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ℑ𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𑁍 [TDM]
Welcome to the Test Drive!
For information on the game premise, setting etc, please utilize the navigation pages below. Questions specific to the TDM prompts or the setting can go to the comment thread. Anything else relating to game mechanics can go in the FAQ.
GAME PAGES
i.
arrival:
Well darlings, don't you panic
arrival:
Well darlings, don't you panic
(warnings:drugs)
It begins with a nightmare, the details of which have already slipped through your fingers. Only the curling echo of its dread lingers in your chest. Something has snapped you out of a catatonic state: the shudder of rain and thunder battering against the window, a cold chill running down your spine, or perhaps the smell of dinner stirring your appetite. Whatever it may be that brings you back to your senses, you find yourself in an old moldering estate lost to a bygone time.
You are not alone. A warm hand touches your arm as someone checks in to see if you're alright before they pull away.
You're in the middle of someone's cozy gathering: a humble gathering spread throughout the entire wing of some manor. The warm glow of lamplights and candles light the way around a cluster of interconnected rooms. Flickering shadows conceal the peeled edges of the wallpaper. The pungent scent of dinner and smoke layers over the dampness of the wood. There is the feeling of forgotten opulence made anew by its current occupants: finely carved and ornate furniture sits askew in some places, threadbare rugs layered over one another, melted candle wax piled on the corners of mantles and sconces.
There are no serving staff, only eclectic guests of mixed status who look no more belonging to their surroundings than you. Like any house party, there are those open to mingling with strangers and will fill you in on your situation. Others turn in on their huddles and cannot otherwise be bothered to include you in their company. You learn you've been at the Lonely Fortress anywhere between a morning and a fortnight. It's not uncommon for new arrivals to take a while to come around. All that matters is you're present, you're alive, and you should try to enjoy the night.
oh fantasy, feed me!
If you're feeling out of sorts, getting some food in you will help. The dining hall is there for those who follow the aroma. Long draped tables are dressed with various tiered plates and platters of a feast fit for a woodland lord. Attendees graze the dressed tables for bits of roast, bites of vegetables, and the occasional sweet or bread roll. Carafes and pitchers scattered up and down the tables hold fortified wines, spruce ales, ciders, and fruit punches. The food is losing its warmth, but even just a nibble will help ground you from the foggy haze you've stumbled out of.
Smalltalk is easy to come by here. If you've just come to, someone might be nudging you to pass the olives. Get to know your neighbor. Eat, drink, mingle.
a jump to the left
If dinner doesn't suit you, the stronger liquor can be found in one of several interconnected parlors where groups of people have collected to socialize and entertain one another. There's gambling in the Smoking Parlor where people bet away favors or trinkets over card games. A haze of herbal smoke swirls overhead, lending to the room's abnormal warmth.
The Velvet Parlor will suit those looking for a more intimate mood. The center floor before the hearth is piled with rugs, blankets, and pillows for patrons to laze over. In a dark corner, a masked man plucks away a druzy melancholic tune on a pear-shaped instrument, lending to a subdued ambiance. Small groups convalesce among couches and pillows as they imbibe in mood dizzying substances meant to soothe frazzled souls. Partaking in these drinks might leave you feeling a bit loose lipped. Join them in drinking games such as two truths and a lie, charades, and truth or forfeit.
a step into the night
If the party isn't to your liking, there are dark corridors aplenty to get turned around in. The Fortress is a maze to navigate at night. No lights beyond the party line the corridors, forcing those to wander by lamp or candle. The further away from the revelry, the colder and damper it gets. The sounds of the storm raging outside howls through the hall, rattling doors, and other unexplainable bumps in the night. The deeper in the dark you wander, the more paranoid you begin to feel. Is there something lurking after you in the dark? Beyond the battering of the rain, the air is eerily still. Occasionally, you may hear the whispers of feverous ritualistic chanting echoing in the dark. No matter how hard you try to follow it, you are unable to find the source.
If your first instinct was to try to leave, you'll find locked gates and a spitting rain. It's not worth traveling in these conditions, so you might as well stay inside for a little while until you can see where you're going.
ii.
fight or flight:
Madness takes its toll
fight or flight:
Madness takes its toll
(warnings: monster transformation/body horror (bug adjacent), violence/gore, aphrodisiacs, sex, potential for dubcon. )
Later into the night, something begins to feel off. Call it a gut feeling, a primal instinct. A loud, monstrous shriek pierces the air that leaves your ears ringing.The lights flicker and snuff out, plunging the fortress into a darkness. All revelry tumbles to a dead stop as one by one the light begins to return. The warm tone of the night shifts cool as a few brazen souls step out into the hall to heed unearthly cries only to never return. Commotion rattles the walls as the monster hunts through the dining hall, leaving a pile of crumpled bodies with the marrow sucked from their bones.
A monster has crashed the party (or perhaps it was summoned). Lonely, human-like cries slither through the halls, beckoning victims into the maw of a ghastly beast by mimicking the sounds their most cherished loved ones. Shaped like a large, overgrown humanoid centipede, it scuttles through the inky dark on dozens of spindly hands, hunting by sound alone. Those who hear its cries may need to fight an unearthly compulsion to return the call and beckon it near.
"Servitor," an old man's grave whisper slips into everyone's minds. "Contain your fear, find sanctuary, do not make a sound. Go now."
rise and scatter
Without a word, everyone retreats as quickly and quietly as possible. Doors are shut, shuddered, and locked. Those who are unable get to safety quietly are followed and spirited away off into the darkness to be crushed and consumed by the unseen creature. People barricade the doors, others open the windows to let the sound of the rain to muffle their noise. Secret passages behind the tapestries are unveiled as small groups pair off to sneak off to find refuge elsewhere.
No one speaks, but their voices slip into each other's minds. The soft murmurings of more seasoned residents urge those capable of hunting the monster to get to the armory and for the rest to split into smaller groups. The monster needs to be driven out and the rest need to prevent the infection of hysteria. Here, comfort is only found in numbers, safety is not guaranteed.
Choose wisely which path you take and who becomes your lockdown partner. Not everyone will make it through the night. Do what you need to survive. Don't speak. Don't panic.
rose tint my world
If you chose sanctuary: be prepared to wait a while in the room you've hunkered down in or risk exposing yourself to the horrors lurking the corridors. Occasionally, you can hear whatever it is hunting; the skittering of legs and the sorrowful cry that tempts the weak-hearted. If you hear a loved one crying out for you, it's not recommended to heed it.
Not everyone fearfully hunkers down to wait the night, though. You may find yourself in mixed company who take on stranger measures to distract themselves. Instead of huddle quietly, waiting for death to stalk them, their comforting beins to devolve into quiet and desperate carnal pleasures. Soft hands paw over worried faces before tucking a candy into their mouths. The sentiment here is clear: don't ask too many questions, just eat the candy and go with the flow. Its properties can be swiftly felt: a relaxant and a mild aphrodisiac. The people in here are trying to fight the spread of panic with the distraction of intimacy. The veil of rainfall drowns out soft unkept moans and labored breaths. If you're unwilling to participate in a light horrorgy, none here will compel you, but it's probably better to find a different corner to quell your hysteria.
a feeling of unnameable dread
If you join the monster hunt: you can pick up a weapon from the armory. The Fortress provides an eclectic collection of premodern arms suited for the most modest of novices to the most sporting of hunters. No firearms, you'll be in close quarters and a bullet won't be very effective against this servitor. You get a torch and either a blunt or bladed weapon. Whatever you take, hopefully you know how to use it.
The servitor is sensitive to light and sound. Some hunters are tasked with luring it away by playing a high-stakes game of marco polo. Others who feel more equipped to defeat it, might find fire to be particularly useful. Be weary of other horrors bumping around in the dark. The night can play tricks on the senses, and just believing something might be lurking in the dark might briefly manifest your horrors into reality.
iii.
respite:
Down the river of night's dreaming
respite:
Down the river of night's dreaming
An announcement of the servitor's defeat comes in the mere hours before dawn. Those who have holed themselves away begin to emerge. Anyone who perished at the hands of the monster will have left nothing behind but smears of blood where they met their demise. You're told their bodies have been taken by the bramble, but little more is divulged. Not everyone here is at your beck and call for answering questions.
The overall mood is somber and exhausted, leaving the once raging storm outside to dwindle down to tranquil trickle of rain. For now, it's to begin winding down the night for a much needed rest and recovery. It's time to clean up for the night, tend to any wounds, and find a place to rest.
Medical supplies are far from any modern counterparts, but the resident herbalist can spare salves, tinctures, and clean bandages along with any tonics to quell any lingering weariness. The first night after awakening can be difficult, riddled with nightmares. If you do not take up the offer of a sleeping tonic, you may find yourself sleepwalking.
Despite the size, private bedchambers are in short supply. Newcomers may find themselves paired up to share quarters or fighting to keep their space to themselves as more filter in looking for a place to sleep. If you're not willing to share a room or a bed, there are plenty of other spots to curl up into and rest for a few hours; however, seasoned exiles warn that those who insist on remaining alone tend to have a rougher night's sleep.
The overall mood is somber and exhausted, leaving the once raging storm outside to dwindle down to tranquil trickle of rain. For now, it's to begin winding down the night for a much needed rest and recovery. It's time to clean up for the night, tend to any wounds, and find a place to rest.
Medical supplies are far from any modern counterparts, but the resident herbalist can spare salves, tinctures, and clean bandages along with any tonics to quell any lingering weariness. The first night after awakening can be difficult, riddled with nightmares. If you do not take up the offer of a sleeping tonic, you may find yourself sleepwalking.
oh no, they were bunkmates
OH FANTASY, FEED ME | cw: inevitable cannibalism refs
Dishes clatter. Voices mull. There's dirt under her fingernails.
Her plate clinks against the water glass as she takes it for a sip, wetting parched, dry lips. She's not hungry but eating here wouldn't hurt, though it won't fix the hollow of her cheeks; it's been a while since she fed properly, in the way that matters. She's still holding the napkin when Zygène speaks, head turning toward him.
Bugs. What's her favorite bug? She should know that.]
Earthworms. Or maggots. Both.
no subject
The man observes her while he gets to work, manipulating the structure of a plant to turn it into an animal, muscles growing tense until they're seemingly all locked in place; breath held until his skin deepens into an ugly flush. As if a spell has been broken, he finally releases one small earthworm and a maggot, both landing next to the peel with little life left in them. Zygène is exhausted, catching his breath like someone who barely realized they'd been running out of air. He shouldn't be. How strange.
And yet, if that is out of the norm for him, he makes sure to cover it right up. She gets a smile, and he grabs the knife one more time. There's plenty left of this apple to eat. ]
Et voilà.
cw: ALso Bug EatIng IM sorr y ?
The worm wiggles on the table cloth, attracting at least one askew glance from someone else who unlike Lee, looks away quickly. Instead, Lee is transfixed on the creations, reaching forward to pick up the worm between two fingers; bringing it to her face, sniffing instinctively before looking up to meet his gaze for what feels like a much longer few seconds than it really is.
She eats the worm like it was licorice, all of it pushed past her lips, chewed slowly while she refuses to break eye contact. The maggot is picked up like a grain of rice and an afterthought, polished off second before she's picking up the discarded fruit peel; picking it apart into little pieces, while she licks her lips and finally looks away.]
Thank you.
[???]
no subject
You're welcome.
[ Consumption. The word repeats itself. Points him in a direction and expects it to be followed blindly. His thumb brushes over the side of a wet blade, tone gentle. ]
I can make more.
no subject
[That's the logical thing, right? Learning to act human means doing human things - and humans don't often eat live bugs, right? Plus, they were his bugs to begin with. She eats a piece of fruit peel, chewing on it idly before sharply looking down, sniffing several times. Eating something alive brings a touch of white to the rim of her nostril, wiped away with a swipe of her dark napkin before she looks up again.
Thud, thud, thud. Why does she feel hollowed out all of a sudden.]
I don't want to eat them all. They're yours.
cw: mutilation, cutting, more bugs, reference to cannibalism
(He sees the napkin.) ]
... You're hungry. Let me help you.
[ It does cut now. Cuts and cuts until the fleshy pad of his finger comes off, working as compulsively as he is bleeding white instead of red. Consumption, he hears again, louder than the pain, louder than this body's new limitations pushing back against him using Raíz's gift. This time he deposits the small pile of maggots in her hand, staining her skin with his blood. He's pale, dizzy. He shouldn't be. ]
no subject
She bleeds black as night, different than the spill that comes from devouring life like this in her palms. The spill looks just like his blood, something that makes her anxious - twisting her guts around, a mixture of excitement and some looming feeling of dread.
You're like me?]
You make them out of - anything?
no subject
[ Voice soft, Zygène is the picture of weakness after a gesture that can only be explained by madness. It ignites his hand with pain, and he usually welcomes it. He even preaches about the privilege of suffering to his fellow agents back home, who proceed to point out or inquire about what the fuck is wrong with him and end the conversation after. Now he wishes he could silence it, just so he could dedicate this body's entire focus to her.
Bleeding hand held closed against his chest while it heals, barely above a whisper, he insists: ]
Make them yours.
cw: emeto everywhere
The bed is always cold. Bodies are warm but hers is not. Who- who...
It's with a feverish grunt that she eats from her hands, licking up every last little drop of his gift, even the errant ones that slip from her fingers. It's inelegant, but so is she, with her inked skin barely disguised in the layers of her outfit and her hair clinging to her scalp. She feeds like an animal on a carcass, licking her fingers clean and then taking a moment to clean anything off the table that she missed.
She swallows hard. Licks her tongue over her teeth. Breathes in deep, and looks at him - looks at him and realizes that (she wants to eat the meat off his bones-) he isn't judging her, nor is he disgusted. Pre-emptively she pinches her nose, pushing back her chair. She should leave to do this, but instead she bows forward as the spill within her stirs.
Head down, she blindly feels for the plate on the table - fingers grazing a shallow bowl set upon it and she pulls it from the table setting, clinking cutlery together as she silently retches. Someone who was watching, perhaps, remarks 'no wonder she's going to throw th-' but it's a voice in the distance, a spew of bright milky white is caught in the bowl.
When all is caught, she looks back up at him. Silent as she puts the bowl on the table, and rubs her nose, from which white still runs down her upper lip. The crusted scabs on her knuckles are gone now, her cheeks are fuller.]
I needed that.
no subject
The unharmed hand reaches out, finger brushing over her lip to wipe a vestige of white. In awe of something wonderful and unexplainable, Zygène observes his finger, listening to that inevitable word, deciding it's his turn to fulfill it. Licking the fluid, sucking it into his mouth, his eyelids relax.
It's his blood.
What should have healed in seconds remains exposed. Easier to ignore the slow-motion agony of reversing his own mutilation when the world is reshaping itself before him, however. He never questioned Raíz about who he used to be or what made this body so crucially different; that was the point of his contract, and he never sought to change this arrangement. Not until now. ]
This is my blood, love. Why do you have it?
[ Quiet, weak, and yet there's the hint of a manic eagerness brewing. ]
no subject
[She says, feeling the ghost of his touch still on her lip - it makes her feel dizzy, lifting her hand to wipe off her mouth afterward, as if to scrub away that tingling touch she can't quite explain away. It's still there so she bites her lip again, pressing a fresh gush of black blood out that finally negates the tickle.
He calls it his blood and it isn't a lie - she can see it, smell it, sticking to his skin from the wound he gave himself. She's never seen someone else with the spill before - reversed as he may be. She wonders if he would purge her blood if prompted, and the gears whir around in her head before she snaps free and picks up the bowl, cradling it between two hands and offering it to him.]
It helps. I make it to heal.
[His hand is still hurting. Her eyes dart to it.]
Drink.
cw: drinking regurgitation why is this thread so cursed
Do you, love?
[ Affectionate, almost. He doesn't smile but the warmth is there, wondering why this would be the place where he finds that he's not alone.
Bowl held up to his lips, Zygène drinks, and drinks, and drinks. He doesn't stop until there's nothing left, a string of white on each side of his lips, running down to his chin. Rattled, bowl placed down hard on the table, he takes a deep breath and reminds himself whose body he still lives in. The body with a cut up thumb he looks at next, dilated pupils fixated on smooth skin. Good as new, like it's never known the sharpness of a knife. Zygène isn't so tired, either, but that could be the high of her spill trying to cover up the underlying exhaustion.
Healed, he wipes the excess fluid from his face. Then he shows Lee his hand, for her to take. ]
Come. I want privacy.
[ How rare of him. ]
c'est la vie
Privacy is for people who don't want to be seen. For deeds and doings they don't want people to witness. It is as for deceit and harm as it is intimacy, and there's no calculation that needs to be done because it doesn't matter where he's leading her, she would not be able to break away even if she tried.
She takes his hand with hers, scooping one last handful of peels off the table to take with her - putting them into her pocket after getting to her feet, ready to follow. His skin is warm, his body alive. Neither thing is new to her yet it buzzes in her brain.]
My name is Lee.
no subject
[ French pronunciation, looking down at her as they both rise to their feet, stared at by the onlookers who witnessed their vulgarity from the beginning. So ludicrous, several can't quite believe what they've watched, while others are doing their best to pretend there's nothing to see here, hoping these two will be gone sooner rather than later.
He leads her away, strides taking them to cold, dark hallways. There's no reason for anyone to be out here when all the food and warmth is in there, so there's no reason why someone should catch Zygène pushing a much smaller figure against stone, hand splayed below her collarbone, leaning down to smell any of the spill or the blood that hasn't been cleaned away by a tongue or healed up within her own flesh. ]
You called it your spill. [ A murmur, lips just inches away from hers, held back with the patience of a dog on a leash. Self-control, he has plenty — but his own drug plays a different tune in his system, taking the urge-word from before and reshaping it into something else. ] You have mine, too. Black like ink. Would you like to see it, Lee?
no subject
Curiosity killed the cat. B̴u̷t̷ ̸s̷o̴m̸e̷t̴h̶i̴n̵g̷ ̷b̶r̴o̷u̷g̸h̸t̷ ̶i̴t̵ ̷b̵a̸c̸k̴.̸
Her justification for enduring the closeness, allowing herself to be pinned, is that there's something to be learned here if not just simply marveled at. He's like her - more so than her fellow riders, almost like a reflection in the way they work. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing in her head. Her pupils dilate again, filling her irises with black as her lips press thin.]
Show me.
cw: gross
No, not a kiss. He keeps his tongue pressed down and holds her in place, lets the stream of dark fluid crawl up his throat and pour past his lips into hers. The sludge that's as good as poison to so many, so often used as punishment or for sadistic enjoyment. For her, it's a boon. Returning a favor for the elixir she allowed him to drink, as she can have as much of it as she likes. Clouded by the promise of what he's found, by the ecstasy of tasting his own blood, he doesn't even contemplate a reality where she might not want this. ]
cw: more of the above
She knows immediately, the taste. Her blood, pungent and dark; only it is so much sweeter filtered through his body, replicated by him for her benefit. Her hands raise, cupping to the sides of his throat, kneading the pads of her fingers against his flesh like a cat coaxing a drink from a teat, her eyes closed and a soft mewling noise at the back of her throat.
What are you. What am I? What are we.
She swallows what he gives her down, mouthing her lips against his - coaxing what she can from him with upward paws of her hands against his throat and messy, deep swallows. The viscous liquid pools at the corners of her lips, dripping down between them as she vibrates from the intensity of the shared experience.
What are you. Who am I. What we are?
Who are you.
What am I.
W̸e̵ ̷a̷r̶e̸...
The intensity grows, overstimulation radiating out of her bones - she could drink and drink and never feel full, it seems, a heady feeling in her chest pooling warmth between her legs and a fire in her belly that turns like the twist of a knife. Suddenly the passion, the ecstasy is too much and she jolts, acting on impulse and trying to take the tip of his tongue off with a bite of her teeth.]
cw: just ♾️ at this point + going into nsfw
He gets teeth instead, frowning and grabbing her shoulder as if to protest; the grip relaxes, his frown becomes something self-indulgent, leaning into her demand. As her bite turns into a laceration, Zygène tenses all over, moan caught somewhere between affronted and indecent, white blood pouring from the mutilated tip. He picks her up, has her wrap her legs around his body, pressing himself into her until her back is flat against the stone wall. ]
Lee, [ Harsh breaths, mouth full of blood, eyes filled with fervor. He's hard. ] Have you had your fill?
( as if they were ever sfw to begin with )
Her back against the wall, she groans, coughing up a spurt of white that leaks mainly from her nose - he asks her if she's had her fill and she laughs, open mouthed, gasping for breath against his lips before bumping her head back against the wall. She doesn't know when she got so wet, a burning heat of want between her legs, how could she possibly feel sated? This hunger is something stronger than she's felt before.]
No.
[Her hands cup his face, rake back through his hair, keeping her palms in constant touch - she licks at his lips, kisses him, bites into his mouth and exhales hotly right into it as her hips gyrate and her voice carries to the shell of his ear:]
Inside me. Now.
no subject
Rustling, steps, breaths and small noises are soft echoes in these halls, slightly hushed by the rain that builds upon itself. Zygène gets his clothes out of the way eventually, shoves hers until they're mostly exposed, mouth on her breast to lick and suck, nipple pinched with his teeth. There's so much to do, so much of her to claim, fingers between her legs to slide and spread her wetness until they're covered with it. The tip of one circles around her hole, presses in and down, uses a second to help her spread. She'll need it, he thinks, and he's greedy to claim her one way before he moves on to the next. ]
no subject
Her lips against his neck, she kisses to his earlobe - pinching it between her teeth, tongue against the piercing like a promised threat. Her knees cinch tighter to his sides, voice a hoarse whisper:]
Give.
no subject
The tip of his cock brushes precome down her navel, not quite at full mast, held in the slicked hand as he positions himself, one more teasing gesture around her entrance before the first push past the resistance— ]
Then take it.
[ —and he lets go, bends his legs slightly and forces her down onto his length with gravity. If she minds the suddenness or the pain, he'll be surprised — and carry on regardless.
The fingers that had been so thoroughly inside her rise to her mouth, split her lips and rest on her tongue. With a sharp motion and a soft grunt, Zygène starts to thrust, erection growing inside her. Soft, warm, so incredibly wet — she was made for him, as he was made for her. ]
no subject
She moans louder, a loud grunting 'ah-ah-ahhh' before her teeth are back on his neck, biting grooves into his skin. Her eyes are wide, black having taken over her sclera entirely - wide, inky gaze staring off over his shoulder as she slams her hips to his, the lewd slaps of skin on skin filling the space between them.
She wants this to last forever. Y̴o̷u̶ ̷b̸e̴l̴o̵n̷g̵ ̷t̶o̸ ̸m̸e̴.̶]
no subject
Zygène thinks only of the heat he intrudes on, the pain that feels like fire where she breaches his skin, wishing he had enough hands to touch her breasts, fill her mouth until she drooled, pull her hair and grab her neck until she cried. He could touch everything and he could own it all, marked by pleasure and agony, meant to be enjoyed and endured. She could belong to him. In the growing delusional frenzy, their bodies need to belong together. ]
Make it yours, [ He mutters, an echo from dinner, the voice of a believer who's betrayed what he's meant to serve, harsh breaths between sharp and deeper thrusts. ] Make it yours, love.