bury your doubts and fall asleep

[singmod]

SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: ENOLA’S VISIT : Rather than visiting in dreams, Enola appears to the Interlopers with a warning, and another offering of help.

PROMPT TWO — THE AURORA: KICKBACK Following Enola’s visit and the dream where Interlopers can gain a new ability, the Darkwalker bites back.

PROMPT THREE — AS THE DEAD SLEEP: In the dying world of the Quiet Apocalypse, Interlopers are driven to lay a part of themselves to rest.

PROMPT FOUR — SIGNAL VOID: The radios fixed up by Marra and given to Interlopers lead to unexpected finds in the Northern Territories.

THE AURORA: ENOLA'S VISIT

WHEN: September 21st.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially disturbing dreams; dreams involving animal death; dreams involving fire/being burned alive.

In the late afternoon, when the sky is still light, you hear the telltale signs of an Aurora. The endless hum, punctuated by cracks that echo across the air. There’s the strange ethereal shrill sounds made by no instrument known to man, faint at first but growing louder. As you look towards the skies, you can see the faint swirl of colours in the daylight. The electricity of the world comes to life, flickering and sparking erratically.

As the day shifts into evening and the skies darken, those colours in the sky begin to brighten: purples, pinks, red, greens and yellows — an abstract painting of colour and light that paints the sky brighter than any day, so bright the stars look like ghosts. The Aurora has come, and Interlopers settle in for a long night of noise and light.

Whenever you find yourself alone, she will come to you. You might be out in town, you might be sat in your cabin by the fire. You are alone and in a blink, she’s standing with you: a woman dressed in furs, one side of her face blackened and withered, the eye missing. Her remaining blue eye is bloodshot and exhausted. Her hands are caked in blood, old and new. She is dishevelled. Enola has seen better days, but she stands proud as she stares at you.

If you have spoken to, or seen Enola before — she greets you warmly like an old friend. If this is your first time seeing or speaking with Enola, she introduces herself: My name is Enola, I’m one of you. I’m here to help.

“Time is running out.” she tells you. “Things are changing. You’ve probably seen it, felt it. How the wildlife shifts, how the winters never end, how the world trembles.”

While prevalent long before Interlopers ever came to the Northern Territories, the seismic activity in the world has been a staple in recent times.

“Caged animals grow restless.” She’ll take a moment to walk around you, looking around with interest: examining homes of their contents, or taking a moment to appreciate the lush green trees. She takes genuine enjoyment out of it, smiling softly.

“I can still help.” she says suddenly, looking up at you. “I’ve seen you use your gifts well, learn how to control them. You learn so quickly. But more of you keep arriving, and this world keeps growing colder and crueller.”

She looks above you, or towards a window if you’re outside. She is silent for a long time.

“It was never supposed to be like this.” her voice is soft, sad. You notice there are tears in her eyes.

“Sleep, and it will come to you. If you choose for it.”

In an instant, she is gone. But when you go to sleep that night, a dream may come to you.

MOON TOUCHED: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of running through the silent woods at night. The moon is full above you, the air is calm and still. Hunger draws you forward, everything is so sharp and vivid in your senses, even in this dreamscape. You hear the crispness of the snow beneath your feet, smell the scent of the pines on the air, feel how warm you are against the coldness around you.

The snuffling of a rabbit catches your attention, and you swiftly leap after it, jaws opening and closing around its neck as you capture it. You bite down hard, feeling the crunch of its bones as they break, the sweet coppery taste of blood filling your mouth and nose. You lift your head towards the stars, blood on your tongue. You realise you are not a person at all, but a beast on all fours: a wolf, content and filling your belly with meat.

You wonder, for a brief moment: were you ever a person at all?

You do not know the answer to the question. You do not seem to worry about such a thing but there’s a flash of warning on the air. Something you cannot quite place, but you know that you should not forget it.

When you awaken, you feel… different, somehow. Everything seems a little sharper, as if the world around you had been dull, or behind some pane of frosted glass. With it comes a strange balance of calmness and chaos, tameness and wildness, fear and bravery. You find yourself looking for the moon in the skies and when you finally find it, it hits you — this is what it means to be Moon Touched.

LIGHT BRINGER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of sitting by a lonely campfire in the mouth of a cave at night, warming your hands. As you sit, a strange feeling comes over you, a desire to reach out to the flames. And so you do, reaching with both hands into the fire — gripping at the white-hot embers. It burns you, and for a moment there is blinding hot pain as the fire suddenly explodes around you, consuming you whole. But the pain soon stops. The fire doesn’t burn you. No, you have become the blaze — your body warmed. You burn bright enough that the darkness around you turns into day.

When you awaken the next morning, you feel warmed and comfortable. As if even the coldest of winters couldn’t reach your bones. The warmth remains even when the Aurora ends, and you are left with the innate understanding:you are the Lightbringer. The power of flame is at your very fingertips. You master the light, life, warmth.

AURORA CALL: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are standing in the very sky itself, at the Aurora’s height. Colour and sound twirls around you, within you — and you feel it curl into your body. Your head fills with noise, a chorus of voices calling out, snippets of conversation echoing within you. Enola’s voice calls to you: “Don’t you understand it now? We are all connected. The Aurora connects us.”

And you do, you do understand it.

When you awaken, you feel connected to the world around you. To the very people who live amongst you. You feel less lonely, a kind of kinship with others. You have heard the Aurora’s Call and you have answered it, unlocked a connection with your fellow Interlopers. You will be heard.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

THE AURORA: KICKBACK

WHEN: September 22nd.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of violence; supernatural weather/altered environments; altered mental states; mental manipulation; themes of violence; potential character injury; potential character death; potential NPC death.

When you awaken the next morning, the sky is impossibly dark. There is no daylight, there is only endless night. No moon, no stars, no sun. The sky is empty. A void. Just the darkness and the green gloom — the telltale sign of what is to come: the Darkwalker.

You awaken and the cold fear washes over you; a vice-like grip on your throat, squeezing, choking. The air is heavy, oppressive: fear, anxiety, anger. The day is eerily still, and even as you try to go about your day — you know something is coming, your instincts tell you as much.

And you’re right: the ancient, impossible voice finally crawls into your ear.

“The First is desperate.” the Darkwalker sneers.”Look at how she tries to protect her precious brethren. Arms you for a world that you were never meant to be in: the interloper in nature’s design.”

The earth shudders beneath you, things begin to shake and tremble around you.

“I am not some weak, powerless thing.” The Darkwalker tells you. “Even if I am bound, I am inevitable and so very hungry. The table is laid, and I will have my fill — as it is meant to be.”

The Darkwalker howls: indescribable, unnatural, demonic — breaking off into dark laughter. The earth shudders again.

“I will break you down from within, and if I cannot — I will break you down by one another’s hands once more. I am the Rot within you.”

Above you, white-hot green lightning streaks across the skies like cracks — impossibly bright. Something shifts within you, a growing tension. The anger within you builds. A familiar sensation for some: a bitter gnawing within you. The nightmarish green gloom above you persists and everything bubbles up from within.

It is not the first time the Darkwalker has done this. Many remember only too well the Summer Solstice of last year. By now, many wear talismans crafted to ward off the Darkwalker’s influence. But not everyone, and the Darkwalker’s influence is stronger now. From the dark, the anger within you becomes too much. The tension finally snaps with another crackle of lighting across the skies — and in the flash of it for a brief moment: the giant three-headed wolf skull, eyes glowing sickly green.

Another night of violence is upon the Interlopers: a vicious argument where you air your grievances, or finally let slip the things you’ve been holding close to your chest. A verbal beat down, incredibly hurtful in nature. For others, things may be drawn to getting physical. A literal beat down where your fists grow bruised and bloody, or perhaps even worse. Whatever it is, you want to do damage to someone else — there is darkness here, and so many things come out in the dark, don’t they?

Chaos erupts once more.

But there is noise above you this time, a furious unseen battle. The skies are not just empty and green, but a furious blaze of light of the Aurora streaks across the skies. Enola is grasping for control, and there are sounds of pain — as she tries to end the madness.

“Leave them be, Devourer.” Enola’s voice booms across the air like the cracking of ice of a frozen lake.

As Interlopers fall to chaos and madness with fists, weapons and words: Enola and the Darkwalker battle against one another. The skies flash violently with green streaks of lightning and the sharp colours of the Aurora: a frightening sight and it’s almost impossible to truly describe the sights before you — should you have a moment to look up.

Hide, or fight. Survive.

The night is long. The fight above you goes on for hours, and ends with a tearing of the skies and the world snaps to normal. You hear a gasp of pain from Enola, then nothing. The air is silent and clear above, but blood may have already been spilled below.

AS THE DEAD SLEEP

WHEN: The month of September.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mental manipulation; themes of loss; themes of grief; themes of death; themes of catharsis.

In the Quiet Apocalypse, it is easy to see the world sitting on the long road of the End of Things. Everything must end, that is part of nature. All things begin and all things end. So many Interlopers have been ripped from their worlds, often in the midst of crisis, trouble or change. And with it comes a pause, something left unfinished. The end has not been completed.

It is a notion that greets you when you awaken one morning. A compulsion. An itch. One might try to press it down, ignore it as much as you can. But the longer it is ignored, the more the feeling becomes. You go about your business and the feeling grows: a blooming sensation in your chest and the innate understanding: all things must end. It is a desperate, lonely feeling.

Perhaps it is not the end of you, but the end of something else. A life, a friendship, a loved one. Perhaps something left unsaid, something left undone. Whatever it is, you find yourself thinking of it constantly, even when you particularly don’t want to. It feels… wrong, to leave such a thing unfinished. To keep putting such a thing off feels unnatural. And that feeling inside of you comes almost too much to bear.

Whatever it is, you must put it to rest.

For Interlopers, a different destination will come to them. They may wish to go out into the wilds. Others may wish to go to the Church in Milton, or at Silverpoint. Some may wish to travel to the edge of the ravine, or even to some part of Lakeside. Some may wish to stand on the edges of the ice upon the seas at the Coast. Whatever or wherever they feel they need to get to — a distance will need to be covered, to find somewhere quiet and alone. They will prepare themselves for the journey and leave to go on to put something, whatever it may be, to rest. To say goodbye.

And so you walk, through the snow and wind, your thoughts occupied. You must say goodbye, you must bury something, you must finish what needs to be finished. But… other thoughts mingle within your own. You cannot recall where they come from, but they feel like yours, somehow. Like something deep down within your spirit, pooling out from it and drifting into your mind. Soft prayers, hushed apologies — even if the words are not your own, they have never felt truer. They weigh upon you, so heavy despite their softness:

… The night was so bright, too bright to count the stars. We forgot about them. … And yet it was a bitter and empty place. Did you truly know, somehow?

Did who know? Did they know what? There are so many questions, but you cannot seem to find the answers to them. It is a quiet agony. There are more thoughts:


… I could not go. I would not. Why couldn't you hold out? Why couldn't I let go?

Who’s thoughts are these? Even if they are not your own, they seem to make sense, somehow. Perhaps you piece things together, make them your own thoughts. Perhaps there was something you could not let go of. Perhaps there was someone who could not hold on. Perhaps there you were stubborn, too stubborn.

… The world falling away. The lights, they used to go on. Please forgive me.

The final words linger within you as you finally come to a stop. Here. This is where you must stop. Here you will lay it to rest. Your hands reach for the snow, fingers clawing into the frozen white. Perhaps you wish to lay it beneath the ice. You prepare. Perhaps it is an item you bury, some small token that represents what it is you wish to finish. Perhaps you are drawn to write something down: a name, a secret, an apology. Or perhaps you simply wish to make some kind of symbolic grave: decorated with stones and even crafting some kind of marker for it.

You will not stop until it is done, even if the day grows darker and colder. You will work until you have finished it. If others have come with you, you will feel compelled to unburden yourself of this loss, this thing you must finally put to bed. You do not have to be alone in saying goodbye.

And when it is done, you feel lighter, somehow. Forgiven, perhaps. As if the very thing that has weighed down so terribly upon you has lessened, eased. Things feel right once more.

As the dead sleep, you are here and alive — for now.

SIGNAL VOID

WHEN: Aurora nights; the month of September, onwards.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival/exploration; potentially dangerous situations; altered wildlife; wild animal attacks; potential character injuries; potential maiming; potential character death.

In July, Interlopers who tackled the Cannery and fought against the Timberwolves that had made their home there managed to recover some shortwave radios. These radios were given to Marra, who has managed to get these devices working again despite the Aurora’s effects on electronics.

No one can say for sure how Marra has managed to do this, much like how she manages to ensure the lighthouse works at all times. Even her own answers have proved insufficient, but she cannot even explain it herself: for some reason I can keep this place going. I'm in here and the light still shines, and I don't know why.

Having been returned to Interlopers via Molly at the Frozen Angler, Interlopers across the Northern Territories will have access to these tools. While not enough for everyone to have one each, Interlopers will need to share the radios as they navigate the world. The radios don’t work like regular walkie-talkies, but will work by using them to send morse code messages — like how telegrams work. But in the month of September, during Aurora nights, these radios start picking up strange signals.

The signal seems to appear on the radios like some kind of radar, with the screen lighting up and flashing, and a beeping sound emitting from the radio. Following the flashing and beeping on the radios, Interlopers will find that they are being led to something — with the lights and sounds increasing in frequency and intensity the closer they get.

The signals will lead Interlopers to bunkers, buried in the snow. Interlopers will need to dig through the snow to reach the door, and the doors themselves will be heavy and difficult to open. Inside, Interlopers will find a shelter that has been carved into the earth, and modest caches of stocks that have been lost to time: food, water, medical supplies, tools, books, weapons. It looks as if these bunkers were created as places of protection in the event of some kind of nuclear war, or some kind of apocalypse prepper — clearly a great deal of work has gone into crafting these places.

However there are certain dangers when it comes to traversing the world during the Aurora. Wildlife tends to become more volatile during these nights, and will actively seek out Interlopers who are out in the wilds following the signals on their radios. Packs of wolves, solitary wolves or even bears and wild cats can be found stalking after Interlopers who may be out.

The threat of these predators is high, and they will actively attack Interlopers. But it’s worth the risk of more supplies: the endless night is on the way as the daylight hours grow thin and bitter winter draws in.

But it is not just these bunkers that the radios reveal: in addition, another signal is being broadcast. One that may be familiar to some Interlopers. A broken message from last year, recorded in the diary of a firewatcher:

- .... .. ... / .. ... / --- .--. . .-. .- - .. ...- . / -... . .- .-. --- .- -.- .-.-.- / .--. .-. --- .--- . -.-. - / .-- .. -. - . .-. -- ..- - . / -.. --- .-- -. .-.-.- / -.. .- -. --. . .-. ---... / .- ..- .-. --- .-. .- / .. -. ... - .- -... .. .-.. .. - -.-- .-.-.- / -.-. --- -- . / .- - / --- -. -.-. . .-.-.-

FAQs

THE AURORA: ENOLA'S VISIT

1. Aurora Feats are unlocked! For this round, RNG picked Lightbringer, Moon Touched and Aurora Call.

2. Please see the following page for more information. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

3. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Event. The only time this is available is this month. After September, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

THE AURORA: KICKBACK

1. Characters are free to use this event to kill NPC Interlopers. Other NPCs, especially named ones (ie. Methuselah, Molly, Marra, etc.), are off the table, as are two marked NPC Interlopers. Please let Mods know if you intend on doing this for record keeping!

2. These acts of violence can be physical or verbal altercations, players are encouraged to work with the prompt however they'd like! However, anything potentially world-altering (ie. building destruction) must be first discussed with mods.

3. Interlopers under the Darkwalker's influence can be stopped in a number of ways. Showing genuine care and compassion in the face of violence is one way, saving them with the power of love/friendship. Knocking an Interloper out is another way. Sometimes killing an Interloper may be needed, or simply restraining them and keeping them locked up somewhere so they can't hurt anyone else until the night is over would also work.

4. Interlopers with the Darkwalker's Revenge Feat will be incredibly energised by the Darkwalker's influence on the world and feel at their physical peak. They will also be more susceptible to the Darkwalker's influence to be violent, meaning it will take extra work to break them out from the Darkwalker's hold.

5. Interlopers with warding talismans anointed with Interloper blood will be the least susceptible to the Darkwalker's influence to be violent, but can still be influenced eventually as the night goes on — especially if they have any grudges or interpersonal issues going on.

6. Interlopers who have natural penchants for violence or darker impulses will also be more susceptible to the Darkwalker's influence.

AS THE DEAD SLEEP

1. Items don't have to just be buried, they could also be burned, or sunk into a body of water.

2. It doesn't have to be a specific item, but could be something symbolic of the thing that the Interloper wants to 'put to rest'.

SIGNAL VOID

1. There are six bunkers in the world to be found. Two in the Milton region, two in the Lakeside region, and two in The Coast region.

2. The morse code message cannot be replied to as of yet.

3. The firewatcher refers to the Diary of Sam Bouchard, which can be read here.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

Ironeye | Elden Ring: Nightreign

[markingnight]

[ ooc: Feel free to yell at him for being an annoying howling doge, he probably deserves it. Also I kinda wrote these in media res so assuming our characters have already somehow ended up outdoors together is ok by me 👍. Contains animal death. Plotting post. ]

Moon Touched (Throughout September)

[ A howl shattered the cold morning. For the first time since he saw the swirl of alien lights in the sky, Ironeye's body was almost as light as he remembered. Here, he'd seen no springs in which the spirits danced, nor trees in which they perched.

But still he leapt and wheeled and snapped at drifts of snow, savoring the taste of ice in his jaws. If he happened to shoot past a startled Interloper, or smell something that caught his animal interest, so be it. But for now, the instincts of the wolf and the hunter were in agreement.

It was time to run. ]

Hunting Party (Throughout September)

[ A white-feathered bird swooped neatly through the grey sky, perhaps sighting one of its fellows or an easy meal. Whatever the case, there was only a whisper of displaced air before it zagged mid-flight and dropped to the snow. An arrow protruded from its breast, along with a scant few droplets of blood.

As neat as a pinned moth and almost as clean.

Ironeye emerged from the trees to claim his catch. It was only when the sunlight caught at his cloak that the pale green scales of its material ceased to blend him into his surroundings. ]

Not bad. [ He'd say as he turned the creature over. ] No breaks. Good flight feathers on this one.

Signal Void

Is this really a dwelling? What happened to its owner?

[ No answers to be found, at least not from outside, where Ironeye was evaluating a frozen, half-buried bunker and its rather substantial door. It had taken a while to find this place, and daylight wouldn't last forever. He'd heard the cries of beasts nearby, strangely restless.

But more importantly: ]

Looks like no one's got to it yet, at least.

[ Yet being the operative word. There were things inside, he could just feel it. ]

Wildcard;
[ idk anything else \o/. ]

moon touched

[friendsfordinner]

[ There's a new scent.

Hickey's been here long enough that he knows what the odd Enola drams entail. Someone's getting a new gift. It's not him this time (which is annoying, there's a gift or two Hickey won't say no to), but there's the possibility that whatever gift is given is something useful to him. To his slowly dwindling pack. If there are more wolves here, he wants to find them. So, after he wakes up, Hickey shifts to wolf form, pads outside, and starts to sniff around.

And he's rewarded for his efforts. New scent. New wolf. New possibilities.

Ironeye can smell Hickey before he approaches. Moments after he's visible, Hickey (a smaller wolf with grayish fur) practically tackles Ironeye. It's a playful gesture, a wolf trying to initiate wrestling over anything dangerous. His intent is coming through clear in his actions and their weird wolf Moon Touched connection. You're new here! New friend! New wolf! Play with me! ]

hunting party

[desperate_times_right]

[Chloe is checking her snares when she hears the bird fall.

She's standing when the man emerges from the trees.]

Hey. Nice shot.

Signal Void

[shewhograspsthesky]

That's not so surprising, non? Even we had trouble finding this place.

[She smiles a little up at him, her face warping it, tugging at odd angles.

She glances back around them outside of this bunker.]

We should probably hurry, [her voice rasps.] I doubt whatever's out there will leave us alone for long.

[Even with her rapier at her side and Nova, she's hardly interested in fighting wolves and bears if they don't have to.]

Hunting Party

[ricochetingbullets]

[Dex's eyes gleam when he sees the bird fall to the ground. It's a clean shot and he could scarcely have done better. He moves towards where he sees the bird, not worried at all about a possible thread. He's got a knife on him but Dex hardly needs it. He can take anything off the ground and turn it into a weapon if need be.

When he sees Ironeye, he looks at him warily but without any fear.]

Where did you get the bow and arrows?

[He asks curiously.]

Avi | Original (Dungeons & Dragons)

[koboldlygo]

(ooc: prompts listed in vaguely chronological order)

AS THE DEAD SLEEP

TW: SELF-HARM UNDER THE CUT

[He can't put a name to the storm of emotions driving him out to the woods on the edge of Milton. A gnawing emptiness that demanded to be filled, impossible to ignore no matter how hard he'd tried—until, in the end, what else could he do but comply? To cross the snow in leaps and bounds, shrouded head ducked to block the wind? Until the impulse to go became the compulsion to stay, and he knew without knowledge of knowing that this random copse would serve.

From there, the rest is surprisingly easy. He takes his tail in hand, unsheathing his dagger—and drags it up in one swift motion, catching the blade underneath his scales and stripping them off in a spray of blood. And it hurts, it hurts, but—but it also feels like an exorcism. As if he's cutting away dead weight, casting off some part of himself that no longer fits.

...

After, there's the passing thought of digging a shallow hole, except—no, no, that doesn't feel right. Not clean enough, not final enough, the rite of burial simply a long, slow drag of rot and decay. Instead he sparks a small fire with sticks and his tinderbox, feeding it stray twigs and skeletal bushes until blossoms of flame completely engulf the pile of kindling and bloody scales.

Thin plumes of dark smoke spiral up into the sky, stinging his eyes, but he doesn't move. The feeling of slow suffocation, the smothering weight of unfinished business and familiar memories turned alien—they disappear into the searing heat along with the cold. He keeps watching the fire, bleeding tail curled around him. Eventually he'll clean the wound, wrap it tight, pack it in snow to numb the pain, but for now...just for now, he wants to savor the hurt along with the warmth.

How alive he feels in a forest full of ghosts.]

THE AURORA: ENOLA'S VISIT

[Somewhere around when the book he's trying to read starts spontaneously smoking at the edges, Avi finally accepts that his—bright—warm—strange dream wasn't a dream at all. That the crone's impossible appearance in his (locked, booby-trapped) hideout had a purpose and reason beyond inscrutable absurdity.

Stubborn to the last, he'd tried to ignore the innate understanding that had settled inside his mind upon waking, already sick to death of external influences trying to enthrall him. But while his feelings of pride and spite might be fireproof, his supplies and base of operations...are not.

So.

He's out in the snow again, trudging along with a bundle of sticks, cardboard scraps, and...animal bones...in his small arms, intent on finding somewhere to practice. Because magic is a tool like any other, no matter the source, and he won't be stopped from learning how it works.

(Is it his imagination, or does the cold not bite as deeply as it used to?) ]

THE AURORA: KICKBACK

[On a low hill near the edge of Milton, a rustic cabin is burning down. The blaze is a glowing, pulsing light in the dark, blotting out the nighttime stars. Scrawled onto the side of the mailbox is a name—Finley Young, the letters half-illuminated, half-shadowed as the dancing, twisting flames climb higher into the sky.

And on top of the mailbox, posed there with careful carelessness, is a severed head.

(Finley's as well, one can presume.)

Blood drips from the jagged stump of the neck to pool on the ground, looking so much like ink or oil in the firelight. But it's neither of those things, it's blood, and the air is thick with it, copper and iron and smoke and ash that clog the throat and scrape through the sinuses.

There's no body to be found.]

WILDCARD

[got other ideas? want another party member for the Signal Void prompt? hit me up! my event planning comment is and i can be contacted through PM or discord @ ryebreading ]

enola's visit - incapable of saying hi like a normal person

[markingnight]

[ Ironeye was leaned back against the trunk of a tall, snow-covered pine some 15 feet off the ground, resting on one of its sturdier limbs. The faded green of his cloak was not amiss against the backdrop of its needles.

What was he doing? Minding his business, that was what. There was a still-in-progress arrow shaft on his lap, which he appeared to be quietly shaping with the dagger in his right hand. He noted Avi's progress through the snow, but said nothing at first.

If Avi noticed his presence, he'd say his hellos. If not, he'd wait and see what the stranger was up to. ]

Dorian Gray | The Confessions of Dorian Gray

[brushoff]

i. as the dead sleep - cw: mentions of depression, suicide
All things must end. Dorian knows this feeling. It powered him for nearly a decade after Tobias Matthews, the man who Dorian loved, the man who's the closest thing Dorian had to a soulmate, killed himself in front of Dorian. It's the feeling that powered him for a decade and kept him going. It's the feeling that led Dorian to try and kill himself in so many new ways, just for his immortality to revive him, just so he can feel something. A man that is used to profound depression recognizes this feeling for what it is.

And so, Dorian walks. He makes his way through the woods, through the wilderness, to the edge of Milton basin. It's a long way down, and navigable from the top to the water. But Dorian doesn't look like he's navigating it. He's standing at the top, looking down at the basin, not really doing anything. He knows what he needs to do. But he...hesitates. He stares off down the cliffside, hands in his pockets, as if contemplating what to do next.

ii. as the dead sleep - unaffected
Oh I'm sorry, were you trying to get peace and solitude and put your guilts and your worries to rest in the church? The church where Dorian lives? The church that Dorian is really thinking of moving out of because people just keep bothering him.? Well you've got company. And that company is British, irritated, and huffy.

As the doors push open, Dorian looks up from his spot. He's lounging on a pew, reading a book, very carefully avoiding the beams of sunlight that shine through the annoyingly cleaned windows (stop caring about this building!!) When he spots whoever's arrived, he groans dramatically, like he's the most oppressed person on the planet.

"Please tell me you're here for a visit and not to put your sorrows to rest or whatever this round of supernatural bullshit is going on."

iii. aurora: kickback
Dorian doesn't even know who he killed. He'd seen them once or twice, out and about, though he never learned the man's name. But it really doesn't matter. What matters is he can feel the fire course through his veins, he sees the sickly green of the sky, and he immediately knows what he wants to do. People here already think he's a monster. People here have already made their judgements of him, based solely on something beyond his control. Why not give them what they want? Why not reduce this fucking town to rubble? Let him be the last man standing, as he should be. As he always is.

He's done worse things, after all. What's another murder or two in the grand scheme of things?

"You know," Dorian muses to whoever he approaches, intensity in his eyes that he's not even bothering to hide. "I've always hated it here. The cold, the isolation, the lack of basic fucking amenities. That's no secret. But one of the other reasons that I haven't actually talked about is the people." Dorian's a talker to begin with and the Darkwalker's influence is loosening his tongue even more than normal. He takes a few steps forwards, getting right in the personal space of whoever he's with as he hisses,

"You're all so fucking dull."

( ooc post here! please look it over as there's the possibility for some heavy themes in the first prompt. )

iii

[moralabsolutism]

Normally, Rorschach is in much better control of himself, knowing by now what sort of mind games the Darkwalker likes to play with the Interlopers. But right now he's tired of trying to be good, protecting some people who have never deserved it. Frankly, Dorian is really just giving him exactly what he desires: a chance to put the man down for good.

There's a look of cold fury on his face that reflects in the snarling tone that comes with his telepathy. He stands his ground, neither moving away from nor towards Dorian. "Back up unless you want to end up with broken fingers." Rorschach will only give the warning once. As he learned early on in his superheroing career, it's really difficult for people to fight back once he's snapped two or three digits. It's hard to hit with a broken hand or even think clearly once the pain sets in.

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]

The Aurora: Kickback

The deep darkness - worse than night, without the moon or stars - makes Chloe's stomach twist in anxiety. She remembers last summer's Long Night and the nightmare of Midsummer. All the same, she feels even better than she had during the green fog: energized and sharp.

She goes outside to investigate and sees a green lightning streaking across the sky. Something inside her starts to build - fear, anger, hunger? - under incredible pressure, and she stalks off into the night.

She's ready to snap at the slightest provocation, and the closest she's ever been to being willing to seek out a victim to feed her curse. The Darkwalker may be wrong about a lot of things, but it is right about being the rot within her.

Post-Kickback

In the harsh light of day, everything feels different. Chloe looks sick and exhausted, and has clearly been in a fight. She seeks out people she trusts, people who might help her.

After determining that they got through the previous night as well as can be expected, she says, "Something happened. I don't know what to do."

Signal Void

Chloe doesn't have her own radio, but she does want to get out of town after everything that's happened. She will attach herself to any expedition looking around Milton, dressed in a way that will facilitate wolf transformation in case that's needed either for scent detection or defense from other wolves.

One other unexpected benefit to being a wolf is being able to dig in the snow. Once the bunker is unearthed, she changes back and dresses herself quickly, unbothered by any glances in her direction.

"This is even better than the Lakeside caches! Do you want to crack it open?"

Randvi | Assassin's Creed: Valhalla

[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

[meadqueen]

Signal Void

Randvi has gathered anyone in Silverpoint who is interested in following the strange signals picked up by the radios and led an expedition into the wilderness. They've held off wolves and even a bear with spears and fire by the time they locate the barrow in the earth.

She uses the warmth of her power to melt the snow covering the doorway.

"What do you think could be inside?"

Sameen Shaw | Person of Interest

[cactusy]

A - as the dead sleep

[Not for the first time, Shaw finds herself standing in front of a grave, unsure of what to say.

It's not even a real grave. Root had vanished into the ether, so there's no body to bury; she hadn't been one to carry keepsakes, so everything that had belonged to her is too useful not to hang onto. But when the niggling back-of-the-mind thoughts had sent Shaw tromping into the woods in search of closure, her empty hands had started to feel insufficient, and so she'd pulled a stray light brown hair from the inner lining of Root's coat. It wasn't much, but apparently it was enough: it had satisfied the urges.]

I'm still no good at this.

[She mutters under her breath, as she carefully winds the strand of hair around a stick.]

It still doesn't feel like anything to me. I don't get the point. I don't even know that you'd get the point of this.

[Once the hair is securely twisted around the stick, tightly enough that it won't come flying off, she kneels down and digs the point of it into the earth, mounding snow around it to keep it upright. And then she stays there for quite some time, still and quiet, murmuring into the wind as it whips around her:]

Goodbye.

B - kickback

[She wears a talisman at all times, tucked under her shirt against her skin, and it's not like it does nothing. Thanks to its influence, the build-up takes hours - hours of being jumpy and irritable around Milton House, snarling at anyone who passes by too closely or looks at her too long.

But Shaw, steeped in violence that she is, is the sort of person that the Darkwalker loves - and when he gets his hooks in her, the influence of Old Bear's Blessing only spurs things on, until she's a whirling dervish of absolute fury. She isn't indiscriminate: she doesn't lash out against those that she knows. But strangers are automatically threats now, and she goes after them with supernatural ease, taking shockingly little damage even as she deals blows that pack far more of a punch than they should. Those who get on the wrong side of her fists might find themselves flying ten or fifteen feet backwards and landing hard against the ground - if they're lucky.

But this horrific boon has its downsides, and as quickly as it comes, it goes. After the effect fades for her - but, possibly, before it fades for others - she can be found slumped around the back side of a building in town, dead asleep. Anyone trying to wake her (for violence or otherwise) will be greeted with clumsy swats and unintelligible grumbles of protest.]

B

[desperate_times_right]

[It's probably fortunate that Shaw is already asleep by the time Chloe shows up. A lithe grey wolf with blood on her muzzle, she pokes Shaw with her nose, almost like she's trying to push the woman to her feet using her head.

Her stolen Aurora Call feat lets her transmit feelings the way she does to other wolves in this form.]

Move. Hide. Bad.

reiner braun | attack on titan

[nohero]

Light Bringer

Back in his own world, Reiner runs warmer than the average human. Not alarmingly so. Not enough to warrant suspicion, or to clue people in on the reality that he isn't quite human anymore. But he runs warmer than most. One of those people to sit beside on a cold winter's night, bathing in the heat that radiates from his body.

Here in this world, he has been cold. With his Titan locked away, he's been no warmer than the average man—and quite honestly, he has despised it. Despised the shivers and shakes, the constant reminder that something is wrong beneath his skin.

So when he wakes up and feels warm, it is with a smile on his face, the word Lightbringer settling easily on his tongue.

He tests his powers, of course. He's witnessed them in action before, and he's eager to know what he might be capable of doing.

Catch him while he sits before an unlit campfire, trying to ignite it with a spark. Or catch him later, when frustration causes the tinder to explode into full-fledged flame, sending Reiner stumbling back with a surprised yelp.

Dead Sleep

There was no body to bury when Reiner's partner died. Or if there was, it wasn't anywhere Reiner could reach. He was whisked away to safety while his partner screamed for help; limbless and helpless, Reiner was unable to answer, unable to do anything but cry.

That day has haunted him in nightmares ever since. Over four years without closure—because what closure could possibly be had? What remedy could there be for the grief and guilt that eat him from the inside?

But all things must end. And Reiner finds himself wanting that closure. Wanting something to bury. Wanting to at least dig the grave.

So that's what he begins to do.

Find him when he's just begin, shovel working away at the hard earth. Or find him once he's several feet down, the hole tall and slim as his partner was. Determinedly digging a grave.

Wildcard

( hmu by pm, in the game discord, or @ bicepsbrigade for plotting! will match prose or brackets )

Light Bringer

[markingnight]

Everything all right?

[ So sue him, Ironeye had caught sight of sudden flame and been curious about the source. What he'd seen -- ]

Looked like an incantation got away from you.

[ Cloaked and clad in warm leather, Ironeye looked strangely at home in the Canadian wilderness. Probably he'd look less at home in a Canadian grocery store, but that was neither here nor there. ]

charles rowland || dead boy detectives

[afterdrop]

𝒊. 𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒂 (september 21st)

[He doesn't even mean to do it, the first time. One minute he's easing down the hill from his cabin, sidestepping the gnarled roots he's learned like the back of his hand, thoughts half-muffled by something that feels off. A bit like swallowing down a pill in a crowded club, spinning until the noise feels like it's playing right close to his ear, clear and vibrating. His eyes feel funny, blinking around at a world that's too bright, too crisp.

A slippery root trips him up - and he hits the ground on steady, agile feet.

The hours that follow will later be a blur, but in the moment he's filled with thrumming, excited energy, bounding around Milton. He's still a lanky, tall thing, with black fur that lays messily; in one pointed ear, a golden star still glints, piercing the thin cartilage.

If you're around town on the 21st, there's a high chance of a playful wolf running up to you, tail wagging like a youthful dog. If you're particularly lucky (or unlucky), he may even leap up onto you, at risk of knocking you down into the snow. Alternately, don't be surprised if you find something of yours missing, perhaps moments after setting it down. Milton is short on dog toys, and everything looks like fun to Charles. Good luck getting it back without a bit of slobber, and a nice game of keep-away.]

𝒊𝒊. 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 (september 23rd)

[The forest isn't somewhere Charles frequents. The trees look different here, and the ground is an icy white, instead of green-brown underbrush, but every time he's in here he could swear he hears the echo of sneering voices calling out from behind him.

He doesn't, today. It's almost silent, except for the sharp rustling of the trees, and the scrape of metal against hard ground. The shovel was too unwieldy, not allowing for enough force, so he's crouched now with a rusted trowel, stabbing it into the dirt in trance-like determination.]

Yeah, yeah. Judge my arm strength. [It's thrown over his shoulder before you've even approached; sharp new hearing has its advantages. Tense as his posture is, his words are carefully light.] You try digging into a block of ice.

[He finally turns, mouth pulled into a tight smile. Half-blocked by his body is a wooden bat - cricket, to those familiar.

The end is stained red.]

You gonna help, mate? Or just watch?

𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒅 (early september)

[To be honest, he has little investment in what they're actually going to find, out here. Charles has made a living (or dying) out of mysteries, and the best part is finding out the twist for yourself. His partner worked to know the answer, to solve for "x", but Charles liked the journey. Being wrong was just as nice as being right, sometimes.]

Always thought hiking sounded kind of neat. [He twirls his bat, peering off into the woods instead of on the trail ahead. His role on this trek is neither driver nor navigator.] Like, seeing off the top of a mountain, or something. Don't really have those in the south of England.

[His intended role is protector, but for the moment it looks more like irritating passenger princess, prattling over the beeping of the radio.]

'Course, I don't really like woods. Maybe, like, a hike in a field. Or out on the coast. Only ever seen the ocean from a plane, through the really tiny windows.

[Your ADHD is showing, hon.]

✘ closed to kate marsh

[afterdrop]

[It's like an itch, mostly. Like static under his skin, ever since he woke up this morning, the sky still glowing green and blue out his window. At first he attributes it to what happened yesterday - the unexpected new gift, the senses turned up to eleven. Overstimulation, maybe, like he gets sometimes. For a little while he stews in his cabin, pacing the floor and fiddling with the curtains.

Then, he hears the shouts; he's out the door in moments, bat in one hand and coat forgotten on its hook.

Déjà vu, he thinks, seeing the center of Milton flashing with movement, filled with shouts and cracks that he can hear too clearly. The itch under his skin builds, and his phantom heart picks up speed.]

Oi!

[His eyes land on a twist off limbs in front of the post office - two women with eyes of blind rage, hands scrabbling for faces and necks, and he lunges over as fast as he can, already reaching to tug them apart. Bruises are no doubt forming on his arms by the time he manages it, but one of the woman finally retreats, nursing bloody nails. Charles lets out a breath, leaning back against the splintered siding.]

Jesus Christ, [he mutters, turning back around to scan the scene, eyes flitting back and forth for another struggle.] Who's next?

Frodo Baggins // Lord of the Rings

[nicehobbit]

The Aurora: Kickback

To avoid the Darkwalker it's best to not be alone. That knowledge is what has kept Frodo staying at the Welcome Hall despite how many houses he's considered might be a good place to live. He no longer feels quite so unsafe around other people, certain that he is that the Ring currently lies dormant.

He has every intention of staying there when the darkness falls, when the fear grips him, for all that it takes every bit of his effort. It's safer with others. It's safer with others.

Until someone steps a little too close to him - perhaps even trying to offer comfort, perhaps that's you - and he feels anger surge inside him in a way he doesn't recognise in himself. At the same time, though, he does recognise it, because the Ring would grip him, would grip others, would encourage strife and conflict to get where it wants.

So rather than lash out, his mind screams NO through his newly gained Aurora Call, broadcast to anyone within and right outside the Welcome Hall, and he stumbles onto his feet to rush for the door. He has enough of a mind to at least grab his coat on the way out, but if anyone tries to stop him he will use the strength the Old Bear gifted him with to shove them out of the way. The door gets the same treatment, and he breathes in the outside air with some relief, only to come to an abrupt halt at the sickly green and endless black of the sky above, pausing with one arm in a sleeve of his coat.

As The Dead Sleep

Part 1

The day Frodo finally gives into the urge that has been building in him during the week since the Darkwalker's and Enola's battle, he can first be found in the greenhouse. At first, he simply tends to his usual duties in there, ensuring it's still warm enough for the plants. It's been worrying him, since everyone is talking about how it only seems to get colder and colder.

Once he's done with that, he helps himself to one of the smaller potatoes, pocketing it. He can't deny that he feels a little guilty about it, even more so because he's not sure anyone would question him about it. But this potato won't go into anyone's belly.

If he weren't feeling torn with guilt, he probably wouldn't be looking so suspicious leaving the greenhouse. Don't mind him.

Part 2

It is very rare for him to go very far from Milton on his own nowadays. If he goes on hunting or gathering excursions, he makes sure to find someone to go with. The Milton Basin is at least not too far, still relatively close if anything were to go wrong.

With the temperatures continuing to sink, the basin is almost properly iced over. He doesn't go too far out because there's no guarantee the ice is all that thick yet, but it's thick enough he made sure to bring tools for cutting into it. And so he gets to work with an ice pick. It feels incredibly difficult, somehow, to lift his hand and it only seems to get heavier and heavier, but he stubbornly keeps going.

Wildcard

[ Just for anything else you might like to do. I've got no plotting comment, oops, but feel free to PM or poke me on Plurk or discord!

Also, I'm cool with brackets if you prefer! ]

Kickback

[markingnight]

[ To say that Ironeye was surprised to have someone's voice in his head was an understatement; Frodo blurred past him on his way to the hall quickly enough that he didn't truly get a good look at him.

So he followed the stranger outside, stopping just outside the door to close it behind him. ]

...was that you, shouting back there?

[ Unfortunately, Ironeye might not have been the most reassuring person to be asking after another's safety -- hooded, cloaked, and mailed, he rather looked more suspicious character than concerned citizen. Still, he didn't approach Frodo further than he already had. ]

eren jaeger | attack on titan

[dreamsofwings]

A; AURORA - KICKBACK

Eren's volatile nature combined with the Old Bear's Blessing results in…too many fights, probably. He's ready to throw down easily, and he's vicious when he does. If you'd like to fight him, well…good luck! [note: I'd like to discuss fights/outcomes before we write them. Happy to hand wave a fight and move to aftermath. ]

The other thing that happens is his temper starts to spark fires. He has no control over them, how they start, how fast they spread. Luckily, he manages not to completely burn a bunch of things down. But he finds it frustrating. Eventually, shaking free of the temper problem, he tries to control it. Catch him somewhere where there's just a bunch of snow and a pile of logs that he dragged there. He's trying unsuccessfully to set them on fire; if you saw him surrounded by fire at some earlier point, it's probably easy enough to put together what he's trying to do.

"Why isn't it fucking working," he growls, unaware of anyone nearby to hear.

He may also just be somewhere looking up at the battle in the sky, anger clouding his face. "That thing better hope she kills it," he says, the threat obvious. He's spoken several times about wanting to kill the Darkwalker, so this is also easy to extrapolate from.

B; AS THE DEAD SLEEP

Eren is no stranger to the idea of an ending. He's been orchestrating the end of the world for…years. Lifetimes. Countless eons. It kind of depends on perspective. For Eren, it feels like forever. It makes the urge easier to ignore at first, but only at first.

Eventually, he searches for a shovel. He doesn't find one fast enough. So he tucks Mikasa's scarf into his pocket, like he often does, and disappears into the woods (or so he imagines; he's not subtle or anything, so following him won't be hard).

He finds a tall tree in a clearing, standing there alone as if it was meant to be there, as if it was created just for this moment. Maybe it was! In this place, who knows.

He remembered to wear gloves, but he's still there in the snow, using his hands to dig what is very clearly a grave. Eren himself is about six feet tall, but the grave could be for anyone, couldn't it?

Except that when he's done, he packs snow at the top of it like some makeshift tombstone. With a stick, he carves his own name into it in shaky capital letters. EREN JAEGER. He drops Mikasa's scarf into the grave and stands there, trying to catch his breath. He's lucky that he runs warm now (again). Find him at any point in this process.

C; WILDCARD

[ You know the drill! If you'd rather use your character's situation for the kickback prompt, that's fine, toss me a starter. Eren doesn't have a radio, but he'll team up if you need one; we can hand wave whatever excuse to have our characters in the same place. Plotting comment is here if you need. ]

B; AS THE DEAD SLEEP

[wingbound]

The sight would be harrowing enough without the broken bits and pieces Levi gleaned about the future from the vision Eren had unintentionally showed him. Something he's about to do, something dangerous -- or condemnable -- enough that he'd wanted to keep even his two best friends out of the way.

And now this. A grave pit, and his name on it.

The only reason the wood he's carrying doesn't fall out of his hands is because he really is well acquaintanced with abnormal things -- but he drops them a moment later intentionally, so he can make his way over more quickly (is there snow here in summer? I don't know and at this point I'm afraid to ask) and reach out toward Eren's arm -- grounding, not quite gripping just yet, but he's definitely ready to stop the boy if he tries to leap into the hole he just dug because for some reason he looks almost like he's planning to.

Louis de Pointe du Lac | Interview with the Vampire

[flambeaux]

As The Dead Sleep

cw: season 1 spoilers, arson, hearing voices, poor mental health, toxic marriage/divorce/situationship, vampire hallucinations

After Louis's house burned down last year, Louis slept at Lestat's house—except when they argued enough to bring the roof down, and then Louis would sleep at less comfortable accommodations in Marché du Lac: General Store.

It's complicated.

Then Lestat disappeared and Louis lost himself. 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, the touch of his hand not quite the same, even the brush of a stray lock of hair... but he took up with the illusion just as he did before, sharing a coffin since his own was lost in the conflagration.

Louis wakes in the quiet dark of that coffin now. "Mon cher, I have a strange feeling today, like somethin's gon' end."

Are you ever not out of sorts, my melancholic Louis?

"I forgot... to do somethin'. Don't know what. I need to be alone."

"Lestat" leaves him for a little while. Louis feels restless and he can't figure out why. He puts on his coat, grabs his cane, has evening breakfast in the woods, and sells the exsanguinated deer for flammables. By the time he's carrying the containers back, Louis is driven by a strange need and "Lestat" is hounding him.

Why? Am I not your home? Did your own house not burn down? Where will you sleep? Don't do this, mon coeur! This is not you, you are not yourself, Louis!

Another voice mingles with Lestat's: The night was so bright, too bright to count the stars. We forgot about them. …And yet it was a bitter and empty place. Did you truly know, somehow?

"SHUT UP!"

Lestat's house in Milton once belonged to an elderly lady with an affinity for saccharine ceramic tchotchkes. Lestat's attempts to make it into a classy bachelor pad to entice Louis were undermined by his penchant for wearing her scarves and (Louis later found) the weird way he carefully packed away her things in the closet instead of throwing them out, as if he expected the dead human might return. Strange indeed, for a vampire who always claimed humans were his tasty inferiors.

Louis drenches it all, loudly arguing the whole time with the shade of his lover as he prowls with increasing desperation. What should have been a peaceful sendoff has turned into a storm. Louis can't stand the smell, so the usually fastidiously private Louis leaves the doors and windows open to prying eyes. The fire will breathe and feed well.

"You're not really here! You're gone! I-I have to put this to bed somehow," he sobs. He wouldn't describe Lestat's hand on his cheek as identical to his touch... but it's not not his touch... and he clings to it.

Questions? Want something else? Plotting comment

[moralabsolutism]

The thing about always being up at night is that it's inevitable that Rorschach keeps running into others who keep odd hours, most especially vampires and any other creatures of the night. Besides which the night is quiet aside from the animals that prowl about, so it's easy to hear when someone is talking loudly. Louis's voice carries on the night air.

He should just walk away from this right now and not get sucked back down into the vampire's drama. But he doesn't. Intrigued by whatever histrionics Louis seems to be going through, Rorschach follows the voice to--ah, Lestat's house. Suddenly, things are making a lot more sense. He goes up to the wide-open door and peers in the house. "Just what the hell are you up to now?" Rorschach asks irritably.

Levi Ackerman // Attack On Titan

[wingbound]

--1: THE AURORA

a)

[ It's unlucky, Levi thinks, that he's happened to be caught in Milton once again when the Darkwalker comes. People are not snapping to violence just yet, but the telltale signs are there-- the growing irritation, the venemous looks, the darkness. Levi has the talisman this time, the one that's supposed to protect him from that thing taking over, but he still hears it, even if the pull isn't as strong. He's torn between leaving immediately -- would he even make it far enough for it to matter before it potentially gets its claws into him? -- and staying around to help others, because if the protection works, he may be able to do some good. ]

[ Find him huddled up in the Community Hall, or somewhere on a rooftop, with an uneasy air around him, arms wound around his knees even though his expression betrays no turmoil. ]

[ Something else does, though. ]

[ Look at him a moment too long, and there's a small flame springing up next to him -- probably somewhere inconvenient, too, like in the middle of someone's blanket or his own backpack -- and at least that seems to finally spring him to life proper. ]

Shit--

[ Depending how big the now burning object is, he's working to quickly extinguish it either by smothering it against the ground (or snow) or trying to pat it down with whatever's within reach before it grows too big. ]


b)

[ It's later in the day, and hell is breaking loose. Whether Levi decided to stick around or you catch him on the outskirts of town, the sight you see is probably similar: an enraged Interloper charging at him (or maybe at you) with a hatchet, and Levi stopping them in their tracks by gripping their arms. ]

[ The deadlock only lasts a moment; he's wrenching the weapon out of their hands first, then lifting them, and throwing them at a tree or a shed hard enough that snow from it falls on them in an avalanche, holding them down and put just a little longer -- if they haven't been knocked out. If you've seen someone with the Bear feat go up against someone without before, it's probably not too startling, but something is unsettling about it. Perhaps it's the fact that for a moment, you think you saw Levi's eyes flashing white. ]


--2: SIGNAL VOID

[ He does not have a radio himself -- but he's more than willing to accompany someone who does, both out of curiosity about these signals he's heard about, and because he makes for an excellent bodyguard to anyone who could use one. ]

[ If that happens to be you, well. You might be well into the middle of a trek toward one of these mysterious dots on the radar, or perhaps you're taking a little break on the way to warm up around a campfire. ]

[ He might be examining a map, or looking offended at the idea of only two kinds of beeps standing in for the entire alphabet -- he's seen the Marleyans use devices like that, but he'd never bothered or needed to learn how it works. ]

What do you think it is?

[ He's referring to whatever they're headed towards, of course. ]


--3: WILDCARD

[ Open to other ideas! Feel free to surprise me, or plot with me here. ]

a

[questioningmermaids]

[ At least he has a good idea about what's happening and why everyone's on edge this time. Last time--Jesus, he's been here long enough for a 'last time'--he hadn't known how to handle it. He didn't even have an amulet. Now, though, he does. And even if it's different, the strange knot in his stomach is the same. Shit's going to go down. It doesn't help that he finds himself a little more irritated, a little more annoyed. It's sort of his default, but now it seems like everything digs into his skin.

He plans appropriately, downing most of a jar of moonshine before making his way to the community center under a thinly veiled guise of getting some communal supplies. It's to check on people and make sure everything's kosher, but no one needs to know that. And he is hungry, so maybe he can grab one of those communal meals, right? No big. He's not at all upset about not getting anything from Enola this time around either, nosiree. He's perfectly calm. Perfectly not angry. ]

Jesus.

[ He's not sure why he even feels the need to swear as he walks in, but he does, hands on his hips as the door closes, chewing on a toothpick in lieu of a cigarette that he could very much use right now. He scans the area in a very cop-like fashion, gaze lingering a little bit at Levi as he tries to remember the last time they had a conversation and--oh. ]

Jesus!

[ March walks over, long limbs striding towards the other with confidence he probably shouldn't have as Levi both sets and snuffs out fire. He recognizes it instantly, whistling low. ]

Aurora dream? [ 'Or have you had this for a while' is the full question, most left unsaid. Timeline doesn't add up for anything other than 'new,' though. ]

Bruce Wayne | DCEU

[shoving]

enola's visit

When Bruce feels that subtle shift in the atmosphere, he knows what's coming.

Or he thinks he does.

Nights stretch long. Days shrink. He isn't so drained now, not like he did in the heat. His joints don't lock. He doesn't feel so old. It's the Darkwalker. Bruce isn't so naive to think otherwise. His breath hot against the back of his neck. Claws sank in deep. It wants him to bend. To break. But Bruce will not.

Then the humming starts and Bruce remembers the first time he heard that noise. And the crunch of bone when the Darkwalker swallowed him whole in his dreams. It makes him feel edgy, makes his teeth ache.

Enola comes but it doesn't comfort him. She says she'll help, and Bruce lets her talk. It doesn't reach him.

When she's gone, he sits and sleeps when there's no choice.

When he wakes, it's to the sound of someone talking. A quiet whispering in his brain. Another voice adds to the chorus, the conversation echoing back and forth. He doesn't know how to quiet it. How to make it stop. Because once the floodgate opens, the voices do not stop. They drive into his brain like nails.

Bruce steps out of the gas station, as if being in the open air would give him some relief. As if being cooked alive by the sun was better than having this noise he can't shut off in his head.

He doesn't mean to. Not this time. But he doesn't know how to make it stop yet. So he asks and it transmits through the other Interlopers.

"How do I make it stop?"

as the dead sleep

Sometimes, he can't believe he's not the dead one.

Thomas and Martha were innocent -- as innocent as you could be in a place like Gotham. But it hadn't saved them. It hadn't protected them. They were still innocent, even as they lay dying in the gutter Joe Chill left them in. But in the end it hadn't mattered.

They were dead. Bruce wasn't.

Robin deserved better.
And maybe he would have had it if Bruce hadn't been at the circus that night. Gotham could be kind if you knew how it worked. You could bend it, force it into something better for yourself. Bruce had. And maybe, foolishly, he thought he could teach it to that poor acrobat, the boy who looked too much like him on his hands and knees, between his parents broken bodies.

Robin deserved better. But that hadn't mattered.

He was dead. Bruce wasn't.
Bruce can't shake these thoughts when they first seep into his brain. They pull at him, like magnets and when he steps outside under the setting sun, he decides it's time to bury them. Let them rest at last.

Would it bring him peace? He didn't know. It felt like the right answer. But he couldn't be sure until it was done.

The snow crunches and Bruce trudges, winds his way through Milton's square without saying anything to anyone, even though he can hear their thoughts because they ricochet like bullets through his brain. But he doesn't stop. He's got a place in mind. A quiet place. It made sense to let these memories rest there.

wildcard

Open to the other two prompts. Would just prefer to plot first! You can hit me up on plurk @ tapsters or by PM. Discord available on request.

closed. ( dorian )

[shoving]

He doesn't know exactly when things changed. Only that it had. It starts with little irritations. Little moments that ordinarily, Bruce would shrug off and forget. But now? They flair to life in him a deep, visceral rage, like a match to dry kindling.

Tonight, he has to get out. The station feels suffocating. The walls feel too close. The sounds of life too loud. Even Tim, existing in their shared space felt like needles. He had to get out so he could think.

It doesn't help. Milton's air is thin, sharp, cutting. But it's not suffocating in the gas station with the smell of motor oil and old gas. And in the dark he feels a little bit stronger. And by the time the gas station is out of sight, it feels like he could run the length of Milton a hundred times and not stop. It sharpens his focus, and he walks with purpose through the desolation. Tools for the workbench. More scrap metal for his makeshift batarangs. A way to fix the voice modulator in his cowl. Practical things, reasonable things.

The food stores were running a bit low. He could try to forage more food for them. That would be reasonable. That would be responsible. But it wouldn't quiet that gnawing hunger that sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Not until he had his hands around someone's throat, squeezing them until the life bled from their eyes. That's what he wanted and maybe he'd luck out and find someone who's strayed too far from the safety of others.

Ahead of him, the church looms along the route he intends to take. He hopes he can pass it by without spotting Dorian. But if he does? He slows, glare fixed on the younger man, something sharp set just on the edge of his tongue. But Bruce thinks better and decides to keep walking. He'd swallow that bitter poison he'd intended for Dorian. At least for now.

Jhey's Horror Guys

[sputnik]

CLOSED STARTERS —

PLOTTING @ EDWARD LITTLE / KONSTANTIN VESHNYAKOV

— Cornelius Hickey (cw: death & impending wolf on wolf violence...)

[fidior]

The sky is dark, devoid of any warmth, any true light — only that sickly green glow.

And Little comes alive. He feels it deep down in his spirit, that impossible vitality born of something not of this world. Born of something horrible, nightmarish. The Darkwalker. He hears it speak like some wet slimy thing deep in his ear, he feels its presence in the depths of himself, and he fears it, but what he fears the most of all is how everything in him wants to embrace it. He is one of the Darkwalker's. There is no escaping.

Still, he tries desperately in the ways that he can. He feels hunger and anger and he flees his man's skin like it hurts. The wolf doesn't think or feel as deeply as the man does. The wolf can escape this.

But the wolf also belongs to the Darkwalker, and what Edward doesn't realise is that the horrific entity's hold on him only worsens in his beast form and especially on this night of violence, strengthening Little in the worst ways. Not only physically pushing him to his peak, but stripping him of rational thought at all, a predator's bloodlust pumping hot and fast through his veins. He loses all fear, all concern. All the animal wants is to hunt, not for sport or play — to kill, to consume, to satisfy the cursed hunger that he never can quite seem to fulfill.

The large fluffy black wolf tears through the night, snapping and snarling at any living thing it sees, fangs and claws ready to kill. It chases a woman down into the snow, leaps on her chest, tears her throat out while she's still screaming. It eats and eats all that it can of her but it's still not satisfied, and with a mouth dripping in fresh blood it rushes off to find more — taking a moment to lift its head and howl loudly up to those acerbic green skies. The sound isn't a warning, but a threat: it announces its presence to the bloodshed around it, unafraid, daring, no longer the usual docile wolf that Little becomes, but something else entirely.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter | MCU

[ricochetingbullets]

cw: Dex's mental health issues, graphic description of animal death, linked picture of bloody wolf

A. The Aurora: Enola's Visit

Were you ever a person at all?

The question rings in Dex's head long after the dream is done. He's never been much good at being a person. People are supposed to have morals, a compass that guides them, and a conscience that keeps them from doing the wrong thing. He has none of that. So slipping into the shape of the beast every fairy tale ever warned was coming after you is quite easy for him.

Frankly, he thinks that he could learn to enjoy being a wolf quite a lot. They're much more simple and uncomplicated creatures. Besides, no one resents a wolf when it kills. They just see it as following its true nature.

It still takes him a while to get used to hunting. As a human, he's used to killing from a distance. Learning to run something down, grabbing it, and tearing into it with fangs is a whole different kind of skill-set. Still, he finally manages to get the basics down. His first squirrel he devours wholeheartedly as well as his second, leaving him with a bloody face and looking like a nightmare of a wolf. His third though, he saves to find someone who will be nice and tell him what a good hunter he is. As always, Dex is a little desperate for the approval of others, even as an animal.

That's when he spots a person nearby. Perfect! With a wag of his tail, he brings the dead squirrel over to the nearest person, and plops it right on their feet, still with blood all over his face. Of course, that's the exact moment the head of the squirrel falls off. Still, Dex sits there expectantly, tail swishing through the snow as he waits for praise. Look! He did a good job! He is good! He hunted and killed a squirrel! Those who take too long in giving praise will be pawed with an impatient and large front paw to kickstart them into doing the right thing.

B. The Aurora: Kickback

Hearing a voice in his head isn't all that unusual for Dex, though he's never heard one this loud or this distinct before. He thinks it's all just his mind coming up with a new way to get at him until he hears Enola's voice as well and understand that this is coming from outside rather than within. But it's too late by then. Dex is starting to think. He's always tried to be a good person his whole life and look where it has gotten him. Suspended from his job, losing the only person he ever cared about, unloved, and unappreciated for his talents. What's the point any longer. What he should do is calm down, pull out his therapy tapes, and try to center himself.

But he doesn't.

He leaves and goes hunting without even consciously thinking about it. His head is too full right now and he needs to focus on just one simple task: finding someone to kill.

The way he goes about it is very simple once he has a target in mind. There's a woman trying to hide from the chaos, pressed up against one of the trees, looking around for a place she might find shelter. A rock comes out of nowhere, one the size of a baseball, and hits her in the head. She goes down, silent and without a word, dead before she even hits the ground. The culprit reveals himself about a minute later, stepping out of the shadows of the nearby treeline. It's Dex.

There's a curiously blank look on his face and his eyes look nearly as inhuman as when he's shifted into the form of a wolf. There's nothing remotely like a human being within their depths. He doesn't know this woman's name. It wouldn't matter if he did. He just needed to satisfy the dark thing screeching away in his head that has been there long before the Darkwalker started piping up.

If he hears or sees someone who witness the murder, he'll simply turn towards them with that same lack of emotion. He's got another rock in his head and he is insanely good at throwing them. Really, it might be best to just knock this lunatic out rather than try to get through to him. Appealing to his humanity or morality won't really work: he doesn't have any.

C. As The Dead Sleep

Dex is beginning to realize that this place is weird as shit. Look no further than the fact that he apparently has some strange desire to get dressed, leave his warm, comfortable house, and walk out into the snow without even realizing that apparently there's a destination in mind. If it hadn't been for all of the other insane things that have happened to him over the past month, he would have been more bothered by this desire.

When he sees someone else outside as well, he goes over to them, trying to act like a normal human being. It's not as easy as it looks for him. "Do you feel like you need to go somewhere?" He asks. It's the most vague sounding question imaginable but somehow he feels like the person he's talking to will understand what he means.

He fiddles around with his gloves as he waits for an answer and picks at the seams on his pants. For some reason, Dex never can let his hand stay still for very long, even when he's in the middle of something like a conversation.

D. Wildcard

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

a;

[powersuited]

And to think Snow's only just gotten used to the idea that there may not be any more wolves turning up among the Interlopers. It doesn't occur to her that there might be others who find themselves impacted by the same changes, but it does threaten to make her heightened senses go haywire when she's suddenly confronted by a scent she doesn't instantly recognize.

Some of that is to be expected — she's not familiar with every Interloper here in that way, or at least enough to recognize them immediately by scent, but it does take her a moment, when she's confronted by one trotting over to her, without fear, not to instinctively tense up.

Judging by everything from the wagging tail to the lolling tongue, this is either a real wolf who's somehow identified her as a kindred spirit and wants to present an offering to her, or someone adjusting to being a wolf who's also quite proud of themselves. Either way, Snow's suspicion soon dissolves into endeared charm, even as she fights not to scrunch up her nose at the newly beheaded squirrel.

"Oh! Goodness, this is... well, good job," she finishes, before offering her hand to him, palm open, for him to catch a better impression of her scent. "I'm Snow, by the way. I don't think we've met before."

mike wheeler || stranger things

[micycle]

𝒊. 𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒓𝒂

[If you're out back of the community hall on September 21^st, you'll hear something that can't quite be heard. A sound that doesn't reach the ears, but reaches behind them, soft and then sharper. Almost as much feeling as it is word, but still recognizable as a boy's voice, weedy and anxious.]

what the fuck what the fuck this is weird what's wrong something is wrong in my head fuck fuck [It's an uncontrolled, unfiltered ramble; a stream of confused consciousness, that might lead anyone curious or annoyed around the building. A pale, gangly teenager is sitting there, back against the worn panels and knees tucked up to his chest.] shit no go away something's wrong

[He woke up with it, with a strange feeling in the back of his head. Not bad, but off, like a door is open that he can't find, can't close. No words, no sounds - just touches that he can't identify, that aren't coming from himself. It's only gotten worse in town, surrounded by the bustle of Interlopers going about their mornings, and hiding seemed like the best option.]

Fuck off.

[That one is certainly out loud.]

𝒊𝒊. 𝒌𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌

[It's sheer luck, really. Less than month in this town, and Mike had managed to talk to the right person about the right thing, and wind up with a talisman to ward off the one past terror he'd been explicitly told about. Of course, that doesn't mean that he'd expected it to happen again, and it certainly doesn't mean that he connected the dots when he heard the commotion coming from town.

It's less luck and more forethought that's led to him carrying the machete around. At the very least, there are wild animals around, and he isn't looking to get more fingers eaten anytime soon.]

Hey, asshole!

[There it is, the staunch, idiotic bravado that Mike always summons up from parts unknown in times of crisis. Whether you're being threatened by someone under the Darkwalker's influence, or going for the attack in a frenzy of your own, there is suddenly a skinny teenager holding a machete like he's never wielded a weapon before. And he's here to throw his useless self at whatever struggle needs him (or someone vastly more competent) the most.]

𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒅

[Okay, as much as desperately as Mike is still trying to avoid settling in, a radio-based mystery is, like, the perfect distraction on a particularly gloomy day. He asks to tag along on impulse, itching to leave Milton behind for a bit. And besides-]

Hey, pass it here.

[Getting the bunker open isn't quite in his wheelhouse, but there's something that is. So while others pull and pry at the doors, he sits on a fallen log and holds his hand out.]

I know Morse code.

kickback

[fidior]

[ Edward knows what is going to happen. He's seen it again and again in this place. The difference is that this time, the Darkwalker is already a presence within his spirit, its curse now afflicting Edward personally. He feels the drive to kill and to feed daily as it is.

Sheer horror grips him as the night coughs out that sickly green, and he realises that he is doomed to become something especially horrible during it. He can feel it — the way the night strengthens and emboldens him. Physically, mentally; he's a predator. In just a short while he'll slip away into his beast's form and tear apart more people than he ever has. But for now... for just a little longer, he remains a man, and he rushes through the snow in a desperate attempt to get back indoors, to lock himself away where he can't hurt anyone.

'Hey, asshole!'

He's jerking his head that way, and oh— there's a youth (one he doesn't recognise, someone new to this place) with a weapon, openly antagonising two other people who appear to be in the middle of a scuffle of their own, and Edward's heart freezes, aches. No.... The boy is tall but youthful-faced and thin; he could be one of the ship's boys, or even younger than that. He's too young for this.

But the Darkwalker doesn't care. Edward's gripped with a sweeping rush of horror, and he knows he must act to stop this clearly supernaturally-deranged youth before he commits acts of horrific violence... ]

Young sir!

[ There's suddenly a uniformed, mutton-chopped man who couldn't look more Victorian rushing up to the boy and the people he might attack with one gloved hand raised, breathless. If he looks like Mike's babysitter who's been chasing him around and just found him, well.... ]

I must insist you lower that weapon and take a step back! At once!

Rorschach | Watchmen

[moralabsolutism]

A. The Aurora: Enola's Visit

This isn't the first time Rorschach has been visited by Enola, either in reality or in his dreams. It's become a disturbingly commonplace occurrence in Milton and he's no longer surprised by it. However, this is the first time he's seen her where nothing else occurs afterwards. The dream that he has during the day when he usually rests simply fade into nothingness and he awakens later on as night falls on the town, feeling more rested than he has in a good long while. It appears whatever gifts Enola has given him, there will be no more to come, her power full spent on what she has given Rorschach over the time he has been here in in the snowy wilderness.

When he wakes up, he goes off to find other Interlopers. No matter whether they are ones he knows well and who have been here for a long time or if they are brand new, he has the same question for them. He'll approach whoever is near, a short weird-looking man in a white mask that has black markings which constantly shift and move, asking the same question telepathically: "What did she give you?"

B. The Aurora: Kickback

It appears Mom and Dad are fighting. That's his first thought hearing the different voices of Enola and the Darkwalker as they argue and then proceed to start battling one another in the sky. This is no night to be outside. But something compels him to leave one of the safehouses he's staying in and go out into the proper landscape around him. He's got a bad feeling about what's going to happen.

Rorschach is prone to violence and for a while it seems his temper might get the best of him. But what is still much stronger than that is his desire to protect others and keep them safe from harm. Focusing on that centers him and gives him purpose on this terrible night. So off he goes into the town to see what he can do. What he finds is chaos, Interlopers all arguing with one another. Sometimes it's just verbally and he ignores those. Look, if everyone wants to get involved in some elementary school bullshit, he's not about to intervene just for the sake of sparing someone's delicate feelings.

But what he does start doing is intervening in physical fights. Look, he managed to keep an entire borough of New York under control back in the 70s when the police force went on strike. Keeping this town from tearing itself apart isn't nearly as bad as it could be in comparison. "Knock it off!" He growls as he fearlessly throws himself into the fray, dragging one Interloper away from another. Maybe he pulls someone off of you. Maybe you're the one he's pulling off of someone else. Either way, he is fully prepared to either barricade someone in a room until they come to their senses or just knock them out of need be. If a show of genuine care and compassion is what is needed, well, this is the closest that he can come to that being who and what he is.

He'll try not to kill anyone during the night. But if push comes to shove, he'll do what he has to do, killing some in order to save the rest.

C. As The Dead Sleep cw: gory child death mentioned

There is one thing which has weighed on Rorschach's mind for a decade now. Something he was forced to relive not all that long ago in Milton: the death of Blair Roche, the little six year old who he'd failed to save from her kidnapper, who had been murdered, her body cut up and fed to a pair of dogs. It's the main reason that he is the way he is, swallowed up by his masked persona and so insistent on trying to discard the last remnants of his humanity.

It is an old source of pain, one he has held onto for a long time. But perhaps he doesn't need to any longer.

A few hours before sundown one day, he makes his way to the church's graveyard. There, he will spend hours making a grave, digging a small child-sized one before filling it with all sorts of stones made into a proper pile. His hands are going to be sore and rubbed into blisters by the end of it all, even with the gloves that he wears. Anyone who is with him or finds him during that time is welcome to stay. He'll start talking after a minute or two. "She never was able to be laid to rest properly, not with the way her body was treated. This is the best that I can do for her." But somehow it feels like it just might be enough, showing the memory of the little girl proper respect, letting her know that wherever she is that someone still cares and thinks about her a great deal.

D. Wildcard

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

as the dead sleep

[castitas]

As much as this place holds difficult memories, Kate still comes back. This is God's House, after all. And even with the bodies the Darkwalker left there, or the fact Edward Little almost died within those walls — she still comes back because she doesn't dare let anything take that comfort away from her. Lieutenant Irving would say something about having a proper escort with her, but Merry's at her side as she wanders the path into the churchyard.

The winter is on the way, but the cold makes still makes the ground hard no matter what the time of year. Rorschach's still been digging though, busying himself with a grave. She gives him privacy at first, but soon enough she's wandering over, quiet for a long time as she watches him.

She's still quiet when he finally speaks, even if what it is is... difficult to hear: not with how her body was treated — it brings a lump in her throat, and she swallows it down as best she can.

Instead she crouches down, picking up a stone and holding it out for him to take and add to the grave.

"Who was she?"

Wynonna Earp | Wynonna Earp

[pacificator]

open & closed starters
plotting post | repeatandfade | blueofthebay @ disco

kickback — closed to @fidior

[pacificator]

[ The last time this happened, she killed a man.

She thinks about it, sometimes. Not as often as she remembers Willa, Daddy, but often enough that she'll sometimes startle herself awake with the echo of Peacemaker's report still rolling through her head like distant thunder.

Edward knows about it, of course. He'd been there back at that sham trial the Interlopers had put on, when Louis had supported her, pointed out she'd acted in his defense. Edward knows that's far from the first life she's snatched away, and he's never judged her for it. She doesn't go into details when those memories wake her up; she doesn't need to. These days she's pretty sure knows her better now than anyone ever has, aside from Waverly.

The whole world feels as though it's holding a breath as the night drifts away and breaks to a black morning, and even Peacemaker's weight at her hip isn't enough to reassure her. Her head is full of thoughts, her own voice she can't keep locked inside, and the sky is bleeding virulent green, and fuck — it's happening again. She doesn't know where Edward is. She hasn't seen March in days. Her heart patters in her chest in the flickering beat of some small prey animal; some part of her that hasn't been audible since she was a little girl afraid of the things in the dark reaches up as if to tug at her hand. Hide, it whispers. They're coming.

But it isn't a they, in the end, and really, she shouldn't even be surprised. Cris has been showing up more and more often at the saloon or loitering just outside, eying the door. He's a sullen presence at the best of times, and she remembers his gaze boring into her back that afternoon all those months ago during the trial when she'd stood up and admitted to murdering his buddy Elias. He corners her now on her way back to the saloon — she's been trying to find Edward, Kate, Irving, Fitzjames, Bigby... the friends she has left and that she can't lose — and he's ready for her. The whisper of steel against leather turns into a yelp of pain as he flings a weighted knife at her hand: the blade misses, but the handle smacks into delicate bone and she yells in pain as Peacemaker is flung into the snow.

Cris stalks forward, another knife in his hand, backing her towards a dark, tangled thicket of trees, putting more and more space between her and Peacemaker, limned with an evil green glow.

"Are you afraid?" he asks, his grin a white snarl of teeth in a twisted face. "Was Elias afraid, bitch? Did he scream for you to stop, the way I'm gonna make you scream?" ]

Cornelius Hickey | The Terror

[friendsfordinner]

( open and closed starters in comments! )

as the dead sleep - open

[friendsfordinner]

Cornelius Hickey is not very good at things like 'introspection' or 'knowing oneself.' But he wakes up one morning with an itch running through his brain. There's something he needs to do. Something he needs to put to rest. Because when you think about it...there are a few big tangles left to be untangled.

He thought that tuunbaq, that bear could help him. Could see him for his true potential. Well, apparently in his future, the thing mauls him to death. He was interested in the Darkwalker, he was reaching out to learn more. It gifts it's power to others. But that bear saw him. The Old Bear. It saw Hickey, it recognized Hickey, it actually gave him it's strength. And then it died. Hickey didn't even have the satisfaction of putting in the spear, of seeing it die himself.

Three different gods. Three different sources of power. And all found him lacking.

(Four found him lacking, a spiteful little voice in the back of his head points out. Crozier never thought you were worth anything either.)

He needs to deal with this. He doesn't know how or what, but it needs to happen. And so, Hickey finds himself heading out, making his way to the wilderness. He stops at the basin, outside of Milton. And he just sits on the edge. Hickey doesn't go down to the lake, he doesn't clamber down the side, he just...sits. Staring off into the distance, trying to put his thoughts in order.

Maelle | Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 | Spoilies abound!

[shewhograspsthesky]

Enola's Visit : Lightbringer : Tiiimberrr?

[Manipulating chroma was easier, more intuitive. But this is.. a struggle.

She's found herself a corner of Milton that's quiet. There are some trees and some shrubs (for now). And she stands with her hand out at one tree in particular. It's already scorched, nearly a crater where the fire she's already thrown at it has sat that she's let burn out. Target practice. There are sparks of flame, like a swipe of flint, that spit and sputter out from her hand. Useless things. Not what she's looking for.

She shakes her hand, paces a little to loosen her arms. Why is this so difficult? She must be doing something wrong. She's clearly getting agitated. She tries again, this time with some added motion, something she's familiar with. And...

BOOM.

The fire goes one way and she stumbles back the other. She's on her back, trying to get on her elbows at the least to see what happened when there's a sharp crack and snap sound. Her eye goes wide at the tree.]

Merde.


Kickback : Princess Stabbity Stab Kill Kill : (cw: mentions of murder, gore, etc.~)

[The community hall should have been safe. But now she staggers out with blood on her coat and her rapier coated in more blood, firmly gripped in her hand. There's scrapes on her face, her lip broken open, she's holding it together but there's a screaming daze in the back of her eye. Nova seems better off, not trailing far behind her, even as blood clings to parts of her otherwise pure coat.

She's a few steps into the street before she ends up on her knees trying desperately to collect herself again before something else comes. Someone else...

There's a sound, a crunch in the snow, a footfall. She's barely had that chance to breathe before she shoots back up to her feet, rapier pointing toward you. Her eye narrowed, ready to strike but the strike doesn't come. Are you sane or gone?

She waits.]


As The Dead Sleep

[She's wandered enough of this place to understand some of its terrain, even daring to wander further than Milton. At first, that's all it seems to be. Just wandering further out than before. But in her arms she holds a book that she wraps tight against her chest even while she trudges through the ice and snow, even when her balanced is threatened she doesn't let it go.

She's nearly there, she thinks. To a spot she doesn't comprehend, but one that seems fitting. Quiet, peaceful, with enough beauty nearby to feel right. She hasn't written in so long.]

Princess Stabbity! [E33 spoilers, obv] ( I am so sorry wtf is time)

[tedandroses]

[ooc: feel free to stay in brackets, I’m just too tired for multiple html tags at this moment. Also: feel free to play with anything Teddy thinks getting accidentally broadcast (or only bits of it)]

Teddy rounds the corner of a building, quick and cautious in a way that gives up the kind of encounters they’ve been having all night. As they turn, they spot Alicia’s telltale red hair haloed in the almost surreal flicker of some building’s now-Aurora-enlivened porchlight. Teddy’s initial relief — she might be half-crazed, who knows, but she’s alive!; — skids into dread as the teenager tumbles down to her knees, doubling over in the snow.

She beelines as best she can without drawing a lot of attention: quick strides, trying to be quiet and mostly failing on the crunchy snow.

Teddy’s imagining a lot of possibilities, each worse than the next; he’s not expecting that whirlwind of movement, the girl not just back to her feet but sword drawn and leveled.

Please please please don’t be fucking crazy Teddy thinks at pretty much exactly the same time as goddamn that’s badass though.

She’s stock-still, eyes fixed on Alicia, the gun in her hands held properly, but muzzle tilted up and away from them both: a warning but not a face off. Potentially a blunt weapon.

Teddy’s blood spattered, cut and scratched. A bruise blossoms high on one cheekbone, split across where its giver was wearing a ring. Their own knuckles are bruised and swollen. Together they almost look like counterparts across era and age.

“Good reflexes.” His tone is even: careful and a little deadpan. It’ll be interpreted as somehow insulting if Alicia wants to fight, and if she doesn’t, it’s not a lie, and it’s hopefully a giveaway that Teddy would rather not either.

in which I refuse to write dialogue- Tim Drake | DC | closed + ota

[ployboy]

[Kickback- Closed to Bruce]

[Tim has been a wolf before; he never expected it to be a part of him. It had been a one-off, a necessity of sorts- a means to an end and the Darkwalker demanding fealty through fangs, flesh, and blood. Tim had been out when the dream had hit. It means his second transformation- his first willing transformation- is blissfully private. Tim returns to the gas station, human, and shuts himself in his odd little bedroom.

And when he wakes up, he feels it again: the hunger that isn't hunger because it's just so angry-- but a mouthful of skin and muscle and bone might just help take the edge off of what's boiling over inside of him. The Darkwalker calls and he joins his master.

Like a good dog.

Laelaps is the one who manages to paw the door open through desperation. Right behind her is Tim, young and leggy and entirely unseeing through sharp golden eyes, twisting over himself in what would be a lazy parody of a Man Turned Werewolf.

He snarls at nothing, announcing his intention to the dark: he will hunt. Will make something-- someone bleed.]


[Moon Touched- Late September- OTA]

He shouldn't, but Tim tries it again.

In the woods, in the falling snow, out where he's alone (he believes), he lets himself turn into a wolf. He's a red and dirty brown mess of coarse fur- and he's hungry. (Tim always is.)

But now... he can think. Use reason. Apply it, in a way he hadn't been able to before. His ears are on swivels, and so is his head; he bounds after a hare. He doesn't catch it, unable to merge sharp turns with with too-fast sprints. It's not the last time he ends up with a face full of fresh powdered snow.

At some point, he just-- starts digging.

Mesmerized, he doesn't stop. Not for a long time.

It's fun.

The wolf doesn't stalk around town; the nights are never clear when he emerges. It's like he needs the extra cover. But Tim's there, trying to re-learn more than a fair share of things he had forgotten as a boy. Maybe you'll run into him one of those nights when he learns that if ice is slippery on two legs, it's doubly so on four.

[pacificator]

Hey— she knows that wolf.

That night had been terrible, pain and rage and fear and blood, the thunder of Peacemaker's report rolling through the church but still not drowning out Kate's ragged, desperate breaths—

But this is something else. Wynonna pauses, a woman turned wolf — Little has been spending more and more time as the beast lately, and she turns when she can, keeping him company, keeping him grounded, reminding him of pack and partner — and delicately sniffs the air before trotting down along a snowy slope toward the frozen pool and the lanky, awkward half-grown pup digging nearby. Her ear twitches, and she gives a short, quiet whuff.

Hey. Kid. What're you doing?