I'm allied to the winter

[singmod]

JULY 2025 EVENT

PROMPT ONE: BURIED ECHOES: The green fog from fissures that had begun to appear last month takes on a new form of attack, and Interlopers find themselves forced to share their greatest betrayals and deepest shames.

PROMPT TWO: ADURERE: The Interlopers are not the only ones caught in the current machinations, and return to Milton House once more.

PROMPT THREE — TERRITORY: Interlopers who venture out to the Last Resort Cannery come face to face with the Timberwolf packs who have claimed the place as their own — high risk, high reward.

BURIED ECHOES

WHEN: The Month of July
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: atmospheric changes; mild mental manipulation; memory sharing.

In June, a green fog began to curl upwards from fissures dotted around the Northern Territories — warping Interlopers into frenzies of rage or fear. These afflictions have ended up easing as the month turns over into July but the vapours themselves don’t dissipate. At first, they begin the mingle in the air, like a drop of ink in water — causing a green hue to taint the atmosphere. When one looks around, it's almost like the faint sepia tone that obscures the lens of daylight at sunset some days. The skies feel darker, the days are dull, and green.

There’s a distinct tingle of fear in the air. Something low rumbling — a constant drone in the background.

The reach of these green vapours extend even further as the month goes on. The fogs will grow thicker in places and at times will extend to filling huge spaces of areas quickly and silently. You could be out in the wilds, travelling alone the tracks in Lakeside, or making your way down the Coastal Highway when the fog drifts in.

It doesn’t take long before it encompasses you entirely.

With it, the skies darken further. The world turns to night, lit by the eerie green, and everything feels empty and fraught. For plenty of Interlopers, this is a familiar experience, and a sensation of fear washes over you. Or most of you.

You hear whispers in the fog: a chorus of frightened voices chittering nervously. And then out of that chorus comes a voice that is old and terrible.

She binds me, but she cannot banish me. I am coming for you, Interloper. You cannot be rid of me. The Darkwalker, you realise. It is reaching out to you within the fog.

The Yawning Grave has been opened, and I am so very hungry. One way, or another — I am coming for you. I will break you, consume you. You will go into the Dark.

The Darkwalker has its ways of coming for Interlopers, that is well known by now. The fog shifts and swirls around you. As you watch it, familiar shapes begin to form — a room, a place. Somewhere familiar to you, but it doesn’t fill you with comfort. You remember this place, and you find yourself within a moment of your history. It is not a fond moment.

The memory that forms around you and begins to play out is a memory of your greatest betrayal, your deepest regret. The thing that brings you the most shame. You and your companion will witness this — and there's no escaping this.

The Darkwalker has ways of coming for Interlopers, yes. It has ways of trying to break you down. Your deepest fears and insecurities, showing you for what you truly are; isolating you from the world around you, finding ways to lead you into the Dark. You are the Interloper, after all. You are not part of nature’s design. One way or another, it will break you down and put an end to you. To pull you apart. Now it seeks to show who you truly are to others — a moment where you find yourself at your worst.

Bonds between Interlopers are strong, but are all secrets revealed to the ones you’ve come to know and trust? Do you still have skeletons in your closet? A moment you have tried so desperately to keep buried and hidden from those around you?

No more. The question is whether the people you’ve come to know and trust will be able to look at you the same way again.

ADURERE

WHEN: Late July.
WHERE: Milton House… ?
CONTENT WARNINGS: fire; house fire; death of a child/children; hauntings; illusions of burning/being burned; potential injuries via falling/unstable building collapsing; dead bodies; gore/blood/maimed bodies; body horror; eye-related trauma/horror.

You wake up in a bed that is not yours. The air is still and cold, and for a moment everything is calm. It is night time. You are not the only one who wakes up with you, another Interloper has found themselves sharing the bed with you — maybe it’s someone you know, maybe it’s an Interloper you’ve yet to meet. But you’re in a strange home you don’t recognise, and you’re not sure what’s happened.

You have a little time to get your bearings, at least — to explore the room itself. The furniture is a little more refined from what you’ve come to know in Milton: well-made and old. The master bedroom is that of a husband and wife. There are family photos on one of the dressers: a wedding photo of a happy bride and groom in the late 1970s or early 1980s; a photo of two small boys stood in Milton Basin, holding up freshly-caught fish; a photo of a sad young girl on a tree swing.

Interlopers who have been in the Northern Territories for some time will come to realise that the family in these photos is the Barker family. The young girl is Enola. You have found yourselves within Milton House, before the fire.

If you had turned on a light to explore, power goes out. There is smoke in the air.

You hear the crackle of flames from beyond the bedroom door. Opening it into the corridor will reveal a fiery inferno, and the distant screams of children.

But there’s something different about this place, just as there has been last time. Even with the blaze, the home does not look at is should. While it looks like the burning, ruined insides of Milton House, it feels more like a maze than anything. The walls warp around you and at sudden moments, tree branches will break and jut out from the walls, burning and snapping and falling before you.

Together, you must work to escape the burning home. Getting out of this place will be far more difficult than those who found themselves in this place well over a year ago. Turning down the corridor in search of the stairs brings only more corridors, opening doors to bedrooms in search of a window will bring you to more corridors, too.

Persist, and you’ll find the stairs eventually. And like last time, the heat and smoke feel real and may even cause you pain but the flames won’t actually burn you. Whatever this is, as real as it feels, there’s some kind of illusion to all of this just as it had done before.

But what didn’t happen before is the sight that greets you as you finally head downstairs.

In the ruined mess of the blazing inferno that is the living room, bodies litter the floor. They pile on top of one another, covering every inch of floor, slumped against the walls. There must be some seventy or more bodies here. Some are harder to look at than others: some are coated in blood and wounds, some caused by animals, some by humans; some lie in crumpled, contorted messes; some are half-frozen; some are barely recognisable.

Looking at these bodies, as difficult as it may be, will bring the awful realisation: these are the bodies of Interlopers who have died within the Northern Territories. Some you recognise, people you knew only too well. Interlopers who have died at the hands of the Darkwalker, of Mother Nature itself, of other Interlopers; each of them appearing just as they had died in this place.

What’s more: scattered in amongst these bodies are the bodies of the Barker family: Thomas and his sons — half-charred and blackened by the smoke and flame.

In amongst this carnage, there’s a figure kneeling on the floor. A woman, dressed in furs, her hands covering her face. Some may recognise her as Enola, and you realise: this is Enola’s deepest regret. What brings her the most shame, her greatest betrayal.

Interlopers may choose to leave, if they wish. Making a break for a window or a door will bring them out into the snow and the world will snap to normal — you find yourselves outside Milton House, green fog swirling around you and fading with a low echo of laughter: the Darkwalker.

But others may choose to go to Enola, to try and help her, to try and end this memory of hers.

Enola feels real when you touch her. Managing to pull her hands away, you’ll realise something is very wrong. Even more wrong than all of this. Those who have seen her before in dreams, or when she appeared to Interlopers in June last year will note that she appears very different. Enola looks gaunt, exhausted — and more frightening: her left side of her face is black and withered, her eye absent from the socket.

It’s hard to say what’s happened to her, but Interlopers may draw their own conclusions and suspicions.

“It’s my fault.” she’ll whisper. “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault. I caused it.”

Enola seems almost catatonic, and cannot seem to engage with Interlopers at first. She will rock slightly as she kneels, her one blue eye staring into nothing, her expression wounded.

“It’s my fault, it’s my fault— I couldn’t.. I couldn’t make it stop.” she continued. “I didn’t mean it, I— I tried, I tried so hard to stop it— I never meant for it, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The house groans and shudders around you. Enola will look up, tears streaming down her face.

“I didn’t mean for this. I didn’t mean it.”

Speaking to Enola softly, offering words of encouragement or comfort will slowly begin to calm her down. It will take some time to calm her in this terrible place, but she will respond to it. She seems almost child-like: cowed and broken and small. She looks so tired.

“They were meant to be home.” she tells you. “And I ruined it.”

When Interlopers have calmed her down enough, she’ll finally look at you, like she finally sees you again. For the first time in this moment, she sees you in a way that’s hard to put into words. She reaches for your face, your chest, touches you gently — her expression is so sad, quietly crushed by the care from you.

“I’m sorry.”

In a blink, everything snaps to normal. No bodies, no flames. No Enola. Just the rotted insides of a broken, ruined home — curls of green smoke drifting upwards, out through the cracks of the walls.

TERRITORY

WHEN: The Month of July.
WHERE: Last Resort Cannery, The Coast.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; gore; human remains; (wild) animal attacks, altered wildlife, possible character injury/death, possible (wild) animal injury/death.

Moving towards the south east from the village of Silverpoint will bring Interlopers along the cracked and crumbling road that loads to Last Resort Cannery: a complex of several warehouses and workshops, and has long since fallen into disrepair. Most of its staff were employed by the village of Silverpoint, and with some even coming from Milton to work — but economic decline has seen the company fall into hard times.

Murmurings from around the village will have Interlopers discovering that there may be some leftover stock that is still usable, such as canned goods, but the villagers have found it incredibly difficult to scavenge there, due to the increase in hostile wildlife. Many villagers that have attempted to travel there have never returned, and those who have, have returned maimed, injured, often dying due to their injuries — and Silverpoint residents have often persuaded Interlopers not to go there.

Interlopers, however, are made of sturdier stuff these days, and maybe it’s worth checking the place out in hopes of finding some useful loot.

The Cannery itself sits right along the coastline, and incredibly bitter and open — much like most of the Coast’s area. As Interlopers head closer, they will soon discover exactly what the villagers spoke of: the frozen, grisly and often skeletal remains of those who have tried to venture forth scattered around the area, torn backpacks and clothing — as if the bodies have been consumed by animals.

Not even Jace has been out here to scavenge, either out of safety, or respect for the dead.

Most of the buildings are open to the elements, having been hit hard by the extreme weather — and provide little in the way of shelter. But not all of them are so open. There are some buildings that will provide ample shelter: warehouses and factory floors, even some small staff breakroom quarters. There are even spaces where it appears that some of the workers even lived on site, with bunk beds and shower facilities.

There will, indeed, be crates filled with canned goods that remain in relatively good condition: mostly canned sardines, tuna and salmon. Interlopers may find seafood soups, too. But there’s an overall theme: the Cannery is a processing place of fish and seafood, after all. However, that is not everything that is housed within the Cannery’s site. Explorers will be able to find heavy but durable work clothes and boots, along with survival tools and equipment that belonged to workers. There are workshops that could be used during the Aurora — which can be used to repair tools and… interestingly: craft ammunition.

A spray painted wall reads: THEY HATE THE LIGHT. Another reads: LOUD NOISES = GOOD FOR SCARES. Another, more ominously: THIS PLACE WANTS US ALL DEAD.

Why would such a plan require a workshop in order to craft ammunition? It might have something to do with the culprits behind the grisly finds Interlopers have come across in their approach to the Cannery itself: the packs of Timberwolves that have made their home here and often prowl the area. And soon enough, they will come running.

A lone howl on the wind, carried on the air. More joining the first. Then, the demonic chittering and growling as one of the packs descend upon the Interlopers. Fortunately, these timberwolves are not quite like the wolves faced by Interlopers right at the very start of their time in the Northern Territories — but they are still altered in terms of the Aurora: smarter, and far more aggressive that wolves have ever been known to be.

They do function in a similar manner, at least. Pack morale is important, and breaking that morale can send them back. If they’re broken, their morale is depleted. Fire is your biggest friend: torches, campfires and flares will keep them mostly at bay and only the bravest of these packs may attack. Striking them with flares or flames will actually send them into brief retreats. Bullets and arrows are effective with both noise and injuring the wolves, and although hitting one will be difficult due their speed, it’s possible. Killing one of these wolves will dissolve the pack’s morale entirely, and the rest will flee.

And at least then, for a while, you might be able to scavenge in peace — and make it out alive.

FAQs

BURIED ECHOES


1. The memories cannot be interacted with in any way.

2. Interlopers with Darkwalker’s Revenge will feel slightly revitalised in general during the month of July and be extra revitalised during these heavy fog instances. They will feel fit, hale and alert — probably the best they’ve ever felt in a long time due to the polar sun.

3. Memories can be from a character's future in their canon, not just their past.


ADURERE

1. All Interlopers who have died in game can be found within this prompt. This will also confirm the deaths of Interlopers who have been missing but never confirmed dead and also confirm Interlopers who have simply gone home. You can check out the Interloper Masterlist for further details.

2. Interacting with Enola is optional. Interlopers may choose to simply escape house and the memory.

3. Interlopers have limited interaction with the memory. They can look at things, or even touch the dead down in the living room, but not remove anything from the house.

4. Characters will not be physically burned in the fire, but only feel as if they have been. The effects of this illusion will last a short time after they're out the house before they will fade.

5. The only real injuries characters can sustain will be from fall damage, or if the floor gives way and their feet go through, etc. whilst in the house.

6. Please see the January 2024 Event Prompt ‘Adust’, or the Areas Page, or the October 2024 Mini Event under the February 1994 for further information/context.

7. Interlopers who are in Milton will find themselves in Milton House when the memory/illusion ends. Interlopers in other areas of the world will find themselves in a random, rundown/dilapitated home found in that area.

TERRITORY

1. You do not have to kill a Timberwolf to scare off the pack, simply defeating the pack's morale with noise and flame is sufficient to scare them off for several hours.

2. Timberwolf packs typically range from three to seven wolves.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

Sameen Shaw | Person of Interest

[cactusy]

A - buried echoes

[The fog comes over her when she's walking between two houses in Milton: single-story cabins that aren't anything like the brick city buildings that take their place. The only similarity is the distance between them, the shared driveway morphing into an alleyway lit only by the streetlights of the bigger roads on either end. Shaw - another Shaw - stands a short distance away, face to face with a tall guy in a suit. She looks like death warmed over: unwashed hair, baggy eyes, a slightly glazed expression. And her companion? He looks guarded. Suspicious.

"Something's wrong with you," he says. "We're not going back to the Machine 'till we talk this through. Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

He turns and starts to walk, in expectation that she'll follow. Instead, she stays put, her body swaying and jerking like she's having a small seizure. And then, smoothly and without hesitation, she lifts her gun and fires a bullet into the man's back.

"John? Sameen? Are you all right? What's going on?" This second man's voice is disembodied, coming from over an earpiece, but the observers can hear it regardless. Breathing heavily, Shaw approaches the body, her gun still held at the ready.

"I don't know what happened," she says softly, almost at a whisper. "Samaritan ops - they came out of nowhere. They got him. John's dead."

But he isn't. The shot had been critical, yes, and he's actively bleeding out - but as she stares at the body, he's clearly still alive, his breathing labored and audible.

"No, this can't happen," cries the man over the earpiece, and another voice - Root's, for those who would recognize it - breaks in. "Shaw, you have to get out of there. I'll come find you; bring you back!"

"You can't, you're hurt," Shaw says, her voice quieter still.

"I am not ready to lose you again, Sameen! Whatever happened - we'll fix it. Just... stay alive."

As Root pleads, John's hand moves, laboriously trying to reach for the gun at his belt with what little strength he has left.

"Don't," Shaw murmurs, her breath shaky. "No, please, don't--"

Her finger moves for the trigger on her own gun, but she doesn't pull it. John's hand slows, and then stills, falling limp. Shaw moves forward, shoving his hand aside and grabbing his gun. She turns to look over her shoulder at three shadowy figures standing at a distance, calmly watching the proceedings.

John is still breathing faintly as she walks past his body and leaves the alley.]

B - adurere

[Whoever is waking up next to Shaw is definitely getting kicked; sorry about that. In her defense, it's not a hard kick, and she doesn't mean to do it; she withdraws her foot as soon as it makes contact.]

Where the hell--?

[She mutters, sitting up and surveying the unfamiliar room.]

Okay, I'm calling hallucination; no chance anywhere around here still looks this good.

A

[desperate_times_right]

[This mist really is great for Chloe. Once again she's outside, running just to run around after being all but trapped in her house for months.

While she easily spots Shaw, she doesn't see the alley at first because of how dim the mist makes everything. She looks like she's on her last legs, shaking and shivering in the street, expression blank, and she's wearing just a hoodie in the snow for some reason.

Before Chloe can get to her to see what’s up, Shaw raises her arm and fires her gun. She may not have caught the conversation, but Chloe hears that and yelps in a way that is definitely not cool. A guy she hadn't even noticed before immediately goes down, still alive but it's not looking good.]

Shaw!

[Maybe it's not smart to draw the woman’s attention right now, but self-preservation is a trait that Chloe’s never been accused of having.]

What's going on? Who is that?

B

[nicehobbit]

[ At least it's not a hard kick. Frodo still flinches away from it, of course, and turns over on his back to look over his shoulder at who is kicking him, instinctively reaching for Sting. His hand never actually reaches the handle, though, because the next moment he understands there's no need for violence.

At least not right now.

He quickly gets out of the bed and heads to the window, but he can't see anything. Maybe it's just too dark, but something doesn't seem right about it. ]

I believe you may be right.

[ He pauses for just a second as he thinks about it. All of his experiences with being transported places and having visions, or whatever you may want to call it, has had to do with ... ]

Enola?

A - cw: likely to be allusions to suicide throughout

[computation]

Is this what you were worried about happening?

[ Root watches the scene play out from nearby. She's prone to trailing after Shaw, sticking together more often than not and making use of the time they have, so she hadn't been too far off when the eerie acid-green fog rolled in.

Now she's watching critically, eyes cold but tight at the corners, hinting at a deeper layer of emotion that she's keeping under wraps.

She adds, like it needs clarifying, ] Why you thought we were better off with you dead?

B

[notarat]

[ It may not be a hard kick, but considering that Billy is about 70% pure bones with hardly any flesh over them, it hurts. He's never been a physically strong type, let alone someone who can endure a lot in that department. So he's definitely letting out a pained noise as the kick connects.

It's not the kick that drives him out of the bed though. No, it's definitely him looking over to see who kicked him. And even then it's not Shaw that's doing it - she seemed perfectly reasonable in strange situations before, after all - as much as the fact that Billy registers he was next to a woman. Christ. The combination of that and not knowing what's going on is making the man go a little pale in the face as he quickly skitters out of bed, looking around them.

He knows they should be figuring out what's up. Especially when things are so strange. Especially since things tend to get dangerous in this place when they're strange.

But as he's looking around and not immediately seeing anything that comes across as familiar in some way, he glances back at Shaw to ask: ]

Was that necessary?

[ That's going to bruise for such a long time on his delicate Victorian skin!!! ]

Chloe Frazer | Uncharted

[desperate_times_right]

[Starters will be posted below. I will match either prose or brackets. Plotting comment here. Feel free to wildcard under this comment, or contact me via plurk at nonhoration or discord at nonhoration with ideas.]

Open Prompts

[desperate_times_right]

Around Milton and Lakeside

At first, Chloe is alarmed at the sight of the green fog curling through the air. The last time they'd seen fog like this, it had severely burned her face after just a momentary exposure. However it soon becomes clear that this fog is different.

For the first time in months, she's feeling energized and healthy. She can be found working in the greenhouse quite often, and also running around town and even making a trip to Lakeside. She doesn't quite trust the weather to hold long enough to try for Silverpoint, but even this feels great.

Despite concerns she might have in other arenas, she can't hide her cheerfulness right now. Anyone she encounters gets a smile and a friendly wave.

"Some weather, huh?"

Buried Echoes (potential cws: mild blood and gore, death, non graphic allusions to torture)

It's not all fun and games with the green fog, though. Yes, she's heard the voice in the fog by now, but the Darkwalker's got to try harder than that to scare her these days.

Soon, however, sometimes when she's talking to someone, friend or not, the fog begins to shimmer, showing a man and two women - one of whom is a younger Chloe in black leather jacket - in an ornate chamber with a large window, and a decorative pillar in its centre shaped like a tree. The same scene plays out, again and again. Somehow, the tenth time dredges up the same sense of dread as the first.

"Oh, not this again."

Come on, Darkwalker, she already knows this is her fault.

wildcard!

[brushoff]

"This is that house, right?" Dorian asks, not bothering to hide how annoyingly excited he is. He looks right as rain compared to the last time a lot of people saw him, when he gave a tiny little murder confession—there's a hint of crookedness to his nose now, but everything's healed remarkably well. And really, despite the fact that he woke up in a bed that wasn't his own in a house that wasn't his own, Dorian is doing great.

"Think about it. How many mysterious old houses can there be? It's got to be that house, the one we were talking about ages ago, the one that caught on fire with the ghosts."

This is very much up Dorian's alley. Exploring a spooky and possibly haunted house? That's what he does best. He's climbed out of the bed and is rifling through a closet, trying to find anything that's even slightly interesting or useful.

sorry it took so long, i had to hiatus x.x | cw: vampire attack, toxic marriage, hallucinations

[flambeaux]

Louis can't bear to live without the storm that is him and Lestat, so he conjures him up. He isn't in control of his coming and going, but "Lestat" appears because Louis wants him to. Only he sees him. Louis knows deep down what he sees is not him, but he took up with the illusion just as he did before, sharing a coffin in Lestat's house—when they weren't arguing enough to bring the roof down. It's complicated.

If inclined to admit to anything of the sort, Louis would say that in his estimation he has taken thousands of lives over the years. A vampire can take only a taste and leave a human alive, but resisting the temptation to drink one's fill is very difficult, especially for a younger vampire. Lestat, his maker and lover, told him that only in drinking his fill would he know peace. The guilt eats away at Louis. He represses his hunger, and it comes out in explosive ways.

Louis spies "Lestat" in the woods. It's not Lestat, it's a hapless resident out foraging, but the man is young and handsome enough for Louis to layer his grief and anger onto him. To Louis, "Lestat" is here all around him, and it is maddening.

The power of the bear gives Louis prodigious strength. Louis effortlessly drives the man against a tree, parts his lips, and bares his fangs. "Say that again, mon cher, and we'll see how much blood you can stand to lose."

Konstantin Veshnyakov | Sputnik + Edward Little | The Terror

[sputnik]

CLOSED STARTERS

plot post / horreur / hagfishs @ discord

— Wynonna Earp. (spoilers for The Terror will be in this thread!)

[fidior]

[ He feels the shift. Subtle at first, but with how ill he's been these past months, held captive in the ache of his own skin by the relentless sunlight, any reprieve at all is alarmingly noticeable, to Edward.

It's the fog. He figures that out quickly enough. He can feel what's behind it, deep down in his spirit — what causes that sharp sensation of alertness in the air, that rumbling drone. It already exists in him too, now. To others, the acerbic green prickles unpleasantly, frightening. To Edward, it brings only comfort.

He regains some strength, vitality. And then more of it, and more. He's better than he can remember being in so long. Not quite as well as he is in true darkness (when his senses are all so alive and capable, when he feels the uninhibited power of a predator), but a shade or two thinner than that. Still, it's enough for now. He can actually move, breathe, think, feel. The closest he's had to this are those little spurts of energy that come right after— taking, from Wynonna. When the part of her life-force that's entwined with the powers of this place becomes his, or some of it. When she shudders weaker, and he breathes in stronger, hands clasped against hers or grasping her forearms or holding her to his body like an embrace with one arm lifted around her and one hand pressed to her cheek. He has to be physically touching her. He hates what his hands have done to the person he would do anything to protect.

He's outside the cabin when the fog rolls in heavier than it has before. For the first time in a very long time, he's been able to shed his outer layers upon stepping outside, coat and vest left on a hook inside, the sleeves of his jumper rolled up towards his elbows. He won't dare chance this for long, but for just a little, he indulges in being able to be physically active again beneath the sun. He chops wood, energised, and then the fog's coming closer, and he feels alarm as he turns his head towards it but he also feels yearning — and that awareness is a horror, but he won't shirk from it. His body's turning to face it now too, letting it reach him. He could almost cry for how good it feels to roll in upon him, easing anything remaining that hurts, anything that's tired and ill, easing the cruelty of the sun's light. He closes his eyes for just a moment, and when he opens them again, the sky above is too dark, and growing darker by the second. And the fog is moving towards the cabin, where Wynonna's inside.

Edward's heart jumps, and he's calling out loudly to her, dropping his axe to the ground, taking a step towards the small home they've shared for nearly three months now as he readies himself to go find her, though his vision is rapidly becoming clouded by the thickening miasma. They find each other when something dangerous happens, and even though he doesn't particularly feel in danger (every part of him wants to keep welcoming that fog around and in), they all know what happened the last time a green fog like this rolled in and swept across Interlopers. ]

Miss Earp! Something's happening outside— it's the fog! Be careful!

Randvi | Assassin's Creed

[meadqueen]

[Starters will be posted below. I will match either prose or brackets. Plotting comment here. Feel free to wildcard under this comment, or contact me via plurk at nonhoration or discord at nonhoration with ideas.]

Open Prompts

[meadqueen]

Around Milton, late June and early July (please note in your header if you want to avoid Clair Obscur spoilers)

Randvi’s little expedition will be heading back to Silverpoint soon, so she's taking a few days to stock upon supplies and say goodbye to her friends in Milton. Her excitement is tempered by sadness at the disappearances of Jon and Lyanna, so she's often wearing a complicated expression.

"I wanted you to know that I will be leaving soon."

Encounters on the road, early July, one on one or group threads optional, Clair Obscur spoilers likely

They're travelling at a bit of a slower pace than she had on her first trip, but that does have its own benefits. Now that she's more familiar with the route, Randvi can truly explore and take in the area. Sometimes she splits off from her group with Ulfrùn in order to investigate things she hadn't been able to explore last time.

Anyone she encounters on the road gets a raised hand in greeting.

"Hail, it's Randvi."

Territory (please note in your header if you want to avoid Clair Obscur spoilers)

They aren't in Silverpoint long before Randvi's group has decided to investigate the Cannery, which had been off limits on Randvi's previous visit. The reason for this becomes quickly apparent.

During some of the battles with the wolves, Randvi occasionally becomes separated from her group. She's got her spear in hand, and one hand bared despite the cold for ease in harnessing her fire abilities to scare off the creatures.

Once she spots another person, she's running directly to their side.

"Are you injured?"

Maelle | Clair Obscur: Expedition 33

[shewhograspsthesky]

[OOC Note: Clair spoilers are inevitable even if the initial prompt is spoiler-free. Maelle will be in Milton Early July and very Late July but will be around Silverpoint for the middle of the month. Also~ I am taking a lot of ~creative liberties~ with her Buried Echoes memory as we never get specific details of what happened in canon so apologies for that in advance.
Content Warning: Burning, death, house fires.
If you wanna plan something specific feel free to attack by PM, plurk or discord @ alexceptionally. Original plotting post found here. If you wanna wildcard, go for it~!!]

Buried Echoes

Buried Echoes - Contains Act 2 Epilogue Spoilers for Clair

When the memory comes it does so with a wave of heat. White hot burning flames surround a room and in the center stands Alicia. She tries covering her mouth from the flames and smoke, but it’s useless. She’s choking and it’s clear she won’t last much longer. She cries for help and makes it to the door only for the handle to sear her hand at its touch. She screams again, stumbling back in the thick black smoke, overwhelmed she falls.

Whatever she sees is hazy, clouded by the thick smoke and endless fire. But what is distinct is a voice, "You’re ok." She believes it. She knows that voice, it’s her brother’s. It’s Verso. He’ll help her, keep her safe. He picks her up, carries her and all while the flames engulf them both. There are screams and shrieks just when it seems like the smoke has cleared but she’s barely conscious to register who is crying now. But dread slowly settles in with the end of the memory. Verso didn’t make it. But she did.

Adurere
When she awakens it’s with alarm that anyone is near her on a bed that isn’t her own. She stands quickly and realizes soon after that everything in the room is wrong. It feels out of place to her as if something hanging in the air is amiss. She takes a few steps around the room, careful and cautious as she approaches a framed photograph on a bureau. Her fingers trace the frame’s edges as she stares at the faces depicted. She’ll turn as if finally acknowledging the other person in the room.

"What- What is this place?" Her voice is a dry, harsh rasp.

Silverpoint
Who knows how she made it here. Without Randvi and Teddy she would have died long before even reaching the dam. But they did it. Did she slow them down? Yes. Did she nearly die at one point? Probably. Was it worth it to see more of the island? Absolutely. She hasn’t been in Milton long enough to even be stir crazy, but she’s relieved to find it isn’t in its own isolated dome, that there are people elsewhere.

She spends time walking the roads of Silverpoint, looking around and just watching. Everything here, just as Milton, is different and yet the same from what she’s used to. Despite all she watches, it’s hardly any people or passersby, she’s more interested in the landscape and getting to know the layout of this town. She notices the lighthouse just as well and makes a note to herself that she’ll have to visit it one day, even if it isn’t today. It reminds her of something... cold, sad, distant.

adurere (I'm canonblind but it's safe to assume Clair Obscur spoilers will be in my tags!)

[fidior]

Edward wakes with a startle of his own — eyes wide, shaken by the sudden yank into a reality that doesn't seem possible. At once he's in a room, a bed, and... there's someone else there. A stranger.

The man's also quickly getting up with a swish of his uniformed greatcoat, heart pounding with a surge of anxious adrenaline as he watches the other in the room — a young girl he doesn't recognise. When she finally turns to look towards him, he finds his eyes widening in horrified startle at the girl's maimed countenance.

Her voice is a rasp down his spine, like the breath of the dead. Edward stares at her, but then his eyes slowly move to the photograph she's touching, and a fresh shock has him giving a startled sound.

"It— this is Milton House?"

Voiced like a question in his stun, though he clearly knows the place and the people in that photo. Is this girl yet another phantom come to haunt him...? His voice drops to a whisper, shuddering at the corners.

"...Are you another dream?"

Levi | Fear & Hunger 2: Termina

[solitarysoul]

Buried Echos

CW: Child Soldiers and Death thereof, War & Violence

Levi does not like it when the air or light takes on a green hue. Rher's light had been a sickly green and here its never been anything good. The Darkwalker is associated with that color. That month last year was that color. So when it starts showing up again he feels uneasy and does his best to avoid pockets of it. But he can't avoid it when its everywhere.

He's not in town when the Darkwalker comes to him, but he's not far from it in the woods between Milton and the basin. He freezes at the voice, drawing his bow though he knows it won't do any good. "Fuck you," he snarls at the voice.

This was perhaps a bad idea, or perhaps what followed would have happened either way. But when Levi moves again the scene shifts from the cold woods to field of mud and barbed wire. Levi freezes again, eyes going wide as the sounds and sights of the war spread out around him. There's a body at his feet, and a few others can be seen in mud where they fell. Victim to either the enemy's gunfire or a mine.

They are all too small to be soldiers.

((reminded of other Content Warnings that may or may not come up.
Feel free to hit me up with other plotting! Also I'll match your style, I just default to prose))

[wingbound]

And of course, as luck would have it, Levi is there too.

Maybe they've teamed up for a hunt again. Maybe they've figured it's safer to travel together when the sky is like this, or perhaps Levi had returned to this side of the island just recently and wanted a 'report'. Maybe it's just for company.

But he's there, and when the green intensifies, swirls around them and makes reality melt away like a honeycomb over a fire, he's pulled in, too.

Explosions. Gunfire. Artillery.

Immediately, he tenses, crouches low, eyes wide, hands instinctively moving to -- a weapon, a non-functional trigger of his cables, just about anything that would normally be in reach. Instead, he's met face to face with a corpse.

It's small. Too small. For a moment, it's as if he's in the Underground again, gazing down a dark, muddy alley before his mother's hand covers his eyes and gently turns his face away, rushing him along, but the stench clings to him like an illness.

He stares, tries reaching for it, perhaps looking for a pulse, but his fingers never touch flesh, as if it's just an image on the surface of still water that ripples away without allowing contact.

matt murdock | mcu

[avo]

[ open and closed starters below | plotting comment for matt can be found here, or contact me over on plurk or PM to hash out any further details. ]

●●● 𝐵𝑈𝑅𝐼𝐸𝐷 𝐸𝐶𝐻𝑂𝐸𝑆 — ;

[avo]

[ He might not be able to see the colour, but Matt Murdock, newly minted Interloper and Just a Lawyer Guy, can feel the thickness in the air with each breath he takes in. It's not the frigid air of a never ending winter. It's different, bitter on the tongue. And it's rife with unease, the kind that could permeate every pore of his body, drawing out an internal discomfort with every exhale.

He tries for as long as he can not to let it affect him.

And it works — at least for a while.

Weeks since his arrival have passed and his senses are still numbed, like he's underwater, a condition he's slowly getting accustomed to in a way he'd refused back in New York. Maybe it's the environment, or the fact that he's Tired upon Round 2, but he isn't giving into despair this time, for whatever it's worth — Father Lantom would be proud (/s).

He takes to exploring Milton a little every day and occupying the other half of his time helping out in the community hall. Everything feels like it's slowly turning into a new kind of normal, however much that might mean being stranded in a new plane of existence with a bunch of strangers from other worlds at half-capacity. The haze of fog seems easy enough to avoid but as the weeks go on, several patches of fog seem to move directly into his path of travel. They're not targeting him exactly, but they're not keeping a polite distance either.

If you happen to be out and about, you can find Matt:

(☀) Walking along the perimeter of the Basin, wisely avoiding its frozen surface for now. He has a small tote-sack with him for foragables, but admittedly the bag is mostly empty. Foraging the woods for berries and kindling just isn't a skill he's ever learned in the Big City.

(🌙) cw: descriptions of violence — It's hard to avoid stepping directly into thicker patches of the green fog, it's become so prevalent across the landscape. Breathing it in, everything starts to feel darker and heavier. Matt starts to hear voices — all-too-familiar ones, in fact. You might hear him call out the names 'Karen' or 'Foggy' like he's confused, as though he's trying to listen out for whatever they're trying to tell him but you're only getting his part of the conversation — at least for now. Silhouettes of tall city skyscrapers slot themselves into the carved out rock of the basin, as though growing directly out of it like tree branches, and then you hear the chatter and ambient noise of a densely populated city: car horns, traffic stops, people coming and going, the sound of a train rolling over tracks ...

Matt suddenly collapses to one knee, clutching at his side as though he's been beaten. Wounds bloom over his skin in blue and red welts, the memory locked only inside his head now being externally replayed before you.

Fisk, he hisses out as you can do nothing but watch a looming figure of a large bald man, intimidating, focused, and decidedly unhinged essentially beat your companion bloody, nearly to an inch of his life. The sound of brick-like fists smashing against flesh and bone without restraint echo in your ears. The memory takes you further, through blurred visions of a too-loud city around you, as you and Matt stumble to get to an apartment, lit up only by the bright magenta neon billboard just outside the window. No other light switches seem to work; there isn't a need for that when you can't see, after all.

Matt collapses onto the floor, leaving red smudges of blood over the carpet.

I couldn't stop him ... I can't stop him ... if I just —

OR

(☀) At the Church and its surrounding grounds (including the graveyard), located right on the outskirts of town. He isn't surprised to find a chapel here; it'd be more of a shock to find a place without some sort of house of worship. He lingers inside for a moment, either standing before the main altar in the nave, or seated for a moment in one of the aisles.

Later in the afternoon, he'll be out in the graveyard, occasionally pulling one of his gloves off to graze cold fingertips along the engravings etched into stone, trying to read the names. Most of them appear to have been smoothed down with time, making it difficult to get very much out of it. It doesn't stop him from trying anyway.

(🌙) Maybe it gets too late, or the fog plays tricks on time because the sky is suddenly dark, smudging out any view of the Church and the graveyard beyond. You also appear to be on your own now — no sign of Matt anywhere. But you can hear him — well, you can hear a fight and he's involved — until everything quiets to a soft murmur of voices. You might feel like you're about to interrupt something you shouldn't, when above and all around you, the sound of explosions and cracking concrete, glass shattering, and the structure around you caving in fill your sound and vision. You might think this is it; it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, because that's exactly how Matt feels in this moment. It's acceptance and knowing that no matter what happens now, you didn't leave her alone to die.

You didn't leave her alone. You didn't leave her.

But when the dust settles and the silence deafens in your ears, you might rub your eyes to a small, austere bedroom in which you see Matt lying in bed, a complete mess, but somehow ... alive.

And beside you, Matt — present Matt — swallows.

In the end, she died but I didn't, he says quietly.

NOTE — essentially feel free to treat the first part of the prompt as a non-memory share for a more gen experience; otherwise, we get into memshare territory. ]

eren jaeger | attack on titan

[dreamsofwings]

A; BURIED ECHOES TWs: blood, violence, gaslighting, manipulation

Eren is no stranger to fear. Some of this place is so foreign to him, but fear? He's always been afraid. He just buries it.

He can't bury this.

He listens to the words of the Darkwalker, and anger rises to meet that fear. Anger is so much easier, anyway.

"Not if I come for you first," he grits out, unaware of anyone nearby who might hear. Not that it would stop him anyway. It's no secret that Eren thinks they can stand against this monster.

Of course, the creature doesn't answer. But the fog does.

Images form into a table. Three people sit there, two about Eren's age and one several years younger, still a child. Another Eren materialises out of the fog, hand raised and bloody. Current Eren has his hair loose around his shoulders, and has those permanent titan marks on his face. Memory Eren has his hair up, no marks, and looks even more distant.

His memory is a brutal one, at least emotionally. Though in the memory, there is only anger and derision on Eren's face, the tension of the thing remains palpable in the air. Even in the memory, even with that blank mask, Eren was so tense that he couldn't keep all his chair legs on the ground.

Try as he might, current Eren cannot banish the memory until it ends. He appears visibly shaken by it, hard enough that he can't immediately school himself back into blankness.

Whether he realises someone is watching during the memory or after is dealer's choice.

OR, maybe it's someone else's memory that materialises around them?

B; ADURERE TWs: Fire, injury, death

Eren doesn't remember going to sleep, but he wakes up in a strange place anyway. Even stranger, he's not alone in the bed. If his companion isn't awake, he reaches out and shakes them awake. He isn't exactly gentle, but he's not rough about it either.

"How did we get here?" he asks. "Where is here?"

He looks around the room, but he doesn't recognise the Barker family. Maybe his companion does.

Either way, soon they can smell smoke. Eren's eyes go wide as he registers it. He isn't afraid of fire, especially not for himself, but it would be more than a little inconvenient to deal with burns.

"We have to get out of here," he says, beginning to lead the way downstairs.

C; OTHER

When things aren't too crazy, Eren still visits the shoreline. He walks along it sometimes, but other times he just stares off into the distance as if there's anything to see. He's in a worse mood after that memory thing, something that isn't quite anger sitting on his face and drawing his eyebrows together. He doesn't always acknowledge someone coming to meet him until they're pretty close.

He's learned enough to keep his rifle strapped to his back, but he won't pull it on someone without provocation.

If anyone comes to stand beside him silently, eventually he'll ask, "Do you think the world still exists?" But he'll engage in conversation if someone else starts it, too.

D; WILDCARD

[ you know the drill! boywonder for plots, but feel free to just throw something at me. Eren can be found anywhere in Silverpoint this month. ]

adurere;

[stevieboy]

Unfortunately, Steve doesn't recognize the family at all. But he does recognize the smell of smoke and the sound of crackling fire, and he sure as hell doesn't need to be told twice to get the hell of dodge.

He follows the stranger, going down the stairs - only to find more stairs that lead somewhere else?

"What the hell-"

teddy roberts | oc | open

[tedandroses]

[[ prompts below are open unless otherwise mentioned. | plotting post | catch me at wingedvoices if you'd like something else]]

buried echoes

[tedandroses]

buried echoes

(tw: drug use, experience of panic/overwhelm, implied overdose, diffusion of responsibility)

By the time it gets to them, Teddy's seen what the pale green mist can do, has the instinct to try to avoid it and the sense to know that there's really nothing they're going to be able to do if it's coming.

Somehow it's not expected anyway.

For one thing, it takes its sweet time, giving her a bit of a jumpscare a couple of times until she thinks, foolishly, maybe it's just not her turn to have something dragged out of the back of her mind to project on a screen for whoever happens by. That looming un-right, the sick cast of a sky fixing to unleash a tornado is, like they always were at home, more danger somewhere else.

And then they're watching themself scribbling in a notebook, not the one they have here, not the one they've had for many years. It's quick and insistent, overlapping hypergraphic lines that look a little like an agitated EEG. Their hands in front of them are like a double exposure: theirs but not theirs, devoid of the tattoos that cover them or the ones up their arms; just some faded pen doodles on one hand and an unraveling wish bracelet on the other.

Teddy isn't even sure, at first, what this is. He's pretty sure when it is, but it takes a second to understand, heart pounding in -- what might be anticipation or what might be the version of him that's here. Half of high school was nicotine-and-Ritalin fueled, especially shows and the parties after them.

She's already moving, shoving the notebook away, stubbing out a cigarette irritatedly under some threadbare canvas sneakers and heading back up the deck into a prefab that practically shakes with the bodies it's being asked to support. A couple of college students in each other's laps dozily watch, unbothered.

"Oh. Oh, fuck," Teddy breathes. Here. This --

(it's a lie, a kiss with open eyes / and she's not breathing back)

"Bren?" the Teddy running the show is calling, weaving through an unfamiliar web of bodies: flopped on the couch; kissing or not quite dancing; doing lines off the table; smoking and drinking in the kitchen. Teddy ignores most of them and shrugs off any attempts to be grabbed into conversation or something more intimate, turning toward a short hallway and glancing into rooms. "Zach? Dude, are you back here, I wanna--"

And stops. There's a girl on a bed. The whole room is a sort of series of pale yellow-golds, except for the wood dresser and bed frame. The floral wallpaper, slightly peeling, the comforter and the pillow shams except for the white edges, interrupted by brown hair and pale skin and blue dress, and Teddy goes to turn around when the girl makes an abrupt sort of snore noise.

"Fuck this," Teddy says out loud, backing up as though that's going to do anything to the memory, and catches her own face in the mirror, wide-eyed and teenage, feeling incredibly small. In the reflection, she can better see the girl's pallid face, the purple-blue to her lips. "Fuck you," she whispers, even though she knows already that's not how this works. "Do something, you little shit."

"Oh, there you -- whoa, hey, what the fuck." Teddy turns, abruptly, right into two larger boys: they recognize them as Nick and Zach; anyone else would just see one clearly-older teenager, lanky and tall with short-cropped hair and one closer to Teddy's own age, a little broader and babyfaced with shaggy dark hair, a band sweatshirt, black nailpolish and piercings.
"The girl in there -- she's not okay," Teddy hears themself saying, and the boys' eyes slide over in sudden alarm.

The world feels like it's sliding away from them, narrowing into something numb at its extremities, claustrophobic and closing in, distorted at the edges. Framed in a cluster of boys older and taller and hovering around them. Cut through in odd moments by absolutely normal, inappropriately so, music and chatter.

"Wait, what do you mean not okay--"
"I mean not okay, Z, what the fuck do you think, we need to call -- I don't know, we need --"
"We need to go."
"We --"
A new face, a new voice. Garrett. "Dude, people were just in here with her, what are you talking about? Do you know her name? Or anything she took?"
Teddy can hear her own self doubt. "I mean, no, but -- that doesn't mean -- we don't even have to stay after, I wanted to go in the first place."
("Oh, fuck, guys, what if she isn't okay. I mean we know--")
("Zach, shut up?")
"What the fuck do you want us to do, Teddy, call 911 in motherfucking Kentucky and say what exactly. Are you even sober right now?"
"Uh. No..."
"No, you're fucking not. Look. You wanna personally invite a bunch of cops in here, that's up to you --"
"Nick, all due respect, fuck that, we don't leave each other behind to get in shit. Right?” (A chorus of uneasy rights, including Teddy.) "I'll see if I can find anyone I saw earlier, before we go, okay? It’ll be fine, let’s just get home. You'uns get the truck started."
Teddy closes their eyes against the feel of nodding. Against the way Zach’s arms wrap around their shoulders when they say "Yeah. Yeah."

The fog fades away with the scene, the trailer home fading around them, and it leaves Teddy back feeling a little more in their own body, and a little less. They sit down on the ground, hard, and pull their knees up.

Dorian Gray | The Confessions of Dorian Gray

[brushoff]

( starters in comments )

closed to louis

[brushoff]

He has to ration. Dorian knows that much. The past few times he drunk from someone else, he drunk deep, taking their power and killing them entirely. That did a wonderful job satiating this Darkwalker induced hunger. But he can already feel the pangs of hunger start to creep on the edges, fighting back against the wonderful sensation that this green fog is bringing—because seriously, that feels fucking fantastic, whatever the Darkwalker's doing, could he keep it up?

Or maybe he's just hungry hungry, that boring human. Eat a Snickers, Dorian. You're not you when you're hungry.

One of those problems is easier solved than the others. Dorian still wouldn't call himself a great forager, but he's at least figured out what wild berries and wild roots won't kill him. So, under cover of what little darkness this place gives them, he makes his way to the forest. He's got a bag at his side, which is slowly but surely getting filled up with edible bits and bobs.

Dorian's pretty certain he's alone. But as he's about to find out, pretty certain isn't entirely certain. Surprise, you've got company.

Bruce Wayne | DCEU

[shoving]

Closed starters to follow. If you want one, just let me know! I'm in the game server or you can ping me on plurk @ tapsters

closed to Dorian

[shoving]

Buried Echoes

Bruce Wayne isn't afraid of the dark. Maybe once he had been, when he was a little boy and had a mother and a father to scare away the monsters hiding in the shadows. And then his life turned inside out and all it took was two bullets and a man worse than any monster his imagination could conjure. There was no mother or father to cast out the dark. Only the shadows, creeping closer. Sometimes Bruce thought they would overwhelm him. Smother him. Strangle him until there was nothing left of him.

But they didn't.

And he learned to live in the dark. To thrive in it. Wrap himself in it and turned it on the people who used it to terrorize the good people of Gotham.

So the Darkwalker doesn't scare him. Maybe it should. But Bruce doesn't recoil when the fog rolls in and isolates him. It is coming and it wants Bruce to bend. He didn't when Bane nearly broke him in two. He didn't when the Joker set his world on fire and laughed while it turned to ash.

So whatever this thing is, whatever name it hides behind, it'll have to do better than creep in with fog and fear. Because better monsters have tried and Bruce Wayne always got back up again.

The memory unfolds in startling clarity: Clark and Diana and Bruce facing a monster born of the Kryptonian's ship. With every blow it adapts and hits back harder and in the end, Clark drives the Kryptonite spear into the monster's heart. When they reach him, he's not moving. Not breathing.

And the guilt starts like a subtle thing in his gut. It grows and spreads to the roots of his hair. The back of his throat, gnawing at him, chews on his insides like acid. He doesn't notice that he's not alone. Not right away.

“This...What is this?”

Ari Tayrey | Original

[astrogator]

[Open starters in comments. I didn't put up a plotting comment and I'm late so literally anyone is welcome to tag in, previous CR or not! If you'd like a closed custom starter or want to discuss ideas I'm at sailthesky or you can PM]

Adurere | Open

[astrogator]

[Tayrey wakes in someone else's bed. She knows it at once; it doesn't feel like the compact bunk that she set up in her Milton house. It doesn't smell right. There are too many pillows.

Tayrey wakes, and realises she is not alone, and that's far, far worse. She's not the sort to get so drunk she can barely remember an overnight (only once, only the first time, only to clear the nerves) and she's fairly sure that she wasn't drinking at all last night.

The possibilities to explain her presence here flit through her mind, and none of them are good, because if it wasn't an overnight, mutually-beneficial-contract, what happens downstation stays downstation - if it wasn't that, then she'd never have done this willingly. Tradeliners don't. Their cabins, tiny and cramped as they are, are the only real privacy a spacer gets. Being found in someone else's, outside of the allowable situations, would be disastrously scandalous.

Although she has no idea what's going on here, Tayrey concludes it can be nothing good. She sits up and reaches for her energy pistol.]

Why did you bring me here?! [she demands of the person beside her]

[ooc: she's not happy but she will believe that it's not your character's fault so long as they don't just totally dismiss that it's a taboo thing for her - and then we can move on to fire shenanigans!]

frédéric "freddie" lavoie | original character

[faa]

 character synopsis & info  ✈️  permissions/warnings/opt out  ✈️  event plotting post 
redmaresociety @ discord, bluehellgazette, or PM to plot (in order of preference!); open starters beneath as i add them!

CONTENT ADVISORY.

This character involves themes of societal and internalized fatphobia, diabetes stigma, low self-esteem, bulimia and what it does to the body over time, unwanted/accidental children, and US intervention in the Middle East. He was an active participant in the "Global War on Terror". Any of this may come up in the narrative if something steers his thoughts in that direction, but he's not like graphically vomiting onscreen or spewing vitriol at himself in every tag or anything like that. I thoroughly warn in each tag when these things come up in case anyone else skims over the thread.

Freddie's opinions on weight, health, the military, and global politics do not reflect my own.

Bulimia and self-shaming are far from Freddie's entire personality or the focus of every single tag, but he is a person dealing with severe mental illness, and that mental illness is apparent in the narrative. If you're uncomfortable with any of this, feel free to opt out on the screened page I have, no explanation needed.

buried echoes — i.

[faa]

 I. ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT'S ME, MARGARET

[ A cascade of Chex cereal pieces rattles into the bowl, white with a chipped blue edge. He's not sure why he notices how loud the cereal is, or the little chip in the edge, when he never has before. His mother pushes it across the table.

"Freddie, do you want milk?"

"No," he lies. That will slow things down. What he wants is for the other two at the table to put an end to the dread coiling deeper and deeper in his chest and just talk to him like another adult, to tell him what's really happening instead of treating him like a stupid kid. He wants his mom to just sit down and say it. Papa looks like he's waiting on the same thing.

Finally, she does. The look on Mom's face sends a deep current of unease through him in the moment before she speaks. "Freddie, sweetheart, your father and I are getting a divorce. We're still friends, and we still love you. We're just going to live in different houses. You'll get two Christmases this year."

All at once, he feels hollow, hot and cold at the same time, like an exoskeleton with nothing inside. For a moment there's silence as he absorbs. For the first time, Mom's watching him like she's afraid of him and he hates it; intuitively, he knows an adult shouldn't be hinging on his answer like this. It's like if he doesn't choose the wrong thing to say, she might cry, and he doesn't know how to handle that, so he has to choose what he says carefully.

They're not friends, and he doesn't remember a time when they ever were friends, which is the whole reason Papa's leaving; he wishes they wouldn't lie to him like he's stupid. Just last night, he specifically asked God and Jesus and Mary to make them stop fighting, like he does most nights. And this was the answer? Divorce? Freddie's eyes burn with welling tears, hot and angry and disbelieving; his throat feels tight. It's a slap in the face. His hands curl in on themselves in his lap.

"Do you still love each other?" he croaks at last, and he immediately feels stupid and babyish for asking. Obviously not. He wishes he could rewind time and pull the question back in. His father just looks at him in silence on the other side of the table. Answering falls on Mom again.

"No, but we both love you very much." It doesn't feel true. It doesn't feel true at all.

The thinly suppressed feelings boil over in an outburst at the lie. "If you loved me, you'd stay together!" He looks around at both of them, disbelieving.

« Don't raise your voice at your mother. » Matthieu intones, suddenly deciding to speak&mfash;in French, as always. He looks painfully indifferent for someone whose wife doesn't love him—Freddie wants him to be upset, and he's not. He doesn't even care, and he doesn't care that they won't be living together all the time any more, either, because he is not going to miss Freddie.

"Why do you care?" The tears spill over and begin to collect under his chin. "You don't love her. You're leaving. I want you to go. You should go now." He doesn't, and he doesn't know why he says that, because it might just make Papa actually leave faster, but he can barely think straight.

"Freddie, sweetheart, we need you to be brave, okay? We need you to try and understand. It's a big change, but it's going to be okay. Why don't we go to the playground today?"

The memory ends, abruptly, and somehow he knows the person saw it too. Fuck. Fuck. He hasn't even seen it for... more than a decade, one of those things he's locked away, just like the smell of smoke in the cockpit over Mosul.

Freddie swipes at his eyes, which feel as damp as they did right before the tears fell in the dream. His throat feels tight, sorer than it already usually is, worse and more uncomfortable than it was when he was seven years old and throwing up just meant he was sick in a very fleeting, transient way. His face burns with humiliation, even though he knows that his complexion won't allow any blush to show through. ]

I'm sorry, you weren't. You weren't supposed to see that. —I don't want to talk about it.

Tim Gutterson | Justified

[comfortablyerect]

buried echoes

[ late July - Milton ]

[ The memory ] CW for war and child murder.

He's been avoiding the green fog the best he can -- nobody had to tell him to for his 'fuck that' alarm to be screaming at him. The safest answer would be to stay inside, but he can't. It's too stuffy, too quiet, too still. So he risks it. Gambles. He's always been a betting man anyway.

So he's out. He does well at steering clear of it out in the woods, but he's cutting through town now, rounding a corner, and there it is. Creeping up the street, but when he turns to take a different direction, it's there, too. And then behind him, all around him, thick and dark with fear, that voice sounding like it's coming from the fog itself.

The Darkwalker.

Fuck. Before he can get a handle on the dread and paranoia, the fog shifts and swirls, starting to take shape. It's familiar because he lived it for eight damn years -- an alcove cut into the rocky cliffs of the Afghanistan desert, Tim on his stomach in an army combat uniform, sniper rifle poised in his hands. This could be any day of any week of either tour he did with the Rangers. Until he recognizes what his scope is trained on.

It's an unassuming building in a series of them at the edge of a war torn village, about 600 yards out from where he's at. There's nothing to set it apart from the others, just as dilapidated as the rest. Except for the American soldiers surrounding it. Tim watches them breach the building. The steady pops of gunfire that echo in the distance are much louder in the headset in his ear. Smoke billows out the windows, drifting into the empty street.

No-- it's not empty. The rifle shifts, zeroing in on a lone small figure. They're holding an assault rifle, waiting right at the corner of the building. A one-man hail mary ambush. Tim waits, too. He waits until the soldiers are hauling out the man they went in for, until the figure is straightening up and raising his gun, and Tim fires. One shot clean through the skull and the body drops.

"Fuck," he hears from the comms piece in his ear. "Nice shot, Gutterson."

He's still watching calmly through the scope as two soldiers move, one of them nudging the body over with his boot. Even from this angle, he can see it -- it's a kid. Maybe eleven years old. The assault rifle looks remarkably large in his small arms now.

Tim sits back from his rifle. He's not supposed to, but he does, an unfamiliar chill seeping into his bones. He just killed a fucking kid -- and he's only nineteen himself.

The fog dissipates. Tim is on his knees in the middle of the street. They hurt, indicating he must've collapsed this way, though he doesn't remember it. His hands are shaking, feeling sand gritting between his teeth and gunpowder burning his nose.

[ The aftermath ] CW for wartime PTSD.

At first, he simply tries not to sleep. He has flashbacks. He hears gunfire and screaming where there is none. He feels impossible heat on the back of his neck like he's beneath the desert's oppressive sun. He sees shadows, catches non-existent corpses in his periphery. More often than not, his gun is in his hand or lap.

He makes it 57 hours before he passes out. The sheer exhaustion does nothing to ward off the nightmares. They're vibrant, loud -- the blood is sticky on his hands even after he wakes up, and he wakes up shouting. He wakes up and it's like not waking up at all, still in the desert hellscape of his dreams, seeing and hearing and smelling all the things that aren't there.

He stays inside until he can't. Until the cabin and Raylan's worrying becomes too suffocating and he has to go somewhere. Staying far away from town, sticking to the woods. Paranoid and easily startled, likely to draw on anyone or anything that approaches.

the territory

[ early july ]

This is perfect. The cannery in the south east has hardly been explored, apparently due to a large number of timberwolf packs roaming around, and it serves two purposes for Tim -- doing something useful, and putting himself in a reasonable amount of danger. The moose hunt had done something similar for him. Going too long without that adrenaline rush is almost as bad as going too long without a drink in his hand.

He's not an idiot, though -- going alone would be foolish, so he's left notice at The Frozen Angler for anyone interested in coming along to meet him on the path just outside of town.

Just because he shouldn't go alone doesn't mean he won't if nobody wants to tag along.

He's prepared as he can be, double checking everything. The handgun with limited ammo tucked in the back of his jeans, the hunting rifle with marginally less limited ammo slung across his back. Matches, wood for torches, a simple array of first aid supplies that's better than nothing. Empty satchels to carry some goods back with.

Hopefully he makes it that far.

territory

[friendsfordinner]

Hickey doesn't have a gun. What he has is his knife as well as a pack slung across his back. Noticeably, Hickey's wearing kind of shitty clothes: they're not his best, already torn and stained in some ways. It looks like he expects the clothes to get even more beat up during this excursion.

Or, clothes that he expects to get ruined when he wolfs out and ends up tearing them. Either/or.

"You put up that notice?" Hickey calls out, as he walks over towards Tim. "Been interested in that cannery for months now. It's high time we figure out what's in there."

Zoey Westen | Original Character

[pythianwoman]

starters to come in the comments below.

plotting! | ThriceWiddershins

BURIED ECHOES. (Milton, late July; closed to close CR)

[pythianwoman]

This isn’t the first time this place has been beset by a green fog. That doesn’t make it any BETTER, though. The familiarity with the fact that whatever ends up accompanying it this time is going to be just as fucking awful as it was the last time doesn’t improve anything. It puts Zoey on edge, where she’ll remain until it finally passes.

The green tingle grows, and she avoids it as best she can… until she suddenly CAN’T.

The fog surrounds her, everything growing dark and green, the voice of the Darkwalker menacing as it speaks to her.

Then the fog swirls and shifts around her. Into an all too familiar living room. And Zoey knows, suddenly and with a sinking, despairing feeling in her chest, where it is. What’s going to happen. It happened a lifetime and WORLDS ago. But the memory has never faded. Even if she’s healed from it. Dealt with it.

It looks like the Darkwalker has other fucking plans.

[The memory] cw for blood, murder, and death

A different Zoey, another lifetime and worlds ago, sits on the couch making what is obviously a video call. She’s pale, tense, and there’s what looks like blood lingering along her lower lashes for a minute before she wipes it away.

“It’s a bloody trick. Whatever you do, don’t listen to him. His promises mean nothing and they’ll come at too high a cost.” She’s desperate, doing what she can while she can.

The other Zoey, the real one, watches as her past self tries desperately to warn someone, warn EVERYONE, talking rapidly, as though she doesn’t have enough time to say what she needs to say, her English accent more noticeable than usual.

“His smile never reached his fucking EYES. Do you really think he’ll offer anything worth taking? Do you really think he’ll keep his bloody word, afterwards?”

There’s the sound of something breaking, and Zoey of the past looks up sharply, a hiss of FUCK slipping from her lips. And Zoey of the present closes her eyes as her past self scrambles to her feet, a dagger in hand. She knows what’s coming. She still has the scars from it.


There’s a lightning fast glimpse of oddly greyish skin with a weird pink tinge to it) as something inhuman, something demonic sends her flying, the device tumbling rom her hand and clattering to the floor.

“YOU.” Past Zoey doesn’t sound pleased at ALL to see whoever, whatever it was with the unnaturally coloured skin that broke into her flat. There’s recognition, in that one word. Contempt and anger and WRATH itself are carried in her voice. And for those who know her... the slightest undercurrent of fear.

It doesn’t stop the Zoey from the past from fighting, which shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows her, either. It’s fast, it goes on for just a moment, it goes on forever, it goes on for no time at all. That Zoey draws blood, and it costs her. There’s a slash of claws, an agonizing, drawn out squishy sound, and panicked, breathless gasping as she drops to the floor, blood from her slit throat spreading rapidly across the hardwood floor.

“Do you... work for them? Or are you still... the low demon on the totem pole?” There’s a liquid-y bubbling, rasping quality to Zoey of the past’s voice, the same quality that’s in the laugh she manages, gazing up at her soon to be murderer, her hand pressed against her throat. “Or are you still pissed... a mere human... made you bleed?”

Her voice is fading… and so is she. Until even her breathing has stopped

[The aftermath.] cw for talk of death and trauma.

After, Zoey retreats. Pulls away to lick the wounds that the memory had torn open from a healed scar. Not as healed as the scar on her throat, but healed enough to deal with. The shame of her failure. What had felt like a betrayal of everyone in the City. Those she’d failed to warn. Been unable to save. What was the point of being a seer if she could use her gift to save others? She knew she’d done everything she could to warn them. To stop what was to come. She’d died for it. It changed nothing.

Except let her learn first hand what it was like to die. If not for the City and the fact that death didn’t take, she’d be gone. Never to have made it to Milton at all.

The memory of getting her throat slit, of bleeding out on her living room floor has never gone away. One of the curses of remembering everything was remembering everything. She remembers everything about that moment. The nightmares had faded. She’d dealt with the trauma of it as best she could.

And now, here she is. With the memory torn open as raggedly as the night it happened.

Zoey gives up on sleep. Avoids it like the plague. Takes to perching on rooftops, a bottle of something strong and alcoholic in hand. When she’s not running around on four legs or pouring herself into some project. She finally gets around to getting more mead started, as well as beginning to tinker on her still.

Anything to keep herself from thinking.

Rorschach | Watchmen

[moralabsolutism]

A. Buried Echoes - lots of cw. In order: implied gory child death, dismemberment, dogs eating human remains, dogs killed in violent fashion off-screen, implied child molestation, and gory adult death involving a meat cleaver. Scene can be watched here, it's R-rated.

"Men get arrested. Dogs get put down."

Shit. Rorschach knows where he is. The exact time. The exact place. And everything that is going to happen, nothing he can stop, recalling the moment he failed so utterly to save an innocent life, the moment he had died in a sense.

Rorschach had been on the hunt for a missing six year old girl. Blair Roche. A tip had led him here. He barely noticed the dogs fighting over a bone in the backyard before glancing at the photo in his hands. He was going to find her and take her home to her mother. He'd promised. He kicked the door in but inside was silence. Even then, some part of him knew he was too late. A child still alive would have been crying and screaming for her mother. But he kept looking, hoping maybe she'd been knocked out or gagged in such a fashion that she couldn't call out for help.

He found the underwear first in the stove. No. Then he saw the cutting board, the deep marks and blood still caked into it, before finding the cupboard full of meat cleavers. Oh no. But where was the body...? He stared outside and that was when he saw it: the two German Shepherds were fighting over a bone alright. But it was the bone of a child, a little girl's femur with a small Mary Jane and delicate little sock attached at the end of it.

Those who know Rorschach well will recognize the pattern on his mask that appeared at the moment: it was the one that only shows up when he's been genuinely shocked by something.

It was that moment that whatever was left of Walter Kovacs as a person died with the little girl he'd failed to save. He just stood there for what felt like an eternity, the entire situation He closed his eyes as a human being. When he opened them up, all that was left is the vigilante Rorschach. He went outside with one of the cleavers, calmly calling the dogs over with a whistle. They were dead before they even knew what hit them, one slam each into their skulls to split them open.

Then he waited. When the murderer returned, he immediately realized something was wrong. The gun he held did him no good. Rorschach threw one dog and then another into the shack to intimidate him before swiftly handcuffing him to the stove. He denied what had happened at first and then cockily admitted to what he'd done, knowing all that would happen was being arrested by the police, sentenced to prison for who-only-knew how long with how broken the system was.

Then he saw Rorschach pick up the same cleaver he'd chopped up the girl's body with and realized he had no intention of taking him in alive. The man begged for his life, trying to make the excuse of having "a problem", begging to be arrested. He begged the same way Rorschach was sure Blair had begged for her life. But he would no longer be soft on criminals.

Not anymore.

His breathing was a little heavier and more erratic as he realized what had to be done. He was crossing a line he couldn't come back from. But frankly? Rorschach didn't care anymore. If this was the kind of world he lived in, then he was going to adapt to it. If that tarnished whatever he had left of his soul, so be it. He slammed the cleaver into the piece of shit's head, killing him instantly.

There was a tremble in Rorschach's voice when he spoke for the first time in the memory, not of fear but instead of white-hot rage. "Men get arrested. Dogs get put down!" He kept hacking at the dead man's skull with it until the face no longer looks human, the blood and gore splashing all over his mask.

The scene fades out and Rorschach is left there with the other person who has just witness what was the worst moment of his entire damn life. He just looks at them, steady and unblinking beneath the mask, not saying a word. Did he even need to?

B. Adurere

It takes Rorschach a moment or two to get his bearings but soon enough he realizes where he's at. He remembers this house all too well. That damned haunted place. The specters of the two boys that had been terrified, trying to get them out of there, and failing to only to realize all they'd wanted all along was someone to try and comfort them in their final moments. Looks like he's back again for yet another horror-filled trip here.

Though it seems quiet for the moment. At least until he realizes someone else is in the bed with him. For someone so adverse to physical human contact, this creates quite the dramatic reaction. It makes Rorschach jump up and out of the bed with a sound like that of an angry and startled cat. He stares at the other person for a moment, breathing heavily, before he regains his usual composure. "Need to get out of here. Now," he insists.

C. Wildcard

[Have a different idea or want a custom prompt? Hit me up at Light_shade or  .lightshade]

B

[bigbaddy]

Bigby hardly even blinks, despite the other's much wilder reaction. It helps that he's pretty sure he knows Rorschach by now. At least enough to predict the other would be weirder than him about it, and-- indeed, that sound Rorschach just produced is definitely something that would be more suited to come out of the mouth of an actual animal - like Bigby - than a person.

At least he does get out of the bed, but in a much more controlled way.

Rather than fully commenting on the other's reaction, Bigby just rolls his eyes and adds a: "You're letting this shithole get to you."

Just saying, Rorschach!! Most people who have been here for as long as them would figure out this is just some stupid situation this place is putting them in. Not like he likes sharing a bed with you either, dude!

He's moving towards the room's door, further into the house.

"Let's just see what's going on here." Because knowing this place-- Well, it's not very likely to be good in any way.

Senshi | Delicious in Dungeon | cw: possible cannibalism

[makebread]

A - Buried Echoes
The fog rolls in clinging to every crevice. And then it turns wood into stone, a dank dark room with only a torch for light. Outside the wooden door is a long dark corridor. There are screams that echo through the stone corridor. The only living body in the room is a what appears a stout young man, though what he really is a young dwarf in his mid-thirties - past childhood and still growing. His dark eyes are wide in fear and shivers.

An older dwarf - redhead, with a damaged helmet with two horns - hands him a bowl of soup of just hot water and some recently harvested meat. The meat looked unappetizing, with some scum still floating and attached to the meat.

The meat. The griffin meat? Is it really, really, griffin meat? Earlier there was a fight between Gillian and Brigan, a bald dwarf with a long white beard. A fight over Senshi. The scream from Brigan earlier still echoed through the stone passageway.

Senshi focuses on the meat. Gillian claimed he killed the monster and harvest its meat and cooked it in a soup.

…or did he? The griffin never makes a sound when it attacks. It happened outside the room, so Senshi never seen the fallout of the fight between Gillian and Brigan. Gillian would sometimes lie to placate his men, as any good leader will do.

The possibility of a different kind of meat lingers in the air like a bad smell.

Territory

Senshi finds himself in the Coast. He tells himself to explore the land and figure out what he can do in providing the Interlopers. He found an old huntsman’s ax and kept it for himself even if it’s smaller than his old ax. It was meant for a tall-man’s hands and sometimes he will need to grip it extra hard lest it slip through his fingers.

Senshi’s ears pick up a singular howl. A wolf, which means there are more than one. “I hope we aren’t close to a den here,” the dwarf said softly. The empty town looked eerie to Senshi - it has things that looked like advanced technology but it all rusted away - like the past has come forward and tear the future’s throat and left it to rot.

Levi Ackerman // Attack On Titan // blanket cw: gore

[wingbound]

--1. BURIED ECHOES

Attack On Titan spoilers up to S4!

[ Oddly enough, as the air around shifts, the green doesn't look out of place. The unnatural shade fades into something less threatening, though. A field, a forest looming in the distance not too far away. A camp of sorts, a squad of around 30 people seemingly getting ready to move -- ]

[ It seems there's a commotion around some crates. You can see Levi, looking about exactly the same as he does now, save for the scavenged winter gear he usually dons now, walking up to check what the holdup is. If you follow, you'll see him peering into some cargo that's apparently just been sent to the camp with disdain. ]

[ "Wine? Why would we need that on a mission? Just leave it." ]

[ "But Captain, this is the good stuff! Normally only the Military Police gets to drink it! Let us have something to look forward to!" ]

[ He picks up a bottle to inspect. It looks normal. "That's why we're bringing the tea." ]

[ "Captain, please!" ]

[ They're all pleading, reaching toward the bottle, and it's almost comical, grown men and women so desperate for a taste of something usually beyond their reach. He tries to hold the bottle up -- pointless, really, as nearly all of his subordinates are taller than him, but of course they respect him too much to actually try to snatch it from him for real. He tsks and places it back in the crate, glancing back over their faces. ]

[ The last four years have been hell. No, it's always been Hell here. They look disappointed when he closes the box, still calling for him, asking to reconsider. It's a small thing, but it seems it means a lot to them. They've been fighting well. There's enough people to work in shifts; it wouldn't compromise their work. ]

[ They're good soldiers. They deserve something nice. ]

[ "What a pain. Fine, take it along." ]

[ Everyone cheers. ]

[ The scene shifts, green hues growing darker, sparse rays of sunlight filtering in through thick tree crowns, much taller than any normal tree should be. Soldiers in positions, both on the ground and in the giant trees, strapped into their 3DM gear, ready to act at a moment's notice. Those taking a break, perhaps lounging with a book, playing a card game. Maybe eating dinner, perhaps even with wine, joking around. ]

[ The man in glasses and a scraggly beard, sitting on a box near a fire, but his eyes haven't been moving over the text in his book for a while now. ]

[ That's him. Your prisoner. The Beast. The one who killed two hundred of your soldiers four years back, now supposedly allied with you after betraying his masters, but you don't trust him, never will. You're just biding time until you're allowed to cut his neck, because the higher-ups insist he's needed, he's necessary for your people's survival right now. ]

[ When he gets up and runs, you -- or is it Levi now? -- don't even move at first, baffled at what an utterly stupid idea that is. Any one of the soldiers can catch up to him in less than a second with their equipment. What is that bastard thinking?.. ]

[ The running man screams, and time stands still for a moment, before the forest around you lights up in blinding, golden explosions. ]

[ The look on Levi's face in the present almost matches the one in the past. Shocked, haunted, pained, yet on high alert. The memory Levi moves to avoid being crushed by a falling Titan; the present Levi is still, staring at the scene unfolding as if it's physically hurting him. ]


(( the video is mostly relevant until 2:15, but feel free to watch the rest if you're curious what Levi was up to shortly before ending up in Milton... ha ha ))

--2. ADURERE

a)

[ The simple truth is that he doesn't wake up with someone else, let alone someone he's not expecting. It just doesn't happen; he's never lived that kind of life. ]

[ Right now, though, he's certainly in a strange bed in a strange house, and someone else, familiar or not, is there with him. ]

[ It's eerie enough that he suspects something is weird in a Northern Territories way and doesn't accuse his forced companion of bringing him there while he slept or something, but he definitely looks tense -- and he turns to stare at them, as if expecting some kind of an explanation, or perhaps any sort of clue about what the hell is going on from anywhere else. ]

...


b)

[ Once you've finally made it downstairs, there's bodies. Multiple ones. You may recognize a few if you had been there when they were around -- like Lalo, Senku and Ragnar -- but there's one in particular that makes him pause. ]

[ Actually stop and stare, lips slightly parted in a subdued show of surprise, though there's nothing subdued about the way his eyes had widened at the sight -- a man whose face has been beaten so severely it seems to have caved in his skull, making him impossible to recognize, but if you've been here, perhaps you recall one John Rusnak that ended up not surviving the solstice about a year ago. And if you haven't, well. You might still have some questions, or perhaps you just want to get out of there or check on Enola. ]


--3. TERRITORY

[ He doesn't really plan to return to Silverpoint so soon, but he ends up going with a small group that looks like they might need more bodies to make it there safely. And, as it turns out, perhaps the trip was worth it for something else, too; something new has happened. ]

[ Levi might not be in his best form here, but he's still a fighter. Not just that, he's been gifted the Bear's strength, and its claw that's making him more durable. He's best put to use right here, and he can be found near the path leading from town proper toward the cannery, perhaps warming up by a barrel fire or staring out into the tundra, though immediately switching his attention to you if you approach. ]

Planning to go alone?

[ His usually blank tone having a proper question cadence suggests he's got an opinion about that idea. ]


--4. WILDCARD

(( Surprise me or hit up my plotting post here! He's probably spending most of the month in Lakeside and Milton, but he'll make it to Silverpoint for the last prompt. ))

1

[notarat]

[ Parts of the memory are kind of familiar. Sure, the surroundings are very different - these people are definitely not out on the water, that's clearly a forest - and the equipment and uniforms are too, but Billy has been part of the navy back home. He was part of an expedition. He knows what that sort of thing looks like, and this definitely looks similar enough to it for him to recognize it.

.. not so much what comes after it, though. It's a good thing that he's fully well aware this is just a memory he's witnessing, because otherwise he would have been in an utter panic at the sight of those.. those things.

Even having heard of them before doesn't change a thing about how terrifying it is to actually see them. Billy's eyes go wide, even knowing that he isn't in danger. He can't even fully pay attention to Levi in the memory, because he just keeps looking at those enormous creatures. ]

Those were what you were dealing with..?

[ He sounds utterly dumbfounded. Practically breathless. And here he thought one weird spirit bear was bad enough by itself. This is so much worse. ]