TEST DRIVE MEME 003

[rubimods]

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:

Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.

THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: characters arriving in September's application round will arrive in the midst of a two-part event that will continue through October. Players may date their character's arrival any time from September 8th onward.

CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: disorientation, loss of direction, hallucinations, time distortion/lost time, aphrodisiacs, group sex, dubious consent, cannibalism and cannibalistic urges, spiders, bondage/restraint, loss of autonomy, body horror, sadism, torture, cult behavior, assault, arson, caging, free use, and public sex.

If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.

FAQ ✧ SETTING ✧ CALENDAR ✧ RESERVES ✧ APPLICATIONS

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin.

Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.

The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards emerging from a temporary retreat from the wintry weather. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, is running actively again as the weather warms back up from the recent snowstorm.

You may start out alone, or among others sharing stories just like yours, or you may run into others who are fully clothed and ready for a strange expedition ...

LOST WOODS:

The expedition party made their way into the woods on September 14th expecting a direct route to the Void. Instead, they've found themselves lost and disoriented.

Their navigational tools seem useless, leading them around in circles as ancient trees, caves, water sources, and other reliable landmarks do not align with the maps. Trees seem to move — didn't you see that exact deer drinking from the brook a quarter mile ago? The ever-changing and impenetrable maze of the woods may separate characters from one another, or get them so lost that they wind up back at the edge of the wood, staring at castle walls or farmlands.

With no easy measure of their progress, and the treetops obscuring the light, time feels dilated. Characters may feel they've been in the woods for hours when it has been days, or for weeks when it has been hours. The amount of time that passes in the woods will be individualized for each character, and will not match the full month that passes for characters back in town.

DON'T SMELL THE FLOWERS:

While some folx are being turned around and sent back to start, those that make it deeper are in perhaps worse shape. The dilated time and the circuitous nature of their efforts may stretch their week's worth of rations too thin, driving them to rely upon foraged mosses and fruits for sustenance. The woods are full of fungi and edible flora with aphrodisiac side effects like increased bloodflow, heightened arousal, and increased tactile sensitivity.

Much like the animals afflicted by the Void, the plant-life here grows strange. The deeper they go, the more troubling the side effects of their foraged sustenance becomes.

Deep in the forest they may find:

• A moss that makes them hallucinate an idealized sexual experience from deep in their repressed subconscious, which they will determinedly act out.


• The pulsing fruits that grow amongst this moss will render them desperate to orgasm as if they have been edged for hours, but they will find themselves physically incapable of doing so — unless they succumb to its secondary effect, the hunger for still-warm human flesh.


• A nut that grows in bushes leaves those who eat it unable to feel satisfied by just a single partner, seeking out threesomes and moresomes with a lost hiker or another pair.

The more of these that an individual consumes, the more pronounced the effects as their secretions build up in the body over time. It may become a common sight to find a friend tucked behind a tree, stark naked and desperately masturbating.

REVENGE OF THE SPIDERS:

Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.

However, some of the clothed expeditioners will be able to tell you that the Duchess of the nearby town has a special relationship to these spiders, and players should expect their treatment of the spiders to influence future events

BORDER CROSSING:

The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?

In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.

There are risks associated with Void proximity: increased aggression, paranoia, emotional instability, accelerated monster transformations, and hallucinations.

As the time dilation worsens, characters' monstrous transformations may happen in uneven stages. For instance, a character may manifest a physical aspect or supernatural ability or urge that suits their fully transformed state even if the other aspects of them remain human. These changes can happen totally unprompted, or as a result of their generalized Void proximity symptoms.

Even untransformed, the closer they get to the Void, the more intensely those on the expedition feel intrusive violent and sadistic urges — not just to lash out at others suddenly, but also a fascination with inflicting pain (emotional or physical) that may or may not be erotic in nature. This sadism seems especially potent in anyone with a Niez mark. Those who notice the pattern may be inclined to urge some of their friends to turn back now, before they reach the Void ...

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, fighting or getting webbed up by spiders, acting out a hallucination, or grappling with aphrodisiac flower symptoms!

TOWNIE TROUBLES

Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.

This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.

When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.


BUNKING UP:

The locals may still direct newcomers to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. Parts of the house still bear the dust of disuse, gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. However, it's already full of people! Anyone who's already appeared in the village just as you did today lives here.

Don't spend too much time exploring, though. You'll want to claim a bedroom quickly because each one only has two full-size beds, and there aren't enough spaces for everyone. The last people upstairs will need to double up to squeeze in. Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements.

ON THURSDAY WE HAVE ORGIES:

On Thursdays, religious ceremony spills into the streets as soon as the sun and the children are safely abed. Dancing locals paint their faces painted red and purple and black and yellow. They all wear revealing clothing that, to your sensibilities, may seem sexually suggestive. Some individuals openly expose their breasts and nipples, while some others may incidentally reveal when they turn around to tend to their errands that their dress is backless — entirely! Notably, the locals' choice of clothes reveal a mark on their bodies. An astute person will notice that there are four varieties — and a very astute (thirsty) person might notice that their fellow woodsfolk also have one of these somewhere on their body.

The folks dancing and selling their wares are all offering their energies to give thanks and ask for their god's patronage! The abstractions are all familiar — fertility, harvest, peace. Smalltalk makes them eager to chat and draw you into those festivities — including some ceremonial wax-dripping on the exposed parts of your body! In addition to dancing and the lighting of any number of candles, you may stumble upon fighting rings inspired by Terry Silver's basement club, where the locals brawl until they're bloody and unable to move.

CULT CONSCIOUSNESS:

Usually, the people of the town are very generous, but the atmosphere of the town this month is a little ... darker.

Word has spread around town that some of the void-touched chose to remain behind, and perceptions turn critical rather quickly. Even those who thought they might offer support in alternative ways, or who weren't quite up for making the trek for various valid reasons, will be seen as refusing to help the Duchess. The townspeople increasingly consider those who stayed behind to be a threat to their beloved matriarch.

This unpopularity has consequences, as the townspeople of Rubilykskoye not only see no problem with acting upon their everyday violent urges, but feel that it's their civic duty! Newcomers who are just settling in won't be spared either, as they're found guilty by association for emerging from the wood instead of staying within it to join up with the expedition team.

As a result, the void-touched who stay behind will be targeted for everyday acts of violence and intimidation: they may be attacked on their way to work, or at the tavern. One reckless individual tries to set the boarding house aflame. Players are welcome to invent and resolve their own conflicts here, but please make sure to reach out to a moderator if you feel it might be something that leads to meaningful consequences.

This behavior escalates over the course of the month, and by mid-month, the blacksmith has produced a number of stocks and human-sized cages to sit out in the town square. NPC townspeople will not hesitate to gang up on the void-touched, strip them, and throw them into these devices to 'learn a lesson' about being a part of this community. Similarly, the townspeople see no issue with sating their sexual urges with the folx who are caged, whether they're willing or not.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: acquiring clothing or other inventory items, staking your claim on a bedroom, or wrassling with a local who's trying to throw that character into a cage!

Comments

QUESTIONS

[rubimods]

If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask here. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.

[domineered]

hi!! i have a question re: the spiders.

1. miguel's dna is spliced with a spider and thus he shares some characteristics with them (he has talons, fangs, he produces his own paralytic venom, etc) and i was wondering: would this change the way they treat him in anyway? would they be able to sense this? or would he be perceived as food still?

2. what would happen if he bit one and used his own venom on them?

3. would their venom work on him? since he already produces his own?

thank you!!

FIND-AN-INVITE!

[rubimods]

Still need an invite to the game? Have a +1 you aren't using?

Use this thread to find someone who needs your invite or who can offer you one! Coordinate with folks that you're already RPing with on the TDM and make friends in game ahead of opening.

nami (opla) 🍊 skala

[klepto]

LOST WOODS / BORDER CROSSING

(CW: hallucinations incl possible references to child slave labor)
[ this is the third time she's crossed this clearing. she knows it. she's furious about it because she can navigate by the freaking stars, she's drawn every map arlong uses of east blue, and yet —

she's lost. she's lost.

and she's naked, which has her rubbing at her left shoulder in discomfort as she staggers over roots and rocks until her feet are bleeding. bleeding or not, though, she doesn't hesitate to kick a tree stump the third time she sees it, letting out a haggard, frustrated yell. ]

I hate this stupid forest! [ but her voice just echoes right back at her, like the forest hates her too. she leans over the stump a moment, shoulders hunched, hair hiding her face like she might take the moment to cry. but she swallows it back, pushes herself up, and starts marching off in a new direction —

then stops, abruptly. it's like something has yanked her back, but whatever it is, no one can see it but her. she falls to the ground, then looks down at her ankle, eyes widening. ] What the hell is that?

CULT CONSCIOUSNESS

[ one way or another, the two of you wound up in a cage together—or cages beside one another. nami has her back pressed to the bars and she's sitting on the ground, grinding her teeth. despite the nudity, which exposes a sawtooth tattoo on her left shoulder, she seems more frustrated than fearful. ]

Any ideas for a distraction? [ she's counting the passerby, those paying attention and not, but she's doing it with such an idle survey that it mostly looks like she's still orienting herself. ]

WILDCARD

[ ooc; hit me up protects if you want something else specific, or just drop a starter and i'll riff! feel free to check sunmon and telepathy for general kink prefs since i don't have much up for nami yet. ]

cult consciousness.

[tuer]

[ Villanelle's cage is sort of back to back with Nami's, which means they're close enough to touch, but separated by the bars. It would be very romantic if Nami was not a complete stranger to her. These are the things you think about when you're stuck in a cage.

Villanelle sighs tremulously. It's the sigh of someone who is, above all else, bored. Very, very bored. ]

We could play a game. I Spy.

villanelle | killing eve | diabel

[tuer]

001. in the woods somewhere.

[ This could be worse.

Villanelle wakes up covered in bruises, but when she scrambles at her abdomen there's nothing there but a fresh pink scar. Unusual, but if there's one thing about her it's that she's very, very good at rolling with it. The first thing she ought to do is take stock: She's certainly not bleeding everywhere, which is good. She is naked, though, which... is fine, actually. But she's clearly not in Paris anymore, which is bad. Very bad. She doesn't move at all as she squints around at her surroundings. All very dark and creepy, all very frightening. She'd be shaking in her boots if she was wearing any. ]

This is not scary! Try harder!

[ She calls this out to the area at large, as if it's to blame for her current predicament; her accent is clearly Russian, and more than anything she just sounds irritated, but loudly so. In fact, this is so not scary that she's just going to sit here stubbornly with her arms folded across her chest, lips pulled into a sulky pout. ]

002. arrival.

[ She's got to get up at some point, mostly because she's getting cold. Hard to hold onto your stubbornness when you're naked in a filthy forest and you made the mistake of thinking about a bath once for half a second. Now a bath is all she can think about.

Getting to the town is easy. Finding clothes is even easier, since the idiots living her are basically just giving things away. Gravitating towards the men's clothes just because she can, she goes for in a simple three-piece suit, tie loose around her throat, trousers tucked into a pair of the chunkiest lace-up shoes she could find. It'll do for now. That's how she appears as she pokes around the boarding house itself, peeking in rooms apparently at random. Her identity, it seems, is a malleable thing, and depending on her whims at the time, no two people meet the same woman. ]

a —
[ For one person, she's all smiles, her accent crisp southern English. ] This is a bit fun, isn't it? It's like those interactive plays. I've always wanted to do one of those.

b —
[ For someone else, she's a shrinking violent, nervous and twitchy and bad at eye contact, and she sounds Irish, but most importantly quite frightened. ] Oh – sorry. I thought this room was empty.

c —
[ And for someone else, she might well be herself – or as close to herself as she can be with a stranger. She leans in a doorway with a hand tucked casually in her pocket. ] So. What is the actual deal with this place?

003. on thursday we have orgies.

[ A festival is exactly what she needs. Villanelle's thriving in the ordered chaos of it all, moving through the crowds with a grin permanently stuck to her face. She's dressed for the occasion simply by removing the shirt under her tailored jacket, the only thing stopping her from entirely exposing her chest being her lapels, though she gets the impression that nobody would mind if anything slipped out of place.

One hand casually in her pocket, she stops to watch a brawl in the fighting ring. ]

That's not very good form, [ she says, pointing to one of the combatants. ] His centre of gravity is too high. Stupid.

004. cult consciousness.

[ Villanelle can sense the tides turning against her. She's very good at reading people, but a blind man on a galloping horse would have seen it: the hostile judgemental looks, the scowling. It's like being in a Waitrose wearing clothes from Primark. She does her best to respond in kind, glowering right back at anyone who gives her a stink-eye, even directly confronting anyone whose judgemental glares seem to be particularly pernicious.

The first time someone tries to grab her, she deals with it. It's just one man, and he's big and beefy, but he's not expecting her to twist in his grip and knee him hard enough between the legs that he immediately lets go. She scrambles away, turning to walk backwards to watch him suffer, and laughs with a bright, high cackle — and promptly walks right into someone else.

Arms pull tight around her, and she kicks out with all her might, but someone else grabs her feet, and then she's really in a pickle.

The cage they toss her in, after taking away her lovely three-piece suit, is much too short for her to sit comfortably, but there's space for someone else. It's not long before that space is filled. Villanelle offers a pinched, irritable greeting. ]

Welcome to the cage. This is my side. Your side is over there. If you touch any part of me with your disgusting bare feet I will snap your neck.

005. wildcard.

[ hmu via PM if you want to plot out something specific! ]

3

[princess_of_ida]

None of these villagers are particularly skilled. This is less a fight to them and more religious ecstasy. Form matters little.

[The response came from a woman lounging by the ring, watching the fights with her arms draped across the back of the bench like she owned it. Dressed in a white shift with a plunging front that went all the way to her navel, Ianthe was similarly sporting a lot of skin. Combined with tight trousers and nice boots, she looked comfortable and at ease. Interestingly, her right arm was skeletal in nature, the bone of a golden hue, and she had a lit hand-rolled cigarette between her fingers.]

Just the raw violence.

stephen strange / mcu ⍚ niez

[rehandle]

a. lost woods;

[ The benefit of a life lived well outside the bounds of the norm is you can wake one day, naked and nauseous, in a forest that itches at senses you didn't have just a handful of years ago, and you can take it in stride. Sit up, absorb your surroundings, peel open the eye that sees more than you can and close it again, still none the wiser. That's fine. Armed with the knowledge that it doesn't yet top out the chart of the strangest things to happen this year and a repeating mental checklist of weirder shit seen and survived, all that's left is to get on with it.

There's a rustling from a clearing up ahead, the hissing of branches shaking, the breaking of bark and the subtler soft tear of moss pulled from tree trunks and forest floor. A glow too, casting out between the tress, warm orange like firelight.

The source of all this sits at the foot of a tree, one knee drawn up for warmth and an elbow-rest as his fingers twitch through fine motions. In the air before him, leaves and moss and mulch and the stems of dead or stubborn plant life knit themselves together into a sheet of undergrowth, needles fashioned of twigs working under the power of a bright amber glow.

An approach earns a glance.

If they're similarly naked, he spares them from too close an attention, looking back to his work with a dry: ] Sorry. I'm not taking requests.

[ If clothed, they'll get a longer look, a little more scrutiny— and then an abrupt gesture upwards sends another flurry of leaves dropping down from the canopy only to arrest in mid-air, one or two snatched into the growing project as he turns his focus back to it. ]

b. bunking up;

[ By the time he arrives at the boarding house the woods have proven themselves a lot higher on the wild experiences chart than he'd originally anticipated, and the blasé attitude is well and truly gone. All he's looking for as he climbs the stairs is an empty room - empty, not necessarily unclaimed - and once he finds one he's helping himself to the contents of the closet and chucking whatever's left of his makeshift forestwear onto one of the beds to stake a claim.

From there, after some wall-to-wall pacing, he takes to the floor, legs crossed and eyes closed and still ready, the second the door starts to open, to issue a sharp: ] No.

( ooc: I'm also fine with wildcards or coming at the above from wild angles! unhelpfully I don't really have any info up but if you're unsure of anything or just want to chat or plot you can find me at miscreates or sculpts @ discord! )

bunking up;

[choicely]

[ From Yennefer's perspective, she's just come upstairs from trying to rustle up something in the kitchen to find someone sitting on the floor of her room. Granted, there's little in the room in question that could point to it being occupied, other than what's in the closet itself — a few dresses, including the one she'd worn to the Duchess's dinner not very long ago, as well as a distinct cloak. She hasn't secured anyone to move into the room with her since Jaskier's disappearance, but she hasn't really prioritized welcoming anyone else into the space either.

The single word that the dirty man on the floor emits is merely acknowledged with the arch of one eyebrow, and Yennefer only halts in her stride for a moment or two, stepping forward into the room and closing the door behind herself before taking an audible bite of the apple she'd secured for herself, distinctly ignoring any attempts to kick her out of her own room. ]

You'll have to do better than that. [ Especially when she can drop down onto one of the beds — her bed — crossing one leg over the other at the ankle as she chews idly. ]

takeshi kovacs | altered carbon | diabel

[interior]

CULT | around town | cw: violence, injuries

[Playing hero is a big move to make on arriving to a new location. The kind with outward spreading repercussions, a possible cemented reputation. Useful, if those leant the direction you wanted. Hindrances, if they didn't. So Takeshi hangs back, the first few altercations he witnesses. Shrugs if any locals look his way. Nothing to do with me.

Except it becomes clear it is, soon enough. The line of Us vs Them is explicit, and the numbers games the locals prefer to play on targeting and singling out their victims is the kind of behaviour he finds extremely fucking offensive to his sensibilities. When he steps in, it's with the easy physicality of someone who knows they're bigger, stronger than whoever they're facing. He could carry himself that way no matter what sleeve he was in, but Ryker's frame makes it easier, communicates the matter clearly enough to the locals that they back off before he has to make them.

The first time he has to get physical, he breaks a woman's arm. The second time, dislocates a man's shoulder and shatters another's kneecap. By the third time, he's stopped feeling like being gentle.]

The welcoming committee here needs some serious fucking work.

[It's a comment made mostly to himself, even as it's directed towards the void-touched he's playing hero for this time. Two of the gang that had been attacking them are out cold already, a third screaming over an open fracture of the femur. The three left standing are weighing their odds. Takeshi waits.]

CULT | cages | cw: implied injuries, captivity, implied sexual assault

[He makes enough of a name for himself that they bring him down, eventually. He leaves a few more broken bones in the struggle, but they still get him stripped, thrown in one of the cages, a prominent spot for his crimes of fighting back. He's left alone for a while, probably some thinking that exhaustion and hunger will wear him down, make him more pliant. Eventually they start taking advantage, groping hands coming paired with a metal bar held across his neck to keep him still, or his cage mates used as hostage for his compliance, the weakness of his protective streak exposed by his exploits around the town.

Still, he starts to lose his patience, and the next time someone walks up to the cage he greets them with a lazy loll of his head and a flat look.]

Just letting you know, I'm keeping the next thing that comes through those bars.

around town

[silverqueen]

[ a grave miscalculation on her part. Asta could have handled the townies if there had been only one or two of them trying to corner her and get her locked in a cage, but unfortunately the hostility toward the void-touched has grown enough to send entire gangs after them.

she didn't see that coming and without her girls (her cult) she's not strong enough to fight them. bad news. her powers also work best one on one and enraged mobs rarely listen to words, so she can't even try to talk her way out of this one.

which means it's pretty lucky for her that the hero decided to step in when he did. ]

Kill them.

[ she helpfully suggests from the ground, wiping blood from her nose. the one with the now shattered kneecap got their hands on her and broke it before Takeshi got here. ]

Gabe Rodriguez | Original | Diabel

[minuteofangle]

Cult Conscious - cw: eye trauma, injuries, internalized ableism

[ As far as hard landings go, Gabe's hard pressed to come up with worse than getting dumb bare-ass naked into the woods, sans his goddamn prosthetics, and face first into the local's idea of - at first - what seems like a sex cult and then just a regular cult. And him with no gear, no friends to watch his back, no prosthetics to conceal the fact he's got no goddamn eyeballs. Nobody trusts a blind man. Nobody wants to spare the time to make sure he's useful and if they do, they get to define that on their terms and certainly not his.

It's an easy truth. Dead weight gets dropped. And right now, his choices are get useful real fucking fast or play up an act so he can strike when the time's right.

Thus far, he's split the difference. Convinced some of the locals to front him a pair of tinted glasses to conceal the wreck of his eyes. If he controls his body language the right way and talks with his hands to draw attention away from his face, he can hide it about half the time. It gives him a chance to come up with a plan of action, maybe suss out a few allies. Or it would, if the sex cult shit didn't sing back toward regular ass cult shit.

So, that's great.

He ducks into an alley after the latest round of bullshit, wearing a collar of bruises around his neck and spitting blood onto the ground. The other guy looks worse, presumably: Gabe doesn't bother choking people. He goes straight for breaking bones and he did, only a few minutes ago. Crunch. One of the locals is still wailing about it out on the street. Strangely, everyone else seemed to think that was fine and dandy. ]

This is fun, huh?

[ He flashes his teeth at whoever happens to wander close. ]

Hi.

Cages - cw: assault, gore, eye trauma, internalized ableism, implied sexual assault

[ Things escalate. It really shouldn't be a surprise in his life. It shouldn't hit him at all, given the givens. Gabe's a survivor to the core, a fighter to the bitter end, but some shit you just take. And when it's six on one, well. That part's pretty much written out already. But they don't kill him, they just strip him naked and do what people do in moments like that. There's a stock. There's bruises around his wrists where he fought like a demon and it didn't much matter. And then there's blood on his teeth and running hot down his chin where it did because it turns out people don't like being bitten much even in psycho cult towns.

So, that gets him strong-armed straight into a cage. Bare ass naked all over again. They take the glasses too and there's really no hiding any of this shit, so this time he doesn't try. Just plants himself in the corner and holds dangerously still, running his scanning tech constantly. If someone approaches, either outside the cage or tossed in unwilling, he'll turn his head and grin at them.

It's not a pleasant image. ]

What're you in for, huh?

Wildcard

[ Hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something else. ]

cages

[klepto]

They just grabbed me. I wasn't —

[ there's something breathy and helpless about her voice. like she's ~so fragile~ to be here. the kind of voice that makes it easy to underestimate you.

but it cuts off sharply when she looks at him, notices that he's got no eyes. ]

Shit. [ startled into honesty. she presses her hand to the center of her chest like she needs the grounding to slow her heart. ] Did they do that?

Junker Queen / Odessa "Dez" Stone | Overwatch

[dezza]

I. HOOROO, MFER } I'M IN THE BACK OF A UTE AND I'M FRESHLY SERVING
[ Alright. It wasn't the first time she'd woken up naked, alone with no idea where the hell she is.

But it sure isn't home - which doesn't necessarily rule out whatever the fuck the last thing she remembers doing. Big Robot Ships in the Sky, Overwatch bullshit and Talking Gorilla Scientists made this all par of the course. If your name was Odessa Stone, anyway.

Had to figure out where she was right now though. Being naked didn't seem to bother her, but being 7' flat with another foot of spiked blue hair, and all of it pure muscle - gave a sheila a certain kind of confidence as she goes barefoot wondering through a spooky bloody forest.

Every so often she stops and cups her hand to her mouth and -

Let's out a truly thunderous shout into the forest to see if there is anyone out there. ]

COOEE!

II. BUNK BUDDIES } I CHEW CHEW CHEW CUZ THEY HOPE I CHOKE
[ She was still, somehow, naked.

It didn't seem to be her primary concern, or even secondary as she took the cues to head for the boarding house the townsfolk told her about. Though, unsurprisingly, they decide there was a fighting they wanted to pick today, but the snarling, naked, feral woman who was now covered in a smattering of blood from shit in the first, and mud from the rest of it, for some reason - just did not seem worth it.

But she does have a shawl that she's thrown over her shoulder.

It isn't really helping, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Instead of clothing as her primary concern, instead, when she gets into a room that she - just picks at random, frankly, without care about whose it actually is.

To find a chair, a dresser, anything really that looked solid yet able to be dissembled, and apparently just begin to bash the planks of wood loose with strong kicks of her heel. Without Carnage or Gracie, she needed a decent replacement. The basics worked, at this point. Nothing was more effectively simple than "plank of wood with nails in it". Why mess with the classics?

Just this poor chair, probably, might object to it's currently miserable treatment. ]

III. CONVICT BLUES } THERE IS A JOKE ABOUT AUSTRALIANS IN JAIL SOMEWHERE
[ It was a matter of time, that she's knocked out and put in one of the jail cells. Cages. Whatever. Kinky fuckers, the lot of them.

Granted after the first idiot shoves his cock anywhere near her through the bars, they get a sudden and immediate lesson in how many fragile bones can break inside the hand of a woman her size.

Not that it's big enough for her, and she's forced to sit with her legs propped up on the bars of the cage, with a bottle of something she'd threatened out of somewhere. Probably the reason she's in here to begin with, when she either got drunk enough or in another of those fight rings that they ganged up on her in. Or someone took a pot shot when her back was turned. Fuckers. Knew they could never take her in a fair fight. Needing petty excuses like turning into monsters to enjoy a good bit of old-fashioned biff. Weak, fuckin' weak.

But hardened veteran of fight circles that made her Queen, she knows the first and most important rule: she's not putting on a show for anyone that doesn't cough up serious money first. Instead, she opts to heckle people out of her cage - naturally. What else was she going to do in here? Be miserable? Fuck that. Fingers to her lips with a piercing whistle to get the attention of anyone who mistakes looking at her for a half second. ]

Oi, hot stuff, yeah, yeah, that's right. You! Yeah, you, you wanna admire the scenery? Then get me a beer! C'mon, fuckin' parched!

[ And, yes, she is still naked. Unsurprisingly. ]

[ooc: got something else you wanna do? hit me up here with a wildcard, I am fully down, or pp me, or hit me up at aeneia]

I

[princess_of_ida]

[Oh great. A new arrival. Who else would be yelling nonsense across the forest like it was some kind of fucking echolocation. Except that was entirely possible, so Ianthe approached the direction she could sense the life energy with veiled caution. Just in case it was a monster.

...or apparently a very tall, very built, naked woman.]

Fuck.

Roboute Guilliman| Warhammer 40k | Skala

[guilliman]

In the Woods Somewhere


It will be no surprise that this towering giant of a man is venturing out into the forest. The pace Guilliman needs to maintain to keep from losing track of the others is leisurely by his superhuman, war-born standards -- with his enhancements, and without the weight of his armor, he could keep walking for days on end.

But he stays with the group, with whatever other people he can keep track of.


I.

When the strength of others starts to fail, Guilliman falls back beside them.

"Do you need rest?" he asks, his expression concerned, and slightly uncertain. "If so. I can carry you."



II.

Guilliman volunteers to keep the night's watch -- every night, unless someone else insists on it. (He claims that he 'doesn't need to sleep,' but he's made so many ridiculous claims so far...) He helps to set up camp, and he asks the others about the town, and about their own worlds. Answers what questions he can about his own place of origin, and is bewildered when the answers horrify.

(And he turns the most precious shade of red when the questions turn bawdy. "My brother was fond of a game like this, he mutters, forgetting that he's already mentioned he had, like, seventeen siblings at one point.)



III.

At some point, Guilliman's companions may notice that he declines all food.

"I don't need it," he insists stubbornly. But if a kind soul digs their heels in -- if they argue him into sharing their nectar-laden fruits or their hefty nuts with him -- he will eat just a one or two, enough to make them happy.

(And wouldn't you know, he does feel warmer, more energetic, after he's done.)

"You may have been correct," he grants, a faint flush to his cheeks.


((Handwaving that he's been in town just long enough to get hooked into the expedition. If you want to assume CR, or you want to wildcard, go for it! Basic info/impressions are here. Mun is terana ))

i

[dynatox]

There are very few situations in which Terry's not the biggest guy in the room, and even then he's never been dwarfed by over three feet. It takes a moment for it to register that Guilliman's offer is directed at him. He's usually the one who ends up carrying someone else.

"That's very kind of you," he says, picking up his pace now that he's aware that he was falling behind, "But I think I can last a while longer."

He probably does need a rest; he's not a young man anymore even if he's in good shape for his age. But there's a certain sense of pride in being able to keep up.

steve harrington — stranger things — skala

[spikedbats]

i. meet me in the woods;

[cw: depending on which prompt there is potential aphro/dubcon (b) / references to torture (c)]

a. ( This is far from the first time Steve Harrington has woken up naked. For someone who has a long-standing reputation for sleeping with any number of the available ladies back in Hawkins, this normally wouldn't be a cause for concern.

Only he knows he had been wearing clothes, not to mention these do not look like the woods bordering his house. It doesn't help that one of the last things he remembers was battling a monster who can link with people psychically and cause them to see all sorts of terrible things. Nobody can blame Steve, then, for immediately panicking when he realizes he's not healing in a hospital like he's pretty sure he's supposed to be.

With no clothes in sight, no home in sight, not even a pack of supplies in sight, the only thing left to do is pick a direction and start walking until he finds something or someone of interest. Every so often, he calls out: ) Is anybody there? Rob? Nance? Eddie? Anyone? ( Anyone who comes across him might notice that his torso looks like some chunks have been taken out of it, his back looks as if he had been dragged across pavement, and there is still a reddened ring around his neck as if a rope had once been around it, digging into his flesh tight enough to leave a mark. )

b. ( Look, Steve did the whole Boy Scout thing, he knows he needs to be careful when it comes to identifying berries and mushrooms and other flora that are safe to eat. This world isn't like Hawkins, and he's starving, so he takes a chance.

Which eventually leads to Steve looking a little worse for wear. With red, blotchy skin covered in sweat and a one-track mind, Steve eventually tries to find a place to hunker down and get down to business. If someone came across him in this state, maybe they would be inclined to give Steve a hand...literally. ) Please, please, please, I can't -- ( eventually trailing off into a string of moans laced with various expletives. Maybe someone can help him with that? )

c. ( The fog is not kind to Steve. At first, he thinks he hears Robin, simultaneously the sweetest and most unfortunate thing to hear when trapped in a seemingly endless labyrinth of trees and rocks. Like in Starcourt, Steve would submit himself to whatever matter of suffering if it meant keeping her safe from harm.

As soon as he thinks of Starcourt, another voice enters the mix. This one has a Russian accent and makes his blood run cold. He remembers every minute detail, from the number of punches he endured to the feeling of boot on flesh as Steve gave unsatisfactory answers to their many questions. The benefit of having such an unfortunately good memory does mean that he remembers how this unfolds.

Before the Russian can kick him in the stomach, Steve is ready for him...unfortunately, the person whom he does attempt to slug with a right hook to the face may very well not be that Russian at all. )

ii. town of forgotten souls;

a.( It's no Hawkins, that's for sure. There's no movie theater or Melvad's or a diner, not even The Gap. But there is the boarding house, and that's where Steve winds up. It very quickly starts to feel like the aftermath of one of the parties he'd throw back in high school, where very drunk teenagers would claim his guest bedrooms, only these aren't people he knows and he doesn't have the fallback of the master bedroom or even his own bedroom to claim as his own.

Which means that he is going door to door to peek his head in and the first bedroom devoid of any signs of being lived in by any sort of person (human or otherwise) is ostensibly his. Good luck kicking him out, you have a roommate now whether you wanted one or not. )

b. ( Steve is easily convinced to partake in the festivities, so don't be surprised to find him wandering about. He starts out fully clothed and loses his shirt along the way. Despite still showing some scarring, the locals at least seem to pay them no heed, so why should he? )

Whoa, that looks cool, ( he comments as he watches someone have wax dripped onto them. Leave it to Steve Harrington, he of the "good in bed" to immediately go the route of the kink. ) Think they'll let me try?

iii. wildcard;

( If none of these tickle your fancy, feel free to come up with your own starting prompt! To plot beforehand, please feel free to reach out to me via PM or on plurk at metalheads. )

b.

[guitarpicks]

[ fuck all things related to the duchess, to this place and all the fucked up fuckery going on in the village. fuck it. eddie's mumbling to himself under his breath, trying to navigate his way back from the castle.

the forest isn't eddie's favorite place and it's not long before he finds himself disoriented, stomach growling slightly as he tries to ignore because he knows that it's not exactly for the sort of food he should want. the way his nails, teeth, and the points of his ears have elongated are signs of that but he can hide two out of three pretty easy. three actually, if he tucks his hands into the pockets he'd sewn into the jacket he'd been working on before his rat boss ratted him out.

but fuck. the way he looks pretty much like a walking corpse doesn't help, he's paler than usual.

he frowns, looking for a place to hunker down and get his thoughts straight and to stop himself from doing something that would be stupider than anything on the usual munson scale o bad ideas. there's a small cave and that'll do the trick, cover him better than the shadow of skull rock.

eddie's not sure why he's thinking about it but then he hears the moans, the soft gasps and sound of skin on skin that he can't really ignore. he should turn around. he should. but-- but eddie's hungry and this place has it's rules. and fuck-- he rounds a corner and if he weren't already fucking as pale as a sheet, he would be. ] Harrington?!

Asra | OC | Niez

[abjuringdreams]

Smell the Flowers
[cw: smut ahoy~]

Hunger is the great equalizer here, it seems. He's fallen in with others, either new here or ones who are on some kind of expedition. If he's lucky, someone has given him clothes. If he's not... well. He'll survive without them.

There is an air of trial and error, of waiting and observing to see what happens to others who eat what they forage. But, inevitably, Asra gives in, filling his belly with what he knows won't kill him. Even his pale skin flushes after a few hours and his cock fills to aching. He isn't the only one partaking in nuts, and it doesn't take long to find another person - or two, or three - to indulge himself with. He slips into the middle of a pair or group, eager to apply his mouth, his hands, and every other part of himself to chasing his pleasure and theirs.

Or perhaps it's one of the more mild effects, a simple rush of arousal and a desire to be touched. Either way, he is not shy about seeking company. There is no need to exchange names or even words - he'll drop to his knees or pull a partner down to the moss to work out their needs together. Let it never be said he cannot be a team player.

Border Crossing
[cw: violent and sadistic thoughts/behavior. Asra has a sadistic streak, this prompt is for anyone wanting to be on the receiving end or anyone who might try to stop him. Some prompts include options for smut.]

The only thing he can do is give in.

Goosebumps rise and a shiver of pleasure races across his nerves at the sound of the knife sliding from its sheath, the tell-tale drag of sharp steel, even if it does not glint in the strange shadows. More's the pity: the fear is intoxicating. The reflection flashing in his prey's eyes as they bleed out, knowing they saw it coming.

They are already afraid, lashing out at things only they can see, crying out into the void in rage or despair. Asra slips like a shadow himself, closer, watching their open flailing. Some distant part of him whispers that this is not who he is. He is not senseless. His violence has purpose--but it is easy to silence. What better purpose than his own pleasure? What better senses than his own?

He does not need to cast any spells to subdue or distract his unhappy prey. All he needs to do is duck beneath their guard and grab a swinging arm, twisting it back until they yelp. That is when he whispers a spell, his free hand moving around the hilt of the knife to hold his captive where they stand. When he is certain they are trapped in place, Asra slips around them, standing before them. His eyes are black, a void in their own right, and he is grinning.

"Little rabbit," he murmurs. "You look delicious."

In Medias Res
[cw: actual violence and bloodplay here, turn back now; for anyone interested, happy to work in dub/non-con, bloodplay, knifeplay, etc if you want some smut with your violence~ let me know your preferences]

The trouble with blood is that it becomes tacky as it dries, sticky and unpleasant. Better to keep it flowing, little rivulets here and there. It would be a shame to destroy his toy so quickly.

He lays beside his captive, now tried up properly rather than held in place with a spell. His fingers brush through a trickle of it, smearing it across bare skin. Bare to the waist with his victim similarly stripped, Asra enjoys the skin-to-skin touch.

"I don't think anyone is coming to save you," he coos softly when he catches them looking around as much as they can, eyes searching for--what? It can only be a savior or a way out. "Gods, but how it would feel to bury myself in you... one way or another. Do you have a preference?"

He reaches for the cloth he's used as a gag and plucks it from their mouth.

Cult Consciousness
[cw: potential for dubcon/general harassment. also open to enthusiastic consent??]

Making it to the town finds him more clearheaded, which is a welcome change. It also finds him more regularly clothed, also welcome. Modesty is not necessarily an issue, but if he's going to be naked he would prefer it be his choice.

The townsfolk are itching to punish those they see as failing to be as brave as the idiots still wandering in the dark woods.

The stocks and cages are already set out and it isn't long before the townsfolk find bodies to fill them. Asra waits until one poor soul in one of these traps catches his attention. There is an air of speculation and assessment about him as he approaches one, making no secret of the way he looks them over.

"Poor bird, they haven't been kind, have they?"

Notes

[I will match style! Tag with whatever you prefer. Asra is a D&D-based OC and so is familiar with fantasy-based settings. He's also a wizard, though his casting ability is somewhat limited by a lack of resources. But he's nothing if not creative. There's some more info here, still working on it.

Happy to write more personalized starts and I'm open to wildcards! Definitely open to just starting mid-fuck with smut, let me know if you'd like something like that.]

smell the flowers.

[exaltruistic]

Ko's been here a while; long enough to learn his preferences with partners in ways he certainly didn't have back in Fukuoka.

This expedition is throwing all of that out the window, though, leaving him prone and bitten to hell and back on the forest floor. His wrists had been pinned to the earth and, though the hands doing so have left him, he keeps them there, watching intently as Asra nears him.

He's bereft of cover entirely, and similarly bereft of inhibition -- spreading his legs out as though to entice.

It's only after a moment that he brings his hand down to his clit, rubbing slow circles into the arousal.

"You look pent up ..."

Ignatius "Iggy" Melville | OC | ⚰︎ DIABEL | OTA

[dead_tongue]

Lost Woods

[Look. It's not the first time he's woken up naked and disoriented, okay? Far from it. It's just that usually it's not in the middle of the woods. The trees are wrong - oaks, not cedars and firs. That's what really tips him off that he might not have just wandered off into the park while blackout hammered.

Iggy gets to his feet, wobbling, hands moving to cup bony elbows. His back hunched against the chill and the strangeness of the place, he follows the sound of the stream until he finds it.

You're supposed to stay in one place when you're lost in the woods. Everybody knows that. But it's just a little too creepy for that, so instead he starts following alongside the stream. He has no idea what direction he's pointed in, but it's got to leave the forest at some point, right?

If he hears anything that sounds bigger than a squirrel, he'll try calling out.]

Hello? I'm nude and I don't have my fucking phone!

[Because that's the biggest problem.]


Fruits
cw: there will be attempted cannibalism as per the prompt.

[Only an idiot would eat plants they don't recognise, which is why Iggy wound up sitting amongst the soft mosses, chewing on the pulsating fruit. He was hungry! It smelled fine! What's the worst that could happen?

Yeah.

Any passerby is going to find a tall skinny redhead in an obvious state of arousal, barely keeping himself standing by supporting himself with a tree. His skin is sweaty and pale, his body wracked by periodic shivers. The moment he sees another person his eyes take on a wet, hungry gleam.]

Help.

[His voice is pleasantly low in spite of how ill he looks. He holds out a hand, trying to smile. His teeth are vaguely reminiscent of small, bitey animals.

If you're male presenting, he stumble-steps closer with a pronounced sway of the hips. It's sultry peacocking as performed by the very drunk.]

Help me, please. I don't know where I am.

[Regardless of gender presentation, he's doing his level best to get you closer. My, my, what big eyes he has?]


Cult Consciousness

[He really had thought things would improve upon finding civilization, but apparently his luck is just not in today. No, instead of finding some nice helpful peasants or something, Iggy is hauled along by locals yelling about refusal to help and voids and a bunch of other shit he doesn't understand. They're all a little too fired up to explain or pay attention to Iggy's protestations.

So he winds up thrown into a cage (with a good deal of screeching) naked and terrified.]

This is unlawful imprisonment! You're gonna be in deep shit when I get out of here!

[If you're in the cage with him, he'll notice you once he flops down, exhausted.]

Oh. Hi.

[Alternately, you might be outside the cage, walking by. In that case he's going to try to get your attention.]

Psst! Hey! Hey! Get me out of here! I didn't do anything!


((ooc: open to any wildcards and happy to match format if the brackets don't do it for you!))

Cult Consciousness (cw: implied sexual assault)

[moondregs]

[ Life has become a blur of repeating things that occur in seemingly random order. Of bars. Of hands that yank and push. Of brief, feverish periods of sleep. Sometimes it’s dark, sometimes it’s light. Sometimes he’s alone, and sometimes they throw someone else in with him to see what they do, like little kids throwing different insects together in a jar. For the most part Junpei hasn’t proven to be especially entertaining for the townies unless they put him in with someone aggressive; sexually or physically, either works. The teenager just retreats into himself otherwise, crumpled in a ball in a corner as if he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Hunger, pain, and exhaustion all just kind of blend together into one miasma of discomfort that’s become his normal.

The way Iggy is screeching penetrates his attempt to disassociate like an ice pick being jammed into his skull, and it’s all just too much. ]

Will you shut up?

vlad tepes iii, dracula untold — diabel.

[drinksblood]

𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰.
cw: spiders, possible vampire and blood related things.

( by no means does he regard himself as the hero of this fairytale he's seemingly fallen into. because that is very much what this forest feels like to him. a fairytale — days which have long passed over the centuries he was walked and are found more within books and films that are all regarded as make-believe. perhaps they are more now, but. once upon a time, all of this right here, was very much real.

there are two instances in which one may come across this very much not hero of this little fairytale which he has fallen into.

one. lost within the woods themselves. regardless of how long one might feel they've been in there, at some point, they may very well come across our not-hero. clothed— well. wearing pants, at least. ones which are not what he would describe as his taste, but. beggars cannot be choosers when there are so few choices to be made within these woods, seeing how there certainly are not any sort of clothing shops tucked away within these woods. if only. coming across him deep within the wood, however, one could very well find him with either a smile on his face — and a smudge of something red there on the corner of his lip — coming down a mossy path, or a languid sort of expression there on his face, back pressed against the trunk of a tree that he rests at. either way, it's with a curious tilt of his head that he regards his fellow traveler, something there within those ice blue eyes of his. ) Lost your way, have you?

two. a prisoner to the spiders and their webs. not him, but you, of course. a fellow traveler lost within woods that are more dark fairytale than the pixe-dusted, think happy thoughts, never never land. again, not one for playing the role of hero [anymore anyways] but to come across one who is webbed to a tree or left on the floor of the woods to perhaps be picked up later, well. curiosity is a thing which he still feels from time to time. in his approach, there is a smile so very faint on his lips and a flash of red that seems to pulse within ice blue eyes for but a mere moment as he comes to stand there. head slowly tilting. ) I suppose pointing out the rather sticky situation you've found yourself within is a little too on the nose, hm?

𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫.

( this town feels familiar to him in ways some part of him has longed for, unbeknownst to him. everything from the streets, to the lamps, to the very air itself brings back memories that are torn around the edges in ways an old photograph might be that, for a moment, it feels as if he's drifted back in time. a time which he never quite thought he would see or feel again.

he's clothed at least. or, partially. pants that are by no means his type worn and, for the moment, are the only thing he wears. regardless, he isn't bothered to be shirtless or barefoot as he wanders through the cobbled streets. it's more... curiosity that he feels in this place. one which invokes a sort of longing familiarity of days long past.

disorienting as it may all be, he stands there on the main street of the town, amidst the many people moving about, and stares off towards the castle that sits there within the distance. how familiar. )

And who do you suppose lives there?

𝔢𝔱𝔠.

( if prose is more your style, feel free to respond in that and i'll be happy to match. vlad will typically be kept to the shadows or out more during the night because, well. dracula. blood drinking is very much an option especially regarding the woods prompt[s] but please discuss with me if that's A Thing you'd be interested in since it can certainly go a number of ways. questions or wildcard ideas, feel free to shoot me a pm. )

woods (2)

[sunmon]

And I suppose asking you to save the comedy for after you've helped me down is too much to ask.

[ she, at least, is well-dressed, outfitted for a long journey out here, even if there is blood smeared down the front of her dress. the webs are twisted around her wrists, forcing them apart, or she'd be handily able to extricate herself from the binds.

she dangles, rather precariously, between two trees. ]

We don't have a lot of time.

billy hargrove | stranger things | diabel

[otherbitches]

awake, alive, enthusiastic

[ He might be insane. The earth is cold and frozen under him, as cold as lonely food court tiles were, but he’s no longer in a broken and crumbling mallscape, blood seeping, apologies muttered. He’d thought he’d been dying.

He’s not sure he isn’t dead.

He is naked and cold, no denim, no necklace, no nothing. The scarring on his chest is new, as if the wounds that killed him sealed over, making pale starbursts on his chest, stark against his tanned skin. He wanders, tripping, disoriented, growing dirtier. Hungry.

Who can blame him for eating? It looked like an apple. A peach. Abnormal but normal. Now he’s on fire, hand gripping his dick and tugging, assisted by spit and the sound of him groaning. Maybe he’s dead and this is hell, but he can’t come no matter how his hand twists, how he polishes the head, how he fondles his balls. A finger trails lower. When he hears the brush crack from someone approaching, it doesn’t matter what they look like. ]

Hey— come here. [ Usually, he’d flirt and posture and grin. He feels half out of his mind from how he won’t come. ] Let me fuck you.

those tangled webs we weave

[ He’s drowning. Or suffocating. He lost count of how many spiders he mashed under his bare foot, though it can’t be too many. They’re so big. Bigger than dogs in the body and large and skittering in the legs. They mashed under his toes, ground between them, but it doesn’t matter, because now he’s tangled, one arm stuck behind his back, the other tearing at webbing but only succeeding in getting it under his nails, between his digits.

A spider climbs up its woved-in prey, pinching legs tapping over his torso, still naked where webbing hasn’t covered it. Billy yells, thrashes his head hard. Fucking— ] HELP me! [ He hollers, maybe to no one. Maybe to someone.

over my dead body

[ He’s clothed, fed, washed, and he found an empty bed. When his eyes close, he sees a little redheaded girl with tears in her eyes. He can’t sleep. That doesn’t mean he wants to talk to you. ]

Get out of here. Already claimed it. [ He’s in hell. Purgatory maybe. He remembers how few beds there were. ] Just lay down. I don’t give a shit.

tiger caged

[ The festival is interesting. This is strange. Maybe he stares too long in his ill fitting clothes and haunted eyes, staring at the shiny bars of the cages and the people who look so frightened within. Who are these people? What kind of fucked up sex fest is it?

He doesn’t look like he’s putting his best foot forward for the dutchess. That’s why he’s grabbed, a meaty fist in his hair. ] Don’t fucking touch me, [ he snarls, planting his feet, standing his ground, but the villagers are hardy folk and his tunic rips when it’s yanked hard. ] I just fucking got that!

over my dead body

[dead_tongue]

[Is it possible to be haunted by gingers? Because it looks like Billy might be - a redhead is in the room when he opens his eyes, too. This one's just over six feet tall and looking decidedly nonplussed.]

Wow, your hospitality is fantastic.

[His voice is pleasantly soft but still deeply sarcastic. He sits on the edge of the bed, though.]

Do you have any cigarettes?

caleb widogast | critical role | wilk

[blumenthal]

i. revenge of the spiders | cw: monster/animal death, spiders (obviously)

[ As any adventurer inevitably will, Caleb has fought giant spiders in an ominous dark forest before. But never while hanging upside-down with his dick out. That is new.

Thick, sticky webbing binds his bare legs together from ankle to thigh, and he hasn't been able to feel anything from roughly the waist down since one sunk its fangs into his calf. It's easy to draw conclusions. Thankfully, he still has use of his hands and arms; otherwise it wouldn't be possible to fling firebolts at the skittering arachnids like his life depends on it. Because, suspended feet up from a low-hanging branch, it absolutely does. Projectiles of pure flame erupt from his precisely positioned fingers again and again, occasionally impacting the ground or the trees, but mostly on target. At least they die fairly easily. The three spiders menacing him screech horribly when they are burned, and the sound of their death throes as their legs scrabble and then curl is even worse, but at the moment it's the best thing he's ever heard.

The noise and light could draw other spiders, or more dangerous things, so as soon as he's sure the creatures immediately around him are dead, Caleb hurries to free himself with what tools he has. Fire, again. Control Flame lets him be exacting enough with it to avoid burning his own legs, but this webbing ignites frustratingly slowly. And--his head snaps up (or down?). Already, he isn't alone.

The figure emerging from the trees is humanoid, at least. While he doesn't drop his guard, he's in too precarious a situation not to at least attempt extending an olive branch. He is also very good at appearing non-threatening, even if the spider corpses would evidence otherwise. ]

Ah, hello. [ His voice is low but breathy-soft, gently colored by a German accent--though Caleb, and anyone else from Exandria, would call it Zemnian. ] I do not suppose you have a more efficient way to cut me down? I am afraid I cannot feel my legs, so I assume the venom has some sort of localized paralytic effect.

ii. lost woods/border crossing | cw: self harm, blood, objects protruding from skin, unreality, (very) partial monster transformation

[ In these woods, a naked man pacing back and forth with clear agitation is probably a common sight. That he is flanked by several orbs of glowing amber light bobbing through the fog-thick air around him is perhaps slightly less common. The light reflects eerily off the mist and casts his red hair, hanging loose and dirt-streaked past his shoulders, and his scruffy beard in a fiery copper hue.

But his long, blocky fingers are also scratching incessantly at the dozens of old raised scars patterning his forearms, seemingly oblivious to the blood caked beneath his short nails, both dried and fresh. He's broken skin in several places, and the cuts bleed sluggishly. Or maybe he hasn't broken the skin; occasionally, something sharp, green, and crystalline reflects the warm will'o'wisp glow of his dancing lights, glinting where it is just beginning to poke through old scar tissue, perfectly placed as though growing from the scars themselves. ]

North is that way. It is 11:37 in the morning on the fifth of Sydenstar. My name is Caleb Widogast. My mother's name was Una, my father's name was Leofric.

[ He says this aloud with wavering conviction, the repetition of an intrinsic truth about his own mind that events of the last several hours(? days?) have forced him to call into question. He always knows where North is. He always knows the time, down to the minute. He has such a perfect memory it feels like a curse as much as a boon. Why the fuck has he passed the same boulder three times while traveling in what he is certain is one continuous direction?

It doesn't feel like he's losing his mind again, but reality would seem to indicate otherwise. If he can't trust his own mind, then he is fucked. It's all he has. ]

iii. bunking up

[ The town feels oddly like home. With a few notable differences--some unusual cultural practices and social norms, mostly--it wouldn't be at all out of place in the northern part of the Empire. Caleb isn't picky about the clothing he gets; brown trousers, sturdy secondhand boots, and a loose linen shirt suit him just fine. After the ordeal of the forest, he's glad to be covered at all, and glad he doesn't have to steal his clothing this time. That is never a good way to start out in a new place. Especially one he seemingly can't leave, especially when he is just trying to keep his head down and figure out what is actually going on.

It's also kind (suspiciously kind) of the locals to provide a roof over his head in addition, both seemingly free of charge. Nothing is ever really free, is it? But if it means he can focus on more urgent matters--trying to scrape together some semblance of a temporary spellbook, most importantly--he'll take what he can get for now, before whatever goodwill exists here runs dry. From what he understands, the rooms at the boarding house are not assigned, but that doesn't mean there aren't unofficial claims on certain spaces. He doesn't want to step on any toes; he needs to make allies here. So he spends the afternoon snooping, poking his head into rooms and looking for personal effects or signs of prior occupancy. Occasionally there is someone already present when he pokes his head in, and for these instances he has a diverting question prepared. ]

Excuse me. Do you know of any shops selling paper and ink? [ Then, because it needs clarifying: ] Of high quality, ideally, though I will take what I can get.

[ It might seem like an odd specification for such a scruffy, shabby-looking man, but Caleb cares a great deal more about his books than his appearance. Without a spellbook and components, a wizard is only a repository of knowledge with no means to use it. ]

iv. on thursday we have orgies

a. / [ When one is trying to endear himself to townspeople who are seemingly growing more agitated by the presence of so-called void-touched like himself by the day, participating in local culture where possible isn't a bad choice. He is a passable enough dancer, and one festival evening he finds that the dances here are not so different to ones he learned in his youth as a farm boy in rural Blumenthal, or those popular in Rexxentrum beer halls. He means to engage with the locals in particular, but sometimes it is hard to tell. So already a little red in the face from exertion, sweat beading beneath his clothes, he extends a hand in obvious invitation to one of his fellow void-touched with a bashfully crooked smile. ]

Do you know this one?

b. / [ The next week, he grows more daring as the atmosphere grows more fraught. Which is why he reluctantly allows himself to be ushered into an apparently religious ceremony by an older woman wearing nothing over her chest but drying candle wax. She sits him down and determines he isn't showing enough skin, so he obediently shucks his shirt. He is neither shy nor proud about his body; it is nothing particularly remarkable. On the lanky side of lean, pale, freckled, and sporting a not insignificant dusting of dark red hair on his legs and torso. The last part seems like it might be an issue, when the woman brings a dripping candle toward him. That the candle is then placed with an air of expectation into the hand of another maybe dubious volunteer does not inspire confidence. His brow furrows. ]

You would not happen to have prior experience with this, would you?

v. cult consciousness | cw: assault, internalized victim-blaming

[ This too makes him feel right at home. In the years after Vergesson, he became accustomed to being unwanted and unwelcome in any community; a dirty vagabond only draws attention when that attention is scorn. But he has no pride to wound, so he can bear the suspicion and insults and humiliation of a population frightened and wary of strange outsiders among them. When things finally boil over enough to get physical, no amount of reason can sway people already convinced of another's guilt, though he does at least try to talk down the trio that accosts him on his way back to the boarding house one night. He gets a hefty punch to the gut for his trouble, which seems him doubled over clutching at the stone wall behind him, knees threatening to buckle. He should have known better than to take a path so close to the town square, where these types tend to gather.

He could fight back and escape easily. These are only people, and he has killed many people for doing less. Where his hand is braced against the stone behind his back--out of view of those clustered in front of him, but visible to anyone else nearby--flame rises in his palm with barely a thought, licking hungrily at his fingers. If he so much as injures any of them, especially in full view of the square, he would be painting an even bigger, bolder target on his back. Equally important is the grim understanding that he simply doesn't want to. For someone else threatened this way, he wouldn't hesitate to intervene. For himself? He can't justify it. It is only his body, which has been through worse. As quickly as hands grab his arms to drag him roughly up, he allows the fire to fade. ]

Do what you like.

notes

( if you're still here after that novel, thank you and i'm sorry. with cult consciousness, feel free to have your character intervene and help caleb out (and/or get locked up along with him for trying), or caged with him later for whatever else. i'm also down to include don't smell the flowers (moss, nuts, and general aphrodisiac) as a part of either of the woods prompts above, or let thursday prompts lead to smut with the right vibe. going a darker route with border crossing is also welcome. if you have other ideas, feel free to pm here or at jarjayes. general info on caleb can be found here. )

iv.b

[pharmacy]

[ Participating in the weekly rituals has been a little fraught lately. Earlier in the month, Quentin's light shit-talking of the Duchess that lords over them all put him in a slight deficit on local good will. It would be easy for things to get out of hand.

[ Happily, a little bit of this self-flagellating kind of action seems to help.

[ When he approaches Caleb with a candle and a sideways smile, he has an open robe on. It hides a long set of scars that climb over his shoulder but shows off flecks of red wax that he didn't manage to wipe off from his own session. ]

I mean, on the receiving end, anyway. [ His eyes tick around the room, to the woman running the show, to the sets of locals already underway--back to Caleb surely. His teeth scrape over his lip. ] Here. Lemme see your arm.

[ He holds his free hand out, gestures for Caleb's. ]

julie kostenko || dead by daylight || skala

[friendzied]

[ let's try this again without suddenly dying and retreating from rp eh ]

Lost Woods

[ there comes a point where, even if you were shy about your nudity initially and tried to be as stealthy as possible, you just can't do it anymore. somewhere around walking through the same clearing for the umpteenth time on sore and bloody feet, that's around when julie decides she's done. ]

[ she punches a tree in frustration. it doesn't help. ]

[ now cradling a set of bloody, swollen knuckles, julie walks until she sees a hint of anyone else — a face in the brush, feet in the distance, a butt — and lifts her good hand to wave in that direction. ]

Hey-- hey! Are you lost too?

Cult Consciousness

[ finally-- finally, she's got clothes. well. "clothes." in so far as she managed to convince a vendor to give her a teal sheet and some pins and she's got it pinned in the vague style of a chiton. not that she knows that's what it's called, she just remembers how to do it from a costume party. does it match the boots she's managed to get her hands on? a better question is does she care. way too traumatized by trekking through the forest not to protect her feet. ]

[ either way, that act of kindness in no way prepares her for when she wanders into the tavern, stomach grumbling up a storm after catching a whiff of something cooking, and she's greeted by one of the townspeople who seem to have come for a light ale and lunch tossing their food to the ground in their desire to rush her, yelling something about her not being welcome. the more perceptive observer might realise that the brief hesitation from her isn't panic, but julie quickly weighing her options before she shrieks and ducks under a table. but why else would a teenage girl scream when some guy rushes her in a bar? obviously she's scared. ]

[ so like. help? help would be nice? ]

Wildcard

[ whatever you like! i'm open to p much anything. hmu over plurk or pm if you wanna talk! also any other dbds are free to recognise her - julie was fastidious about making sure nobody saw her face except other legion, but it's not like she ever hid her voice. ]

cult consciousness

[pharmacy]

[ Most locals will agree that the void-touched aren't doing enough around here, but it's harder to get them to agree on how best to handle it. Certain parties would cage them all, given the opportunity. Others are honestly just trying to eat their lunch without incident. The bartender takes the latter stance, coming around the bar to stand down the unruly patron--but other patrons are quick to sound off with bickering approval or unhappiness or annoyance--

[ The tavern starts to sound like an over-crowded birdcage within seconds after that inciting shout. In the midst of the noise, there's a warning hiss over Julie's shoulder before a hand rests there--the other slipping around her waist to tug her up. ]

Hey--come on, come here. You should get outta here, let's go the back way.

Cesare Borgia | The Borgias | Skala

[nepotist]

Bunking Up

[ Cesare Borgia has had too long a day to care about whose bed belongs to whom. His legs and feet are bloodied with scratches from the undergrowth of the woods. His vision still feels blurry and sensitive to light. And he has spent hours trying to find some fucking clothes. It feels almost obscene to remove those clothes now, the items he had spent so much effort, so many polite negotiations and so many threats to acquire. But he does so anyway, pulling off his shirt and britches and flopping them over a chair before climbing into bed. The bed is certainly someone else's. The personal belongings of some strange on the side table tell Cesare that. But it does not change the Spaniard's actions. In fact, he hardly thinks of it as he stretches out, guilt-free, and falls asleep on the mattress. ]

Cult Consciousness

[ Fights have a habit of finding Cesare Borgia. He used to blame it on his name and his reputation preceding him, then he blamed it on himself and the hot blood running through his veins. But this is the first time he blames it on some symbol etched into his thigh. He tries to scrub it off at first, rubbing the skin raw so that it stings in the water of the tub. He settles for covering it instead, but somehow that doesn't stop others from knowing it's there.

He's draped over the table of a tavern, sipping a cup of wine, when some townsperson smacks Cesare on the back of the head from behind. Cesare is up like a shot. Fury runs throw his body and makes his fingers tingle as he charges at the villager, trying to grab at his shoulders and shake some sense into him. If a knife is nearby, Cesare grab that as well, lunging for the neck. When he speaks, he seethes through his teeth, his voice a low growl.]

Try that again...

Wildcard

OOC: Message me to plot or tag with anything you're interested in. I'm new here so I'm still figuring out what's juicy.

bunking up

[ludomania]

[ this place is obsessed with sex, but it's still not every day that Felipe finds strangers waiting for him in his bed. he's entered the room without the man noticing him, moving quietly as he always does. once a thief, always a thief.

he pauses by the bed before he casually sits down on the edge of it and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. wonders if should just let the man rest. decides against it. ]

Would you like me to climb in there with you? [ it's a genuine offer. ]

miguel o'hara | spider-verse | skala

[domineered]

1. lost in the woods

a. [ There is screaming of a different kind, somewhere in the forest. It's loud, it edges on feral, it's visceral and so very pungent that if you get closer you can feel it. How angry whoever is making these sounds are, how labored their breathing is from the sheer exertion of it.

Once they're in view, it's clear to see that Miguel's rage is all encompassing. That it doesn't matter his suit is suddenly gone, his web shooters, his watch, no sign of a portal anywhere— he growls, fangs extended and eyes a laser red as he yells. Speaks in a mix of Spanish and English, rushed and so very clipped the seconds after.

He paces, back facing whoever is watching, talons extended off his tensed hands, bringing his wrist up as if whatever he's looking for will magically manifest before promptly turning towards the nearest rock — a rather sizeable one, one that should take more than few seconds to lift up for any normal person — and launches it some distance away in his tantrum. ]

b. cw: aphrodisiacs, potential for sex, miguel being a stubborn ass
[ Like a fool, he's come back. Maybe with the intent to rescue those trapped deeper within the forest who can't defend themselves, mostly to see if he can make his way back. Because he has to. And it's this stupid sense of superiority (I can do it), and his equally stupid sense of duty (I have to, I'm the only one who can) that gets him in this situation. The clothing he's managed to procure means little to him now, half of it shucked off his hulking frame.

Miguel's body is on fire, frustrated and maybe a little embarrassed at his predicament: on the ground like some animal, talons digging into the mossy earth, rutting into his bag that he's propped up against a pile of leaves and various debris he's found. Jerking himself off didn't seem to work, but maybe pretending to fuck something might. He's got one hand anchoring himself to the ground, the other pressed flat atop where he's got his dick sleeved into, trying to futilely create the suction and tight grip of a warm wet hole.

If someone draws attention to themselves, despite how desperately he wants them to edge closer, he'll weakly bark out: ]

Mind your— [ A groan. ] business. I got it handled.

2. around town

[ Miguel's well aware that he already stands out. He's tall, he's bulky. He perpetually looks like he has a stick up his ass and he keeps to himself. He needs a reputation that screams normal, unassuming, and it's been difficult when things are so volatile. When he sees so many injustices happening for no reason other than because they can. So if there's word of a masked so and so apprehending townies when they're about to get their hands on somebody (mostly at night), tying them up to wooden pillars with rope or cheekily into the cages in the town center (never locked, rather the bars to the cage will be twisted together to make sure escape or retrieval takes longer).. It definitely isn't him.

He spends most of his days in the clinic, or the apothecary, doing a mix of grunt work and volunteering for literally anything. He doesn't bother showing he knows more than anyone else— he doesn't intend on staying here long, after all. He's only here to gather the things he needs to leave, or the things he needs to be prepared to leave.

Pointedly: he'll be wearing what looks to be ye olde sunglasses throughout the whole time he's there. Pointedly: he'll also be doing experiments in the back, where the patients may mingle as well staff, when he thinks no one is looking.

Or maybe you've run into said masked so and so after almost being attacked, him having quite literally collided (read: launched at inhuman speeds like a dog) into the attacker. They're knocked out, now, hauled beneath his arm like a sack of potatoes. There's no dramatic you're safe now, no I got it, just a reprimanding: ]

Watch where you're going, from now on.

wildcard
[ or hit me up with whatever!! these are the only prompts i could come up with off the top of my head but if there's anything you wanna plot out, feel free to pm! ❤️ ]

around town.

[repressive]

[ this whole entire farce doesn't sit well with lilias, but she suspected it was the same for anyone. all one could truly do is adapt to the best of their abilities. one thing she doesn't exactly find herself accustomed to is seeing such a gamut of... characters. in her world, there was no such thing as super heroes who hide their identities, and those that remained furtive often weren't well-intentioned. hence, all she can do is raise her brow at the peculiar man in front of her.

it's clear he was powerful. there was no denying the precision in his movements, either. this man was used to doing... whatever this was. she may not know what that typically entails, but she gets the feeling that he was well-versed in such close quarters combat. to be honest, for a few moments all she does is stare, before eventually releasing something akin to an exhale of humor. as if she were attempting to stifle the start of a laugh.

she also wasn't accustomed to being spoken to so curtly. but, that's not to say she is without her own quips. she brings a hand up as if to conceal her expression; her hand covering her lips as she speaks. ] Apologies, I didn't mean to laugh.

You had reminded me of Kyla for a second. [ that's... the name of her dog for the record. ]

Laura Moon [American Gods] Diabel

[corpsepride]

DON’T SMELL THE FLOWERS

[hiking through the bitter cold in laura’s birthday suit had never been on her bucket list, yet immediately upon waking it was what she found herself doing. she found herself mystified with the beating heart in her chest, the flowing blood in her veins, but when she also found herself too cold to raise much attention about it, her expression flattened to the same familiar one she wore as a corpse and she trudged on as if her blood was mud. living things need food, though, and laura found herself discriminately picking at certain berries, mushrooms, and any flower that remotely resembled a nasturtium. it was enough to keep her stomach from eating itself, but had some unfortunate side-effects.

with every stride, laura’s creamy, naked legs were scratched and brushed by bare branches, free of foliage, providing only the most minor stimulation. a scrape. a tickle. as she walked further and further into that forest she could feel the sensations edging her at a painfully slow pace. finally, she stopped and stood in place, gritting her teeth.]

Fucking bullshit.

[she clamps her thighs tightly together for a moment as if she can will herself to orgasm and finally get some relief, but when it doesn’t happen she stomps her feet and contorts her face into a frustrated mess. laura huffs and murmurs softly, angrily.]

If I don’t get laid soon…

[madaboutit]

He still hasn't found Gideon, which probably should be more concerning than it actually is. Sweeney's got other itches to scratch. While blood is still smeared on his face and hands, there's been at least some attempt at wiping it off. His vest was lost somewhere along the way, but he still has a pale linen shirt with a simple tie to keep it situated on his shoulders. Sweeney's trousers are dark and mostly buttoned, capped with boots. There's a knife at his waist and a rucksack slung over his shoulder.

Effort's focused on the environment; it's becoming apparent that this place isn't good for his mental health. He can feel the madness, just behind one eye, scratching at him and willing him to fall in. Sweeney pauses to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to force it back. When he opens them, he blinks several times as he tries to right the world. It's immediately apparent to him that his attempt has done fuck-all.

What other explanation is there to the sight in front of him, her being here and very naked? His jaw goes slack, struck dumb as his brain stumbles, trying to figure out what's real and what isn't. Only one way to know. Sweeney's brow is deeply creased when he finally finds his words.

"Dead Wife?"

athen | original | wilk

[pulledback]

» » » A: Arrival

[It's not the nakedness that bothers him, it's the fact he's lost all his shit. Search as he might where he woke, none of it's there, and that's pretty fucking aggravating. He's used to being summoned, yanked around and the like but these woods aren't ones he recognizes - and he can't catch a familiar scent on the air, either. So he lazily makes his way out, cracking his neck to one side along the way.

To anyone he encounters in the woods before emerging and heading into town, he's very much unconcerned about the unknown. He seems to predict the sound of footfall before it sounds, though those who do manage to sneak up on him by one way or another will earn a sharp look, his hands by his sides turning black, nails elongated. The response relaxes momentarily, armor melting away with a flex of his fingers by his side.]

Follow somebody else, I'm not a tour guide.

» » » B: Stubborn Little Shit

So you're telling me a bunch of idiots already went back in there on the Duchess' bidding?

[This is after he's come to stand where others are, some hastily packing to head (back) into the woods while others are tending to the potentially wounded, or doing something of merit themselves while staying behind. He didn't have any intention of joining this little dispatch of hopeless brown-nosers but the townies here are being fucking killjoys, so he's sucking his teeth back here at the boarding house.

The pretense of packing his own bag at least got him some knives, one of which he's flipping back and forth between his hands as he watches the scene in front of him unfold. He doesn't want to do another person's bidding - especially if he doesn't have to - but he also doesn't want to get pestered by locals. So he's figuring he'll give it a half-hearted go, have an excuse to keep the knives and some non-perishables and maybe he can fuck off along the treeline for a while while everyone else does the heavy lifting.]

What are you going to do?

» » » Notes

[Athen is still a bit WIP so please ignore any inconsistencies as they get hammered down in this TDM! His permissions is also being constructed on the fly here but essentially he is a demonic hellboy forced to do the bidding of whoever holds his tether, and he's salty about that. Will be made saltier when he realizes it's not even here with him & he he has even less chance of getting at it than he did back home. witchpunk for any questions!! ]

b. stubborn little shit

[guilliman]

Right now, idiocy seems to be the wisest option.

[Says the nine-foot tall dude wearing a tunic made out of bedsheets, as he packs up an efficient little bedroll.]

Theoretical. The villagers will not look kindly on the travelers who do not do as they ask. Practical. The village is the least warp-tainted place so-far known. Maintaining at least minimally positive relations with them is preferable, until other options present themselves.

Luke Skywalker ✸ Star Wars: Legends ✸ Wilk

[blackclad]

✸ Arrival.

After Endor, Luke has pointedly made an effort not to be naked in public. On a practical level, it doesn't really behoove his position as a Jedi (or so Leia has tried to knock into his stubbornly a-political skull), but mostly because nudity brings about conversations he doesn't want to have. The ring of scarring around the base of his right hand and the slightly off-colour and texture of the synthskin there tend to lead to awkward questions. The real problem is that he's quite literally covered in a fine, tracery of branching scars that unsettle or repulse people.

"Hey, can I borrow that?" Wherein 'that' is something like a blanket or a spare shirt or anything, really.

✸ Border Crossing.

As he gets closer to the Void, or maybe just the longer he's in the maze, the harder it becomes for Luke to meditate and feel like it's making a difference. His anger and hunger sit like a burning ball just behind his breastbone.

It's fine. Really, it's fine. He was able to manage the cave on Dagobah. He survived the Emperor's presence. He will get through this.

(1) There are feathers in his hair. Sandy, rust red feathers that are soft to the touch and itch as they grow in along his spine. Maybe another Wilk could offer some advice? He's sure to appreciate it.

(2) He's hungry. A belly-growling, bone-gnawing hunger that just won't quit. Maybe he ate something he shouldn't have? Or maybe it's just a part of his transformation. Either way, sharing a meal wouldn't go amiss.

✸ OOC.

'Tis Takhys. HMU on plurk or Discord if you wanna plan or chat.

arriving

[guilliman]

"-- will you return it, when you find suitable other clothing?"

But Guilliman is already undoing the makeshift clasp keeping his woolen blanket-cloak on his shoulders. He's still got a couple of bedsheets on underneath it, after all. Which is more than this newcomer has.

His expression doesn't waver, as he takes the man in. Scars, possible prosthesis? He's seen worse. But it is unusual, somewhat, here. Possibly significant data.

"The texture," he elaborates, as he folds the cloth into a bundle, and offers it. "It is well-woven, and well-worn." And gentle on the skin around his interface ports. "I am partial to it."

kylo ren / star wars / skala

[vocoder]

(a)ll the pain and suffering

( there's the sound of a loud crackle throughout the forest as decades-old trees are ripped from the earth—fully uprooted—and sent flying in a rage. kylo, to his credit, isn't physically touching them. he's posed, naked, at least ten yards away, one hand contorted in front of him as he molds the space around the earth and crushes sequoias into splinters. strolling around in the woods is stupid and beneath him. he's been at this for long enough. he knows how to navigate, yet he still ends up turned around, and turned around again, and turned around again... at this moment, it feels better to tear through every tree in sight and carve a path forward for himself.

upon feeling a pulse of life that isn't his own [thanks, Force], he whips around. what remains of his tree tantrum falls to the ground and he's left turning that fury onto you. )

You.

( you?? )

What is this? Don't bother lying. I can see into your thoughts.*

[ *OOC: Only with OOC approval! If you don't want Kylo to read your character's mind, we'll just say he's too angry to focus properly, or some other fluke. ]

there's (b)eauty in the bleeding
cw: potential sex, cannibalism, violent delights

( something in the Force said the fruit were edible, so he ate them. perhaps he wasn't specific enough with his query since everything is edible, technically, if you're brave. unsurprisingly, he isn't thinking much about jedi riddles and magical forest loopholes at this moment. he feels hot, but he isn't close to death. he'll probably wish he were soon, though. how low will he go? how thoroughly will this forest force him to debase himself? arousal is a useless thing to feel now of all times, so that's probably why he's feeling it: his own body is mocking him. naked and lost with no hope of contacting the first order, and now with an added layer of horny to lacquer on top of things. asinine.

when he finds the person responsible for this, he's going to kill them. obviously, he's going to kill them. and not quickly, either. he'll draw it out, make it agonizing. the worst kind of torture.

a shift. somewhere. someone. )

I hear you out there... It's alright. Don't be afraid.

Come over here.

I just want to talk.

( look at this sweating, bright-eyed, painfully hard man and tell me he doesn't look trustworthy. )

care enough to (c)arry on

( kylo just wants a set of clothes and some time to be alone, but it seems he can't get either of those things since no one in this backward-ass hick town seems overly concerned with his dirty, bloody, naked state. it annoys him, [especially the way this place reminds him of the hippie exploits of his peace-loving parent(s)] but he's too exhausted to be furious. he'd arrived late after spending so long in that void pit of a forest, so he's among the last when it comes to lodgings. someone's already in 'his' bed, the bed he'd have wanted for himself. )

Move.

( finders, keepers? not in this space-colonist house. someone else may have gotten the bed fair-and-square, but kylo wants it, so he should get it. he's not accustomed to asking twice, and his stern expression says as much.

but... if he takes that thought just a moment further, is being alone really what he wants right now? silence? more silence after what felt like being alone with his thoughts for a decade in the woods? )

No. Stay.

( no, he will not make up his mind. )

Move... over.

c!!

[oomfies]

[ What the hell is wrong with men in this backward-ass hick town?? This is the second one that has tried to make themselves comfortable in her room. And this is the first that has— changed his mind?? Halfway?? Lottie can't tell if this is better or worse.

(Worse, it's definitely worse, because if he wants to stay that means he'll be here with her.)

Lottie's got her blankets pulled all the way up, shielding half her face and all of her body. She doesn't move, which will probably piss him off (good), but she at least isn't screaming (Felipe would come running, if she did, and that'd pose a whole other problem of boy fighting— then he'll never leave). ]

...Why?

alicent hightower | hotd | idk yet

[lambencies]

lost woods:

[ the Queen trips over a root. her ankle twists unpleasantly, but she stands up without making a noise. she's so cold and tired she can barely walk straight, but she won't stop. she must reach home before dark.

how come it isn't night yet? she's been wandering for what feels like hours, lost and lonely, looking for a path. when she finally hears the sound of a stream, she rushes to it and falls down to her knees, sinks her hands into the freezing water to bring water to her lips, but her hands shake so badly they don't hold water. in the end she has no choice but to lean down to drink from the stream like an animal.

then she hears a noise: someone approaching her from behind.

Alicent covers herself with her hands and stands up quickly, her chin held up defiantly high and her back regally straight even though her curly brown hair is a mess around her head and her trembling, bare legs are covered in mud and insect bites. ]

I... I would greatly appreciate it if you could escort me back to King's Landing. [ it would have made a better impression if her stomach hadn't rumbled loudly when she spoke. ]

fighting rings:

[ Alicent has lived through some tumultuous nights at King's Landing, but she usually had thick castle walls separating her from the bloodthirsty mobs. it's different here where she's a commoner and an outsider.

there's safety in numbers, so she follows people into a tavern even though she doesn't feel much like socializing. she can't even get herself a drink when more people barge in. they push and shove her and soon enough she discovers herself down in the basement, watching a cruel fight unravel right in front of the her eyes. fists pound against muscle and an unconscious body hits the ground with a thud. there's blood. people cheer and chant.

it's worse than a tournament, a violent brawl that serves no purpose and yet she can't look away. her own blood rushes in her ears and she feels heat creeping up on her cheeks. she wrings her hands together like she was about to pull her fingers off. ]

Stop it. [ she whispers. the people fighting can't hear her so maybe she's talking to herself. ] I said, stop it.

[ ooc: alicent is from episode 8. hit me up with a wildcard if you want! ]

fighting rings

[sapphyre]

[ Places like this have always existed. The same sour smell fouls the air than any dirt floor dwelling in the bowels of Fleabottom. Places where the young prince has found his brother many a time. The stench of sweat, blood, and piss — it's almost like being home.

It isn't home, yet one pale violet eye prowls the crowd as he folds himself through it. He thinks there is something to the simplicity, the raw rage of one man unleashing his fury upon another. Tinged spittle flies across the ground, bone crunching drowned out by the horrible roar of the crowd. Give the prince a knife and he may be so bold as to step up into the clearing and try a hand at it himself.

But—] Mother? [ A voice so very small it is immediately lost.

The crowd roars as a victor rises from the central pit. Aemond is jostled, elbowing himself through hot breath and soft meat. Chasing after the cowering figure of auburn curls before it is swallowed up again. One firm hand clasps around her delicate wrist, a firm and steadying grip as he slides between her and the mayhem.]

You shouldn't be here.

johnny slaughter | texas chainsaw massacre (2023) | diabel

[sickbastard]

» 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
cw: mentions of stalking, and death

[ well, this is new.

it's different on the receiving end, kind of thrilling, kind of annoying. his heart races all the same, a small burst of adrenaline rushing through his veins when his eyes pop open, and he finds himself staring at the canopy overhead. thick and concentrated, choking the life out, like it's meant to keep what lies underneath hidden. it has its appeal, but it's wrong. he knows the trees back home; trampled, stalked, and hunted through them more times than he can count.

the cold creeping into his skin is just as wrong, shivering through his limbs the same way the cold room did when he lingered too long with irresistible corpses. it snaps him rigid, and only reinstates the fact that he ain't in texas no more.

johnny lifts a hand to his face, drags it down, down, down, then musters the strength to sit up. his head spins, a dizzying assault to the senses that draws out a low groan and leaves a bitter taste of disorientation on his tongue— sissy, that cunt and her concoctions. the thought cracks through him like spidering glass, then shatters under the weight of condescending disbelief, and the snap of twigs underfoot.

he shakes off the coil of disarray as easy as breathing, lands himself on the bare soles of his feet, crouching low to the ground. drifting silently, he maps the ground from his peripherals as he peers through bark and bush for any sign of movement. ]

» 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡
cw: cannibalistic hallucinations, and nsfw.

[ in the throes of delirium, shapes contort and morph into grotesque parodies of themselves, and bright red fruit takes the form of anatomical hearts, intricately detailed with delicate veins and arteries. the pulsating calls johnny by name, sickly sweet, and seductive. a siren song that hooks in flesh and bone, thrumming through the lines of his body, like tendrils of silk and barbed wire.

he growls when he winds his fingers around the warm, beating muscle. moans when he sinks his teeth into the meat of it, oozing sweet, coppery nectar down his chin, and chest. groans when he fists his cock, pressed into bark, and scraping himself raw while he chases the swelling ache that crashes against every nerve.

his dick drips pre-cum in long sticky strings, inevitably clinging to his thighs, wet, and warm, and glistening. but release never comes, no matter the tempo, no matter how tight he squeezes.

bordering on frustration, johnny goes still when he hears a rustle in the distance, followed by the distinct sound of footsteps drawing close. he holds himself steady, clips his breathing to a whisper. once close enough, he lunges out, and curls a precise hand around the strangers' throat, thrusting them against the nearest oak. ]

Hey there, sweet thing! [ a sly grin spreads across the line of his mouth like warm honey, all wild delight, and charm, and need. ]

» 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝

[ come at me, bro! or pm if you wanna discuss first. ]

the filth and the fetish 🙏 cw: violence

[ghostface]

( points to johnny: danny really should've seen that coming.

he'd blame this place for making him soft — forced into retirement too early, edged right off the cusp of his climax, a whole two months trapped in this frozen-in-time town like a spade left behind in the rain, collecting rust along his cleverest points. but it ain't that, he knows it can't be that; he's as sharp as he ever was, as sharp as his daddy and the entity made him, as sharp as the knife john sawed into his hip when he fucked him and filled him, all those weeks ago. it's this place, literally. these goddamn woods, ten times the mind-bending labyrinth to the entity's fog. these woods can't be mapped, or navigated, or understood. these woods bite back.

he's lassoed into a tree by an unfamiliar body, knocked off his center of mass and boot heels grinding for traction in the dirt. affronted, properly schooled, his dozing instincts abruptly wake up and ask who the actual fuck?, then chase it quickly with: KILL THE CUNT WHO DARES. the cunt who dares, with his hips nail-pinning danny's hips, hammering him up against tree bark beneath a vicious dick and far more vicious intent, is just a man. barely a man. no older than danny, surely.

blessedly, his heel finds purchase in a deep pitted groove in the tree. using it like a ladder rung, danny hitches his weight up and up, away from the noosing press of johnny's hand, until he looms over his head like a black rain cloud — and down again, into his arms proper, snagging johnny's waist in the unyielding bear trap of his legs. his thighs cinch, bite down on his hips. his ankles lock at the heels behind his back.

brightly, with all the well, i'll be damned charm of running into an old friend in the unlikeliest of places: ) Howdy, cowboy.

( the kiss he licks into johnny's mouth is genuine and filthy, hot tongue snaking his teeth. but the hand slamming in with a knife made from bone toward his side, right out of his eye-line, looking for a naked flank to fuck, is genuine, too, and just as filthy. )

jem walker | in the flesh | eudio cr au | Niez

[medals]

border crossing -

[She isn't sure why she let herself be steered towards the woods. It's an uncanny thing, to be in them alone. They'd given her a blanket for her nakedness, and she'd let herself be talked into wandering in. Alone, naked - it'd be jarring enough for anyone. Jem, though - Jem takes half a step forward and hears branches cracking behind her. She can hear her own heart beating in her chest. She's alone with no weapon, which is perhaps a blessing. The irony isn't lost on her - she can hear Henry, she thinks, if she listens close to the wind.

The more she walks, the more she thinks she sees him from the corner of her eye. A flash of red hair, of pooling black blood. In and in she walks, and a noise - someone behind her - has her spinning, has her seeing: Henry, of course, staring at her with those dead eyes. Closing in as she backs up, back against the tree, wide eyed, frightened. She hasn't seen him in so long, she'd been doing so good - but he touches her, grips the blanket, her arm, and she screams: ] Don't touch me - ! [and shoves. Doubles over, wheezes. ] Stay away, I didn't mean to do it - I didn't want to hurt you! I don't want to!

[If you get closer, the hallucination doesn't really fade. She panics, reaches up with her hand and claws at his - your - face. ]

don't smell the flowers -

[The panic attacks haven't really subsided by the time she's dragged herself back the way. She's hungry, though, and it feels like days she's eaten. She can't really be blamed for eating every berry and nut she comes across. She finds somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded and makes a miserable little meal out of it.

It doesn't take long for it to start to work through her. Distantly, she realises this is a familiar feeling. She recalls eating sweets and downing drinks in Eudio's events, going hot all over until she fell onto the first person she knew and -

Ah, she thinks, twisting her sad little blanket, digging her heels into the dirt, fuck. It's not quite the same - this isn't a suggestion of want, it's a slow, all-consuming burn and she realises her hands dipped down to slide into wet slick before she's even rationally thought it out. She can't stop, not until she comes - and it feels like hours, days, where she's trying and never quite getting there. It makes her delirious, stupid. Has her crying angry tears as she fucks into herself, groaning in agonised frustration. At the very least, she's too far gone to feel the fear anymore. Small blessings. ]

bunkmates -

[She doesn't take up a lot of space, but she does stay awake for as long as she can. She's found something that looks like pyjamas, glad to be clothed, finally. She's sprawled out, watching the surroundings with sleepy eyes.

She should sleep. She's just not sure she trusts herself not to scream, wake everyone else up. It makes her twitchy; fidgeting idly with the hem of the blanket.

At whoever comes to settle next to her, she glances up, smiles tight.] Hiya. [Then, tentatively: ] I'm not great to sleep next to. Forewarning you.

[otherbitches]

[ He doesn't know this place, but he has the luxury of a few days, of having already limped toward town with a stomach full of acid and bile, body ravaged and alien in how it felt. He felt like a lost lamb, shaky and starving and unwilling to eat anything without being coaxed by irritated villagers and irritated void touched.

He has clothes now, at least, but he has no business in the forest. There's no intention in wandering far, not toward the void and all the bullshit. It's funny, Billy hates the forest. Hated the ones back in Hawkins too. Never grew up in them, never came to appreciate the chirps and creaking and loud-quiet sounds. He hates being out here, but he is. It's where he woke up. Maybe it's where he'll— leave.

It's uneventful the first day. Uneventful the next. But new sorry assholes seem to appear haphazardly. Someone might call him altruistic, out wandering to catch a lost lamb, to tend to them better than he was tended. He's not altruistic. But when he sees her, lank brown hair and scared eyes, covered in a blanket— he's not a monster.

Well, he is. But, he goes to her anyway, reaches for her arm and starts up the boring: ] Hey. Hey. It's alright. Come on, there's a shitty little town where you can—

Fuck. [ She's strong but listless, going down hard on a knee. Catching her proves to be a mistake, she's on him in a minute. Wailing and bitching and crying, like he's the one who gut her. Like she's the one who gut him. ]

I don't care who you— stop, stop. [ Her nails dig cruelly into his cheek and he shoves her hard, a hard smack against her side, but now she's hanging on, hanging on and clawing. ]