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rubilykskoye mods ([personal profile] rubimods) wrote in [community profile] rubimemes2024-06-18 01:02 pm
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SUMMER TEST DRIVE MEME

⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ 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.

FAQSETTINGCALENDARRESERVESAPPLICATIONS



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.



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.



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.



    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.


    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?
    ligature: (sweet dreams)

    [personal profile] ligature 2024-06-29 04:13 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Hannibal touches him, and his breath catches at the staggering intimacy of it, just that hand charting a course up his arm, the angle of his shoulders, to find the place where is collarbone and neck meet. the press of his thumb into his throat, the secure, curling grip of the fingers settling against the nape of his neck; Hannibal could kill him now so easily. and Will would let him.]

    Hannibal, [he says his name again on a shaky inhalation of breath, into this close space between them. with their foreheads touching, he wouldn't be surprised if Hannibal could feel the flicker of his eyelashes against his skin when he closes his eyes. Will raises his hands, one coming to rest against the bend of Hannibal's elbow, while the other settles over the space where he'd seen Francis Dolarhyde's bullet put a bleeding wound in Hannibal's stomach.

    a shuddering breath out--god, what is he doing--and the tip of his nose bumps against Hannibal's as he speaks.]
    You can't be here. [his hand follows the line of Hannibal's forearm up to his wrist near his own throat, curls his fingers around the elegant bones there. quieter, almost marvelling,] I can't believe you're here.
    relished: (thirteen)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 05:15 pm (UTC)(link)
    [not so much eager to stab as much as he is eager to be rid of a stranger unceremoniously locked to his person.

    he eyes the knife in her hand, thinks briefly of snatching it. he doesn't. she isn't the one at fault here.
    ]

    I agree. [he's heard there are more than humans that go bump in the night around here.] May I ask your name? I'd like to have some formality before you draw blood.

    [it's only half a joke, a little jest. the game is intimate in both ways. either be forced to wander for a key that may never be found, or trust the person attached won't try to kill him. the latter is far more intimate and he doesn't trust her, but he's prepared for an attack, if he has to be.]
    relished: (pic#17130249)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
    [he considers killing him and it would be so effortless. Will is easily folding under his touch and he can feel his heartbeat under his thumb, a flutter of adrenaline. he recalls their evenings together, of Will desperate to wrap his own hands around Hannibal's neck and never being able to bring himself to do it.

    soft lashes against skin. the two of them work as ying and yang, one exhaling while the other inhales, eyes fighting to stay open because he wants so badly to watch. more earth, sweat and hints of dog, then only Will; no overbearing scent of blood on their bodies.

    every touch acts as a gift, Will's hand a welcomed weight on his arm. he leans into each one, notes the way he chooses the placement of his hand over the new scar. they haven't ever been allowed this. here Will is, so open for him, yet the mixture of love and need is primal. he can feel the warmth radiating off of him. jaw clenches and he swallows the urge to bite.
    ]

    Yet I am.

    [nearly a whisper, but so confident, so sure. he almost almost responds to Will's hand around his by tightening his hold, instead deciding to loosen. all actions cause a reaction; his right hand that he'd held still in his pocket for so long finally palms itself against Will's waist, fingers twisting into fabric. close to the belt, if he needs it.]

    Do you want me to be here, Will?

    [noses brushing against each other again, he can feel Will's breath against his lips.]
    poleaxed: static; joke (i got a little)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-29 05:55 pm (UTC)(link)
    Uh, Joan. [It's a fair ask-- and kind of funny. Joan, whose humor tends to run morbid, can appreciate that.] I been around a little while. You can ask any questions, if you got 'em. Your name?

    [She finds a safe place to tuck themselves away, a little gazebo in a nearby park.]
    ligature: (lost)

    cw: cannibalism flashback

    [personal profile] ligature 2024-06-29 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)
    [they've already shared so many things between them that shouldn't be allowed, let alone shared: blood and death in abundance; the horror and the thrill of taking a life; the taste of Randall Tier's cooked flesh, honoured under Hannibal's knife, transformed into something exquisite and unparalleled in his atelier of a kitchen. Alana was right. their relationship has never known boundaries, and negotiating them has never been their strong suit, either. why should this be any different, just because they are in a new place where no one knows what they have done--to others, or to each other?

    Will drops his hand from Hannibal's stomach to find the fingers twisting in his shirt, and firmly, unflinchingly guides them to his belt. he nods once, tight and quick, breathes]
    yes, [into the warm, close space between them, and bends the rest of the way forward into Hannibal's space to kiss his mouth with barely restrained, transparent hunger.

    (did Hannibal lock the door? maybe he should have locked the door.)]
    relished: (Default)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
    [this is what he always wanted. or, part of it. what Hannibal loves he loves into death's door, kneads it into place how he sees fit. between them, they played games with each other. hunting and scraping by with threats and attempts at lives until finally each of them were snagged by the fly's hook. he didn't want Will to have a family because he knew better, knew him better. they belonged together, dead or alive, and Hannibal wanted to orchestrate that himself. kill them all he'd told Dolarhyde.

    lines blurred between them back then. still blur. who's hand is really around who's throat?

    the toolbelt, which Hannibal was leaving as a last resort in case of a sudden change of heart, barely gets touched even as his hand is guided toward it. the plan was to remove it, to keep them in this charged state of purity. and it is pure, to want someone, to want to conquer someone in this way. lips crash together and he inhales again, relishing in the first taste of Will's mouth, eyes fluttering shut as they roll back into his head. this is a taste he will remember forever.

    grip fluctuates on his neck, moves up closer to his jaw, two fingers in the soft curls of hair around his ears. he handles Will in a delicate but firm way, focus back on the toolbelt to unbuckle it and let it drop, metal clanging against the floor. there's so much -- too much -- hunger. he kisses Will with a craving, a low groan in the back of his throat. he wants to consume him, wants to taste more of him than just the flesh of his lips.

    Hannibal is patient. he's able to maintain restraint, but not enough to resist the urge to sink his teeth into Will's bottom lip.
    ]
    relished: (pic#17130258)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)
    [well, he is thankful for that. waking up bare to the world seemed to be a one and done around here, with the rest of the games being a different kind of force. he'd seen the fencing, the wrestling, the ejection process should someone refuse participation.

    he takes the knife from Gabe, feels the weight of it in his hand. he appreciates the courtesy.

    there's nothing very nice about this situation, but there's some beauty to it.
    ]

    Could you roll up your sleeve?

    [ no hesitation, hardly any feathers ruffled at the thought of having to draw a strangers blood.]
    relished: (Default)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-29 08:24 pm (UTC)(link)
    I might take you up on that offer, if this goes well.

    [she can offer all of the pleasantries in the world, the two of them are still stuck together until skin breaks.]

    Hannibal. [it's a nice little space, not many people around. he can hear distant echoes of laughter from the festival, but the area itself is somewhat private. he holds out his hand, palm facing down. if she were to try for the radial artery, it isn't readily there for her to reach. no, his hand is easy, it's why he doesn't offer up an arm or a leg.] Go ahead.

    [never in his life did he ever think he would be instructing someone to cut into him, but at least he has control over where. unless she decides to be unpredictable.]
    poleaxed: static (i see you all the while readin into this)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-29 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Joan may have been raised wrong with shitbirds for parents, but even she knows you're supposed to make polite conversation when you're swapping fluids.] Your parents were more creative than mine. That's the guy with the wall, right?

    [Joan keeps her eyes down, intending to do this as precisely and painlessly as possible.] Okay, okay, I got you, hold still... [She puts her free hand on his, holding a vein on the back of his hand in place while she slices along it. It's not as neat or surgical as it could be, considering her company, but Joan is a mechanic, well accustomed to using tools with a precise and unshaking hand. She does the best she can.]
    minuteofangle: (037)

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-29 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)
    [ Gabe just gives the other man a thin smile and rolls up the sleeve on his left arm. Dominant side, baring a number of fading scars—shrapnel and blades alike—and a black crosshairs inked on the back of his hand, as well as a snake circling his wrist and thirteen black tally marks on his forearm. All of them like armor, proof that his skin belongs only to him. ]

    If you would.

    [ His tone is bland. He’s very careful to move his head just so, like he’s making eye contact behind the sunglasses. ]
    relished: (pic#17130258)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-30 01:08 am (UTC)(link)
    [if he is appalled by her makeshift smalltalk, he doesn't show as much. he doesn't entertain it, only redirects it.]

    Joan of Arc, or Jeanne d'Ay de Domrémy. You may want to learn about her, if you haven't already.

    [she's trying to be gentle with him, or at least precise, that much he notices. his pain tolerance is so unbelievably high that it hardly registers as pain, mostly the pressure of blade cutting through the epidermis, then dermis. blood forms and begins to seep around the blade and smear on skin. he's watching, intrigued.]

    That's enough.
    poleaxed: static ; angry ; shock (that we're no dick and jane)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-30 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
    I'm named after a different saint, actually. [It's not the first time someone's brought up old Joan, but it's the first time since she landed here, and there's something appreciable about that.] But I'm a fan of her work.

    [She wipes the blade off on her pant leg, leaving a smear of dark red, before handing it over.]

    Okay, go for it. And don't worry about hurting me.
    relished: (pic#17130239)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-30 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
    [his brow twitches, eyes narrowing. not entirely at her, but at himself to poke and prod at his memory. he's not bleeding so much that it's annoying, trails of blood are barely reaching the edge of his wrist. resisting the urge to lick it from his hand, he dabs it against his pant leg before taking the knife from her.]

    Joan of Lestonnac?

    [he isn't worried about hurting her, wasn't worried to begin with. she secured safety from his whims by listening to instruction and keeping true to her word. the cut won't scar; he returns the favor. he's assuming he can use the hand she's offered the knife to him with. he holds the knife in an interesting way, close to the end of the blade like a pencil for more control. he cuts along the side of her wrist, stopping close to the knuckle of her thumb. it's a clean, near-perfect straight line of red.]
    poleaxed: smile; (i cured my skin)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-30 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
    You like French saints, huh? No, I was supposed to be a John. That's your hint.

    [It's over nearly before it begins, and Joan thinks how clever that was. She didn't have to cut nearly so deep. She didn't have to take so long. She just needed to draw blood.]

    [The cuff snaps open. She withdraws her hand, pressing her wrist to her shirt to stopper the blood.]


    You want the cuff? Could be a memento. [She's mostly joking.]
    relished: (pic#17130230)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-30 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
    [an unusual thing, being earnest in attempting to make eye contact when the glasses hide everything beneath them. a stillness falls while Hannibal's focus narrows on Gabe's skin. scars are scattered and create patterns around the tattoos, more forms of art.

    he obliges by Gabe's request, and while it would take significant cuts to ruin a tattoo, he does avoid them. he chooses an empty place closer to his inner elbow and leans in a little closer for precision. surgical in the way he cuts, he makes a short but deep enough incision to entice blood from his skin. he's quick, and if it weren't for the blade's size, it would have been virtually painless.

    he straights back up, wiping the blade on the edge of his shirt by his hip. wordlessly he hands the blade knife back to Gabe.
    ]

    No tattoos for you to avoid, only veins.

    [now he's the one rolling up his shirtsleeve, revealing a glimpse of an old scar that had been sutured together. one of its pair along each inner forearm. he keeps his palm facing down to avoid any accidents, should Gabe decide to get feisty.]
    relished: (pic#17130248)

    [personal profile] relished 2024-06-30 02:21 am (UTC)(link)
    I enjoy history, and I spent most of my life in Europe. There are many saints by the name of John, I'm afraid we'd be here all day.

    [what he doesn't like is bland guessing games. he considers her -- height, flash of red hair, bright eyes. no accent, though. all of this done under a scrutinizing gaze. she doesn't really expect him to continue, does she?

    he takes the cuff off of his wrist, briefly inspecting it.
    ]

    I don't think so.

    [he drops it to the ground, glad to be freed from its nasty little grasp. he offers the knife back to her, end first. she did cut a little deeper than necessary, but it was unintentional.]
    minuteofangle: (002)

    [personal profile] minuteofangle 2024-06-30 02:24 am (UTC)(link)
    [ Pain’s an old friend at this point, familiar as dust and the fee of sunlight against the skin. Gabe slows his breathing down deliberately so he won’t flinch. What happens happens. He bleeds because that’s the game, because it’s either this one sacrifice or something worse—that neither of them will be able to control. You learn to take certain things in this life, to survive them even if you never accept them.

    His smile doesn’t waver as he takes the knife back. Shit happens. This is just business. But he steps closer and taps his fingers against the stranger’s arm, feeling for the skin of the given canvas because he doesn’t actually want to be a dick about this and cut through a scar. He hums a little, offering no warning before he cuts. Sharp and quick, just deep enough to bleed.

    The shackles drop with a loud click. ]


    And we didn’t even fuck. The locals must be losing their touch. [ He sighs loudly, mock-disappointed, as he wipes the blade clean. ] Guess this is the part where we say hi. What’d I call you?
    poorlittlesange: (i dreamed)

    [personal profile] poorlittlesange 2024-06-30 02:30 am (UTC)(link)
    "It can vary." It is easier to keep his attention focused upon those things he can provide meaningful assistance with--offering explanations, providing context that others in the town simply would not think to include for a man of Lan Xichen's background--rather than risk wounding Lan Xichen further by addressing the heartbreak on his face directly. Still, he sees it; and still, it twists something inside him that has already been walking wounded for years.

    (That this place might finally grant them the freedom to explore something they have both wanted for years cannot make up for the many, many obstacles it has introduced instead.)

    "There is some literature about it, which may be more helpful than anything this humble one might say, at the library. Perhaps you should visit." He tries to offer the option out with a soft smile, and the warmth in his expression is sincere, but it fades the longer he watches Lan Xichen's expression.

    A moment's hesitation, before he summons the courage he has acquired for himself during his time here, and reaches out a hand to very gently touch Lan Xichen's wrist. "Er-ge, I can help you, if you will let me." It doesn't take an immortal sage to figure out he's not talking about directions to the library.
    onlycake: (204.)

    [personal profile] onlycake 2024-06-30 06:39 am (UTC)(link)
    [ Rhaenyra makes a small sound when he plucks her from the ground like a flower, like a child, and much like she'd done once with Ser Criston, her skinny legs fold around him to hold herself aloft. Strong from riding, determined to ignore his words and prove what a match they are, Rhaenyra clings to him and winds her fingers in his hair. Much longer than she remembers it being at her wedding...

    He's close enough to nudge at her cunt and Rhaenyra arches her back, biting her lip when his rough explorations tease at her nipples, palm one of her breasts in his big hand completely. She lets her hips slide a little lower on him, lets his cock drag against the wet welcome of her lips and Rhaenyra lets out a sigh, tries to pull him in for a kiss as her cunt twitches at the teasing.

    She's felt him this close before though, nestled between her thighs, and still lost him. She lets out an unsteady gasp at the thought, uncertainty showing for a moment on her face. She's out of barbs to help herself feel more in control, finally just afraid of him seeing her for what she is: too young and inexperienced. ]
    Edited 2024-06-30 06:41 (UTC)
    ragedagainst: (Smile)

    [personal profile] ragedagainst 2024-06-30 03:07 pm (UTC)(link)
    "Yeah, she's got a gross teddy bear she chews all the time, had it since she was newborn. Gnaws on me arm when I'm tellin' her bedtime stories too."

    And she had done ever since she had started teething. Ren loathed to stop her fierce little wolf from doing so.

    "It's just a phase. She'll probably grow outta it. I was the same at that age, or so me Ma tells us."
    poleaxed: joke; smile (no no no)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-30 03:15 pm (UTC)(link)
    Yeah, but Catholics only really name kids after two, and I'm the second one. [She thinks it's an easy sink. She also just kind of assumes this Hannibal guy is Catholic.]

    [She takes the cuff; Joan has always liked physical reminders of events. She stands.]
    Anyway, thanks for not freaking out. People can get real fucking weird, here.
    ragedagainst: (Hot goff)

    dw hates this one thread in particular

    [personal profile] ragedagainst 2024-06-30 04:20 pm (UTC)(link)
    Ren kicks Joan's stance slightly wider with her foot. It didn't need to be wider but that wasn't the point. It was the principle of it.

    One hand cast up to slip under the tanktop and paw at a breast, exploratory as to what she was working with, the other delving down the front of her trousers to slide her fingers over Joan's cunt and spread her.
    poleaxed: static; gent; shock; joke (there's more to the picture)

    [personal profile] poleaxed 2024-06-30 04:40 pm (UTC)(link)
    Being moved around with this, it's- novel. It's exciting. Joan sighs into Ren's grasping hands, her hips swaying into her grasp. Joan's tits, flat and useless, are at this point mostly hard nipple. She's already wet between her legs. She's always been easily turned on, and this novelty heightens it. Joan rests her cheek against the bark of the tree. "You the strong silent type?"
    fiat: that's why i'm dad's favorite. (QVJvuvH)

    [personal profile] fiat 2024-06-30 07:00 pm (UTC)(link)
    [Perhaps it is fortunate for Rhaenyra that Daemon is attracted to inexperience; perhaps not. Her willingness is interesting. Perhaps Rhaenyra was always wanton. Her first three sons are certainly evidence of that, but he never saw it himself.]

    [He does not tell her to be careful. He does not give her warning at all. In one fluid movement, he enters her fully, and the sudden tightness after waiting so long pulls a pleased gasp from his throat.]
    You are mine. Always.
    baiyueguang: (Do the handjive)

    [personal profile] baiyueguang 2024-07-01 03:25 am (UTC)(link)
    Jin Guangyao's hand on his wrist is a steady, grounding feeling, pulling him back from the flood of emotions threatening to drown him. The dam hasn't quite burst, but the cracks are there and it's only a matter of time.

    He cannot help but cover Jin Guangyao's hand with his own, running his long, gentle fingers over unmarred, intact knuckles, marveling at the pulse of life and thrum of spiritual energy under his fingertips.

    So lost in thought is he, Jin Guangyao's offer takes a moment to register.

    When it does, Xichen's head shoots up and for a moment, he looks as though he might accept.

    (It would be so easy to say yes, to reach out for the person he's wanted for twenty years.

    And he knows how truly awful it will be when Jin Guangyao finally learns the truth behind his death.)

    Gathering all his willpower, he pulls his hands away.

    "It is a kind offer, but I cannot. When A-Yao knows the truth, if he still wants this foolish er-ge in his bed after... then I will not refuse."

    He's not going to lay with the love of his life under false pretenses.