SUMMER TEST DRIVE MEME

[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: nudity, D/S mechanics, public sex, aphro, death, missing persons.

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 again as the weather warms back up from the recent snowstorm.

As you explore, 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. Parts of the house still bear the dust of disuse, gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. However, it's already full of people! Anyone who's already appeared in the village just as you did today lives here. Once inside, you may notice patchwork repairs have been made, and some scorch marks still linger from a recent fire, and some furniture is still lying around in splinters.

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!

THE FESTIVAL OF SUMMERTIDE

Summer is in full swing, which means it's time to take advantage of the warm weather! Around the town, various games are being played, some sport-based and some more concerned with creativity, problem-solving, sex, or 'fun'. Each round begins with a prayer to the Duchess. Not bowing your head in prayer may get you a few stares from locals, or worse-- opponents may be extra motivated to defeat someone so disrespectful to her Grace.

Each Thursday, buildings are festooned with wreathes of wildflowers, tables are laden with food and drink, and everyone is given colored sashes to wear over their clothes. Festival goers are not allowed to enter the main events unless they wear a sash, and to get a sash they must reveal their curse marks. Those marked with the curse of Wilk receive blue sashes, Diabel get red, Skala receive green and Niez are as ever adorned with grey.

FAQ: CURSE MARKS

Summertide, the locals are eager to explain, is a festival about adapting to the needs of others, and accepting things as they are. What perhaps isn't explained nearly so well is the expectations placed upon festival goers. Each event has a goal to be achieved, balanced on the point of competition or participation.

Tables overflow with refreshments, especially drinks and chilled fruit to cool the summer heat. Rubeans traditionally spice their foods with aphrodisiacs, something that is so culturally normal to them that they don't feel the need to mention it.

An outdoor feast starts the festivities, with commanders, who are expected to give orders, and followers, who must follow the whims of commanders, whatever they decree. Who commands and who follows is decided by the curse-marked sash participants wear. But there's a twist-- every three hours, a horn blows, and the roles switch at random; commanders become followers and vice versa. Many festival-goers, now in a position of command, are eager to get petty revenge on the followers now at their mercy.

Fencing! For health reasons, any cut must be properly cleaned, and kept free of contaminants; for this reason, fencers are expected to compete fully naked. Otherwise, you might get some cloth in your cuts!

Wrestling! Wrestlers are well-oiled for the matches, making it hard to keep your grip on a slippery opponent. The winner of the match is declared when they have their opponent pinned... and at that point, the winner can do anything they like to the loser until they can get away, if they even want to.

A game going on throughout the town, regardless of whether someone consents to participation, is something the locals call Lock and Key. The rules are explained after you are grabbed and tied by your wrist (or ankle, whatever was available) to someone else: the locked binding tying you two together is blessed to be unbreakable until you each draw one another's blood... or find the key, stashed somewhere in the town. Good luck!

Anyone who refuses to play along will be ejected from the festivities, and made to run through the crowd while being whipped with thin wooden sticks.

Throughout all of this, some of the implementation of these games may occasionally come across as either overly cruel or overly kind. The common people of Rubilykskoye are of two minds when it comes to the treatment of newcomers: some think you are beneficent, sent to fix their problems and free them of your woes. These people, called Blackguards, will do their best to make sure your participation in the games is not marred by cheating, excessive violence, or pain. But others, called the Zlatniki, think little of the outsiders coming into their lands, and will do their best to twist their native traditions toward cruelty and vindictive unfairness when it comes to the Void-touched.

writer's block?

If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try participating in events, having your characters go against opponents, be drafted into the games against their will, or watching others perform!

NIGHT OF THE HUNTSMEN

Rumor moves through town quickly: two nights ago, a hunting party went out into the wood, and no one has seen them since. Anyone who wants to prove their worth to the community is encouraged to join the search parties going out to look for them; in Rubilykskoye, those who provide food for the community are highly prized, especially when they brave the woods to do so.

You see, the woods aren't entirely safe. Near the town, it's nothing to be alarmed by, and of course the search parties find nothing there. They must delve deeper, and that's where you end up. 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.


Many peel off, going back to the town proper. The searchers become fewer and fewer. Maybe some of them are going back home, but maybe they're getting lost. Eventually, you walk around a large tree, and you're alone. It's just you and 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.

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?

Yet the further you go, the more convinced you become that the missing hunters are near by. You're sure you can hear them on the wind, their voices calling out between the trees. Did you just see something out of the corner of your eye? You have to find them. You have to make all this darkness worth it.

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! Feel free to find the bodies of the missing hunting party-- or hallucinate that you did.

RELEASE YOUR INNER BEAST

Something's wrong here.

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

Early one morning, alarm bells are rung. The people of Rubilykskoye are quick to explain while boarding up their windows and locking their doors: The Szymanskiy brothers have all transformed! Their inner beasts - duchozweirz, the natives call it - take the form of creeping, skeletal horrors. The beasts hunt and to kill, ripping their prey apart, but that's not all they can do.

Those who are lucky enough to escape one of the Szymanskiy triplets will leave feeling... changed. The psychic residue these monsters give off cause the afflicted to seek out danger with reckless abandon; they will run toward the monster, into fights, and refuse safety when offered. They must be restrained in a secure location to wait for the pheromones to wear off.

(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

REQUEST AN INVITE

[rubimods]

If you need an invitation, feel free to post here. Players, feel free to look at this top level to find people you've enjoyed RPing with who could use an invite.

The mods will not be extending mod invites from this top-level. If you would like to request a mod invite because you haven't been able to receive one from a player, please reach out to mod contact with an explanation of how you've tried to seek one from a player and your contact information.

[formerhighking]

I'm looking for an invite for next round if anyone has one to spare!

mina grimm (original)

[hunts]

HUNTSMEN

[ mina knows monsters.

the last time she had to fight one naked was three years ago, when she was woken unceremoniously in her sleep by a goblin trying to get the jump on travelers in an inn. they hadn't expected a hunter to be there. she'd taken up her sword and run it through, pinned it to the wall and hung it there like a tapestry. then she'd found the others, who'd had better luck in the rooms they'd picked, and snapped whatever necks she'd needed to.

she does not have her sword. she does not have anything with her.

when she woke up in the wood, picked herself up off the ground and searched the nearby area for her belongings, she'd come up empty. no surprise. the smell of the trees was unfamiliar. disconcerting. if it wasn't a dream, someone had brought her here. why would it want her armed? quiet as a mouse, she struck off in a random direction. one was as good as any. just keep the heading. she'd find something.

'something' turned out to be a nest. a web, more accurately. she has a stick big enough to defend herself, scavenged from the forest floor, but what good is that going to do?

a. she approaches the web, but misses the thin silk threads on the ground that stick to her feet and ankles. then, it has her. snatches her up by her foot and ratchets her into the air, dangling by that one foot, blonde hair spilling down.

she swings the stick towards her ankles to try and sever the line, but it's too thick, too strong. that's terrifying. she could throw one of these trees and not see where it landed—how tough was this spider's webbing? ]

Son of a bitch. [ more webs spin towards her, trying to restrain her, but she swings out with the stick to keep the spider at a distance as it appears, huge and red and angry.

b. or she comes across a stranger already caught in the web, the stick rested against her shoulder as she keeps her distance, surveying their predicament. ] This is a sticky situation you've found yourself in.

SUMMERTIDE

[ they give her a red sash before she can ask what they're about. but around the festival, mina figures it out. the other people with red sashes, they have the same mark on them that she does.

i. she stops someone else with a red sash, with a visible diabel mark: ] What is this? Where did you get it?

[ ii. when she stops at the feast for dinner...

ii-a. she is first made a commander. this suits her very well. at first, she keeps to herself but to bark grim demands from the followers. perfunctory. reserving herself in the corner because she knows that no one wants to be bothered with her.

but then a follower offers her more than food, and mina is struck into a momentary silence, cup of kvas half-raised to her lips. she sets it down slowly. ] What is it you want from me?

[ ii-b. unfortunately, by the time she gets in the hang of giving orders to followers freely, of demanding food and drink and delighting in the way they obey, the horn blows. she looks up, confused, as one of the followers yanks her tankard from her and shoos her out of her seat. ] Hey!

[ this suits her not half so well. especially not the glee with which those same people she'd already been ordering around now spitefully return the favor. ]

SZYMANSKIY

[ she'd been running at the beast. clothed, now, but unarmed. it looked stupid, she realizes. it had looked very stupid, but looking stupid was not the same as being stupid. ]

I have done this before. [ she reasons with the person who has bound her in ropes to a fence post. ] I can help, if you let me.

[ some part of her, resentful, wants to see what happens if they try to handle it on their own, without a hunter to save them. good riddance. but every bone in her body is possessed with the need to protect these humans. it's what she was made for. it's the only thing that she's got going for her. she thrashes against the binds when it becomes clear that reasoning won't work. ]

If you do not release me now, I will make sure you regret it.

WILDCARD

[ ooc; if none of these work, feel free to ping me protects for something else! mina is giving geralt of rivia, dean winchester, steve rogers anyway. she's a huge anti-monster racist at this canon point, so pls exercise caution with your openly monstrous characters if you're not up for that! also her pb is in flux atm so be prepared for radical changes mid-thread. ]

huntsmen, b.

[poleaxed]

[This is the fourth time Joan's been tied up this week, and it isn't even fun. She's making bird noises into the underbrush, hoping Khoriya will magically know it's her and pull her out of this when some naked chick appears.]

Are you a fucking cartoon? [All the keep-calm deep-breathing exercises have, at this point, failed.] Get me out of here and I'll put you back in the Sunday Strip where you belong, you fucking flasher.

lucrezia borgia | the borgias | skala

[romanholliday]

[ooc: big content warnings for canon incest!]

i. arrival: the town gates

It is well after dusk by the time Lucrezia makes it to the gates of the town, stepping gingerly on bare feet with her arms clutched tightly across her breasts. A lone woodsman had gifted her with the cloak off his back when he'd come across her in the woods, but whatever else he'd been prepared to give her he would only part with in kind, and she'd fled from him even even before he could set a hand to her arm. Now, with each step inflicting new misery upon her feet, she almost regrets being so precious about a body her own family has seemed perfectly content to barter with for years. Maybe she'd at least have a pair of shoes.

When she spots someone--you, perhaps?--ahead of her just within the town gates, she forces herself to walk forward quickly, wincing with each step. "Hello? Pardon me," she calls out, "I think I'm lost."

ii. arrival: the boarding house

She is lost, as it turns out. Lost, and a stranger in a foreign land.

Someone has taken pity on her by the time she reaches the boarding house doors and found her way inside. Now she wears a simple white linen dress, and though she has socks and a pair of serviceable shoes to go with it, the pain in her feet is too distracting for her to try walking in them. Instead she's found a little corner of the common area next to a window to sequester herself away in; tenderly, she examines the cuts and blisters on the soles of her feet with transparent dismay on her face.

iii. the festival of summertide

Now this is much more like it--a festival to lift her spirits, and embolden her to do what she does best: land herself in all sorts of trouble.

The green sash she wears across her white dress is an eye-catching splash of colour that brings out the flecks of aquamarine in her blue eyes; at least, that is what one of the many festival vendors told her while cajoling her into accepting a gift from his stall in the form of a necklace sporting a string of freshwater pearls that plunge suggestively towards her décolletage. She has accepted it with beaming delight, of course, and is toying absently with one of the pearls as she seats herself across from another festival attendee at one of the tables lined with food and drink.

"Who am I to be, now?" she asks her new companion while reaching for one of the chilled drinks. She favours them with a cheeky smile over the rim before sipping. "Commander or follower? I've lost track I'm afraid."

iv. wildcard

[none of these work for you? hit me with anything, i'll roll with it! please also feel free to ping me @ ragweed if you'd like to hash out something specific.]

i. cw discussion of slavery. also. misogyny.

[maledico]

Nudity on a man is nothing. Vorenus feels no shame, nor any reason to cover up. However, this finely bred girl-child-- a house slave by the look of her Gaulish breeding-- offends a very Catonian modesty. Were the great Censor still alive, well.

He is not.

"Woman," Vorenus' voice is low, a growl. "You shame your master with this display." He reaches for her pale white arm. "Let me see your neck."

A runaway would have some sort of collar, unless this is the first time, and she has not yet been caught.

Daphne Morales-Kocchar | Original | wilk

[chuffle]

in the woods somewhere

[While it's not the first time that Daphne has woken up naked in the woods, it certainly isn't something that she likes to make a habit. In this particular case, though, it's odder than usual, because when she takes a breath, nothing smells familiar. In fact, it doesn't smell like there's even a road nearby, which is-

-strange. When was the last time that happened? She thinks back and concludes that maybe there were some places near Bhutan, on that six months she took to see the world. Which is funny, because last she checked, she was in London.

Well.

She certainly doesn't have any particular fear about wandering around naked, and so she starts towards where she thinks people might be. She definitely hears someone rustling about.]

I hope you have at least a shirt with you!

[She calls it out loudly enough to be heard.]

dinner

[Once she's found some clothes (she's wearing a dress with a lace up bodice, this is full ren faire) and gotten to dinner, she's faced with the communal meal challenge: finding a place to sit. She's reminded of her first day of high school and snorts with laughter.

When someone nearby turns she tips her head.]

Do you think that if we sit with the popular kids too soon, we'll be bullied until we learn our place, or is that just me?

[Maybe that joke is out of place, but, well. This place is so strange. She's pretty sure she walked through the umbra or something equally weird and now she's stuck in something the spirits consider "funny."]

Summer festival

[Daphne is having a good time and it shows, because she has tied her blue sash (she still doesn't quite know what this mark thing is about) into her hair in a big blue bow, and she's eating something that smells absolutely divine when she's grabbed by the arm. It's proof of her good mood that she just laughs when she's cuffed to someone.

In fact:]

So, how do you want to play this? I'm up for a seek if you are.

[There is a little teasing in her tone, something this side of seductive, because she feels good, and frankly, she could use both a game and a game.]

Huntsman

[She's not sure, if you were to ask her, why she decided to come out. Curiosity. Curiosity and the cat. She can feel something, like an itch under her skin, although if it's real or if it's just her imagination playing tricks on her, she doesn't know. She heard the rumors.

She knows that rumors can be true.

She's out there in the dark when she hears two things - someone stepping, and the clicking noise of what she thinks is a spider. Certainly she's met enough of the ananasi to know what that sound is, and she reaches forward through the dark to grab the person walking nearby and pull them close to her, her hand covering their mouth.]

Shush-

[She says it right in their ear, urgent and desperate.]

There's something in the tree-

[A moment later there's a crash as something falls out of the tree, and Daphne is scurrying them both back, just letting go of whoever she grabbed.]

Holy-


[ooc; or wildcard it, I'm easy! Please feel free to PM me or message me on plurk @ chelicerae]

dinner! c:

[romanholliday]

[the person she turns to address turns out to be a petite girl blessed--or cursed--with more blonde curls than any one person should ever have to deal with. she's dressed simply enough in a white linen dress, though the string of freshwater pearls around her throat looks rather fancy.

Lucrezia pauses mid-step to blink up at Daphne quizzically, though she's quick enough to dimple a teasing smile just the right side of saccharine back at her. then she lifts her chin and offers out her arm; very gallant of her.] Come sit with me, then, and I shall protect you.

[with what, exactly? other than the power vested in her cheery smile, that is.]

daemon targaryen | hotd | ota.

[fiat]

a. OUT OF THE WOODS.

A man walks naked out of the treeline. He is six feet tall, pale as death, with hair roughly the color of his skin. A livid splash of red stains his torso, blood splattered over his body. He's carrying a tree branch like a club, but he drops it at the feet of the first person he comes across.

It's bloody as well. Hair seems to be clumped on a protruding edge.

"There's a dead boy in the woods."

b. FEASTING.

Skala, of course Skala, bright and green against his throat. He is only fond of the color insofar as it gets him what he wants. One black-booted foot finds a bent back-- cleaning up a mess, bowing to someone else, it hardly matters. A follower is a follower. He folds his legs and uses you like a footstool.

"If you want to get up," he says, "you'll have to make it interesting for me."

c. LOCK AND KEY.

His pale wrist to yours, and his look of reptilian displeasure. He tugs harder.

He takes out a knife. Where he got it hardly matters. "Hold still, or this might really hurt."

d. Wildcard.

[I'm open to whatever, especially threads where Daemon isn't coming out on top. Daemon is a very bad man with very little sense of consent, and while I'm not going to push that angle too hard on a TDM, please consider reading his content warnings, especially if you're canon unfamiliar.]

lock and key

[minuteofangle]

Oh. This is the game they're playing today, huh? Gabe's grin flashes teeth as he tilts his head, cycling his tech and sizing the other man up. Tall fucker. And with a sure hand on that knife.

"How fast are you?" Gabe drawls, eyebrows raising behind his sunglasses. "Just curious."

The moment that fucker so much as breathes, Gabe's kicking him straight in the dick. He's already got his own knife hidden against his palm. Ready to punch somewhere tender.

beth greene | the walking dead | niez

[littlemissfutility]

When Summertide comes, Beth shows off her neck just long enough to be assigned a grey sash - and then she wraps it around her neck, scarf-like. If everyone sees the curse mark on her throat, that's one thing, but she's not anxious to show off the gunshot scar above it.

feast: commander

She's learned her lesson about participating in stupid group activities here: You do them, and you don't complain. There's more of them than there are of you, and they don't like it when you don't play along.

But this one's a roller-coaster of moods for her. A little excitement at the idea of a festival, even if she already knows it's going to be weird and probably a little creepy. (It's still novel to be safe enough to celebrate things. It's still exciting to dress up.) A little dread at the whole commander-and-follower thing. And, after sampling some snacks, a loosening sense of concern for anything.

The horn blows, and grey sashes are in charge - and here she is, grey-sashed and the aphrodisiac version of buzzed. Playing a party game doesn't seem like the terrible idea it did at the start; everyone plays games at parties.

"Tell me what you want to do," she says to someone, giving them a little smile. It's an earnest question, even if the answer won't necessarily dictate the orders she gives. Maybe it'll just give her some ideas.

feast: follower

The horn blows again, and grey sashes are followers. And she kind of wants out, but this is how the game is played - and maybe it'll be over fast. God, she hopes it'll be over fast. Maybe she could leave? She could just skip this part and come back later.

The trick is, she's pretty sure you have to look casual about it. I'm going home to use the bathroom, and then you just don't come back. But she's pretty sure if she kicks up a fuss, it'll be a problem, so she's sort of ambling, trying not to look suspicious about edging away from the group.

When someone stops her, she pauses, her expression guarded. "Um. Hi."

feast: later

By the end of things, she's sitting with her back against a wall, her knees pulled up against her chest. Her sash is crumpled, hanging loose around her shoulders. She doesn't look up as people pass.

lock and key

Some animal instinct says run when a cuff tightens around her wrist, but she can't. There's somebody on the other side, bound to her, and trying to squeeze her hand through isn't going to work.

Beth makes herself take a breath. It's just a stupid handcuff. It's like the finger traps you used to be able to win at the county fair; if you struggle, you can't get free. If you relax, you can. They can do this the quick way or the slow way, and after all the other bullshit that's happened, she's not sure which she'd prefer right now. Peering first at the bonds, and then at the person behind her, she asks, "How much blood?"

If all they need is a papercut, then screw it. They can cut each other.

wildcard.

[ ...Or something else. Feel free to PM this journal or PP hellzapoppin if you want to discuss any details beforehand. For more info about Beth generally, check this info post. ]

feast: later.

[poleaxed]

Joan remembers Beth. Joan hasn't been as good of a friend as she liked-- with everything going on, Joan hasn't been able to keep an eye on the kid. She sees that now. Joan fucked up.

She crouches next to Beth, and doesn't bother asking if she's okay. She just pulls the cloak off her shoulders and drapes it over Beth. "Hey, c'mere. I gotta place we can go."

clarice starling | the silence of the lambs | wilk

[alittletaste]

It takes approximately no time at all for Clarice to volunteer to search for the missing hunting party. She's not Search & Rescue by training, but her skills should transfer without too much difficulty; if nothing else, she'll make good backup for the real experts.

The woods are, to avoid mincing words, creepy as hell. She's noticeably more cautious as she goes, gaze sharp as it sweeps the ever-shrinking pool of light around them.

a.

"How're you doing?" It's pure professional courtesy, moving closer to someone looking jittery. "There's no shame in turning back, if you need to."

b.

The spider drops suddenly, bigger than a coyote and twice as mean. "Your left!" she shouts, pulling her sword from her sheath. It's awkward to hold, makes her miss her Smith & Wesson.

c.

"Fuck," she mutters under her breath, and, "Shit." Louder, directed at the person approaching her with a blade - "Drop your weapon. I'm on your side here. I'm not the one you wanna attack."

It's a steady, deliberate demand, the voice of a woman who's had practice with trying to deescalate deadly situations.

d.
nota bene: animal death

She can hear screaming, inhuman and terrified, and it cuts straight through her exactly the way it did when she was ten. It's worse than her nightmares were - the immediacy of it, made more believable by the reek of soiled hay and blood in her nose, catches her up short. Clarice freezes, an almost childlike terror passing over her face.

wildcard.

[ If you want to do something else, let's do something else. I'm happy to screw around with Summertide or monster transformations as well. Feel free to PM this journal or PP hellzapoppin if you want to discuss any details beforehand. ]

a!

[ligature]

The man she approaches has been keeping a restrained distance from the rest of the search party, and not only because the idea of enduring more smalltalk makes his teeth itch. It's easier to spot the things that others overlook with a little distance from them.

Will's first glance towards Clarice doubles-back again once she speaks and he clocks her accent, the vaguely familiar Appalachian cadence of it that he hasn't heard in months. He cracks a pained grimace that might pass for a smile, but still doesn't make eye contact.

"Oh, I think there's a little. Maybe not from you, but," a nod towards the rest of the party, and an exhale, "from them, probably."

beta bequin (warhammer 40k)

[bequin]

((for anyone familiar with the canon, her blankness is nullified for the TDM. I have a preliminary info post here; anyone wanting to opt-in to play with that, feel free to PM the account or message me on discord (katherine2944) or plurk.))

I. SUMMERTIDE

Absent her sash—absent everything—Beta stood with the foils, the diamond mark on her wrist a few inches above where she was testing the flexibility with the stoppered point on her palm. She stepped tenderly over the swept ground. Her feet had calluses, but not walking-on-unpaved-ground calluses, and when they cleared the ring in between matches she glanced over her shoulder to see how it was done and what might be laying in wait underfoot.

The nudity, though, she was fine with, or was at least showing off being fine with by a high degree of nonchalance. She had begged a leather tie from somewhere, twisting her hair up and off her face. She was pretty, in the sense she had all her teeth and no obvious medical ailments, and between her confidence with the foil and the polite assortment of minor scars and fading bruises, probably knew what she was doing.

Finally having settled on a foil (she was fast and light and considered her likelihood of victory medium high), she remarked, “Someone is going to lose an eye.”

II. INNER BEAST

[ she stares at her hand. she’s been staring at her hand for a few minutes. she should stop. she’s in a public place. this isn’t the place to be having a personal crisis, but there’s webbing between the fingers of her left hand. fine webbing, translucent enough that she can see all the capillaries if she holds it up with the fire glowing behind it.

as mutations go, it’s minor. fixable. she has a knife. it’s in her other hand, still in the sheathe, more of a practical tool to keep on hand than a specific fighting blade, but it’ll cut through the skin all the same, and then maybe she can stop looking.

when someone else sits at the table, her head shoots up. she grips the knife, shifts her weight in the seat, all smooth and easy and drilled reaction. then she relaxes, smiles with a flit of her lips. ]

That seat is taken.

[ lying. ]

III. DEALER'S CHOICE.

( open to whatever you want to throw at me, or hit me up at the contact info above for a custom starter. )

ii.

[poleaxed]

It's a party, it's a festival, these things roll in and out every week and Joan stops paying attention. She drinks cold beer and is developing a taste not only for hops, but certain types of hops.

Sometimes, this townie shit makes Joan want to scream. The result is less than kind.

"Oh, God, are you a fish person? We've got fish people now?"

Ren Rages-Against-The-Odds | W:TA Original | Wilk | OTA

[ragedagainst]

1 - In the Woods

[ likely cws; violence, aggressiveness, primal behaviour, telepathy, werewolves (?) ]
This wasn't the first time that she had woken up naked in the woods and Gaia willing it wouldn't be the last one either. The concern was she couldn't hear her idiots. Ren stooped to wash her face in a puddle of water and try to get her bearings. Woodlands - good. Green enough that there was a good chance this was still Colorado. She ran her hands over her body to check for obvious signs of injury or sedative darts in her arse that might explain her sudden forgetfulness. Thankfully none were to be found.

( Check in, you pricks. Sound off. Someone needs to come pick me up. I don't know where I am. ) The first mental demand was calm as she starts to pick her way through the woods and towards civilisation with ease, pushing shoulder length back coal black hair from her face.

The second telepathic demand was less calm. ( Sound. Off. Now. ) There was no Rowan demanding to know where her phone was. No Ji-Hyun coming in with some dryly sarcastic quip she didn't get but would become apparent a few hours later. No Colin dithering in her ear. ( Chico, babe, I could use an assist here. ) She appealed to their guardian spirit and stopped still as she realised that there was no amused crunch of popcorn in her mind as he watched her anecdotes. "Shite."

This weren't a dream. This was reality and her pack and spirit were missing. Ren squinted hard. There was no road to suggest this was fairyland. Only one moon in the sky as well. But, a rustle of leaves nearby caught her attention and she snapped into calm practiced aggression, stalking silently closer with a lupine gait, wrestling them to the floor and pinning them there by their throat.

Their assailant was a naked, tattooed, a muscled amazon of a woman, with a sharp scar that ran from her cheekbone to jaw and a fine collection of them adorning her body, teeth pulled back as she looked down at her captured prey. "Where the fuck am I?" She had them neatly pinned to the ground by the throat and her knee keeping them there.

2 - Town

[ likely cws: aggressiveness, primal behaviour, telepathy, werewolves, Ren refusing to put clothes on]

"Listen love, it's not that I don't deeply appreciate the offer of gettin' eaten out, I just want a fuckin' phone right now. Can w'drop the Ren Faire bullshit and you show me t'the magical technology tent or whatever th'fuck you're callin' it here?" It wasn't often that Ren was taken to polite negotiations while naked. But nobody seemed to be fucking listening to her.

Her height and physique was attracting attention from those passing by, standing a head above the woman she was talking to as she set her hands on her hips and sighed. This fucking LARPer was getting on her last nerve.

Ren's hand shot out to grab the first person coming by that happened to look more dishevelled than these Ren Faire actors. Weird that she hadn't seen someone dressed up as a Space Trek Quest character or whatever yet. "Hey-- y'mind doin' me a solid here and showin' me to the exit?"

3. Summertide

[ likely cws: violence, fighting for pleasure, blood, dubcon, public sex, nudity]

A.
The problem with being a Big Bitch was that it was hard to pretend you weren't good in a fight. Ren had tried to keep to the outskirts of any physical contests at first even though it itched under her skin to compete. But eventually she'd been cajoled into it (and physically pushed towards the marked out rope ring).

It was fine. Her rage was mostly under control. She could keep a cool head.

Until she took one look at her opponent and scoffed, turning towards the Rubean in charge. "Oh come th'fuck on. That's not fair on them!" She shouts over the din of the crowd while gesturing towards them in evidence of the clear physical mismatch, even while stripping off her shirt. Fianna usually fought bare breasted and she didn't intend on shirking that tradition.

And she won. Match after match after match with extreme confidence and surprising dexterity for a woman of her size. Even doing her best to minimise her use of strength and instead grappling people to the floor. Her current prey was pinned beneath her but like the others; "I'm lettin' them go. Find us a proper challenge." She called to the referee, to a dissenting groan from the crowd. "Unless y'want t'put on a show." She would murmur against an ear, grazing it with her teeth.

B.
Ren's victory in the wrestling left her parched and pursued.

Every time she sat down (even now she was wearing clothes) there was some lass or lad shooting their shot or trying to coax her back into the ring and Ren's patience with it was wearing thin. With a tankard of kvass in one hand, she shot out an arm to grab someone passing by around the waist and pull them onto her lap.

"Sorry, I've got my shag f'the night." A pat on their thigh. "Y'can fuck off now, thanks." She announced to those around her, glancing at her quarry and sharing a roll of the eyes with them. "Give us ten minutes to finish my pint, love, 'nd you can go back t'whatever you were doing with my gratitude." She requested with a sigh.

3A/Wildcardish

[wyldfire]

Jordana was watching Ren's matches. She recalled the Ahroun had always been a hothead and that only appeared to have been tempered somewhat with age. Regardless, a full moon was always a danger in a ring, which was why she was there. The view was very nice - not that she'd say so - but if Ren lost her shit, Jordana needed to ensure the Veil was protected.

By the time Ren noticed the Fury was present, Jordana had one foot propped up on the back of some guy that looked to be shackled to Jordana's wrist. She was barely paying him any mind other than using him as a footstool. He, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the humiliation.

Birati Voi | OC | Wilk

[paymentdue]

Arrival at the Gates

Nude and lost in a wood is not a wholly unusual situation for one of Voi's experience. It usually just means that they will need to find a better tactic to run their prey to ground. After looking around, they shift to a form that is not a dog (and not not-a-dog), and begin to lope off towards whatever smells most like civilization. There are humans around - their sour milk stink is clear even this far in the woods - and while they're not civilized, it's a start.

Once at the gates of the town, it makes a few laps to get a feel for the place. Are there others of the Folk? There are those that don't stink like a human, so that's promising. Do some of the guards or hunters see the creature? It doesn't stick to forest floor, but can turn its ankles and easily skitter up a tree. Hunger is irrelevant when Voi stays there for a full day and a night watching people come and go.

Eventually, it slinks down and approaches like a normal(ish) nude being. Visibly not human, with their Wilk mark front and center of their nude chest. "Well?"

Do you come across a tall, leggy black dog-like creature in the woods? Or, perhaps are you at the gate and need to persuade the guards that they are naturally transformed and not lost to their beast?

In the Woods

Summertide is not to their liking. They have no problem revealing their curse mark, if anything, they wear it boldly and prefer clothing that keeps at least some of it visible. No surprises there.

No, for now, because they have chosen to take a modicum of hospitality from the locals (ugh), they will work and earn their keep. Hunting comes naturally to Voi. It is, after all, what they were created to do. The Void is unsettling, but it is not without prescident - darkness and madness are not their fiefdom, but they have visited those that can claim kinship.

How do you find them in the woods? And in what form are they standing over the bodies of the slain hunters? Has the Void pushed you to attack?

OOC

Want a special starter? Have a question? Let's tango, bb.

arrival at the gates (doggo option).

[poleaxed]

Joan isn't one to stop and pick the flowers. At six feet tall, she's carrying a makeshift weapon-- a curved axe on a long wooden stick, something others might call a polearm-- and heading down a dirt-and-gravel road. She stops when she sees a giant goddamn wolf... thing? Joan thinks it's a wolf. She's going to see a wolf. When does a wolf stop being a wolf and start being a dog? They have hunting dogs at the lodge. This does not look like that.

She swings her poleaxe down, crude weapon more of a defense than an attack. It hangs between them, but she doesn't thrust it forward, doesn't move into the dog's space.

"Hey, puppy." Her voice is calm, more curious than anything. This might be somebody's duchowhatever. She has a responsibility to make sure they're okay, even if she's not... really sure how she could help.

But she has to try. "Are you a person? Bark twice if yes."

suzuka gozen ( onmyoji ), skala

[netherbow]

— ARRIVAL.

[ Nudity is nothing, when your life is spent positioned in command of multitudes — often in enclosed spaces, or lands with little by way of infrastructure. Humility had long been lost to her, given away in favor of pride and honor and the need to show no vulnerability before a host of youkai known for their bloodthirst, their savagery, their devotion to conquest and taking what they needed rather than building it. ( And she had demanded, taught, instructed, lead them to build it. )

I. In the woods, she stands tall and pale. The cascade of her white hair, fading first to stormy grey and then to jet black at the ends, covering the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist; even as she strides through the terrain, she makes no move to gather even the clever veil her hair might back to her body. Instead, her shoulders are squared, her eyes full of intent — questioning, seeking. The first thing she does, is seek a body of water, splashing into the creek like a half-feral thing, the waters washing up to her thighs as she dips her hands into the fresh water and cups mouthfuls to her lips. Turns over a rock, and hauls a sensibly-sized crawdad from below, only to break its carapace between her fine hands and begin to eat the soft innards from its body.

Her eyes lift, upon sensing someone around her — another newcomer to the land, naked as she? Perhaps someone of the older guard, experienced in the ways of the land? Either way, she fixates her gaze upon them: eyes of pale gold, the left with black sclera, and she slurps down the rest of her crawdad, licking her fingers between sharp teeth. And there, behind her — the sway of a great scaled tail, draconic in nature, the end tipped in delicate fin of gold tine. ]

Are we to meet well, do you think?

[ Or, her sharp tone offers mild preparatory suspicion, has someone come to take advantage of the seemingly-vulnerable? They'll find her well-versed in a tussle for dominance, if that happens to be the case. ]

II. She reaches the boarding house, later rather than sooner.

Suzuka Gozen finds herself modest garb, a scratchy tunic and shorts — her tone polite and gracious as she forgoes footwear in favor of cloth to bind back her hair into a high-seated ponytail. Anything to keep it up and away from her face in this foreign place. Why she is here, she has no idea, but there are people in need and she intends to find a way back to Heian-kyo in time. For now, there is work to do. And she may be a commander, but she knows her way around a hammer, around nails. ]

Hand me that, [ she urges someone, as she observes them carrying a load of lumber.

With ease, she lifts heaps of wood onto her strong shoulders, tail swaying to balance herself as she marches toward place with need. Despite her regal bearing, she is akin to an elephant in an enclosed space — her tail lashes and manages to accidentally strike at people in the street, causing them to yelp or shout in startlement. When she turns to apologize, the lumber upon her shoulders crashes into a stall, into a face, into the tender flesh of others surrounding her, and she twists once more to apologize again, her tone rising in regret —

She very well might catch you on the next swing, if you're ill-prepared! ]

— SUMMERTIDE ( LOCK & KEY ).

[ — to be chained to another is simultaneously amusing, and a dire threat to her pride.

Suzuka Gozen bares her teeth, her tapered ears pinned back in effort to ensure she is adequately threatening. In this world, most all are monsters of some kind, but she has lead a host of semi-feral youkai for many years, conquered others and defended the idea of a homeland made from debris and stone until it was reality. She will not go down without a fight, all tooth and claw and martial prowess that she is. ]

Yield to me, [ she urges, voice dark and steady as a sea before storms.

She's not the type to enjoy the idea of being chained for any longer than necessary. ]

I will make it less painful, than if you fight back.

— HUNTSMEN.

[ I. Her search party is missing, not all of them, but some who had stopped to peer into the gloom, to take a wider path around an obstacle — she finds them missing, silently taken by the darkness, by the things within it. The act drives her to fury. To explode with focus, driving her body and rudimentary weapon ( a blade, a bow ) toward the treetops where the blood-red arachnids have been lying in wait. Their bright ichor stains her face, her eyes narrowed with focus as she carves and cleaves through the brush in pursuit of a creature that carries one of her own. ]

Give them back — !

[ The words, she knows, will do nothing, but they are meant to alert any other in the vicinity of her pursuit.

II. Only eventually, to find herself apart. Heaving for breath, with arachnid ichor staining her pale cheeks and limbs up to the elbow. Madness has her foaming at the corners of her mouth, eyes narrowed and claws curled sharp against the shadows. The voices in the gloom speak of her failures, audible to all: You left them / you failed them / you chose one over the many / she sang the death-song, because you would not, and she cries out in challenge. ]

You speak as though you understand the choices I made! As if they were easy!

[ Otakemaru stands before her. ( She can SEE HIM. ) And she lunges for his black-and-gold shape with a mournful cry. It might just carry her into the arms of another, friendly or driven as mad with rage and grief as she… ]

— OOC.

( hi,,, tl;dr suzuka gozen is a demon gangboss and follower of bushido. strong, wild and noble, she values found family and devotes herself to the defense of it. she's a mer-dragon ( possessing traits of japanese ningyo and ryu ) by nature, which will manifest in her being skala, twisting her natural form horrendously should she fail to engage!! a summary of her lore, which is scattered across the game is here!

you can dm me with questions/contact me for ideas, wildcard me freely or anything you need at cryptids :> )

arrival, ii

[marcas]

[ The sound is a bit too guttural to make it an oof, smacked right in the stomach with her unintentional weapon of choice. Noth hugs himself, alarm on his expression as he sees her twist (and swing) yet again, both hands gripping hard at the lumber to hopefully interrupt the cascade of disaster. As a couple of dogs gather around them to bark at the chaos, Noth invites himself to take her away from it, one free hand reaching for her shoulder, without touching it. ]

It's time to stop.

black-eyed noth ( original ) — niez

[marcas]

[ The TL;DR. CANON CWs: Witches girlbossing too hard, (non-)human trafficking, slavery, kidnapping, dehumanizing, nonconsensual magic rituals, a little bit of Stockholm syndrome. He's had a life™. OTHER NOTES: Niez, curse mark on his left eye's iris. Basically made of magic energy, can sense and is attracted to it, so let me know if he'd sense anything in your character! ]

—

FESTIVAL

[ A gray sash is thrown on him by a merry acquaintance who quickly sends him on his way. He's inspecting it as if he must know how it was made, so caught up he steps on someone before the scare has him stumbling and bumping even harder into you, instead of missing your body. That's a 6'4" man looking at you like he accidentally spooked a bird, regardless of who you are or what you look like. ]

I can carry you if you're hurt. [ A pause. In Noth's book, one must clarify: ] I'm not flirting with you.

—

FEAST

[ More familiar — and sadly, more comfortable — with being ordered around, Noth finds himself following through with particularly silly orders: gamble a fork from Lazar, ask Yakov how he'd work your leather, try to make Kass laugh, like they're testing the newcomer. Someone, eventually — perhaps you — cups him between his legs. This gets a visceral reaction. Noth only goes so far as smacking the hand away, though, staring wildly, then confused, and then to save face— ]

No, thank you.

[ Nailed it. ]

—

LOCK AND KEY

[ This is a familiarity that is met with panic; the man strong enough to fight off a small group of normal humans suddenly looks like he's uncomfortable in his own skin, feeling claustrophobic in the open air. ]

Get it off. Get it off. [ Voice growing pained, he rolls his shoulder on the side with the binding and motions his head no, ] Get it off.

—

NETWORK; TEXT

Hello I am looking for a witch.

—

WILDCARD IDEAS!

[ Going to the fight club to ask for formal lessons, being roped into manual labor because he's Tall and Muscled, randomly cleaning or cooking around the boarding house, turning into his canon monster, zadza-induced transformation (his or someone else's), being used for magic, getting high on magic, first experiences because this dude's an awkward virgin, etc. He can be triggered by incarceration and random acts of cruelty. Let me know if any of these appeal to you and I'll write us a starter!! ]

Lock and Key

[minuteofangle]

[ There's a binding around his wrist, snapped on despite how Gabe snarled and tried to dart away. The local man who did it just laughed and now he and this man are tied together, unable to escape each other. It takes a moment for the familiarity to cut through the indignity of it all, for Gabe to recognize Noth's shape and voice. ]

Hey. Hey. Focus!

[ Gabe's sunglasses threaten to slide down his nose. He pushes them back up. ]

Focus on my voice.

ABIGAIL HOBBS . HANNIBAL

[theshrike]

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

Abigail Hobbs walks out of the trees shivering, naked, pitiful. Her hair is a rat's nest, and half of it is stuck to her neck with dried brown blood. The smear of crackled, drying blood extends down over her shoulder, between her breasts, drying at her stomach.

Yet when anyone comes to help her, she flinches away, lip curled in a snarl. "Get away from me!"

SUMMERTIDE
CW: APHRO

Abigail stays away from the festivities. She stays away from meat. She stays away from anyone with a strong gaze or a look of intent. Hunger curdles in her stomach and she steals food off tables, not remembering that there is no money and everything here is free.

She gorges herself on sweets. She's not sure why. She feels like a child, she feels like nothing she does matters, she feels like she should be dead. (Maybe she has spent too much time under psychiatric supervision.)

The food has a quality that makes her want to vibrate out of her skin. It makes her braver. She doesn't join in any of the dancing, the games, but she mills in and out of crowds, nervous with anxiety, nauseous with a hunger she can't name.

She bumps into someone. She grabs them, and her eyes are wide and dark. Before she can stop herself, she presses her lips into theirs, before stumbling back. "Sorry! Sorry. I- I should go."

EJECTION . TRANSFORMATION

Eventually, Abigail's lack of participation is noted. Eventually, she's found out. How everyone found the sticks-- more like switches, the kind her father used to talk about-- she doesn't know. Everyone was just there and laughing and striking her.

She makes it out of the melee covered in small cuts, breathing hard, her eyes wild. Is this what it's like to want to skin someone alive?

She feels insubstantial, enraged, enthralled by this potent anger. The summer sunlight moves through her left arm, but it can still grasp, still grab at the nearest bystander. The grey sash at her neck falls away, revealing the Niez mark on her lower jaw. Her eyes glow red.

"Get out of my way!" But she isn't letting go, and her strength is inhuman.

WILDCARD

[I'm up for anything! Mix and match prompts or add your own spin! It's all good.]

summertide.

[littlemissfutility]

Beth's never kissed a girl before. Her first thought - after surprise, tensing at being grabbed, adrenaline kicking through her spine - is that it doesn't actually feel that different. No stubble, that's the only thing. Softer.

It wakes something in her, lays a spark to the kindling of whatever the hell they've been doing to her here with food and fear, all those warnings about monstrous changes. She takes hold of the girl's hand, fingers closing hard around it. "Wait."

Jordana Wyldfire | Original (W:tA ttrpg character) | Wilk

[wyldfire]

FESTIVAL

*Blue Sash* (cw: public nudity, scars)
[When asked about her curse mark by the woman with the various colored sashes, Jordana didn't know what hers was or where it was located. It certainly wasn't anywhere she'd been able to find. And since this pretty redhead was so insistent that Jordana be properly adorned, there was no shame in the suggestion that the woman help her find it. Clothing slowly pulled away with light touches as the woman turned the Garou to seek it was giving foreplay vibes to anyone watching. Homid werewolves were, by necessity, desensitized to nudity and her lithe runner's physique was nothing to be ashamed of, though the prominent scar visible on her lower torso like something large, jagged and metal had been shoved straight through her was cause for concern, along with the scar across her throat and the one that looked a lot like claw marks on the right side of her scalp where she had the hair shaved (it never did grow right there since receiving that particular battle scar).

Jordana brushed aside the concerns about the scars, visibly shivering as the one on her torso was touched. Still, they hadn't found Jordana's curse mark yet and this flirting (was it flirting?) was holding up the line and the others were getting impatient. Whomever was next in line just happened to be at the right angle to catch sight of the edge of the Wilk mark on the bony lump behind her ear, mostly obscured by her black hair, just before someone further back in the line pushed and audibly complained.]

*Lock & Key* (cw: potential violence, potential misandry)
[This wasn't the first time Jordana had been tied to another in this stupid game, though this time they got her and her erstwhile companion about the knee. Her eyes flashed in irritation, turning to the other person to snap:]

Blood or key? Choose.

BONE HORRORS

[Jordana's instincts were to go rip those skeletal abominations to pieces and grind the bones to dust between her jaws, but there was a far more pressing issue than her Rage. There were people careening wildly and uncontrolled toward the creatures, like they wished to embrace death. She'd seen effects like this enough times over her life to know these people were not in the right mind. Unable to defend themselves. Black Unicorn demanded she intervene.

This would be easy if she didn't need to maintain the Veil, but none of these people needed to know there was Garou in their midst. Even with these monsters. Jordana wasn't a strong woman in her homid form, but she was stalwart. The next person to go running toward the bone creatures with a manic look on their face was shoulder chucked hard into the door of the nearby building, sending them tumbling inside. Placing herself in the threshold to block the exit, she squared up.]

You will be staying right here. Do you understand?

WOODS

[The woods were dark and full of dangerous things. The black wolf dusted in grey trailed the person foolish enough to travel alone in these parts. While the wolf was too good to be detected by most people, that uncanny feeling of being watched was impossible for Jordana to disguise. After all, she wasn't a New Moon.]

blue sash

[marcas]

[ Noth was watching while trying not to. Reminded of the times when the witches inspected him, some of them younger or more sadistic, knowing they could do whatever they felt like with a man larger than them; it didn't matter, even if he could fight back, because they'd retaliate and his survival would become a matter of insanity. He had no scars like Jordana, his mark was on his eye so it had been quickly spotted. Still, he felt a need to help. To interfere. That was wrong, because this wasn't his domain (no place would ever be), these weren't his rules (he would never dictate any), and all he could do was watch the history gruesomely written on a body being read by strangers.

Watching. Trying not to. Watching. Trying not to. His heart was racing as the symbol in his eye glowed and the one behind her ear matched. Outing Jordana before he thought it through. ]

( Do you want them to stop. )

vikram — original / ota. (niez)

[bootstraps]

SUMMERTIDE.
CONTENT WARNING: very nsfw, non-consensual exhibitionism and voyeurism, rando npc participation, dub-con (mutual)

"Sorry about this," maybe isn't the first thing you'd want to hear out of the mouth of the man currently dick-deep in your insides as he drills you into a table, but it's all Vik can think to say at the moment, wide-eyed and earnest, nervously fumbled from his gnawed-red lips.

His dick has already flagged twice now mid-fucking, and at the behest of the surly-looking fellow overlooking this encounter (his commander; their commander, really, you and him, partners in crime), he's been made to pull out and jacked back into proper fullness by a rough, unforgiving hand. There he is, says Surly-Looking Man, patting Vik's ass as Vik stiffens, glowers, pouts. Back in he goes, over and over, plunging deep into your sloppy wet cunt, your mouth, your pert little ass that he's sure he'd thoroughly enjoy under any other circumstance if he were anyone else, really, it isn't personal. It's not you, it's him. It's always been him. He's not right in the body. He's not right in the head. He's not in the right body or the right head or the right time.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, man," he hisses, all bared animal teeth, as it happens again and Surly-Looking Fellow makes a grab for his dick for another brutal round of ring-around-the-cockhead. Absolutely not.

Vik plants both hands on your knees and clamps your legs closed, rabbiting his cock between your bare thighs for safety. He bows over you, dark slivers of his hair raining sweat into the bony gutters of your collar, and squeezes a handful of tit or pec for comfort. Sorry for that, too, he says, but just for you, into your head. And sorry for this next bit.

"Let them do it," as he knocks his hips against your thighs. "You've got a hand like a fucking jackhammer."

His dribbling cockhead peeks out from between your thighs shyly and disappears again when he shudders back, lazy seesaw fucking. Flubs blindly for your hand, to pull you south, to save him and his rawed dick from further mutilation. Please, have mercy.

NETWORK.

what year is it

thereabouts

MISCELLANEOUS/WILDCARD.

( or hit me with whatever! m/f or m/m for smut, prose or action brackets, it's all gravy. vik is a lil bootstrap paradox cosmic horror of a character who once upon a time got his shit rocked by . . . himself. ya boy has tv static for a memory. some wip info here, verse primer here. )

Summertide

[minuteofangle]

There’s something fairly ridiculous about the whole thing, Gabe thinks, his teeth bared in threat or promise, certainly bared in bitter laughter as this farce continues. It’s a game, of course; most things are around here, the locals watching and he knows their eyes are on him, knows they’re a hair away from doing more than just groping and making not so gentle suggestions if the game doesn’t go just so. Gabe doesn’t know this man but the accent and the way he apologies says newcomer. Hell of an introduction to this place—but then again, aren’t they all?

Gabe just laughs. Loud and ugly, all that teeth-baring bullshit. This might be fun except for all the ways it isn’t. He doesn’t mind being down on his back for a good dicking, even without a good amount of wine and dosed food on board. In a different moment he’d be down with the way he’s grabbed, with the way he drags his nails down this man’s side and hips, drawing sharp little scratches into strong thighs and warm skin. How whatever he’s got running through his bloodstream makes the world feel like honey, every breath sweet, every sensation sinking and slow, even when he’s fucked. Especially when he’s fucked. But of course there’s an audience to Gabe’s hyena laughter and the way his sunglasses keep sliding further and further out of place, enough that he just can’t quite forget the setting or this motherfucker’s apologetic noise.

So it goes.

“Shut up,” Gabe hisses, vindictive and hungry all at once, reaching down to squeeze that cock in his hand. “Shut up.”

His skin feels overheated. Almost burning as he laughs and laughs and fucking laughs, and thinks he can feel twin embers blooming to life in his empty eye sockets. His monster peeking out.

Lan Xichen | Mo Dao Zu Shi (book canon) | Skala

[baiyueguang]

Arrival

i. Waking Xichen stirs amidst the leaf litter, overly warm despite his nakedness. He picks himself up slowly from the ground, his body shaking as a wave of nausea takes him.

He retches, but nothing comes out. Not that it would - he's barely managed a bowl of watery congee over the last week.

A single searching glance of his surroundings and his state of undress tells him all he needs to know.

"Ah," comes the shaky, unsteady exhale as he finds his voice. He understands now. He's dead and this is the afterlife.

"It happened sooner than I thought," he mutters, rising slowly, serenely to his feet. It's certainly not the scenery he expected - a tranquil forest full of birdsong seems almost quaint. Perhaps the stories were wrong about the afterlife?

At least it's peaceful. And there is some relief in it all being over.

i. Commanded: It has been a long time since Xichen attended any festivities, and certainly none so rowdy as this. He turns away, lacking an appetite for either the food or the strange game being played.

That is until one enterprising Zlatniki throws a green sash over Xichen's shoulders and he's hustled into the chaos, the horn sounding and his role switching immediately to that of follower.

Be gentle, it's his first time.

ii. Fencing: For all of Xichen's many hang-up's, nudity isn't one of them. He isn't participating, but he is watching with the eye of both a master painter and swordsman, sketching the curve of each gesture, particularly those he finds quite elegant, onto loose-leaf parchment, the stick of charcoal blackening the tips of his fingers.

Watching one fencer who is presently struggling against their opponent, Xichen finds his inner teacher taking over.

"Shift more weight to your left. Straighten your arm when you thrust," he calls, voice as clear as a bell over the crowd's cheers and jeers.

iii. Lock and Key There are probably worse things than this. In fact, Xichen can list a few off the top of his head.

It still doesn't stop the exasperated sigh that escapes him when he's tied to another.

"I suppose we must start searching...?" he asks.

Huntsmen

Xichen is deep in the forest now, though he has left a metaphorical trail of breadcrumbs in his wake; paper talismans pinned to trees, or the corpses of spiders that light up when a person passes. A path for Xichen and any others searching to find their way back from this dark labyrinth.

He is no closer to finding the lost hunters, his stack of talismans down to a meager handful of slips, the darkness is almost physically suffocating at this point.

"This... isn't normal," he gasps, and he staggers from his graceful stride, leaning against a tree to catch his breath.

huntsmen 👀

[poorlittlesange]

When he first catches a distant glimpse of a paper talisman affixed to a tree in the forest, Jin Guangyao supposes it to be Xue Yang's handiwork. Chengmei had made such a to-do about wanting to turn over a new leaf in the Deathwarden's service, after all, and whether he meant it or not, sowing a bit of chaos was very much his brand. But then Jin Guangyao sees the calligraphy at work on the paper, and his heart stutters a beat in his chest. He would recognize the fine hand behind those characters anywhere.

Now, having followed that glittering trail of moonlight to the very edge of the Void, it's only thanks to his enviable willpower that he hasn't succumbed to the panic threatening to claw its way up and out of his throat. "Er-ge!" he shouts into the darkness, flings his curse-induced telepathic awareness out into the aether like a fisherman's net, but without a clear target, it's no more useful than his own voice. Fumbling towards another of the talismans, Jin Guangyao squints into the darkness, steps around a copse of trees veiled in shadow, and nearly walks directly into Lan Xichen.

Would have walked directly into him, in fact, if he hadn't gasped and staggered sideways like a wounded elk, and Jin Guangyao can do nothing but cry out, "Er-ge..!" again and sweep forward to seize hold of his arm and shoulder. "Er-ge, I have you, lean on me."

hannibal lecter | hannibal | niez

[relished]

( 𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 )

[iron and saltwater, warmth and fresh clothing, fresh cuts of flesh simmering, then it is all tall, looming trees and dirt sticking to skin. he swallows his disorientation, disgusted not with his surroundings, but at whatever or whoever had decided to bring him here unclothed. he wastes no time in slipping through the forest and town to find the boarding house. light on his feet, ears and eyes peeled, barely registering the crisp air against his skin -- if he feels it, at all. he finds it disrespectful, to leave so many stripped and confused with little explanation. there's nothing to be done about it in the moment, so he aligns himself with a set of goals for himself.

he dresses himself first, as well as he can. the selection isn't up to his standards but he makes do. shoes, pants, button-up long sleeve shirt and a sweater. he's new; fresh, yet he exudes an assertive, confident air. there is no panic in his eyes -- there is little to be found on his inscrutable expression. he catches whiffs of the cooked pheasant, of old wood and fear.

he doesn't like the idea -- in fact hates the idea -- of having to share a room with someone, but right now is about survival. change will come later. if any doors are left ajar, he'll press on them gently (expertly) to open and inspect the room.

or, perhaps he's already inside of a bedroom, and someone is finding him. maybe one bed is already taken, maybe he's in luck and both beds are empty. either way, he'll look in their direction with a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.]

Hello. I hope you don't mind, I wanted to find a place to rest before dinner came to an end.

[he says it so naturally, even looks like this bedroom is where he belongs as he picks up the bedsheets to feel their fabric. nothing about him says uncomfortable.]

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑒 ( 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 )

[he doesn't so much as feel obligated to go to the festival as he does want to, simply to know the space he's been thrust into. too often has he paused within earshot of people chatting to listen for information. he doesn't like feeling like this, like he knows nothing. the festivities are somewhat familiar -- almost pagan in nature. people will notice he does not bow his head during the prayer; the act would be one of submission, and Hannibal does not easily submit.

the feast does not go unappreciated. a banquet, fruits and vegetables all bright colors of summer arranged in such a way that it reminds him of Europe and its paintings, the lush and unforgiving temptation that draws everyone in. so he partakes. not near the center of the table, but closer to the edge; easier to step away if need be. the food itself is good enough, but there is a blossoming warmth in his gut that he recognizes, heat rising up to his ears.

aphrodisiacs. yet he couldn't taste them, couldn't pick them apart from the rest of the meal. he'd noticed something, a different layer of flavor that he couldn't place. all scents blended together from the summer's day, food and drink. he hadn't paid attention to the smell of pure, overwhelming heat that pours off of people like a sillage.

it's then that he's assigned the role: follower. cutlery hovers, hands above the table, eyes locked on the commander.]

Choose your next words carefully.

[the tone could be interpreted as playful, even his eyes have a practiced glint; he's seen the games around him, yet there's something about him that suggests otherwise.]

( 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑒𝑦 )

[he's seen it happen around him, tricksters with sly smiles clinking metal around limbs to unsuspecting victims. he's careful to avoid it from happening to him, yet he feels he's delaying the inevitable.

days go by, soon a week. it feels the second he steps out of the boarding house that he's assaulted by cool metal against skin, tight around his left wrist. he's not particularly angered by it, nor is he dismayed by the rules.

it's an interesting little game. summertide has hedonism written all over it. he clicks his tongue, peering at whomever has been unlucky enough to be tied to him.]

Well, well. Shall we do this the easy way, or the hard way?

( 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑑 )

( or write your own adventure, literally so ota. )

lock & key.

[poleaxed]

[Joan, a six foot tall redhead, was making her way out of the boarding house herself. She was visiting a friend. She looks over at her new best friend with a kind of flat sincerity-- unimpressed, but mostly at the cuffs on their wrists.]

I think you're the first person to ever ask permission to stab me.

Drummer | Original | Wilk

[shelaughs]

[ ooc: Drow monk following either a saint or a heretical murderer, who’s to say? Not a BG3 character. F/F only for smut but open to gen from everyone. ]

Boarding House

[ A tall, broad-shouldered drow woman stands alone. And like before, like so many times before, Drummer finds herself in the kitchens examining wha she finds there. She scratches absently at the Wlk mark on the back of her right hand, dressed in a loose shirt and trousers, belted with a sash. She hefts a kitchen knife, testing the edge against her thumb—and notices she has company.

She lowers the knife but does not let it go just yet, smiling. Her face is broad and dotted heavily with freckles. An old burn scar arches across the left side of her face, turning her smile ever so slightly crooked. A newer tattoo bears a single word in a foreign script, made legible by the magic hanging in the air: HERETIC. ]

Hello. Are you looking for a meal?

[ Her smile is easy. Her stance even more so. Weight evenly spread, ready to move just in case. ]

Westling

[ In the aftermath, Drummer walks away shining and naked, and leaving her opponent with nothing worse than a conciliatory pat on the shoulder—much to the vocal dislike of the onlookers. Even so, she smiles placidly and steps away, fully naked and glistening with oil, and snags a glass of wine from a passerby. Maybe it was yours. Maybe you just paused to watch this play out.

She smiles. Her expression is placid, unflappable, her mouth slightly upturned on the left side from the scar. ]

Strange concepts of victory here, don’t you think?

Wildcard

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

boarding house.

[hungrylike]

[This woman is obviously a septima, and Seneca has learned not to stare. Bluish skin is some of the less weird stuff she's seen-- this septima doesn't have horns or fur or a tail. She probably isn't a cannibal.

If she was a cannibal, would she want to eat Seneca? Something to think on later.

Seneca knows better than to refuse the offer of food-- if that was what's what this woman is offering. The word HERETIC isn't a new one, but words can mean so many things. It could just be the woman's name. It could be a fashion thing. Seneca lets assumptions slide off her like soap in the bath, and steps forward. She calculates the angle of her head, the slope of her smile, to maximize a sort of harmless gratefulness. It's good, and she's good, and they should be good together.]

Yeah, I guess interdimensional travel makes me hungry. What's that?

mike enslin | 1408

[stayscared]

i. woods somewhere

[mike is no stranger to this. the horror of suddenly being somewhere else, somwehere scarier and shittier, though he can't say he welcomes it. it's a moment of absolutely fuck this, a moment where panicking, he thinks he's back in that facsimile of a fucking room, whether it be by the design of cultists (did they finally fuck off? i... he can't remember.) of the pthumerians or of his own making doesn't matter.

(whiskey foxtrot ta--)

nope.

he hadn't been drinking. had he? his mind's been an unreliable narrator at times, so there's always the possibility. it's the overwhelm of possibilities that threatens to pull him into a black pit (or whadda ya say - up the steps of an old lighthouse?)

(eleven, this is eleven.

even if you find the light ʇɥɓıl ǝɥʇ puıɟ ɹǝʌǝu ll,noʎ)


b̸̡̗̟͈̺̺̝͙̀͠û̶̗̭̦̲̹̦̆͜r̵̛̻̹̳̹͛́͌̌̐̈̎n̸̪͊͛͑̔ ̸̨̢͓̲̹̬̳̳̜̤̆̏͘̕m̷̙̱̤͗̔͌̿̑̕é̵͍͕̰̟̘͍͓͚̳̍̀̎̈́̔͑͜ ̸̺̭͈̅̋̐͜ǎ̶̟̳̙̭̜́͌̽͗̈́̂͂͘͝l̴̨̹̹͙̥̩̳͙͆͂͜͝ĭ̸̧̛̺͚͔͓͚͙̘̪̄͘v̸̤͉̂̅̕͘̚ę̴̛͉̲͉̰̩̆͂͆̒̐̂̕

nope.

what matters is the sickening wave that crashes over him before he realizes he's possibly not anywhere he's ever been before.

delmira, his omen is gone. gone in a way that's almost tangible. there's the feeling of utter disconnect. ah, yeah. that's a feeling he can settle into: dissociation.

the gifts of his darkblood flicker without his notice, and though he's still bereft of clothes, there's now a baseball cap perched atop his head that he'll feel later, when he can feel anything.

no tape recorder this time to capture his observations as he stumbles out of the woods and into wherever this is pretending to be. is he still in the room? is he out of the room? was he ever out of the room? so he's just speaking into empty air as he goes, feet eventually bloody with the effort.]

The nudity isn't real, it's clearly a metaphor. The endless walking is classic dream trope, even though the pain in my feet is...

[he stops in his tracks. he'd felt pain in his feet at the lighthouse, too. in the early, early days of trench...

...had it all been a figment? all of it?

(twelve, this is twelve

you have lost your mind)]


ii. boarding house
[he'd found pants and shoes, but his darkblood has manifested a shirt for him, perhaps complying a bit maliciously to his request by producing the pattern. if he had uttered 'oh, blow it out your ass' at least thrice in the past four hours, mostly to himself ...the result isn't exactly a coincidence.

you know what? he does welcome it. the alcohol, at least. even if it isn't real, it tastes real.

(even if you leave this room, you can never---)


---nope. a shake of his head and another swallow of whatever's in the glass as long as it isn't bourbon. this had started before in another boarding house (it was an inn his thoughts pickily fixate on words), in a place not so dissimilar to this one, and that's not lost on him at all.

(an inn is a boarding house is a hote---)

---that's another nope of an intrusive thought, and it makes him trust every door in it less and less. so he sits at a table stink-eyeing every door in the place, side-eyeing every scorch mark he sees - which while they are not many, they are enough to make him unable to sit still any longer.

he gets up and exits the main, very red door, re-enters it and re-exits a total of three times before standing just outside the door, giving it the finger and remaining outside, drink in hand and the slow realization that if he wants another he will need to go back inside.]



iii. summertide: lock & key

[rules have been explained, and he stares at the shackle as if it's some unspeakable horror for a moment (and for that brief moment it is), stiffening in panic before he shakes it off and makes an irritated face. mike huffs a bitter laugh, his eyes locking onto the spectacle of naked fencers in the distance.]

So, at least three circles of hell overlapping. [he's over-analyzing it now, of course.] The naked fencing's a nice touch. I don't remember an absurdity circle, but I'm not complaining.

[mike has been no stranger to drink since his arrival, and the drinks here seem to have changed his mood somewhat. the panic ebbs after that initial spike - especially once he realizes the person he's shackled to is alive and all limbs are accounted for. this, he can roll with. sure. fine. whatever.]

I missed the part about how much blood? Unless you feel like going on a long walk for a key that could be up someone's ass for all I know.

[it's so much easier to be glib when he's convinced this isn't real. also, the drinks.]

iv. wildcard
hit me with whatever eisdamme

the woods

[dead_tongue]

[Not everyone lives within the city walls. A handful of people live just beyond in small cabins and cottages.

One such (unlikely) person is Ignatius Melville, former medium turned sex worker turned Disney Princess. Well, not really - he's on a break and he just likes to sing at birds and pretend they're singing back.

Which is what he was out doing while picking berries when he spots the naked guy in the baseball hat.

So naturally Iggy waves.]

Hi!

SAM CARPENTER • SCREAM • NIEZ

[killer]

Arrival

[ Deep in the woods, a dark-haired young woman snaps awake with a jolt. She blinks away the remnants of sleep and scans her immediate surroundings while her eyes adjust to the minimal light filtered through the canopy overhead. Then she takes stock of herself, feeling for her recent injuries. Instead of stitches, her fingertips inexplicably brush over raised scar tissue. Drip trails of dried blood down the length of her arm indicate that despite those impossibly healed wounds, much time can't have passed from when she sustained them.

Softly, to herself: ] What the fuck...

[ Sam climbs to her feet next. Her toes dig into dead leaves and cold earth. She wraps her arms across her chest and starts walking, gingerly stepping over uneven ground, wary of buried rocks or sharp twigs that could impale her bare feet. It takes her a long time to progress through the woods this way but eventually the trees begin to clear and a walled town comes into view. She passes through the iron gate feeling very little relief and a fair amount of apprehension. The town resembles a period film set but there are no cameras in sight.

Again, under her breath: ] What the fuck.

[ At the direction of some helpful townspeople, Sam heads for the boarding house, where she secures some basic clothing before heading to the bathhouse to wash off. After walking through the woods and town in her birthday suit, she has no strong emotion to spare for the communal bath. She's just happy they have hot water.

Once she has washed off all the blood and dirt, she quickly dresses and returns to the boarding house, having been advised to secure a bed sooner rather than later. She has to poke her head through several doors before she finally finds a room with an unclaimed bed. She throws herself onto that bed, face planting into the pillow.

Muffled, with feeling: ] What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Summertide

01.
[ Sam is several bites in and pleasantly surprised that seasoning food is not the modern invention the internet would have everyone believe when a wave of heat almost knocks her over. Suddenly lightheaded, she catches herself against the nearest surface, or person, until it passes.

It doesn't. ]

Sorry, I— [ She removes her hand from someone's shoulder or wrist or wherever else she grabbed on to them, then puts her plate down on the nearest table. ] That was a mistake.

02.
[ If her dominant arm hadn't just been tied at the wrist to a complete stranger, Sam would have swung at the asshole who did it. Her expression indicates that she is still strongly considering violence as she listens to the rules of the game. The asshole then leaves them to it, Sam staring daggers at their receding shape before turning her attention to the person she is now stuck with. ]

Fuck it. Finger prick? They didn't say how much blood.

Szymanskiy

[ Hearing the townspeople talk about monsters as if they were real was easy to dismiss; it's an isolated town, they're living in the past, and stories fill the gaps where science has yet to explain. For Sam, it was always going to take seeing it with her own eyes to believe it. And one early morning, that is exactly what happens.

Her heart slams against her rib cage as she runs like hell. A door opens, someone calls for her to get in, quickly, and she doesn't think twice. Whatever that thing is, it is on her ass, momentum lurching it into the door as Sam swings it shut behind her.

Panting, it's a moment before she gathers enough breath to ask: ] What the hell was that?

[ OOC: Wildcards welcome! PM or cosmology for contact. ]

summertide 2

[pharmacy]

[ Her lock partner wears a gray sash that matches hers, and--like her--he's been enjoying the food today. Maybe he's been enjoying the drink a little bit more. When she suggests a finger prick, his mouth pulls sideways into a grimace. ]

Aw--fuckin--I dunno, man, I'm a little twisted, I'm not gonna lie. [ He turns his grimace up and around their surroundings. Without a second thought, he turns his hand into hers and takes hold of it, long fingers warm from wine. His curse mark sets neatly inside his wrist. ] Come on, let's look around a little. At least I can--walk this off.

I'm Quentin. You're--new, definitely new.

ava reid / original / skala

[scifis]

( space-time travelling (artificially-)immortal experiences tech glitch, gets stuck de-aged on 20th century Earth, 'grows up' to become a production designer for tv & film with a specialism in scifi & fantasy in hopes of catching the attention of her crew by replicating their lives on screen )


IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE—

cw: nudity

[ There's a woman in the woods today. Naked, a telltale sign for those who know what it means. Not unusual to hear a stream of blasphemies tripping off a newcomer's tongue, either, but what is perhaps a little less typical is the tone - like she's left dinner in the oven too long, or her keys inside her flat and shut the door. ]

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

[ She ducks and twists, staring at the underbrush, feet skimming gracelessly over moss and through leaves to knock them aside— ] Oh— no, no don't - God. Piss. [ Until she seems to think better of that and roots her feet to the spot. After that she just... stands there. Breath heaving, eyes wide and searching, hands curled into claw grips around nothing at her sides. ]

Motherfuck.



LOCK & KEY—

cw: violence

[ The binding is wrapped about her wrist before she's fully cognizant of what's happening, busy sampling a taster of a local wine. Her brows raise in mild interest, head turning to see who needs her attention, mouth still full— And then reality catches up with her. Gaze flickers from their captor to her fellow captive, dropping to the line that binds them together as the rules of the game are shared with the both of them... and her eyes roll so dramatically it's a miracle they don't retire to the back of her head.

She swallows the wine. Waits for the Rubean to finish running through the aim of the game, wafting them away with a "yes, yes, thank you," and an under-breath aside of "kindly fuck off," before finally turning to address her companion in indignity with a shake of the head and a sigh of disbelief. Locals, am I right? ]

Look, [ with a vague, weary half-smile, smooth southern English accent and a wine glass that she's setting back down on the table, she seems nice, ] ever so sorry about this, [ or at least normal enough, harmless, ] but I really don't have the fucking patience.

[ Which is her cue to draw back her free arm in an abrupt bid to aim a sharp, trained if under-practiced jab right at her unfortunate partner in bondage's nose. ]



( or hit me with whatever! you can find me miscreates or sculpts @ discord if you'd like to run something by me first. )

lock & key.

[hungrylike]

[Seneca spends her time trying to wriggle out of the binding like a cat with a tube sock over its head-- ineffectual and desperate. But it turns out that this English lady is crazy, just like everyone else is crazy, just like everything here is wrong. Seneca can ignore it most of the time, but this is different. It hurts.]

[She screams. The handcuffs hold tight.] Get away from me! You're nuts!

Vex'ahlia | The Legend of Vox Machina (animated series) | will match style

[whatsinfrontofyou]

((ooc: voice testing, so bear with me please! cw: blanket warning for strong language))

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

1. "Oh, for fuck's sake..." Vex hisses softly as the thin light hits her eyes, blinking them open. Her first thought is that she's woken up to a delightful hangover, an impression that the surge of nausea as she wobbles upright into a sitting position doesn't do much to contradict.

The fact she's naked isn't exactly inconsistent either.

"Even my fucking boots?"

She's about two and a half-seconds deep scripting the piece of her mind she'll give whatever joker is responsible for her situation when that situation really and truly sinks in. One instant, she's grumbling internally that she can't remember the last time she was drunk enough to blackout and the next she's realizing she really can't remember the last time she got drunk enough to blackout like this.

She didn't get drunk enough to blackout.

"Shit." She's assessing the situation again then, taking in not just her lack of clothing and her lack of fucking footwear, but also her lack of weapons. Her bow is missing, and she's stranded in the middle of nowhere. Something is much more wrong here than a drunken prank gotten out of hand.

The good news: she's a ranger. If anyone should be prepared to get her bearings and find her way to the nearest village, it's her. Step one, get on her feet. Step two, look for signs of civilization. Hiking through the forest in all her naked glory might be far from ideal, but as long as she keeps her wits about her, Vex should be able to get out of this—and darling, Vex always keeps her wits about her.

Beyond that, well, any questions beyond that can wait until she's not nips out.

It's not the most pleasant hike that follows.


2. It's luck more than self-restraint that keeps Vex from committing crimes before she reaches the boarding house. She had thought of it, and truly who could blame her for nicking a cloak at least. By the time she reaches town, the sun is slanting rather low over the quaint peaked rooftops, leaving the streets largely in shadow and largely cold.

But she does learn of the boarding house rather quickly, before her eyes can stray too much to the neighborhood clothes lines, and as a result Vex is still naked when she arrives.

Naked, and in a bad mood.

"Whose palms do I have to grease to get a coat?" she grumbles, more to herself than the people already crowded inside as she enters since she has no money with which to do the greasing and less inclination to part with it if she did. Seeing the other newcomers, her expression shifts to something cheerful and brittly fake, putting all the airs she can muster into her voice when she actually addresses the room. "Why, it seems I'm running fashionably late. I do hope there's still food and warm clothes to spare? I'd be ever so disappointed to miss out on such lovely hospitality."


THE FESTIVAL OF SUMMERTIDE

1. (cw: aphrodisiacs) When she first arrived, Vex had been skeptical. Two and a half cold pints later, she has to admit, she's warmed up to the whole festival thing a little. Figuratively and maybe just a little literally as she joins to audience gathered around the current wrestling match.

Vex finds herself licking her lips as her eyes linger the rippling biceps of one contestant as she puts the other in a headlock, squeezing his neck in the crook of his arm.

She's perhaps somewhat less than her most decorous as she whistles and shouts with the crowd. "Step on him!"


2. "—oh what in the fresh fuck—" Vex snaps as she finds herself taken by the wrist and, quick as you like, tied to someone she doesn't recognize.

Her lips purse, turned down in displeasure. She lifts her hand and inspects the bondage.

"Really." Muttered, then sighing dramatically: "I assume you want to do this the hard way."

Meaning finding the key.

Not that she clarifies that.


NIGHT OF THE HUNTSMEN

1. This is what comes from listening to that voice in her head that tells her she needs to pull her weight. She could have stood back, let other people investigate the disappearances. This could have been decidedly not her problem. There's not much venom in the thought, though, only a certain performative level of resentment.

Vex is here now.

And despite her normally keen sight, the shadows are closing in around her in a way that she doesn't like.

The bow she carries isn't her own, loaned by one of the townsfolk, but she carries it at ready. A twig snaps and in one smooth motion, she goes from relaxed to drawn to her cheek, scanning the darkness for any suspicious movement, any sign of attack. Her ears strain for another sound.

When nothing follows, she hazards calling out. "Yoohoo." The fake voice again. "Lost in the forest, darling? Show yourself and we'll find the way out together."

That is, of course, if she doesn't shoot whoever's out there instead.


WILDCARD

[You have ideas. I like ideas! Hit me up with something else and we'll work it out.]

-huntsmen

[serpentigena]

Unfortunately, 'not my problem' is a mood that doesn't last long here, as Vex is probably already finding out by now. Everything quickly becomes everyone's problem here.

"Sounds like something that someone would say right before leading someone into a death trap." Speaking and revealing where you are is also a great way to assist in that, but, sometimes the urge to sarcasm just wins out.

Lumen Grier | Skala

[lumenate]

In The Woods Somewhere

[ It’s cold out here in the dark. Lumen bounces from foot to foot, her good arm hovering awkwardly over her titties. She can see better in the dark than most, but this isn’t where she laid her head down when she went to sleep last night cycle. And it doesn’t feel much like a dream, naked awkward bits aside.

She turns slow, giving whoever approaches an awkward smile. She’s 5’3, utterly naked, and missing her right arm at the shoulder. ]

So, uh. I’d like to say nice to meet ya but I’m freezing my tits off and I’m pretty sure a spider just bit me on my ass. Think you could find it in your heart to point me to some clothes?

Boardinghouse

[ Clothes located, Lumen finds herself wandering around awkwardly in the common room. Her hair’s a bit of a mess, hanging tangled and knotted over her shoulders. The red beginning to show ever so slightly at the roots. ]

Soooo. I know we gotta all like, find jobs and shit, but you think you could point me to a comb and an extra set of hands?

Wildcard

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

[dead_tongue]

[Collecting naked newcomers in the woods is fast becoming a hobby of his. He's not even looking for them - just coming back to his house way too late.

Iggy tuts, concerned.]

A spider? A normal one, or one of the huge maneating poison ones? Well. Either way, let's get you and your tits out of the cold!

I have a little house not far. Well. More of a glorified shack. Come on, I bet I have something you can borrow.

Chevalier de Lorraine | Versailles | Diabel

[decorative]

IN THE WOODS - Being sexy prey cw: mention of injury. attempted manipulation

[The Chevalier has been wandering about the forest for hours. Never exactly an expert in navigation, he has walked in circles for far too long, growing increasingly tired and desperate. His feet are bleeding. His hair is a mess. He wants a fucking drink. Exhausted and entirely unimpressed, he catches sight of someone and his survival instincts kick into gear. He does what he knows best and collapses, shifting his legs towards the light so that they are illuminated as flatteringly as possible.]

Is someone out there? [He knows someone is out there.] Please. I do not have the strength. [But perhaps someone who enjoys flattery and wants to feel big and burly just might.]

THE FESTIVAL OF SUMMERTIDE - Consensual drugging. Eat up, babe cw: aphro. drugs. open to men for now, please.

[The Chevalier is no stranger to drugs. Having snorted and sipped more questionable substances than he can count, a bit of sexually charged food doesn't sound all that bothersome. He finds a mark that he thinks looks particularly either handsome or useful and makes prolonged, deliberate eye contact with them as he bites down into a cherry. He slides closer and holds the second cherry of the pair to the man's lips, daring him.]

This isn't your first, is it?

SOMEONE ELSE TRANSFORMS - Freaking out over the whole monster thing

[A town ruled by sex and violence? Fine. That sounds like Paris on a Friday. But the monsters are something else. The Chevalier is tremoring when he rushes up to the nearest person he can find. His voice is feeble, a forced, panicked hush. His eyes are wide and glossy as he paws at the person in front of him, clutching his fingers into the fabric of their shirt.]

I saw...I........creatures. Horrific creatures. [Please believe him. He's not sure he believes it himself.]

Summertide

[moondregs]

[ It is not Junpei’s first, or even his second or third. Really, he’s lost count of how many festivals and parties he’s attended. How many tainted food and drink he’s consumed. How many people he’s tangled with when the effects of said food and drink take away all his pesky inhibitions. Nowadays he consumes them on purpose. Seeking that wonderful freedom. To be unburdened by his stupid overthinking brain.

And so, when an unfamiliar but handsome face appears and offers him fruit, soft lips and tongue only allow a beat before devouring it without breaking eye contact. The glassiness of his eyes says he’s already in deep. ]

No.

fencing

[minuteofangle]

Around here? Not a chance.

[ Gabe, currently clothed, currently more than a little drunk, lifts a wine glass in her direction in lazy salute. He doesn't recognize the voice but that tone's familiar enough. Not a local, then. ]

It's pretty much like this all the time. Might as well get drunk and enjoy the show.

[ To be safe, he has his walking stick tucked under his arm, the cracked sunglasses firmly in place to hide the nothing behind them. Just in case. ]