hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dreamwalker

(ooc: i'm happy to match prose or brackets, whichever you prefer! a lot of these are written from mello's pov, but feel free to have your visiting character switch to their own after the initial experience.)

❚❚❚❚❚ A. FEAR - STINGING MEMORY (cw: insects, body horror)

[ The scene is idyllic. There is grass everywhere, and trees that stretch far above your head. In the distance, you can hear music, and laughter, and you somehow know that there's a party going on, and that this is a happy day. It's warm, so warm that the sun splits through the trees and heats your skin. Ahead of you, there is a young boy - or is it a teenager - or maybe an old man? - but in the end, when you get closer, it's just Richard Gansey. You can see time slipping through him; youthful one minute, elderly the next, and himself the moment after that - but because this is his dream, and because you are in it with him, this doesn't seem strange, and you always know that it's Gansey.

He seems not to see you when he turns, and goes into the woods. But you are brought with him all the same, and as the little copse of trees thickens, the quality of the dream seems to change. The sounds of the party die away, and there's something in the background instead - something moving, vibrating, teeming with life, and you don't know why, but it feels like there's danger in it. Ahead of you, Gansey is a little boy again, and his foot falls into something in the ground. There's a scream, and suddenly, that moving, living thing is all around. You see them first on Gansey himself - crawling out of the hole his foot is in, crawling up his leg. Then they're crawling out of the ground around you, too. They're creeping out of trees, they're flying around you, and all you're aware of is the heat on your skin, and the buzzing in your ears.

Hornets. Deep black, striped with yellow, their stingers strangely visible as they fly. And you know, because the dream knows, that there is poison in their sting. If they sting you, you'll die. You know because Gansey knows. You see them surround him, and then they surround you too. They're not just around your ears, they're inside them. It doesn't matter what you do; if you run, they'll chase you. If you're still, they'll creep all over you. They'll land on your arms and your face. They'll find the ends of your fingers, and they'll burrow beneath the skin. They'll crawl along the inside of your arms, and they'll burst through the flesh and then they'll aim for your neck.

Their sting is as vital and as fatal as a knife in the gut. You feel it, over and over and over, stinging every part of you, and the poison is in your veins. You feel your hands swelling. You feel your throat closing, until you can't even scream with the pain of it. And before you, Gansey the child, the teenager, the man, is curled into a ball and he's dying, and crying, and it must be too late to save him but the stings don't stop.

Then finally, terribly, he sees you. Terrified hazel eyes fix on you, and he thrusts out a hand that's swollen and covered in stings. His throat is closed, but his eyes are begging for your help.

The hornets keep coming. The sky is black with them, and the sun keeps getting hotter. ]

❚❚❚❚❚ B. FEAR - DEATH AND DARKNESS

[ There is nothing around you. You have no weight. Your eyes are sightless, or the darkness is so heavy that it seems like they are. Your ears are booming with the sound of your own heartbeat, because there is nothing else to hear. There is nothing in contact with your hands or your feet, and if you move them, they'll brush empty space. Even if you scream, there'll be no sound, and if you make a fist, you won't feel your own hand. Perhaps you don't have a body at all. Perhaps there is nothing to feel. This is oblivion, and you are caught in it. You are caught and there is no way out and no one to help you -

Sudden change. You are on the ground. Gansey is ahead of you, and he is running. Despite this, he seems to get no further from you, and in fact, you are gaining on him. He keeps looking back, and his expression is full of terror. You don't know why until you feel your hand reach for him. It's skeletal, and cloaked in black. You are the bringer of death, and you are chasing him.

Another change. The ground is damp, and you can't quite tell its texture. It could be a wooden deck. It could be the rock floor of a cave. It could be soil and grass. It seems to shift between all of them for no clear reason, yet within the dream, this makes perfect sense. By and by, you become aware that there is someone beside you, and when you turn, it will be Gansey again. A moment passes, and he seems confident and calm, a charismatic boy who fears nothing and no one. In the next moment, he turns his face away, and terror is written in it. He looks at you. ]

It's coming.

[ And he runs. You're taken with him, pulled along by the dream because this is his dream, and it can't exist without him. Around you, the scenery changes much like the ground; you can't tell if you're in a forest, or a cave, or something else entirely, something wooden and constricting that keeps brushing up on your arms. But behind you, now, you'll see the figure that you were before; a skeletal creature cloaked in black, and draped in shadow, and you know without knowing that when it touches you, you'll return to oblivion. You can see it creeping from behind, darkness that grows and builds and seems to seek you and the boy you're with. It walks at a steady pace, yet it's always gaining, and ahead of you, you can hear Gansey's ragged breaths. He's running, still running. He's afraid of what comes next. ]

❚❚❚❚❚ A. HOPE - AN IDEAL LIFE

[ There is a courtyard within the grounds of a palace. All around, as far as the eye can see, there is decoration. Plants and trees have been sculpted with shears, the pillars and spires are adorned with precision artistry. There are wide colonnades covered from floor to ceiling with tiles, and there are patterns across each of them. In this dream, that patterns are even more intricate and confusing than they would be in reality, since to Damen's mind they have always been too much, too busy, too colourful, and they are everywhere.

But despite that, it's beautiful. There is a bright and sunny sky above the arching domed palace spires. Damen moves through the courtyard on horseback, without his armour. There are no scars on his back, and no golden cuff around his wrist. You, the visitor, may be one of his party - you may be riding on horseback alongside him, dressed in the short Akielon tunic called a chiton, with sandals on your feet and a scarlet cape around your shoulders. Alternatively, you may be one of the party coming to meet him. They are dressed in figure-hugging clothes that cover them from collar to toe. Their jackets are almost as intricately patterned as the tiles on the wall, and they are led by two prominently blond-haired leaders; one tall and brought, built similarly to Damen but slightly smaller, with dark golden hair and a broad smile. The other, with lighter hair and a more careful expression, is Laurent of Vere.

And this, of course, is Vere, and Damen dismounts to greet his hosts. Pleasantries are quickly exchanged; it's obvious that these two parties are friends, not enemies. And then Damen is taking Laurent's hand, and bowing to him, and asking him to walk along with him...

Perhaps you'll interrupt this moment, or perhaps you'll wait until the golden princes have retreated, and Damen is alone in the courtyard again. Either way, the overwhelming feeling that comes with the scene is one of hope and pleasure, and it's clear that Damen's eyes rarely leave Laurent while he's in view. This is hope that could become something more, and as Damen turns to look out over the courtyard, his expression is full of peace. This is a good place to be. ]

❚❚❚❚❚ B. FEAR - WAR AND LOSS (cw: death, danger/harm to infant child)

[ This is a terrible place to be. Above your head, the sky is a fractured mass of storms, with thunder rocketing through clouds and lightning arcing across to illuminate the scene. It doesn't make for pleasant viewing; there are corpses all around. Even if you've never seen them before, they will feel familiar to you in the dream; they are bodies of friends and kinsmen. Their dark, quiet eyes seem like ones you've known before, and their scarlet capes are blackened with drying blood.

Damen is on his knees. You might be beside him, or you might be one of the horrified Akielon spectators, watching as the man who had been their crown prince is driven so low. Perhaps you are even one of the bodies on the ground, lying among the dead. Wherever you find yourself, you'll have a view of two men approaching. One looks very like Damen, though older, and with an expression twisted by hate. His name is Kastor, and he is Damen's brother. The other is older again, and bearded, with deep blue eyes that seem to stare right through you. This is the Regent, uncle to Laurent of Vere. The two men begin hurling accusations, at first one by one, and then their words become a chorus as the crowd around picks up the chant. ]

Prince-killer.
You murdered your father.
You bedded the enemy.
No mercy.
Kill them all.

[ The 'all' gets Damen's attention. His head whips up, while Akielon guards drag others into the field - Laurent, tied and bound, and beside him a blonde woman who looks like his double. Her hair is falling out of its curls, and she's struggling in her bonds, and begging for Kastor to intercede. He ignores her. And then a third guard emerges, and he's carrying a tiny, newborn bundle, which is crying. The baby's cries grow louder and louder, and it's suddenly clear that all three of them are to be executed for Damen's crimes. That's when he starts to struggle. He cries out and leaps forward, fighting against the crowd of soldiers that descent on him. Perhaps you will try to help him. Perhaps you are one of the soldiers holding him back, or perhaps you are one of those holding a knife of the throat of one of the three prisoners. Perhaps these are events you can change, if you can break through Damen's fear. The sky seems to darken around the scene, while the soldiers wrestle Damen into chains. ]

[ ooc: I would also draw your attention to my post on triggering material which may arise when dealing with Damen's hopes and fears in general. ]

DELIGHT
[ Enough packs of dynamite to demolish most buildings without any trouble sit next to Kate, as she stands on the rooftop of the Hadriel library - which is far too tall to be the real building. With her pink hair (finally back as it should be) pulled into twin plaits, her stylised origami elephant tattoo is - for once - visible on the back of her neck, along with the glint of several dermal piercings directly below it. She's too busy glancing up towards the roof of Hadriel to notice if anyone's walked into her dream though, peering at the domed expanse as if trying to locate something.

Eventually, she turns and speaks. To you? Or to someone behind you? ]

Reet. How are we doing this?

RAGE
[ Bare, sleek brick walls tower above, around in a perfect circle. Too tall for Kate too jump, too smooth to scale. It's the Colosseum, but not as anyone here in Hadriel knows it. It looks redone, with nowhere to sit and observe, like a Colosseum is meant to.

It looks more like a prison than an arena.

It's silent as anything, practically echoing with the noiselessness. Kate takes a moment to head towards the walls of the Colosseum, looking closely as if she hopes to find some weak point or exit. ]

... Katherine.

[ The voice is steel, cold, calm and edged like a blade. Kate spins, looking around wildly, because it can't be--

In front of her, directly in the centre of the Colosseum's arena, is a woman. Tall, muscular, sporting an eyepatch and a shaved head. Her scars are plentiful and her left hand missing. Despite - or perhaps because of - the handicap, she exudes nothing but intimidation, and magic-sensitive people may notice a chill in the air, like she's a void pulling all warmth from the arena. The jabberjays flit around her, silent at first, but one picks up the sharp tone of Julia's voice and echoes it until the birds are all singing in a round that bounces off the walls of the Colosseum.

Kate's hands move immediately - pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes and grabbing a knife from her hip bag - and a snarl tears from her throat, dark and guttural. ]

Who the fuck let you out of hell?

FEAR
[ It's a Spire apartment, a one bedroom that would look completely uninhabited if not for the odd clothes tossed over chairs and the rubbish in the bin. Noise comes from the kitchenette, alongside a definite waft of burnt toast and Bar-procured coffee (aka, the good stuff). Kate is half-bent over, rummaging through the shelves for something to spread on toast - that is still burning.

Eventually, she sighs and gives up, tossing the toast and returning to nursing her coffee instead. Everything seems normal, so you might be forgiven for wondering if this is a dream and not some weird hiccup in Hadriel. With her pink hair scraped into a ponytail and clothes for the day already on, Kate leans against her countertop, relaxed. This is as good as it may ever get in Hadriel, with good coffee and relative silence.

It happens without warning, that low, familiar hum she'd long went without. It buzzes in the back of her head, steady and constant and Kate pales. She clings to her mug so hard her fingers go white and her hand shakes until she eventually drops the mug, letting it shatter on the floor, bolting out of the apartment like it was on fire.

She springs down the Spire staircases, jumping several at a time and slams the building door open without stopping to wait. She springs onto the nearest building, running at her full eighty-mile per hour speed without noticing how strangely whole Hadriel looks - no destroyed buildings or broken windows - and heading for the Colosseum. ]

AWAKE [ during fear & rage dreams ]
[ If you happen to be near spire 4, apartment 801 in the earliest hours of the morning, you will probably catch the sounds of someone who is very distressed. Slamming doors and drawers, thundering footsteps and muffled, blood-curdling screams of rage or fear are all possibilities. If you're (un)lucky, you might also bump into a grouchy 5'3" ball of not-quite-pink as she foots it out of her flat.

If you don't live near Kate, you might find her in one of two places:
- The Caves, where she'll be hunting with a whole lot more vigour than she normally does.
- The Clinic, where she'll be undertaking all sorts of busy work to keep herself distracted. ]

[[ notes for the fear dream: if you want, you can have your character experience the telepathic link. Generally it sounds like a low buzzing noise, like electrical items left on (think the fan in your computer or similar), but if your character is especially sensitive to things, they may sense the presence behind it. Also, if your character can't keep up with a full-speed free-running crazy lady, they can find themselves warped to the entrance of the Colosseum. Or maybe they just start there and see her barrelling in - it's up to you. ]]

Edited (formatting yikes) 2016-05-16 20:26 (UTC)

[ Will match style. I'll try to direct the dreams as reflects Castiel's psyche as we go along, so ah. Be prepared for very sudden changes in the dreamscape. Fun fun. ]

1. ~~Delight~~ Fear

[ Heaven is not a half-pipe. In fact, in this case, it's a beautiful park, with flowers growing and beautiful, well loved trees, trimmed grass, the sweet smell of nature all around. The taste of late summer is in the air, and the hum of insects, the laughing of children--everything is remembered and therefore rendered in incredible detail.

There's a light breeze, as is evidenced by the man flying a kite some thirty yards away. He seems to be thrilled, utterly delighted. The wind is perfect, the day is perfect.

Heaven; he's in Heaven...

And there stands Castiel, too, just inhaling it all. This is his perfect place. The man had been 40 when he had drowned accidentally in his bathtub, but this was his perfect memory. Castiel felt the same joy that he felt--because how could he not? It permeated everything. Nobody could stand here and not feel the pleasure brought on by the summer sun drenching them.

It was a safe place. A beautiful place.

And that was fine, except out of the corner of your eye, a corner of Castiel's, there would be a body lying in the grass, angelic wings burned into the grass. The body wouldn't be there, when whoever glanced it turned their head.

At least not yet, but that could all change. ]

Setting info: heaven; dead angels

-----

2. ~~Hope~~ Fear

[ It's a desert.

No. I mean, it may be a desert but it's really not that bad. In fact, it's just rained, a light whisper of water from which the smell of ozone and life is wafting. Sure, it's humid, but it's beautiful. In a day or two, plants will be unfolding from the earth, flowers will be blossoming, hidden Creation coming to life.

God is here. It feels like it, anyway. Where else would He be? There's a certainly a feeling of divinity in the air.

Castiel is climbing up a rocky outcrop, clearly hunting for something, and the hope that is filling his chest is superb, blossoming outward. He's certain, too, it seems. His hand is knotted tight around a pendant dangling in his right hand, and as he reaches the top of the mound of rock and dust, pulling himself up underneath the Joshua tree looming at the top of it, it begins to glow.

Joy blossoms in his chest. All this searching, and he's found Him. Found God. Surely, now, they can stop all this silliness, and put everything back the way its meant to be, everything in its place. Perhaps--perhaps if God is appearing to him, it means he forgives him. He can only hope.

But it's not going to go that way; it never does. ]

Setting info: desert; joshua tree; samulet; glowing

-----

3. ~~Rage~~ no it's Fear again

[ This is not your average dream. Imagine that you can listen to a hundred songs playing at once, fifty television shows played over it, a book open in each hand, while having a conversation with a thousand people in your head--and one in real life. That's what this dream is like. Not convoluted noise, no, but every single part of that information clean and bright and complete. The mysteries of the universe seem to unfold, and everything is at once jumbled and linear, but clear as day. It's only a snapshot of what it's really like to be inside the head of this particular angel, and even then it's tamed; it only feels that way for a moment, before the all consuming power of it subsides abruptly, leaving only a feeling like a bad headache.

There's still voices, burbling. It feels like there could be hundreds of thousands, or perhaps millions of them, and some of them are quiet and subdued, but others...others are powerful. Together, they have control--a sort of control. It's hard to discern what is his own thought and what one of the voices tells him to do. They're insistent, and he knows them all by name. And they know him.

You're - in the dream - just another voice too. You see everything Castiel sees, hears everything Castiel hears, and you can talk to him. He's as trapped in this nightmare, after all, even if his hands feel like they're his own. Even if his power feels like his own.

And when his eyes open, they reveal a concert crowd at Madison Square Garden--it's odd that it's called "Square" when it's so clearly round. But there's a band on stage, and they stumble into silence when he appears, as though from nowhere, right in the middle of their set. ]

Hey, man. Get off the stage! Where'd you come from, anyway? [ The lead singer is incensed, and he gestures to his crew of burly bodyguards to deal with Castiel.

HoW DiSrEsPeCtFuL, hisses a voice. and Castiel narrows his eyes and flicks his hand toward the stage hands. They seize their throats and crumble to the ground, going blue. wE WaNt tO sPeAK TO tHe CrOWD says the voice, and Castiel cuts off the band. Their shouting at him cuts off half way through, and Castiel touches his throat, looking toward the booing, yelling crowd. ]

Your Creator has abandoned you, [ he calls. ] But a shepherd had come for you, you little lost sheep. I've come for you, to raise you from your lives of sin. To save you.

[ The booing only gets louder, and now the crowd is starting to turn. The people in standing room only, undeterred, are clambering over the barriers, and as Castiel has to vanish the guitarist, who suddenly swings his Stratocaster at his head, all Hell breaks loose.

They're supposed to love him.

THeY ShOUlD bE pUNISHeD! snarls the voice, anger boiling, and it feels right. It feels like a good idea. They should be punished. ]

Setting info: madison square garden

-----

4. Fear

[ He was falling.

Really, truly falling. Not from the clouds; he wasn't up there strumming a harp and singing hymns, a cumulonimbus between his thighs--that wasn't how it worked. He'd been in Heaven, surrounded by his own kind, embraced by their warmth and their love, and now - now - he was falling, a fireball tumbling from the sky.

As he fell, his wings burned. Every feather seared and ripped away, the smell of them pungent, melting keratin. There was nothing to break his fall when he reached the ground. The earth crumpled around him instead, and he was aching, trembling, when he pulled himself shakily up to his feet in the dark.

He'd been ejected from the garrison, once upon a time, a long time ago, but it wasn't like this. This was something else. This...felt permanent. It felt like he was unwanted, unloved. No longer an angel. He stared up at the sky, fear and misery overwhelming him, the ashes of his broken wings in the dirt around him. ]

or

[ Welcome back inside his head, where you are being tortured. It's a white room - all white - and someone, a woman, is driving steel spikes into your head. Well, into Castiel's head, actually, but guess what? You're trapped in there with him.

It's painful. It's agony. His scream shatters glass. It's your scream too.

Enjoy that. ]

Setting info: falling; yes she is about to shove that in your eye; brainscrews

-----

5. Closed to Sam and Dean

[ Sleeping was disturbing. Dreaming, even more so. Castiel had decided, based on the fact that when he did sleep those dreams were terrifying and horrible, that he simply wasn't going to do it. Ever again.

And that was wonderful, when he could actually stay awake.

Waking up terrified, though, starting up, soaked in cold sweat, trembling from head to toe, was something he had come to dread. He refused to go to bed, however; it wasn't normal for an angel to sleep, and so he refused to admit it could happen. He dozed off curled up on the floor, instead, or leant up against some piece of furniture.

But when he wasn't sleeping, he could watch Sam and Dean sleep instead. That was safer, more natural. And he could walk in their dreams himself, try to get control of them. These gods were the kind of creatures that Sam and Dean might take a weekend over icing; they were seeking power, forcing obedience, and this...this was them just getting started. They had to be stopped. If they could do this to him, to anyone, they had to be stopped. ]

Edited 2016-05-16 20:37 (UTC)

恐懼:FEAR

[If you've never known the feeling of your very existence slipping through your fingers like running water, you'll know it now. Imagine watching yourself in a mirror turn into someone, something that is both foreign and familiar at the same time.

Look at your hand, are those claws? No...they're just your normal fingernails, blunted and harmless. Has your heart stopped beating? No, no, it's still there.

Who are you? You are you? But who is that?

After you're finished examining yourself and making sure you're all there, you see a man who has lost himself. Is that even a man? It is not. It's a monster. That's what you're looking at, a monster.

Three men are at his feet, their forms barely recognizable from their guts strewn from their bellies. Blood is everywhere. In fact, it's even on you. Blood is on your clawed--oh wait--normal hands.

The first man you see on the floor is blond, his face was once beautiful. He looked holy from the robes that used to be white now stained with a deep red. A piece of his neck is missing.

The second man, or is that a boy? Is laying close to the blond as if he tried to protect him. His eyes are wide open. They're gold and looked like they had all of the warmth of the sun, but were now cold and soulless. There was a hole burned through his stomach that smelled of cooked flesh, blood and bile mixed with each other to create a putrid smell.

The last man was closest to Hakkai, his hand clamped onto his ankle, but it wasn't attached to his arm anymore. The blood that coated the rest of him was as red as his hair. He looked like he was strangled by something, but what could it have been?

Hakkai was holding something, a woman's body. The woman was bleeding through her stomach and her face looked similarly to his own. She was holding a dagger in her lifeless hand as if she died holding it so tightly. He gently stroked her hair, only making streaks of blood through it. His eyes were crying in spite of their dangerous appearance.

Bring him back]

(OOC: One of each dream, each in its own comment, so I can track them better. Will match format. You are free to decide if your character first sees the dreams from Em's pov and then switches out to be themselves, or if they're watching the dreams unfold and then get to join in, etc. Feel free to jump into the dreams at ANY point at all and take on any role. Help her, hinder her, watch her, have at it! And if anything is unclear, or you have any suggestions you want to talk to me about, feel free to PM or PP me!)

☂|DESIRE:

[This is Clear's first dream and he's loving it. His happiness is translating through the dream and you can feel it. Your skin probably starts feeling warm and tingly, your heart starts filling up with elated feelings of joy, and there's a song on the tip of your tongue.

There's a melody playing around you as you seem to be standing in the sky. You're not floating, but there's nothing there that seems to be supporting you either.

The sky is blue all around you and there are clouds drifting. They're reflecting off of the platform that you're standing on.

The scenery only evolves further as round clear bubbles start floating magically with the clouds. Glass flowers sprout from the "ground" you're on and emit glowing specs of light. Jellyfish dance around you, drifting and swaying to the melody being played.

In the center of it all is Clear with his clear umbrella, his arms outstretched wide and looking up at a mechanical heart surrounded by clear gears. The closer you get to the heart, the lighter you feel. The song on your tongue may even come out as a hum.

Clear is singing with his eyes closed. Come join him in his happy dream.]

1. Fear

There comes a time in every casino’s life when—even though the right palms have all been greased—a heavy boot crashes into her door and the G-men come bursting in. Tonight, the jig is up for the joint you happen to be in.

The shouts of the law enforcement agents—you may notice that they don't have a specific uniform or badge, just a general 'cop' look—mix with the clangs of slot machines that just won’t shut up. For some odd reason, they've all decided to go off at once with loud, jangling bells.

Adding to the chaos is the fact that nobody seems to be actually doing anything—just yelling a lot and milling around to add to the confusion. At least, for now. Will you try to slink off with your winnings in this commotion? Or maybe you can use this as a good opportunity to disappear if you wound up owing.

2. Rage

The 1920s weren’t booming for everyone. The street you stand in is filthy and crowded with litter. On top of that, it just looks… off. As places do in dreams. Anyone paying attention to the run-down tenements will notice they look copy-pasted—just the same dirty brick over and over—and somewhat warped. Some are leaning, some are only half-there, wavering in and out of view.

The passersby on the street are much the same—they’re more shapeless coats and shadowy forms than real people.

Except for one who may be coming up behind you. Unless you’re particularly alert, you may not notice little fingers reaching into your pocket for the wallet (or other valuable) you somehow have. Or maybe you will. Catch the little gremlin?

If not, seeing the kid suddenly bolting away from you may also be a dead giveaway.

[ooc: If you'd like to work out something else, feel free to pm me!]

[ooc: organized for easier tracking. Feel free to pm me for details! Your character can experience things from Maketh's pov, do a fly on the way sort of thing, or directly interact with the events taking place. Have at it!]

[OOC: Prose or brackets is fine! I'll be handling Mitsuhide as well as Nobunaga in the open dream, with the dreamer coming in as their own individual, but events and focus will vary wildly depending on the response to Nobunaga's question. Feel free to PP me or plurk me if you have ideas or things you'd like to include, otherwise I am happy to wing it, and you can also start your character's role in the dream at any part of the scenario I lay out. ♥]

[ooc: organized for easier tracking. Feel free to pm me for details! Your character can experience things from Maketh's pov, do a fly on the way sort of thing, or directly interact with the events taking place. Have at it!]

RAGE. cw: blood, gore.
[ You see a frozen landscape. At its center, a ruined castle, charred and crumbling. The dream takes you into the ruins. The winds howl, but no snow blows. In the center of the ruins is something that looks like it was once a courtyard, but is now littered with stone, ash, and blood. The blood is vibrant when everything else is dull, an unforgiving red and a piercing iron smell. You follow the blood. The trail leads you to a shuddering heap of human bodies, barely alive, definitely scared. They cling to one another for hope, warmth, safety. You have never seen anything so pathetic.

A shadow looms behind you. As you look at the trembling figures, you realize you cannot help them. The shadow grows longer, closer, and soon, it's Arya who steps in front of you. Her face is set, focused in a fury that is unmistakable. In her right hand she holds a sword, dripping with blood. She smiles, thinly, and her smile is almost as sharp as her sword. ]

Valar morghulis.

[ She raises her blade. ]

Please. Allow me to show you the weak hearts of women.

[ Arya lunges, plunging her sword into the chest of one of the figures. They all scream, a collective howl that seems to rattle the ruins. Arya plunges her sword into flesh again. And again. And again. The blood spatters red on the white snow, dark on her pale skin. It runs thick through Arya's fingers. And as the lives of these poor, sad people drain away, Arya seems to become more alive, laughing and stabbing, laughing and stabbing. ]

FEAR. cw: child abuse.
[ The room is dark, lit by a few candles here and there that serve to make the place more eerie than to guide a person's way. You step inside, and see others praying at several different shrines, each to a different god. Some of them cry, some of them smile. Some say or do barely anything at all. Some of the devout are corpses.

A girl -- someone who used to be Arya Stark, a long time ago -- moves through the shrines, silent as the shadows she inhabits. A man joins her, and perhaps you relax, a little. He seems kind. The girl sees someone just past you. She smiles. You turn around to look, and you might smile too -- this man is clearly her brother, someone she loves very dearly.

Then, it all goes horribly wrong. The kindly man grabs the young girl by the shoulders, forcing her to face him. ]

Who are you?

[ He asks, low, menacing. The girl shakes her head, tries not to cry. ]

No one -- I'm -- I'm no one, please, he is not a girl's brother, she doesn't know him anymore.

[ The brother's face falls, betrayed. The girl shakes her head, crying. She never wanted to give up this. She can't.

The kindly man strikes her. The girl falls. She does not rise again. ]

HOPE.
[ A forest, lit by the full moon. You are surrounded by a pack of wolves. Perhaps you belong to them -- perhaps you are a wolf now, too. The pack is led by a great grey she-wolf, stronger and sharper than all the rest.

The pack catches a scent. The she-wolf howls. The pack responds, and the hunt begins. Off they go, running through the woods. They are free, fearless, powerful. Nothing can touch them now. Nothing ever has, and nothing ever will.

The she-wolf comes to you and grins, toothily.

Come! ]

[OOC: Going to make individual comments for easier tracking purposes! If you need to contact me for anything, hit me up on AIM, Plurk, or PM!

[interact however you feel, i'm totally open! c: if you'd like to hash out something more specific, pm me here or pp me at

smithsyndicate.

cw for violence, death, gore, and scary monsters from outer space]

Edited 2016-05-16 21:00 (UTC)

FEAR. cw: torture.
[ Johanna Mason steps out into the rain. Everything is peaceful for a moment, but then the drops hit her skin, and everything falls apart. The dream blacks out, and the only thing that the visitor perceives, for now, is Johanna's muffled cries.

The dream appears in flashes, harsh, dissonant, disjointed.

A cell. No windows, no door. Johanna paces around it, muttering to herself. She has not eaten in days. When she still has energy, she punches a wall or yells. She sits on the edge of a cot. She doesn't have much energy next door.

Screams from next door. Blackout.

Two men open enter her prison. Johanna remains rooted to her spot, gripping the edge of the cot. The men are wearing surgical masks. Johanna can see nothing but their eyes. They grab her. Blackout.

We have a couple questions for you, Johanna.

They strip her naked and plunge her in an icy bath. She shivers, not only out of cold, but out of fear. Blackout.

The men bring wires. The dream becomes more piecemeal at this point, flickering in and out of awareness. They tape the wires to Johanna's skin. They leave no body part untouched, not even the head, which they shaved for this purpose.

Tell us about the Mockingjay.

Johanna screams when the current enters her body. She screams and she shakes, but she does not speak in words. She can't anymore. She gave up all her secrets a long time ago. The current keeps coming, and coming, and coming. When they remove the wires, Johanna is shaking, unable to move. They drag her from the tub and throw her back in the cell.

The screams next door still don't stop. ]

RAGE.
[ The rebels win. They decide to hold a Games for the people of the Capitol, to give them a taste of their own torture. No one is more supportive about it than Johanna. She even volunteers as tribute, to represent the victors.

You and Johanna stand in the center of a large arena. This year's theme is a ruined cityscape. Johanna has an axe, but more importantly, she has bloodlust. She moves through the ruined city in the dim lighting, snarling, ready to kill. She sees you move, and assumes you are an enemy. This is a fight to the death, after all. She glares at you, stands up straight, and hurls her axe with sickening speed in your direction. ]

DELIGHT.
[ You are standing in a beautiful pine forest. The trees are tall and old, strong and fragrant. There is no one cutting them down today. Nature is completely unaltered, except for the small stone path that meanders its way through the forest. Off in the distance, a bird sings.

You see two figures walking along the path. One is Johanna, and the other is a boy younger than she, but somehow, you know that this boy is her older brother. That the only reason she is older now was that he died too soon.

Johanna doesn't speak much, but the brother does. He is lively, obviously intelligent. When he speaks, he talks with his hands, and his whole face lights up. Johanna's face is different, too. It's softer than it ever was in the waking world. She's smiling, just a little bit, and holding the boy's hand tightly. She loves him. She loves this place. The dream itself seems to glow with that warmth, that peace. ]

FEAR ☠ WEEDS (cw body horror)

[ A thick forest at night. The moon is impossibly large, and it lights in blue what doesn't lie in the shadow of foliage: dense undergrowth, a circle of dirt about as wide as a person is tall, someone's campfire long since gone cold.

Off in the darkness, echoing, the sound of crashing leaves: something large is moving. Not quickly, not in any particular direction; but if you wait and listen you can hear his voice. He's struggling, out of breath, shouting for effort. Trying to reach something in the branches, maybe. He is desperate.

Your limbs are oddly numb. You feel sure that the longer you stand still, the harder it will be to move them. Your heart is working very, very hard. ]

FEAR ☠ BBQ '79 (cw general brutality?)

[ At first glance it's a beautiful evening: pleasantly cool, the sun is setting behind a hill, and the smell of a wood fire drifts out of a little shelter—a rustic log-built pavilion with a shed attached. A large stone firepit full of nice red coals, popping and crackling, sits in the center of that pavilion; there's a cast-iron grate on top for grilling what would have to be an inordinate amount of meat.

And there's Gojyo, poking at the coals with a long stick. A couple of beers, fresh out of a cooler, sit on a workbench behind him. Oh—he's noticed you. He raises a beer in your direction, friendly and inviting. ]

Hey, c'mere. You know how to grill stuff the right way?

[ There's a lump on the other side of the firepit, person-shaped, curled up in a protective ball in the dirt. Their clothes are soaked with blood. They're still breathing. ]

[NOTES if you want anything different/specific (dean??), feel free to pm or pp

elegiae, or, you know, go nuts and I'll run with it.]

Noah's dreams play out almost like movies. They'll go on without any interaction from the observer, but a visitor is welcome to try to tear them off their chosen path.

FEAR - Two ~~lines, no waiting~~ nights (cw gore)

The and last night of dreaming for Noah are old territory worn down for Noah, for his friends. It starts off earlier than the one act tragedy they're used to, murder in eleven minutes.

It starts over an hour earlier, and isn't frightening at first. In the dense Virginia forest a living breathing Noah parks his bright red Mustang and climbs out of the driver's side where a familiar figure gets out of the passenger side. Barrington Whelk, 2006 edition. The features that required a bit of look to find attractive, that just seemed a little large on the face of a man in his mid-twenties look perfectly in place on the seventeen year old. His black hair is mussed from running his hands through it in the stress that's threatening to overtake him. Whelk and the car are in stark detail, almost too much for reality compared to Noah, compared to the forest.

Noah tries to talk to Whelk a few times, to distract him from whatever is troubling him, but Whelk isn't interested in what Noah has to say. Noah shrugs and moves on with what they came here to do. He's worried about his friend, but he trusts he'll get over it. They're best friends but it isn't like they'd die for one another.

The woods get darker, traveling through them. The branches above block out all sunlight, and something about them seems sinister. There's an eerie quiet. Noah takes no notice of it as Whelk lags behind, grabs Noah's skateboard from his car. Noah's concerned with looking for something, calling back to Whelk from time to time.

He doesn't notice anything until Whelk - face stricken with grief but a grim determination - brings the skateboard down on the side of his face. Hard. Hard enough for there to be a sickening crack.

It takes more than one blow. Whelk struggles through each, but it doesn't stop him. Noah doesn't even get a chance to scream, gasping wetly for air as he starts to choke on his own blood. Between the first blow and Noah finally stilling on the ground takes only six minutes, but they stretch into forever, the world growing ever dimmer until darkness takes the whole dream with the last beat of Noah's heart.

The lights return to Noah parking his red Mustang in the dense Virgina forest. He gets out of the driver's side, while Whelk climbs out of the passenger side...

DELIGHT #1 - Someone you can kiss

It's home.

Well, it's Monmouth Manufacturing, the office space above the warehouse that Gansey retrofitted into an apartment. Beautiful with its vaulted ceilings, walls taking up whole windows, an assortment of books and artifact treasures scattered carelessly about. His model of downtown Henrietta in miniature across the floor, a loving construction made of cereal boxes, paint, and glue.

Noah (dead, faded) opens the door and lets Blue inside. Compared to how faded Noah is, she's as stark and real, the colors on her eclectic wardrobe even more vibrant and bright than they were in reality. Monmouth has the same care taken for it, hyper-real in this dream space. Only Noah and Blue are there, and they proceed to waste an afternoon together. They jump on Noah's bed, Blue drinks a juice, they take turns trying a leaf each from Gansey's mint plant. Just two youths being youths and wasting time together. It's idyllic in the peace it offers, Blue's laughter echoing in the space like music.

They end up laying on Gansey's bed in the middle of the room, just talking, then more than just talking. The first kiss is hesitant and doesn't go too well, but Noah talks Blue into giving him another shot at it and the second goes much better - one slow and sweet kiss merging into the next, then another, then another.

It's Noah's dream. They kiss for much longer than it happened in reality.

DELIGHT #2 - When you were young

It's no season.

It's every season.

It's the kind of vague that insists that the observer not think too much on it, not try to make sense of it. Noah and Whelk sit on the hood of Noah's mustang. As before, Whelk and the mustang are in hyper-saturated colors, their details even more real than reality. Everything else is faded, washed out, like it can't decide or remember what it's supposed to be. They're... under one of those overhangs at parks that are above areas that you can rent for barbeques. Is it because it's raining? To function as cover from oppressive sunlight?

They've got a bag of fast food of some kind between them, but they're more interested at throwing what's left of the meal to the lake ducks than actually eating it. Sometimes they throw bits of lettuce at each other though. The dregs of fast food is never ending as the two teenagers talk about inconsequential things. Parties, drinks, classes, whatever Whelk wants to do next about ley line hunting.

It's peaceful, and there's a sense of warm contentment across everything.

It wasn't all bad. There was a reason that Noah trusted him. They had been friends.

Noah's Mustang is functioning as a radio, Carbon Leaf's Indian Summer album playing on eternal repeat as the background music of the dream.

[ dreams in subsequent comments because otherwise this'll get hella long. content warnings at the top of each comment. feel free to jump in wherever or hit me up on plurk (

chanterie) if you want to hash something specific out! c: ]

FEAR (1): Alone in the world

[Youngest of seven, runt of the litter, abandoned by his brothers who left to seek out their father, alone to protect the corpse of his mother.

To protect it, but he's failing.

His mother's body, another wolf, lies motionless behind him, too large from his perspective: or perhaps he is that small, just a babe, unable to stop the scavengers moving in. Every time he spots one, two more step in from the shadows; for every one he stops, another has reached his mother to desecrate her corpse.

Feel free to simply watch him struggle; the dream won't until he wakes, monsters simply coming ad infinitum until he wakes up. Or you can help protect him, stopping the faceless, shapeless masses from eating his mother.]

-----

FEAR (2): Monster in the Mirror

[His studio apartment is a single room, barely enough for the couch he calls a bed and the fridge around the corner. But even as he reclines in his chair, it seems to shrink, and as claustrophobia starts to settle in he rises from his chair - only for a black boot to land and forcefully push him back into his seat. He looks up, and Bloody Mary, human in the worst possible way, staring down at him with glee as she bounces the Woodsman's axe on her bony shoulder. She lifts it in both hands to swing as his head, but the room tilts and throws them both into a factory, filled with ugly yellow lights that make black shadows between titanic vats and looping conveyer belts, all supported by girders extending off into infinity.

There's a sense of panic and urgency in the dream; Bigby is being hunted, by Bloody Mary's true form, a glass-embedded demon that hisses and darts through the building, too fast to follow and out for blood, and she doesn't care whose.]

-----

RAGE: Who's afraid...

[Bigby is a monster and he knows it. Everyone is so quick to remind him, after all. He used to relish it. Live for the thrill of taking down a larger opponent every day. Growing bigger and more monstrous, more terrifying. And the dream he has, courtesy of Rage, is less of a fantasy than an amalgamation of old memories.

He rips at anything that stands in his way, teeth sinking into flesh and armour alike and swallowing whole. Armies fall before him and he's left in the centre of a ring of dismembered, bloodied corpses, howling for more.

Then, somehow, he's the werewolf: grey fur, golden eyes and claws that rend flesh like silk, and his targets are somehow more and less human. Weak facsimiles of the Fables he's supposed to protect fall before his fury and might. Grendel, his head missing along with his arm; both Tweedles, indistinguishable before, are even more so now that their chests are both caved in; Bloody Mary in pieces, the Crooked Man in twain, the Woodsman's axe buried in his own stomach...

Even his friends don't escape. Those who know them would recognise the corpses of Snow White and even Colin lumped in with the rest. And Bigby still stands, still panting, still burning to destroy more.

Then he turns to you.]

Fear:

[The room is small, which makes it easier to smell the sickness that permeates it. It's uncomfortably warm too, enough to make a person break out into a sweat, cooling the body until the shivers follow. There's not much here, just a record player that's spinning a warped record skipping words, dragging. There's a surreal quality to it all; all the colors seem muted.

There's a bed in the middle of the room, and in it the thin figure of one Steve Rogers, twisted up and fighting the white sheets that cover his feverish body. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated. He takes in ragged breaths, but the the rapid way that his narrow chest works suggest that it's not making it to his lungs. He arches off the bed with every futile attempt.

He's alone, and he's been alone for a long time. Look away from the pitiful scene and you might see an opened, very official looking letter on the floor:

It is with our sincerest condolences that we write to inform you of the death of Sergeant James B. Barnes of the 107th...]

Delight:

[The brass band on the other side of the room is bright and lively, but so is the chatter and laughter that can be heard just beneath it. There's plenty of couples on the dance floor, but there's also tables full of men in uniform, drinking, laughing. The war has been left at the door. Everything feels simpler, but happier too.

Steve is at least a head shorter than most of the other soldiers. But his uniform is crisp and modestly decorated. He stands just at the edge of the dance floor, closer than he normally gets. He's watching, looking, yes, delighted. When he turns to face you, he seems a little nervous too, but his voice is confident as he offers his hand. You look like the perfect partner.]

I think they're playing out song. Care to dance?

Rage:

[Blood splashes against the brick. The back alley is narrow, and two broad-shouldered guys all but block either end of it. They sneer, they call names.

Steve Rogers is trapped between them, knocked down and bloodied. It's not escape that he's going for once he's back on his feet. He sways on unsteady legs, scraped knuckles lifted before he lunges again. Another knockdown. Another struggle to his feet. His lip is split and bleeding down on the teeth that he bares at the guy like some angry little dog.]

I could do this all day.

[You could watch all day, this endless loop of piss and vinegar. Or maybe you'll step in and put an end to it.]

[fear: it's in your blood; cw: abuse]

[The room is dingy, cramped, small. The kitchen is the dining room, right next to the living room, right next to the master bedroom, everything crammed into a small space. Nothing is nice, nothing is expensive, everything is old and used up and stained. It's all washed out, sickening yellow light coming from nowhere in particular. There's a messy pile of empty beer bottles by the old sofa, a pile of ancient car magazines, old plates stacked on the tiny endtable.

Adam's father doesn't look much like him, not until you look hard enough to match the ashy blue eyes, the furrowed brows. He's got at least fifty pounds on his son, maybe more, and a couple inches as well. Adam's not a small person, normally, but right now he seems smaller, shrinking beneath the weight of his father's anger. Cringing away, because he knows what's coming and he knows there's no way to stop it. If he can find the right words, say what his father wants to hear - it doesn't help, usually, but once or twice it has. It's the only defense he has. No one will step in, no one ever has.

His mother is there, in the kitchen, watching her husband and her son. Her lips are pressed together, eyes judging rather than afraid. Surely Adam did something to deserve this, after all. He has a smarter mouth than he should, snobbish airs about going to school and getting out of here, he disappears at odd hours and tonight he missed dinner, out with those rich brat friends of his. Not at work. That might have been okay.

Adam's father shouts in his face, red with anger, and when Adam doesn't respond with the right words - his eyes somewhere between distant and frantic - he grips Adam's collar, shakes him hard.

You think you're too good for us now?

And Adam denies it, of course he does, but it's not the proper tone of apology, or not quite the right words, or maybe Robert Parrish was always going to hit him. And he does, hard across the face, letting go of him at the same time so Adam stumbles and catches himself against the wall. The shadows in the corners of the house grow, whispering.

Look me in the eye when I'm talking to you, his father shouts, and wraps his hand around Adam's upper arm, pulling him up straight. You ungrateful piece of shit.]

[delight: arbore loqui latines]

[Far more serene and peaceful than the nightmare of other nights, in this dream there's a forest. The sun shines down through the trees, softening the light, and the grass underfoot is the softest of natural carpets. It's not a cultivated forest, it's old and wild and there are things that are hard to understand, shadows and brightness that doesn't quite make sense. But it's beautiful, impossibly so. Maybe because it's a dream, except of course it isn't quite that. This is a real place, for Adam.

He's not immediately visible. Only the forest is, colorful wildflowers nestled in soft clumps of grass, the gentle sound of water flowing not far away. Idyllic.

The wind blows through the trees, and as the branches move, they shiver against each other. It almost sounds like they're talking, distant and improbable, but slowly it resolves into what is definitely speech. It's not something understandable, though, not unless you speak Latin. But if you do - the trees are talking, and they're welcoming you. Where are you going? Go in peace. This isn't your place, but you can come.

There's an edge of danger to it all, this is not quite paradise. But right now, in this dream, it's perfect.

From deeper in the forest comes the sound of laughter, quiet but still audible. Magician, the trees say, if you can understand them.]

[or contact me for something else!]

Edited 2016-05-17 20:28 (UTC)

[fear: snowy mountain blues; cw: death, cannibalism]

[When Josh has nightmares, they're only about himself some of the time. He's got fertile ground there, of course, plenty of things to be worried about, to be afraid of. But those paths are well-worn, mostly the sort of thing he's been dealing with (failing to deal with) for years. Losing himself, losing control, losing everything. It could happen, it has happened.

But things can always get worse.

He didn't see what happened to his sisters. He didn't see it, but he knows. He knows it intimately, now, particularly since this place worked its terror on him and he fell to the same fate as Hannah.

All that means is that his dreams are vivid, detailed, horrifying.

Beth is already dead, there at the bottom of the cave. Mineshaft? Both, maybe. Her body is broken and still, eyes wide and unseeing. But Hannah is alive. Not intact, no, not quite - too injured to get out on her own. Too injured to do anything but starve. So that's what she's doing. Starving, wasting away, so hungry he can't stand it anymore. So hungry there's nothing else she can do, so hungry she can't control herself.

So hungry that, crying, she sinks her teeth into her twin's arm and begins to tear. Begins to chew.

Josh is watching, in the shadows, unable to stop it, unable to do anything.]

[rage: the house on haunted hill; cw: horror movie tropes]

[The room is dark, lit here and there by the soft light of candles. It should be calming, beautiful, but the overall effect is sinister. Perhaps it's the house itself - old, abandoned, but clearly people once lived here. There's furniture, some of it covered by sheets to make unrecognizeable shapes in the dark. On the walls hang portraits, but when you get close enough to see the people in them - it's hard in the dark - you discover that their features are blurred. Their eyes are empty, mouths curved wide with too many teeth.

Behind you, the door to the room swings open, creaking as it does. Outside the room, everything is dark, but you can faintly see a hallway curving away.

From down the hall comes the sound of footsteps, then faint laughter. Then, suddenly, a piercing scream.

Then silence, and the candles begin to go out, one by one.]

[or contact me if you'd like to do something else!]

mello | open

Gansey | Open

Damen | Open