August Quest Log and Catch-all [OPEN]

[curruid_coinchenn]

Who: Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) and you!
When: Throughout August
Where: Around and out of the city
What: Quests and other things
Warnings: One NSFW thread, warnings in headers


[ 1A. The Sly Seadog - do you want to cross that line? ]

[ Berserker is acting as a bouncer for this dive bar. Tall, intimidating, and visibly a dragon makes him a good fit for the role. It also tends to make people behave when they know they're dealing with someone like that. He, however, looks bored -- whether it be at the door or walking around the bar.

On a break, he decides to get a drink. Sitting at the bar, he has a pint of dark ale in front of him. Without looking over, he decides to make his feelings known. ]

If you so much as think about causing a problem, you'll regret it.

[ 1B. The Sly Seadog - are you talking to me? (cw: violence) ]

[ Alternatively, someone is causing trouble at the bar and Berserker is Not Here for that. The problem patron is hauled off their feet by their collar, the temporary bouncer's face unchanged. They fight and struggle against him, but the blows are brushed off like nothing and the verbal threats go ignored...Well, mostly. Tired of them screaming abuse about his status as a monster, Berserker headbutts them with a sickening crunch (his horns come in handy sometimes). It has the double effect of shutting them up and breaking their nose -- win, win really. He chucks them out the door and returns to his post. The scuffle silences the bar for a moment, but everyone soon settles back down now that the problem is solved.

It's only in the calm after the brief fight that he notices blood on his arm...and some on his face. Annoying. ]

Could you get me something to clean this up with?

[ 2. Surveillance - because it's a long way back from hell ]

[ Berserker sits at his assigned point in the cave. His vision in the dark isn't particularly great, but he can hear well enough to make up for it. He's not on edge, per se; he's more in tune with his combat and survival instincts than normal. Gae Bolg, his barbed lance, is held in his right hand as he listens for any movement in the darkness.

Unfortunately, what he turns to in the dark is not a Cwyld, but whoever else is down here. He turns with his spear pulled back to attack. ]

Say something. You have three seconds.

[ He's being generous. ]

[ 3. Fun in the sun (potentially nsfw) ]

[ Berserker is quite please the weather's warmed back up after the artificial winter. In fact, he's so pleased that he's decided to go sunbathing.

Nude.

He's at least sunning himself in fairly secluded areas or on rooftops that look abandoned, but anywhere there's a sunny patch and at least partial cover is a potential place to warm himself. Wherever he's decided on, he lays on his stomach with his arms crossed, head resting on his arms. His wings are stretched out and his tail at least partially covers his butt and legs. His clothes are nearby, too, so he can get dressed if he feels so inclined. Berserker's so content that he's nearly asleep.

Nearly.

The sound of someone nearby is enough to rouse him and he opens one eye to look back at whoever's intruding on his chosen spot. ]

What do you want?

[ 4A. Lùnasa - walk, walk fashion baby ]

[ Berserker let himself get dragged into the fashion festivities. Normally somewhat restrained in his clothing choices, he doesn't seem to mind the ridiculous clothes he's been given to wear by Precogstitchin'. Mostly covered yet completely exposed, it feels very similar to his normal Spirit Origin. He appreciates the consideration given to accommodate his wings and tail, too.

It's odd someone so cantankerous as Berserker is willing to wear this, knowing it'll draw unwanted attention. Speaking of...He gives a cold look to someone he's noticed staring at him. ]

What is it? If you want something like this, I can tell you where to get it.

[ 4B. Lùnasa - do my little turn on the catwalk ]

[ In addition to other unpaid modeling, one of the young designers decided to recruit Berserker as a model. The only reason he went with the designer is because they wouldn't leave him alone otherwise; "no" was not an answer. A dragon would set them and their designs apart! What a rare chance! So he relented and went with it.

Dark, draping styles are mostly what he ends up in, with jeweled accessories hung on his wings and horns. It's ridiculous and outlandish, but there's a certain allure about his look. He seems bored backstage, though, and looks to another model. May as well make small talk because he's sure someone will try to get it out of him sooner or later. ]

Did you get dragged into this, too?

[ Because he can't imagine someone doing this willingly. ]

[ 5. Wildcard ]

[ None of these prompts doing it for you? Got an idea in mind? Did we plot something already? Drop me a starter or message me on Discord (glitzkrieg#0673)! ]

((OOC: His appearance and current changes!))

Comments

[tryhard]

[ As Diarmuid settles on the couch with them and draws him down, Waver lies on his side, still small enough they'll have no trouble fitting. He manages to kick off the shreds of his loose trousers between Berserker's touches, folding up one leg and bracing the other on the couch to give Berserker room.

He hadn't expected more than his hands. Waver whines at the first hint of tongue, hips twitching forward, turning his head to bury the sound in Diarmuid's thigh-- and immediately being overwhelmed by the scent of his Bonded's arousal. It draws him, tugging at urges both new and deep-seated, the need to please and want to make him feel good; it makes Waver feel good too.

His weight shifts slightly, one hand bracing on Diarmuid's thigh and an elbow on the sofa, and Waver twists as much as he can where he lies, legs spread for Berseker and face buried in Diarmuid's lap. His breath is hot, the noise of his groans and whimpers muffled against the bulge in Diarmuid's trousers as Waver mouths at him through the cloth, lips and tongue moving eagerly over the shape of him.

When Berserker's claws prick the soft flesh along the inside of his thigh, Waver's whole body jerks, a high-pitched whine catching in his throat, exhaling fever-hot against the damp front of Diarmuid's crotch. It's not exactly a sound of pain. ]

this is so late i'm so sorry

[ua_duibhne]

[This time it's Diarmuid who's caught unawares. The Lancer inhales sharply, an electric tension jolting through his entire body for a split second as Waver presses against him. He glances up abruptly, meeting Berserker's gaze with a look that's initially somewhat deerlike and then with more certainty as he lets the mood wash over him. It's not giving in, really. There's no weakness, moral or otherwise, in it, no judgement to be made- not when he's already aching with need, right? The sight of his two Bonded so thoroughly undone is the last straw.

Fingers fumble with buttons, clumsy in defiance of their usual grace, but he's quick to unfasten his slacks and tug fabric out of the way. Gently, then, he places his hand over Waver's where it rests on his thigh and guides it to his cock, biting down on his lower lip at the first brush of his fingertips against sensitive skin.]

Easy, Waver-

[Even with his mind swimming with arousal, it seems more than a little crude to say "don't choke yourself" but that gets the message across more or less. Every stroke of the mage's hair is accompanied by an encouraging murmur of something in Gaelic- if he's listening, Berserker will recognise it as a repetition of his last words- or sigh of contentment.]

it's all good!

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Even with the scene playing out before him, Berserker continues to deny himself. Despite the heightened state of arousal and on the edge of losing control to feral desires, he still finds a way to punish himself. It was his own wants that that started this mess, right? It's only fair he force himself to wait.

Seeing Diarmuid indulge Waver's want to please only makes denying himself harder. There's something almost forbidden about what they're doing, Berserker feels like he shouldn't be watching it. An intimate act not really meant to be seen by anyone else, but he's a part of it. Heat pools in the pit of his stomach, making his desire for more burn that much hotter. It's difficult to focus on anything but how hard he is. The dragon shifts a little as he presses his thighs together harder, trying to ignore how badly he wants any sort of attention on himself.

He pulls off of Waver's cock with a wet pop, breath hot against the sensitive skin. His hand doesn't stop stroking the saliva-slicked length as he takes a moment to catch his breath. It's a bit of strange sight to see someone normally so cold and apathetic in this state: hair tousled, face flushed, lips swollen, desperate for more. His tongue flattens against the underside of Waver's dick as he drags it from base to tip, pausing long enough to say something before he takes it back in his mouth completely. ]

Eager...isn't he?

<3!

[tryhard]

[ Well. He certainly is that.

Diarmuid unfastens his slacks and pulls free his cock, and Waver is immediately squirming into a better-angled position, determined even with the distraction of what Berserker's doing between his legs.

His fingers wrap around Diarmuid's cock, squeezing gently to feel how aroused he is. Diarmuid's vocal encouragement excites him as much as the scent, and Waver whines in response, tongue sliding wetly along the underside and around the head. With the pad of his thumb, careful of his claws, he gently works the foreskin out of the way and lathes the flat of his tongue across the sensitive tip, gathering the taste of him starting to bead up.

The way Berserker's working him, it's difficult to keep from reacting; Waver's hips buck shallowly, his breath ragged and catching, hot against Diarmuid's cock rubbing against his tongue and lips. He wants to do more, but even in this state, he's anxious about not being able to control himself; or, rather, with Diarmuid's closeness pulling him back from an actual feral state, now he's just caught up in heat and want, but not nearly mindless enough to not be aware of his own teeth. The desire to make his Bonded feel good clashes with his own uncertainty. He's still new at this, and he's scared he'll do badly--

The worry wins over his own needs. Panting, Waver pulls back from his thorough licking at Diarmuid's dick, and manages to lift his head enough to cast a glassy-eyed gaze down at Berserker on the floor. His leg shifts slightly, like he doesn't know what to do with it, while Berserker's mouth around his cock sends shivers up his spine, hips still moving shallowly in time.

He could be close, very soon, but instead Waver tries to pull back a little, gasping out: ]

W-wait...