TEST DRIVE MEME 004

[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: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.

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: spiders, animated skeletons, aphrodisiac effects, exhibitionism/voyeurism, bdsm, kink negotiation, knifeplay, potential dismemberment.

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.

You seem to be alone. 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 despite the growing chill.

wildlife encounters

The longer you hike, the more unsettling sights await you: animal remains, some partially stripped of their flesh or discarded entrails left exposed to the cold. As you continue on your way, you might even swear you catch a glimpse of what appears to be a fully-formed skeletal creature observing you from a distance. Surely, that’s just your mind playing tricks on you... These creatures may be unsettling, but they show no signs of aggression to folks who keep their distance.

In the forest, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike, and the weather isn't quite amenable to your lack of.

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.

breaking and entering

If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.

SETTING: CRIME

Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed 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. It's already full of people who appeared in the village just as you did today.

Tonight, a few of the townspeople will help out with the new arrivals. They stock the kitchen and prepare a communal dinner of parsnips, pheasant, and squash. During dinner, they (and those outsiders who've already begun to settle) sit down at the enormous wooden dining room table and help orient the newcomers and answer their questions.

finding roommates

Don't spend too much time in the dining room going for seconds, 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.

Get a good night's rest. By the light of day, locals will help get the new arrivals set up on the coal stove with breakfast. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. As you find your way around town to get your bearings, folks are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing or other inventory items, asking questions at dinner/orientation, or staking your claim on a bedroom!

RECUMITA

The festival fills the streets with dancing locals and all the stuffs of a street market. Despite the challenges posed by the snow-in-summer, farmers are grateful to announce that the situation is not as dire as initially feared. As a result, the harvest festival of Recūmita becomes a celebration of unity and gratitude to their fellow townspeople for salvaging an almost-frozen harvest, the Duchess' magic for protecting and reviving it, and the 'Void-Touched' who braved the Void to strengthen her.

Over the weekend, all regular work is put on hold, except for the necessary festival preparations. The streets come alive with vibrant stalls and stands, offering a wide array of delectable treats and refreshing beverages. From barrels of beer and cups of kvas to mouthwatering roasted meats, delightful squash-based dishes like pumpkin latkes, honey-glazed brussel sprouts on skewers, hot borscht in both pork and vegetarian variations, and tantalizing mushrooms stuffed with leeks, cranberries, and bryndza cheese, there is an abundance of flavors to indulge in.

The first day of the festival transforms the streets into a bustling night market, where shopkeepers organize an assortment of carnival-style games. Test your strength in arm-wrestling contests or challenge your pain tolerance in contests where individuals whip each other to determine who yields first, whether to pain or pleasure. In one corner, Terry's Rubean student sets up an unsanctioned fighting tournament, while in another area, a path of hot coals awaits the daring souls who wish to traverse it. Instead of traditional pie-throwing stands, knife-throwing stands attract participants who willingly become targets.

Enthusiastic Rubeans, particularly those involved in integrating the Void-touched, take it upon themselves to enhance the festivities. They recruit local participants and willing Void-touched individuals to partake in an impromptu stage performance, with no need for rehearsals. Come as you are and join the spectacle! Once the performance begins, the passion and excitement behind their efforts become truly evident, as all the performances call for explicitly sexual or violent acts to be performed together.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try entering the fighting rings, watching or joining a live sex performance, or eating some aphro food (deliberately or otherwise)!

the fathomless dark

At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches.

In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.

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.

In addition to the spiders, you may come across the sharp-toothed furred yetis that emerged during the snowstorm, still looking for a meal. Each one hunts alone, a fifteen-foot-tall shambling creature that drips black ooze and super-chills the air around it until your skin feels tight and icy. If it gets the drop on you, you're likely to be its dinner. It has emerged from a long summer hibernation to enjoy the colder weather, and it's starving.

FAQ: DEATH RULES

Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. 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.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!

HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US

Uh oh spaghetti-os.

The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.

FAQ: MONSTER CURSES & TIMELINES

Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.

Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.

someone else transforms

Rubilykskoye's performance troupe is thrown into a state of panic as they make a shocking discovery: Vyanchaslav, their unofficial manager and conductor, has vanished without a trace! Vyanchaslav plays a crucial role in the troupe, overseeing small inter-troupe matters and having the final say on casting and rehearsal time. He is known for his reliability, making his sudden disappearance all the more perplexing, especially right before a major event.

The last time anyone saw Vyanchaslav was in their usual rehearsal space, just before a crucial run-through of their upcoming performance. His absence during that rehearsal was highly unusual, and it left the troupe members worried and confused. They are now frantically trying to piece together what might have happened to him.

As they search for Vyanchaslav, they notice a faint sound lingering in the air – the distant whine of a fiddle. However, there is something unsettling about it. As they follow the source of the sound, the room grows darker, and an eerie chill runs down their spines. Those who draw close enough to properly hear Vyanchaslav's song will feel inclined to dance themselves til their feet bleed, til their lungs give out. That is, provided they don't cut a devil's bargain with him first, selling something else to the devil in exchange for their freedom.

(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)

you waited too long

At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.

Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.

As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?

RULES: CONTENT WARNINGS

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.

Handsome Bob | Rocknrolla | Wilk

[eversohandsome]

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

Woods - cw: nudity
If only this was the first time Bob's found himself running around a forest with his arse hanging out. There was that one summer him and the gang fucked off to that posh little place in the Chiltern Hills for a long weekend. A thank you from a happy client for their illustrious work.

All in all, he's not as fussed about the fact he's somewhere naked and more concerned about the fact that he doesn't have an inkling of how he got here. Something he realises he can't just ask the next person he comes across because that would be fucking weird. He's cupping his crown jewels to not completely expose himself, face screwed up into something mostly bemused. Especially if the other person is similarly naked.

"Alright? So many questions but I'll start with... any chance you know which way's the way to some clothes and a pint?"

Boarding house
Eventually, once he's found his way into town - and that's a fucking trip all on its own - he can be found inhaling a bowl of stew at the boarding house like a man who hasn't eaten in days. If he gets the feeling he's being watched he'll look up, a few specks of the stew hanging ungracefully in his beard as his eyebrows lift in question.

"What? Can I help you?"

RECUMITA

Fighting ring - cw: violence, blood
The fighting ring is what grabs his attention almost immediately. He's partaken in a fair few in his day. He's a scrapper more than a controlled fighter, always looking for a way to get a leg up using whatever means he has at his disposal. It's all fun and games, in his opinion, when everybody here's willing and consenting.

So he goes ham, fights and wins a few, loses a few more.

His teeth are stained red with his own blood when he finishes, bruises already blossoming at his right eye, his lip split, ribs sore. He could probably be tempted into fighting again if anybody wants a spin. Or he's happy to grab a drink with anybody he's thrown down with and get to know people without throwing punches. Either way it's clear there's no hard feelings from Bob's side of things.

Knife-throwing stand - cw: potential knife play and/or stab wounds/grazes
At some point he makes it to a knife-throwing stand and his curiosity gets the better of him. He's got a good aim and a decent throw, but he's not all that experienced with throwing blades. Or maybe he can be tempted to stand in front of the target. Attractive men he's trying to impress have a decent chance of teasing him in front of that bullseye.

THE FATHOMLESS DARK

In the fog - cw: violence, aggression, forced captivity, abduction vibes
It's not all fun and games though, it turns out, especially when he finds himself lost in thick fog and hearing voices so real he's quickly transported into old memories. Shards of trauma, fragments of moments that have left a mark deep inside him.

At times he can be found yelling aggressively as though warning somebody else, shouting at the fog to back off or he'll fuck you up.

Other times, if he comes across somebody he doesn't seem to recognise for who they are, he'll pull them this way and that in an attempt to keep them safe from a threat only he can see. He doesn't leave any opportunity for escape or, if escape does happen, he'll pursue his new friend in order to stop them from coming to harm.

ooc

Hello, was previously here with Tyler Ronan and now hoping to bring this lad to Rubi!

Helpful links: Permissions + Kinks.

You can find me at edgerunner for any plotting purposes!

Woods

[bloomandwither]

Ankari is out in the woods to accomplish a couple of things. He's hunting for wild seeds before winter might chill them all away, but also come to check a couple of traps he set out. He was hoping to capture any wild songbirds, mink, or stoats for his rituals. Ankari saw them as a bit more... appealing of beasts. Perhaps he could trade with the Minstrel for the missing piece of his current pet project.

What he doesn't expect is to find a naked man strolling about, but then it strikes him. He says with a casual musing,

"My, my, that time again, is it? Been a while since we greeted any new arrivals,"

Palamedes Sextus | Locked Tomb | Niez

[sexpal]

SHOULDER BONE CONNECTED TO THE NECK BONE
PAJAK WOOD
cw: none

It's clear from the first moment that he's no longer in Canaan House. Even before he wakes up, Palamedes is aware of the icy cold biting into his skin, the frozen earth beneath the knobs of his bare shoulders and buttocks and heels. He maps out the world of his available senses, the energies of the surrounding area. Then he opens his eyes.

"Right."

It's difficult enough to navigate a strange forest while naked and alone. Trying to do so when you can barely see three feet in front of your face is even more difficult. Palamedes picks his way through the cold wet undergrowth with his hands outstretched in front of him, trying not to think about how ridiculous he must appear, trying not to think about too much more than the next step. When he hears the sound of water, he heads roughly towards it, assuming he can follow it to civilisation of some kind.

The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

When he hears the snap of a twig nearby, he turns gratefully towards the bloom of thalergic energy, a skinny young man who looks as lost as anyone possibly could be, yet somehow calm. This is far from the worst thing that he's ever experienced.

"Yes, hello?"

NECK BONE CONNECTED TO THE HEAD BONE
RECUMITA
cw: smut, kink, possible aphro/dubcon

Once he's dressed and relatively warm, with eyeglasses that almost manage to fit on his face without sliding down his nose, Palamedes feels much better about his situation. He obviously still needs to get back to Cam and the others as soon as possible, but he doesn't see any harm in finding out what's going on in this strange little town. And it's certainly a novel thing to be around the noisy crowds of humanity, to experience what looks like a pre-Res civilisation, and to eat food that wasn't grown in a vat.

He doesn't shy away from the displays of sexuality and violence. It's no worse than what he's heard about the parties that happen whenever enough Third necromancers are in a room together for long enough.

Sipping from a cup of warm mulled cider, he lingers in front of a display of ropework on a small stage. A young woman is being efficiently and brutally brought to orgasm over and over by the man who has tied her. Palamedes observes it quietly for a few moments, then turns to one of his fellow audience members.

"The mark on her thigh --" he nods towards the Wilk mark, large enough to spread almost around her entire limb, "what does it mean?"

WILDCARD

[ OOC: Here for anything else! Prod me on laetificat for plotting. ]

[otherbitches]

The girl is writhing on stage and Billy’s eyes track every minute motion, every tiny tremble before she breaks and gasps and moans and fights against the ropes. There's no reprieve; her handler does it again, her body coiling tight and desperate. The ropes are taunt against her skin, pressing indents into the fat, her skin smooth and ruddy where they restrain her. He wonders what it's like to do it outside of a void dream. To have it...

When the other spectator speaks to him, the new view is less interesting. The ill-fitting eyeglasses don’t help, adding to a bookish look; they make Billy wonder how this would go if they were back home, but they aren’t. And as the weeks go by in Rubilykskoye, it's clear that isn’t changing.

Instead, he leans closer in the crowd, their shoulders brushing as he lifts his forearm. His own blunt coffin mark gleaming blood-red when he mentally drawls: A little clue about what to expect if she goes Terminator. Did you find yours yet, or is it on your ass cheek?

The Medicine Seller | Mononoke | Diabel

[kinko]

In The Woods Somewhere

[Woods][CW: Nudity]
He'd been walking for some time, however long and for however far he'd not really paid attention to. Being naked wasn't an issue either, there were other, heavier things on his mind than simple nudity. There wasn't a hint of shame to be seen at all really, he may as well have been fully clothed with the degree of casual confidence he had here.

Without the kimono or the bandana, he'd look more like a forest spirit than a man, all alabaster white with long and wild blond hair, brilliant red swirling tattoos spread across his chest and back with a singular, staring, ornate eye set within the center of it. The very first hint of another person in the area would get his attention immediately, whoever's around will find themselves burdened by some spooky company pretty soon and he's not even slightly sorry about it.

"Excuse me, a moment, if you would." You know, like it's a lovely day in the middle of town and he's asking for directions and everyone has pants on.

[Boarding House]
He'd not touched the food, not accepted a single drop of anything to drink, he'd actually spent more time turning this whole place upside down looking for god knows what, and heavens knows when he actually set about getting properly dressed. Maybe someone reminded him, maybe he did it of his own volition. Regardless here he is now, looking far crankier than he did back in the woods, fussing quietly with that tangled mane of hair.

Or perhaps claiming a bedroom, nestled on a bed and fully awake with that same sour look on his face. Someone's just straight up not having a good time right now apparently.

Regardless, anyone nearby or approaching might just feel like they're being intensely watched, and they are; the man has a staring problem apparently, and god knows how long it's been since he's blinked.

Recumita

[Festival][CW: potential smut, kink]
He can be found damn near anywhere here. Directly opposed to how sullen he was in the boarding house, out here he seems far more invested in what's going on around him. Once more he's openly avoiding food and drink, seemingly still not hungry or thirsty despite his wandering. He can still be found examining it though with some measure of interest, maybe even picking it apart with an almost scientific level of intensity. He can be found wandering the night market, watching the games taking place with an air of detached interest, before making his way to the stage to see what's going on over there.

With the growing level of fascination that's creeping up here, there's an excellent chance he might just decide to jump into something here sooner rather than later.

The Fathomless Dark

[Fog][CW: potential violence]
It was not an unfamiliar scenario. In fact, it was thrillingly recognizable to him, in a sense. No not the cause of it, but even that was exciting. The only frustration here was that he didn't have the sword, but that didn't stop him from venturing out once he'd seen others do so. After all, someone had to get them back here.

Through the whispers, the flashes of red eyes the size of carriage wheels, claws in the fog like sword blades, teeth as daggers, he'd push forward, hunting down those which he could surmise at best to be human, or at least to not be of the fog. Whether they'd appreciate it or not, an iron grip would fall upon an arm or hand, the deceptively small man not hesitating to simply haul and drag wanderers back towards the safety of the town.

Perhaps eventually it would grow too much for him. Perhaps eventually even he might become tired, or turned around by the hallucinations. It all ended the same though, with the man sitting pressed against a tree, head hung low as if deeply asleep, the only indication that he still yet lived being the faint rise and fall of his shoulders.

Wildcard

Here for anything else! The Medicine Seller's monstrous form is a kitsune, in case you'd like to mess about with that, feel free to DM me or contact me on plurk at squiddly for plotting!

marc spector, marvel | wilk

[vestments]

in the woods somewhere
cw: nudity, references to unreliable perceptions of reality.

( marc's woken up not knowing where he is before. that isn't anything new, and neither is awakening, naked and confused, nausea sitting unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. the usual answers — death, resurrection; sleep-walking — don't feel applicable here. there's the added question of: is this real? he's not sure. it feels real, the earth solid and cold beneath his hands, but still a sliver of doubt sits at the back of his mind.

he breathes in and then out. one. two. three. a thought, brief, of how he knows khonshu would be able to hear him, able to answer, able to — provide a path? he has before. it's not a good idea, but marc's never been good at good ideas. he's never been good at planning, at thinking ahead. he could, but— would khonshu answer? does he even want the miserable fucking asshole to answer? (HMM—.)

for now, he decides it'd be FUCKING STUPID, so he opts not to. opts to try and work out where he is instead. he doesn't stop to try and pick berries or nuts (not important), but he does head towards the sound of the stream. where there's water, he reasons, there's likely people.

at first, he thinks he's wrong. there's a whole lot of NOTHING when he reaches the stream, and his gaze turns one way then the other as he decides on which direction in which to head, before—

footsteps from somewhere behind. light, so either they're treading with deliberate care, or they're as naked as he is.

he's dishevelled — mussed hair, dark circles, stubble that says the thought of shaving hasn't entered his head in at least a couple of days. a scar above an eye, an assortment more across his back, his torso. mixed, the sort that are the result of fist fights and knife fights and gun fights alike. if he's embarrassed, it's not evident in his expression, not immediately, not beyond the pinch of his brow, the knitting of his eyebrows and an attempt to work out if he's familiar with — whoever.

after a moment, then— )

I was beginning to think I was alone.

MORE woods
cw: nudity, references to unreliable perceptions of reality, references to hallucinations/delusions.

( marc is not the most talkative of companions (sorry, whoever's ended up with him), but he's at least — apparently — not spooked by the skeletal and gorey, not-yet skeletal remains of animals the longer and further they trek. he's seen worse, and though he won't point it out cheerfully (marc spector is, perhaps, unaware of the definition of 'CHEERFUL'), he will offer it as an explanation if asked.

(what worse has he seen? well—.)

what does catch his attention — eventually — is the skeletal creature that seems to sit just on the edges of his vision. it's not that it's partially formed, it's not that it makes him feel uneasy (or — it does, but not for the reasons one might think).

the first time, he doesn't say anything, just looks at it and then away, quickly. decisive. the second time it elicits a frown, an unhappy downwards curve of his mouth, and he still — pointedly, deliberately — doesn't say anything. the third time, the frown is still there, the unhappiness is still there, but it's punctuated by frustration, a sudden burst of— )

—For fuck's sake, ( a growl more than anything else, and thought it's not loud, it is audible. )

night market
cw: n/a, potential for violence.

( typically, marc sleeps during the day and is awake at night — a fucked-up circadian rhythm courtesy of a (mostly) nocturnal lifestyle and a lot of coffee. as such, the night market's right up his alley (in a manner of speaking). he takes his time assessing the more physical stalls and games — the fight ring, the arm-wrestling, the ones that call on pain more than anything else.

the majority of his interest is piqued at the fight ring, although he avoids getting involved at first, preferring to watch. to weigh up options. once upon a time, in another life, this was how he'd supplemented his primary income, and here, now, with circumstances as they are, he's not about to rule anything out.

in the meantime—.

he gestures, a quick, vague movement at one of the two current fighters. ostensibly, one's more skilled than the other, but marc's more interested in the guy that looks like he's taking each punch because he can, because it's fun. bluntly, then, he'll offer his opinion. )

He'll win.

misc
          general cw for moon knight are available here along with an opt-out. i'm totally open to any other prompts/wildcard it up fam, feel free to hmu, otherwise shoot me a pm or a pp at spandex if there's anything u want to hash out!
          other: info, preferences, kinks.

night market!!

[oomfies]

[ Lottie's personal life has prompted a very interesting turn of interests. It turns out when you have insane neighbors with no sense of personal space (putting it lightly) self defense suddenly seems a lot more interesting. But Lottie refuses to go to the fighting circle at the tavern, so she watches the free, less judgey, one happening here at the festival. Her arms are crossed, looking like the most out of place spectator with her big and wild hair and her dress (not meant for fighting, hardly meant for moving, really).

She turns to Marc when he offers his commentary, having even forgotten he was there with the wild mess that is happening in the ring. This guy is really just getting it, isn't he? It's almost embarrassing. Each hit sounds louder than the last and it's almost enough to distract her from saying: ]

..What makes you say that?

isis ☥ ennead (skala)

[hekas]

from the woods to the town
cw: gore, mention of self mutilation, nudity

( this place is not khemet, that is clear. the flow and ebb of the nile does not replace the stillness in her chest, the empty cavern where her heart once rested before she tore it from her body with rage and sorrow that still consumes.

it does not feel like an illusion either. of that she is certain, for she is the only one who could bring such realities to life unless ra chose to force her own wrath on the world.

isis frowns, arms wrapped around her frame as she walks bare as the day she stepped into existence. no, she'd been adorned then. now she is stripped, naked and vulnerable as she had been when she'd fled to from her brother's claws only to wither amongst mortals for too long. yet, here, she is beautiful still. she has not withered, has not hidden her appearance -- she is lean, golden-skinned, and long, coiled hair drapes over her shoulders and covers her breasts. it hides little else.

she is still bared in the boarding house, has not bothered with clothes for none have bat an eye. she wants shelter and that is her first concern. as she steps inside, she looks for a friendly face. perhaps someone who will look upon her and see a woman lost, covered in dirt and shivering; a poor lamb with hints of fear in her eyes and not the calculating creature looking for someone useful underneath. ) Is there a place by the hearth where I can warm my bones?

recumita
cw: aphro, smut

( the celebration is not one she understands but from what she has gathered, the locals wish to praise their own goddess. it's as simple as that anywhere, she thinks. even in this strange place, everyone finds their gods.

she passes a stall, indulges in a bite of sweet food that reminds her nothing of home. she misses the warmth, the bright lights of the sun disk carried on the tail of horus' chariot. she misses home in the same way she'd missed it in exile, banished to a world unknown to her.

it stirs bitterness in her gut, a dark and nasty sludge that settles. it does not distract her from the oddness taste on her mouth. something is coming, she feels.

and she is not wrong. there is a heat working up her neck, a wetness between her legs as she stands and takes in a demonstration on the stage. the sight of it should not arouse her -- the young man licking up his mistresses thigh only to be pushed away and told to do better. she should wish to protect the youth, to spare him from the lashing to come and yet, it does. she knows that she wants the control stolen from her at the hands of men filled with hubris, by old fools playing at the heroes of their own stories when they are truly wretched things. she feels it stirring in her cunt, feels her nipples harden underneath the fabric of blouse. arousal hits her with a force that she sways. something is wrong.

she sways, stumbles, a weak little huff of air leaving her lips as she falls into whoever stands beside. her words are desperate but in her panic, she cannot hide the firm command and bend into a sweet, soft plea. ) Help me.

hiding inside each of us
cw: gore, the start of monster transformation, violence, probably some attempting to claw out organs

( when one grows so used to anger and violence, when they boil ever underneath the surface of an ever-peaceful facade, it is hard to realize that they have bubbled over and reached a point of no return. the cup is overflowing, isis realizes as she hisses underneath her breath and drops the basket she is carrying through the streets.

containers of herbs, bottles of liquid filled with contents meant to heal fall to the cobble stones at her feet and paint them in various shades. it adds fuel to the flame, but does not pull her attention from the sharp pain in her arm. there is blood, yes, but blackness oozes from her forearm where a golden feathers break from her skin as the tips of her fingers bend, grow into talons.

her scream leaves her throat, a screech that sounds more hawk-like than human. the pang of longing draws her from the pain, but sound beside her raises hackles she rarely drops. she strikes out, aims for anything soft she can reach. it is violence and sex that sates this curse, this twisted thing that's left it's mark on her skin, and she will sate it. on the street if she must, woeful as she is that it will not allow her to blend in but draw the attention of rubeans already wary of others like herself. ) Touch me and I will pull your innards out for the vultures!

WILDCARD.

( feel free to pm if none of this works. happy to work something out. isis' information is here and trigger warnings can be found here. isis is from a canon which retells the story of horus and set's battle for the throne of egypt, chronicling what follows and the rise of humanity at the end of the age of the gods. she is not exactly the same as the goddess isis of antiquity. )

recumita

[dominance]

[ It's easy to fall back into old patterns. Walk with your back straight, shoulders tugged back, and with an energy that's meant to suffocate those around you. It's how he approaches Rubilykskoye. They won't eat him alive if he exudes confidence.

Bellamy's lost his shirt a few hours ago; his muscled chest glistens with sweat and a few bruises (some from sex, mostly from being a little too rough with the woodwork around town). His dark trousers hang low on his hips as he stands beside Isis, regarding the performance on stage with a furrowed brow and an unimpressed look.

That's not how he feels at all.

His skin prickles and warms. Heat pools low in his belly. He's hungry for human contact.

When she stumbles into him, Bellamy's hands are on her biceps, keeping her upright, uncaring that she's pressed against him. This he can do. Looking out for others, making sure that they're okay. This feels normal.

He ignores how his heart pounds at the contact. He fucking hates it here. ]

You're okay. Just take a breath.

john constantine — dc. ✞ diabel.

[lastrequests]

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬.
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚢.

Shit.

( well he's sure as hell not in kansas anymore. not that he was to begin with, but. shit. this is new. a slow glance down and— yeah. he's sure naked for some reason. also great as this leaves him without any of his things.

a sigh — fingers pushing their way through dark strands of hair, he forces himself up to his feet, bits of debris and forest stuck to him here and there what with the whole not having any clothes on. how the hell he ended up in a forest of all places is beyond him. granted, los angeles has a way of feeling like a sort of jungle itself sometimes. but this isn't los angeles and he can't help but get a weird sort of vibe about where he currently is, so. best to find a way out. or at least to something that might tip him off with where he's ended up. shit, was he drinking and dimension diving?

the sound of rustling catches his attention and when he turns — when he spots another person out here with him, he blows out a sigh, though it's not of relief. )

You wouldn't happen to have a smoke on you, would you? ( #priorities. )

𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞.
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎.

( throughout dinner, he's mostly kept to himself. listening here and there to what the others say with fleeting glances thrown around the room at everyone who comes and goes. it's not that he's looking for someone... or maybe it is. at least in the sense of the sorts of masks that others might be wearing.

he's lounging there on a chair near the end of the table, eyeing the room. the moment someone approaches, he lifts his gaze — barely — with drink in hand, held at his lips. )

Seat's taken. ( except no one's sitting there. just the arch of his foot. )

𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭.
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎.

( he'd be a dirty fucking liar if he didn't admit to having some curiosity of a so-called night market popping up in this... place. with the opportunity to possibly get his hands on whatever charms, runes, relics, books, and everything that screams occult in some nature, he can't pass it up, even if he's still wary of this place.

so when he comes to find it's more a carnival than anything else, there's disappointment written all over his face. where's a fucking occult shop when you need one?

still, he wanders about, takes in The Sights, and while he's not all that interested in grabbing a bite to eat here, a drink, on the other hand... well. hands in pockets, a lazy glance is cast to whoever comes up or is around as he surveys the stalls. )

Think they take American Express?

𝗲𝐭𝗰.
info/prefs/warnings for john.

( this version of constantine has the psychic ability to see through the so-called glamour of angels and demons on the human plane. if you're something/someone supernatural — doesn't have to be angelic or demonic — or you use a means to conceal some part of yourself and you want to do something with john being able to see through any sort of magic or glamour, we can definitely do that and i'm open to discussion. otherwise, if you'd like a wildcard or something else, feel free to pm the account and we can discuss. can also do prose if that's more your style. )

in the woods

[eversohandsome]

[ Usually he's pretty good with directions and regularly boasts the kind of local knowledge of London that renders a satnav useless. This isn't London though and he's definitely not got a car to borrow for a bit.

Equally as naked as the man who has stumbled out of the undergrowth, Bob's eyebrows shift upward at the question. ]

Right. Where d'you think I'm keeping a pack of fags, mate? Up my arse?

[ Though now that he thinks about it... ]

I'd give you one if I had any.

Shit, where the fuck are we? Do you know?

jin guangyao | mdzs (novel) | wilk

[poorlittlesange]

i. in the woods, somewhere

It is the cold, ultimately, that wakes him. Jin Guangyao has never tolerated it well, and lacks his sworn brothers' peerless cultivation which renders most environmental discomforts moot. Planning visits to the Cloud Recesses always meant ensuring that he packed an additional under-layer for those crisp mornings even in the spring or fall where the ground was covered with frost or snow. Foggily, as sleep recedes, he wonders how he could possibly have forgotten something so essential--

--but then he opens his eyes to the darkness of a forest canopy overhead, and sits bolt upright amid a pile of mouldering leaves, scrabbling backwards across the dirt and away from something medium-sized and furry that had been nosing at his feet.

His sudden movement sends the mystery animal scampering away into the woods. Jin Guangyao stares after it with wide eyes and his pulse rabbiting in his throat, drops a hand towards his waist where his sword usually rests, and finds only his own chilled skin.

What a way to become aware of one's own nakedness. He flushes with instinctive humiliation, even without an audience to witness his shame, but pragmatism ultimately wins out. If the choice is between retaining his dignity by remaining alone and unarmed in the wilderness, or swallowing his pride and finding help while shamefully without a stitch of clothing to his name, he knows which one he will choose.

And so he gets to his feet, marshals his courage, and sets off into the woods in search of someone--anyone--who might be able to provide him with some assistance.

ii. at the boarding house

The interior of the boarding house is bustling with activity as newcomers struggle to get themselves oriented to their new circumstances. Jin Guangyao's struggle is a comparatively short one; he is a survivor, first and foremost, and adaptability is a skill he cultivated (hah) while young. And so, after finding himself some simple clothing to preserve his modesty, he has situated himself in an unassuming corner close to the coal stove to warm his hands, eat the simple fare that has been provided to him, and commit the faces of all the other newcomers he can see to memory.

He's perfectly polite and cordial to anyone who meets his eyes of course, smiling the inoffensive and closed-mouth little smile of a harmless little guy just trying to keep his head down. (The best defence isn't always a good offence: it's never being perceived as a threat in the first place.)

Once he's eaten--and regained some feeling in his chilly fingers and toes--he slips unobtrusively from the common area and upstairs, seeking out an unoccupied room to claim for his own. Except--well, perhaps he shouldn't have lingered quite so long in front of the coal stove trying to warm up. All of the rooms are occupied.

He pauses outside of a room that has left the door ajar and, after stealing a glance inside to be sure that there's still one bed available, lightly knocks. "Please, forgive this humble one for the intrusion," he begins, reaching for the courtesy language that is second-nature to him at this point. "Would you have space in your room for another? It seems that all the other beds have been claimed."

iii. the festival of recumita + aphrodisiac food (cw: sexual content!)

The pair of women on the stage with their hands busily occupied beneath each other's sheer skirts are mesmerizing to Jin Guangyao... though probably not for the same reasons as the other spectators, who drink in each suggestive flex of the wrist and bodily shudder with rapt attention. No, this is quite restrained in comparison to the scenes young Meng Yao grew up around as the only son of a sex worker, scrubbing floors and bringing food and drinks to patrons within the brothel where his mother was forced to serve.

It's that this scene is happening in the middle of the street. And this very morning, one of those two women cheerily gifted him with the warm cloak that currently keeps him insulated against the biting cold. She has an ordinary and respectable vocation as a seamstress that would not be so out of place back in Lanling City. Yet there she is, not only making a display of her own body and pleasure, but revelling in it, in a manner that is totally alien to Jin Guangyao.

He understands, of course. He has had things explained to him by the locals. Intellectually, he grasps the necessity as well as the wisdom of what he is witnessing. That doesn't change the frisson of shame that cuts through him when he realizes what he is doing. Watching this scene, is he any better than one of his mother's johns? Is he any better than his own father?

('What else can I expect from the son of a prostitute?' Nie Mingjue had shouted at him. Never had such words cut him more deeply than when they came from Chifeng-zun.)

He turns abruptly and walks quickly away from the display, flushed with colour and other distracting sensations that he hasn't allowed himself to experience since he was old enough to realize what they meant. (What other people might make them mean, for him.) He is so caught up in his own racing thoughts that he does not look where he is going--

--which is how he ends up walking right into someone else. The impact is pretty solid, too, and instinctively he grasps hold of the stranger's arm to steady himself.

The warmth of another person under his touch, though, is too much, and he jerks his hand back as though burned. "My apologies," he stammers, risks a glance upward into this stranger's eyes, and then away again.

recumita!

[illicitly]

Doe-like brown eyes with faint age lines creasing the corners stare back.

His hair remains loose; it had grown much longer after his brother's death. His guan and hanfu had been replaced with a fur cap decorated with grey feathers, long, black embroidered coat, matching tunic, and loose breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots. It might be easy to mistake him for another with such a glance.

A reflexive frown turns Nie Huasang's lips downward, a sharp contrast to the bright, joyful smiles he'd used to bestow on this man. He'd been in the process of pulling his arm free from Jin Guangyao, seeming to curl in upon himself as the other man pulls his hand back.

He closes his eyes, leaning back against a wall as he takes a moment to collect himself. Between organizing and conducting the coffin-sealing ceremony for his brother and the once-friend-turned-enemy who is now somehow alive again and his naked ordeal in the woods, Nie Huaisang's gone numb from it all.

Breathe, just breathe, he reminds himself.

Hannibal Lecter ⦁ NBC's Hannibal ⦁ Diabel

[ortolan]

In the Woods.

Waking nude in the forest is not something beyond the realm of his experience. Curious. He stands, reviews his memory, and tries to decide if this is some new, playful manifestation of Will's personality.

...and then the wind shifts and he catches the scent of creatures wholly unfamiliar. Like, but not-like. Either he gone mad in a dull (and therefor unacceptable) manner or his world-view has to alter to accept a new reality. Whether it is drugs, madness, or magic, the bite of the cold is real enough and that is enough to spur him on.

Following along the creekside, there are strange, dead animals and he stops to inspect a few and decide if its worth taking one of the sturdier bones to fashion into a crude shiv. Less than ideal to appear armed from the outset, but being unarmed is a greater threat - decision made, a femur taken and splintered to create a point, and then he begins to jog, following the flow of the water, and hoping that it will lead to somewhere warm and dry for the night.

Do you find him hunkered down in the woods? In a makeshift shelter, but with a passable fire?

Or do you spot him as he heads towards the town? Either way, his greeting is simple. "Hullo."

Boarding House.

Over-cooked parsnips can be endured, but dry pheasant?

"If you'll forgive the intrusion, I have spent quite a lot of time in a kitchen and, ah, --" He gestures towards the cutting board and knife. Please, please, allow him to salvage dinner.

Recumita.

It's a fascinating sort of society and Lecter thoroughly appreciates the opportunity to watch the locals at work and play. He particularly relishes seeing the 'Void-touched' awkwardly (or enthusiastically) participate. Here are a people that are familiar with public violence, and there are those who are not - repulsed, aroused, unsure.

"It reminds me a little of the magdarame of the Philippines. Do you know of them?"

OOC.

Want your own special starter? Have a wildcard in mind? Go for it.

boarding house!

[poorlittlesange]

Cooking is hardly Jin Guangyao's forté, though he is a quick study. He looks up from his careful consideration of the pheasant on the cutting board in front of him, then lowers his eyes and steps to one side.

"By all means, xiansheng," he replies courteously, then extends the knife out towards Hannibal handle first. He makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a self-deprecating little laugh, then adds, "This humble one is aware of his talents, and cooking is regrettably not among them."

fp jones | riverdale | wilk

[dualitys]

WOODS
cw: possible aphro

( he's not in kansas anymore. not that fp's from kansas, though he's passed through a few times. he rubs his head, tries to remember what happened the night before and can't quite piece how he got here.

wherever here is. in a cold forest, buck naked as the day he was born. he stumbles, feeling a little disoriented. he's shivering, arms wrapped around himself, and he feels like he's been hit by a freight train; still, there's not enough alcohol, jingle jangle, or fizzle rocks in riverdale for fp's mind to come up with the creatures he's seen lurking in the shadows.

he spots a snow-covered group of mushrooms at the foot of a tree, leans down to look at them and realizes he's not alone but whoever he's with isn't some eldritch type creature from his nightmares. ) You know anything about mushrooms? I'm trying to hair of the dog whatever type of trip this is.

GETTING TO KNOW THE PLACE

( every place has rules and ways to bend them, you just need to know the basics. fp learned that growing up, learned it in the serpents and then in prison. learned it when he'd fucked up and kept on fucking up, until he'd ended up with the sheriff's badge on his chest in a town where serial killer's are a plenty.

he's dressed now, all cozied up in the boarding house for a meal with the locals. there's others like him here, he thinks. he can see their marks like the little inverted triangle on the back of his hand. he raises a cup of ale to his lips, looks over to whoever's closest to him. ) So what's the deal with this place? Who's really in charge of the joint?

RECUMITA
cw: possibility of smut, dub-con, daddy kink, spanking, orgasm denial, knife play, nipple play, breathplay, watersports if discussed first.

I'm not peeing on anyone. ( fp gruffs, walking up to where he's been pulled out of the crowd. he's been trying to lay low, to fit in. so he goes up there anyway, looks around to see who's going to be pulled up beside him.

then he casts his gaze away, catches sight of the toys they're supposed to use for whatever this ends up being. there's a tray with various knives, clamps, and toys he hasn't seen before but, yeah, okay. fp knows he's a messed up sort of motherfucker because he doesn't draw the line with anything else. )

WILDCARD

( open to anything! feel free to wildcard or PM for something else. )

recummies

[medals]

[Her first thought is, obviously: SKEET ULRICH? There isn't really a second thought; Jem's already volunteered. They bring her out in her little silk robe and tell her someone has already stepped up. The demonstration has no set theme beyond volunteers choice. She's already given blanket consent, and nothing here is anything she explicitly said no to.

There's a thing that looks like a chair; something she can lay down against, but keeps her thighs lifted, legs splayed. Before she goes to it, gives FP a little smile, says, quietly: ] You're new, right? I'm Jem.

[The more of these she does, the less anxiety she feels about taking the robe off. This time she's at least not entirely naked; a slip of lingerie is visible when she undoes the robe and turns to lean into him, voice still quiet:] Is there anything you don't particularly like? Like, names? Any of the stuff on the table?

marcus lopez arguello | deadly class | wilk

[needlebomb]

the woods.

[ the last time marcus woke up confused, wet and naked, he had had the smell of brain matter in his throat and immediately threw up over his hotel room's balcony. there's no dry blood under his fingernails or the sickly afterglow of killing a middle-aged man this time, though — just the smell of the woods, the tactile earth. the dead leaves and the sharp sticks digging into his back are uncomfortable, but it's the kind of uncomfortable he's used to. he's good at sleeping in the streets, sleeping in parks, so his first thought isn't so much where am i as it is what the fuck, who stole my shit.

but he orients himself before long, and he paces through the woods, quiet and listening and slow. he finds the corpse of a rat, most of the meat picked off of its bones already, and for a while, he just stares at it. he sees other things, too, shifting in the shadows, but the tension those eyes instill in him eases fast. he stays for a while, tiny skeleton in his fist, watching the dark for movement. it's only when he starts to freeze that he turns his back and moves.

he tracks someone down eventually, half-heartedly covering himself with his hand when he does, less out of modesty and more out of the underlying belief that it's probably his own damn fault he woke up out here, and if it is, the least he could do is spare some stranger an eyeful of cock. he let go of the rat skeleton, thankfully, so the slightly awkward wave he gives isn't as morbid as it could have been. ]

Hey, uh — did you see anything in the trees back there?

recumita.
( cw: aphro/probable smut )

[ it's funny; back home, marcus is the kind of kid who acts like he's too cool for parties like this. he'll stand in the shadows with his solo cup and his walkman, listening to something heavy and cliche like the cure while he thinks his daily downer thoughts. he would alternate between a sincere disinterest in people and a more overt desperation that someone would think he looked sick and smart and different and come talk to him, already impressed.

recumita isn't that much different, but being homeless taught him the value of free food. while other people are playing games and having fun, marcus will linger just far enough away from the crowd to technically not be a part of it. he'll roll his eyes at the people who think running on coals actually means anything, he'll put his hands up in mock surrender and walk away when someone tries to involve him in something. he'll admit the knife throwing shit looks pretty cool, but until he gets to the market, that's all he'll choose to give.

an hour in and marcus has drunk a little too much liquor and eaten a bit of everything on the menu. there's a warm, easy feeling in his chest, and that cool guy front he puts up melts away enough for him to just feel like himself. not quite happy, not quite free, but definitely close to it. someone is playing the drums somewhere, people are splitting into couples and dancing in the street, and it all just feels electric. he barely even sees who he's talking to before he starts hitting on them. ]

Man, you're beautiful. Anyone ever tell you that?

[ marcus' face is warm and his head is spinning, but there's a heat in his belly he wants to chase. he leans in close, flicks his hair out of his eyes, puts on his best smile. they'll be looking for performers soon, and marcus is in just malleable enough of a mood to take this on stage if his new partner won't slink off into an alley with him somewhere. ]

Seriously. You look like - like the fucking stars. So, so pretty.

you waited too long.
( cw: monsterfucking and/or monstermurder )

[ someone said something to marcus, once: you don't have to absorb the stains you clean. when it comes to trauma, it's all in your head, you know? why carry that guilt around with you when you could just seperate yourself from it entirely? justification, morality, everything you need to tell yourself to sleep at night... it's all mental, man. they're just thoughts, so don't think them. mind over matter, bro!

it goes without saying that that is bullshit.

marcus is a killer, and when his skin rips and his bones shift and he turns into something hulking and vicious and heavy, there's a vague, prescient thought in his head swimming in the mindless need to fuck and bite and tear and kill and hurt. this power is not going to be good in his hands. this is not going to be okay for the people in this town he might one day love.

he's outside when he transforms, grows three times his size and then three times more. he's all coarse black-brown fur and tremendous, inhuman muscle, vaguely canine and vaguely ursine but too big and too long and too out of place. marcus bends and breaks and changes with a howl that pours from his mouth like it's cutting up his throat on the way out. spit and blood drools from now steel-sharp teeth born to pierce and bite and sever. something thick and red pools beneath claws made to rip and shread and tear. the beast stands, bipedal, back arched, and then drops to all fours, crushing stone and gouging earth.

everything about this thing screams danger. this is a killer. this thing exists to fight and fuck and maim and take without reservation, and if you're the unlucky soul who gets pinned to the cobblestone under one huge, monstrous paw, then... shit, that sucks for you. marcus sprints deeper into the town, and he hunts. ]

wildcard.

[ or anything else! come at me, dm for questions/whatever. i was here with an oc (duke that old dilf demon guy) for like A Month but life got the better of me - hoping to dive back in with this shitty little twink. ]

recumita

[ghostface]

( this particular star, smelling like sweat and sex and bad ideas, has been tailing marcus for the past hour. no reason, really, just for fun. through a tangle of bodies, over the beehive press of sweaty heads, he's watched his evolution from moody wallflower to the toothy thing that scatters into danny's proximity now, pupils blown wide, aphro-fucked and hungry for more. in turn, in reward for his primal courage, danny goes prey still, slanting chin and mouth and dark, dead star eyes toward marcus' face.

he grins, lopsided, fiendishly boyish. )

You think I'm pretty? I think you're pretty.

( he thinks he's his type. inked knuckles graze marcus' jawline gently. his thumb hooks his bottom lip and presses in, exploring his teeth and gums, his little human canines. now is he the kind of pretty who will let danny spit in his mouth, or who will take his tongue off for trying? only one way to find out.

with one hand wiring his jaw open, danny uses his other hand to steer marcus by the wrist to his thigh and the leather sheath wrapped tightly around it, skimming the exposed hilt of the bone knife tucked away inside, warmed from danny's body like another limb. a silent suggestion, then he keeps him moving, depositing his palm flush onto his hip, and nods to the empty stage. more directly: )

You wanna see how pretty I bleed?

Nie Huaisang | Mo Dao Zu Shi (novel) | Diabel

[illicitly]

A. In the Woods

The day had been difficult enough before Nie Huaisang had woken up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest without a stitch of clothing to protect him from the elements. The long, cold trek toward lights of civilization has not been kind to him, his smooth, fair skin is marred with an assortment of cuts and scratches from branches and thorns. There's scrapes on both hands and knees from tripping over a tree root and breaking his fall. With his nerves still raw from conducting the coffin sealing ceremony and everything that gone into the preparation of it, he's jumping at shadows and woodland noises, head whipping around to try an spot the sword.

"I heard that! Who's out there? Show yourself!" he shouts recklessly into the darkness. voice quaking with strain.

B. The Boarding House

The boarding house offers much needed clothing, warmth, and a hot meal, all of which Nie Huaisang is all too eager to take the townpeople on. Under ordinary circumstances, he might be more suspicious and exercize far more caution but right now, pragmatic need and a desire for tangible comforts is over-riding his typical mistrust.

Once Nie Huaisang is fully clothed and fed, he sets forth to claim a room for himself. After everything he's gone through, he wants nothing more than to rest and get a good night's sleep. He opens the first door he sees, too tired to care if it's vacant or already occupied; he just needs a bed to nap on. More permanent arrangements can be made after the fact.

Either a fellow newcomer or the room's rightful owner will find an exhausted Chinese man curled up under a blanket on one of the beds snoring softly.

C. The Fathomless Dark

After Nie Huaisang's had a little time to settle in and recuperate, he finds himself feeling restless and in need of time to himself. A brief nature hike is in order, he decides before bundling up and venturing out for a stroll through the outer edges of the woods. He gets caught up in birdwatching, creeping further inward while chasing a particularly beautiful bird and losing track of time. Before he knows it, the forest has already turned dark and misty and strange whispers start assaulting his ears and mind.

"Useless! Good-for-nothing! You bring nothing but shame to our clan! You thought I would be happy after everything you've done? You're no better than that son of a whore!", the ghost of his dead brother hisses menacingly on the wind.

"Monster! Monster! So cold and unfeeling! How could you play with people's lives so carelessly? Poor Qin Su died in shame because of you! Mo Xuanyu sacrificed himself for you and for what? A miserable husk who can't even run his sect properly?" the cacophonic chorus of whisper crescendo all around him.

"No, no, no!" Nie Huaisang shouts at the invisible phantoms, covering his ears as he runs through the fog, hopefully in the direction of town. "Stop it, it's not true, it's not true," he whimpers, shaking all over as he flees.

D. Wildcard

[OOC: Nie Huaisang is post-canon, from just after the coffin-sealing ceremony. If you want something else, feel free to hit me with your own prompt or PM me for a custom starter. You can also contact me at mimarin on Plurk or mimarinrin on Discord.]

Boarding House

[xue_yang]

Xue Yang hasn't had the easiest couple months but things had started to finally settle back down to the point of feeling more normal again. At least as normal as expected when one is living in a strange world. When he walks into the room he has been residing in for the last several months, the last thing he expects is to have someone laying in his bed.

Especially not someone familiar. That makes this almost particularly jarring as he pulls back the covers from the lump of a person beneath him. The shock that crosses his expression will be brief and definitely gone before the other man even notices it. He doesn't know the last time he actually had laid eyes on this one in particular. It also doesn't really matter. All he sees now is a new toy to play with. This actually could be fun. He smirks as he leans over the bed.

"You should be more careful when choosing whose bed you climb into."

Drusilla | Buffy: the Vampire Slayer | Diabel

[missedith]

In the Wood

a. cw:nudity

This is not the first time Drusilla has woken up naked not entirely recalling the night before. Her fingers curl in the moss and she slowly pushes herself up to sitting, letting out a low whimper when her head starts to swim. Blinking back the strange nausea, she looks around with wide childlike eyes.

Fingers tremble as she clutches her head, not yet paying any mind to the leaves and twigs stuck in her hair, "I don't like this game..."

Surely, it's a game? But who's started it?

b. cw: nudity, blood, guts

Drusilla wanders entirely nude, her slender body seeming far too fragile and vulnerable to be as carefree as she appears out in the woods alone, seemingly directionless in her movements. Half the time she doesn't even appear to have her eyes open, the path of her feet more of a dance than a walk.

She's humming a tune in her head when she stops suddenly, eyes opening to stare down at the carcass at her feet. Kneeling slowly, her long-nailed hands run just above it, almost reverent without yet touching it. She breathes in the smell of blood and viscera, smiling serenely. It's beautiful. It's impossible to tell what the animal it might have been in its current state, but she leans over where she imagines its ears might be.

"Someone's watching us." she whispers, "The pitter-patter of feet, coming closer so we might meet? Or will they stay away?"

Night Market

a.

Drusilla needs to lay low in town during the day, keeping to the room she's procured. She's found some clothes at least, not that she minded the lack of them all that much. Yet she's so fond of dresses and the one she's stolen is quite pretty and very good for twirling!

She wanders the night market when the sun goes down, paying less attention to the food stalls and more to the people. That's the only food she's interested in. The sounds of hearts thudding, blood flowing-- it's intoxicating.

If Drusilla is staring at you rather intently among the crowds it might be because she's spotted her next meal. Or maybe you're just very interesting? Let's hope for your sake it's the latter.

b. cw:whipping, gore, blood likely

While she'd not cared for the game of whatever had brought her here, these ones are quite fun! It smells a bit like cooked flesh the nearer she gets to the hot coals. So she spends quite a bit of time there, watching and delighting in the spectacle. Still, she doesn't participate. Not until she finds the whips.

Drusilla is positively giddy when it's her turn and takes hold of the whip from the carnival worker, bouncing like an overactive child the moment it's in her hand. She's quick to give it a loud crack, which snaps just shy of her competitor's face as she squeals in delight, "Oh yes! I am going to like this game! You--" she gestures to the person across from her, "Hit me first!"

wildcard: want something else? hit me up via PM or reach out via plurk bagelsandbiscuits

The Night Market

[madaboutit]

Sweeney can't help himself. That's true of many things about him, but one of the most fundamental is his desire to watch. Whether wicked or mundane, there's something in the act that stitches to his faerie self; Leprechaun are made to sate the wants of people. How better to know what they are than seeing what holds value and desire? Offering, Favor: the balance he longs for. Things are better here, far more so then the modern world he'd come from. It's nice to matter again, even without his Luck or his Hoard.

The Market is a good place to get a feel for things; what and who people gravitate towards, as well as learn more about the familiar faces he see in the daylight hours. That's when he does most of his work, making delivers for the brewery where he's employed. It gives him a good opportunity to engage with the townsfolk, and well, alcohol will always have a market.

His unblinking eyes are drawn to her--how can they not be with her glowing like that? It's hard to tell what it is at a distance; maybe something in the way she likewise watches people. She's looking for...something. Maybe if he's closer, he'll be able to get a better idea of what it is.

It only takes half the distance to realize what she is, and some shit starts to fall into place. That said, it's not a Hard Limit. Sweeney's always been a biter and isn't afraid of a little blood play. Hands in his pockets, he makes sure he meanders at her from the side; he knows better than to sneak up on an unknown vampire from behind.

Hands in the pockets of his dark, buttoned trousers, he cuts a strange dichotomy. Sweeney's dress is incredibly simple: pale linen shirt with a single tie at the collar, a vest to match his trousers, and braces underneath. He has the look of a simple laborer. A simple laborer who happens to be 7' tall, sporting a crest of red hair.

"Find what yer lookin' fer yet?" he queries casually, once he's within a societally-acceptable conversational distance.

Jamie | Changeling: The Lost OC | Diabel

[the_fairest_flower]

I Heard a Scream in the Woods Somewhere
[cw: fear, paranoia, slight shapechanging]

Elegant fingers curl into the dirt, digging in like it might somehow ground him, and Jamie opens his eyes in a forest he doesn't remember. The moment he is conscious, his heart starts pounding and it takes far more effort than it should to quell the whimper trying to claw out of his throat.

He's naked in a forest. This is--it's fine. He's fine. It's cold, but it's fine. He stands slowly amid the frosted ferns and moss, pale and out of place. Like a flower blooming out of season. He really doesn't know where he is and that is alone is enough to send the familiar chill of terror crawling up his back. He--he doesn't think this is the Hedge. Or Arcadia. But he has no way of knowing.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay. Just... walk. Wait."

Jamie takes a deeper breath to focus and he reaches tentatively for a familiar contract. He almost cries when he feels the power flicker through him. Holding it together, his body changes: he remains flat-chested, but he feels way too exposed with a cock so... he just won't have one for now. Having a cunt might cause it's own problems, but he's willing to take that risk if it means feeling more... contained.

The transformation isn't gruesome, it simply happens. Anyone watching might feel a brief headache as their mind tries to reconcile the shift in appearance knowing that a change did happen but also having the feeling that the person they're looking at has always appeared this way.

The feeling that something might be watching him becomes overwhelming and Jamie looks around, brows pinched together.

"Is someone out there?"

Even as he asks, he moves a few steps away from where he woke up, trying to ignore the cold damp of melting frost on his bare feet.

"Please don't make me run."

I Ran to Save the Life I Didn't Have
[cw: none]

Boarding House
His clothes are too big but they're warm and that's really all Jamie cares about right now. Okay he'd rather look better but he'll take what he can get until he can manage something else.

He sits at the communal dinner, searching for familiar faces but there's no one here he recognizes, even though it feels like a freehold. Then again, the freehold wasn't exactly this... rustic.

Looking somewhat forlorn, Jamie uses a spoon to push around unidentifiable meat and some potatoes in the stew he's been given. It smells fine, but his appetite hasn't really made a comeback.

"Think it'd be too much to hope for a pastry or something?" he asks no one in particular, aware of the bodies sitting around him. "Or tea? Or vodka?

My Dearest Love, I'm Not Done Yet
[cw: violence, smut]

Recūmita Festival
Jamie steps out for the festival wearing something more appropriate than he's been running around in since getting here. He feels better in it and that alone seems enough to perk up his mood.

Besides... what choice does he have but to be well-adjusted?

He wanders leisurely between stalls and stands, selectively trying food and drink. He's drawn to anything that seems like a pastry or dessert, revealing his sweet tooth immediately. He compromises for things like the stuffed mushrooms, the tart bite of cranberries enough to convince him to try it. That and he's pretty sure he shouldn't try to survive on pastry alone.


Best Fist Forward
He's not a fighter, and he's not remotely interested in climbing into the ring with anyone in this town, but Jamie will absolutely watch other people wrestle and beat each other to a pulp. He makes no secret of the way he watches the people currently going at it and he bites his lip when one tackles the other to the ground and pins them.

Without completely taking his attention away from the fight, he glances sidelong at someone next to him.

"Who do you think is gonna win?"


Blending In
"Far be it from me to spit in the face of local customs."

He doesn't hesitate to step onto a stage, whether invited or coerced, to join some demonstration or another. He steps up to someone who looks maybe a little more hesitant or mortified than he does.

"Just look here, darling. I won't let anyone do anything terrible to you," he promises sweetly. "Unless that's what you like...?"

[ooc: Jamie will do.... pretty much anything either giving or receiving but kinks are here]

Notes/Wildcards

[I tend to write prose but I'm happy to match your style!

Jamie has the ability to change his body and what his genitals look like on a given day is up to him and the preference of his partner at the time. Though he defaults to he/him pronouns, he would probably consider himself nonbinary if he thought about it that hard. But he doesn't think about most things very hard.

He has the ability to pick up on the desires of others, so if he gets an idea of what your character wants (or doesn't want) he'll lean into that. Jamie also has a cruel streak that pops up so if you want him to be mean let me know.

Jamie's info is here and some more backstory/magic info here. Happy to answer any questions!]

Boarding house

[eversohandsome]

The fish out of water feeling hasn't yet abated for Bob whose experience is very firmly rooted in 21st century London. He thinks maybe he remembers from history lessons at school something about medieval times, but school was never his forte. Anything useful he might have learned has long since been lost in a mix of information that had been more important to retain. Like what to do at the Wisley Interchange. How to get around when the M25 is fucked.

But one of Bob's best skills is to meet new people and befriend them. He looks like a thug, like he might mug you for everything you have, but anybody who spends more than a minute talking to him realises he's actually far softer than he seems, mostly.

So he's more than happy to reply to the stranger sat at the table not far from him.

"I reckon vodka somewhere. No fucking way people live like this and not want to get trolleyed every night. What else is there to do?"

Leshy | Inscryption | Wilk

[sacrificesmustbemade]

[General CW for this character include: Animal & Human Suffering/Sacrifice/Death, Starvation, Cannibalism, Torture, Coercion, Self Harm, Eye/Tooth/Hand Loss, Hunting, Skinning, Bear Traps, Fish Hooks, Insects/Swarms, Harsh Wilderness Survival Theming.

Threads with this character will likely turn violent, any NSFW with this character would likely be noncon. Please DM this account to plot scenes where a character is caught/injured, otherwise I will default to a "near-miss" encounter where victims escape unharmed. Can match prose or bracket style!]

WILDLIFE ENCOUNTERS

[New arrivals do not all wish to seek civilization. This one is most comfortable out in the wilderness, just where he belongs. The lumbering beast is easier to mistake for a tree than a man, stalking through the forest with predatory attention. Lurking where is dark and foggy, eyes glow against his shadowy form.

Spotting any in the wood he meets them with an... inviting whistle through teeth.

A tune of come here, come here.

Any with their wits should understand what a terrible idea that is. It might be best to turn tail and flee this one, but he will follow. He will follow with surprising speed-]

KNIFE-GAME

[Leshy has no interest in living within the village, the environment too civilized for his tastes. However, the festival undergoing has one of the few things he likes that men do best, games. Games of chance, the riskier the better. The man appears already transformed into a monster, scaring away locals on sight, the few who don't scatter watching him carefully for aggression. For now, he is calm, an unprovoked animal. He gives off the energy that that could change at the slightest provocation.

He settles into a booth for the knife game. When he speaks, his voice creaks like a old wooden tree in a storm. His eyes spin hypnotically, glowing against the dark,]

What do we bet? Fingers or teeth-? [he inquires, those being the natural options!]

LESHY!!!!!! ♥️

[unconscionable]

Fingers.

[ John isn't much of a gambling man, but he seems unperturbed by the ancient wood-man, or this particular possibility. Explains his rationale: ]

Teeth are a bitch to pull.

[ Though he could pop his out easily enough; he's feeling more considerate of the man across from him. The ancient chompers in that gnarled face seem deep-rooted, and there aren't any pliers. Just the knife. ]

Oldest plays first?

[ With a tiny hint of amusement in his face. He doesn't look over ten thousand years old, so this particular gambit usually succeeds. ]

arthur | inception | wilk

[givehimthekick]

IN THE WOODS
(cw:nudity)

[ Arthur comes awake all at once, without the feeling of falling. There’s no time between the waking and the sleeping, no moment of sleepy awareness, just a sudden jolt and he’s here, naked as the day he was born on the floor of an unknown forest.

This must be a dream. It’s the first thought that comes to mind, because it’s the most logical thought, isn’t it? He’s been thrown into someone else’s dreamscape and all of this is a fabrication. He reaches, instinctively, for the loaded red die that never leaves his person, and finds that it, too, like the rest of his clothes, is missing. Which does complicate his easy assumption that this place is a figment—he’s never been in a dreamscape without his totem and the lack of one means this might just be reality after all.

A reality in which he’s been summarily kidnapped and deposited sans clothing into a forest without any direction, guidance or explanation. Because of course that’s the kind of Wednesday he seems to be having.

It doesn’t leave him many choices, does it?

He pushes to his feet and, after a second to gain his bearings, begins walking.

It’s not long until he hears the snap of other feet on the undergrowth, the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching. Arthur moves toward the sound, toward the people he might find at the other end of it. He doesn’t call out, unsure if they’re the reason he ended up here or as lost as he is, and he’ll wait to make contact until he’s sure they’re as naked and lost as he seems to be. ]

Don’t suppose you’ve seen a suit lying around, have you?

[ not his strongest opening gambit, but it’s been a bit of a day. Sue him ]

RECŪMITA
(cw: smut, dub-con, aphros)

[ Arthur doesn’t know what, exactly, he’s eaten or had to drink since the market commenced—it all blurs together in a medley of things, but there was something in there—something that’s settled in him and seemingly lit him on fire. Every beat of his heart seems to push the feeling tighter, desire and demand and want all tangled together into one pulsing feeling that seems to slip through every part of him. It coils tight down his spine, flushing his cheeks, warming him from the inside out as he brushes against others as he moves through the crowd.

Each touch, however unintentional only ratchets the need higher—

And perhaps it is that slow twist of desire that snakes out from his gut and down every nerve with licks of hot want that makes it so he doesn’t protest when exuberant, eager villagers thrust him onto the stage, and again when a partner is pushed in front of him and Arthur is encouraged to his knees.

It’s not an unfamiliar place for him—despite rumors to the contrary he is not without desire or sexual partners nor is he virginal—but the public nature is, ah, certainly new.

Let it never be said he isn’t a man driven by efficiency, though, and compelled by the want coursing through him or not, his fingers are still deft as they slide up to his new companion’s pants, working at the lacings, the fastenings, tugging them open as best he can. He tilts his head back to look up at whoever as joined him, eyes dark, expression hungry. His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and he can’t help a sardonic: ]

I suppose there are worse ways to make an introduction.

NIGHT MARKET
(cw:possible knife-play, blood, injury, possible violence)

[ Arthur’s fingers trail over the knives with a sort of familiarity born of spending too much time learning how to use them. They’re not his preferred weapon—that honor will forever go to the familiar weight of a gun in his hand—but he’s had training and he has to admit there’s an elegance to a knife that isn’t found in many other weapons. He takes his time working over them, testing the weights until he’s found one he presumably likes and holds it in his hand, feeling the heft of it against his palm.

If there’s someone nearby watching, he’ll turn, arch an eyebrow and ask: ] Is the goal to avoid hitting them or to do the opposite?

[ after the whipping, and the coals, and the seeming delight locals and void-touched alike are taking in various forms of pain, he’s not so sure.

But if, instead, you’re the person who’s volunteered; he’ll wait, watching, sizing up the moment and the angle of things before he shifts his hand with a movement practiced and accurate—leaving the knife embedded millimeters from the ’victim’s’ left ear; high and tight.

He doesn’t make an effort to hide the small slip of a smile.

The second throw isn’t quite as accurate, the weight just a little unbalanced, and it sinks into the backboard, but even from here Arthur can see the beginnings of blood beading at the top of a shallow cut across his target’s cheek. At least his mother raised him right; he’ll step forward, into your space and offer a folded handkerchief to help wipe it away. Or, if that’s rejected, he may just run a thumb over it; smearing it more than anything else ]

At least it shouldn’t scar.

[ Behind him, the owner of the booth holds up another knife and asks; ‘again?’. Arthur’s eyes are searching ]

That’s up to you, I think.

WILDCARD
(I’m up for just about anything, if you’d like a personalized starter with this point man or have an idea you want to run by me, feel free to throw me a private plurk at justplainchy)

Recumita~ cw: internalised homophobia, homophobic slur, dubcon

[eversohandsome]

[ Shy definitely isn't something that Bob considers himself, and he's not completely without any idea that he's quite nice to look at, too. His nickname - Handsome Bob - isn't an ironic one, as far as he understands it. And yet the idea of being on stage in front of people with a bloke at his feet, unwrapping his cock like it's Christmas morning?

There's danger in that. One that feels bad.

His heart is ratcheted up in his throat as the other man - decent-looking, to be fair to him - says something that should put Bob's fears at ease. But all he's really waiting for is the abuse from the crowd. Somebody to start pointing and shouting at him for being a fruity mincer. ]

F-fuck--

[ The worst part is, when the stranger fishes his cock from out of his very roughly hewn trousers, he's already half-hard, as though his brain might have objections but his body is very willing. ]

robin becker | original | niez

[energeia]

wildlife encounters ( cw: nudity, intrusive thoughts )

[ Motionless confusion, a slight grimace until her body adjusts to the nausea, a slow push to sit on dirt and tree roots breaking out of gashes in the ground against her skin, Robin feels herself waking up in a nightmarish fairy tale. After looking around to map out the limits of what she can see, debris is picked from tangled hair and held between her fingers, like the shape and weight of it might give her answers if she observes it for long enough.

Later, having followed the call of the stream, Robin stills at the edge, cool moss under her steady stance. Is it all in her mind, that she feels as though nature is waiting for her to make the wrong move? She imagines herself slipping and watching her own blood infect the water from a cracked skull. Then she'd be just like the animal remains that littered her own path, wouldn't she?

She's muted any reactions up until now — to the wildlife, the lack of fruit, the gap in her memory, the exposure to the elements. Then she spots it: some creature that doesn't belong in the world that she knows, but makes itself seen and unseen to the real intruder. Robin takes a deep, relaxed breath. Her voice is peaceful as she hums a song only her family and their worshippers used to know. Calling to whatever or whoever is out there, free to interpret the tune as an invitation or a lure. ]

communal dinner

[ Robin has treated her arrival to the city as if she's simply returned home from a long journey. Hair washed, brushed and braided down to her back, clothes picked to feature her favorite hues of pink, lavender and white, her questions have been pertinent for the most part, but she's done very little to demand explanations beyond the tangible. Not all of it has the goal to lay low and blend in — she suspects that'd be impossible, even if the pouring in of outsiders seems to be as common as rain through a faulty roof. Unlike rain, however, no one seems to have any complaints, and if they do, they're duplicitous enough to be as polite as her family would be.

She's completely out of her element, of course, and unhappy about it. But she's been taught to pretend, so her voice is kind and her interest is welcoming. She's just finished placing down her drink when she waits for an opening to ask: ]

Were you alone?

[ It's not clear what she means. This is deliberate. ]

communal dinner

[pulledback]

I was trying to be.

[He says back, just as vague - whether he's finishing a thought he had just been explaining or hinting at something else, his answers gives enough away about how he feels about crowds and people despite him not making any attempts to leave just yet. There's food and it could be worse, so he's having a little more squash shovelled onto his plate before he serves her a surveying side glance.]

Not so easy around here, right from the start. Feel like that's why they - the Void? Whatever the fuck, it takes our clothes to make us socialize. Or some dumb shit like that.

aemond targaryen — house of the dragon [skala]

[sapphyre]

in the woods
(cw: nudity, misogyny?)

[ All woods look the same to someone who hasn't spent more than a hunting trip in them. Aemond has been stumbling around for what feels like hours, feet numbed from treading cold hard ground. Warmed by the deep spike of wrath from waking stripped down in the middle of nowhere. This is not how a prince is treated. If only he could find a road, a towering spire over the trees, something designating a sliver of humanity to return him to.

Something else is fundamentally wrong that can't be placed. It sits like an aching wound deep in the center of his chest; he cannot feel her anymore, his dragon. Like a weight that had once tethered him to the earth has been severed. A part of him has died and he drags around its corpse through misty woods begging for it to come to life again. ] Vhagar! [ He calls out to her, he prays for her, yet her shadow does not eclipse the sky. Instead, the shadows shift through the trees, twigs snapping underfoot — not the footsteps of a startled animal or the foolishness of a hunter. He is no longer alone.

There is no concealing Aemond from the elements, who looks pale as a wraith moving through dark wood. Light skin, light hair, naked as a babe. One gleaming jewel stuck in the socket of his mangled left eye glares toward seemingly nothing. Aemond's shoulders square, looking on through slivers between trees for just a breath of felt life.]

Show yourself, [ he demands, tone burning with unused vitriol. He thinks he knows who is responsible for this, he thinks he knows why she does it. And when he finds her, he's going to burn her alive. ] I know you're out here watching you festering cunt of a witch, I said SHOW YOURSELF!

recumita — performance anxiety
(cw: sexual content)

[The festival reminds Aemond of home. It reminds him of nights slipped away into the humble dregs of the city beneath the Red Keep, of all the places he might find his wastrel brother rotting away in. The revelry is raw and unpolished, it begs to be balked. Aemond doesn't know how long he's been wandering, or if he even knows how to find his way back. Every corner turned, every open door left inviting, tugs at the strings of curiosity.

It's crowded, there is a thick musk in the air permeated by warm bodies. He hates it. He wants to find somewhere quiet, but he has nowhere to go. There is no home here to run away to. There is no dragon here to fly away on. Insanity waits sleeping out the night on a cramped bed with a thin mattress. So, he pushes forward through the crowd that rumbles with chatter and excitement to a pocket of air.

From one door to the next and underneath the waxed flap of a canvas curtain leaves him at the edge of a crowd in a darkened room. All eyes locked on a lit tangle of men and women center-lit and writhed in ecstasy. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and sex. Like all others in the crowd that surrounds him, Aemond has frozen what he's stumbled upon. No stranger to the proclivities of brothels, yet the blatant display catches him off guard. The sounds of savagery, and raw lust ringing out from open mouths. The tenets of which he was raised bring him pause, bring him guilt to witness this. He is rudely stood just beyond the entrance, a fly on the canvas wall. Looking uncomfortable, stiffened shoulders and a widened stare.

Aemond bites at his bottom lip as he gathers himself and looks away. The eyepatch the Rubeans provided him is slightly ill-fitting on his brow. He fusses at it with long fingers as he shifts and turns to leave. One shoulder knocks against the body of another standing all a little too close.]

Out of my way, [ he grumbles, discombobulated and quiet before he tries to push his way through.]

recumita — teaches of peaches
(cw: aphro/dub-con, possibility of smut)

[ He is a pale thing that haunts the outskirts of squares and watches people unfold gradually throughout the night. The later the hours crawl, the more depraved everything around him grows. People fall apart like a sickness, debauched and ready to partake in their desecrated pleasure and divine violence. Aemond has taken no part in the festivities. He watches others get dragged into the fray and takes his leave before anyone may think to do the likes with him. Never staying in one place in town for too long, fleeing the discomfort of eyes that might be targeting him.

Colder as the night grows on, but Aemond feels warm. He feels it breeding within him like a sickness that poisons the mind something mellow and sweet. He thinks he may have drunk something too strong, alcohol wasn't a common indulgence. He eats another fruited pastry and washes it down with something warm and herby. The taste is too sweet, cloying to the tongue yet tart enough to keep his mouth watering. It does nothing to sober him, it's doing the opposite.

Around him, the heat and the noise are growing unbearable. He knows if he moves, he might stumble. The calculated effort to flee is costly, so he stays in a crowded room where music is loud and bodies lazily clash in dance. His eye catches one or another across the crowd, curious and inviting, but is clouded by the tonic beginning to overwhelm him. Suddenly, Aemond breaks for the door, plunging himself from room to room until he hits the fresh cold air of the open night.

It's not enough. The sweat still boils at the nape of his neck dripping down his spine. His head rests against the cool stone, the strap of his eyepatch hangs loose in one hand as he draws his fingers through his hair. Nails dragging against the scalp as though maybe the pain will help ease the bite. The door beside him opens and a presence steps out beside him but goes no further.]

What do you want? [ He pants from underneath his arm, unable to shield the rawness of distress and desperation in his voice. ]

hiding inside each of us
(cw: body horror, blood, violence)

[ Everything catches up eventually. The ever-dutiful son who minds his temper in a place where tempers should be minded less. The culture is different here, yet habits are difficult to break. Time slips through his fingers and he thinks of all the times when he could merely purge himself by flying through the clouds and screaming at the top of his lungs. Not here, here there are other ways and needs to feed the devil inside.

He is seething as he enters the fighting ring, discarding his shirt to reveal pale and blighted skin. Nails have plucked and dragged gores into his arms that have begun to flake and peel with rashes shaped like scales. He swaggers and gleans at his opponent with a menacing smile before lunging at him like a wild animal. After all of this, after everything he went through to end up here, he deserves this. He deserves to tear someone apart. The next few moments pass over as a wave of red. The dark urge wells and blooms over the concourse of his mind. As any weathering storm clears, he finds himself straddled on top of his barely conscious opponent, hands sore and dripping as others lift him from his armpits onto his feet. Immediately, he shrugs away the crowd, head whipping around to beckon in another opponent.]

Who's next? [ Aemond seethes out over the buzz of the crowd. The deep bitterness of copper blooms under his tongue. He spits onto the dirty floor below and wipes what might be sweat or blood out from under his nose. ] Who else wants to challenge a fucking dragon?

wildcard

( ooc; custom prompts are welcome ~! info/permissions/warnings . any questions/plotting/etc feel free to dm me or ping me on plurk at coffinmate . )

hiding inside each of us

[dynatox]

[ Terry feels some sort of responsibility for the fighting rings that pop up, even if he's not supervising this one. He can tell when a fight crosses that often blurry line between blowing off steam and reckless bloodlust, and this is firmly the latter.

Not that he'll judge. He has some bloodlust himself, more often than not, and this guy looks like he'll put up a good fight. If he can tire Aemond out enough that his rage is sated and there are no untimely transformations, then that's all the better. ]

I do.

[ He steps into the ring, squaring up into a fighting stance. ]

Astarion Ancunín | Baulder's Gate 3 | Diabel

[thepigisdead]

Out of the Woods
[cw: description of dead animal]

[Nausea is one of those feelings that he thought would go away. It didn't. It doesn't. In fact, Astarion would argue that he's felt sick more in the past 200 years than at any point in his life prior.

Suffice to say, feeling nauseous upon waking is not the thing that bothers him. It's the fact that he is entirely naked and, as far as he can tell, alone. Perhaps the latter is for the best. There is no one to see his momentary panic when he realizes there is--nothing familiar here.

Really he would prefer to stop waking up in unknown places with little memory of how he arrived there. It's only happened a few times in his life but surely that is far too many. The walk helps to clear his head, and when he comes across the first large patch of unbroken sunlight, Astarion tentatively steps into it. No burning. Well, there's that at least.

Astarion moves cautiously through the unfamiliar woods. He only stops to examine a mutilated animal carcass of some kind, and it takes a moment to identify what it might have been. As far as he can tell, it hasn't been eaten, just torn apart.]

Well, that's somewhat disconcerting... What happened to you, my flayed friend?

[He trails off, looking further into the woods. There is certainly something watching. Astarion gets up slowly and continues on, absently licking the wet (and cold) blood from his fingers. He keeps his attention on the skeletal thing that was watching him, but it seems like it won't come closer. Thank the gods for tiny, miniscule, almost insignificant miracles.

When he arrives at a cheerful-looking stream, he crouches down and splashes could water on his face.]

Hells, [he hisses.] I suppose it was too much to hope for a hot spring. Or a divan draped with warm blankets and people waiting to feed me grapes and rub my feet.

[His gaze cuts up as soon as he spots movement on the other side of the stream. Ah, good. There are other people here.]

Unless you're up for the job, darling.

This Provincial Life
[cw: transactional sex]

[Astarion can't decide if he's thrilled to see signs of civilization or disappointed. A little of both, if he's honest. It looks like an established town, but it's hardly a city, now is it? Much harder to disappear in. Much harder to go unnoticed in.

Places like this make him think of torches and pitchforks. He'll have to make the best of it.

The pale elf keeps his chin up as he strides past the gates, ignoring how exposed he feels with the scars on his back just there for the world to see. Hardly the first time. And he doubts it will be the last. Still, the sooner he finds something - a blanket, rags, a generously sized cup or bowl - the better. It isn't difficult to find people selling blankets and cloaks. Astarion offers the only thing he has to pay for one: himself. Perhaps it means disappearing into an alley or ducking beneath a counter, but one way or another he gets what he needs.

The people are... surprisingly welcoming. No one is staring, nor is anyone ridiculing. It isn't difficult to find someone who will point him to the boarding house. He accepts whatever clothes he can find - a simple pair of trousers and tunic - and by the time the communal dinner is served he's feeling slightly more himself.

All that's left to do is find a room. And something he can eat, but there are probably rats no one will miss. He'll deal with that later.]

Now then, who has some room in a bed or on their floor? I'm willing to make it worth your while - I can be a very agreeable roommate.

Waited Too Long
[cw: monstrous transformation]

[It's a miserable existence, but at least he's free. He's spent the last few weeks finding things to eat where he can. He sticks to vermin, animals that people won't miss: rats, pigeons. The livestock is terribly tempting, but he manages to keep himself under control. He would hunt larger game but... that's off the table for now. He isn't strong enough now.

The hardest part is when people are asleep in the boarding house. He slips into the room he's sharing and he can hear their hearts beating, blood pumping just beneath the surface. One night he bites his own arm to keep from going for his sleeping roommate(s). He will not.

He goes on like that. Until he can't.

Astarion attempts to barricade himself in a room, or in a cellar, or anywhere that he might be able to keep walls between himself and people. His fangs elongate, his entire jaw aches. The hunger he feels is worse than anything he's endured before, his stomach twisted in knots like it might try to eat itself to find some satisfaction. Well-manicured nails grow into claws and he can feel pressure in his back. He can only scream when the wings break free.

He barely hears someone banging on the door over the cracking of his own bones, but he does hear it.]

Please, [he whispers, voice cracking.] Please no, no--GO AWAY!

Notes/Wildcard

[I'm happy to match style! If you prefer prose, go for it. I welcome wildcards of all kinds! If you're interested in the transformation prompt, we can figure out how violent we'd like it to be/how far you want it to go. Or we can just roll with it - I'm fine with going hard. If he kills someone, he'll have to live with it.

Info/Warnings; PM or ping me at givemedragons

Astarion is a vampire and he will be doing his best to hide this fact for as long as he can. Those who are aware of things like that are welcome to clock him. He has large scars on his back. I can avoid spoilers for the game, he's from an early point.]

wildcard!

[clawandfang]

[ Khoriya had opted to take shelter in the stable rather than bunk down with the throng of new arrivals who had gathered at the boarding house, knowing he could never bring himself to relax around so many strange humans. Clean straw and an empty stall are all he needs; the stablehands wonder at the way their horses shy and stamp, uneasy with the presence of a predator in their midst, but take no note note of the large pawprints mixed among those of hooves and human feet.

His ears prick and he lifts his head when he hears the doors creak open in the dead of night - who might be coming in at this late hour? Rustling, faint movement in the dark, followed by a terrified rodent shriek and the coppery spill of fresh blood... and another scent that causes his nose to wrinkle, black lip curling back in instinctive animal rejection. Something human, but other - a scent that would not otherwise be offensive except in the lingering whiff of unnatural death that fills his lungs and escapes his jaws in a low growl.

When Astarion looks up, he'll find an enormous wolf staring at him from across the stable, teeth bared in a snarl and one golden eye reflecting the dim moonlight. But... where he expects to find somethings half-corpse and half-shambling monstrosity, there is only a pale human(?) kneeling there upon the ground. ]

What are you? [ His voice comes forth a low, vicious growl. ]

[ ooc: lmk if there's anything you'd like me to change up! i'm also down with khoriya getting bitten/attacked/some variation on transformation too. ]

ningguang | genshin impact | skala

[abundance]

RECUMITA: FIREWALK
(cw: hot coal walking)

[In the crowd near the path of hot coals, Ningguang cuts a striking figure, tall and poised, with her pale hair piled high upon her head. With the rest of the participants seeming more the boisterous, adrenaline-inclined type, she stands out, a discerning eye and air of genial enjoyment as she observes each walker.]

The truth is that coals don't hold as much heat as you'd expect. [She shares to any daunted looking hopeful that comes to stand with her.] Of course, they'll still burn if you take too long, but if you rush, you'll push your feet too deeply into the ashes.

[She claps politely with the crowd as another walker completes the path successfully - or not so much, as they hop, pained, to be taken aside to have their foot examined. Ningguang inclines her head, smiling slightly.]

Haste, not speed.

RECUMITA: DEMONSTRATION
(cw: voyeurism, exhibitionism, potential: masturbation, femdom, lap dance)

[Seated elegantly upon a chair on the stage, Ningguang is the picture of composure, a carefully maintained façade given how deeply out of her element she feels. She isn't a stranger to performances, nor to sex, but she had never been creatively inclined enough to participate in any of the arts, and to have sex so publicly displayed feels scandalous and exposed. As the Tianquan, she would never allow scandal or exposure, yet here all seemed opposite - to achieve good standing with the community required this, rather than having one's reputation tarred by it.

She had found herself unable to agree when picked out of the crowd for any of the acts until this, one where she may maintain control, poise, distance. Still, there is no denying the frisson of heat she feels as her partner is brought up on stage before her, to perform for her. She's careful to keep it from her expression, but her cinnabar eyes are bright as she speaks:]

Go on. Impress me.

recumita; firewalk

[choicely]

[ There is a instant, however brief, when Yennefer sees the flash of pale hair amidst the crowd and wonders if it belongs to someone else, someone who she'd be even more desperate to keep away from this place. Her being here is one thing, but the possibility that Ciri might be drawn in by whatever power is responsible for bringing the Void-touched to Rubilykskoye would immediately shift her priorities.

But then a few Rubeans shift away, and Yennefer realizes the woman's features are unfamiliar to her, someone who is essentially a stranger even if she stands out amidst the others for the sole reason that she's another within their number, another Void-touched to be regarded with skepticism and perhaps even hostility.

It takes a moment, as Yennefer briefly forgets herself by staring into the coals, for her to even realize she's being addressed. ]

You've done something like this before, then. [ Not a question, but rather a confirmation, violet eyes rising from the path to meet the other woman's gaze. ]

Sister Friede | Dark Souls 3 | Skala

[rotandruin]

[Baseline CWs for this character: Human sacrifice, immolation, suicidal ideation, manipulation, religious themes, and occasional body horror thematically appropriate for an undead being.]

[1: The Cold Doesn't Bother Her, Anyway]
[CW: N/A beyond nudity]

[Navigating to the town wasn't really a problem. Travel alone, travel light, travel swift. She doesn't really need to stop and rest, or eat, so she can make pretty good headway. Finding the road is fairly easy, as well. The cold doesn't bring lethargy; she hardly feels it. Ergo, she's likely among the first to make her way out of the forest and into civilization.

Except, there are people on the road, and the closer she gets to town, the more of them there are, which forces her to walk more adjacent to the road than directly on it. Normally, crowds wouldn't bother her, but the problem is... she's nude, and there's really little she hates more than people staring at her scars and asking questions.

So, once she's within a stone's throw of the town she stops, takes a look at the people milling about the entrance, then turns around and walks back against the flow of the arrivals toward the farmlands. It's hard not to notice a near six foot tall woman with bright red burn scars on her flesh, let alone one that is clearly and deliberately going the "wrong" way; getting her attention without offending her might be the harder part.]

[2: Festivals, Who Needs 'Em]
[CW: Blood, violence, background sexual activity]

[Whether because someone talked her into it, or she found out the hard way how difficult trying to find a more private place to gain clothing was outside of the city walls, Friede eventually does make it to the town. Finding women's clothing that involves trousers is difficult (and her inner swordsman refuses to do without - Yuria's proclivity for skirts be damned), so she makes due with a neutral, dark colored, too-big, and even frumpy looking men's ensemble and a half-decent traveling cloak with a deep hood. And no shoes; she never wears them anymore.

She feels more like she can actually get out and explore, after that. An upcoming festival seems a great opportunity for getting to know the local town and culture. They've been very hospitable so far; having been on the other side of such a thing, she distrusts the attitude almost immediately. There must be an ulterior desire here.

Yet, she can't really say what to make of the festival. People seem to be fucking and fighting in equal parts. She's used to violence spilling into the streets - she's from Londor, an asylum for violent criminals outcast from normal society; blood spillage was a rule and not an exception - but the fucking in broad... moonlight is a little different.

Still, she files that away with a vaguely disgusted disinterest, and vows never to be caught dead in such a situation.

What is interesting to her is knife throwing with live targets in the way. It's still hard for her to believe that they're so casual about violence in this place, when none of the inhabitants are immortal, as they are at home. It sates their inner monsters, they say, but she finds that hard to believe. In her experience, it just makes the inner darkness, the inner monsters worse to indulge and not control.

But maybe she'll find out today, as she picks up a handful of knives, and aims. The first three thock noisily into the backboard, at least one wildly off-course. The attendant watches her, with no indication of approval or denial of action, but the one against the board grins a challenge at her.

Is she... supposed to hit them?

She winds up another knife, and this one dead-ons into a thigh, burying the blade halfway before likely nicking bone and coming to a stop. The person hollars in pain, and Friede feels a sort of... amused thrill wind down her spine at the sight of the blood that oozes out from around the wound.

She is not punished for this. Yet, what she really doesn't like is how excited she is to see the blood.

The last knife she sets onto the counter, and shakes her head, then turns to whomever is in line - or at least looks like it - behind her.]

Take it for your own, I think I've seen enough.

[3: It Was Always Going To End This Way]
[CW: Wanton violence and bloodshed, monster transformation]

[There's a monster stalking just outside the town. While it strangely never seems to enter the gate, it also never retreats far. At the center of its patrol route seems to be a lonely, unused wood building.

If a corvid could be a phoenix, it would probably resemble something like the creature that haunts the fields. It burns black, the rumors say, so black, looking at it hurts like staring into the sun. It's blindingly fast, and it casts no shadows as it drops in from above or ambushes from the tallest patches of grass.

Curiously, though, it doesn't seem to be able to fly. One survivor's tale is that one of its wings seems deformed, so beware of trees and rooftops, rather than open skies.

Placations and begging, even mating displays seem to fall on deaf ears and uncaring, glowing eyes. Anyone that comes within the range of its "nest" are to be eviscerated, by claw and beak. Unlike a bird, though, it loves trying to decapitate its prey, scything its claws into the neck, especially from behind.

And inside, what little shred of Friede is left can only think, This is mine, this is mine, get away, again and again.

Friede does little but eschew physical contact, despite the warnings. It was always going to end this way.]

[4: Wildcard]

[Or bring your own! Smut is going to be iffy without some serious buildup, but physical violence is always a possibility.]

2

[princess_of_ida]

[Ianthe wasn't in line, but she had come to a stop just behind the one throwing knives at the sound of blade entering flesh and the accompanying pained cry. How interesting that someone finally had the fucking balls to intentionally impale someone. There was no way that wound had been from an errant throw. A tankard of something in her hand, Ianthe looked from the woman to the knife and then back.]

Really? You looked like you enjoyed that. And look, your target is waiting for another. [Indeed, the knife was still buried in their thigh, but they huffed and puffed and forced themselves upright with a glint of what could only be arousal in their eyes. Someone liked pain.]

Go on.

box | original | wilk

[interruption]

[ Information and general CWs for this character. Tl;dr version here. One of his abilities manifests through a form of synesthesia so that will be mentioned throughout. He also hasn't spoken or written in a long time so telepathy is encouraged! ]

wildlife encounters ( cw: nudity, reality distortion, trauma )

[ More terrifying than the horrors of a world slanted by the Broadcast and its monsters is seeing everything rearranged to make sense. Coherence is unfamiliar, the presence of wildlife and its mangled remains is a luxury no one is afforded to witness outside of books and photographs, and the lack of technology attempting to ensnare those unfortunate enough to hear it has left him with the sense that he's walking on a thread above the void.

Even the sounds that he sees emerging from behind the bushes, between branches, the water and its inhabitants are a peaceful aura rather than distortions in his perception of the world. These distortions used to warn him of danger, now they seem to be lulling him into a false sense of security. It's all upside down, and all he can do is sit by the stream, bare legs folded up against his body, arms crossed so he can hide his face in them. Behind him the man has left a trail of three arrows pointing downward to request aid, hoping that someone will find them and come. He won't call out for help. No one in their right mind would allow themselves to listen. ]

recumita's delicacies ( cw: hunger, potential aphro and mishaps )

[ When the Broadcast's fog descended, it took away the need to eat or dream from the survivors. Time progresses differently here, though, and has been catching up with his body's physical demands. For someone who hasn't felt hunger or sleep deprivation ever since he was a child, this has been quickly turning against him: his eyes struggle to stay open; his heart beats faster; his stomach growls. It's as though his insides are retreating into his back, overflowing with impatience and tension, running cold despite the heat of an active crowd and the layers he's been generously offered. And all of it is happening in a spectacle of colors and lights generated by sound.

Some of the stalls are tempting passersby to try their samples. Box stayed away from the meal offered to new arrivals, but now he barely has anything left in him to fear taking things from a stranger's hand, the slightest tremble following a leap of faith that he won't be poisoned. Everyone else is doing the same, so that has to mean something.

The first grimace might have seemed offensive to the giver if it hadn't been followed by a concerning miscellany of reactions. Flavors and texture morph from bizarre to a relief that it makes him shiver all over. He proceeds to build up the courage to keep experimenting without being particularly careful with his choices, going from one stand to another, one bite and sip at a time. Suddenly the exhaustion he's been feeling is not such a loud impediment, and the sensory overload of visualizing noise begins to fade. ]

wildlife encounters

[clawandfang]

[ A massive wolf watches him through the brush. In the past day, Khoriya had seen any number of naked strangers stumbling through the woods, some shouting and cursing, others huddled and timidly picking their way from tree to bush. Most headed in the direction of light, of noise, of the bare promise of civilization found in the near township.

This one had simply curled up like something about to die. Perhaps he is already dead, after leaving behind a strange mark upon the forest floor.

Animal curiosity prompts him to move closer, making no attempt whatsoever to disguise his approach as Khoriya pads confidently through the brush with the confidence of an apex predator. ]

Kageyama Shigeo (AU) | Mob Psycho 100 | Niez

[psychohelmet]

in the woods somewhere.

There's not much to Kageyama's awakening. A moment he feels like he'll throw up into the grass, another where he simply stares up into the trees instead, another where he registers the distinct lack of clothing and oh, it's a bit chilly in the woods without any barriers. There's a stick digging into his back that he ignores.

He might be found just lying there longer than most, pale and still enough to seem dead, or perhaps to be tripped over. If another were to trip, for example, an invisible force might catch them before they hit the ground, and this very naked man would sit up, offering a flat but sincere. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

While the person in question is still floating. People with spiritual or psychic powers will probably recognize a psychic aura.

Kageyama can also be found sitting by the riverbed, still naked, of course, now muddy and apparently not caring. In general his expression gives off the feeling of someone who isn't very bothered by his lot in life right now and much more interested in staring at one of the frogs.

Thankfully not touching, just watching. The frog blinks, he blinks back. The frog puffs up his chest and Kageyama does the same. Just vibing with a frog.

and boarding house.

Given the slow pace Kageyama gets into the boarding house late. A large part of that was being unsure about entering a city naked, then just following someone else's lead, then getting turned around.

Hey, he's clothed and fed now, which is nice. What isn't great is every room he looks at is already filled, and eventually he becomes aware there is, in fact, not a place for him to sleep.

Not an empty one at least. So, someone might get a tall, bland faced man standing in their doorway, asking, "Can I stay here?"


recumita

Sometime right before the evening is about to hit properly Kageyama can be found at one of the outdoor tables near the food stalls. His day went like this: trying to go out because he was hungry, learning very quickly the culture here was, hm, unique, and trying to find a place to just sit and digest the entire scenario.

Of course the table he decided to sit at turned out to be one where several loud, rambunctious people were setting up a drinking contest so as soon as he sits a a shot of something he hasn't the slightest idea of is shoved into his hand.

Feel free to also get stuck at this table, where natives are getting increasingly, dangerously drunk and urging shot after shot. Perhaps come a bit after, where Kageyama is clearly winning, barely even a dusting of red on his cheeks. Maybe try to beat him at a drinking contest he doesn't seem to really know how to politely escape from and is just kind of going with it. Anyone looking similarly confused will get a blank look that might be mutual understanding.

Maybe come after, where he is definitely drunk, face flushed and wobbly. When he hiccups near you your hair may jump like a static shock, or your food and drink splash in your face, or your glass cracks. "Sorry," he'll offer. If someone is sitting next to him they might get his head plopping on their shoulder.


(ooc; hello, this is an 'ageswap' au of the canon, i.e. mob as the teacher and reigen as the student, etc. feel free to message me at dichotomy for plotting or questions!

also i'm open to switching to brackets if preferred, go ahead with whatever.]

in the woods somewhere.

[blobalmighty]

Woods suck when you're stuck in an actual flesh and blood body.

Okay, scratch that, everything sucks when you're stuck in a body. Bodies suck. So much slower and inflexible, and this one seems to have a nicotine addiction that is making him feel extra cranky. But no matter how hard Dimple tries to pop out of his current 'ride', he finds himself unable to escape. Then there's the whole being naked and able to feel cold business. The hits just keep on coming as he gingerly makes his way through the seemingly endless forest.

When his eyes catch the figure by the riverbed there are mixed emotions. There's really no way to judge if they'll be a help or a hassle, and it's with great trepidation he finally speaks up as he approaches, "Hey, you, which way to ..."

And then he sees their face. A face that may be older than the one he's used to, but there's no mistaking it.

"... what the actual hell ... Mob?"

khoriya ue theros | oc | skala

[clawandfang]

[ notes: khoriya is a big 7ft tall worg (basically a wolf-anthro) who also transforms into a big horse-sized wolf! he shares a world with Ankari (bloomandwither) and is a conquering soldier prince very concerned with maintaining his reputation as a stone-cold bastard. more character info here! fyi khoriya is an unfriendly dog who does not like humans, but he's more bark than bite and more likely to threaten than to actually attack. :V ]

WOODS [ cw: potential violence ]

• stalking prey. Awakening in the woods is a common enough occurrence for the commander of a beast army on the march, and Khoriya shifts instinctively, easily into his four-legged form, curling up into a tight knot of fur and tucking his nose beneath his tail. Idly wonders if it had all just been a bad dream - the muddy slog through the pouring rain, the smell of wet fur and scorched flesh, storming the capital of the elf country of Stilmyst with royal blood in his teeth and upon his blade. And then... the nightmare that had come after. Being stripped of his rank and command, shackled with crown and exile disguised as honor. And what he had agreed to in that madness...
  
  ...No. This cannot be right.
  
  The thought comes resting upon a wave of unfamiliar nausea. Where is his armor? What of his soldiers? Where are the sounds of an army encampment, the clank of metal and creak of wood, restless animals stirring in their sleep, the howls of the sentries? In one swift motion, Khoriya springs to his feet, lip curled back and fur bristling, teeth bared as if to tear into a dozen waiting enemies... but there is nothing but quiet birdsong and the distant rustle of brush.
  
  ...
  
  The scent of this wood is unfamiliar to him, and when Khoriya catches sight of someone else wandering through the trees - whether stumbling confused and naked, or moving with assurance and purpose, he'll follow them from a distance at first, edging closer to see what information he might glean.
  
  [ it's not just the skeletal creature observing through the trees - occasionally your character might catch a glimpse of a giant wolf stalking them, watching to see what they do. call out to him, and he might deign to answer. attack him, and he won't hesitate to fight back. ]

FATHOMLESS DARK [ cw: spiders, violence ]

• rescue. On four legs, Khoriya trots along the edge of the woods, sniffing the air where the shadows grow darker and the ordinary sounds of birds and small animals die away. Trying to ascertain what knowledge he can about this strange place, with its strange human denizens and the even stranger foreigners(?) who walk among them, displaced like himself.
  
  A ragged ear swivels back at the sound of crashing through the underbrush, a distant cry of distress. He hesitates - it is none of his business, after all, what does Khoriya care if some fool ends up a meal for the enormous chittering things lurking high up in the branches? And yet...
  
  With some reluctance, he turns around.
  
  [ did your character get caught by a spider? getting chased by a yeti? need saving from monsters? khoriya isn't wholly heartless, especially if no one is looking - he'll step in and fight them off... and might even help get your character to safety if they seem sufficiently helpless or injured. you can assume khoriya's already gotten a rundown on things, if that makes it easier. ]

HIDING INSIDE US / RECUMITA [ cw: violence, aphro, potential dubcon ]

• lurking beast. Khoriya does eventually make his way into town - there's only so much he can learn from lurking in the outskirts, and the human denizens are oddly happy to answer his questions once they realize that this hulking wolf-creature isn't in the throes of transformation and in no hurry to savage them. A tall man even offers to lend him a cloak - something about how new arrivals always being in a hurry to cover up before they acclimate to the town. Khoriya accepts it with a baffled look and a curt growl of thanks - he cannot deny that his two-legged worg form is better for mingling among humans. Though... the brazen display of flesh and bloodlust on display here in the public square reminds him unpleasantly of home, though his gaze lingers upon the spills of blood and writhing bodies for longer than he would like to admit.
  
  He has no intention of staying overlong - would rather remain out in the forest, as befits a beast, but trouble finds him anyway. Something oozing, covered in bulging red eyes and all too many writhing limbs comes surging over the counter of the festival booth next to him and animal instinct takes over.
  
  [ fight a thing alongside him or deal with the bloody aftermath after khoriya has torn a person open like a bag of chips. characters can offer to patch up his injuries (mostly gouges and acid burns), but he won't like it. ]
  
  
• rabid wolf. He'd sniffed curiously at the festival food, even nibbled upon a few samples... and now, he's come to regret it. Khoriya knows this feeling all too well - the itch beneath his fur, the scalding tide coursing through his veins, streaking his vision in shades of rust-red. Except this time, there is a deeper ache to it, something black and ravenous clawing at the heart of him and he doesn't understand - why here? Why now? He isn't due to go into heat yet, shouldn't-
  
  It doesn't matter. He leans heavily against the wall of an alley, panting, ears flat and eyes unfocused. He needs to get out.
  
  Movement, out of the corner of his eye, and the beast is bounding forward, intent on hunting its prey down like a bitch for the taking.
  
  [ khoriya will restrain himself before going further than pinning a character down + humping them + some light clawing or biting. will only go in a smutty direction if your character is 25+ and very into it - he'll back off otherwise. ]

WILDCARD [ want more options for emotionally constipated and awkward hot wolf action? PM me! i'm down with brackets or prose. ]

Fathomless dark

[eversohandsome]

"OI, HELP!"

The sound of a man yelling urgently rings through the air, breaching whatever silence there is in the heavy darkness. Bob's very much not used to having to survive out in the wilderness let alone with fuck off massive beasts ready to make him into a happy meal.

As it stands, he's snagged up in a web, arms and legs bound to his body, hanging upside down like a fucking stick of doner in a kebab shop. His spider captor in question has scuttled off somewhere else for a bit, as far as he can tell, and so it's time to put his lungs to good use and at least try grabbing somebody's attention.

"ANYBODY? HELLO?"

petre dodrescu | original | diabel

[cacotopia]

recumita — it's not stealing if you're flirting

[ He's been through the woods, complained about the attire, silently criticized the food; possibly bribed someone to let him have his own bed with the promise of repeated, scheduled favors, and proceeded to make the most of his time here, confident that 'temporary' won't last longer than a week. When you're sponsored by a goddess and have been recruited to be her daughter's sidekick, chances are they'll come to your rescue at some point. What's that — they're in a different dimension? That fact can't stop him because he can't care.

Having slept all day, Petre's waited until nighttime to make his way to the festival, surveying the crowd, casually picking up food or plucking it off a standerby's hand just to get their attention, be it to flirt or — if they're especially aggravated by his audacity — get ready to claim a possible fight was in self-defense. ]

Mm—thanks, that's great.

recumita — whipping time ( cw: incoming injuries, pain tolerance and all that )

[ Restlessness with a splash of being a little too open to new experiences lands Petre in one of the contests, testing the weight of the whip before regarding his opponent — or partner, if they want to steer that way. He's handed his shirt over to whoever volunteered to grab it, but he won't mind it too much if it gets lost after one of them admits defeat.

Thing is Petre's never actually used one of these. He's engaged in similar activities, sure, but there was a specific purpose in mind and no audience. Maybe it's not that different, though. Some of the previous contestants have had varying responses throughout, and even some of the supposed losers have come out acting victorious. What a strange, magical place this is. ]

It's my first time. [ He tilts his head, charming and full of shit. ] Be gentle.

[mansplainer]

[He's never used a whip before. Not for this, anyway. It's real light in his hands, the leather soft and slighty worn on the handle. He tests a crack down to the floor and grins real wide and gleeful at the noise, lifts his eyes to see who's stepping up to lay down, take it. He wishes it had more weight, had enough bite to welt.

His eyes - Nica's eyes, really - look at Petre lazily, the delight slowing to a quiet buzz. ] Sure, [he says, voice syrupy sweet, sing-song. ] I'll be real gentle with you, princess.

[Petre's got soft-looking skin, like he's made of the same sweet-smelling shit Tiff uses to keep her tits perky and her face wrinkle free. He looks like he bruises nice, looks like he bleeds better. Chucky tilts his head, extends a dainty hand and says, like a fucking liar: ] I'm Nica. Pleased to meet ya.