First, sign in here to receive your character’s miraculous scars. These are a set of three custom one-use “easy buttons” for navigating the Heart. You can use a Scar at any time to either bypass an obstacle or receive an ~instinct~ (furi: hint) about what to do next. Think of them as handy extras rather than a crucial resource, and feel free to use them however you like.
Powers are off, but you can assume your character has any items with them that they commonly carry (whether or not you they were literally holding the item at the time of falling asleep/entering the heart). Hellfire thinks your weapons are cool and wants you to have them.
This is a Corruption Heart. Assume your character instinctively knows the following:
They are, somehow, journeying through the mind/spirit of one of their fellow idols.
This spirit is out of balance, and their task is to restore that balance lest the spirit become critically warped.
Furthermore, they are aware of the three miraculous scars on their body, and how they can be used.
OOC Notes: Major content warnings for this heart are unreality/dissociation and plant-based body horror, with minor content warnings for suffocation and drowning, as well as casual bloodshed.
I also wish to clarify that, though flowers will be important indicators of what’s going on in the Heart, their presence is not itself inherently bad or corrupt.
Thousand-cutting soul— shattered blade, light-scarred: this is how you love the battlefield.
The hands that hold you are gentle, but not tender.
Kill them, you whisper in your not-voice. Kill them kill them kill them, strike swift strike deadly; my edge shall be your fury and all who oppose you shall know the perfection of the cut.
There is power in these hands, and awe-ful rage, and oh! you could be everything for her and you are sure that she hears you—
“Harlowe, if you would?” Her voice is as delicately lovely as the silk a killer shoves down their victim’s throat.
The man-shaped god in the black hood nods, and takes you back in his callused hands, so of course you call to him too (it is your nature), but he is indifferent as he lays you across an anvil.
And for some reason, he has seen fit to wield—instead of you!—an axe. He did not have it a moment ago, but now it rests in his hand as naturally as if it were part of him. And in a way, you suppose it is. But what could an axe possibly do to you?
He swings down once: a scream of steel-on-steel, and you go as red hot as the forge that made you. He swings down again: your edges glow with white-blue heat. (In his hands, an axe can do this.)
He swings down a third time: you are violently cold— —and it’s sudden, much too sudden…!
If you’ve been here before (and of course you’ve been here before!), it is exactly as you remember it: industrial, with graffitied and paint-splattered walls, but earnestly lived in, with its modern-vintage sofas and high latticed windows. There’s the faint smell of something cooking wafting on the air, and an assortment of random plush tsum tsums (of unit members past and present) scattered over the couch.
………Oh, and twining around the legs of furniture, twisting over exposed industrial pipes, climbing up the windows—there are the briars of wild roses. The dorm’s main living room also now features a tiny stream, winding across the floor and around the couch, which occasionally widens into small pools of water, from which grow tall stems of lotus.
Down the hallway towards the bedrooms, it seems there are distinctly more than eight doors—and upon closer examination, it’s easy to see why: in addition to doors for all of BAD END’s current members (each with a name carved on it in katakana, though you can read it easily regardless of your own native language), there also seem to be be doors for past BAD END members, and some people who were never members at all.
The full list of names on bedroom doors is as follows:
Silk Lumen Ordine Sashay Silfda Eistria Dagger AAA Absolute Zero Slaughtervodka Jack Serenity ATTACK AND DETHRONE GOD Hope Hardcore Jason Scythe Sabre Kohime Nero Harpy
…and a final door at the end of the hallway, which has some kind of floral crest in addition to the name “Hellfire.”
You open your eyes to find yourself in a clearing; above the trees' canopies the stars glisten gently, and do not fall. They reflect in the ripples of water around you, their visages blocked by the occasional lotus flower. The pond you've found yourself is somewhat small, and most certainly not as deep the one you sunk down into as your way of making the journey.
Two figures stand a short ways away from the water, silhouetted by moonlight: a tall woman, and an even taller man, broad-shouldered and hooded. Among the flowers in this meadow, aconites bloom the healthiest, leaves and petals rustling to the light breeze.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
RULES and SIGN-IN
These are a set of three custom one-use “easy buttons” for navigating the Heart. You can use a Scar at any time to either bypass an obstacle or receive an ~instinct~ (furi: hint) about what to do next. Think of them as handy extras rather than a crucial resource, and feel free to use them however you like.
Powers are off, but you can assume your character has any items with them that they commonly carry (whether or not you they were literally holding the item at the time of falling asleep/entering the heart). Hellfire thinks your weapons are cool and wants you to have them.
This is a Corruption Heart.
Assume your character instinctively knows the following:
OOC Notes:
Major content warnings for this heart are unreality/dissociation and plant-based body horror, with minor content warnings for suffocation and drowning, as well as casual bloodshed.
I also wish to clarify that, though flowers will be important indicators of what’s going on in the Heart, their presence is not itself inherently bad or corrupt.
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START
shattered blade, light-scarred:
this is how you love the battlefield.
The hands that hold you are gentle, but not tender.
Kill them, you whisper in your not-voice. Kill them kill them kill them, strike swift strike deadly; my edge shall be your fury and all who oppose you shall know the perfection of the cut.
There is power in these hands, and awe-ful rage, and oh! you could be everything for her and you are sure that she hears you—
“Harlowe, if you would?” Her voice is as delicately lovely as the silk a killer shoves down their victim’s throat.
The man-shaped god in the black hood nods, and takes you back in his callused hands, so of course you call to him too (it is your nature), but he is indifferent as he lays you across an anvil.
And for some reason, he has seen fit to wield—instead of you!—an axe. He did not have it a moment ago, but now it rests in his hand as naturally as if it were part of him. And in a way, you suppose it is. But what could an axe possibly do to you?
He swings down once: a scream of steel-on-steel, and you go as red hot as the forge that made you.
He swings down again: your edges glow with white-blue heat. (In his hands, an axe can do this.)
He swings down a third time: you are violently cold—
—and it’s sudden, much too sudden…!
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If you’ve been here before (and of course you’ve been here before!), it is exactly as you remember it: industrial, with graffitied and paint-splattered walls, but earnestly lived in, with its modern-vintage sofas and high latticed windows. There’s the faint smell of something cooking wafting on the air, and an assortment of random plush tsum tsums (of unit members past and present) scattered over the couch.
………Oh, and twining around the legs of furniture, twisting over exposed industrial pipes, climbing up the windows—there are the briars of wild roses. The dorm’s main living room also now features a tiny stream, winding across the floor and around the couch, which occasionally widens into small pools of water, from which grow tall stems of lotus.
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I see you're already there, but:
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CHARACTER ROOMS
The full list of names on bedroom doors is as follows:
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CHANCEL LELI
You open your eyes to find yourself in a clearing; above the trees' canopies the stars glisten gently, and do not fall. They reflect in the ripples of water around you, their visages blocked by the occasional lotus flower. The pond you've found yourself is somewhat small, and most certainly not as deep the one you sunk down into as your way of making the journey.
Two figures stand a short ways away from the water, silhouetted by moonlight: a tall woman, and an even taller man, broad-shouldered and hooded. Among the flowers in this meadow, aconites bloom the healthiest, leaves and petals rustling to the light breeze.
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