JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JERICHO

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Prologue: New Characters

You've been plagued with a reoccuring dream, as of late. Every time you sleep, the dream returns to you.

It always begins the same way: As a breath held for too long. As a pressure at the base of your spine. A silence that presses against the skin like confession, like prophecy. A ripple moves through your bones. A tide builds and pulls at your feet, familiar by now. You dream of a black, soundless wave, thick like oil and starlight, swelling across the horizon line. You've seen the wave before, countless times, always rising. With every night, it never reaches you. You always seem to wake before it does . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave moves slow, deliberate— like something ancient and alive. And when it finally crashes, there is no harsh impact. Only warmth. Only submersion. Rather than drowning, you are being claimed with saltwater that's sweet with myrrh. The darkness embracing you pulses with desire. Then, a voice envelops you.

"Come home."
It dribbles with honey-like promise, like a truth you've always known, whispered now from within your marrow more like temptation than a request.

"You are mine. You always were."
The voice offers purpose. Worship. Belonging. And when you wake . . . You wake changed, with a mask on your face you did not choose. Elegant. Sacred. Too important to remove. You have been given a gift. A new beginning.

Welcome home, new Vessels.

Watch on YouTube

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Sink Down Like Precious Stones

( content warnings: drowning, body horror )

Vessels awaken within the dreamscape as the black wave recedes from their skin like velvet falling off the bone, their masks in place over their eyes and left afloat in the watery expanse. All around them, the ocean stretches infinite and lightless— so still it mirrors the sky above, indistinguishable from the void. Far in the distance, massive obsidian walls curve inward, enclosing this vast seascape like a forgotten temple basin. And there, at the far horizon, one glow pierces the dark: a low-burning fire flickering within a half-sunken structure of impossible architecture— arched, ribbed, as though built from marble and cathedral glass.

This is a test, and it begins with belief.

Those with unwavering faith— whether in Sleep, another god, or even themselves— will find the surface beneath their feet holds firm. The sea becomes glass, and they may rise, and walk. But those adrift in doubt begin to sink. Precious stone creeps over their skin. Joints stiffen. Flesh cracks. Breath slows. It is not death, but it is close and might as well be hell. Your only salvation lies in your own conviction . . . Or the mercy of another Vessel who happens to walk.

Those who drown will not die. They will loop this moment— sinking, blackness, return, sink again— until belief takes root in some way. Alternatively, they may awaken in a later dreamspace . . . Changed.

NOTES:

• Pale white fish as well as glowing jellyfish may be encounted. The fish stare at vessels as they drown, and jellyfish may leave behind a shock that could temporarily stop the process of crystalization. But only temporarily— and their stings are excrutiating.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Magic becomes volatile— spells flicker, overcharge, or fizzle unpredictably when cast on or near the ocean.
• When you cast, your veins glow from beneath the skin, but not with light. It's writhing. Like something trapped under glass.
• When channeling magic, your mouth may fill with brine and blood.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The water responds emotionally— thrashing with fury or calming with yearning depending on the Offering's state of mind.
• The sea amplifies desire and instinct, making base emotions harder to suppress— rage, hunger, longing all churn just beneath the surface.
• The black water feels too warm, too alive, clinging to the body like memory; any stillness invites visions of Sleep's embrace, both reverent and consuming.

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You Taste Like New Flesh

( content warnings: body horror, psychological horror, compulsion, unreliable reality )

The ocean path ends at a palace carved of pearl and spun silk, impossibly perched where water meets nothingness. Whether you have traversed the black sea on trembling feet or simply awaken seated at an impossibly long table, it makes no difference. You are here now, and welcomed, suddenly in attire fit for a gala. Around this table sit countless Dream-Vessels, many silent and still, faces unreadable in the flickering candlelight wearing generic, six-eyed masks. The table stretches beyond sight, arching beneath creeping vines that twist like ancient veins overhead, blooming with strange blossoms that beat with energy. Flames dance atop dozens of candles— some burn on brass holders, others hover, like fireflies caught mid-flight, their shadows flickering and shifting with an otherworldly rhythm. Around you, phantasmal forms shimmer on pedestals: Sleep's ancient Guardians are eternalized through memorial, monstrous and magnificent, lost to time yet enshrined in reverence. On the highest pedestal stands a still living One, silent and watching the feast with somber eyes. Sleep's voice whispers in your ear, encouraging a glance to, perhaps, see what you may become.

"Feast, My Dear Vessels. Until you taste like New Flesh."

The foods before you don not come unmeddled with. Each bite pulls memories from your bones to the surface— moments buried or erased, but these are not just yours. The banquet feeds on shared history, stirring secrets tangled between you and the others here. To eat is to open a door: to risk awakening something dormant, to invite others inside your buried truths, to forge bonds or betrayals that can never be unseen.

Eton Mess: Crushed meringue, tangled cream, and berries that bleed like bruises when bitten. Sweetness melts quickly, leaving your tongue cold. As you eat, a memory rises— but you don't experience it alone. The person nearest you sees what you see, hears what you hear, feels what you felt. Together, you can alter one key detail, and that change ripples outward, shifting how you both remember the event.

Deviled Kidneys: Spiced and seared, the metallic richness clings to your mouth, as if tasting old blood. Eating summons the echo of a painful or violent memory, but your partner experiences it with you.

Roasted Lamb in Mint Sauce: The sweetness of the meat is cut by mint sharp enough to sting the throat. Your act of consumption awakens a craving, but not in you— in the Vessel sharing this dish. They feel an inexorable pull toward your memory, even without knowing what they seek. The bond persists until the craving is confronted.

Honey Scouse: A thick, golden stew heavy with warmth, but beneath the sweetness, something cloying curls around the edges. Every shared spoonful spreads a slow, creeping influence between you and your partner: intrusive visions, subtle compulsions, small lapses in agency. Neither of you can tell whose thoughts belong to whom.

Starpit Fruit: Plum-sized and faintly glowing, the juice leaves your fingertips dusted in silver, like handling starlight. When bitten, the fruit releases the memory of a forgotten wish, not to you but to the person beside you. They see it clearly— and know exactly what you once wanted most, even if you had buried it.

Marigold Brandy: A golden spirit served warm, glowing faintly as though sunlight has been trapped inside the glass. When lifted, it releases a soft, floral scent. The first sip draws you and your partner into a shared burst of joy— a memory that makes you swell with happiness. The sensation is so immediate, so electric, that when the memory breaks, your bodies ache to move, to speak, to draw more positivity to light. You may feel an irresistible pull to get up and dance on the wide palace floors, even if no music is playing . . . And if others nearby drink as well, the effect multiplies.

Saints Breath Chalice: A dark, wine-thick cordial served in tarnished silver cups etched with symbols that shift when stared at too long. The liquid smells faintly of frankincense and something sweeter— blood-warm and alive. Drinking it floods you and your partner with the overwhelming sensation of being inside someone else's celebration, a memory that belongs to neither of you: a vast mass of black, with branching antlers and six, glowing red eyes. It reaches to sink its claws into your chest as she sings: One. Beloved. We were meant to be. It is impossible to tell whether you're witnessing joy or manic worship. There is chanting you cannot understand but somehow already know, drums that sync with your heartbeat until you can feel nothing else. Your limbs begin to twitch, then sway, then move without conscious thought, drawn into a dance you do not remember learning. If more than two people drink, your movements synchronize perfectly, your breath matching theirs, until the room seems stop to watch.

The table awaits.

NOTES:

• Feasting becomes addictive. The more a character eats, the harder it is to stop. Gluttony may cause physical consequences: nosebleeds, twitching fingers, warping speech, uncontrollable confessions, or dripping nectar from their mouths.
• Those who refuse to eat at all begin to starve in a dream-sense: they lose color, smell burning, and feel the weight of Sleep's gaze. Her wrath isn't immediate— but it grows the longer you reject the feast. She takes offense.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Each spell cast after eating releases parasitic energy— manifesting as flowers, thorns, parasitic insects or rot— either from their own body or from someone they recently touched.
• Casting warps your limbs temporarily: too many joints, fingers curl the wrong way, nerves burn like wires.
• Touching others leaves sigils burned into their skin. These will briefly carry over into the waking world during next month's event. Runecasters will get the innate feeling that this symbol has a meaning summed up as "The Night Does Not Belong To God". How they interpret that is up to them.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The act of devouring awakens an overwhelming desire, often physical, but sometimes emotional or spiritual. This desire clings to another Vessel at the table, creating obsessive attachment or aggression.
• The more they eat, the more their monstrous traits subtly emerge.
• Consuming another Vessel's memory (if shared or touched) grants a brief glimpse of their deepest fear or weakness.

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There's Something In The Way You Lay

( content warnings: sexual content, voyeurism, body modification, omegaverse traits, loss of agency )

Beneath its pearlescent halls, beyond the banquet of flickering candles and dream-Vessels who eat in hollow silence, a spiral staircase winds downward. Its steps are damp and velvet-slick. The further you descend, the warmer the air becomes— humid, cloying, thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and incense. The sounds reach you first: Slaps, gasps, the wet chorus of bodies and perverse intimacy. Laughter, muffled sobs, the echo of whispered names long forgotten. At the base lies a corridor of "private" rooms. Their doors swing open with dreamlike invitation. Inside, the scenes unfold: past dream-Vessels lost in tableau— arched backs, bitten lips, mouths open in prayer or obedience. Some are alone, coiled in worship. Others tangle in groups, indistinguishable where one body ends and another begins. Vines bloom across the ceilings, watching. The walls glisten with breath. You see their faces, but you can't quite distinguish what or who they are. You may not remember choosing a role, but the dream has chosen for you. α or Ω— and with the naming, your body changes. There is no shame here, only devotion made manifest. This is how Sleep is worshipped now: through cruelty and surrender, through the giving and the taking of flesh.

NOTES

• Masks may optionally offer a sort of glamour for Vessels who wander into these chambers— they will not be able to recognize each other. How much of that, whether it be appearance, voice, and so on, is up to you.
• Past dream-Vessels perform for no one, eyes vacant, movements perfect, as if only a ghost of a memory. Player characters may interact with them and even partake in intimacy with them, but be warned: they are emotionally absent and may cause symptoms of succumbence that could be remedied with a proper, player-character tether.
• Tools hang on the walls: Rods of all sizes, slick with heat. Collars that hum with low, seductive voltage. Blindfolds that intensify physical contact, There's no need for cuffs or chains when there are vines that seem to respond to the α party's mood— tightening, flowering, or reaching for skin. You are free to come up with your own items.
• α perks:: Instinctive claiming (done through biting, rubbing, branding, etc), an almost predatory focus and obsession for those who interest them, pack gravity (the ability to attract one or more vessels at once), emitting a scent that ignites heat/rut in others, darker urges surge and a commanding voice.
Ω perks: High pain tolerance, instinctive yielding, emotional synchrony with those being watched, self-lubricating, hypersensitive, scent tracking, intense need to please or be filled emotionally, physically, and spiritually. When touched, glowing runes bloom across the skin.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.
• Magic may manifest as misty appendages— extra hands, tongues, eyes, etc.
• Divine energy becomes volatile when passed through the body— ecstasy may border on agony, or vice versa, and Tethering becomes impossibly euphoric.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Flesh becomes malleable mid-act— bones bending, jaws unhinging, skin blooming open, etc.
• Animalistic traits emerge: tails, claws, growls, tentacles, scent glands— all begging to be used.
• Feeding and Tethering are indistinguishable— hunger becomes worship, and worship becomes need.

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I am not worthy

( content warnings: body horror, violence, gore, parasitic/invasive feeding, death )

Wherever you are, the palace begins to rot. First slowly, then all at once: vines swell with black fluid, splitting at the seams. They burst from beneath marble tiles, coil up pillars, slither across frames and vacant thrones like arteries choking a heart. The candlelight flickers. One by one, the flames throughout the palace float upward . . . And die. No smoke. No warning. Just wet silence. Then the Dream-Vessels begin to fall. They do not scream as they do. They collapse like marionettes, limbs askew. Their flesh splits open along wounds that should not exist— a rip at the neck, teeth marks prying open the ribcage, a bite that swallows half a torso. Bones jut like sculpted ivory. Entrails slither across the floor like garlands. Some burst mid-air, as if the dream demands spectacle. Others fold in on themselves until all that's left of them is a mound of flesh.

"I am not worthy."

One voice. Ten. A thousand—layered, glitching, sweaty. It echoes from the walls, the bodies, the seams in the floor. The corpses twitch in time with the chant, jerking violently. Some snap backwards, eyes wide, jaws unhinged. Others explode— blossoming in gore, raining viscera. From the heaving pile of ruined Dream-Vessels, something forms.

It lurches into being: stitched from tongues, teeth, torsos. Weeping. Wailing. Worshipping. A monstrosity of raw flesh and faith: all failures made meat. Its eyes (are they eyes?) blink out. Arms claw outwards, too many to count. Its scent is of copper, sweat, and sorrow.

When The Abomination chooses to feed, it seeks not flesh, but the softest rot inside you. An appendage uncoils from its writhing mass and unhinged jaw— veined, slick, and trembling like a violated root. It drives itself into your mouth, splitting your lips with obscene tenderness, and sinks deep into your throat, locking you still.

What it draws out is not blood. It siphons your doubts, your fears, your most secret self-hatred. Your inadequacy. Every buried shame. Your hate. Your negativity. Every flinch of unworthiness. Every moment you believed yourself unlovable, unseen, too small. It gorges on what you hide from even yourself, and the more you try to resist, the sweeter your sorrow becomes. The last thing it takes is your life force, and then your viscera, leaving you wilted and shrivled like a hollow log.

This death is violating and feels painfully slow. You're drained raw of your vitality until you're but a brittle husk that breaks to dust in the wind. It seems near impossible to destroy, always reforming into bits and pieces left smudged behind. Perhaps your best bet it to run, or attempt to wake yourself up from this nightmare.

One's voice repeats in choked sobs: I am not worthy.

NOTES:

• Wounds from the beast linger. You may wake bleeding or marked.
• If devoured, characters will awaken the following month extremely fatigued during the first 3-5 days of the month. They may also sporadically rigurgitate black sludge. Characters who die and are already in the game may requesta plot clue, that will be a vision your character will dream of before awakening.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.
• Your hands glow uncontrollably, burning what you touch— even those you love.
• Magic becomes hungry; it demands pieces of your body to function. A tooth. A nail. A rib (and so on).

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The rage it stirs in you is monstrous. You begin to shift uncontrollably— flesh blooms, bones crack under strain.
• Your body begins moving before you decide to. Twitching toward The Abomination, and toward the scent of despair.
• During the chaos, you may develop a fixation with another Vessel's flaw. You can smell it on them. It entrances you . . . To the point that you may feel the urge to feed them to The Abomination.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's second TDM, which doubles as our third gamewide event!

➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible.

➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.

➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!

➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!

➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.

➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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Comments

[sculptedash]

[Wow Sharon, don't get all genre savvy on her now. It's just the season that got a thousand editorial notes trying to make it more like the average adult cartoon.

Luckily Ash is a little distracted by everything else about Sharon to really notice the blush, but it's the smile that catches her attention the most. Making people happy, it was a rush she was still adjusting to.]

Yeah. I don't think it would have been mine or Fox's first choice to get into that line of work. But it was Clarence's life, and we felt like we owed him everything at the time.

He was a dirty rat, but he was our dad.

[merged]

[ Sharon keeps their steps easy, grateful to be away from the banquet table and its mountain of temptations. Focusing on Ash is infinitely better and doesn't come with the risk of being blindsided by another horror or burst of pain.

There's something to be said about owing someone, about following their schemes out of guilt or obligation, but she leaves that thought alone for now, just tucking it away to chew on later. ]

You don't always call him dad. [ She points out, noting the little correction from earlier. ] Why is that?

[sculptedash]

[Ash appreciates the ease in the steps, she hadn’t really intended on the conversation to take this turn. She’d rather avoid the question and brush it off. Enjoy the time with a friend instead of revisiting the moments where things started to go wrong.]

Because… The last time I saw him, we were the ones being conned.

He found something that caught his eye more than us and sold us out the first chance he got.

…He hurt Fox, and then he abandoned us.

[She shifts slightly in her step. There’s the urge to pull back and make a break for it. She really hadn’t had a chance to talk about this since it happened.]

[merged]

Shit, I'm... [ Sharon's grip on Ash tightens, pulling her a little closer, lips pressed into a flat line. She'd expected something simple, maybe the usual struggles of being adopted, but not... that. Not betrayal. ]

Sorry, Ash, I didn't... [ Know. Think. Smooth move, Sharon. She swerves hard into another subject before the apology can linger in the air. ] So, uh... have you noticed not everyone here is from Manhattan?

[ ...she's trying, all right? ]

[sculptedash]

[Ash feels the tightness of her grip, and she takes getting pulled in a little closer. She returns it with a little clutch of her own before she replaces it with something softer.

Normally she'd take the chance to let the conversation slip into something else, but she doesn't want to let this one sit. Not on an apology. So she let's the Sharon try to change the topic and then she gives a little shrug.]

It's okay.

That was the last time I saw him.

It wasn't the last time he was in life though. I reached out to him once after all that. We didn't talk. But when I reached out to him, he was there.

So- I guess I'm just saying it's complicated.

[merged]

[ Ash doesn't take the easy way out, and it surprises Sharon in the best way. Her grip relaxes as she listens, gaze fixed on the other girl while their movements slow. Complicated families aren't foreign to her, though not because of her adoptive parents, and she nods knowingly. ]

The good doesn't always cancel out the bad. Some things stick. Some things are unforgivable. [ Clarence's betrayal settles sharp in her chest; once is enough to scar a lifetime, and Ash's endured it twice as far as she knows. ] ...but the good doesn't vanish either.

[ She moistens her lips before continuing. ] My birth mother has spent every year since the burning trying to make up for what she let them do to me. I hate her. I love her. It's... complicated.

[sculptedash]

[On a normal day Ash would run for the easy way out. But she desperately did not want her relationship with Clarence to ruin a good night with a friend.

And it surprises her more than a little to see the way Sharon reacts. The way her grip relaxes, her gaze on her. It’s a type of intimacy Ash hasn’t really experienced before. Someone who really gets it.]

They do- I haven’t forgiven him, but… I guess I haven’t fully written him off either.

[Or she thought he hadn’t.

Then when Sharon starts to share her own experience it’s Ash’s turn to listen. Her gently shifts to clasp Sharon’s to try and show as much support as she could.]

She hurt you, but somewhere in there… She’s still your mom. It’s hard to separate those things. And maybe you shouldn’t.

I admire you for… owning those feelings.

[merged]

We always have hope, even when we know we shouldn't.

[ When Ash takes her hand, Sharon tilts her head, a faint smile touching her lips beneath the mask, chains chiming softly with the motion. ]

It took me years to admit that to myself. For the longest time, I wanted nothing but for her to suffer. Forever. I hated her that much. [ Her tone dips, quieter. ] But then she... surprised me. She tried to protect me later, recognized me in her madness. Got beaten for it. But she did what I thought she never had the courage to do. [ Sharon swallows. ] I may never forgive her, but like you said... she's still my mom.

[ Her gaze lingers on Ash, steady, unwavering. ] Just like Clarence is still your dad.

[sculptedash]

Yeah... I guess we do.

[Honestly when Ash released Invictus the last thing she had expected was to wind up here, and running into new people that she had started to care about. Instead of the alternative.

There's a pause when Sharon explains the process. It didn't just remind her of her issues with Clarence. But Gary's words rang in the back of her head.

"Ash, I'm sorry we failed you." That and the brief moment of pause it gave her.

It takes her a moment to realize that Sharon is looking at her intently as she had been caught up in her past.

She raises a hand to gently touch the edges of Sharon's mask.]

I guess family has a way of surprising you in the end. Whether you're looking for them to or not.

You don't have to forgive her- Just like I don't with Clarence.

But... Maybe we shouldn't write them off either.

[merged]

[ With anyone else, Sharon might've pulled back the moment fingers brushed her mask, but with Ash, she lets it happen. There's something grounding in the gesture. She's always known, logically, that forgiveness isn't required, but hearing someone else say it out loud settles the truth deeper, as though she's finally been given permission to. ]

I wonder if we'll ever see them again. [ Her voice dips low, caught somewhere between hope and resignation. Now that Sleep has them, the odds feel slim. Dahlia might as well be as dead and gone as she believes Rose and Chris are. ] A part of me hopes we do... [ And the other part? The other part of her isn't sure. ]

[sculptedash]

[Ash wouldn't know what to do if she knew Sharon had placed that kind of trust in Ash. But in not knowing she can treasure the little moment that they share.

The next question gives Ash a moment of pause. Her last thoughts of home weren't exactly the most pleasant. Even if she went if she made it home, how would Clarence look at her when he eventually found out what she had done? Would he even survive long enough for them to meet again? Maybe they weren't so different after all.

...I guess here anything is possible.

[She shifts in just a touch as Sharon's voice dipped won.]

I wouldn't mind to see how he had changed since the last time I saw him- There's a lot I'd love to get off my chest since I last saw him.

...Another part still never wants to see him again.

[merged]

[ There's plenty Sharon wishes she'd said to Dahlia—things she never found the words for when she'd had the chance, and even more now that she's whole. The weight of those unsaid truths lingers, and Ash is the only one she knows who can actually understand. She sits in that rare position, straddling the same kind of loss.

She guides their steps in an unhurried rhythm, a waltz in name only, more about the conversation than the dance itself. ]

It's complicated, [ she says with a crooked curve of her lips, a phrase they've both leaned on because it fits. It's messy, layered, and never going to be simple. ] If there's something you want to say to him, maybe write him a letter when we wake up. It's not the same as telling him face to face, but sometimes just putting it down can help.

[sculptedash]

[Ash was happy to focus on the conversation. She matches the steps without much effort. That was something she did have Clarence to thank for.

She glances upward briefly at that idea, as she briefly let's it run through her head. It didn't sound like a terrible idea actually.]

That- Might actually help out a little. There's a lot going on there and it might help to have it on paper to- actually sort out the good from the bad?

Maybe there's more that could use one than just him.

[merged]

[ That pulls a cautious smile from her, small but genuine. ]

I hope it helps, Ash. Those feelings... they're awful to sit with. I spent so long just holding mine in, letting the anger eat at me until it was all I had left. [ She exhales softly, voice lowering as if admitting a secret. ] It doesn't do anyone any good, keeping it locked up.

[sculptedash]

[Ash hangs on that smile, and those words for a little. There is comfort there, but there's also a feeling that starts to gnaw at her gut. She had been holding back so much since she got here. Mostly because she had stopped holding back. She had let out all of that rage and hurt at the entire world, and the people who had hurt her.

...And then she landed here. With a guess at where the results had gone.

It takes her a long moment to think on how to respond, and it shows as she kind of lets the dance take over.]

Is that how you started to manage it? By writing letters?

Or did something happen before that made you realize you had to change?

[merged]

[ Ash goes quiet, and Sharon lets the silence linger. The dance itself, the closeness between them, is enough to savor. But when Ash finally speaks again, Sharon's smile fades. ]

I, uh... It's complicated. [ Of course it is. Everything they've talked about so far has been. ] Like I used to be two people kind of complicated. [ The words are heavy, difficult to admit, because she's still wrestling with it herself. She's only been whole since that first dream Sleep dragged her into, and there hasn’t been a moment to breathe, let alone process it, not while dealing with one nightmare after another.

The reality of the answer is: she both had something happen to push her to change while another part of her has simultaneously been writing or creating as a form of coping. ]

[sculptedash]

[For all things Ash had experienced in her life. Two people becoming one was a new one for her. A few things scraped close but not quite in the same way.

But her focus didn’t linger on that. She watched the way Sharon’s smile faded. She had been trying to avoid answering because she knew she had done some horrid acts. But she hadn’t wanted to put this back on Sharon, and to see her answer by opening up, well it made Ash a little envious.

Her fingers tighten around Sharon’s, providing a firm link of support in the best way she knew how.]

That does sound like a lot… I’ve got time to listen, if you want.

[She shifts slightly before glancing up to meet Sharon’s eyes again.]

I may not know anything but either of them. But the person they made… I like her a lot.

[merged]

[ The kinds of support Sharon has found since being drawn into Sleep's grasp never stops catching her off guard. She's met with acceptance, with understanding, but none of them know the truth. None of them know the things she's done, the cruelty she's carried out with her own hands.

And still, Ash likes her—likes this version of her. ]

...thanks, [ she murmurs, almost shy. Both for the offer to listen, and for the simple fact that Ash likes who she is now. ] I wasn't always two people. I created... well, Sharon after the whole sacrifice thing. I thought some part of me deserved a life without all the memories, without all the pain. So I split my soul. I took out what I thought was good, what was worth saving, and I set her loose in the world.

[ She wanted that part to grow up free. But it was never going to work. The Order would never release her, and souls aren't meant to be broken apart; the pieces are always pulled back together. ]

I'm still... adjusting to being whole again, [ she admits, voice low. ] It's a lot. All the memories, all the feelings I didn't have before. [ One half of her had known love. The other had nothing but rage and hatred. There's no real balance yet, but at least it's closer than it used to be. ]

[sculptedash]

[They had that in common. The hiding of the red that stained their hands. Ash had been so angry, so defeated before she arrived here. Those feelings were still there, but they didn’t have the right targets to strike at. It reminded her of the old days, of needing to sparked to really truly tap into that anger.

She listens, and she has to admit the shy sort of tone is kind of cute. Especially considering how Sharon had took to leading them in this dance.

But she also knows where focus should be. She wonders for a moment what it would be like to rip all of her pain and suffering out, to leave only the best parts of her out on display. She wonders how much of a person that would even be left. She wonders how hard it would be for all that pain to carry on without the little bits of good to question if it was even worth it. She doesn’t exactly envy Sharon for having to live like that, much less put herself back together again.]

You weren’t kidding when you said it was complicated.

[She tries to convey her empathy with a joke, she’s not fully sure it lands, but she’s trying.]

I can see why you’d want to write it out. Figure out who’s feeling what- and where those feelings meet in the middle as you became… You.

[Ash really hadn’t expected to run into a kindred spirit here, but it really seemed like Sharon had been through it on the same level as she had. It was something that made Ash feel a mix of emotions. Glad that they could relate. Sad that she had been through this, and angry at the world that had put through it.

She leans in briefly and whispers into Sharon’s ear.]

I just want you to know, even if you’re still sorting it out. You’re beautiful.

[merged]

[ Ash doesn't question her, doesn't shift the way she looks at her. If anything, the knowledge only seems to give her a clearer picture of Sharon's situation. She jokes softly, thinks out loud as she pieces together the weight of Sharon's reality, and Sharon can't find words for the sharp, new ache that stirs in her chest. There are so few who could even begin to grasp the pain, the struggle of living as she has, and Ash just... accepts her. No judgment. No change in her gaze.

Then she leans close, whispering in her ear, and Sharon nearly breaks apart right there, hot tears threatening to spill. The words cut straight to her heart, and it feels like Ash is speaking not just to Sharon, but to all of her, even the parts she'd rather keep hidden. ]

I— [ her voice falters, cracks, ] Shit, Ash. [ And before she can second-guess herself, before she can care about who's watching, Sharon throws her arms around her. ]

[sculptedash]

[Ash had once found herself so far out in the depths of space that nothing should have been able to find her. But something did, and despite her best efforts it had managed to bring the slightest bit of light into the darkest point in her life.

She hadn't had much time to reflect on that moment until now. How it had accepted her for all that she was despite how she had been acting, despite what she was.

The least she could do was pass that onto someone else who seemed to need it. Someone who she had started to care for. Who seemed to be lost trying to find her way through life as she had been.

At first she's taken off guard by the crack in her voice, for a second she's not sure if she made the right choice. But then the arms fly around and her and she freezes and tenses up briefly. ...It was still strange being hugged ever since Fox- Her breath hitches and she lets herself relax before she lets her arms wrap around Sharon in return.]

I-

Look.

[She shifts her weight a little from one foot as she stumbles through what to do next.]

Would it be weird to ask if I could kiss you right now?

I know we're really in the thick of it here. But I did mean what I said.

[merged]

[ It's hardly the first time Ash has managed to catch her off guard, not today, but this time Sharon doesn't bother overthinking her response. She simply closes the space between them and presses her lips to hers—soft, grateful, sweet. Maybe it was the alcohol she'd had, or the weight of everything that had built to this moment, but she couldn't find a single reason to turn Ash down after such kindness. ]

[sculptedash]

[The reasons why Ash had wanted to kiss Sharon had been pilling up, and for just one night she was fine setting aside all the reasons she shouldn't or didn't feel like she deserved the chance to have some fun with someone.

She hadn't quite expected Sharon to embrace the idea quite like that, but she probably should have. She sucks in a breath through her nose and then just takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of Sharon's lips against hers, then she presses back lightly, softly before pulling back.

It takes a moment before a soft little laugh bubbles out of her.]

Okay. That was better than I thought it would be.

[merged]

[ It takes Ash a beat before she kisses back, and Sharon is smiling by the time she pulls away. The smile only widens when Ash lets out a soft laugh. ]

What is it with people assuming I'd be bad at kissing? [ Her lips stay curved upward, the words nothing more than playful teasing. ]

[sculptedash]

[Ash reaches up and brushes a bit of her hair out of her face after it slides there after the kiss.]

Maybe people just assume your face is going to split open into some sort of face sucking horror monster?

That was my first thought.

[...What?]