facethewolves: (Default)
[personal profile] facethewolves
If you want a prompt, PM me or hit me up at [plurk.com profile] notverywool!
reticence: (modern looking up)
[personal profile] reticence




What it says on the tin! Want to do something that I haven't written a prompt for! Either run it by me first if you like or just GO FOR IT!! c:
occultdisciple: (Default)
[personal profile] occultdisciple
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,
March 18th
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, )

And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
March 19th
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, )

Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
March 20th
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, )

No son of mine succeeding.
No son of mine succeeding. )
reticence: (sigh)
[personal profile] reticence



Have another idea? Feel free to go for it and/or plot it out with me via PM/PP at [plurk.com profile] lycanthropy101! c:
thelittlemerman: (smile//thanks caesar)
[personal profile] thelittlemerman

[With new lords come new excuses to party.]

[Some time on the 19th, the fae stage a takeover of the club fabric in Smithfield. Invitations are sent out to all the fae in London, touting the glorious coming out of the Lords of Rivers and Illusions, Seelie and Unseelie respectively. It's one of those times where fae of both courts just want an excuse to throw a party, and the invitation is all the notice said new lords get that they are going to be guests of honour.]

[It's a typical fae affair; the magic is heavy in all three rooms, one of which is decorated like a ballroom in Other Realm fashion. The food and drink served at the bar remains untouched by fae charms, but the fae presence itself seems to be intoxicating. Some of the activities happening in dark corners seem to be a little beyond what's regularly allowed at any reputable nightclub, but don't pay attention to that just enjoy the party.]

[If you manage to cause any trouble, a team of large fae is here to escort you out. You may have seen them faithfully guarding the door, sniffing out those who may want to cause harm to the high concentration of fae inside. Vampires can be let through if they have a fae companion with them, and otherwise all types of humans and supernatural alike are allowed in.]

[The party goes on for precisely 72 hours, and on the 22nd the party winds down and mysteriously disappears. The club is left a little cleaner than when it started, the staff left completely befuddled about what just occurred.] (x)
knightscode: Kicked puppyeyes (♠39)
[personal profile] knightscode
i) The Build up [ Locked to Faolan ]

It spoke as if I wasn't me )

ii) The Jail Bird

Sort of like a changeling )

iii) The Free Bird [ Pick a location to meet the fae! ]

It acted and spoke the part )

iv) The Chase [ Late on Wednesday onward ]

But her essence it couldn't sing )

[ ooc; Plot details here if you missed it! ]
youronlylaw: (vunerable)
[personal profile] youronlylaw
A) Pre-trial

Read More )

B) Day of Trial

Read More )

C) In Shock

Read More )

D) At Scotland Yard - for Lord Coward

Read More )

E) Home

Read More )
thelittlemerman: (Default)
[personal profile] thelittlemerman

The lead up to the claim is deceptively quiet. Although he already knows that most of the would-be interested parties will have their eyes on Croydon come the 8th, Finnick still doesn't want to attract any undue attention. He's quiet as he pokes around the borough, identifying places where he and his group might visit and checking for any large gatherings of Daybreak witches or vampires that might resist them. He's unarmed while he does this, knowing that a trident would attract all that undue attention he doesn't want, so he's ready to open a door and flee in the face of trouble.


When it's time, Finnick gathers his group and they start in the south of Havering, opening doors for allies to walk in and out of as they start visiting supernatural communities in the borough. They stop in any known meeting places along with anywhere they can sense a significant magical presence - a witch or two in an apartment won't draw them, but a dozen werewolves camped out in some basement brings them knocking. Every time they meet with someone, Finnick gently explains the situation: the fae are claiming this territory and nothing has to change, as long as no one tries to attack any fae.

The trident strapped to Finnick's back is ever present - a quiet threat of what may happen if anyone tries to object. He slips in and out of shadows when there are humans present so as not to draw attention, but in the empty streets he walks freely, towing his group behind him or letting them spread throughout the borough without him. He's mostly here to oversee, after all, and he'll appear at a moment's notice if any of his Seelie fae are attacked.


Finnick is a man of his word, and come morning little has changed in the territory. Fae have started moving in (many pre-emptively from Croydon), and a number of doors have been left open for the faery folk to walk freely in and out of the Other Realm. Finnick has found himself a spot near the window of a cafe, still easily found by any fae that may need him, but he's also making sure he's present in case any other factions decide they don't like what's happened. He stays there a few hours, ordering a couple coffees and a sandwich once lunchtime comes around. Waiting for signs of trouble and news of Croydon.

[OOC: As discussed, this is a quiet claim because of the hand-off happening the same night in Croydon, but if you want to make a top-level for yourself go ahead! Alternatively hit me up on plurk or on the plotting post if you want a more specific prompt!]
broiling: fonobi (09: punch u)
[personal profile] broiling
A: Tea Shop

It was mid afternoon and Zuko found himself hanging little pumpkin lanterns in the window of the Jasmine Dragon. His boss said it was good for tourist, to get them in the Halloween spirit while they were away from America. Zuko was just thankful it wasn't tiny witch's hats. Nothing like insulting any supernatural guests that found themselves stumbling into the quaint little tea shop. And from what Zuko knew witches tended to be a proud lot. Not that he could mention any of this to his very normal human boss.

There was a jangling at the store front door and Zuko looked down from the step ladder he was balancing on to whatever guest just entered. Immediately he could tell someone from a faction had just walked in. He slowly lowered himself back down on to the floor ready for a tense conversation of him skirting around his own affiliations.

"How can I help you?"

B: Streets At Night

It had been a long day and the only thing on Zuko's mind was crashing in bed and not moving for several hours. However, he was becoming aware of another set of footsteps following his own down the mostly deserted street. He took a sharp turn to his right and listened. Definitely following. He waited until the person rounded the corner after him before he conjured a fireball and blasted it in their direction.

"Stop following me," he bellowed.

C: Hillingdon House

Not matter how many times he came here he always ended up feeling like a stranger. It wasn't too long ago he found himself here, a drifter in need of help and the clan had extended a hand. It was grounding and Zuko was always thankful for anything that showed him what path to lead. He just wished he could feel more comfortable talking to his fellow clansman. It was a problem that stemmed from him and he knew it. There was only one way over that particular hurdle, so he stopped by someone who seemed free and waved a little.

"Hey," Zuko said, "Can I ask you a question? Say you were avoiding someone for a long time, because you weren't sure if they'd want to know you anymore. Things were complicated. But then you ran into them. What would you do? Would you pretend nothing happened and try to build a relationship, or would you try to avoid them?"

He really wished his uncle was here. He was always brimming with confusing, but good advice. A stranger would have to do for now.
whatmatters: (chess)
[personal profile] whatmatters

Ringer didn't particularly frequent the House. It was the sort of destination she only recalled when she needed something, be that information, work, or a random need to connect with something beyond her own life. University and her private hunting kept her busy often enough that it could be isolating at times and while she wasn't one to mind the time to herself, the girl knew that she stood a better chance of survival if she had more allies. Besides, sometimes it was nice to spend time with people who could hold a conversation about vampires, witches, and the other allegedly fictitious creatures of the night.

She ran a hand through her hair, a perfunctory gesture to push it out of her face, and took a seat off to the side by the wall. One of the counselors at her old school said she would probably continue to want her back to a wall for quite some time, called it Post Traumatic Stress. The woman may have been right. Ringer considered it a logical and safer choice in places that might be less than friendly. Still, she had taken to talking to strangers and acquaintances alike, trying to follow that whole 'no man is an island' practice. For that reason, she glanced up to the person who seemed unoccupied and offered a simple, "Hey."


Ringer was an intelligent person. Unfortunately, she was also fairly new at this whole hunting thing and made more mistakes than she'd care to acknowledge. When she came upon a dead body in central vampire territory, it never occurred to her that it would be anything other than a supernatural death and supernatural creatures to deal with. Crouching over the body, she turned the young woman's head and pushed her hair back, examining her neck for the telltale injury. Except there wasn't one. Turning the body over completely, she found the mark instead on the woman's breast and rolled her eyes at the cliche, gloved fingers tugging the clothing to cover in a more chaste fashion.

It wasn't until she heard sirens suddenly roar to life not far away, her black gloves covered in blood, that it occurred to her how bad this might look. She stood from the body, frozen with momentary panic, wondering if she should stay and admit to finding the body or if she should bolt and hope there were no witnesses to her presence here.


The London Library was known for its vast resources, one of the largest such public institutions in the whole of the country. It was here that Ringer went to conduct her latest research, seated at one of the many long tables and absorbed in her own world despite the people wandering by. At least she had the table to herself at present.

It was a two birds with one stone kind of day, her homework from uni scattered in front of her with her laptop to the right, while the research she had yet to do stood in stacks both on her left and in the center of the table. She was nearly finished studying for her exam on psychology, at which point she could switch to studying the horde of archive clippings on mass deaths from the London area stretching back the last 20 or so years.

Unless, of course, someone decided to interrupt.
specifiercity: (Default)
[personal profile] specifiercity
WHEN: OCT 23-25
WHAT: haunting in the suburbs

The ghost of a girl haunts an old house in the suburbs. For unknown reasons, she has recently become violent. And she may have a connection with you or someone you know.

[Thread starters below! If you have any questions or want a particular thread, hit me up at [plurk.com profile] dreamalittlebigger!]
whatmatters: (okay zombie)
[personal profile] whatmatters
Read more... )

Read more... )

Read more... )

[Or feel free to make your own!]
emotioneater: (Profile)
[personal profile] emotioneater
A Day

If anyone is up on current popular forms of social media, they’ll have noticed a certain trending topic on Instagram. Several pictures of two men beaten up and lashed to a lamppost have been making the rounds. If not for various injuries, one could almost mistake it for a frat house initiation hijink. Those knowing the signs will recognize several of their injuries as vampire bite marks. What makes the pictures quite extraordinary is that the two men are hunters. In another photo, there’s a picture of an unconscious female hunter also beaten to a pulp. While whoever took the photos is nowhere to be found in frame, he’s left several taunting messages at the bottom of each one. “Hillingdon: 0. Me: 3.” reads one. “All hail the mighty Hillingdon hunters,” reads another.

Cooper’s busy looking them over for about the fiftieth time, snickering as he does so. He’s sitting out on a park bench, taking advantage of his temporary immunity from the sun in a T-shirt and shorts. Anyone who gets close to him will notice the dilated pupils and disheveled look he has. He can’t remember the last time he slept. Not that he needs to, hyped up like he is on the fae blood. He glances down at his phone, flipping to another picture, letting out a cackle as he does so.

B Evening

The restless energy he can’t seem to shake hasn’t left him by the time the sun starts to set. There’s only one thing to do. He pulls his little BSA M20 out of the garage and takes it out for a spin. Cooper speeds recklessly all over the city, letting his energy get left far behind as the wind whips past his motorcycle. There’s nothing that soothes his mind like riding around.

Maybe you’re scrambling to make your way across the street just as he comes to a noisy, screeching halt. Maybe he spots you on the other side of the street and recklessly pulls a U-turn so that he can pull up next to where you are. Maybe he’s idling at the curb, waiting for you to come out of a shop after catching your scent. Any way you look at it, there’s a vampire sitting on top of a motorcycle who’s taken quite the interest in you.

C Night

Long after the last light has faded from the sky, Cooper knows he needs to feed. The problem is that he’s not craving human blood tonight. After accidentally tasting Will’s blood, all he can think about is fae blood. He resists the urges as long as he can. Alas, eventually, his will crumbles. He takes to the streets, stalking his prey. What he wants most of all is going to be hard to find, but in his current strung-out state, he’ll take anything and everything he can get.

Skulking down alleyways and climbing over rooftops, he’s not the perfect silent predator he usually is. People that he’s following will feel a prickle on the back of their necks, some sixth sense warning them that somebody is watching them. If they aren’t careful, he’ll strike them down and feed without pity.

D Wildcard

Want something different? We can do it!
entitles: (Default)
[personal profile] entitles
[Catch all post for these three events! Please reply to the appropriate header below.]
warmheartedly: (a bout of internal screaming;)
[personal profile] warmheartedly

You may then know, more or less, the incident of her granddaughter getting kidnapped by the vampires. It distressed her but she's fine. Honest to goodness she's fine.

It's normal for her to worry for people she cares for. It's pretty normal for her to think of all the worst case scenarios some of them could find themselves in due to their personalities/their histories/their everything.

It's very normal for her to suddenly check on them one day out of the blue, just appearing next to them without a warning or a heads up.

"Are you okay?"

She's totally calmed down about the incident last month. Really.


What do you mean by that?

Now you do as she suddenly phases through the wall and looks directly at you during her search for everyone she knows.

It doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. It doesn't matter if there are people there or you're supposed to be by yourself. Suddenly you have a woman staring at you in confusion for a second before it registers in her head that no. You're not someone she knows through passing.

"Um. Oops."

[ OOC: Or make your own scenario in your comment! Prose and brackets welcomed! ]

acrookedchild: (He found a crooked sixpence)
[personal profile] acrookedchild
Miss Abigail Widdowson cordially invites you to Geap Manor on Wednesday, July 1st at 19:00.

Food, drinks, and music will be provided.

All are welcome, but individuals are to be aware that any hostilities during the evening's festivities will not be tolerated.

It is the first time in at least a generation that the doors of Geap Manor have been opened to the general population. Or, at least, as general as the supernatural community could be considered. Some invitiations were made personally, but most were formally sent to the higher ranking members of the various factions.

Dinner is announced precisely at 19:30. The small, intimate eating area for the family has been turned into a buffet room. The caterers Abigail hired have obviously been paid well to make sure there is something for everyone. Rich meat dishes, hearty vegetarian dishes, light fish dishes, plenty of accompaniments and finger food. There is also plenty of fairly fresh blood for vampires. For the others, there are wines, water, and tea available.

The grand dining room has had its large table removed, replaced, instead, by small tables that can comfortably hold four. They can, of course, be pushed together to allow for more room.

The ballroom is open to the guests, and the DJ has also been highly paid to make sure the music played is precisely to the hostess's tastes. There is plenty of modern music, good for dancing, as well as older classics. However, interspersed are classical pieces meant for waltzes and foxtrots and other such ballroom dances.

In the sitting room is a drink cart with wine, tea, water, and blood. Chairs and divans are available, as the room is a quiet place, a little away from the ballroom, so conversation can be had with ease. There is an unlit fireplace, and a portrait of Abigail a few years younger than she is now hangs above it.

Most of the rest of the house is locked. One can wander the hallways, but it may prove ultimately fruitless. One who simply walks up the stairways will find the walls of each lined with the Widdowson family portraits of every generation, starting with one of a ten-year-old Abby, her parents, and her six-year-old brother. As one takes in all the paintings, a pattern presents itself. Every Widdowson woman featured is pale, thin, and blonde.

The grounds are beautifully maintained and fenced in by wrought iron on top of stone. A very traditional look for such an imposing manor. On the path from the street to the house, there's little remarkable, save the knocker on the door. Behind the house, however, if one ventures away, one might get the keen sense of something from inside the house watching, waiting, and hungering. On the ground floor, the locked rooms are mostly unremarkable, save for the study at the back of the house. Linger too long near there, and one might hear a sound coming in a pattering set. It isn't a knock against the door, no. Instead, it is the sound of something hitting the wall. If someone were to force their way into the nursery on the second floor or the attic several stories up... Well. They likely won't be coming back to the party. Or to anything.

Wandering, of course, isn't a suggested enterprise. The old house doesn't like people poking around and trying to find its secrets.

(Everyone who has at least a familiarity with the supernatural is welcome, as the invitations were distributed widely. Mingle, make your own top comments, enjoy the food, etc!)
looksatkings: (1)
[personal profile] looksatkings
1. Arrival in London - Open

Arrival in London )

2. At the Unseelie Court - Closed to Court members

At the Unseelie Court )

3. Taking in the local culture

Taking in the local culture )

4. Wildcard!
viduation: (Default)
[personal profile] viduation
[ creature of the night he may be, Derek's life is far from nocturnal. admittedly, this is partially because he sleeps less than he probably ought to, especially these days. however, it's also because even in London, there are places that aren't 24/7. yet. a bank. a decent mechanic. somewhere that sells smores flavoured pop tarts. combined with his own restlessness, and a sense that he still doesn't quite belong, Derek is unable to hang around at the den all day.

when he's out, he's watchful. even on the streets of the city centre, Derek has come to learn that he can't afford to overlook anything. perhaps it's an inhuman kind of scent that has his gaze catching, lingering, or perhaps a face he recognizes from the Redbright ball has him staring in heavy, curious scrutiny. maybe he simply has to squeeze past the same PETA collector on the street, muttering something about no goddamn escape. ]
[ after the sun sets, Derek retreats to his own territory. generally speaking, he's not looking for a fight, and lurking around other areas of London at night is sometimes as much a provocation as is necessary. he keeps to the east end, hemming along every county line like a sentry, watching - waiting, maybe - for any suggestion that things are not as they should be on his turf. his. he'd never considered it in those terms when he'd been following Laura's lead, when there had been another alpha running things. aside from an inherent wolfish sense of territory, he'd felt little investment. now, his position has changed, but the disconnect here lingers. in the wake of his own hasty decision making, he still feels like he's standing in. that only makes him all the more tense.

and all the more eager to work. he covers a surprising amount of distance on foot, keeps his ear to the ground to keep track of what's going on. maybe it's quiet. maybe it's not. but he stays out late.

if, on his unofficial patrol, he comes across something or someone that seems like they shouldn't be here - well, Derek follows. ]
( catch all! feel free to tag in with your own starter - just give me a heads up if you're looking for anything in particular - or let me know if you'd like a specific heading! 8] )


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