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Forced Confessions
Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: At the end of a spring-time mingle party, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. unleashes a psychic weapon that forces characters to confess their secrets to one another. Check out the mod announcement for more information.
Date(s): First 2 weeks of April 2018
Warnings/Notes: Psychic influence/coercion, potential trauma, etc. in confessions. Please use subject header warnings appropriately!
It begins with a party, out in the woods of Xistentia, with drinks, food, and fairy lights. The glade is illuminated in a brilliant palette of jewel tones, the most intense where the dancefloor stretches out between glow-in-the-dark marked trees, punctuated by F.A.T.E.S.' ever jarring, mismatched combination of musical tunes. Not far from that, you have enclosures of soft bedding set aside in mood-lit shadows, and veiled by mosquito net, for those of us who prefer more privacy.
The deeper nightclub colors fade to a warm, lustrous gold where there are spaces to sit, socialize, and eat.
Other liquid refreshments include a blood bar, courtesy of Rafaello d'Este's local business.
But on the fifth evening, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. strikes. There's a warning— only 10 minutes in advance-- over the network, even while the vast majority of revelers are a little too busy to pay any attention to their daemons.
A black ball of some writhing, metallic substance abruptly comes tearing through the atmosphere, the size of your average adult human curled into fetal position. As it breaks through layers of gas, it adopts an orange glow for a brief instant. It's easily lost in the canopy, even for the most agile and practiced of Xistentia residents. It's impossible to tell what it is. A faint whine fills the air, and a moment later, the projectile detonates. The scent of tar fills the forest along with shouts of dismay. And too little too late, F.A.T.E.S. warning system begins to blare that a contaminant has entered the atmosphere.
However, apart from a few bruises, panic and partial deafness, nobody seems harmed at all. That is, until the compulsion sets in.
Your secrets, both large and small, suddenly become wrenching fodder for impulsive speech... or signing, texting, any multitude of communication methods wind up hijacked. The worst of it comes when you face someone you know and love. Sheer willpower might stave off the urge long enough for your character to get out of range for conversation, and it might be a good time to avoid company for awhile. It will come randomly, in spikes, for 2 weeks to follow.
Feel free to use the confessions thread here to start some textspam trouble!
A week later, F.A.T.E.S. and both magic and science-minded researchers have analyzed the goop. The worst of the epidemic is localized around the party, though psychic ripples continue to be felt across Xistentia for a few days.
And now we need cleanup.
It's a motley group of unlikely volunteers. Some people are just lucky— they have no secrets they fear to share, or perhaps just no shame. Others are just good samaritans, willing to risk a terrifying level of honesty in the interest of preventing further damage to the relationships that make Xistentia run.
In any case, the group finds themselves armed with gloves, rubber suits, and floating glass containment orbs, manipulable with gestures, that can absorb the black ichor off the trees, earth, and furniture. This will be stored at the temple. And what we'll do with it—
Who knows. Or perhaps you and your compatriots have an idea for the substance permanent disposal to share.
Summary: At the end of a spring-time mingle party, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. unleashes a psychic weapon that forces characters to confess their secrets to one another. Check out the mod announcement for more information.
Date(s): First 2 weeks of April 2018
Warnings/Notes: Psychic influence/coercion, potential trauma, etc. in confessions. Please use subject header warnings appropriately!
Forced Confessions Event
I admit I'm on the rebound And I don't care
Five-Day Party
It begins with a party, out in the woods of Xistentia, with drinks, food, and fairy lights. The glade is illuminated in a brilliant palette of jewel tones, the most intense where the dancefloor stretches out between glow-in-the-dark marked trees, punctuated by F.A.T.E.S.' ever jarring, mismatched combination of musical tunes. Not far from that, you have enclosures of soft bedding set aside in mood-lit shadows, and veiled by mosquito net, for those of us who prefer more privacy.
The deeper nightclub colors fade to a warm, lustrous gold where there are spaces to sit, socialize, and eat.
Other liquid refreshments include a blood bar, courtesy of Rafaello d'Este's local business.
Psychic Bomb: The Confessions (April 5-14)
But on the fifth evening, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. strikes. There's a warning— only 10 minutes in advance-- over the network, even while the vast majority of revelers are a little too busy to pay any attention to their daemons.
A black ball of some writhing, metallic substance abruptly comes tearing through the atmosphere, the size of your average adult human curled into fetal position. As it breaks through layers of gas, it adopts an orange glow for a brief instant. It's easily lost in the canopy, even for the most agile and practiced of Xistentia residents. It's impossible to tell what it is. A faint whine fills the air, and a moment later, the projectile detonates. The scent of tar fills the forest along with shouts of dismay. And too little too late, F.A.T.E.S. warning system begins to blare that a contaminant has entered the atmosphere.
However, apart from a few bruises, panic and partial deafness, nobody seems harmed at all. That is, until the compulsion sets in.
Your secrets, both large and small, suddenly become wrenching fodder for impulsive speech... or signing, texting, any multitude of communication methods wind up hijacked. The worst of it comes when you face someone you know and love. Sheer willpower might stave off the urge long enough for your character to get out of range for conversation, and it might be a good time to avoid company for awhile. It will come randomly, in spikes, for 2 weeks to follow.
Feel free to use the confessions thread here to start some textspam trouble!
Bomb Resolution (April 12+)
A week later, F.A.T.E.S. and both magic and science-minded researchers have analyzed the goop. The worst of the epidemic is localized around the party, though psychic ripples continue to be felt across Xistentia for a few days.
And now we need cleanup.
It's a motley group of unlikely volunteers. Some people are just lucky— they have no secrets they fear to share, or perhaps just no shame. Others are just good samaritans, willing to risk a terrifying level of honesty in the interest of preventing further damage to the relationships that make Xistentia run.
In any case, the group finds themselves armed with gloves, rubber suits, and floating glass containment orbs, manipulable with gestures, that can absorb the black ichor off the trees, earth, and furniture. This will be stored at the temple. And what we'll do with it—
Who knows. Or perhaps you and your compatriots have an idea for the substance permanent disposal to share.
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But, he does lean back somewhat, just enough to peer down at Loki's face, about to tell him something else, but he halts for a moment when he sees that the blue of his jotun nature has already kept up his neck, coloring his face and eyes - already taken over the skin that Thor's hand is rested on. And yet, not burning him. Not yet, anyway. He's breathless for a passing few seconds, looking over all the details of his brother like this. He still looks like Loki to him, nothing foreign about him like one might expect. There's just a certain newness added to it. In some kind of awe, his hand at his neck lifts to trace a thumb along the raised lines at the side of his face, over his forehead, admiring, before he meets his eyes, deep and crimson.
He can't really help taking the opportunity, because Thor's a douche like that. He leans forward and kisses him, deep and firm and full, feeling the chill against his skin and finding something wonderful about the sensation of it. He won't linger for long, because he's sure he's about to get a knife through his one good eye left for this, so, after rushing that kiss he'd stolen from him, Thor pulls back, arms around Loki's back and hips, before he hoists him up into his arms, bridal style. ]
Okay, okay, we're going, I promise. [ but he's clearly not letting go. Sorry, booboo. ]
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[ He makes the walk back to their apartment almost leisurely, most of the chaos centered around the party they departed from all left behind them. His cheek leans against Loki's hair as he carries him back, mostly wordlessly, but with a warm kind of happiness bubbling in his chest. Perhaps he shouldn't be happy that Loki was forced to let him see his natural appearance, but it's as if a barrier between them is gone with it.
Eventually, Loki's skin does start to tingle against his, where they're pressed together skin to skin, the chill setting in, and while he expects it might start to burn soon, Thor doesn't so much as consider pulling back from him. He'd happily take whatever frost bite it earns him to hold his brother when he's in so delicate a state. Thankfully, it doesn't to much more than set in a deep cold, like holding ice to his face, but nothing burns. Not that he notices, at least, but it's Thor, so, that can be subjective. By the time they make it to their home, he half expects Loki might be asleep, as they'd been quiet the entire walk, and manages the door open and closed with shifting his brother around and pushing things with a foot.
Inside, he heads for Loki's bedroom; even if he hasn't fallen asleep, he likely needs the rest after whatever fell into the city at that party. Pacing in, Thor toes his boots off and nudges back the blankets to set Loki down beside them. ]
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I didn't — I'm sorry.
[ A word that rarely falls on Loki's lips. ]
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Exactly. You didn't. Look. [ Holding his arm out where Loki's been clinging, there's nothing there but a lingering chill, one Thor's well equipped to deal with. Even further, he pulls the hand against his cheek back, showing Loki his uninjured palm. ] See? You didn't do anything.
[ As if daring Loki to try to burn him, Thor tugs at his brother's wrists, bringing his hands, tinted with new color, to touch his neck, his face, leaning in to kiss him soft and lingering long enough to prove a point. ]
You act like you haven't stabbed me several thousand times over the eons. [ a frost burn would hardly be any worse than a knife wound, though he understands why it is he's so much more afraid of this. it's his jotun skin, what he's taken to mean something monstrous, wrong, harmful and ugly. he's so very far from any of those, and if this form didn't cause him so much stress, Thor would want to explore ever inch of his skin for hours. ]
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You know they're not comparable.
[ Still, he slides his hands down to press them against Thor's knuckles. ]
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You're right. Stabbings are so messy, but this just kind of tickles. [ He flashes a grin, because he's being a self-absorbed smart ass, and knows very well what Loki means. Perhaps it's Loki's physiology in particular, perhaps it's because he's Thor and it takes more to burn him, perhaps it's something different about how jotuns burn in general. either way, he's glad for it, loosely tangling their fingers together, even as one moves to brush his fingertips along Loki's jaw, dragging his own hand along with, because he just wants to hold all the things, apparently. ]
Am I warm to you? Do you feel cold? [ so many questions, so much he wants to know, so much newness with loki that he was never allowed to see before, not for the jotun aspect alone. ]
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You feel a little warm but that's all. I've never felt the cold strongly so I — I cannot tell.
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Truthfully, I never have much either. [ wannabe astronaut thor odinson. hanging out in space with no protection but a sleeveless top. ] I wonder if that's much to do with being near you so much.
[ which is... not something he meant to come out of his mouth, and Thor looks confused for a second. He'd left the party too quickly to learn what the explosion was, assuming it was something to do with striping magical powers, as it dissipated Loki's typical glamour. Not anything in the nature of confessions. For now, it just seems strange, so he passes it up. ]
Which is, [ he chuckles, somewhat nervously ] just stupid speculation. There's plenty of things other Asgardians feel that I don't.
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I . . . doubt that is the case. But there is a lot we don't know about — [ He frowns, pulling the lines etched on his face. ] — Frost Giants.
[ He blurts out. ]
How can you stand looking at this? You hated Frost Giants. When I found out, I was terrified of — [ His expression falls as he whispers. ] — I was terrified of you.
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I hated them because I lusted for war and glory. Not for what or who they were. [ Hell, he hardly even knew what they looked like, other than big and blue. They could have looked like super models and Thor would still have raged against him for his own pride.
An arm loops behind Loki's hips, at the small of his back, to drag him closer. ]
And of the two opinions I had - my ire for Jotunheim or my love for you - did you truly think it would be the latter that would budge? [ His brows knit, concern and sorrow written across his face, while his hand cups Loki's cheek, thumb tracing the lines on his skin lovingly. ] You look enchanting. I only wish you'd have let me see you before.
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[ It's strange. Letting words spill forth. It stings a little. Loki has never been comfortable with sharing his own heart. He never had the honest forthright nature Asgardians possessed, being able to put things forward. Shifting in Thor's touch, Loki makes himself comfortable as he tries to let them flow. ]
Truthfully . . . no, I didn't believe it. But everything was . . . different then. I didn't know what to believe.
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[ There should have been no question between them, he should have had Loki so assured in that that he'd have come straight to him with the knowledge. Perhaps they would've avoided all of this if he'd only been someone he could truly trust. Another fault of his selfish recklessness.
A quiet moment settles, and Thor can't seem to want to stop touching him, following the lines on his face down his throat, until they disappear under his collar, disappointing, because he wants to map all of them. ]
After father told me, I'd wondered what you must look like in jotun skin. Every idea I'd had didn't seem right, didn't seem recognizable as you, but this... it's perfect. It's just you. [ He'd always felt like Loki had magic underneath his skin, inside his bones, and it feels like this form shows it all the more. He doesn't look entirely jotun or Asgardian, something different all together, something special, and Thor adores it. His fingers tug at the tie in his collar, carefully easing the knot open. ] Can I see the rest of you? Please?
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But Loki wasn't close to shattering, not anymore. Even when this effect dragged him out, kicking and screaming, he is still himself. This is merely a facet, not his entirety. Absently, he clenches his fingers. It's strange to note that he knows nothing about his body. His heritage. His people. Honestly, Loki probably owes this form his life. It was probably the key to his survival on Svartalfheim. After a few minutes, Loki nods, leaning into Thor's touch and gliding his own fingers over Thor's skin. ]
You may.
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Have you seen this yet? [ As a hand works Loki's tie loose and set to unbuttoning his shirt, the other hand traces a fingertip along the semi-circle on Loki's forehead. Not sure how often he's really tried to look at himself like this, or if Loki's ever even attempted being near a mirror with his skin shifted, it's possible he's never really seen it. ] It looks like a crown.
[ he isn't in any particular hurry to get Loki bare, and this isn't a matter of judging how he looks, just a want to know every facet of his brother than he can. it feels wrong to him that there'd be something about loki that thor isn't familiar with. and wrong beyond that that there are things loki doesn't know about himself either. perhaps it'll be easier to explore if thor does it with him. ]
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Laufey had one. That must be how Odin knew me for his kin.
[ Briefly, Loki wonders if Laufey knew. He always get the sense that the giant king suspected Loki. After all, no self-respecting Asgardian would be so bold as to orchestrate a coup of their king over sibling rivalry. But . . . like Loki, Laufey saw opportunity and took it. ]
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Fate knew you were born to be both a prince and a king.
[ Thor may be king of what's left of Asgard, but Loki has two realms under his belt, so he has him beat in that respect. also to the fact he managed to grab the asgardian throne before Thor's butt could touch it either. if they ever truly had a battle for power, Thor would be vastly out-matched when it came to Loki. Where he'd had such anxiety and doubt over assuming his father's title before, knowing Loki will be there to guide him makes it feel all that much more manageable.
Plucking the buttons of his shirt and vest open, Thor pushes them off Loki's shoulders, suit jacket and all, before reaching for the hem of whatever obnoxiously tacky shirt he'd chosen to wear today, stripping it off. It doesn't seem fair that Loki be made bare and vulnerable and he wouldn't.]
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He mimics the motion, following the trail of raised lines along Loki's neck and chest like reading braille, slow and curious, running back to retrace ones he particularly likes the shape of. ]
If your crown mark means royalty, do you think the others might have a meaning? [ Lifting his hand, Thor moves to touch another set of lines, as if naming each of them. ] Sorcerer. [ Another set. ] Strategist. [ Touching yet another. ] Smart ass.
[ a smirk. ]
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They're probably nothing. Just markings.
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[ Really, Loki is entirely his own creature, so unique and extraordinary, so why shouldn't he get to invent his own meanings? or, you know, let Thor do it. Which he's going to, as he eases Loki back to lay down on the bed, so he can look over his torso and arms better, hovering over him on hands and knees. He traces on line over Loki's throat. ]
Silver tongued. [ Another along his right arm. ] Scholar. [ One on his side, leading down towards his hip. ] Relentlessly incredible in bed.
[ nurr hurr hurr. ]
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I think you missed all my duplicitous lines.
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[ This is Thor's Innocent Face, looking completely serious as he checks Loki's sides for more lines, murmuing 'nope, nope', before gripping his shoulder and half one side of his ass through his slacks to roll him over on his stomach. ]
Ah, so I did. [ He exclaims, like he's some kind of master of jotun lines and what they mean. Clearly these are the duplicitous ones over here. ] Here we have them - Prankster, Violent tendencies towards beloved brothers who never deserved anything but hugs, aaaand Bad Morning Breath.
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Perhaps you're in dire need of some wisdom lines if you think you can insult my breath and get away with it.
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Then conjure us a marker and add them. [ as if he's ever feared what Loki might do to him for one insult or another. even the stabbing he didn't particularly mind much. they were never in a place that would do real harm to him. ] Unless you've other means for it.
[ Loki could turn him into Sif for a little bit, survey he could add a few lines for fun. ]
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