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peacockstop2025-09-15 09:00 pm
goldmods) wrote in peacockstop2025-09-15 09:00 pm
Entry tags:
TDM 011
【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
We are thrilled to announce that the Golden Peacock will be embracing autumn with a special outing. Current and new guests are invited to join us for a refreshing outdoor experience where participants can unplug, unwind, and connect with nature. During this time, all Watches will be disabled to the most basic functions (texting, calls, checking chip account) in order to encourage guests to disconnect.
Please look forward to two weeks of finding yourself amongst the trees. We hope you enjoy your stay, and have a fan-CAMP-stic time. 】
CAMPING
GETTING OFF THE GRID
As the resort moves into what it claims is autumn, the days grow shorter. The projected sun in the Vale sets in the afternoon, after which a faint chill falls. Then there’s the most excessive transformation of all – a portion of the Vale has transformed into a campground complete with a scenic lake, seemingly overnight. Statues nearby have been dressed up with flannel jackets and suspenders. Folksy banjo fills the air without any discernible source.
A section of the campgrounds have been reserved for tents. These tents vary in size, shape, and supplies. All tents, regardless of quality, are supplied with sex toys and lube. Staff and long-standing guests all agree — pretending to live in the wilderness and 'rough it' for a while is thrilling. This is what the peasants feel like all the time!
A section of the campgrounds have been reserved for tents. These tents vary in size, shape, and supplies. All tents, regardless of quality, are supplied with sex toys and lube. Staff and long-standing guests all agree — pretending to live in the wilderness and 'rough it' for a while is thrilling. This is what the peasants feel like all the time!
HOME ON THE RANGE
Welcome to the Peacock Campgrounds! Nicknamed the Stomping Grounds by long-standing guests. Rustic and right off a sparkling lake, guests will find everything they need to live in the wilderness. Staff have expertly set up fire pits, benches, hammocks, and a wooden shed to act as a tool depository. There's even an outhouse, which is a real novelty to many of the long-standing guests. Do they just... squat over that hole and do their business? How wild!
Unlike previous resort-sponsored excursions, guests are expected to manage without the help of staff. That pile of wood won't be replenished once used; guests will have to go chop down trees and split their own. Food won't magically appear in their tents regardless of rank. Camping is all about living off the land. Though staff make themselves scarce to make the experience feel real, they lurk in the shadows, discreetly providing necessary tools and fixing broken equipment so guests won't struggle too much. It isn't fun if it's real hardship, after all!
Unlike previous resort-sponsored excursions, guests are expected to manage without the help of staff. That pile of wood won't be replenished once used; guests will have to go chop down trees and split their own. Food won't magically appear in their tents regardless of rank. Camping is all about living off the land. Though staff make themselves scarce to make the experience feel real, they lurk in the shadows, discreetly providing necessary tools and fixing broken equipment so guests won't struggle too much. It isn't fun if it's real hardship, after all!
ACTIVITIES
TWO WEEKS OF ROUGHING IT
Camping can't be all about survival. Where's the fun in that? Before 'leaving', the staff arrange activities and events for guests to enjoy. A wooden bulletin board outlines times for group hikes, camping experiences, and wilderness delights. Adirondack chairs line the edge of the lake and a few tire swings hang over the water, tied to strong tree branches. For the first week and a half the weather is pleasant and sunny. Perfect for camping.
At night, acoustic guitars and other wooden instruments come out so that guests can make music around the bonfire. Projected stars dapple the night sky, forming various constellations sourced from guest worlds. The moon enters a different phase each night, shining a gentle silver across the campgrounds. Why not pull your sweetheart in and cuddle beneath the night sky? It's so romantic.
At night, acoustic guitars and other wooden instruments come out so that guests can make music around the bonfire. Projected stars dapple the night sky, forming various constellations sourced from guest worlds. The moon enters a different phase each night, shining a gentle silver across the campgrounds. Why not pull your sweetheart in and cuddle beneath the night sky? It's so romantic.
HOWLING
CALL OF THE WILD
Temperatures drop drastically at night as the camping excursion nears its end. Nights become so chilly that morning dew frosts over, crunching beneath guest feet. Every day the light and its warmth set a little bit earlier. Staff remain elusive and do not provide warmer blankets or clothes for guests, leaving them to cuddle for warmth or find other ways to sleep comfortably during nightly cold snaps.
The moon hits its apex on the final night of camping. Unlike the other nights, this full moon shines blood red. The Vale stills under this ominous sign, silent. Snowflakes begins to fall, spreading an endless clean sheet across the campgrounds. That reflected pink hue is inescapable.
The moon hits its apex on the final night of camping. Unlike the other nights, this full moon shines blood red. The Vale stills under this ominous sign, silent. Snowflakes begins to fall, spreading an endless clean sheet across the campgrounds. That reflected pink hue is inescapable.
OOC NOTES
▶ BLANKET CW: altered states; eyes (descriptions only, incl. eye injury); exhibitionism; hunting (incl. hunting fantasy creatures); orgies; public sex; survival; temperature play; tentacles; transformation; violence
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's September event. Camping will ICly begin September 15th and end October 3rd.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header.
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's September event. Camping will ICly begin September 15th and end October 3rd.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header.
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
no subject
In this place, where such a clear-headed exchange was not guaranteed, what trundled into his camp wasn't just a man looking for shelter. Phainon finds himself respecting him more before he even learns his name; seeing the open hand implicit in the space he's left for him to choose, and at last given the one other thing he had requested, he stands in silence.
Restraint is more the purview of his friend and rival, a man mightier, wiser, and more capable than he is by far. His own only carries him as far as decency demands; his impulse control, on the other hand, leaves much to be desired. Careful as he might be for the sake of others, he is reckless with himself.
A hand flicks shut the other flap at the entrance. The flames of the campfire on the other side still flutter against the waterproofed material of the tent, bathing the interior in a red-gold glow. In it, his blue eyes are almost luminous. For a favor, it obscures the blush that has swept his nape and the tips of his ears.
When he loosens the knot at his hip and lets both layers of his robe droop into his hand, the reason is clear - the telling arch of his cock, its not inconsiderable girth just beginning to fatten, uncut and hanging from a sparse, trimmed thatch of white hair that trails a little towards his navel.
As he puts a knee against the edge of the bedroll, he lets the robe slip from his fingers, and he shuffles closer on his knees. "Sorry," he says lowly. His extremities are still cool, but now that he's drawn near, what radiates from his core is tangibly warmer; he may or may not be a reason to cast off the blanket at some point in the night.
Phainon eases himself down on his side. He's not sure, at first, what he should do with himself, with his hands; as he stalls, he fishes up this question, something that had been nagging at him.
"Quincy, the stone in your hand," he asks, "Does it hurt?"
no subject
Quincy turns his head at the question. The gap between them is small, enough so that Phainon can feel the warmth that comes from his body. Natural heat melts into the bedding and grows between the pair. His lips no longer tinge blue—now, they carry faint pink. Quincy’s tongue flicks between them to soothe, chapped from storm and chill.
Close like this, in the castoff of a distant fire, Quincy studies the other man’s eyes. A brilliant blue when light strikes just so. He would be content to lay here and watch the way color flickers through them, to study the way shades blend and search for flecks of other colors in that sea. Perhaps it’s for the best that he’s asked question, lest Phainon be subjected to intense eye contact until they fall asleep.
Quincy’s gaze slides to his gemstone. People don’t usually ask, if they notice that it isn’t a simple accessory at all. He raises that hand and topaz glints.
“No,” he finally answers after looking at it for a moment. “Not anymore.” It’s a vague answer for a man that’s already established himself as being forthright… but it’s a complicated matter. Before Phainon can start overthinking again, Quincy adds, “I wanted the strength to protect, so I agreed to it. For touch, it’s sensitive… but it doesn’t feel bad.” A very tame way of telling someone that his gemstone is something of an erogenous zone.
Then, “You’re warm… it’s nice.”
They don’t need to be pressed together for him to sense how Phainon’s body runs warmer than his own. It’s almost like having a hot water bottle in his bed… Quincy sighs in pleasure, leaning in closer to bask in that higher temperature. There isn’t anything much better than this, after a wet and freezing trek.
“Elemental magic?”
It’s only a guess. Quincy has learned that the parameters of his own world often do not match those of others.
no subject
He's the kind of gorgeous that makes Phainon's mouth dry up.
Perhaps he's only needed for his warmth, but that's all right by him; if it helps someone else, if it satisfies another's needs, Phainon can justify his greed. Quincy leans in with a sigh that unstitches something lying amidst the soot-stained embers in him, half-burnt and enduring. In compassion, Phainon pushes his arm into the gap between Quincy's broad shoulders and the soft pillow, opening up, an invitation to cleave to the heat of his body.
"Something like that," he answers, tipping his brow close to his golden curls. Although an apt student of the greatest scholar of the Era, and some of the most knowledgeable and experienced of the Chrysos Heirs, Phainon isn't the one to ask about the more esoteric matters of his world; he could muddle his way through an explanation, but now isn't the time, and... he doesn't really care to. Elemental magic, he supposes, is as close to the divine fire of the gods as he gets without having to tell a story.
His other hand falls onto Quincy's forearm, closing the circle that's half an embrace. Phainon is still reflecting on the other man's words, his two-toned gaze thoughtful, downcast to the space between them. Telegraphing the subject of his contemplation, his hand, following the line of his arm to his wrist, traces the filigreed edge on the back of Quincy's palm with his thumb.
"You said 'not anymore'," so, receiving this stone, it came with a cost, once. He doesn't feel the need to ask something so self-evident as who were you trying to protect; no one chooses suffering for something unimportant. A gentle sort of understanding is quietly blanketing them; mindful not to shatter this fragile moment, he speaks with the quiet intimacy a conversation on a pillow deserves. "Despite the pain, did it give you what you needed?"
no subject
“Hm,” is his response, a short exhale through his nose as he reaches up to gently poke the tip of his finger at the center of Phainon’s forehead.
“Honest and curious.”
That too is a question that’s loaded, complex, and makes his weathered old heart ache. He has been reticent for a long time now, only beginning to open up when a certain new grand sorcerer dropkicked into his life. The gentleness that Phainon offers right now is tempting, alarmingly so, but he hesitates. It’s nothing someone he’s newly met needs to know, not something anyone really needs to know anymore.
Just old memories stirred up with the rain.
His hand slides up to card through Phainon’s hair. Feathery between his fingers, soft to the touch. Quincy pinches a lock, briefly fixated, before finally letting go.
“… and kind.”
no subject
He's misinterpreted Quincy's remark about the sensitivity of his gemstone. In hindsight, given everything he's observed about the place everyone keeps calling 'the resort', perhaps he shouldn't have dismissed it as something so simple as sharing the same sensitivity as the rest of his hand. He had only meant to convey that he wasn't put off by the abnormality. When Phainon lowers his eyes, leaning his head into that welcome touch, he sees more of him - the swell of impressive pectorals, the ripple of abdominal muscle, and-
The sheer shape and size of him. He isn't imagining it, Phainon realizes, a fresh punch of arousal sinking into his gut: his cock is beginning to plump up with interest. He's gazing for too long, golden pupils swollen in the blue sky of his irises, hand clasping the back of the one preoccupied with his hair. Kind makes him swallow around the lump in his throat.
His lashes lower, his scoff gentle. "Don't give me too much credit," Phainon says quietly, and as his chin lifts, he noses at the curls of golden hair along his brow. His arm, pillowing the space between the bed and his pillow, bends, weathered fingers sinking into his hair.
He smells good. Masculine. The wood seems to have saturated him in its aromatic riches, the scent of earth and sweet rain. "For someone so rugged," he observes, a laugh in his whisper, "You're surprisingly gentle. It's," he sighs, struggling to describe this aching gratitude, "Nice."
Nailed it.
Just basking like this, Phainon might be content, except the signs of Quincy's interest are a temptation that his eyes keep returning to in hunger. "...Tell me not to touch you," he wets his lips, his longing to do just that is clear, "And I won't."
no subject
"You can touch me.” Quincy is not a man that plays games, the sort who speaks straightforwardly and makes his intentions clear. A request for consent and permission given. Quincy pulls the tangle of their hands toward his chest, pressing Phainon’s palm over a firm pectoral, right above his heart, so the man can feel its steady but quickened beat.
“All living creatures deserve respect. You, too…. I wouldn’t treat you carelessly.” Voice lowering, Quincy nuzzles inward to brush his lips and nosetip into Phainon’s downy hair, warm breath tickling against the shell of his ear, “And good things should be cherished.”
Hand still folded over Phainon’s, Quincy interlocks their fingers before slowly guiding it southward. He slides Phainon’s palm over his nipple and down the shelf of his chest, smoothing it along the contours of muscular abdomen, pausing the journey below his navel.
Quincy exhales, nerves tingling from even just that much. Eyelids flutter and lips move in a quiet sigh. Drawing back an inch reveals the dusting of blush across his cheeks and throat, richer in the tones of firelight glow.
“… You’re warm.”
no subject
It's a kindness, that Quincy grants permission but makes it into something Phainon can tell himself he wants, a hand pulling his against his own body. Under him, Phainon's bicep flexes, the fingers in his hair curling against his scalp, a slow wind-up of tension as his hand cleaves to the warm meat of his pectoral. His thumb, his fingertips divot his flesh as he squeezes, briefly, his breath stuttering.
Quincy's breath is warm and the intimate words he speaks against his scalp make gooseflesh pinch up all over his feverish body. The soft-hard scrape of the man's nipple, when it perks up against the calluses on his palm, invites another curl of his fingers, thumb flirting with the edge of that nub.
His cock stirs, helplessly filling as his hand drinks up every furl of muscle knotted beneath taut skin, and as Quincy draws back, Phainon lifts his head enough to peer up at him through the twin veils of his lashes and pale hair. They're brighter for the expansion of his golden pupils, in the firelight, they burn.
The shape of the man's cock is near enough that he can feel the warmth of his body on his wrist, and he burns.
Phainon's thumb finds the shallow crater of his navel; his little finger, the furrow that runs from hip to groin, and he burns.
"Take it," he rumbles, the gentle fist in his hair his guidepost, as he leans close to press a kiss to the corner of that mouth, "All the warmth I have." There's another, firm and full on his mouth if he isn't dissuaded.
no subject
It isn’t the searing burn of the sun. His kiss is the hazy glow of fireflies in the dusk of the forest, a gentle brilliance that illuminates pink and red hue when cupped between palms. Quincy’s closes his eyes as their mouths meet, welcoming that kiss with the tilt of his head. Wavy blond falls across the pillow and against Phainon’s knuckles as his combs a hand through, no longer damp from the storm.
Leaving Phainon’s hand against his abdomen, Quincy’s own slides over the man’s hip to caress along tailbone and up the length of his spine. A tickle of blunt nails and rough fingerpads trail, drawing circles and lines into the other man’s skin when not tracing the outline of any scars or marks he comes across. Gentle, reverent, as if Phainon is a creature as delicate as a firefly landed on his fingertip. He is not—there is strength beneath Quincy’s sliding palm—but he cherishes the other man no less.
Turning onto his side, Quincy presses forward into that kiss with a hint of urgency. Lips move, relishing friction, rolling click into click. His tongue flicks against the seam of Phainon’s lips to ask for more as his hand dips south again, this time less innocent in its exploration. His breath hitches with excitement when cupping over Phainon’s ass, giving it a playful squeeze while nipping the man’s bottom lip. A pinch that he soothes with a lick after.
Quincy draws back a centimeter, panting lightly, to answer, “I can … accept all of it.”
no subject
This body has yet to amass more than a single lifetime of scars, little imperfections, lessons writ into his skin from the training field to the battlefield. It has amassed not the cracks and fissures of a man hollowing himself out with the ferocious blaze of divine fire but the unseen scars of immense solitude.
Diligence and discipline have given him a hard and rugged body, and the muscle that meets the playful squeeze to his ass is no different. His breath gusts from his nostrils against Quincy’s cheek, a huff of a laugh at the pinch of his lips. Even a centimeter seems too far apart; Phainon almost chases his mouth, halted by his answer.
He’s aware of how desperate he must seem, how untoward, but Quincy doesn’t seem to mind and Phainon is too starved of touch to bear the idea of restraint. Urgency doesn’t rob the moment of its significance; with his eyes catching the glow of firelight in Quincy’s eyes, tasting his words and breath through the air he sips between parted lips, he very briefly nods, a motion felt by the brush of his nose just scarcely glancing against his cheek.
He swallows around his own desire and audacity, the heel of his palm first tracing the curve of Quincy’s cock as it strains against underwear once translucent with damp. Emboldened, golden pupils swollen in the retreating blue sky of his irises, he hooks his thumb into its waistband, peeling the film of fabric back.
The monosyllabic word that falls from his lips carries a hard consonant on one end, something in a dead language; Phainon looks, because of course he has to, at the great shape of his cock as his callused hand wraps around its naked shaft.
Kephale really broke the mold on this one.
There’s nothing shy or uncertain about the way his fingers familiarize themselves with the shape of the other man’s shaft. How they squeeze the full, warm shape of him, the knowledge in the twist of his wrist, the press and flick of a thumb. Given an inch and he’s already taking a mile, with quickened breath, he glances back up - doubtlessly to check in - and along the way, his attention snags on the ribbon of Quincy’s lip, and hungrily leans in to lick his way into the seam of them.
no subject
The expression Phainon looks up to check is one of pink cheeks and dazed gaze. Quincy’s brow furrows, pinched in pleasure, as he’s temporarily rendered breathless under that teasing squeeze. His erection fills out, ten inches from root to tip
I’m so sorry he’s from a BL game and noted as having a huge dick even by BL world standards. Precum beads at the head, smearing from slit into the pad of Phainon’s thumb. Hot and cold prickles, Quincy’s nipples pebbling as they meet and shock excrement through body.Stirred up, Quincy meets Phainon’s lips just as hungrily. A wandering hand slides with a light scratch of nails, wanting to pull Phainon in closer, seeking his warmth. Their tongues meet as he welcomes Phainon’s in, allowing the other man to explore before sucking, just as eager to taste. It’s a kiss that Quincy lingers in, relishing the slide of Phainon’s mouth and the numbing sweetness that comes with every wet grind. Kissing a beauty like Phainon is a pleasure worth indulging in; if it ever seems like the kiss will break, Quincy leans in to roll into another.
With Phainon’s hand between them, he moves his leg instead, nudging forward to slide his thigh up. Fingers graze along nape before fisting into the softness of Phainon’s hair. Then tugs, silently encouraging the other man to push his knee over and loft above, a position that would allow Quincy better access to Phainon’s throat and chest—because he’s hungry to kiss those, too.