open | july catch-all

[creidim]

Who: Luna Lovegood + you!
What: Catch-all; general prompts + Leitners Player Plot prompt + eventual event toplevels.
When: The month of July.
Where: Various.

Content Warnings: warnings in individual prompts.

☽ i try to still look with wonder on the world | general catch-all — early - mid-July
cw: n/a

[ July brings an insufferable heat that reminds her much of a mix between the July and August months of the last summer in Deerington before the end. Luna does not work well in this heat, and she tries to balance trying to remain comfortable with trying to be practical about living in a world of blood. Not to mention the distinct feeling of anger in the air. Even Luna seems more snippier than usual; prone to snapping or falling into cold, withering looks when she’s annoying. Hot Girl Summer has never been so difficult.

(Luna really wishes that she’d been wrong about the Season of Blood, she really does.)

As she goes about her day to day business, she’ll be looking less than thrilled about the weather: melting in the markets or over at Ritual Gig in Willful Machine; slumped at desks in the Archives as she works on her Beasthood book; trying to clean up the rotting fruit about Gaze, or down by the Farther Shores to catch the sea breeze. You might catch her blasting herself with a cooling charm which, perhaps if you ask nicely enough, she might allow you a go.

Fortunately her home is very cool and comfortable, with the use of her magic to adjust the atmospheric charms accordingly. People she knows are free to come visit whenever they like for somewhere to chill, and even some delicious baked goods Luna worked on last month, magically charmed to keep for longer than usual. Or maybe they might end up coming on a bad day when Luna’s tweaking of her enchantments don’t go quite to plan, and they’ll turn up at her home with it actually snowing inside, or with a miserable drizzling happening. The only one happy about this is Helga, who’ll be rolling about the floor in the little snow that’s collected there already if they come on a snow day. Luna will be quite exasperated: ‘It’s just, ah. Um, technical difficulties? But with magic. Magical technical difficulties.’

Or perhaps she’s caught out when one of the thunderstorms hit. She’ll be taking refuge beneath the doorway of the closest building as soon as the rain starts, low and terrible cracks of thunder stretching overhead so loud it sounds like the very sky itself is splitting apart. Probably not for the best to be out in it, and she’ll be ushering anyone else caught out to come share the doorway with her: Come on, there’s plenty of room. It’d be better to wait for the storm to pass. ]

☽ i'm on fire, but i'm trying not to show it | leitners player-plot — mid-July
cw: references to parental death, character death; supernatural/cursed books; possible magical misfires / mild magical violence.

[ It’s creeping in the shadows, unseen. Some unknown form that lurks about her, no matter where she goes. And even Luna can’t shake it off; the distinct feeling of being watched and finding nothing there. But no, it’s not nothing is it? It’s something. Something is watching her, day and night. It knows her.

The words come; whispers that follow her. A voice so gentle, but it’s not just any words that it whispers to her. It tells her things she already knows: it recounts the story of how her mother died; of her loneliness and stolen things for years in the corridors of Hogwarts; of the wild-haired witch and her wicked, unforgivable curse. Of her deaths in Deerington, her mistakes; the people she hurt and how. And how delicious they are: secrets and horrors of her past tasted and savoured like a fine wine, or sweet dessert. It knows her.

The days in which she spends pouring over the Handbook for the Magnus Archives, the voice comes; they watch. Each time louder, more insistent. And with the growing heat and bubbling anger beneath her, Luna becomes on edge, paranoid. The voice is stalking her, creeping a little too close — she walks with a hair-trigger. Approaching Luna will not have the best of consequences; she may draw her wand, other times she might fire-off a swift knock-back jinx to the poor unsuspecting person. But they'll always be met with a rather biting: ]

Don’t sneak up on me like that—!

☽ the feeling comes so fast and i cannot control it | event
cw: here

FORTUNE'S FOOL — network: un: quibbler

[ Luna is dating Peter Graham. Some people might already know Peter happens to be possessed by the ancient demonic deity Paimon, a king of hell. Others perhaps know there's something up with Peter, and consider him dangerous. Whatever your character knows, there's room for judgment on such a relationship.

Which could be for anything, but most notably people could judge Luna on the fact she's dating someone who's demonically possessed. Or she's dating someone deemed dangerous, unstable. She's probably going to get herself killed one day being around him, or worse.

Not only that, is that Luna also has a bond with the very demon inhabiting Peter. And who knows whatever that's about. Maybe that's why you're casting your judgement. Maybe there's something more going on here between those two. It's hella sus.

Essentially, consider this prompt your open space to start throwing stones. Call Luna out. Judge her for dating the demonically possessed stoner. ]

☽ wildcard

wildcards welcomed / closed prompts available! contact heolstor / heolstor#5725

Comments

ange | leitner plot

[creidim]

[ The thing that knows her not only whispers. It moves against her in time; and she soon realises that she's been branded by it. She doesn't realise that its the book, the one that constantly urges her to read it — and she's so easily drawn in by her own curiosity. But the mark on her is sobering enough to bring her to her senses: she has been cursed, somehow. Something has put this mark on her, much like it's whispered her secrets to her like its enjoying a delicious meal.

There's not much in the texts she sends outside of asking Ange if she's home and if she can come over. Paranoia still pulls at her, and she worries over the words she may harm her. Would it know? It knows her so well, after all. It watches. But she needs help. She's no curse breaker, she doesn't know how to remove this mark.

When Ange opens the door to her, Luna's practically melting in one of Peter's hoodies that she's borrowed, worn over her summer-dress. It's much too hot for it, and yet she's wearing it all the same. She looks, at a glance, perfectly fine — physically speaking. Perhaps just a bit uncomfortable under the heat. But there's an anxiousness to her, as she looks over her shoulder now and then, her fingers pulling at the sleeves of the hoodie over and over in a fretting motion. ]

Hi, Ange. [ It's still watching. She knows. She swallows thickly, shoulders sinking a little further. Her voice lowers considerably. ] I, um... I need some help with something. It's important.

[entreats]

[ When there are so very few details in Luna's message, Ange already figures that something is up. It's not like Luna at all to not even simply write down what she wants to see Ange for, after all. The total lack of any hints is worrisome, and so Ange replies that it's fine for Luna to come over without even hesitating. If this is something so bad that Luna can't even write about it, then of course she's not just going to ignore the other.

But Luna's appearance once she arrives at Ange's place? Well, it only sends that assumption home even further. Luna thankfully doesn't look corrupted, which is what Ange definitely worried about for a moment there, but no person who has nothing going on with them at all would wear that in this horrid hot weather. ]

Okay.

[ It's why Ange agrees. This could be dangerous, considering most things in this place are, but it's not like Ange has ever let a fact like that stop her.

And even less so when it comes to helping a friend.

Ange glances behind her, but there's no one else in the hall of their house at the moment - thankfully. Then she looks back at Luna. ]

Do I need to come with you? Or do you want to come inside?

[ Might as well establish that first. If Luna is being so cagey about her problem, then it's not like Ange is going to try and pry it out of the other right away. Luna has got to have a good reason for being vague. ]

[creidim]

[ In truth, it's not dangerous. But Luna's not too sure of that herself; Dark Marks aren't ever removed. Well, not to her knowledge. Then again, this isn't something typical. She isn't home after all. But she's deeply uncomfortable and horrified by having it upon her skin.

Whoever's watching her, she thinks they'll laughing at her. It knows she's upset. ]

If that's alright— coming inside would be... for the best. [ There's a hesitation, her lips pursing for a long moment. She continues to fiddle with her hoodie sleeves, the Dark Mark feels like it burns on her arm — it doesn't really but she's sure it does. ] Is there somewhere... private we could go—?

[ Luna knows there's plenty of people who live here too. She... doesn't want others to see this. ]

[entreats]

A lot of people seem to be out right now.

[ Thankfully so. The last thing Ange would want to force Luna to do is be parades through the house with everyone watching. But if it's quiet, it should probably be fine. ]

Ruby too. So we can use our room. [ Ange can't imagine anyone would just barge into that, and if Ruby would show back up at the house, she'd surely be able to sense it from Ruby's thoughts thanks to their bond.

Hence why she steps back from the door, giving Luna some room to come inside, before gently closing the big door behind her. Ange turns to look at the other girl, but then gestures ahead of them, leading the way towards Ange and Ruby's room. Thankfully it's not so far - just up the big stairs in the hallway, and then just through one of the doors in the upstairs landing.

The room inside is.. well, it's very obviously Ange and Ruby's room. There's the dog toys that belong to Ruby's dog, sketches of weapons, books about magic and a very odd skeleton that looks to be half-goat, half-human.

Ange doesn't gesture at any of it though - just at the big two person bed. ]

There, please sit down. No one should be bothering us, so if you're comfortable, you can tell me what's wrong.

peter | cw body horror / corruption-related transformation

[creidim]

[ It knows her. But she knows it. Ange manages to remove the Dark Mark from her, but in the day or so afterwards — now with an alarming clarity — she realises.

Such an unassuming thing, a book. But even books hold great power, literal power sometimes. And she realises the Employee Handbook of the Magnus Archives does hold literal power, dark power. It must be dealt with. She has to get rid of it before it haunts and harms anyone else. But she knows she has to deal with it as carefully as possible.

She burns the book within the confines of her Potions Room alone, tries to keep it contained and safe. She worries about the consequences of destroying it, even if part of her is almost saddened to destroy such a thing as a book. But it's deadly; cursed objects are best dealt with as safely as possible. She even doesn't want to trouble Paimon with this, not even for help in the ritual. Her room will keep her safe, along with Peter and Paimon. It'll keep it contained, it won't get out of control.

And it goes well; the book doesn't so much as put up a fight. It burns to ruins before Luna banishes the remains with the flick of her wand. She feels... peaceful, relieved. She finally feels alone; whatever knew her knows her no longer, it's gone. But the enchantments of the room, the crystal deer skull silently at work — it contains the burning of the book, but it contains the consequences too. Beyond the door, its reach ends. So when Luna finally leaves, it hits her with such a suddenness it knocks her off her feet.

She stumbles and slumps against the wall of the hallway, frozen for a long moment in horror before she realises what's going on. A cold sweat forms within seconds and she looks ill, horribly so. It's... painful, a soft cry falling from her lips; her body burns. She notices her nails first, growing at an alarming rate: her fingers grow thin and long, the nails become claw-like. She's seen this before, she knows what this is.

Her head throbs, thick horns force themselves from her scalp; twisting and creaking as they unfurl into antlers. Huge this time — sprawling upwards with several points. Help, she needs help. She can't move; everything hurts too much — lost in how body twists and reshapes itself, too quickly, too painfully. She bites back a scream, fear rippling through her and all she can do is curl up on the hallway floor as if it might help her (it won't). ]

« ... Peter—? » [ It comes out like a gasp, even her mental voice trembles. Something small and afraid, but stunned, too. She shakes violently; she's unsure if it's fear or struggling to keep herself mentally intact or both. She can't turn into a Beast, not again. But she knows this is Corruption, this is the bite of the book — and it's consuming her horrendously fast. She has to keep herself together. ]

« Help. »

[ She gags slightly in pain, her eye-teeth elongating to more than twice their length — a sharp ache with the sudden shift. There's a sound, almost like a sob. Don't— not this— please not this. Don't let her turn back into a Beast, not here. She looks up; eyes completely white, shimmering with an eerie iridescent glow. Panic swells in her, something hard and cold and bordering on slipping into icy rage. She can't lose herself, she can't turn, she can't— her voice rises in its urgency and horror, a half-scream that almost sounds like an animal dying: ]

PETER—!!

cw: mention of TWO dead decapitated children!, and panicked demon energy

[possessum]

( There are nightmares in every month, but they come in pieces. Different nightmares, different shapes. Multiple ones over the weeks; so many can fit into one single month.

This month is different. This month is one long nightmare that stretches out and offers no reprieve. No moments of safe wakefulness inbetween the terrors, no little snippets of peace. At least for Peter, that's how it feels.

The mark's burned right into his palm — jagged lines in the shape of an "M." It's clear what it stands for. And he knows why it's there, in his palm. Peter can't touch anything without the scar making contact, a constant reminder of the blood on his hands. His dreams are full of Charlie; she's haunting him relentlessly. He doesn't fight her. He wakes up in the middle of these strained summer nights trying to remember how to breathe, choked and panicked and with cheeks stained with tears, curling up on his side and shutting his eyes to the fresh images of a body in two pieces. The sounds of a hard thud and the squeal of tires.

And Falco's dead. Peter found him, just a couple days ago, somehow, almost as though he was led there. Falco's dead, and the body didn't even seem like his, and his head wasn't there, and Peter knows, he knows this is what he deserves, to find him like that, to hold him like that—

Luna calls his name, thinks it. She sounds small and frightened and Peter's already on alert of her, considering her progressively upset state these days. The odd fear, the paranoia — he's so sensitive to it. He barely feels like himself at all anymore, but at the core of him is his love for her and though for a moment he forgets his name and he forgets her name, Peter's moving down the hall, trying to find the source of the trembling mental cry.

As he draws nearer, he remembers who both of them are, daze turning to horror. 'Help' )

« I'm coming, Luna I'm coming— »

( But where is she—? He's almost running now as he moves through the house, hands clapping hard around doorframes, checking each room. Then she almost screams for him, aloud, and Peter gasps, shuddering, moving towards that pained wail that only slightly sounds like Luna at all.

He finds her— his breath cuts off with a sudden whimpering moan as his eyes grow huge, as his heart goes frozen in his chest. She's— changed; no, she's changing into something he recognises, only this is.... too much, too fast, too wrong. Her Corruption hadn't happened like the last time. It was a gradual thing, slow and drawn-out.

His horror grips him like a vice, it physically hurts, and Peter tilts against the wall as he takes in the foggy-eyed glow of the young woman curled up and twisting into something jagged and sharp. Abruptly the demon within him surges with intense energy; the lights overhead flicker off and on and off and on, the air tightens with an oppressive fizz, a static whir that sounds and feels like an endless swarm of insects. Random objects on a nearby hall table, and then the table itself, are sent flying, crashing against walls and ceiling. )

Luna!!!!

( Peter screams her name over the sound of all of it and moves forwards against the strain of Paimon's own strange, unbearably loud, unbearably alien energy, throat heaving with convulsive gasps. He makes it closer, drops to his own knees beside her. The length of her horns means he can't get too close, that she's too sharp to draw near to, but he's trying.... Something hits the wall right next to his head, almost stunning him. But he's reaching — with a deadly hand, with Murder burned right into his soul. He can't lose her to Beasthood again, and she's in so much pain— )

No, no, no, no— ( He's pleading, eyes filling up with tears. ) I can't lose you, please, stay with me—

cw: wrist injury, more body horror, some magical fuckery on Luna's part

[creidim]

[ She curls up tighter on the floor, the air around her buzzing and loud — the sound of crashing and the lights flicker. She doesn't know if it's him or her doing it, but she doesn't think too hard on that thought — biting back a howl of pain. It hurts. She needs him. She needs him to stop it hurting. But there's little comfort to be found, as he drops down beside her, that he's here with her. She's frightened, and the swift shifting of her body is overwhelming.

Her antlers grow to full size, heavy and sharp and she can barely lift her head anymore between the weight and the searing ache in her head. The hallway around them trembles; as if the very floor itself might give way, the floorboards could shatter beneath them. Pain and panic and fear swirl around her, her magic reacting to her emotion — and it swells, too much. 'I can't lose you, please, stay with me—'

A sharp-taloned hand reaches back for his outstretched one, fingers enclosing on his wrist — nails digging in as she desperately grips it. She yanks at him, insistent, silently pleading. She doesn't mean to hurt him with it, doesn't mean to dig her claws in. ]

Help— [ She stares up at him, glowing eyes huge and sunken — the skin beneath them darkened. ] I don't want to— I don't want tǫ̶͎́ ̴̂̾͜c̷̃͜h̶̪̖̃̂a̴͙͂n̴̨͔̈́g̵̼̭̑͗ẽ̶̛̪͙.̵̰̏̈́͜

[ Her voice shifts eerily, something non-human. The low, biting growl of something beastly. Her hair shifts too; locks of it gathering together and morphing into something distinctly not like hair — strange chunks that writhe all of their own accord, the soft pale blonde colour seeping out of them, shifting to grey.

The transition from Corruption to Beasthood is so easy, too easy. To slip from one state to another. But she's holding on, trying her best to keep herself together. She doesn't want to turn into a Beast, she wants to keep herself intact — she can't do it again. She wants him to make it stop, somehow. If she changes, if she loses herself — what if she hurts him this time? What if she kills him? The thought of it makes her sick and dizzy.

The lights flicker again, the hallway trembles once more. Her grip on him hard enough to draw blood, staining her fingers like blackberries. There's a sharp snarl at him, something dark underneath her pleading and desperation — and yet restrained. It hurts to keep herself together, to keep her mind present. The darkness seems so pleasant and simple to slip into, almost like a siren song. But she's fighting against it, as much as she can. She wants to stay with him. And she clutches desperately at that want.

But the other want in her grows, like a yawning maw. The sensation of blood at her fingertips feeding it, something cold and angry blossoming out. She wants him to hurt, wants to hurt him. She doesn't have long, and she forces herself to wrench her hold off of him. She shouldn't touch him, she can't. ]

M̸̘̳̂͝ă̸̜̹͛ke it st̴̨̧͝o̸̪͍̎̀́p̴̧͙̻͇̱̃̄̓̊͘.

[possessum]

( There's a sharp gasp as Luna reaches for him with a hand that's too, too sharp — a hand that doesn't feel like hers at all. Snatching at him, nails digging in; it does hurt, but he doesn't pull away, not even as his heart starts pounding uncontrollably. He's afraid, he can't help being afraid; he's afraid of the way she looks and sounds, that awful voice that's not much like a voice at all. Something growls up under her, and he's seen for himself what she can become. The bonelike, hollow-eyed thing, glowing with iridescence, growling, then screaming.

But she needs help. She's begging for help, so aware of what's happening to her. She won't be for long. Peter knows that, not at the rate she's changing. Soon, she won't know what she's doing at all. Soon, she'll—

—He has to save her before it happens.

But there's no time to call anyone who could potentially help with this. Not Ange or John (...no, John isn't here anymore), not Kyle (...Kyle's gone too.) Peter's panic is surging, rendering him motionless for a moment that feels longer than it truly is, crouched there beside her in his stun. He doesn't even realise he's bleeding until he smells the strange, particular odor of his blood and looks down in alarm, catching sight of glittering black.

The lights are flickering and things are moving, energy's surging, oppressive and almost unbearable; surely it can't all be from Paimon — it's a mixture of them both maybe, of demon and witch. Her hair's moving like it's alive. Her eyes are— barely Luna's eyes anymore. Luna begs him to make it stop and lets go of his arm.

Suddenly, he knows what to do.

Not explicitly — he doesn't know what the outcome's going to be. Doesn't even know where he's going, only that he knows to stand up. As he's getting up his other hand reaches for her, awkwardly finding its way around huge antlers, barely able to graze a cheekbone, but he feels his fingertips make contact for a second. )

It's okay, wait here— I'm going to save you.

( Peter's running then, scrambling quickly back into her Potions Room. It's not a place he's been to very often himself; it's a space for magic, ancient things and studies. It's a place for Paimon to share with Luna, not Peter.

But he knows exactly where to go, somehow. Because the demon within him knows. Can feel it, an immense power emanating from something special that Luna's been keeping for a while, now. A power that feels like his witch's, and yet something else, too. It's of the moon. It's the Being that his witch is so connected to. Paimon fills the spaces of his vessel up with this knowledge, makes it inherent. Paimon reaches for the stone, and Peter's fingers close around it. Paimon feels the thrum of power in his palm, and Peter gives a soft hush of awe. The Being of the Moon can help her.

Then they're returning to her, dripping blood in little spots along the hall, kneeling back down, and Peter finds her hands again. Grabs them both and places the stone between her palms. The demon helps him. )

Witch, ( Paimon breathes in a soft, swirling hiss as he tries to find her, and then Peter, voice an emotional swell, tries to keep her— )

I'm here with you.

Thunderstorms

[onekindsoul]

[Luna isn't the only one caught out in the rain today. Ruby can't help but give a light shriek and yelp as the winds start blowing something fierce. Her large white cloak only provides so much protection as she finds it quickly soaked through.

It's only once she's been thoroughly drenched that she hears Luna's call to safety and she quickly makes a mad dash for the dry reprieve.

She gives a flash of a smile as she starts trying to wring out her cloak.]

Oh hey- Fancy seeing you here, Luna!

[creidim]

[ Ouch, poor Ruby. Luna winces in sympathy. She looks an awful state being caught out like that. Luna managed to find shelter before the rain really hit; small mercies. But who knows how long the storm's going to last — the sky's never looked so angry. ]

Hello, Ruby. Some weather for summer, isn't it?

[ She draws her wand, nodding towards her cloak. The least she can do is offer to help dry her off. It's miserable waiting around soaked through. ]

Would you like a hand with that?

[onekindsoul]

[It takes Ruby a moment get herself together but with her longer hair she looks like a wet and miserable cat. The casing on her mechanical eye briefly opens to let some water drain out before closing again.]

Yeah- Jeez I never thought I'd miss the dome Mother Superior dumped on us the other year- Or the whole desert thing before the dream collapsed, but here I am.

[She is joking of course but she'll take it. SHe kind of lifts up her cloak as water pours off it more than drips.]

Yeah... I could probably use a hand.

[creidim]

Mm, I think I might prefer a dryer heat for definite. Although we still got the awful damp heat in the August. It's terribly suffocating. [ There's a little movement of her wand and she utters a quiet incantation for a drying charm, warm air blowing from the tip. With that, she starts magically blow-drying Ruby off. Until her expression shift into a wince. ]

... I realise warm air isn't exactly the best thing right now, but at least you'll be dry.

[ It's too hot for this, even if it is currently raining. At least it doesn't take long, small mercies? ]

Although I thought a good storm might clear the air..?

[schoolingfish]

[Luca was out when he got caught in one of the thunderstorms. His heart races at first, still not completely over the complete panic of turning into a sea monster on land, but he reminds himself it doesn't matter here. No one cares here. Still, he rushes under the nearest cover hoping to dry himself off and change back, when he notices the other person hiding under the same doorway he's just ducked into.]

Um. Hi.

[He watches her closely, gauging her reaction.]

[creidim]

[ In truth, Luna's met all sorts. It's perhaps one of the things she likes best about Deerington and Trench — getting to come across lots of different people. But still she's often surprised; even if she's met all sorts, there's plenty of people she's yet to even met.

Which is why she's staring at the curious-looking boy who joins her as she shelters from the storm in open surprise. It's not a horrified surprise, though. Not at all. More of a pleasant surprise, like she might have at in wonder at meeting something new. ]

.... Oh—! Hello—! [ Her eyes light up, this is very exciting—! ] What manner of being are you?

[ Ah, tact. What is that? ]

[schoolingfish]

[Sure, she might not have a lot of tact, but that response was still worlds better than the 'panic and threaten with a harpoon' response he was afraid of.]

I'm sea folk. I can usually disguise myself as human, but with all the rain I kind of...changed back.

[creidim]

[ There's no use beating around the bush, Luna finds it's terribly counter-productive. But no, there'll be no panic or threats with harpoons here. ]

Oh, I've heard of that. Sort of. We have Merpeople, back home! [ Although they're in the lake rather in the sea. Maybe they're a kind of cousin to one another? Her eyes glance up towards the skies, and the downpour before she frowns in sympathy. ]

I'm sorry. That must be terribly inconvenient for you at times. You can change back to your disguise again, yes?

johnny | eye for an eye

[creidim]

[ In truth, Luna had actually meant it when she'd said she wasn't interested in seeking revenge. Cycles of violence and vengeance are not things she wants to get involved in, because there's never an idea of when they'll ever stop. And perhaps it had been punishment enough when Paimon had lashed out to protect Peter; he could have killed them both. Perhaps it was best to leave it there.

But The Reckoning is here, and it pulls at something in her, twists her thoughts: no, why should he be left alone after that? And it's a thought that gnaws away at her for too long. He kidnapped her boyfriend, wrongfully so, terrorized him. He should pay for it.

However, she'll be doing things properly. She's not going to do anything to him, but perhaps it'll be a fitting punishment to leave him out alone in the Trenchwood. And as soon as she has her moment, she takes it — stunning Johnny Lawrence in broad daylight and magically floating him out a little walk out into the woods. And while it may get some stares, the Reckoning won't come for her. The Patron knows her intentions, righting a wrong against her.

Once she's out deep enough, she conjures ropes to bind him tight to a tree. He'll not get out of them himself, someone will need to help him (if he's lucky). Happy enough he's not going anywhere, Luna raises her wand — pointing it directly at him as she utters a counter-spell to knocking him out. ]

Rennervate.

[ There's a soft flash of red light that hits him. He'll slowly come around, and she'll be sitting on a nearby tree stump patiently waiting — a serene smile on her face. Well, of course she's going to let him know why he's here before she leaves. What's the point of a punishment if you don't learn a lesson? ]

[strikefirster]

[This wasn't Johnny's first rodeo when it came to being knocked out. But he usually could figure out what had done it, whether he was drunk, in a fight, or a combination of the two.

But... the red light hits him and he groans all the same. There's a moment where he tries to reach up and block the light but he finds his arms trapped and they barely budge. He turns his head away from the light before opening his eyes.]

The fuck is going on?

[He turns his head and vaguely manages to make out Luna from behind the light.

There's a moment where he looks over the ropes and his current situation and it dawns on him.]

Oh. It's you.

[If it isn't the consequences of his actions coming back to haunt him.

He surprisingly doesn't seem as bothered or upset about this as one normally might expect from him. There's a brief moment where he flexes to test the bindings but it tells him about all he needs to know about his predicament. It's going to take some time to get out.]

[creidim]

[ Luna watches him quietly as he comes round. She's angry, of course she is. But she's getting her payment, and perhaps it's why she appears to be in such a good mood. She raises a hand to wave at him cheerfully. ]

It's me, hello. [ She pushes herself up off the tree stump. ] Oh, I wouldn't really bother. You're not getting out of those yourself.

[ She wiggles her wand at him with raised eyebrows before she continues with an easy conversational tone. Yes, this is very much the consequences of your actions coming to haunt him. ]

So, I was thinking... as much as I didn't want to continue endless cycles of violence and vengeance— [ She twirls her pointer fingers in front of her in circles, mimicking the motion of one's feet when they peddle a bicycle. ] I'm afraid I couldn't let this one go.

You should've left Peter alone.

wildcard | soft times babysitting the little girl inside your bf

[possessum]

( The month is a strange one, hot and fraught with a rising tension. Something's building, something sharp and angry and unforgiving. Perhaps everyone can feel it, even if they can't all fully understand what's happening. What's to come.

And through it, something's been made wrong. A shift to the energy of this place, to the forces of life and death — to its rebirth. Some that die will come back incorrect. Restless souls bubble and spill over and out. Quiet ghosts slip up through the cracks in the floorboards, whispering along dark hallways. Those with abilities linked or sensitive to such things might find themselves affected.

Peter isn't aware that he has been, too. That what was made wrong in this place due to a black-eyed entity that only might be a man, has reached into what's so lost and strange within himself. Things are coaxed from deep down inside of him where they've been tucked away — a pair of eyes that were once blue, opening at times over the past couple of years to take glimpses here and there, but never for long. Never in a capacity that was lasting, or able to truly comprehend. At times, blending with the demon. At times, someone else entirely. Always just a whisper of the little girl who was never only a little girl at all.

It's afternoon, and the sun hangs low in the sky. The slowly-approaching day's end offers little comfort from the heat, though Luna's home is a sanctuary of magic. The rooms are cool, the air less heavy here inside than outside its walls where an oppressive layer of heat drapes over Trench like a blanket.

Peter's draped languidly over his bed, scrolling through his Omni. There's a comfort to a lazy summer afternoon, even with the sharp edge of something tense and irritated that seems to be pressed up under his skin these days.

It happens quietly, the way it sometimes does with the demon when he's not wrenching his way up and out more violently. There's a slow pause that gradually halts the movements of Peter's fingers against his Omni screen. It halts everything; he's half-lidded and staring straight ahead. His chest slows to the point he's almost unbreathing, stagnant. He's unaware of it happening at all.

And after a few strange, still moments, he's gone. What's "Peter" fades softly away, and the demon fades away with him, this time. Someone else stirs instead, and the eyes slowly become lucid again. Someone else peers out.

The lithe body sits up, the Omni slipping from a hand and onto the bed with a soft sound. The person barely reacts to this, simply looks the slightest startled as the pair of eyes take in the strange-looking object. Then she's looking slowly around the room instead. It has Peter's things — a guitar propped against the wall, a keyboard, a telescope, records and clothes on the floor. But it isn't Peter's room. Not the one she remembers.

Something to that — the odd blend of familiarity and wrongness — unsettles her in a particular way. She's slowly getting off from the bed, movements stiff. She's standing there staring as she looks around, barely turning her head, only her eyes. She gives a soft cluck of her tongue, and then in intervals: another, and another. She spends a long time standing there in the middle of this odd version of her brother's room, and then she's slowly moving out of the door and into the hallway.

....This isn't her house, huge and sprawling, with its old wood and dusty corners. This is... different. Somewhere different. She can't know she's a ghost haunting someone else's home. She can only know that she doesn't belong here, and that she doesn't know why she's here at all.

Her nostrils flare slightly: a quiet, unassuming sign of distress. Her fingers come up to her chest, shoulders hunched slightly upwards. She follows a hall and stairs down to the ground floor, towards a living room area.

The sounds she makes are louder now, harsher. Pops of her tongue that break the silence as she stands completely unmoving, except for her eyes, which slowly continue to take in her surroundings with a growing upset. The shape of the room she's looking into is the wrong shape. Looks, smells, feels, different.

Charlie stands there, holds herself drawn inwards like a small animal trying to keep itself hidden. A bird with its wings tucked in. She's afraid— lost. )

[creidim]

[ Here is a quiet moment in an otherwise strained month. Luna's felt her own restlessness, mixed with the irritable mood that's found its way into their home. And of course there's plenty enough going on over the past few weeks to certainly push her sour mood further. But for now she can enjoy a somewhat peaceful afternoon on one of the sofas in the living room.

She lounges across the sofa cushions with a book propped on her thighs, listening to one of the latest playlists Peter'd put together for her on her Omni through her headphones. Her expression deep in focus, mouth silently mouthing along to the words of the songs here and there, unaware of the world around her. It's only with the brief gap in between songs, the silence that comes before the next song begins, that she realises she's not alone. The soft sound, familiar — heard plenty of times before: cluck.

She startles slightly; turns her head in the sounds direction, a hand reaching up to pull the earphones out. The shape of Peter falls into her peripheral and she sits up, peering over the edge of the top of the shoulder up at him. Her first guess is Paimon rather than Peter, going by the cluck-sound. A soft smile forms at her mouth, apologetic for not noticing sooner — but holding that usual gentle cheer of when he comes and seeks her out. ]

Hello. [ But it soon slips from her lips when she takes him in properly. Something feels... off. Looks off. Her brows into a quiet, questioning frown. Paimon can sometimes have his moments when he's... sombre. But this.. this isn't it. Not with the way he's hold himself. He seems... lost. Unsure. Luna inhales softly, staring at him for a long moment. Worry fills her stomach: did something happen? ]

... Are you alright? What's wrong?

[possessum]

( She hadn't realised someone was there. There's a soft twitch of awareness, and an awkward, heavy shuffle to the side. Already-wide eyes stretch open further, and she catches sight of a flash of pale blonde before staring pointedly down at the tops of her shoes. She looks like she's been caught doing something wrong: her displacement worn painfully visibly. She's not supposed to be here.

...Though it isn't the first time she's wandered somewhere strange. Followed some quiet impulse within, or some flickering coaxing from outside of herself. Sometimes it's as if a path's been forged for her, and she's just meant to follow it. Sometimes she feels a tickle at her peripheral, and a nudge whispers under her own breath to follow. But where is it leading her to? She never knows.

She ended up somewhere strange again, it seems. Charlie's refusing to answer at first, eyes wide and unblinking as she also refuses to look up.

....Only..... the voice. The voice that speaks to her. It's soft, feminine, lilted with a very prominent accent. It reminds her of the way the windchimes outside sound when the breeze hits them just barely. Quiet and tinkling; she likes the way it sounds.

And more than that, it's.... familiar. Has she heard this voice before...? Charlie exhales very softly, and slowly, slowly, her eyes ease upwards, practically dragging themselves. Anxiety mixed with shyness has her shuddering a little, but then she sees the pair of pale eyes, grey like soft clouds before it rains.

Her own pair lock on to the girl's face, staring at her with some odd mixture: there's a lack of true recognition, but... something searching, too. Has she dreamed about this girl? )

Um. ( She doesn't know that her voice is still Peter's — albeit even softer than his usual tones, and weighted, mumbly, lips barely moving as she confesses that she's lost. )

I don't know where I am. ( A weighted pause, and she's fidgeting. Not wanting to speak again, but after a moment, said breathlessly— )

Is this your house?

wildcard | dinner table tension

[possessum]

( Usually, no matter how strange and harrowing the months may be, falling back to routine helps. Having a routine to fall back to. But as the days pass by, Peter finds that a restlessness persists, and something needling deep in the pit of him — quietly at first, then becoming more and more demanding. Some underlying irritation that scratches its way out with each passing day. It could be attributed to many things; there are many irritations, in fact. His patience wears thin over the smallest things. Still, he keeps certain things swallowed down. Goes through the routines.

But it's building, and as evening sets in and he's setting the table, Peter finds a certain tightness in his jaw, a stiffness in the movements of his fingers. It's been another long, hot day, another day where the hours seem to crawl by, another day where he's felt more like being alone than sharing space with anyone at all. Another day where that uncomfortable, irritated twinge in his gut has had time to fester. Some of the odd annoyance doesn't have a true shape, a cause to justify it, but some of it does. And there's something in particular that started out being a hurt feeling and slowly started to transition into an angry one. A certain annoyance aimed at the fact Luna's going on with those routines, going on with her days, after what happened with Johnny in the woods. Like it's nothing — like his concerns, worries, fears, are stupid and he's just some weak pathetic person whose role is to worry about her as she engages in all these dangerous things, and of course Paimon was happy about it, glowing warm with pride of her—

For as long as it can be, it's kept quietly to himself. Peter sets the table and washes his hands and then sits down — but his shoulders are stiff and his body language is strange. She hasn't even noticed his upset, has she. Or worse — she did notice it, because how could she not, with how worried he was after she returned home? So it's just that it's not a big deal to her. Of course it isn't. Everyone's used to him being worried. Everyone sees him like he's just some stupid, nervous wreck.

He's staring down at his plate in silence. Not eating. Not doing anything, his hands just remaining down in his lap. )

[creidim]

[ She's noticed. Of course she has. But she's been far too preoccupied in her thoughts to do much about Peter's mood; there's far more things prickling at her mind. She's still sore over losing her fight with the one she knows as the Black-Eyed Thing, how he forced himself inside her, into her limbs, her muscles — controlled her actions, and she could do nothing but watch. And that horrible cursed book, the fact Mariana rages on, everything that's heaped itself onto her plate. She's been in an incredibly foul mood, herself.

It's not to say she doesn't care; she did it because she cares. Peter's reaction had been frustrating when she'd returned home after what happened. She'd dismissed it. She didn't want to hear his concerns, his worries — it's fine. Everything will be fine. She'd acted because payment had been called for. It isn't as if she killed him herself, merely enacted 'eye for an eye'. She knows Peter's upset with her, less than thrilled over what she'd done to Johnny despite the fact it had been done for him. To make Johnny never lays another hand on him again.

And at least someone had been grateful.

She toys with the food on her plate, distracted with her thoughts. It's a morose kind of silence from her, a bite here and there. She's not ignorant to the stillness opposite her, her eyes flicking up from her plate to watch Peter for a long moment before she glances back down at her food. ]

You're not eating. [ Stating the obvious, she chews her mouthful and swallows. There's a long silence from her as she stares down at her food before she utters a heavy exhale: is he still upset with her, days after? Her tone's a little cool. ]

... Are you going to say anything? Or are you going to sit there and stare until your food goes cold?

[possessum]

( He's still just sitting there, listening to the occasional clink of Luna's cutlery against her plate, trying to ignore the way each sound makes something prickle uncomfortably against his nerves. He wishes he'd just opted to skip dinner altogether, said he was sick and just stayed up in his room. But now he's stuck here in the kind of atmosphere that's the worst for him, one that's tense and uncomfortable, with a certain kind of pressure building.

Then he feels Luna's eyes on him, silently staring. Peter still doesn't look up, but his frown curls downwards, tightening his features. The knot in his stomach tightens too, and then come her words. 'You're not eating.'

He keeps his mouth tight, lips pressed together, eyes obstinately locked downwards. It isn't until Luna's next, cool-toned words, that the boy finally responds, and it's via a scoff — not at all hiding the irritation within it. )

No, I'm not eating, and no, I don't want to say anything.

( Peter's voice isn't loud, but it's sharp around the edges in a way that it very rarely is. A way that he's certainly never spoken to Luna with, before. There's a clear snap to his tone, and he lets that hang in the air for a moment. He feels his lip curling, expression souring, and he lets it. Lets his gaze roll upwards to finally look at her. There's something that's more angry than hurt in his dark eyes, and they're sharp, cutting. What he says almost sounds more like an insult of her than a complaint from himself. )

It's not like you'd want to hear anything I have to say anyway.