ingeniar | (no subject)

Character(s) ⏣ Everybody!
Summary ⏣ An oraclegy!
Warnings ⏣ Smut, possible gore, weird kinks, possible dubcon, mind alteration. Images in post are NSFW.

WOULDST THOU LIKE TO SEE THE WORLD?
There's no warning. One night you're awoken by hands on your body -- not unusual, in the midst of the Flock, but this time they don't just want to help you sleep. They tug at you, insisting and encouraging you out of bed, dragging you out into the cold air no matter what you're wearing (or not). Quickly, your new friend tells you. It's important, you're supposed to be here. As you're pulled through the quiet streets, you see lights in other windows, other residents walking or being dragged in the same direction.

Everyone ends up at an empty house on the outskirts of the village. The rooms within are lit by hundreds of candles, driving light across the symbols and markings daubed on the walls. Most of the writing seems to be nonsense, mathematical equations and scraps of poetry in a dozen languages, written in ink and paint and other substances, drying brown and red on the pale plaster. The floors are likewise painted with interlocking circles and mystical shapes -- some might recognise the work of August's hands. Within, the oracles are waiting, blindfolded against the bright lights.

Hurry, they say, over and over. We need to start the ritual. It's the only thing that will save us from what's coming. Hurry, hurry!

WOULDST THOU LIKE THE TASTE OF BUTTER?
It's not comfortable. There are a few chairs, a couch, a table. A rickety bed upstairs. Otherwise the house is empty, the floors and walls bare. But that doesn't matter, not once things get started and urgent desire flows across the web of bonds and shared souls. You might find yourself pushed onto the cold floorboards, palms smeared by chalk and ink, begging for release. Or with hands on your wrists or in your hair, one or two or more bodies crowding into you, removing your clothes. The rooms fill up and overflow with noise -- oracles chanting, gasps and groans and hoarse cries, someone's voice uplifted in reverent song. There's flesh everywhere, limbs moving, spines arched, muscles and tendons pulled tight. It's time to give back to the land, and the land is so hungry.

As dawn breaks, people begin to slip away, staggering back to their homes alone or in groups -- some, bloodstained and dirty, to continue the night's work. You might not remember what happened, but you have a sense of having contributed to something far larger than yourself, something ancient and needy. It was important.. wasn't it?