TEST DRIVE MEME #2

[penancemods]

ARRIVAL

You remember a dream.

Or maybe nightmare is more accurate.

It was full of hellfire nipping at your skin and a sensation of being pulled down no matter how much you struggle or cry for help. There's a voice that feels like it's coming from all around you at once. Contrasting with the nightmare unfolding around you, it's smooth as silk. It makes you want to listen with every bit of attention you can muster in the moment.

"Judgement has come upon you, but not to worry. It can still be undone."

The voice promises you redemption for your sins. It promises you a better life and everything you could ever want, if only you just stop struggling so much.

And so you do.



Everyone wakes up in the same room initially. The room is done up in red with a cushy bed, a window, an old TV in the corner on a desk, and a few Hieronymus Bosch paintings lining the wall. There's a bathroom to clean up in and any belongings will be sat around the room to be gathered later. There's a duffel bag provided for your convenience.

After feeling a sensation of falling or dropping onto the bed, characters wake up feeling like they've just slept for a week. Their body will feel heavy and stiff, they'll have a massive headache at first.

They'll quickly notice the list of their sins written with their blood on a bedside table on an old piece of parchment. This will mean the list is tied to them and can't be changed or tampered with. They'll also receive their device to connect with others and the network. It won't be anything terribly fancy. As a matter of fact, it looks like a very old Blackberry type phone.



Once characters are ready to leave the room, they'll head down long, winding halls. They're dimly lit and ominous feeling. They may encounter fellow sinners or demonic staff that will direct the newcomer down to the lobby to get their actual room key to settle in. They may be pushy, they may border on courteous. It really just depends on the mood of the staff at the time and how they're treated in return. Eventually, everyone comes to stairs that lead downward.



Once down to the lobby, you'll notice the front desk manned by a demon who looks bored out of its mind. To the side of him is the door to the kitchen where guests may help themselves. To the right is a small duty free shop that seems to have a surprisingly normal, expected stock of items. Look around a bit further, there will be a tiny bar tucked in through a corner door. It seems pretty well-stocked and best of all, self-serve if you want to get away from your demonic hosts for a bit. Of course there's some seating, bar games, and a jukebox tucked in the corner if you'd rather stay and socialize a bit.

Please note that all the songs on the jukebox are appropriately hell-themed. Hopefully Sympathy for the Devil is universally loved.



STAND YOUR GROUND

Prompt I
Warnings: Potential violence

There are whispers of something big arriving soon around Hell. The demons are talking excitedly amongst themselves throughout the hotel and club, occasionally leering at guests like hungry animals. What's coming? It's apparently a carnival. The demons inform guests soon enough, displaying an almost uncharacteristic enthusiasm talking about it. If pressed for too many details, they'll just assure you that it's an event not worth missing.

Also, new denizen of Hell, guess what! You get to help the demons get everything ready for it. A large portion within the gates of the community is currently in the process of getting cleared away, so there's plenty of work to get done. Demons will grab unsuspecting people and drag them into cutting down charred or dead trees to be tossed into hellfire or clean up old debris from dilapidated buildings. There are also lights and decorations that need to be strung up, as well as booths to be assembled. The only things that seem curiously off limits are the rides and games.

Those are the demons' to put together, so hands off, pal.

Unfortunately for guests, the demons are taking their role as supervisors quite seriously. Cracking a whip isn't just a figure of speech, is what we're saying. If they catch you slacking off on the work they doled out, you will be punished with a hit, a shove, or a crack of a whip to get you back moving.

There's just a lot of work to be done and not much time to do it in, so no slacking! You'll get a lunch break and that's it. Be glad for it.

If you can manage to sneak away though, there appears to be a warehouse that's in the process of being converted into what looks like an attraction. It won't be easy to get in as there are large demonic guards with spears and other weapons stationed at most entrances. If you can get close to the back entrance, you can see various almost Halloween-level decorations being hauled in, along with some curious looking instruments of torture.

You may try to sneak in and get an even closer peek when the guards are distracted or taking an (unapproved) break, if you want to risk it. Take a peek under one of the tarps inside and you may see something entirely different to what your companion sees though. It will feel like it's an item or thing almost personalized to something out of your nightmares. However, you won't get much more than that peek before a very annoyed demon drags you off that doesn't care about your safety one bit.

Then you're put right back on duty. Congratulations, you're now on the worst job they've got: the Porta Potties. You get to set them up.

Prompt II

Per Lucifer's demands, the demons have been hard at work improving the cell reception and wi-fi! Now all of you can stop complaining about not being able to pirate your movies or watch porn. Isn't that wonderful? Or it is until all those nudes you've been sending privately are posted for everyone to see! Or that conversation gets leaked about how your roommate is an absolute slob that you want to strangle.

Even more awkward, maybe someone will get a message from you that you're very sure you never sent, or even thought of ever sending.

If you complain to the hotel staff, they'll assure you that there's been no mistake and everything is working well! It's just as it should be and they won't accept complaints otherwise. Maybe you just meant for the whole network to see your penis? Humans are like that!

Or maybe you never meant to tell that perfect stranger you're in love with her. Humans are irrational, emotional beings. It's why they're so squishy and easy to manipulate. They're not judging! (Actually, they are. They judge you bunch all the time.)

They really do wish you hadn't told the housekeeping that you'd like to flay them alive though. How is anything ever going to get cleaned up now? They'll be trying to smooth this over for a while...

But just go have a drink and relax. Things will work out in the end!

Please remember to only link any images you'll be posting!

REACH UP HIGH

Prompt I

Maybe you were hunting for a midnight snack, maybe you were on your way to the hotel bar or shop. Whatever you were doing, even sleeping, a rather unfriendly looking demon comes up and grabs you by the arm to drag you off. It seems like you've been selected to help them test something out for Lucifer, lucky you. You're taken to a dimly lit room in the hotel where a strange looking drink is forced down your throat, whether you want it or not. After that, the door will be slammed shut and locked, sealed with magic that won't be undone. You're not getting out anytime soon.

Don't worry. You won't be alone too long. Another will be shoved in the room with you soon enough.

Lucifer's voice will then chime in, oh-so helpfully:

"What I ask of you is simple. Help us test a new method of opening yourself up to your fellow sinners. I've heard that a support network is rather important when it comes to recovery, so I've devised a way for each of you to share with one another and, with any hope, become closer. Please, be brave. Don't fear anything, for you're in very safe hands."

As always, there's a part of you that will want to believe the kindness and reassurance in those words, something that urges you to believe Lucifer's promises.

After that, characters will find themselves entering a trance-like state immediately. Hopefully, they fall on the double bed kindly provided. While under the influence of the strange potion, they'll trade memories with one another.

Characters won't just see it played back like a movie, but experience it right down to every gory detail. During this time, they'll receive any markings received in their partner's memory. Cuts, bruises, even broken bones. Emotions felt in the memory may also linger by the time they're back to themselves again.

The potion may have a range of lingering side effects, depending on the person. Anything from drowsiness, to irritability, to headaches. Some may feel a little eager to touch their partner, maybe even a brief psychic connection that doesn't seem to fade for anywhere from a few hours to days. They're still working out the rough spots, give them time!

Characters may also be dragged in multiple times for this experiment and share with multiple partners. This means multiple injuries are possible, as well as feeling emotional distress from the potential roller coasters you're being subjected to feeling. What are your real feelings anyway? It's getting hard to tell.

Prompt II

"For all of the emotional distress you've been subjected to lately, I ask only one thing of you now: approach someone and say something nice. Give a genuine compliment and brighten someone's day. Father does so love those random acts of kindness and giving consideration to your fellow man after all."

Lucifer's voice is as smooth and soothing as it ever is, but no one could blame you for a bit of unease, could they? These punishments always have some sort of drawback. This one seems to be no better. If you skip out on complimenting someone, you'll slowly start experiencing sharp pains throughout your body that will get progressively worse.

They'll fade after a few hours, if you can stand it. But you can make it go away almost instantly if you just go and pay someone a nice compliment. Be careful, it has to be genuine or it won't ease the pain at all! It may even make it worse.

Did they forget that detail? Ah, well. A helpful member of the staff might tell you or you'll figure it out on your own. Just don't think you can get out of this by giving a quick nice hat compliment and going on your way.

FOLLOW ME DOWN

Prompt I
Warnings: Potential violence, sex, drugs, and other vices.

Hey, you.

Yes, you.

There's a demon that beckons you over one night, skulking by the bar. This would be almost comical if this wasn't Hell itself, and probably bode ill for you. The scrawny, tiny demon will crawl right up in your personal space without second thought when you move near him, but he might be worth listening to as he crawls up to whisper in your ear!

And even if you don't want to hear him out, please don't try to fling the tiny mischief-maker off. He's so small and he will get his revenge somehow.

Besides, it turns out that Lucifer is willing to give you one favor, whether it's a pardon from one of your sins without the hassle of a punishment or a new wardrobe or a nice massage with a happy ending. Within reason, you can have whatever you want. Requests to leave or drag someone else down to burn with you will be ignored, as will requests for anything else like wiping your contract clean.

They may be able to arrange for you to see a loved one, very briefly and probably just through a mirror or a TV screen. But at least you'll know they're okay, right?

You see though? Lucifer is more than happy to grant wishes and prayers, unlike the god who sent you down here to potentially rot. He's a caring overlord, really.

All he asks? You do him a favor in return first. Show proof of your willingness to work with him and show him proper respect. How do you do this? Get someone to drink who normally refuses, get the innocent kid to sample drugs, try a new and depraved sex act...

Or start a bar fight.

Show someone else what pleasures and release await them if they just give in and stop worrying about all the harsh tortures and pain to be found down here. It won't hurt them at all. Don't they see? They don't have to worry about punishments if they just give in to the better aspects of life down here in Hell.

Lucifer would never lie about that.

If characters agree, they'll be ask to seal the deal with a drop of blood.

Of course, if they're a good person, they'd never dream of corrupting another, no matter what they offer... would they?

Even if they promised to give the reward to a loved one back home or save someone you hold dear from a horrible fate.

Please note that if those who are currently in the game accept this challenge, you should note what your character wants here to be approved later!

For new applicants, please make a note of it after being accepted into the game.

The victim should add their fresh sin to either their app (with a note) or request it via the sins page for those currently in the game.

Prompt II
Warnings: sex, drugs, alcohol, aphrodisiacs, potential kinks, violence, potential non-con or dub-con.

The incubi and succubi of the sex club want to apologize for any and all inconvenience when some of their wilder brethren invaded the hotel earlier in the month. How terribly embarrassing. To show you how deeply sorry they are, guests at the hotel will receive a flyer slipped beneath their door encouraging them to come to a midnight rave they're hosting.

There will be music, dance, costumes, alcohol, and all manner of party drugs. They also have every intention of it going all night long! And they must assure that no one should worry, there won't be any inappropriate conduct by staff at all. All aphrodisiac-laced food or drink is clearly marked as well.

For all intents and purposes, it does feel like your standard rave when you arrive.

There's darkness broken up only by strobe and neon lights, glow sticks being passed out, there's a fog machine that keeps the floor almost obscured from view.

Once again, the succubi are wandering the club, enchanted to look like beautiful women that no one can seem to resist. They're holding trays of food and drink and drugs that they'll helpfully pass out. They're also dancing on poles along with the incubi.

For those inclined, they're putting on sex shows of all manner of depravity.

Otherwise, there's music pumping through the air thanks to a rather boorish looking demon DJ and everyone seems to be having fun. There's a room to change into any sort of club or fetish wear that's provided on the house. If you're uncertain about changing, a demon may "helpfully" choose something and make sure you put it on.

Eventually, as the night drags on, there will be demons who will approach you, clad in over the top fetish wear and more beautiful than anything you've ever seen. They will beckon that you follow and at the time, it will seem like a good idea. They'll lead you to a table in a back room where a multitude of drinks await you. They'll urge you to take a sip from the color that most pleases you for a special surprise. You have every chance to say no, but should you indulge, you'll find yourself momentarily blacking out for a bit.

When you come to, one of the following will happen:

Pink drinks will have you awakening some place in the club with a partner and fitted with a sex toy of your choice. Perhaps it's as 'tame' as a collar and leash, but perhaps it's something that vibrates, or something that's been put inside of you. You won't be able to remove it until your selected partner decides that you can. Hopefully it's someone you can stand and not that half-goat demon that's been eyeing you up all night. Rumor is he's really selfish in the sack.

Orange drinks will have you awakening in the middle of a sex act. You won't know how you got there and likely, neither will your partner. But someone is already inside of you or you're already inside of them. Their mouth or hand is already busy. You may not know your partner well, and perhaps they aren't even your usual type, but you will find yourself eager for everything that's happening. Maybe they were simply forbidden to you, someone you know better than to ever touch, and yet... this is the perfect chance to give in. Who has to know? You seem to be in a room by yourselves, on a nice, cushy bed. Indulge those hidden desires.

Yellow drinks will give you courage to do something you never thought you'd do. Always wanted to try out pole dancing? Or approach someone for nameless sex but never had the guts? Well, now's your chance really. You won't be afraid of anything. You may also not want to take no for an answer, but please do try to control yourself...

Blue drinks will have the unfortunate effect of leaving you unable to perform. Your body just refuses to rise to the occasion. It may last for a few hours to a few days. Oh, well. They can't all be winners, can they? But just because you can't seem to find pleasure doesn't mean you can't give it to someone else, does it? And you may be very inclined to.

Green drinks will be for the truly adventurous (or perhaps the truly masochistic or sadistic). You'll wake to find yourself in one of the most extreme scenes you have ever lived through. Suspended from the ceiling as someone torments you mercilessly. Beaten for pleasure. Made to kneel and crawl like the piece of filth you are. whatever darker desires you have, they'll suddenly be very out in the open, and you'll have a partner granting you the chance to explore them.

Of course it is possible to say no to any and all things and just enjoy the rave for what it is! An excuse to let go and just have fun for a night. It's also possible for demons to force your characters to change into more club appropriate clothing if your character wouldn't normally change.

Please remember to warn for underage, incest, non-con, and any other potentially disturbing sexual content in a prominent place! This is very important.

MISC.

Thank you for checking out penancerp's second TDM! Please note that all prompts are opt-out and players are more than welcome to come up with their own ideas while exploring the hotel and hell outside. There's a locations page that describes the library and the club a bit more thoroughly, if you're interested in sending your characters exploring these establishments!

Because these prompts count as game canon, current players are more than welcome to do their own top levels for these prompts in the meme itself or logs community.

All that we ask is that you remember to put clear warnings on any potentially triggering content! Warn for sex, including underage or incest, violence, abuse, non-con, etc. Please put these warnings in a visible place, either by the prompt itself or in the subject line. This isn't just a suggestion but a requirement to participate in the game.

Now that all that's out of the way, we hope you have fun! Feel free to ask questions under the appropriate comment or on the FAQ page.

Since there are new faces around, Lucifer himself will be taking a few questions via his device for anyone so inclined down below.

As a final note, don't forget that reserves are open now until June 1st as well!


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Comments

QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, SUGGESTIONS

[penancemods]

NPC: Lucifer

[odaystar]

[conjobs]

What deal did you cut with him?

John Constantine | DCTV | OTA

[conjobs]

1. Reach Up High I (memshare - pick an option)
“Mmmno - no wait - p- mmf-”

The blond stumbles out of bed with half-formed protests as he staggers along, tries to get to his feet only to kick at the carpet he’s being dragged along against. Blood from the wounds on his back, skin and flesh shredded up from being whipped and beaten arguing against the demons putting him to work setting up the carnival, has seeped through his shirt and onto his bedsheets. He’s mostly skin and bone, and the pain has made it near impossible to sleep. So when he finally managed to drop off into unconsciousness, more from sheer exhaustion than comfort, naturally he thinks he’s dreaming again, one of those long nights he spends with Astra’s screams echoing in his skull. He might be in hell but this is it. They’re taking him down to the next ring.

He struggles, writhes, kicks, chokes on whatever’s guzzling down his throat. It gurgles and churns and most of it spills out of his mouth down his chin and onto his messed up shirt but he ingests enough of it down the right and the wrong pipe that has him doubling over and coughing when he gets shoved into the room.

“Open the door,” he groans weakly, blunt nails raking down the cool surface as if he could claw his way out. “Let me out. Let me out you fucking- fffuh...”

He’s not brave. He’s scared shitless. And tired. And falling, falling like an angel tumbling down.

Option 1: There’s a warlock who’s sure (CW: Abuse/Trauma)
“No! No don’t- please- I’m n-” A sharp pain, a bite in the forearm, that burnt smell followed by a loud scream. It sounds so hoarse, so distant it’s hard to recognise that he himself is screaming as the cigarette gets put out on his arm. He’s small, curled up against the corner of the room, nowhere to scramble to as a big, big man casting a big, big shadow towers over him. A big, big hand slaps him to stop him from screaming and grabs a fistful of dirty blond hair. The world shakes as his skull cracks against the wall, leaves a dent in the plasterboard. His whole world is darkness and fear with the smell of his skin and flesh cooking against the thin trail of cigarette smoke. The shadow moves away but there’s no way out, and the dim, warm light from the sole bulb overhead is the only thing that warns him the shadow is coming back, swimming vision making out a blurry triple image of a broken beer bottle coming towards him.

Option 2: All that glitters is gold
The candleflame dances and flickers in the dead of night, illuminating ovals and circles on old tomes that look like they might fall apart if he so much as tries to flip the page. He’s sitting in front of four open books, gaze alternating from the one that looks like it’s written in wingdings to the one that has English words on it - a translation guide or dictionary or cypher of some sort, perhaps. The way he breathes, he seems… scared? Or excited. Maybe a bit of both. He turns all the way around and there’s a lopsided circle with occult symbols on the floor, etched out with white chalk. The young man - still a boy really, trying to convince everyone else that he’s a man - gets to his feet and walks to the edge of a circle. Only then he realises he’s holding his breath. Blowing out a sigh through his mouth, his small voice, unsteady and uncertain, tries to enunciate a language he doesn’t fully understand, completing the incantation, asking… for a puppy. A gust of wind blows the candle out and the closed windows rattle. When he frantically lights the candle with a matchstick and holds it out over his summoning circle, there’s something that bears a strong resemblance to Lucifer’s hellpups sitting in the middle with its head tilted looking up at him.

“Oh… bollocks.”

Option 3: And he’s buying a stairway to heaven.
He’s thought about her a lot. What she might look like. What she sounded like. It’s not like father dearest ever talked about her outside of the context of hurting him in uncreative ways. She’s not at all what he expected when he sees her milling around behind the bar. Not in a bad way, just… he wishes he could talk to her, more than just ordering pints and grub. She’ll never know anything about the son who killed her in childbirth, but at least he knows something about her now. He thinks to say something, but a familiar voice from over his shoulder stops him. Engh, fuck. It’s Zari. What the hell is she doing here? Are the Legends following him?

Option 4: Wildcard
(let’s discuss what you want to see - restlessheart or PM me)


2. Follow Me Down II (rave and/or Orange/Green drink)
John loves a good party and god knows he needs one after everything he’s been through lately. Or, well, since coming here. It hasn’t exactly been the vacation of a lifetime, after all. He spends a lot of time shuttling between the bar and grinding against someone pretty on the dancefloor, lost in the fog and the blur of colourful lights dancing amidst the sea of black, but eventually he stops his commute and lingers around the bar. Being approached by a demon for reasons other than being proverbially or literally stabbed in the back is a fairly new experience for Constantine, but he’s willing to go along with it.

Of all the things he was expecting, experimental drinks wasn’t high on the list. He’s very wary after that traumatic walk down someone else’s memory lane, but after sniffing at the (ORANGE or GREEN) drink, he takes a tentative sip. When it doesn’t seem to have any adverse effects, John being John, more out of a thrillseeking impulse than sheer stupidity, he chugs the whole thing.

(Reminder: Orange is midfuck, Green is hardcore BDSM/edgeplay; his kink list is here and he is a switch with preferences for being on the receiving end.)


3. Wildcard
There are a lot of prompts here and I’m happy to do most of them, though I prefer the deeper/darker themes. I’m also interested in Follow Me Down I to corrupt someone, but would prefer tagging into someone else’s post for this. Hit me up if you want something else at restlessheart or PM me.

Memory Share: Option 1

[styxtoshadows]

Styx barely gets a chance to see who's lying next to him before he's in dreamland.

He hisses and goes for his knife, only to find himself unable to move, trapped in the body of the boy, unable to dodge or duck or avoid this. The big guy with the cigarettes is clearly just a garden variety asshole, but he's a garden variety asshole that Styx can't escape with his usual tricks. He howls faintly from his bed as burns are seared into his arm. That bottle looks like it might leave a scar as well.

Meanwhile in John's dreams a hot air balloon lands on a dilapidated warehouse dock. It's twilight, fog all around.

"Ahh, back home!" Someone's cheerful, a nice, bright shiny mood and no one to share it with. It's not clear who's speaking since the place looks abandoned. "It's nice to get back to my good old hideout. Some may find the decor a bit crude but I've got all the comfort I need right here." Once again, there's no one there. There might be glimpses of (John's?) green arms and legs occasionally as he makes his way through a tunnel, but that's it.

"Let me show you around, my friend." It's a surprisingly spacious stone room, part natural cavern, part basement, lit by lanterns. Styx points to a desk with a few vials and beakers. "My favorite workshop! Where my experience lets me become even more badass!" (Why not brag, he's having imaginary company!) "Yeah, yeah, it is possible!" His voice swells with pride and he strides around the room. There's stuff. And a flour-sack bed in a corner.

"My wardrobe" he gestures at a cupboard. "Here's where I write stories" (a desk.) "Or rather, where I re-write the story. Heh!....eh." He sags, Not funny. Also the reality that he's got work to do is setting in. "That's all well and good but I got a contract to finalize with that salty old fart. I really gotta get laid... Paid. I mean paid." With a sigh, he heaves the door open and heads out into the night.

Frank Castle | Marvel TV (The Punisher) | OTA

[onebatch_twobatch]

Arrival
Frank didn't believe in Hell. Not in the fire and brimstone, damned soul, fallen angel sort of way. It was a common attribute of the forsaken narrative in America, but it was never something that he'd grown up with except on the outskirts of his awareness. He'd laughed at Matt Murdock's personification--the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. What a fucking farce. No, Frank knew he was damned, but there wasn't a Hell in his mind when he fell into fitful, tormented dreams and knew exactly where he was before he even woke up.

He collected his things, that list enumerating all the travesties and guilt of his life, things he had to talk to with God someday but wasn't anywhere near that point in his life, and he walked. The halls, the stairs, down into the lobby with the bag over his shoulder and determination in his step.

He'll walk straight out of here, if he has to.


Stand Your Ground I
Frank didn't mind hard work. This was strenuous, difficult in the way that digging enforcements or working on the construction sight were. He'd never been adverse to hard work, and so he was willing, if unhappy, to lend a hand.

What he cared about? The fuckers cracking whips and making menaces of themselves. It was one thing when it was the snap over head or on the ground, the imposing nature of it more than enough. But whenever Frank heard it connect, the gasp or yelp of someone in pain?

Frank had watched a lot of torture, been party to it. He had tortured and killed people himself, in his own ways. But he took no pleasure in any of it, and the idea that someone was made him a little sick.

He stopped what he was doing, threw down the rusted old saw that he'd been using to hack away at a tree and put himself between the demon and the person it was abusing. The whip struck out, and Frank caught it around the arm, yanking powerful.

"Try it again," he snarled, fingers tangling in the whip to yank again, "and you'll be pissing into a bag for the rest of your miserable life."

The demon actually seemed to take him serious, at least for the moment. Frank shook off the whip, ignoring the pain in his arm as he looked at the person he'd stepped in front of. His expression softened instantly, and he offered his hand.


Reach Up High I
[Memory share! Let me know if you'd like a good or bad memory in a tag-in, and I will enumerate Frank's many sins or virtues. If there's anything you'd like to avoid with a memory, let me know.]


Follow Me Down II - OTA 18+
This wasn't Frank's scene. It had been once, when he was young and angry and raging against the world, a ferocious miscreant more often brought home by cops than by friends. The noise and the light was a little unnerving. He wasn't entirely sure what had made him come.

He avoided looking too hard at anyone. There was something uncanny about some of them, something he couldn't place. Once, he thought he smelled Maria's perfume.

Frank had never been keen on drug use, though he had no particular judgment of other people doing it. Still, there was the temptation there, something alluring about it when you saw the neatly labeled things or were offered something by someone that looked so perfect they could have been a dream.

But when he was led to a side room, and offered a drink? That was a real temptation. Frank had no problems with drinking, and though he was right to be wary, he managed to ignore it. He picked up a cup of yellow liquid--or was it a yellow cup of clear liquid, and made his way back out onto the floor. His eyes drifted a little. He took a sip.

Wildcard
[Message me on besosde for plotting, or simply tag in with something outside of the above prompts! Frank will NOT be sexual with anyone under the age of 18!]

Stand Your Ground i

[styxtoshadows]

"Wow, you sure told him." A smart-alecky voice comes from a short person, who on closer inspection might not look very different from a demon, honestly. The goblin hisses a little at the residual sting of the whip.

"I said- I said I was going as fast as I could. How about you and me trying to sneak out of here while he's distracted, huh?"

Billy Russo | The Punisher | OTA

[theprettymarine]

Arrival

The list is so long.

Maybe he knew it would be. There's always been something dragging him back and now it's enumerated, written out in plain, devastating text. Billy tucks the list away, keeping it close. He realizes, in some way or another, his sins are already written on his face. He did something to deserve this.

He just can't remember what.

He doesn't know if the promise of redemption is real, if this is real, but it feels like it. He heads out of the room, tense and disbelieving. He always figured Hell might be waiting for him, but this feels like something out of a movie.

"I can't fucking believe this."

Reach Up High I

He's just trying to get back to his fucking room. Billy's head is killing him and everything feels like too much. He isn't even sure what time it is or how long he's been out and being behind a closed door feels like a solution. But then there's a demon hauling him down another haul, dragging him against whatever resistance he might offer - and it's a lot.

Billy stumbles into the room only to have someone else grab him and force something down his throat. Then he's shoved back while the other people leave. In a rush of desperation, he pushes away from the wall.

"Hey!"

The doors slam shut and a wild shiver runs through him, setting him on edge.

"Hey! What the fuck? Let me out!" His fists slam into the door but it's solid.


Don't fear anything, for you're in very safe hands.

His heart is pounding and for a second Billy can't focus. He wants to believe the sweet voice telling him that everything is going to be fine but his body is flung into a panic. He feels like he's going to throw up. Slowly his heart rate calms and he barely makes it to the bed before he collapses.

[Billy's memories include war in Iraq and Afghanistan, growing up in and out of foster care and group homes, abuse, lots of murder, being intensely assaulted and left disfigured, etc. He's got some happy ones too - let me know if you want those!]

Follow Me Down I

Billy knows all about giving in. The offer to get a favor, to see someone he loves or finally gain some absolution, is too much to resist. So he signs and seals in blood and he heads into a club or bar, somewhere that starting a fight would be easy.

But he can't start it himself, he has to convince someone else to. Or to get them to let loose some other way.

He sets himself up with a drink at the bar and just watches for a while, guaging the room and trying to find his first victim.

Follow Me Down II

A party might be a bad fucking idea but Billy wants to get out of his head. He wants to forget everything for a while and darkness and flashing lights will do-- something. It's hard to believe the women interested in him as they come by, offering food and drinks and drugs. Part of him wants to know what it all is; another part would prefer to just take it and not worry.

So he does.

He's in a great mood by the time he's beckoned away to try some drinks. He chooses pink, orange, and blue.

Wildcard

[Hit me up! Happy to do any of the prompts or something random. Find me at givemedragons if you have questions/wanna plot.]

Wildcard (Reach Up High 2)

[styxtoshadows]

"Something nice."

The strange, short, demon-like person approaches Billy and says those words only to immediately double over with stomach cramps. "Fucking devil!"

"Okay, okay, I got it" he continues weakly. "Your face isn't entirely stupid looking." Genuine maybe, but is it really a compliment? He grabs his stomach harder.

"You...have a beard?" No luck, another hiss of pain. "Help me out here, buddy. Do something I can compliment."

Spike Spiegel | Cowboy Bebop | OTA

[pococurante]

Reach Up High, I

[ After getting worked to the bone getting the carnival ready, all he wants to do is get a pack of cigarettes. But no. Now he's here. In another room with some new stupid task to complete. With this person. He offers a cigarette before Lucifer's instructions sound over the P.A. Or however he's transmitting this crap.

Spike sighs. ]

OOC: I couldn't decide on which memories to do so if you want to do this please let me know if you want something sad, sweet, funny, violent, etc. and/or canon or headcanon and I'll write you a custom one! Or if you can't decide just let me know and I'll wildcard it.

Follow Me Down, II

[ Spike lines up the shots. Pink, orange, green. He taps the rim of each one as if counting eeny, meeny, miney in his head. Because he is. He takes a long drag off of his cigarette and glances at whoever is sitting beside him. ]

Should I pick one? Or just do all three and whatever happens, happens.

Wildcard

Hit me up with whatever and I'll roll with it! Or feel free to DM or find me at Barbeauxbot and we can work it out.

Reach Up High I - show me your loser-ness, Spike

[mitsubishievo]

He recognized the guy, Spike, hazy though the memory was, and so Kavinsky wasn't particularly perturbed about settling into the little room with him. He took the cigarette when it was offered, a quiet mewl of thanks as he bent his head to light it. If he was listening to the announcement, he made no sign of it. The lingering taste of the potion is still in the back of his throat, and he's trying to blank out his mind and not think of anything at all.

"Well," he said, leaning back and lulling his head to look at Spike with dark, doleful eyes. "Ready for a ride?"

Ardyn Izunia | Final Fantasy XV | OTA

[innerdaemon]

1. Arrival

He meant to die, and hoped for oblivion. He felt it in his grasp, the crystal's purifying light cutting through him, shredding his sullied soul... but then he is falling, flames surging around him, and his broken mind thinks, Not again. Not back.

He half-expects the gods' voice, then, the proclimation that his resistance has denied him the solace he seeks--or at least one last pithy aphorism for their sacrificial lamb--but it is not Bahamut who speaks to him. Instead it is a strange power that enfolds him, promising peace, redemption, all those things he had once prayed for. He resists--he intends to resist, intends to be a pawn no longer--and yet, somewhere within him there is a spark of hope never smothered, and it only takes the smallest opening for this stranger to claim his due.

He feels little wonder as he wakes in the strange place and achingly gathers his possessions. He scans over the list of sins with amusement before he rolls it up and tucks it in an inner pocket of his coat. He pauses to check himself in the mirror before he heads out into the hall. Sufficient.

Finally, he finds his favorite place in any hotel, and that's where he settles until further notice:

Ardyn sits at the bar, a large glass of something sweet and red balanced casually in one hand, the bottle of wine itself on the counter in front of him.

When someone approaches, he looks up and smiles, before he lifts the glass and says in a droll tone, "You know, the afterlife is already exceeding my expectations."



2. Reach Up High I

When someone else is cast into the room with him, Ardyn pins them with a look, though his eyes are already going unfocused, and he barely manages a few slightly slurring words before he passes out:

"'Opening up' is it? Terribly sorry..."

[[ ooc: If you want, pick what kind of memory you want when you tag in. Otherwise I'll pick something at random! Options:
a) Something sweet
b) Something painful (Severe injuries likely, namely multiple deep wounds throughout the body)
c) Something weird (may leave the other person with a temporary generalized 'illness')
d) Something borrowed (Ardyn's full of a lot of memories... not all of them are his.) ]]



3. Follow Me Down II

Ardyn's flashy enough without donning any additional fetish gear, so he's still in his normal outfit as he wanders the rave, freely dancing and drinking with whoever takes his fancy at the moment.

Eventually, of course, he finds the back room and the offered drinks, and as his gaze lingers over them, he eventually selects an orange cup...



4. Wildcard!

[[ooc: Feel free to find Ardyn somewhere else, or hit me up to plot on plurk at cubewithlegs! I don't have any hard 'no's at the moment.]]

1!

[hjack69]

"What, a crappy bar in a frickin' two-star hotel in the armpit of reality?" Jack snorts, dropping into the seat beside Ardyn without invitation. "That bad?"

Jack's aims were a little... well. Higher. But it's not like he's ever let logic and reason stop him from believing what he wants, and this is no different - sure, he's literally in a place with a list of his various horrific crimes shoved in his face, and he's still a little shaken from getting his brain turned to jell-o by his absolute least favorite person to date, but it doesn't matter if he's just going to redeem himself and get sent back, right? That's totally doable.

It was just a misstep. He can still fix this. And until then, he might as well make some friends. Getting drunk is a given.

"Gimme a bourbon," he tells the demonic bartender. Then, to Ardyn: "Rough death?"

Natasha Romanoff | MCU | OTA - Potential Endgame spoilers.

[deaddrop]

ARRIVAL

If Natasha is surprised to be here, it's not because she doesn't believe she deserves to be. There's a list a mile long clarifying exactly why she belongs right where she is; highlights include conspiracy to destabilize a democratically elected government and, corporate espionage, unethical use of a power tool, but mostly it's murder. There's a lot of murder. Seeing it all scrawled out in red, her palm aching, she can't dispute any of it.

And she doesn't want to. She's not even mad about it.

Natasha's not entirely sure what it is she feels, but she gives herself a minute to feel it. The sinking in her stomach, contrasted with the weightlessness that comes with being lost, helpless. The certain calm. Maybe it's shock? Or it could be resignation, the sense that a sword that's been hanging over her head nearly her whole life has fallen, and now she knows what happens when it does. It's a point to spring forward from. Work the next problem. Build her resources. Get the lay of the land. Probably shock.

The minute passes and she clenches her jaw. No rest for the wicked turns out to be truer than expected, but her impulse is right. There's next steps to take. In some ways, this is no different from being dropped in any foreign, hostile environment. In that way, it's sort of familiar.

There's work to do, so Natasha does it.

Step one: gather her assets. Face settling in a determined mask, Natasha collects her things.

Step two: intel. It's not long before she finds herself downstairs in the bar. Not drinking. Not yet. There will be time for that if she needs to lubricate a conversation, but first she's observing, picking out a target. Her method puts her by the jukebox, brow arched as considers the current song.

"INXS? Really?" Her tone is wry. Wry, and infinitely tired. "Little on the nose, isn't it."

Not really a question.


REACH UP HIGH II

That voice. It puts the hairs on the back of Natasha's neck up, not in a good way—not entirely in a bad way either. She doesn't like feeling conflicted about it. She also doesn't trust it.

Suspicion is a good habit in her experience. That being the case, she keeps any compliments to herself, at least to start with.

When the first spasm of pain hits, shooting up the nerves in the back of her hand, she's in the kitchen reaching for a coffee mug. The mug flies from her hand, falling with enough force to shatter in an explosion of of shard.

A wince. Sometimes Natasha hates being right.


FOLLOW ME DOWN II-ish

Almost immediately, Natasha realizes her mistake. Her logic had been sound coming here. Parties are a good place to meet people, to gather information. Network. She guessed it would be risqué, but Natasha's not exactly easily scandalized. She shows up, ready to play the part, to be above it all—an aloof observer.

It's been years since she was that person, though, and who she's been since then...

The club is pounding, thumping, pulsing with music so loud she can barely hear anything above it. Dark, hazy with smoke and fog, lasers and strobes flash through the murky atmosphere. Beneath, bodies. They're just bodies. Some of them more human than others. They move in a mass, and her paranoia kicks in. It would be so easy to come up on someone unaware in that mass, to slip a knife between their ribs or even squeeze off a well placed bullet. Would anyone notice?

The rave is sensory overload, and suddenly Natasha can't breathe.

Lightheaded, a bubbly sense of panic she doesn't want to recognize rising up, Natasha makes a quick retreat. She moves deliberately, head high, not letting her slipping control show on her face. Still she can't entirely keep the tension out of her posture or the fast clip of her steps as she brushes past demons and her fellow invitees.

Air. She needs air. What passes for it down here. She just needs some air, and space, and a chance to gather her thoughts.

Outside she hisses, softly but with feeling, "Shit."


WILDCARD

You know what this is for.


((OOC: Definitely open to more. If you have an idea or just want to chat, I'm on plurk at sarosaron, or you can DM. Natasha is post-Endgame, but will not drop spoilers without permission.))

Arrival; tw alcohol, drugs

[ouijahands]

Klaus is only a couple drinks deep when he notices someone actually looking at the jukebox like it's worth bothering with. That in and of itself makes Natasha interesting to him. Or maybe it's that she's a redhead. The mix of blonde is certainly a look. Or maybe it's nothing, and Klaus is just nosy for no reason. Who can say?

He practically slams into the side of the jukebox when he leans on it, a half-empty martini glass in one hand.

"Oh, you think that's bad? Wait til you hear the techno remixes of Sympathy for the Devil. You can almost dance to them if you block out how fucking terrible they are."

Billy Kaplan | Marvel 616 | ota

[noassgardian]

Stand Your Ground

Prompt I -

He's gotta work? Fine, he can help them put their dumb carnival together. He doesn't want to, but he will. What he won't tolerate? These jerks threatening other people like they own the place. His jaw aches from gritting his teeth so hard. His back stings from several lashes of that whip, and he's pretty sure there's blood seeping through his shirt. He's pretty sure his eye is swollen too -- they pack a harder punch than he thought they would.

But that's not what finally sets him off. Taking physical abuse has never been the thing that sets Billy off, no. It's watching some other asshole bully get off on a power trip on someone else. He hears a cry after another crack of a whip and that's just it. He spins on his heel, snarling as he turns on the demon.

"You hit someone else one more time, I swear I'll tear you to shreds!" It's violent, more than he'd normally be, but Billy doesn't have much fondness for demons and even less for people being hurt. He just doesn't care anymore.

"I don't even need my hands. My spells can do worse." Billy's either about to do something he'll regret when his temper's cooled off, or he's about to get his ass kicked by a demon bigger than him. Either way, it doesn't look like he's backing down without some intervention at least.

When he's done fighting and being mistreated, he's definitely going to check out that warehouse. Screw it, they can do their own work. He's tired. He wants to see what's up with that place anyway...

And he's definitely not above dragging someone along for the ride if they want to come. He can cast a spell for invisibility, or an illusion that will have them appear like the demonic guards outside. It's easy. It'll be fine. He's... mostly sure of it.

Prompt II

[Billy might have a selfie problem, seriously. Although he never counted on them getting sent out to the network. Least of all with a message attached.]

I'm bored. Entertain me?

Stand Your Ground

Prompt I -

Billy was minding his own business, chatting with some local in the bar. Well, he says chatting, others would say heatedly debating pipe-weed from Lord of the Rings and how close to cannabis it really is. Either way, he doesn't really notice the large demon sneaking up behind him and covering his mouth. He lets out a muffled scream and tries to struggle and fight, but he finds himself dragged to a room anyway, Lucifer's voice ringing in his ears.

And then he's being forced to drink something that he doesn't even really taste through the panic. He struggles, tries to cough it up before it can do anything--

Pointless. It was a pointless fight. That's his last coherent thought before he hits the bed and gives into the darkness. He doesn't even see who joints him, not really.

Option 1 CW: graphic torture/abuse of a minor
"IwanthimtogotosleepIwanthimtogotosleep..." Those are the words coming out of his hoarse throat, voice cracking and giving away because he hasn't stopped repeating it for... hours now? It feels like it. He hasn't stopped trying to work the magic he can almost feel but can't reach. The reason is obvious with the ache in his ears. Some sort of power dampener has been pierced through them, blocking out his own voice but nothing else. He can hear saws, he can hear the Warden snidely drone on about how fascinating the vivisection he's performing on Billy's boyfriend is. His alien physiology is protecting his organs, shifting them away from his knife... but that just means he can cut him for days on end.

And he's going to make Billy watch every bit of it. He feels sick to his stomach, fear twisting his insides along with something darker, hate and anger. Something even darker than that, maybe. He wants to cut the Warden up, he wants to inflict the same pain he's putting Teddy through on him. He refuses to speak it. He won't give him the satisfaction. Or he'll try. Heroes don't kill people. "Iwanthimtogotsleep--"

That disgusting, sneering face is suddenly in Billy's. He can't tell if he's just imagining the stench and horrible breath or if it's really there. "Come now, surely you have something to say to me?"

That's the final straw. All the fear, all the rage boils over finally. He's too young for this-- for some secret penitentiary that the government sanctions but turns a blind eye to, to be involved in a war or be expected to register himself as a menace, to see the love of his life chopped to bits with no hope of helping him.

"I want you to die!"

This spell won't work either, but he wants it to, desperately. tears streak down his cheeks as he struggles against his restraints, wishes he could work his magic and save them. Stop this. Do anything. He hates how helpless he feels, how utterly alone he is. He hates crying and being weak in the face of it most of all, but he can't stop. He's broken don so thoroughly at this point.

"And our youth become killers... Perhaps we do have a war on our hands," the Warden taunts and shame almost twists its way into the rage and the hatred Billy feels. But mostly, the fear overrules everything else. He's going to die here. That's bad, but not as bad as what he's going to see before he does. It's not as bad as not being able to save Teddy the pain.

Option 2

Dazzler on the dark side of the moon? That's a concert Billy never thought he'd see, particularly when he could die any day if he doesn't figure out his powers or how to stop the parasite that wants to eat him. Doesn't matter at the moment though. All of his friends are there around him and the music is so loud, it drowns out any thoughts. There are moving bodies all around them and the music feels like it's thrumming through him from head to toe. A younger Loki is looking back at him, grinning wildly, Teddy has his arms up in the air, and Kate's grabbing on to his shoulder excitedly. She might be trying to say something to him, he doesn't know. It doesn't matter either, not when he looks over at her and smiles and she smiles back.

And for a few brilliant moments, everything is good. It feels like the old days, before wars and mistake and death, before he realized he had the weight of the universe on his shoulders. It's just him and his friends, getting to just be teenagers and make dumb choices at some loud concert. The party's not going to end either. They're going to push it until they all crash, and Billy is just fine with that.

Follow Me Down

Prompt II

Billy doesn't know what he's doing anymore. He's been off-kilter for a while and Hell isn't helping him feel any better. He hears rave and he thinks music and dancing... and that's what he wants right now. He feels... worn down. Older than he actually is at times. He just wants to remember what it's like to be a nineteen year old and do normal nineteen year old things.

So he jumps into the dancing and the drinks. Everything is a blur of color after a while, and he's not even sure who he's dancing with half the time. It's only when he's overheated and breathless that he makes his way through the crowds to try and get some water somewhere. He's stopped by a demon beckoning him to try some new drink--

And okay, that sounds like a dumb move, but he follows anyway, inspecting the drinks thoughtfully. It's hard to make a choice. Eventually, he grabs a drink in either pink, orange, or green.

[ooc: I don't mind doing custom prompts here. For green, I'd prefer Billy to be on the giving side rather than receiving. For pink, I'm down for either role. He can be the one squirming from some sort of vibrator or being made to walk on a collar or leash or be the one in charge of it all just as easily. Midfuck options are generally open too. I have a kink list here. Billy likes dudes.]

Wildcard;

[If there's a prompt you'd like to do or a personalized starter you want, please hit me up here or noassgardian! I'd love to do any of the options this round.]

stand your ground ii

[ouijahands]

wait how did you do the pictures thing???

Tormund | Game of Thrones | ota

[giantmilk]

Arrival

Tormund doesn't understand it at first. He opens his eyes and he's surrounded by red and heat, on a bed he has never before seen. It isn't anywhere he's been, and that dream lingers in his thoughts as he pushes himself up. His head throbs, his body protests, but he runs out of the room he's in and looks wildly around the hall he finds himself in.

He at least had the forethought to grab the piece of parchment, holding it tight in his hand as he wanders.

"Where am I?" He demand of the first person he sees. First person, first thing. It doesn't matter. He can't stay here. He won't stay here. He just needs to know how to leave.

Reach Up High

Prompt II

The first spasm of pain has Tormund grunting in surprise, jarring straight up from where he'd slumped over the bar. He looks around wildly for a moment, as if he expects to see some culprit responsible for it. But he sees no one. No one's around. He reaches up to rub at his side.

Then he lets out a wild curse when he receives another sharp jab in his other side. "Enough!"

He growls as he slides off his seat, looking around. "Who's the coward doing that?"

This place is already bad enough. Hot and miserable, reeks of shit... he doesn't need jabbing pain from an invisible hand on top of it all.

Follow Me Down

Prompt II

He didn't come here because of a flyer -- he wouldn't have been able to read it anyway, if he'd noticed it at all. No, he came because of the booming noise coming through muffled doors to the club and curiosity. Perhaps to just get a break from the fires raging outside and his own growing unease with the situation. They say he's dead. They say he's here for penance.

He doesn't believe any of it. He doesn't want it, either.

The lights are confusing, startling in some cases, but he makes his way to the bar and demands a drink. Then he sits for a moment, puzzling at the people on the dance floor, on whoever catches his eye. Sometimes he pulls out that tiny, little contraption he was told to hold on to and flips through it mindlessly. When he's had significantly more to drink, he'll begin to talk.

It'll probably include outlandish stories. The time he fucked a bear. The time he killed a giant. The time he fought the dead and lived to tell the tale. He has so many-- and if there's one thing Tormund enjoys, it's telling a good story.

If he's drunk enough, he might be convinced out to the dance floor, even if he has no idea what he's supposed to do. But eventually, he's invited to try some new drinks. He doesn't have to think twice before he grabs an orange or green drink. There's no particularly deep reason behind his choices other than he likes the colors.

[ooc: I don't mind writing up specific prompts. Open to anyone/any sort of scenario. For green prompts, I'd prefer it if Tormund was on the giving end, but I'm open to him receiving as well.]

Wildcard

[If there's something else you want to do, feel free to hit me up here or at noassgardian. Tormund is really new to me and I'm still trying to get used to his voice, so just a fair warning!]

Arrival!

[innerdaemon]

Ardyn has slowly been getting his bearings, and slowly coming to understand the odd mythology of this place (like the concept of 'sin' itself--how quaint.) He's also getting used to seeing some rather unexpected sights.

He still isn't prepared for the mountain of a man in furs stumbling out of a hallway and accosting him. He elegantly sidesteps to avoid being barreled into, but stays close.

"A hotel, by the looks of it, in a supernatural realm of punishment." he answers, and his voice turns cloying as he inquires, "Expecting to be somewhere different?"

Ayana Amamoto | Caligula Effect Overdose

[androphobe]

[A. Arrival]

This isn't... Mobius...? [It can't be. She can't imagine μ ever making up something like this in the virtual world. Besides that, she's still in the same form she had in that world.

But it's hard to bite her tongue and observe what's happening. The President would want her to do that, right? Learn some intel, report back when she can get the chance, and make the President proud of her. She could do that! So what if she had to be around some gross men for a little while? It was fine. She could do this.

...Until she couldn't.

God, they're everywhere]

Eugh... Disgusting... They're polluting the air with their mouth-breathing... This really is Hell. [She grumbles and complains as she watches any men wandering around with a disgusted look.

Okay, deep breathes Ayana. You can handle this. You've got this! Nevermind that people crowding in means some guy is crowding in on your space trying to make some room? But isn't that so typical of men too??

She feels her anxiety spike and coil tight in her stomach, mingling with the disgust until he almost brushes against her and she snaps. There's a scream and she grabs at the nearest thing she can grab--a tray left behind by a demonic waitstaff member, ands wings it at the man's head]

Get away from me! [The man goes down and the crowd is quick to give Ayana some room as she breathes hard, her eyes wild with fear and loathing]

[B. Reach Up High - Prompt II]

[Compliments? That's easy! Ayana is rather quick to approach any girl, her smile bright and friendly, absolutely genuine when she compliments them on something like their hair, or their clothes, or how pretty they are.

So if you're a girl, congratulations! You'll get a nice, genuine compliment!

If you're a guy that she's pointed to... Sorry. You get a look of absolute revulsion, like you're something gross she's stepped in.]

...There's nothing about you to compliment.

[ouch.]

[C. Wildcard]

[For anything else! I'm open to most of the prompts, just ask or idk start your own, whatever I'll roll w/it.]

Reach Up High II

[pococurante]

[ Spike's just trying to eat some noodles. He's not interested in giving or receiving compliments. He doesn't really react when she refuses to say anything nice, just slurps and munches some more. Then swallows. ]

Not even my table manners?

Castiel (Endverse) | Supernatural Canon AU | OTA

[perfectantidote]

Arrival
CW for mentions of substance abuse, death, blood, some elements of suicidal ideation

The last thing he remembers are blunt fingers tearing gashes into his body, his head hitting the broken brick wall behind him, feebly fighting back. Just keep the distraction longer, just die like he’s supposed to and willing to do, for the cause, and dare not hope that it does anyone any good whatsoever.

Frankly, he’d expected blissful darkness. Well, tough shit.

Cas comes to on a comfortable bed, and for a moment nothing makes sense. Then, it makes too much sense. Yeah. Lucifer’s next big joke at his expense. Somewhere, his big brother is smiling wolfishly through Sam Winchester’s teeth, having snatched the walking husk of his rebellious little brother from his moment of death and peace, and stuffed him here. Or perhaps he was meant to go here all along – after all, Heaven is closed off, and where do dead angels go, anyway?

Not that he’s much of one anymore at any rate. Doesn’t have a human soul either, though. Isn’t life just a party.

There’s a document signed in his blood, and Cas reads over it – Lying, Blasphemy, Fratricide, Murder (mercy killings, really, but same difference), Rebellion, Lust, Substance Abuse, Sloth… the list goes on, and Cas has to admit: Fair enough.

He wanders the hotel corridors in faded, torn jeans, combat boots, a blue linen shirt – shredded In vital places, though there are no matching wounds beneath and grey jacket, semi-automatic assault rifle slung over his shoulder, gun in a holster at his side. There’s plenty of blood on him, dried into his messy clothes and on his skin. There are some gashes on him that are still bleeding – the rest must be either not his, or his from fatal wounds that were patched together in bringing him here.

The entire situation is just too unreal.

These thoughts circle in his mind as his numb wandering brings him to the one place that promises to make a semblance of sense. Cas is therefore found leaning heavily on the bar. He looks exhausted, rough, and can be observed chuckling darkly, shaking his head, and then washing two pills from a small plastic tube down with more than two fingers of something strong. The smile on his face given to anyone approaching him is wide, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So, uh. The end of the world was a summer camp, and Hell is a hotel,” muttered to anyone and to no one in particular. “How is that for, uh… enlightenment.”

Reach Up High
Prompt I

Cas is pliant when they drag him, still looking like he just walked away from a fight he lost (he did), and just lets himself be manhandled. He even has the audacity to laugh before he nearly chokes on the drink forces down his throat. Whoever is in the room with him gets a humourless “I’d, uh, apologize but…” And then the trance hits him, adds to the cocktails of things that numb him down, and he’s lost, with only a minor twinge of sympathy for what his unwitting partner has to suffer through next.

Option 1: White Crippled Wings Beating the Sky
CW for Self-loathing, substance abuse, group sex, minor elements of body horror

Oh, the painkillers have made him pleasantly numb, but Cas can still feel hands and lips and teeth on him. He’s taken a few pills, and they’ve since given his brain a pleasant, fuzzy sort of buzz. He almost doesn’t feel the pain of his not quite yet fully healed broken leg. He can even somewhat stomach the feeling of his wings – incorporeal as they are – rotting away, diminishing right along with his Grace, the very essence of him, bleeding dry and leaving him an empty husk, desperate and lost and smiling empty smiles. Good times. It helps to kiss someone whose name he barely remembers, and be touched by someone else, to open is body up, have it used and use his companions in equal measure.

Cas murmurs encouragements to someone pulling his hair. His voice is soft, slightly slurred. He sounds ethereal to them, when in truth he is simply filled to the brim with one kind of painkiller or another.

People seem to think fucking an angel (or what’s left of one) would deliver them to paradise, grant absolution, or just plain blow their minds. Cas isn’t about to correct them or complain. He’s useless for anything much beyond this, after all, being practically mortal. Dean is off being bitter and harsh, and Cas is the same, only he makes his lips quirk up with the bitterness instead of down. Drugs and sex are so much more pleasant to drown in than Croat-guts. It’s the end of the world, and while his fearless leader is soldiering on, Cas sees no reason not to try every sin in rich, revolting, amazing detail.

With barely focused eyes, he falls back under the assault of pleasure freely given and shared. He can feel useful here, to them, fucking and being fucked, under the guise of spiritual enlightenment. Just a little taste of Heaven, please take what you want and give perhaps a little back, please and thank you oh so very much. Perhaps it’s unkind and manipulative, what he does, but in all fairness, they are using him as much as he’s using them. Anything to feel something in this world that isn’t horrible, existential dread, pain, suffering, hopelessness, pure despair. He lies to them, but they buy into it willingly. Nobody here wants to be honest about the fact that the orgies are just a way to feel like you still have something of use left to give to someone else, or to feel like anyone in this shithole still has a care to give for you.

Cas smiles at the ceiling of the cabin as someone mounts him, and his smile is greedily taken up by someone else’s mouth, and he feels mortal; hapless, and dying a little more with every passing day. Ah, the advantages of humanity, what a bittersweet pill to swallow. He chuckles into the kiss and dips his fingers between a woman’s legs. Might as well enjoy what small gifts are left on God's marvellous pile of shit and giggles. And maybe, just maybe, if he soars high enough on sex and drugs and all things sinful, he’ll actually feel like he can fly again, with or without the broken reminders of wings, of what he once was, that he can feel rot away like a dying limb, like everything else about him.

Option 2: Standing on a Broken Field
CW for Suicidal Ideation, Mercy Killings/Murder, Blood/Gore, Death

It’s a suicide mission. Cas isn’t sure whether the other members of Camp Chitaqa are aware of this, but he’s known this from the start. It’s the path he’s walked ever since throwing his lot in with the Winchester brothers and realizing too late he’d bet on the wrong horse. Not that he’d go back on the gamble. He made his shitty bed, and he’s going to lie in it, for better or worse.

They’re a distraction. Everyone thinks they’re sent into the building to fight their way through into Lucifer’s Garden – oh yes, dear sharer of this memory. That Lucifer. Cas, however, knows the truth here. They won’t sstand a chance of reaching the damned place. They’re sent there to die, but live long enough to give Dean a chance to get into the Garden and confront the angel wearing his brother’s face.

The fight is brutal. Croats aren’t zombies, per se, as pop culture would have them, but people turned into wild beasts by a bloodborne virus, lacking intelligence, self-preservation and anything else that might make them easy to handle. No, they throw themselves at their prey mindlessly. If you’re lucky, you die. If not, you get infected. The building is soon filled with the screams of everyone who’d once put their trust in Dean Winchester, taken down one by one. They have guns, all of them, and they’re fighting for their lives, desperately.

Cas puts a bullet through the head of those swarmed by Croats. End it fast before they’re torn to shreds. He thinks he should feel grief of their deaths, but he’s too broken to function normally like that. With as little care as he has for himself, why would he have some for others?

By the time everyone else is dead – either mercifully quick, or torn to pieces over long screams, Cas has no bullet left for himself. And it’s… good. He’s been running after this for years now. He welcomes it, in a way… he’s longed for an end ever since Sam said Yes to Lucifer, ever since mortality caught up to him. It’s a relief, to end it, and die before Dean does so he might never know just how pointless it all was, his rebellion, his fall, his death. The end of a long rope finds Cas hanged by the free will he fought so hard to gain.

He could try to run, here. Everyone else is dead, and if he’s fast enough, he could get out, except. Except what’s the point. He’s drowned himself in everything he could use to numb himself in order to even last this long, and now it’s finally, mercifully over, and he welcomes it, wants it, struggles against the Croats swarming him more out of instinct than of a desire to survive.

They don’t have claws, the Croats, but they will dig into you just as mercilessly, brutally, horrifyingly rip at your flesh, and it’s not a fast death, it’s a death of screams while bloody gashes are torn into you, until finally a Croat gets at an artery and warm blood takes you away after too much pain the likes of which you’ve not yet suffered. The last thought is: Peace at last.

And then Lucifer’s voice, announcing Judgment and Penance.

Follow me Down
Prompt II

Where else does a fallen, fucked up angel go, but to a place that advertises itself on the fucked up part. He’s loose-limbed, clearly tired, but he’s… well. He’s here, isn’t he. He thought he’d bang a few gongs before the lights went out, but then they just clicked back on in an even more fucked up place after he’s…. died and gone to Hell.

Shit doesn’t begin to cover it, and he doesn’t enjoy digging through the vast vocabulary stuck somewhere in his mind to find a better word. Cas isn’t much for dancing, and really, he finds the whole place… garish. He’s walked down this past before though, so why… yeah. Why not? He'll partake in near anything he's offered at this point.

And when offered even more, his fingertips hover over the green and the blue, and he decides it’s a hard pass on those.

So instead… he’ll have the pink and/or the orange, please and thank you.

Wildcard
[For anything not in here, I'm happy to work out something else to do.]

arrival

[stormbreaking]

"I'm sorry... what?" Thor looks over, puzzlement clear on his face as he nurses whatever drink he has held in his hand. He's not very particular nowadays over what he drinks. He eyes the man speaking to him, thoughtful for a moment.

"I don't recall a summer camp." Or quite the end of the world, unless you count the death of Asgard, or the many lost lives gone in the snap of fingers. It hadn't quite ended things though.

Perhaps it ended something in him.

He shakes his head, lips curling up. "I wouldn't let the looks of this place deceive you. It is well and truly Hel at times."

KISUKE URAHARA | BLEACH | OTA

[predomination]

REACH UP HIGH (PROMPT ONE- CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE)




Urahara doesn't sleep all that often, due to keeping a rather hectic work schedule, and even in Hell, he's started a few projects here and there and his rest is encouraged. The word 'experiment' being thrown around has him nervously trying to extricate his arm, but despite his considerable strength, it does nothing.

"Ah, this seems to be a mistake. I don't typically do the experiments on myself, but if you need a discerning eye for the results, I can offer my-" And that's all he gets out before the drink is forced down his throat. Lucifer's words may comfort him, but the locked door and the nearly Mayuri-like tactics used in this only make him more nervous. The arrival of another person gives him hope, but as soon as he feels he can safely start to offer a plan, the trance begins.

OPTION ONE

It's no darker in the Fugai Forest than it is anywhere else in Soul Society right now, but Tessai is right to say he feels something ominous is afoot, and somehow it makes everything as black as pitch. He keeps replaying his words to Hiyori over and over in his head, telling her that she was the only one he could trust to do this task. He sent her out here, knowing it was dangerous, and if she dies, then that's on him.

He's glad, at least, that Tessai didn't stop him, that Tessai is here by his side, running alongside him down the dark forest path to find whatever dangers await.

OPTION TWO (CW: eye squick, body horror)

Yoruichi collapses, panting and whimpering as the immunization drought wears off, making the poison coarse its way through her, and he reaches over to stroke her head. "Thank you for putting forth such due diligence, Yoruichi-san. We'll drain the poison out of you in a minute."

He pushes himself to his feet and walks forward. The Soul King's Realm, recreated with a Quincy's sense of European aesthetics, is bleak and cracked in places, worn thin from the amount of spiritual pressure being thrown about and the fights occurring here. The tall white buildings are in danger of crumbling to nothing. Presumably, Askin's body is somewhere in the rubble. "I'll go and look for the body, and make sure he's enjoying an eternal slumber."

The cheerfulness in his tone vanishes just as the pressure in the air intensifies. He gasps out a what before he's driven to his knees as a ball of concentrated poison explodes outwards, engulfing the area.

And there's Askin, alive and well despite having been hit with the full force of Yoruichi's might, decked out in the white and perverted angelic accouterments of a Quincy at their full power. "Gift Ball Deluxe. This is the largest poison ball I'm capable of making."

REACH UP HIGH (PROMPT TWO)




All things considered, this should be easy. It's not hard to compliment people, after all. Urahara is nothing if not unbearably polite. There's one downside- it has to be honest and what Urahara generally isn't is honest. His compliments, while not necessarily things he doesn't believe, always come out facetious, because they're tossed out thoughtlessly to distract.

Which means he's having a hard time making it back to his room without feeling like someone is taking a hammer to his limbs, but he's determined to try and undermine the anguish somewhat. "My my, you're looking lovely today." Shooting pain. "I saw your work on the carnival out there- you're quite the artiste~" And another shooting pain.

At this rate... He is definitely gonna keel over before he can hide somewhere. This feels like an intentional jab. Fuck you, Lucifer.

WILCARD




[ANYTHING ELSE. Hit me up.]

Reach Up High 2

[styxtoshadows]

"Oh yeah, I'm a reaaal artiste with the porta potty setup. Painted a mural on the ceiling and everything."

He's amused, because those twinges, yeah, he's been there.

"Keep trying. You'll find something to compliment."

Faye Valentine | Cowboy Bebop | OTA

[bountyhead]

<----- ARRIVAL ----->

Hell was nothing but a fictitious place for Faye. A scare tactic used by the corrupt to herd the feeble-minded into living under their control. She thought she was smart enough to pay no mind to any of it. That she was too prideful to let anyone control her. But there was a brief touch with religion that came when she submitted herself to a cult, only for the promise they had made her: that she wouldn’t have a physical body anymore. And without one, that meant there’d be no debt. A too-good-to-be-true story that should’ve been a red flag to her. But with the crushing weight of her debt, always having to be on the run because of it, and the promise of it just… going away? She had a moment of weakness.

Now, there was a promise of redemption, from a voice that could make her blood run cold. It echos until she wakes up, her clouded vision met with an overwhelming theme of satin and crimson. Her body feels warm with panic. She goes to sit up in a hurry but stops and braces herself for the sudden onslaught of pain that shoots through her skull. She winces and cradles her head. The pain felt too real for this to be a dream – a nightmare? After a moment, she’ll lift her head and notice the piece of parchment on the table. She immediately grabs it and sees that it was a list, written in what appeared to be blood. She doesn’t stop to think it may be her blood. Her face warps with disgust as she continues to study it, confusion making it hard to register just what this meant. The longer she read it over, the more she starts piecing it together. This was a list of sins. Her sins… ?

There’s also a strange device that she picks up and checks out. She feels she might need this so she tucks it away in her jacket.

With her sight clearing up, and her headache now coming to a dull throb, fear fuels her body into motion and she rushes out the door, the sheepskin left abandoned on the bed. She’ll run down those winding halls, frightened by the hellish staff that unexpectedly step out from behind doors and peek around corners to stare and laugh at her. Run until she’s out of breath and desperately grabbing at something, someone, that might reassure her that this was just a twisted phantasy and she’d wake up soon.

Whoever is near her will feel a sudden grip on their arm and a tug that turns them to look at her. Her expression reads that of a highly distressed woman, followed by a breathy, “Where… where am I?”



<----- FOLLOW ME DOWN I ----->

It should be no surprise that she’s found herself at the bar. A drink or two or three to numb over the barrage of feelings she was clearly experiencing. When that disgusting little demon invades her bubble, she’s more than tempted to violently fling him off of her. But there was a prospect of favor on the line, so she begrudgingly sits and listens. Lucifer’s act of gracious kindness was questionable but luckily she’s in the mood to let off some steam, and since kicking someone’s ass could mean she’d be granted a wish of some kind, then… why not? She signs.

By the time the demon has slithered away, she’s downed her fourth drink. She pushes herself away from the bar and meanders over to anyone she feels she could take. Her approach exudes confidence and she’ll flash a fairly convincing faux-smile. Look friendly enough and maybe the person’s guard will remain down.

“Hi there. Would you be willing to engage in something fun with me?”

… or just lure them into a false sense of security.



<----- FOLLOW ME DOWN II ----->

A rave was the last place you’d find her, but here she was, indulging in the scene, taking whatever drink the succubi would hand her. She could be caught staring at these beautiful creatures for longer than she intended. It was hard not to. And it took no time at all for her to feel good, and thus feel comfortable enough to actually savor the crowd and music.

At one point she could be seen dancing until one of the demons manage to entice her into wandering to the back room where a display of multi-colored cups sit in wait to be drunk. She’ll share a look with the person who happens to be there already, mulling over which color to choose. What “special surprise” would come to fruition if she were to pick up a yellow cup?

But before she knocks it back she feels inclined to ask, “Have you had one yet? Is there really a surprise like they say?”



<----- WILDCARD ----->

[ I’m down for anything! So if you have an idea, hit me with it! Feel free to reach me on yourfavewaifu as well! ]

follow me down I?

[sharktrash]

Squalo is probably a regular at the bar by now; some habits die hard, even in supposed death. He'd used to be better about moderation, but it's not like it could really become a problem in Hell, right?

The crowd's got a few new faces, and he takes time to check out all of them the best he can without moving from his seat, unconcerned about the meaningless social constructs such as tact or privacy. There's a woman who's quite difficult not to notice; there's something fierce about her and he takes an extra moment to appreciate the view when she gets up and starts walking closer.

Maybe not toward him. Maybe there's someone gentler looking behind or near him, not that he's particularly threatening with his lanky build and his hair put in a braid. That, however, doesn't mean he's not going to pipe up into the conversation anyway.

"Ooooh, I hope it involves swords."

Hazel | Ava's Possessions | OTA

[missdemon]

ARRIVAL

[Hazel has a relatively simple, if somewhat scattered, thought process upon waking up in a very red hotel room. First: okay, one night stand, was probably black out drunk, definitely feel hung over. Second, after finding her list of sins: whoa okay, a little weird, maybe I hooked up with a stalker. And also, what’s up with this crusty-ass looking old phone?

Whatever. Nothing like a Ke$ha inspired swig of OJ to clean off the crustiness and get ready for another day of debauchery!

She’s maybe halfway across the lobby when she realizes that she’s supposed to be in a psych ward. So, like, none of this makes any sense. And then—wait, there’s an actual demon manning the front desk? Oh, holy shit. So she swivels, turns to the next person to come out into the lobby, a bright look in her eyes.]

Isn’t this just—isn’t this so dope?

[Maybe, uh, maybe a weird reaction.]

STAND YOUR GROUND

PROMPT I

[As jived as she is about the whole being-in-Hell thing, because Hazel’s got, let’s face it, a head full of bees and a former, literal inner demon, there’s one thing she really doesn’t like doing…and that’s basically any form of work. She’s slacking off as subtly as she can, only really putting in a less-than-modest effort when any of the supervising residents of Hell happen to swing by, but of course, she gets caught. There’s a whipcrack and a dog-like yipe, and she crashes to the ground, hissing through her teeth at the feeling of the sting across her back.]

All this over a Carnival? A fucking Carnival? Augh! Give me a break!

PROMPT II

[So here’s Hazel, minding her own business pouring herself some cereal in the kitchen when, oh, hey, she’s got a message. Idly, she pulls out her phone and after an initial gag of shock, burst into laughter. Without even looking up, she addresses whoever happens to be nearby.]

You should see this penis I just got! The veins on this sucker will shock you!

[You know…good morning, stranger!]

REACH UP HIGH, PROMPT II

[It absolutely doesn’t matter who you are or what you’re doing, because this whole phantom pain thing has really, really gotta stop. Without waiting around, she’s gonna go ahead and grab onto the first human-looking fucker she can find, gripping them by the biceps. Which, if you’re toned? Nice.]

I need you for a second.

[And with that she proceeds to very deliberately eyeball you. Like, this is a truly analytical gaze, if there was every an appropriate use for that term.]

FOLLOW ME DOWN, PROMPT I

Don’t ask questions, just drink this.

[Hi, yeah, that’s the tag. Hazel, who was loitering around a pool table in the hotel bar, swivels in front of you, holding a shot, practically trying to force it into your hand. Good luck with whatever’s happening here.]

WILDCARD

[I have no fears, probably! You can add me at ddsapphire if you want to plan something specific!]

Stand Your Ground II

[styxtoshadows]

What the fuck?

[He didn't mean to say it out loud. Styx is usually proudly vulgar and thinks of himself as relatively unshockable but he's also from a pre-cellphone era. His first instinct is to imagine a severed penis in a box.]

That's...fucked up.

[Such an extensive vocabulary. Also if Hazel looks anything like her icon he might be raising an eyebrow at how sickly-dead she looks. Not that that'll be visible- no eyebrows.

Or maybe she has the penis. That would be somewhat better.]

Can't I drink without gettin' dicks waved at me?

Will Graham | Hannibal (TV) | OTA

[canyoubeatgod]

Reach Up High | Prompt II

A compliment couldn’t be too hard.

That was Will’s initial thought when he agreed to the deal with Lucifer. Just compliment someone. Anyone, for anything. And therein lay his mistake - it had to be sincere. Something heartfelt and true. Will couldn’t compliment himself let alone another person. A stranger. Most times he wasn’t able to bring himself to make eye contact. How was he supposed to do this?

“That’s a nice jacket,” Will rasped to the next person he saw, feeling that stabbing pain in him twist. Paler than usual, he didn’t look well, eyes cast off to the side, gaze unfocused. Still didn’t work. He’d have to have an actual conversation, get to know someone, in order to rid himself of this pain. Making connections was hardly his forte, his pessimistic mind immediately jumping to the thought that he’d be in agony forever, all because he lacked the right social skills. This really was Hell.



Follow Me Down | Prompt I

A reward. He could have something. He could see back to his world, check on Molly, on Jack…

But why would he do that? There was only one person he was interested in seeing and he couldn’t bring himself to ask for that. Only just recently could he admit to himself that he’d wanted to see him. When your last memory was being in one another’s arms as you hit freezing cold water, he supposed it was only natural to be most curious about that other person.

A bar fight. Try something new. Something violent or depraved. The darkness in him that Hannibal had so carefully helped cultivate made his fingers twitch with temptation. It was so much easier now to imagine himself over a person bleeding out, covered in bruises delivered by his own hand. Even easier to touch someone else, take in their scent and heat. He could almost feel his lips close to his ear, whispering to him that this was their design, that this was what he’d wanted to share with him…

Will’s gaze sharpened as he looked around the bar, resolved to make this work, to get his reward, one way or another. Pleasurably or otherwise.



Follow Me Down | Prompt II

Why had he come here?

The lights were too bright and flashing, the music loud enough to give him a headache. He was surrounded by people and it was making him feel claustrophobic. The bar was closer than the exit and he pushed his way in that direction only to come face to face with several choices of drink in various colors. He usually stuck to beer or whiskey, but if a little booze could help calm his nerves and get him out of this place, he was game.

(I’m up for any of these drink colors, so you can pick one or hit me up at themegzilla or if you want our characters to just hang and avoid the cocktails, that’s all good too!)



Wildcard!

Anything not here is cool too, just gotta get this boy up and going in the world!

Follow Me Down II

[inbello]

Ronan slides out of the crowd like a thorn through the tissue paper wrapped around flowers. He gravitates towards the bar because he wants something to drink other than his perpetually full rum flask. Besides, he doesn't usually take that out in crowds in case somehow the hell authorities or whatever find out and take it away. He could dream another one, but that's not the point.

He eyes the drinks for a second, but he sees Will out of the corner of his eyes. This guy looks like he wants to be as far from a dance floor as possible. Considering the amount of bullshit parties that are apparently always going on in hell, Ronan thinks he's going to have a hard time. But it's hell, so maybe that's the point.

"You look outta your element," he remarks.

[ ooc: Ronan is 17 so if you want to avoid coloured drinks, I am fine with that! Totally your call. ]

Laica Hawke | Dragon Age | OTA

[lovelylaica]

Follow Me Down, II

[ Laica likes a good party as much as any other young and fancy-free thing. She likes the pretty pink shiny dress they squeezed her into, made out of something called "PVC" and doing all sorts of favors to her figure. She's never had cleavage like that in her life, it's really quite marvelous.

And on top of all that, she gets invited to a private room where they give her free drinks! ]

So I can't have all of them?

[ She asks, just to be clear. And then sighs a little when they say she has to pick one. And then turns her smile on whoever else ended up in here with her. ]

I'm thinking... pink. What do you think?

[unreconciled]

[He didn't really mean to get dragged into this. At least, thank the Holy Mother, he managed to avoid the demon with the outfits... it seemed like an all-black military uniform was good enough to pass muster, although the less Andrej thinks about that the better, in his mind.

He's not so crass as to stare, but Laica's figure is certainly pleasing. And in the aftermath of some recent events, he's ready to try some new means of intoxication, following Constantine's lead.

Even so polite, he replies with a wan smile:]

If you wish, miss. It would certainly match your attire.

[Then it's bottoms-up on the drink and down down down into blackness...

...and upon slowly coming out of unconsciousness, it's the faint buzzing that he hears first, followed by a rather... tight sensation around his manhood. And where are his pants?]

Alice Quinn | The Magicians | OTA

[fissures]

arrival

Alice believed in the afterlife -- it's hard not to when she knows several people who have visited the Underworld before via dragon. But this is unlike the Underworld she knows of, the one that Quentin must be in now -- she tries not to linger on that thought, on that grief too long. If she thinks about it too long, it'll consume her. The point is, this feels like something more traditional to the Judeo-Christian traditions then the hodgepodge pantheon she's used to dealing with.

It's not that she doesn't think she belongs here. She absolutely does. She did horrific things as a niffin. She betrayed her friends. She's been on a year long apology tour and sometimes it feels like she can never make up for the things she's done. She was supposed to be helping with the Library, helping change things from the inside, but it seems like someone had other ideas.

She makes her way down the hall and down the stairs until she makes her way into the bar where an appropriate song is playing, almost like someone is poking fun at Alice's perchance for wearing A-line black dresses.

She's careful not to eat or drink anything just yet. In the Underworld she's familiar with you go with Hades rules -- if you eat or drink something there, you can't leave. She's not sure things work here but she's not taking chances until she knows. So she stays towards the back of the bar, ever the wallflower, as she tries to watch and observe what's going on. The more you know about a situation, the better you can survive it.


stand your ground - prompt one

Alice was always too curious for her own good. Too nosey. And well -- the way they whipping people and forcing labor on them, she knew in her gut there had to be worse going on here, and if there was? She wanted to know about it. Do something about it.

(Never mind that when she was niffin she got the nickname of torture artist. Never mind that the lamprey killed her father to get back at what she did to it's family. Never mind a lot of things.)

So she manages to sneak in when the guards are on a break and peaks behind the tarps. She's horrified by what she sees. It's more whipping. It's more torture. But this time it involves kids. They seem helpless. It reminds her of the ghosts in the Plover estate (she couldn't save them, maybe she can do better now). The ones hurting them seem to be reveling in it. Like they find the pain beautiful.

(Like she did, once)

But before she can begin tutting her hands into complicated spells to try to stop them Alice is grabbed by a demon.

Which is how she's now here, on porta potty duty. Which she may be using magic to clean because ew. Her hands tut and move quickly but she's clearly distracted and thinking of something else. She's calculating the chances of her being able to get back there. If she could escape the Library -- well then this shouldn't be too hard, right?

Reach On High - Option 1

Alice is not the type who opens up to people easily. She's repressed, to say the least. She keeps things to herself -- this has only become more true after her time as niffin. Being human again is hard and she doesn't always feel right in her skin. She doesn't know how to explain herself to people. She's so certain people already have ideas about her anyway. Alice Quinn. The smartest witch in her age. The martyr. The niffin. The betrayer. The one in need of redemption.

And yet right now, she has no choice. She's dragged by one of the demons and a drink is rammed down her throat and whether she wants to or not, she has to share.

[ooc: as far as memories go I am offering up: her becoming a niffin, alice tries to change q's book, alice and her mommy issues, alice literally wars with herself and finally everyone hates alice for destroying the keys to restoring magic. ]

wildcard

[ooc: want to plot something else? pm me or pplurk me at autoclave and we can figure it out.]

reaches - the book option

[hypoxic]

The memory she sends out is one of grief, one clinging to redemption and fighting to still be useful. In return, she'll see a memory of someone similarly struggling, taking accountability for a disaster and seemingly willing to let himself drown in his grief.

When it ends, as all dreams must, she'll find herself lying beside her designated partner, though she might be a bit quicker to return to her senses. She'll have an uninterrupted moment before he starts to stir, grumbling and disoriented.

"....harder every bloody time, I swear..."

Eponine - Les Miserables - OTA

[gardienne]

Arrival
Eponine had no thought about what would happen when she died. She had wished for death far too often whilst she clung to life on the harsh streets of Paris, and now that she's seemingly there, she can't help but grin in satisfaction. Heaven or hell, Eponine doesn't care right now. She's much more interested in the comfort of a bed - a real bed! - to worry about the pain in her hand, or even the list of her crimes apparently written in her own blood.

When she reluctantly decides to move, Eponine sets about to empty the room of it's luxuries. The duffel bag so kindly left in the room soon holds a tabletop lamp stand, a bottle of shampoo from the bathroom, and a small assortment of amenities. She stuffs the mobile device in as well, and hastily scruples the bloody paper into the bag too before she picks up a pillow. Wherever she is, Eponine is certain that she has ended up in that room by mistake, but she is also certain she is going to make as much from the experience as possible. Shouldering the duffel bag, she leaves the room and trudges through the hallway to find her way out into whatever hell awaited her beyond.


Reach on High - option 1
Eponine will talk to anyone who will give her the time of day. She pours her heart and her soul to anyone who will listen... but even for Eponine, there are things she keeps quiet. She often jokes about her crimes, her family. She jokes about the winter beneath the bridge. But now, here, she can't help but open up.

((A link to Eponine's memories - https://gardienne.dreamwidth.org/7057.html))

Follow Me Down - Prompt 1

It doesn't take much to persuade Eponine to corrupt someone else. In fact, in an almost sadistic kind of way, she almost enjoys the power of being able to crush a little innocence out of someone. After all, wasn't she blindly robbed herself - and when she was a child? It's about time she repaid the favour.

She decides on pickpocketing. It's so mundane that it takes her ages to actually think of it, but it's good. It's easy. And it's not exactly a huge crime, is it?

Eponine sets herself up. She stands on a street corner, shoes kicked off and hidden behind a bin. With her tattered dress and still matted hair, she looks every inch the urchin she is. She calls to the first person she sees.

"Hey - hey! I need your help. Won't you help me?"

Follow Me Down I

[pococurante]

Spike's spent most of his life in a condition of "flat broke" and has been what one might call an urchin, once upon a time. On Mars, because space, etc cetera. But still. He isn't fooled by the raggedy hopeless look. The girl's eyes are way too sharp.

That's what Jet always said was his problem, too.

He gives her a wary look with those sharp eyes and takes a long drag of his cigarette before answering. "What's in it for me?"

Lucifer Morningstar | Lucifer (TV)

[wears_prada]

1) STAND YOUR GROUND, Prompt II
(CW: nudity)



New phone, who's this?

It's almost a given that the moment Lucifer receives his phone-like device, he's going to take picture of himself. After all, his body is a work of art, why shouldn't he be making sure the camera is good enough to capture his devilish magnificence?

He hasn't yet intended to share the pictures, though surely the occasion would have come soon enough, but for those on the receiving end of them, they are in for quite a show. His rock hard abs are to die for, his backside literally the picture of perfection, and his hard cock is what temptation was meant for.

There's no message attached to the leaked pictures; do you dare write back?



2) REACH UP HIGH, Prompt I
(CW for blood, trauma and daddy issues)



He's never been devilhandled by demons before, or at least not by his demons, and when they come to grab him, it's only instincts that drives him to fight them. But he's weakened in this place, in this....scamming semblance of the Underworld he's ruled for millennia, and it's not long before he's dragged away from the bar, even if it still takes a few demons to do so. He's still choking on the liquid they forced down his throat when the door closes, missing the one opportunity to reach for the door knob before it slams shut. Lucifer kicks the door, furious, as he calls out:

"Are you truly trying to roofi me, the Devil? Good luck with that, you bloody fools."

He hates that his shouts are met with silence, but Luci hates even more that his head starts to swing, his vision narrowing almost to a single point in front of him, and that his knees weakens enough that he stumbles to the bed, completely missing on the fact that someone else is shoved in the room with him. He's already falling back on the bed as this usurping 'Lucifer' finishes speaking to them, and he rolls his eyes despite the grogginess:

"Do I really sound that dickish?" he mumbles before passing out, leaving him without any controls on the memories shared...


He's always loved the beach. The warm sand, the scent of the sea, the drinks, the women in bikinis; after all, what's not to like about the beach? But at night, the place is deserted and it's just what he needs. Lucifer watches the waves roll in from the dark of the night for a moment before he turns to Mazikeen, his resolve to go through with his one last act of rebellion against his Father steeling even more. Large wings unfurl from his back as he kneels, the white feathers a stark contrast in the dead of the night. How ironic, that the one and only fallen angel is also the only one sporting wings of the purest, brightest white.

The pain from the demon blade scrapping at this back is almost unbearable, and Lucifer grits his teeth together to keep him from making one sound. He's stubborn enough that his eyes are dry, but he can hear Maze struggling to keep herself contained. For a split second, Lucifer realizes that severing his wings will also keep the demon from being able to return home, and the fallen angel focuses on his anger at his Dad to keep him from feeling that pesky seed of guilt for trapping his oldest friends on Earth with him.

As he feels the first wing fall off his back, he braces for the pain for the second one, his eyes turning to the night sky, silently sending off one last prayer to the Silver City, with a sneer:

'Fuck you, Dad. I do what I want.'

[OOC: the memories will leave large scars on the viewers back, where the wings used to be. The flesh there will be tender for a few days. Other memories (good or bad) can be requested also]


3) FOLLOW ME DOWN, Prompt II
(CW: substance abuse, sex)



He's heard the small, mischievous demon at the bar, goading him to corrupt anyone with a debt to pay to the would-be Overlord of this place. Lucifer had brushed off the offer with a barely concealed scowl: how dare they expect him to follow any of their demands? He had waged a war against his Father over free-will, he isn't about to relinquish what had cost him so dearly to play another of his Dad's game. He is all for punishment and corruption, but on his own terms, under his own conditions.

The encounter has left him even more seething with anger at this place, at this charade of an Underworld and its Overlord that is clearly a pale, washed out copy of his own greatness. Anger and the sense of having no control over his own destiny yet again, is the perfect storm that leads him right back to his old hedonistic habits. It's always easier to try and fill the void with drugs, alcohol and sex than stopping one moment to sort through the myriad of emotions crashing at him since his kidnapping into this fake Underworld, at the thought of paying for several millennia of sins, and the very real possibility that he will never see the detective again, just as he had found the courage to let her know how he feels about her.

The sex club is the perfect place for Lucifer to let loose, and it doesn't take long before he finds the drugs and the high self liquor. There's also plenty of warm bodies on which he drinks shots or snorts coke off of, and he's more than willing to share, both bodies and substances. Despite not being in his Hell, his celestial body burns through the drugs and alcohol almost just as fast as back on Earth and Lucifer never achieves true inebriation, though not for the lack of trying. He cares very little about the debt he's raking up, for if this place is really another kind of Hell, he'll never escape it. He is after all, the Devil, the root of all evil and sins, right? There is literally no chances for him to atone for whatever sins and crimes he's been accused of.

When the demons invite him in the back room, he follows without an after thought, and he's actually grabbing a colored drink before it's offered to him, raising it to toast with whomever is around, thinking this is just another sweet cocktail, designed to appeal to human nature. But even if he's wrong about the drink, he'll enjoy the ride fully, and so will his partners too...

[OOC: All colors are on the table except for blue and yellow, as Lucifer has already tried pretty much what he's ever wanted to try sexually. I would prefer to have him on the giving end of the green drink, as he's a Dom and not really open to submission with strangers. Sex partners 18+ please. Info and kink list is here]

4) WILDCARD

[Not seeing something that tickles your fancy in the given prompts? Want to discuss a more personalized prompt? Hit me up through PM or at nuevayuimaxwell

Stand Your Ground

[electro_kinetic]

Well of all the things Noriko was trying to figure out, who the very naked hot dude on her phone was is now definitely at the top of the list. Right after she downloads a copy. (Who knows when things will be needed.)

Nice ass. But who're you?

Belatedly, she texts back a name and her own picture, though she's fully clothed, possibly regrettably.

Steve Rogers | Marvel Cinematic Universe: Winter Soldier (CRAU)

[compelledtoprotect]

Stand Your Ground

Steve didn't like being forced into things, but physical labor had never really been much of an issue for him. Once the demons managed to force him into the general area, he stopped fighting and just got to work. Exercise was exercise after all. Removing trees, setting up booths, fetching and carrying. Steve wasn't one to slack even if it was a task he didn't much like, but even moving at a decent pace seemed less than sufficient for his captors.

The first lash stung like a line of fire and made him stop with a sucked-in breath of surprise and pain. The next was almost as much a surprise at the first and earned the demon a killing glance. Steve wasn't pleased to be whipped of course, but better him than the other poor residents. He could endure a lot of pain, and he healed quickly by comparison. But the third stripe . . .

He dropped his burden and whirled around, catching the end of the whip and wrapping it around his wrist to yank, pulling the whole right out of the demon's hands. They clearly didn't understand what he was capable of. His voice was a low threatening growl as he wound the whip fully around his arm.

"If you want this back, you can come and take it. When I've done something to deserve a whipping, I'll stand still and take it, but in the meantime, don't touch anyone here again."


Reach Up High

It took ten burly demons to drag Steve from the hall, and another five to suffocate him long enough to pour the potion down his throat and keep him from getting it back up. They didn't leave him until the effects began to show, although he fought the fog that threatened to overwhelm him. He reeled into one of the walls and stayed there, letting the flat surface keep him mostly upright as he slumped, breathing hard. Steve barely managed to look up when someone else was shoved into his room. He was already beginning a slow slide down to the floor, his legs giving out was his vision started to blur and gray out.

Steve tried to reach toward whoever it was and warn them, the words he attempted to speak coming out as unintelligible mumbling before his arm fell and his body toppled over.

((OOC: Choose from "Island" or "History" and "Sexual" or "Clean/Violent" or just let me know if there's a special memory you want! Otherwise it'll be something random chosen just for you! Or come share your memories with Steve!))


Wildcard

Want something not already in a prompt? Just tag in with a starter or PM me with something and I'll write it up!

Closed to Tony

[compelledtoprotect]

Steve leaned on the door frame and knocked on the door. He could have told Tony where to meet him, but he wasn't sure the man would show up. Besides, the demons were known to harass the residents and Tony certainly didn't need more stress. Or that was what Steve told himself anyway. Really, he was worried as hell. He didn't know what Loki had said to Tony, or why it had upset the guy so much, and there was something deeply unsettled in his friend that just made him ache to know Tony was suffering. He wanted to support the man, physically as well as emotionally, whether Tony liked it or not.

He knocked again and called out, trying not to be obnoxious, "Tony? You promised we could get a drink and I'm here to cash in. Unless you have a bottle in there, we're gonna hafta hit the bar. You decent?"

Charlotte Wells - Harlots - OTA (language warnings?)

[queenpretend]

Stand your ground
Hell indeed. Charlotte's a grafter, but her work is nearly always on her back... or pressed against a wall... or on her knees. She had no patience for threading bunting, and had soon made her escape to the relative quiet of the warehouse. It wasn't in Charlotte's nature to skulk in the shadows, so she approached boldly, and ran her hand over one of the things covered in the odd material before the guards had even realised what she was doing.
"Well, fuck me," she muttered with a gasp. She had barely glanced below the tarp before she was hauled away to the port-potties.

"Hell indeed," she grumbled as she flopped down on the edge of a portacabin that had already been built. "Bit more industrial than what I imagined." She grinned at her companion. "Really is just a stinking pile of shit, innit?"

Reach up high - 2
Charlotte knows how to pay compliments and sound sincere about what she's saying. It's part of her job, part of her charm, part of why she's managed to drag herself out of the gutter of Covent Garden and into the beds of the aristocrats. But to actually mean a compliment? It doesn't come naturally to Charlotte. Harlots and beggars don't need them, and aristocrats rarely deserve them.
Still, it's worth giving it a go if it'll make these pains disappear.

She lounges in a chair in the lounge, a pack of cards in her hand. With a smile and a bright twinkle in her eye, she calls out, "Care for a game?"

Follow me down ((pick your poison - I'm open to anything))
Perhaps it's just the familiarness of the strip club, but Charlotte hasn't felt more at home since she arrived in hell. She watches the antics with amusement, laughing at the show being put on, and drinking gin and wine. She doesn't care to dance, not now, not tonight, but she'll partake willingly in the food and drink on offer. The club reminds her of her mother's parties, of being put on show, the centre of attention, and for once it's nice to simply be the observer.

Later into the night, having been persuaded down to her short underskirts and her corset, Charlotte finds herself led to the back room, to the drinks. She doesn't even try to decline the drink being pressed into her hand, and instead gulps it down.. It's been a long while since she's had a proper stiff drink, and she fails to even notice what colour was handed to her. Slightly light headed, she stumbles back into the main body of the club, almost immediately reaching out for yet another gin to make the night last longer.

Wildcard I'm up for anything!

Reach Up High - 2

[unreconciled]

Andrej's on that part of the cycle where he's recovered enough from his last hangover to start drinking again. The bar seems to be a problem area, so he absconded with a bottle again, and is having a casual drink straight from it as he passes through.

When Charlotte's voice calls out to him, he looks very faintly suspicious. Not all here are so terrible, but being accosted rarely bodes well. But he has nothing else to do but wait for the next round of torments, and drink, and well, it has been some time since he played a game of cards.

"Certainly, though what game would you have us play?" he asks, slightly reserved.

Ganondorf Dragmire | The Legend of Zelda | OTA

[powerhog]

ARRIVAL + NETWORK

”Judgement has come upon you, but not to worry. It can still be undone.”

[It’s a strange offer from what he can only assume is a voice of divinity. In his experience, there were no second chances besides the ones you forced. Stranger still is that he comes slowly back to consciousness ensconced in a comfortable bed. Splitting headache aside, this new prison is already leagues kinder than the Twilight Realm had ever been.

Ganondorf isn’t eager to move yet, but there’s some kind of missive and a strange device on the side table. Standing, slowly, he inspects the parchment first, a list of his misdeeds written in blood. Presumably his blood either for dramatic effect or some kind of spell. He scans it with a deep scoff and sets it back down in exchange for the other item, a reflective black object that glows at his touch and begins displaying words and images. Now this is something worth looking at. Conversations between other people, presumably more banished to this realm, appear in reverse order.

He’s attempting to navigate the foreign marvel when pressing an errant button suddenly shows him his own face, much like a mirror. Simultaneously, a small light appears at the top of the device. Ganondorf makes a face, he makes another, he adjusts the metal adornments on his head and shakes out a mane of red hair. The notable delay and occasional pauses in the reflection are perplexing.

He may be here for a while, unknowingly recording and sending video clips to complete strangers....]


STAND YOUR GROUND I
(CW: mild violence)

[If you’re anywhere near the staging area you may hear a whip’s crack followed by a roar of outrage,]

How DARE you put that to me, filth!

[Should you inspect the source of the ruckus, it looks like somebody isn’t excited about being ordered to chop down trees and is throwing a fit.. or, rather, a demon.

Ganondorf has the business end of one of the fiends’ whips in his fist. He cracks it himself and the utterly exasperated creature loses its balance first, its grip second, and is sent hurtling in your general direction. They really should’ve sent a bigger demon to detail this guy.]


FOLLOW ME DOWN I

[Ganondorf is discovering just how awful the drinks at the hotel bar are (and not Charming awful but truly Awful awful) when that shrimp of a demon manages to catch his attention. He tolerates its disrespect for personal space only because he’s managed to tolerate enough alcohol to catch a buzz, and he listens to its offer.

Doing favors for The Powers That Be, promised rewards or not, isn’t much his style, but the temptation to find out if its really that easy is enough. He offers a drop of blood, finishes the rest of his drink in one swallow, and sets off to get acquainted with his fellow prisoners. The easily manipulated, by nature or circumstance, are usually all too easy to spot.]

( arrival )

[courageless]

[ that — that is ganondorf isn't it. oh no. oh dear. he tugs his hood onto his head and starts sneaking away quietly. the less attention he attracts, the safer he would be. safe, until he finds his way back to lorule. somehow. ]

Ariana | Pokémon | OTA

[poisonedpride]

((warnings listed on individual prompts and also threads, but please read the opt out for Ariana here))

ARRIVAL + STAND YOUR GROUND II

[Aside from the initial hellfire, Ariana's definitely had worse. The list is unexpected but completely unsurprising. She checks over the room methodically, picking through her personal belongings and examining the walls for recording devices, cracks, anything off. Bizarrely enough, it seems fairly normal.

Well, then.

The voice still lingers in her head as she picks up the phone and searches through it with the same patience as the rest of the room. A little hopelessly, she looks through the list of names first and comes up empty. Some of the public posts are downright ridiculous but she's able to put together a piece or two of worthwhile information even so.

It can still be undone.

Ariana composes a text and presses send.

Then she uses the front facing camera to inspect herself. You'd think landing in hell would be worse to a person's appearance, but there's just the faintest smudge to her eyeliner. She snaps a picture once she's done and turns off the screen, completely unaware that her selfie is now floating in the network's ether as well.]

STAND YOUR GROUND-I

[As haughty as she can be, Ariana is no stranger to manual labor, so she's not terribly bothered by the demands to help with the carnival. What she is bothered by, though...]

You know, your form is terrible, dear.

[She's addressing a demon who's flailing a whip ineffectually, hand on her hip.]

You might just hit something every once in a while if you knew what you were doing.

[The demon doesn't seem thrilled with the constructive criticism.]

REACH UP HIGH-II

[Why did it have to be compliments? Ariana can't remember the last time she gave someone genuine praise aside from her fellow executives. She weathers the pain for a while, helping herself to a drink at the bar to manage it, but when someone sits down next to her she tries:]

Has anyone told you lately that you're incredibly handsome?

[Considering the fact that she didn't even glance their way to check, she should have known better. Ariana grits her teeth against the spasm that wracks through her, spine held defiantly straight. Fine. She could give it an honest go.

She looks over with an imperious eyebrow raised to take in the newcomer's appearance.]

FOLLOW ME DOWN-I+II
(cw: substance abuse, sex, dubcon, bloodplay, bondage, violence)

[The tiny demon is cute in its own way, but Ariana assures it that there's no need for blood, she can handle corruption without a contract. She doesn't trust it anyways, has had too many missions fail on her own turf thanks to the bumbling of low level grunts, so she sends it away without a second thought and helps herself to more whiskey.

Once she has a pleasant buzz going she makes her way to the club, shedding her turtleneck and modest skirt for something a little more racy, her irezumi visible above a plunging back hem. This is a familiar scene and she navigates it with ease and pleasure, eyes sharp while she blends into the crowd. Ariana leans in to the succubus offering the brightly colored drinks, biting on her ear before asking a murmured question; when she pulls back she has a green drink in her hand.

She comes to with her knife pressed to bare skin, finishing a delicate design she must've carved right below this perfect stranger's collarbones. Her memory is hazy- how did they get here? When had the scene started?- but she blinks the confusion away, chalking it up to something in the drink she'd willingly downed. A surprise, indeed. Ariana takes a moment to look over her work so far- arms twisted behind the back and tied to the ceiling, welts blooming across thighs, and of course, gagged but not blindfolded.

Ariana does love seeing the expressions of a partner going under, after all.

So she holds eye contact as she presses a nail into the deepest cut on their chest.]

You look lovely, darling.


((if you have any other ideas or want to plot, please hit me up at poetrics!))

Re: Reach Up High II

[battaswing]

He had just sidled up to the super pretty lady at the bar when it seemed his magnetism and charm had done the work for him! Good job slugger.

"All the frickin' time lady." He said with what he thought was a charming grin.

"You haven't even seen me with my shirt off. Now that's awes-- Ow! What the fuck is goin' on!" He said, doubling over at the sudden shot of pain.

Alex Reagan | The Black Tapes Podcast

[11calls]

Reach up High 1

Alex is getting pretty god damn sick of being dragged around by demons, especially when she'd finally been able to catch the smallest about of sleep. So, she's entirely not enthusiastic about Lucifer's newest idea, or the potion that's shoved down her throat. Immediately, she can swear that she feels her head starting to splinter, a headache blooming behind her eyes that's not helped in the slightest by the fact that demon wasn't considerate enough to grab her glasses when it woke her up. Disorientated and in pain, she an't help but feel the familiar sensation of sliding into this memory, one that she replays all too often when she's awake.

Memory share: CW violence, blood, grossness, murder, bugs.

You always had a feeling about the housekeeper. The housekeeper, it sounds like a bit like something from a gothic novel and you know it. Maddie Franks sounds to be about as far from Rebecca’s Mrs. Danvers as you can get but you can’t stop thinking about her in a similar sort of way. Maybe it’s Wendy Hochman and how she defends the woman, or maybe it’s because you keep picturing the cherub that is Robbie Hochman as how Sebastian Torres might have been before he met ‘Tall Paul' and definitely Brother Edward and the kidnapping.

Before he was a creepy kid in a horror movie.

Nic, your boss and your best friend thinks you’re losing it. That you have to many nights of not sleeping from Strand’s ghost stories filling your head. Too many demons and the unsound and...well everything else and you’re just acting recklessly in his mind. On some days, you let yourself agree with him because this whole demon-shadow conspiracy-the advocate-playing a symphony to end the world is not how the world works. It shouldn’t be how the world works anyway. There shouldn’t a global conspiracy to infect kids with demons by opening the door for them. But you’d seen the signs and symbols that made it up before no the signs and sigils in various places, and you know the fear and terror they leave in your belly before you even know what they are for sure.

As you’re walking down the hall to the housekeeper’s apartment, you can hear Nic muttering about how this isn’t a smart decision in his matching Canadian voice, but it’s almost an after effect as your mind once again resets the groove of the sound of what happened on that baby monitor recording. A conversation (if one could call it that, really) hidden under a faulty timestamp and discovered by raw luck. Your stomach is in your throat as your hand grips your recorder so tightly that your knuckles are turning white and it feels like it’s the only thing that’s keeping you from being caught adrift in the fear of what your life has become.

Guttural words, sounds that don’t sound like any earthly language are there as that mental tape plays back, uttered by the housekeeper to the baby with a fiendish glee. The gurgle of the two year old sounds almost like he’s talking back to her, as she just says: “you like him don’t you? Shush, don’t let mommy hear you. You are going to love your new life, my boy!” And then the most disturbing line of all for someone who’s met Sebastian Torres, who saw where he was held, who sat across from Simon Reese in the institution where he was held for killing his parents when he asked her if she wanted to see him too.

“Serve him well!”

You’d done what you were supposed to: you called Wendy but the entire family was missing. The police were involved and now everything in your gut is telling you that you need to speak to Maddie Franks. Despite all of the men in your life, you know that you know your gut is right way more often than it's wrong. So, you bang on the door and it would be dead silent in response if it wasn’t for Nic’s I told you so tone going “doesn’t look like she’s home.”

Maybe it’s your gut, maybe it’s Nic’s voice but you reach for the door handle “what are you doing?” His voice is shocked before you respond in an tone that’s overly calm, fighting back at your own panic.

“It’s unlocked.”

“I can see it’s unlocked!” There’s worry in his voice worry for you, himself the show as he keeps talking, “Okay, um, before we perform a criminal act that we're probably going to admit to on the podcast, do you think we maybe should consider other... and she's going inside.”

Of course you’re going inside, you couldn’t not go inside, and it wasn’t as if you’re picking a lock, despite how Nic grumbles behind you about how this is someone’s house. This isn’t someone’s house. It’s the house of someone who fucked with a little kid, a kid whose family is now missing and you’re determined to get to the bottom of it.

But then the light you let in from the opened hallway door spills into the apartment. The inside of the place is trashed like so many movies that you’ve seen. Furniture is shattered and spilled everywhere, drawers are thrown open and their contents are all over the floor, and broken glass just winks at you in the light. Nic swears behind you, but you don’t. For some things, swears aren’t enough and this is one of them, especially as a wall that seems to be stained black in contrast with the familiar off-white that comes with apartments catches your eye and holds it.

There’s a moment where you can’t tell if the loud thrum of electric buzzing noises is coming from your brain or around you. You can’t slept, haven’t slept in a damn year and for a moment you can swear that the black of the wall is moving, shivering to come at you like the video in the Torres case, like the demons do in your nightmares, but then Nic flicks on the light switch, and you realize that the wall is moving and it’s not demons at all. Instead the black is red, the tacky and sticky color of drying blood in the darkness, and the things on it are hundred, or maybe thousands of flies.

Maybe because you couldn’t see it, it meant that your brain wasn’t accepting the signals from your nose, because they hit you then: it’s decay, copper and sticky and sweet and making your stomach roll like it did when a raccoon had died under the porch of the cabin your family sometimes rented, and you know that the metallic meat smell isn’t just blood. Acidic bile starts to climb your throat as you hear another sound other than Nic fumbling for his phone to call 911, other than the flies and the sound of your own blood in your ears.

It’s not even half a turn of your step, but what you see there changes everything. You’d been scared of ceiling fans since you’d watched Twin Peaks when you were way too damn young to see it, and now something else eclipsed it. Maddie Franks, the housekeeper who denied knowing anything about demons or sacred geometry or noises on the baby monitor or anything else that was wrong with the Hochman family was swinging from the ceiling fan by an orange extension cord, and she was dead.

She was dead, and somehow you can’t help but think that it’s entirely your own fault. If only you hadn't pushed her. If only, if only, if only.