ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ɢʀᴀʜᴀᴍ 👑 ᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴀɪᴍᴏɴ (
possessum) wrote in
deercountry2022-03-06 12:44 am
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we coughed up honey into the air
Who: Peter Graham
possessum + open! Anyone welcomed!
What: March catch-all ft. a bunch of Jumanji event prompts and some general ones.
When: The month of March.
Where: The jungle, and around Trench.
Content Warnings: This character comes with demonic possession by default ; Corruption / demonic attributes ; Jumanji Jungle Level warnings ; a lot of Panicked Cursing ; others to be noted in threads
EVENT — JUNGLE LEVEL
GENERAL — THE MONTH OF MARCH CW: PHYSICAL DEMONIC ATTRIBUTES, RECREATIONAL DRUG MENTION
NOTE — As a Darkblood, this month Peter has the ability to see energy / auras / life force around living things, so feel free to include what colour your character would emit!
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What: March catch-all ft. a bunch of Jumanji event prompts and some general ones.
When: The month of March.
Where: The jungle, and around Trench.
Content Warnings: This character comes with demonic possession by default ; Corruption / demonic attributes ; Jumanji Jungle Level warnings ; a lot of Panicked Cursing ; others to be noted in threads
EVENT — JUNGLE LEVEL
➤ ENTER THE JUNGLE
What the fuck, man? Oh what the fuuuuck?
( —Whimpers the tall and thin young man beside you, voice rising in pitch as he tries to huddle in on himself, wide-eyed and terrified. Maybe you know Peter already, or maybe you're strangers to each other, but either way it's clear that your new Jungle Adventure Partner is less than enthusiastic about this.
It's also clear that he's going to be absolutely no use. For as your journey continues, Peter not only emits a variety pack of distressed noises on the regular (shouts, yelps, moans, groans, frenzied whispers, and teary mumbling)... he also gets into a lot of trouble because it appears to be that a) he has absolutely no survival skills at all, and b) he is constantly on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Really, it seems inevitable he's just going to die at any given moment. There are general things like Peter getting hopelessly tangled up in vines, tripping and falling over large roots, and zoning out and wandering off out of sight only to start crying out for you in a panic, and once or twice he just straight-up crouches down on the ground with his arms wrapped around his head, as though he can't take anymore, but then there are also the challenges— )
➤ QUICKSAND
( It happens before he can even process it. The game spits its weird riddle, and then the ground itself seems to be folding, melting, inwards. Peter screams (take a shot every time) as he feels himself start to sink. His fingers are clawing desperate at the softened ground around him, and he suddenly understands what's going on. )
It's fucking quicksand! It's fucking!! Quicksand! It's fucking quicksaaaaand! ( He's repeating this over and over and over, panicked, aware that the game has toppled over and is starting to sink too, but Peter's not at all concerned about it, doesn't even try to grab it. Maybe you can — maybe you're not sinking, evaded it by an inch or two, or weren't with him when it started happening, and just ran up now. Or maybe you're in as much trouble as he is..... or maybe not quite as much, given Peter's flailing around has caused him to personally sink even faster, and he's now covered all the way up to his waist. It's only getting worse. )
➤ RUSHING RIVERS
( Peter, who is possessed by an ancient demon king with a lot of equally ancient abilities, can actually breathe underwater now. Peter does not currently know this.
Which is to say, when the waters come, he thinks he's going to die. He's screaming like he's going to die, from where he's clinging onto a huge, tilted tree trunk for dear life. He'd managed to scramble his way up onto it as soon as the flood broke, but now he's trapped out in the middle of the water, screaming.
Maybe you hear him and scream back, or try to make your way closer. Maybe you're caught in the merciless flow of the flood, in danger of being slammed into any number of solid objects; maybe he can actually help get you onto his tree, or maybe you manage to make your way to it yourself. Hopefully it doesn't snap. )
➤ GIANT FROGS (NOTE: ONE ATTEMPTED EATING OPTION & ONE SUCCESSFUL EATING....)
( By the time the frogs appear, Peter's very tired. He's been made to walk for longer than he's ever walked in his entire life, he's sweating through his shirt, his hair is a wreck of curls entangled with little pieces of vines and dirt and probably a spider or two... Every once in awhile he smacks at his head, like he feels something crawling on it.
He's trailing behind whomever he's with, feet practically dragging the ground, when there's abruptly a yelp and if you turn, you'll see him staring in terror and pointing at something off to the side. Two huge black eyes peek out of the brush, where something wet and swollen and big crouches.
Peter's starting to breathe funny, like his lungs are too small: sharp attempts at air intake. He sounds like he's close to hyperventilating.
That's when a thick, ropey tongue suddenly lashes out of the creature's mouth and wraps right around his middle, as firm as a python. Peter...... screams, trying to flail around, slapping at the wormlike thing that's ensnared him, but it's not letting go. Maybe you can help get him out of this before he ends up lunch.
Or maybe, he's in the middle of a rant, because he's had it. )
I've had it! ( he declares suddenly, long arms lifting into the air with exasperation. ) This is stupid. It's so fucking stupid. Why're we even doing this— this little dumb game? This sick shit?! I'm tired, and I'm hot, and we've been walking for hours. I want to go ho—
( It's at that moment that a tongue lashes out, grabs Peter, and pulls him into a nearby frog's mouth before he or anyone can say another word. All six feet of him and his spider-filled hair completely vanishes. He has been swallowed whole.
There's probably a shocked silence for a long moment or two before panicked, muffled screaming can be heard coming from the frog's swollen body, within which Peter Graham is all crammed up. Whether you were with him this whole time or happened to be close by and witness this just now, maybe you can help Peter not get digested. Please help Peter not get digested. )
➤ TROPHY HUNTER
( By the time this challenge takes place, Peter's gotten separated from whomever he's been with this whole time. In fact, this challenge isn't even one he helped to summon; he'd long ago given up on the game and has just been wandering aimlessly, trying to find his people, when he'd encountered the hunter who was summoned from someone else's game.
And now here he is, running up to you, some wild-eyed, dirty young man with hair all over the place who appears from the brush. He seems unhinged. )
He's crazy! He's fucking crazy!
( You might be thinking yes, you are fucking crazy, when there's the loud crack of a gun from the depths of the jungle, and Peter flinches violently, ducking downwards and grabbing for your arm, voice a hushed, strained whisper. )
We have to run! He'll kill us, don't you get it?! He wants to kill us!!
( Maybe you're already well-aware of the trophy hunter and the fact he wants to kill you; maybe you were trying to hide, already. Or maybe this is brand new information to you. Either way, you're going to have to work with Peter to survive this.
.....You might die. )
GENERAL — THE MONTH OF MARCH CW: PHYSICAL DEMONIC ATTRIBUTES, RECREATIONAL DRUG MENTION
NOTE — As a Darkblood, this month Peter has the ability to see energy / auras / life force around living things, so feel free to include what colour your character would emit!
( March is a blossom of strange things growing all over, and new worries bumping up against all the old ones. Peter largely remains a recluse, staying safely tucked away in the townhouse he shares with Luna Lovegood. There are things he has to protect: her, and a fresh new bond, and a young boy named Falco Grice who shows up trembling against the flickering ghosts at the corner of his vision. The boy stays with them for awhile as Corruption grows, spreads. Peter's kept busy in the early days of March, and will rarely be seen. But those who visit the townhouse will be invited in or met out in front of the house.
It's towards the middle of March that his own budding Corruption makes its appearance known again. This time, it's not so much a mental change as a physical one... Peter doesn't become some snarling thing the way he was back in December. He maintains his lucidity, his identity, everything that makes him Peter.
It's just that now he has a pair of large black horns sprouting from his head, as well as a long, thin, scaly black tail.
....It's alarming, to be sure, but at this point, Peter's... tired. Sure, this happened. Why the fuck wouldn't it?
And so, the boy who doesn't act like a demon this time but looks like one just kind of... continues on with his life. He's still mainly to be found at the townhouse, for any visitors, but on occasion he might be spotted around the city. He goes shopping for clothes, perusing various shops: a tall, gloomy-eyed young man with sharp horns and a tail curled shyly against his leg. He's... looking for shirts that button up instead of have to be pulled over the head.... He doesn't know how long he's going to be looking like some sort of Teenage Hellspawn, but until this goes away, he needs some more clothes that he won't destroy.
Or maybe you spot him crouching down near cobblestoned streets, looking about as depressed as anyone can, gazing listlessly across the street, one elbow folded over a knee. He's holding a joint to his mouth but not actually smoking it yet; however, when he notices you nearby, he tilts his head up at you (with some difficulty; the horns are... heavy), and gives a slight nod. )
Want one? Got extra. ( —Then, he'll be fishing through his hoodie pocket, drawing out a little bag of sour gummy candies (drug-free). Where'd he even get those... He has his ways. And apparently, he's willing to share. ) Got these, too.
( Or he can sometimes be found sitting outside under the shade of a tree, long legs curled into a crossed position, a number of books spread around him. It seems like some sort of study session, and closer inspection will show that they probably came from the Arcane Archives: ancient-looking texts bound in thick leather. Peter's thumbing through them, a pair of reading glasses pressed to his face. If you're willing to approach the person with the demon horns and tail, it's actually a pretty serene display. Flowers have popped up from the ground and a few haphazard other things can be found in little patches nearby: apples and bananas and.... a cabbage? Is that a coconut, too?? It's weird. This place is weird.
But maybe not as weird as the sight of Peter Graham actually willingly reading a book.
Or the sight of him... being so seemingly at ease about his demonic parts. He's even using his tail to his advantage, the scaly black thing poking through a book or two, slithering snake-like through the grass to find the pencil he dropped and returning it to his hand as he jots down some notes.
But he often does look up, people-watching, and if you're passing by, his eyes might drift to you — or maybe it's more at you. He sees something; there's some curious attentiveness, and he hesitates only a moment before asking, a little shy— )
Hey, uh, this might sound weird, but do I have like... a colour around me?
( If you're a fellow Darkblood, his own energy is a very dark, smooth green — something of phthalo and hunter and forest — rich and somber and quiet, and maybe a little uncomfortable, like the dark part of the woods. Anything could be looking out.
A second pulse is there up under the first: a second colour, or a cacophony of them. Flashes of gold amongst iridescent shine, alien colours that are difficult to truly pinpoint, flickering from those dark woods. If you look too long, too close, it hurts.
But maybe you can't see it. Peter wonders why he welcomed anyone to in the first place. )
WILDCARD / ETC
ooc ➤ plurk (skeletals) / discord (large bat#2354) / pm / Peter's plot post
As a note, I'm definitely open to the mosquito challenge or the perking up one despite not having prompts for them up. If you'd like to toss one of those at me, feel free!
Also, respond in prose if that's your preference, and I'll gladly follow suit.
no subject
Come out from where? [ They match Peter's urgent whisper. Is Paimon somewhere inside the house, listening? Their eyes dart, looking for some sign of another presence there with them, before settling back on Peter. For a moment, they are perfectly still, a revelation falling upon them. A look of regret crosses their face for the briefest of moments and then hardens into cold resolve. ]
Tell me. Or I'll call him out myself.
[ King Paimon. He is overdue for their meeting, anyway. ]
no subject
No, he can take care of this himself. He just needs to... gently kick this kid out. It's for their protection; he has no idea how Paimon might handle whatever the hell's going on, but he's not about to risk it. )
Shhhh! He'll hear you!
( He insists, his own voice dropping to a whisper as if that could keep the demon from hearing. Now Peter's physically trying to urge them along, albeit very... timidly. His fingertips barely make contact with their shoulders, barely push.
The threat to call the demon out themself feels like ice sliding down his throat, and Peter's urgency swells. Now he's walking close to the kid, still not putting his hands on them much, but trying to coax them along with his body, moving into their personal space. )
No! Don't do that, okay? Just— you need to go. Please. I'm sorry, but you need to go now.
no subject
Their gaze meet Peter's only briefly, looking up at him with grim determination. ]
You should leave, [ they say. ] For your own safety.
[ They give him a few seconds to heed their warning—and then they look through him once more, voice rising clear as a clarion bell. ]
King Paimon! [ they call, and a flickering golden light fills their palm. ] I summon you now—appear as you promised me you would!
[ Their tone is defiant, challenging. Paimon had left them standing on the beach, but now they are in the home he has infested, calling him out to them. If feigned respect had failed to draw him out, perhaps insolence will be more effective. ]
cw: possession horror; epileptic associations
—King Paimon, they say, and something freezes in Peter (is it ice-cold or scorching-hot? The sensation's some impossible mix of both). The words are assured; they use terms like summon and promised. They give the demon explicit direction. Even if it's slathered in defiance, in some jagged edge of challenge, the intention couldn't be more clear.
It is, undoubtedly, the ideal way to call the demon up out of him. Peter doesn't even have time to react. Suddenly, he's gone completely still and stiff, too stiff.
Without warning, his head snaps back so hard and fast that something at the nape of his neck and along some parts of his spine makes a cracking sound, bones worked too violently. His throat heaves with the convulsion that then spikes through him, wracking his thin frame; Peter gasps for breaths that don't come, eyes wide and wild. He can't stay up, he's falling to the floor, rolling around with gags, choked out of himself. It's been awhile since Paimon tore through him so unmercifully, so fiercely. But the demon's matching the harshness of his summoner's energy, that abrasion, that intention. Desperate to reach it. To answer this call.
Peter's whining like an animal as his body twists and heaves against the floor, long limbs curling and twitching like a spider that's been poisoned, like something dying too slowly. Then those pained sounds give way to something else, as his throat opens up wider and an alien comes through — with strange sounds. Ragged wheezes and clicks and chirps, noises but nothing close to words. The boy's body slowly rolls over, fingers scraping at the floorboards, and the demon just as slowly lifts its head up, mouth wet from saliva, eyes swollen, pupils too big and black.
Paimon shudders a few times, spasms continuing to ripple down Peter's spine, and slowly gets to his feet. Staring with eyes so wide it looks like they might split right at the edges, he takes in the summoner before him with a searching curiosity, a deep hunger. There they stand: golden-eyed, young (perhaps not as young as they seem on the surface), and filled with such heated longing to see him. )
Child....... I am here to answer. ( He finds words, though they're hoarse and thick, tongue moving oddly. This hasn't been an easy transition. )
Make known your request.