in question on her profile. so sorry if my icon selection is somewhat limited atm! ]

January 1st.

[ What the hell is going on!?

When Lily woke up in a strange bedroom she didn't recognise, she was terrified.

She must've been kidnapped. That fact's already frightening enough, but that isn't all - she has so many questions that she doesn't know how to answer. How was she taken out of Sumerton? Her powers - they've been taken away from her too. She can feel their absence in a way that's difficult to explain - it's like an empty void; the absence of a parasite. She hasn't felt this way since she was a kid.

She was, at first, convinced that she was going to be killed. But... if someone wanted to kill her, wouldn't she be dead already? And if someone wanted her powers... well, she definitely wouldn't be standing here now.

That fact was the only thing that allowed her to calm down enough to breathe. But, well... if she's still scared, she can't be blamed for that, surely?

And the photographs. The house, that she's just begun to explore, is littered with them - pictures of her with a family she doesn't recognise. As if they're her parents. It makes her feel vaguely ill.

How do those photos exist? What is all this? Lily's trying her hardest to stay calm, but the more she finds, the more agitated she feels herself becoming. That's why, when she finally runs into someone, she flinches back as if she's been struck, instantly on edge. ]

Who are you? ...Are you the one behind all this?

COMING ATTRACTIONS [cw: blood, death]

[ Lily can't breathe.

The film that's playing in front of her... it's her life. Frantically, Lily looks around at the faces of those sitting next to her. They're not staring at her, but they might as well be. After all, they're all looking at the screen.

She wants to run, but she can't move. She wants to speak up, but her lips are frozen in place. Her throat is dry. Lily sees herself on the screen, as a child, covered in blood - there's so much blood. Her child self cries, ugly tears pouring down her face as she shakes in absolute terror. There's a dead body on the ground before her. Lily knows that it's not the only one. ]

It wasn't my fault... I had no choice...! [ Lily mutters aloud, clenching her fists. She probably doesn't even realize that she's doing it. ]

DOPPELGANGER

[ All she'd done was push it.

This is what Lily gets for losing control. Now, Lily's desperately trying to protect herself as her doppelganger lunges at her with a kitchen knife.

Luckily, Lily practices self-defense every day, so she's just about able to keep her wits about her when the thing slashes at her chest. But Lily's still a teenager, and she's rarely actually been in a real fight. Her pounding heart and sweating limbs are distracting her, making her feel unbearably clumsy, and slowly but surely, she's being driven into a corner. She has to do something... something... now!

With a cry, Lily kicks the doppelganger back with all her might. It hits a wall, cracking it's head, and for a moment, it doesn't move. Lily feels the tension starting to drain out of her, and lets out a sigh of relief... when suddenly... the doppelganger begins to rise up again. ]

You're joking!-

WILDCARD

[ Feel free to throw anything at me here! You can PM me or message me over at Rivenix if you'd like to plot! ]

Lan Sizhui | The Untamed

[childofashes]

january 1st.

Sizhui left the house with his hair done up in a simple version of the way he would normally wear it in his own world. Shortly after he leaves the place he'd woken up in, he returns to it. His look had been too conspicuous - too out of place. He'll adjust accordingly, pulling some of his hair back into a more modest ponytail, if only to avoid drawing too much attention until he knows what's going on. He's missing his forehead ribbon, which almost has him more upset than waking up in an unfamliar room does. Losing that headband is practically a crime against his sect. But perhaps whoever had brought him here doesn't realize that. Perhaps they can be reasoned with.

He just has to figure out who's in charge first.

If someone happens to wake up in the same house as him, they might catch him watching the television in fascination, baffled by this display of technology and/or magic. For anyone outside, there will be one confused teenager wandering about in pajamas and a bathrobe, because while he bothered to change his hair... he doesn't realize that this isn't appropriate attire.

snow day.

The amount of snow that's fallen Friday morning has nothing on the amount of snow he's used to back in Cloud Recesses. And at home he wouldn't expect to be hit in the chest with a snowball the moment he stepped out of the house.

Apparently he's under attack. Perhaps he should turn around and just stay inside for the rest of the day. He does go back inside temporarily, only coming back out once he has an umbrella in his hands that he can open to act as a shield. (These are surprisingly more durable than the paper ones he's more familiar with.) This gets several disappointed cries from the neighborhood children.

Why won't he play along? Isn't it fun to play in the snow? Doesn't he want to join one of their teams?

No, of course. He doesn't want to do any of that. He wants to get through the neighborhood and explore more of the town. There's still so much about this place he wants to learn, and a little snow (whether on the ground or being lobbed in his direction) isn't going to keep him from that.

Sizhui breaks into a run once they start attacking in full, and his umbrella starts to hold him back so he has to close it. With his only source of protection gone he can only hope to clear the last few houses without slipping and falling. The last thing he needs is to be buried in a mound of snowballs. He's absolutely certain this sort of reaction is against sect rules, but right now there's no one else from his sect here to see him (as far as he's aware) and he hasn't been discourteous to them (aside from not joining in). It should be fine

doppleganger.

He'd tried to work with the strange duplicate of himself. He really had.

After all, it might not be its fault that it had been brought to life this way. Destroying it without learning any answers didn't seem responsible. (Do not act impulsively.) When his double had attempted to copy his movements, he'd offered a few corrections (Be easy on others.) while trying not to be creeped out in the process. (Love all beings.)

Sizhui finds it necessary to remind himself of the rules of Cloud Recesses while he goes through all of this. It helps to keep him sane. He remembers the awful dream he'd had the night before, which has to be related to this in some way. But this being could also be what made those framed images in his current house possible, as he certainly hadn't been there for their creation. If that's true, then there are answers to be had from this double if he can only get it to speak to him.

He decides to take it for a walk. It has to be willing to talk to him in something other that repetitive phrases at some point. If he spends more time with it, rather than shoving it away, maybe it will be more willing to open up to him... if it's even capable of that.

Unfortunately, any onlooker later will find the teen frantically trying to calm a very put-out doppleganger, hands up in a placating gesture. Deciding to throw a ball back and forth with his double had proven to be a bad idea, as the copy doesn't have the coordination to play catch very well and he'd ended up hitting it in the head.

"Meanie!" It accused, throwing the ball back at him with the intent of genuinely hurting him. "That wasn't nice!"

wildcard.

(Anything else! I'm at plurk at laverinth)

january 1st

[fanoperator]

Huaisang thinks he's dreaming at first, when he sees someone walking down the sidewalk in white robes and long dark hair tied up in a topknot. Gazing out the window with a drink in hand, Huaisang has been enjoying the relative peace of this month so far. Lonely though his household is at the moment, it's sometimes nice to have the place to himself.

Blinking and sitting up, Huaisang sets down his drink to look again. The hair is unmistakeable, but the robes are only a bathrobe and pajamas. Still, it's enough of a similarity to his world that he immediately hops up and goes out onto the porch, waving to the stranger.

Huaisang's gone a bit native, having relatively little choice in the matter. He's wearing a gray dress and pearls, having found himself assigned to the role of wife and enjoying the gender freedom to the utmost. "Sect Leader Nie greets you!" he calls out in his native tongue, waving his hand to draw attention.

Victor Frankenstein | Frankenstein

[modernprometheuus]

JANUARY 1ST

[ Victor is scared out of his mind.

Is this hell? Is this his punishment? That can't be right, because he knows that his hell should be far worse than just this. And yet he can't help but be afraid.

When he woke up in some room he didn't recognize, his heart almost stopped beating from the terror of it... but this is far stranger than a simple kidnapping. There are pictures - far too detailed to be drawn by human hands - of him, everywhere he looks. Pictures of him smiling without a care in the world, alongside a woman and child he does not recognize. It's unsettling in a way that he can barely handle.

Did that monster do this? His horrible creation, too awful for human minds to comprehend... did it take him to this place? Certainly, for now things are quiet. There's no sign to indicate that he's going to be killed or hurt. But... it must be coming soon. He knows it. How long must he suffer at the hands of that beast?

As Victor thinks on it, a furious rage builds up inside him. And suddenly, when he feels like he can't take it anymore, he's on his feet, storming out of the room with shaking fists. Then, he yells at the top of his lungs- ]

Come out! Reveal yourself, you foul beast!! I know you're waiting!

SNOW DAY

[ By now, Victor's managed to calm his nerves, though barely. With no sign of his creation, he's still frightened, but it seems like he's become somewhat acclimatized to the fear of this bizarre not-quite-kidnapping. Now, he's settled into a comfortable state of depression, walking around listlessly and cursing himself for letting this happen. Because maybe he deserves to be taken away from his family, his friends... maybe it's for the best. But Henry, Elizabeth, his father- as soon as they notice he's gone, they'll surely be worried sick about him! Henry especially, who he's been travelling with in England... he doesn't want any of them to experience that pain.

And more importantly, what will happen to them now? Now that he can't complete his work... what if that wretched thing grows angry? Without Victor to protect them, what if he decides to take it out on his dearest friends? ...With that thought, Victor feels fear seizing his heart. No, that can't be, he has to go back, he has to-

Splat. Suddenly, a snowball hits him right in the head, and Victor almost topples over from the surprise of it. Turning to look, he sees the perpetrator - a young child, standing there looking at him with a mischievous expression. Perhaps, at another time, the sight of it might have warmed his heart.

Now, Victor just feels miserable.

Come join us! the boy yells, join my team! And another boy from across the street yells back in protest. It's all a bit of a blur, to be honest. Victor doesn't know what to say, nor what to do... he's so tired. He's just exhausted, by all of it.

He turns back. And standing there behind him is you. With a start, Victor pulls back, surprised, and a little afraid. ]

You're-?

COMING ATTRACTIONS

[ Ahhh, he knew this was Hell! But this is the worst agony, more than Victor had ever imagined possible!

How can it be that to simply see his own life reflected back at him can drive him to such despair? But it's no surprise, is it, really? He doesn't know how they're doing this, the people who took him. Maybe this is all a horrible dream, after all. Or the spirits of the people he's killed have come back to haunt him, driving him into madness in order to avenge themselves. Yes, that must be it...

Justine is hanged. William, sweet William, is killed, strangled by a creature too grotesque for human eyes to witness. He watches it happen again and again, and they turn to him, whispering- Why did you kill us, Victor? It's your fault. You let us die.

He knows it's true.

He watches that fateful night, when he first brought his creation to life. He watches it's lips curl into a sneer, and he sobs, and sobs and sobs, unable to bear a a single second more of it. But he can't look away. Why can't he look away? ]

No more... I beg of you, stop!!

WILDCARD

[ Feel free to throw anything you'd like at Victor here! You can PM me or message me at Rivenix if you'd like to plot. Victor is taken entirely from Mary Shelley's original novel, primarily the 1831 edition since that's the one I own. He's also... incredibly melodramatic, lmao, I apologize in advance if that reflects in how I write him somewhat! ]

Ian Fowler | OC

[wittingly]

Coming Attractions

( He's not actually a horror movie person. To be honest, he hasn't been much of a movie person in general these last several years -- not that he's anti-media, he just hasn't had the time. He preoccupies himself almost constantly with work, or with outings with coworkers. Acquaintances, friends of friends (friends being a loose term). He stays busy.

But he doesn't have work here, and he doesn't have friends of any level or definition, and... to be honest, his neighbor's fucking creepy. The dude just kept hanging over the side of his fence every afternoon going you been to the drive-in yet? you been to the drive-in yet? don't miss out, buddy. tell me what you think about the drive-in after you see it!

So, fuck it. He goes to the drive-in. Walks, in fact, because the thought of squeezing a car in between everyone else's and getting stuck with it isn't appealing. He makes charming small-talk with somebody who lets him post up on the hood of their car while they join up with a friend, and he's there with his elbows on his knees and his feet on the bumper when it starts.

It.

Being not the movie. No dolls. His own face at twenty-two staring back at him dozens of feet high. His eyes peel away from the crowd to focus instead on a hospital bed -- more accurately, the emaciated figure lying on it. Olivia Fowler, cheeks sunken in, lips cracked, a breathing tube in her nose. A song plays, a heart monitor ticks, she wheezes in the eternal struggle to catch her breath. Her lips move, but he can't hear her over the music.

He's lightheaded. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. At some point his hand made its way to his mouth, but it doesn't do anything to mute the distraught sound that escapes his throat. )

Oh my g-

( Which is about where his throat locks up, and -- yeah, there he is, crying in a fucking drive-in, his vision swimming and vertigo setting in. )

Doppelganger

( Ian is not an action hero. Ian is not the protagonist in anybody's story. He is, at best, the background love interest to a main character who's story isn't really about romance. At worst, maybe a quirky side character with a few funny or deep introspective lines.

He's a teacher. He's an engineer. He's a pot-smoking Starbucks drinker from California who hasn't gotten into a fight since eighth grade.

He is not prepared to walk downstairs and see a puppet of himself sitting at the kitchen fucking table. By some miracle he manages not to shit himself, but there's no denying the immediate rush of fear and adrenaline that hits him when the fucking thing talks.

Nope. No. No thank you. This is not his area, goodbye. Fuck that. He makes immediately for the front door, and this janky-limbed motherfucker bolts after him. Almost makes it, too, except that Ian yanks the door behind him, smashing its hand in the process. The screeching is immediate, ungodly, terrifying. It spooks him backward, he nearly trips and falls off the front stoop in his haste to back away. It's a bad call, he should've kept holding onto the knob, because it fucking lunges at him. It helps finish the job the stoop started, and his back hits the paved walkway so hard it knocks the wind out of him.

Well.

Goodnight sweet prince. )

doppelganger.

[hydraulics]

[ A long, hideous shriek that makes the small hairs on the back of his neck rise pierces the crisp winter air — and as he stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, his head quickly whipping to the side to see a front door burst open, Mace thinks he might almost get there in time.

It’s been a strange day. Week. Month. Whichever. God only knows, and Mace means that in the most hyperbolic way possible, because while being here’s confirmed Santa’s existence to his biggest critic — it’s just about convinced Mace of the opposite, when it comes to the big guy upstairs. Seems like there’s only ever been a downstairs; seems like that’s where they’re all trapped.

It’s something that had finally occurred to him at the drive-in the other night, seeing his father’s face looming over him in grainy black-in-white, larger than life and colder than death — that this might actually be the Hell he hadn’t given a second thought to, back home. A swift glance around had confirmed that others in the audience — not the townsfolk, but others like himself — were seeing something equally disturbing, equally personal.

Hell, there’d even been one guy near him in tears, a hand raised to his face; and despite the darkness, Mace’d been able to see the way his eyes had been gleaming, bright and in obvious pain. The noise out of him had almost prompted Mace to reach out to him, to maybe try and snap him out of it — to help him.

Almost. Almost, almost, almost. Almost completed his mission. Almost reinstated the mainframe into the coolant. Almost didn’t kick the goddamn bucket. Seems to be the theme of his life.

That same guy hits pavement less than two yards away, hard enough that he can’t manage the air needed for a shout — and Mace’s face hardens as he watches something clearly inhuman lunge out the front door, still with that unearthly wail burbling from its lips. Almost has been the theme of his life, but it sure as fuck doesn’t have to be the theme of his death. ]

Hey!

[ Loud and booming, the deep bark of a wolf rather than a dog. What follows is a snowball thrown at blistering speed, hitting the doppelgänger square in the eyes. Doesn’t stop it for long, but it’s not meant to; it’s meant to buy time, to blind it long enough for Mace to tuck his hands firmly beneath the stranger’s underarms.

A heave, a grunt, and then he’s dragging the stranger backward like a tall, dark, and handsome sack of potatoes. ]

Hold on, man, I gotcha —

[ He hopes the guy’s not too badly injured to get further harmed by the pulling, but there’s no more time to be bought. Mace gets him all of three feet away before the stranger’s mirror image gives another distorted scream and stumbles down the front stoop. Well. Tries to, anyway — and it’s somebody else’s turn for an almost, because Mace meets it halfway in a superbowl-worthy tackle, the two of them bursting through the threshold of the house and slamming into the hardwood of the foyer floor. ]

Ryouga Kamishiro | Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal

[oceansphoenix]

January 1st

[ Something is very wrong here.

The kidnapping is one thing. Ryouga's not exactly afraid, though he is definitely concerned - and of course, as always, pissed off. But the pictures on the walls... everything about them is wrong. There's him as a kid, beaming proudly next to to parents he doesn't recognise - there on his first day of school. There's him as a teenager, only a few years younger than he is now, smiling at the camera with a smile that's so unfamiliar on his lips. The one he's looking at now... looking at it is just like staring into a mirror.

The worst part is that in each and every photo, Rio is missing. It's wrong, looking at these pictures without her by his side.

Was this place designed by some - psychopath trying to fuck with him? He can't tell if there's something supernatural going on here, or if it's just a bunch of extremely well made fakes. From people who've... from the looks of it, been stalking him an awfully long time. Neither option is particularly appealing.

But this is a serious problem. If someone managed to kidnap him... what happened to Rio and everyone else? Are they in danger, too?

With that thought, Ryouga tries to teleport away- only to stop short, his face paling.

His powers are gone.

How is that possible? ...He's not sure, but it can't be good. With a growing sense of trepidation, Ryouga glowers and walks over to the door, opening it... and walking right into you. ]

...Who the hell are you?

COMING ATTRACTIONS

Alright, who the hell did this!?

[ Ryouga stands in the middle of the theatre, yelling, his hands clenched into fists. He looks around wildly, but his eyes keep finding themselves drawn back to the screen - and he can't help but watch.

It's not a pleasant scene. IV lies there on the cold ground, Ryouga standing over his body. He's going to die, and Ryouga was the one who killed him.

Why did you do it? IV asks. You killed me. It's a cold, accusing voice, and Ryouga has nothing to say in his defense. He was wrong. He knows that now...

Just as he's beginning to tremble, the screen changes. This time, Rio and Durbe are the ones to die. Ryouga, on the screen, cries out, but there's nothing he can do - he was helpless to save them, helpless to do anything but watch. His fault, his fault, his fault. His sister and his closest friend cry out, asking why he didn't save them, why he let this happen, again-

And Ryouga can't take it anymore. All the grief and the guilt he feels is too much to take, and suddenly he's exploding in rage, lashing out at no-one, at everyone, desperate for this to end. ]

Who the hell's responsible for this!? You'd better show yourself, or...!

DOPPELGANGER

[ If you were to walk by now, you'd be just in time to see Ryouga beating the shit out of a puppet version of himself. It's... an unsettling sight. An arm's been torn off and thrown to the side, and the doppelganger is crying out loudly - NOT NICE, NOT NICE!! - as Ryouga continues to pummel it into the ground. Finally, he slams his foot right down into the thing's mouth, and it shatters into pieces. ]

...Good riddance.

[ Ryouga himself is bleeding from a cut on his face, and he looks absolutely exhausted. It looks like the fight hasn't been such an easy one. ]

NETWORK

Are there any more of you who've woken up here without knowing how you got here? Found yourself stuck in fake families?

[ And then, after a moment's hesitation- ]

Have any of you seen someone named Rio?

WILDCARD

[ Feel free to throw anything at Ryouga here! ]

Network - @PAPYRUS, text

[spaghettimonster]

SO IT'S HAPPENED TO YOU TOO, HUH? WELL, YOU'RE IN GOOD COMPANY.

IT SEEMS LIKE EVERYONE WITH ONE OF THESE RADIOS, WOKE UP LIKE THAT.

[Suspiciously convenient, isn't that?]

IN A NEW HOUSE... WITH A NEW FAMILY...

AND SO MANY THOUGHTFUL FAMILY PHOTOS, THAT WE DON'T REMEMBER HAPPENING.

Joyce Byers | Stranger Things

[lightheld]

[ooc: spoilers for all seasons of Stranger Things below! ]

JANUARY 1ST

[ Okay. Okay, okay, okay. So this is a situation.

Waking up in a stranger's bedroom was frightening enough, but the photos littered around the house have taken things to a whole other level. Joyce doesn't recognise the man or the kids in any of them, but she certainly recognises herself, and she doesn't remember any having any of these pictures ever taken. So what the hell is going on?

She might be panicking a little. But it's fine. Most importantly, she wants to know if her kids are okay. Jonathan, Will - Eleven too... if she's been kidnapped, or wondered into another world, or whatever's happened - what about them? Are they safe?

Joyce knows that she has to stay calm. At the very least, she's not tied up, so if this is a kidnapping, her kidnapper's not off to a great start. Right now, Joyce is searching the room for anything she can use as a weapon, but just as she's doing that...

She hears the door open, and whirls around to face the newcomer, nothing in her hands. So much for that... ]

W... who are you?

CLOWNING AROUND

Yes, thank you, goodbye...

[ With a forced smile, Joyce slowly and surely shuts the door on her neighbour, before listening carefully until she hears the telltale sound of footsteps walking away.

And then she sighs. Deeply.

What is she supposed to do with all this... well, it's not food, is it, really? She certainly can't eat it. And the cake she's holding, now... well, it actually looks edible, but she's not stupid enough to try it. Who knows what kind of awful horrors are waiting inside...

By now, Joyce is convinced that she's wondered into some parallel dimension, or something. This whole thing is just too complex to be designed by ordinary human beings, and it really is a sign of what her life has come to when the supernatural explanation sounds like the more likely one, isn't it? ...If that's the case, then... maybe her kids are safe, after all. She's trying to think positive - if they're not here, then they probably haven't been taken with her, and more likely than not they're just stuck at home in their beds.

...But they must be worried sick about her. How are they supposed to look after themselves on their own? What if they've been taken to another world themselves, one worse than this one? What if...

No, she can't think about that. She just can't.

Joyce carries the cake over towards the kitchen, and she's just about to open the fridge door when she remembers- ah. It's full. Of course.

Nothing else to do but put it on the table, then. So Joyce does just that, placing it down carefully before just kind of... staring at it, not knowing what to do. The clown's candy eyes look back up at her, as if it's waiting.

And she sighs again. ]

What am I supposed to do with this...?

COMING ATTRACTIONS

[ Joyce thinks she's going to be sick.

She doesn't want to see this again. Not Bob, no, not him, please... She's been trying for so long to forget this moment that to see it playing out in front of her is tearing her apart. It hurts even more than she remembers. It's too much to bear, she thinks, stop it, just stop...

The screen flickers. Hopper appears, next.

She already knows what's going to happen.

Joyce stands, in the middle of the crowded theatre. She doesn't know what she's going to do, but all of a sudden, she finds herself walking towards the screen, her eyes wet with tears that she can barely hold back. She's shaking, though if it's from grief, fury, or horror, no-one can say... And then...

Her face becomes warped with anger, and she punches the screen as hard as she can. ]

WILDCARD

[ Feel free to throw anything at me here! And this is literally my fourth post on this TDM, I am so sorry :') if you want to plot, you can find me at Rivenix or PM this journal. Thanks! ]

coming attractions

[callhousekeeping]

[ The Countess had been watching herself on screen, lucky enough to simply get a memory of some night in the seventies, in a nightclub where the only light came off the disco ball overhead. It's a pleasant thing to take in on screen, even if the "actors" keep doing mildly disconcerting things, but it's not enough to keep her from noticing a woman approach and then attack the screen.

She swoops out of her seat and reaches out, one hand resting softly on Joyce's shoulder as she murmurs, quiet and gentle. ] Oh, no no dear, that won't do anything at all. It's all right, come here.

[ There's a light pressure, meant only to guide, though it is insistent. The Countess is not a woman who allows herself to go unheeded -- even in a moment of kindness, she asserts herself as the one in charge. But it really is in this woman's best interest to step back from the screen, because the locals are beginning to mutter and grouse, shocked by the display. ]

Come on, love. Here, have a cigarette, it'll help.

[ She already has one ready in her other hand, along with a lighter. ]

Weiss Schnee | RWBY

[dustprincess]

Snow Day
[Not having been one for snowball fight, Weiss stands far enough away from the antics to hopefully not be pulled into them. She's overall not too bothered by the cold, standing more with her arms crossed as a way to discourage too many kids from getting close. Her mood has been sour since waking up in this strange place. Not having her Semblance or her rapier leaves the former heiress feeling defenseless.

If anyone asks, Weiss can just say she's "watching the kids"]


Coming Attractions
[Seeing herself leave her home to get back to her friends was not something Weiss expected to see on screen. It's upsetting in a way to see that moment. When she stopped being the heiress of the Schnee family and decided to go her own way.

She didn't need to be reminded of the family she abandoned along the way for her new family. So Weiss is as the concessions stand and sipping a drink as her back stays turned to the screen. Anyone who gets close will be looked at by a rather irritated young woman.]

Can you believe they show things like that? How rude. [She waves a hand impatiently.] I came here for a relaxing movie night. Not whatever that is.


Doppleganger
[Coming from a world with shape shifting Semblances, this was unnerving. Weiss sought the refuge of the outside as soon as the doppleganger was spotted in the house.

She finds it unfortunate that it seems to want to follow her everywhere. Having hoped seeing the doll had just been some strange thing, this wasn't okay in the least. If this was Remnant she would just blast the thing with a Dust boosted attack or even a Summon. She curses this place from taking away her Huntress abilities.

Weiss tests this creature by running for a while and slowing down when she gets close to someone.]

I-Is something following me?

[Yup. Even if it was in an ungainly way.]


Wildcard
[Hit me with your best shot!]

doppleganger!

[lightheld]

Following you?

[ Joyce is caught off-guard as she's suddenly approached by a girl she doesn't recognize. She stands out amongst the other residents of this place - she looks young, and her hair is as white as snow. Joyce has never seen hair that colour before on someone her age. It's strange, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

More importantly... At the girl's question, Joyce looks behind Weiss and scans the horizon to see if she can spot anyone. Or... anything. It takes her a moment, but...

The way that Joyce's eyes widen is probably the only answer that Weiss needs. ]

Yes, there's something - i-it looks like you?

noelle rosas. | original.

[inpersonation]

prompt i: a way to start the day.
Oh! Good morning!

[ upon coming downstairs to the kitchen, you'll see there's a young girl already in there. she whirls upon hearing someone enter the kitchen, a strange expression on her face fleeing and soon being replaced with utter delight and cheer upon seeing you.

certainly not there the night prior but going through the pantry as if she owns it, the girl flashes a sweet and shy smile and looks down, laughing at herself and fluffing up her hair in embarrassment while tucking her other arm behind her. ] I'm sorry if I made too much noise. I was looking for something to eat. Say— Since you're awake, why don't I make you some breakfast for you?

Let me look for something. Stay right there!

[ hopefully, you have a sharp eye for details because as she quickly passes by a window to place more distance between you and her look for something to cook with, as there's a chance to see the reflection of her back.

and the knife she's hiding behind her, held in a vice-like grip. ]

prompt ii: no sell.
[ there's an alarming amount of screaming and shouting coming from the house at the moment. yelling. cursing. a whole lot of crashes and thumps soon following after.

then silence.

signs of life coming from the house comes in the form of the front door swinging open and a young girl stumbling out of the house, dragging a trashbag that has odd sharp bits poking out from here or there.

her clothes are torn. her hair is a mess, wild around her steely expression. her face is covered in cuts and speckles and streaks of blood, most definitely hers. she almost doesn't realise someone is there until she gets to the end of the front walkway, reaching out for the lid of the trash can. ]

... Hi there. I didn't see you there. [ she manages a smile though it's more of a grimace. ] Sorry! I know I like pretty wild but I'm just... You know. Taking out the trash right now.

[ she proudly lifts up the trash bag, which now has a rip large enough to see a porcelain hand — covered in blood and weblike cracks — through the tear. ]

prompt iii: return to sender. / network, voice. (warning: emetophobia. possible discussion of abuse. murder.)
[ after returning from the movies and forcing herself to hurl out the popcorn and soda down the toilet, choking and gagging until she was sure her stomach was empty of the stuff, noelle manages to post the following to the network: ]

I don't care what you guys might think of him. H-He had to do it. He had to.

He— We had to kill him. It was him or me. I was sick and tired of it always being me. [ she's barely legible with how she struggles to hold back her tears and sniffles. there are times she has to stop herself from speaking because a sob catches in her throat, preventing her from saying anything until she calms down. ]

That's not right. That's not fair. Why was everyone cheering over that? Why was that being shown? I— I'm going to kill whoever showed that. I'm going to kill them.

i

[liaise]

[The first thing Cecily notices upon waking is that she's alone; this is not an unheard situation, but it's rare for Filomena or Layla to leave without waking her, even in the evenings.

The second thing she notices is that she can hardly smell anything, as if she's come down with a horrible cold. She opens her eyes, taking in her surroundings.

This is not her beautiful house, and there's no sign of her beautiful wives.

She climbs out of bed, wrapping herself in the dressing gown she finds, because the negligee she's wearing is utterly ridiculous, and then tentatively makes her way downstairs. To find a young woman chatting away about breakfast.

Cecily is not her best in the mornings, and misses a whole lot of things she shouldn't.]

Um, hello? Is this your house?

[Perhaps she should be more suspicious, but she likes to give people the benefit of the doubt.]

[vampirella]

JANUARY 1ST.

( she's not made for mornings. rolling out of bed with full dark out the window is perfectly normal for Carmilla, and that's not the part that gives her pause. it's the stocky, dated room. and the swath of airy chiffon she's wearing. reminds her when Maman dressed her, like a living doll, in fragile pinks and blushes and her absolute favorite, sacrificial white.

it makes her stomach knot and a cold chill run up her arms. this stinks of Mother, no matter how bizarre and inexplicable. Lilita is supposed to be dead, done and dusted, and so is Carmilla herself — but who else could possibly trap her in some 60's lucid nightmare?

she wanders out of her room (avoiding another bed just to her right, not wanting to remotely entertain what that's about) and ignores her dressing gown. as she hits the bottom step, she plucks a picture off the wall. smiling faces, her own included. a man's hands on her shoulders. a kid, maybe a pair of them. unceremoniously, she drops the portrait and the glass shatters on the floor. that's a bunch of bullshit and she has no interest in unpacking the headgames that's supposed to be putting her through. instead, she wanders to the living room — oh, god, a formal living room, there's a reason those died — where crackling tv set is broadcasting report on a recent New Years celebration. 1961. )

Well, fuck. ( Carmilla notes eloquently. 60s were better than say, the 1800s, but she sure wouldn't have signed up to go back. she looks down at the foamy monstrosity she's wearing and concedes (to herself??? or perhaps her company), ) Well, that explains the nightgown.

( and with that she's heading to the liquor cabinet. if she notes having company, there's no obvious effort to address it. )

DOPPLEGANGER.

( it might be her kitchen, it might be yours. either way, no matter what reason you happen to be in it, or whether she's supposed to be welcome in it, Carmilla breezes in with odd nonchalance considering the fact she's bleeding and her perfect 60s coif is a little mussed. it's fine. clearly she's fine. she slides the lock on the door and strolls for the knife block, fingertips dancing over the handles like she's trying to find her favorite before she starts cooking dinner.

there's sudden and loud discordant pounds on the door. Carmilla doesn't blink, deciding on the largest chef knife she can find, balancing it in her palm, and shrugging in a you'll do sort of gesture. )

You might wanna clear out, cutie. ( because her grip is tightening on the handle and she's going back towards the door, and those pounds on the other side do not sound particularly friendly, do they? she's already working the locks back open, so if you have constructive criticism (what are you doing? what is out there? maybe don't stab it?), better make it fast. )

OBLIGATORY NETWORK PROMPT.

so the crazy stepford people are trying to kill us, right?
some broad dropped off a dessert that was 80% styrofoam.

WILDCARD.
( want something else? do none of these work for you? you can pm me or catch me at meowed to plan something else! )

doppleganger

[demonicmiracle]

[It's a bad habit that he hasn't trained himself out of yet, the whole 'leaving the door unlocked' thing, because he's used to it working on his wants, rather than the actual physical mechanism of a lock.

Having a woman wander into his kitchen and steal one of his knives while he's trying to decide what to cook for dinner might be the necessary kick in the ass for the lesson to sink in.

Maybe.

For now, though, he's going to close the fridge as he squints at her, then at the sounds coming from the front door.]

Oi! [Where are you going, young lady???] I'm not replacing these carpets again if you get blood on them, you leave that door locked.