Max Maximum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maximumcake) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-01-02 03:51 pm
maximumcake) wrote in come_sailaway2023-01-02 03:51 pm
[Open] There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back
Who: Max Maximum & Open
What: Various prompts for new years and into January
When: Dec 31 - January
Where: Various places around the ship, check prompts
Warnings: Alcoholism, depression, grief, death, master/slave, potential for discussion of past trauma including sexual abuse, addiction, self-destructive behaviors, blood/biting/blood drinking, potential for discussion of dub-con, last prompt especially contains unhealthy relations to sex for coping (the boy is not okay) --if you still want to tag but need me to avoid any of the above just let me know and I will tone the scenario down as much as you need.
Edit: To bypass this toplevel (and any CWs within it) and go directly to the Baked Book for In Character Compliments click HERE
1. Soon it will be over and buried with our past
Late in the evening on December 31st, Max finds himself sitting alone in the corner of Topy with what might be his fourth or fifth drink judging by the litter of empty glasses around him. It would be easy to assume he's here drinking to forget the events of the expedition. He's happy to let people think that if they do come in--though, he chose this bar specifically because it seems to get the least traffic and he hoped it would spare people having to feel responsible for him while they are all dealing with their own issues already. Because this isn't about the excursion at all. It's about what this night represents to his past.
It's inching closer to midnight. By now, his master's annual New Year's Eve party should be in full swing. Max should be there, carrying around glasses of red liquid that look close enough to red wine so long as no one notes the viscosity. He should be making his guests feel welcome while his master, Lord Osborne, prepares to give his hospitality speech of the night. It's always timed perfectly to end at the stroke of midnight. What would that speech have been about this year? He'll never know. Will he ever hear one again?
In the absence of a party to plan, Max finds his thoughts drifting back further...to the night it all began. The night that poor college kid should have died, and didn't. The night he died, but didn't. If he'd only done things differently... Would he be here? Would anything have changed? A tear slips down his cheek and he wipes it away hastily before draining the last of his whiskey. He doesn't know what to miss anymore. He misses his family, his dad and sister, but now he misses his master too. He misses when the world made sense. He misses knowing what the future would bring. Even if it was scary, at least he could trust it to be consistent. He doesn't even have that here... doesn't have a kitchen, doesn't have anything familiar, doesn't have a clue what to do about it. So here he sits, sniffling, wallowing in self-pity, trying his best not to make it anyone else's problem just this once. Like Erin said, no one is interested in being his master here.
2. We used to play outside when we were young, and full of life and full of love
It's been days and Max is still moping about the lack of kitchens now they are back on the ship. That hotel kitchen was a dream come true and now he misses it like he misses an old friend. But, the good news is: he made a lot of desserts in just that short amount of time. More than any one person could eat. The better news is that none of it is spoiling even without a refrigerator. There's just one catch to that, desserts are taking up every available space in his side of the cabin now, and it's gotten out of hand. He needs to offload some of it. What better way than by hosting a bake sale...kind of? No one actually has to pay for anything with money.
A sign set out on one of the buffet tables reads: Pay a sweet compliment to someone and get a sweet! Next to the sign is a notebook and pen where people can jot down something nice about anyone they want in exchange for any number of cookies, cakes, pastries, or pies that are spread out on the table.
"It's okay," says Max, who is sitting there manning the table, "you can write it anonymously if you want. I just figured, with everything that happened, we could all use some kind words. Don't you think?"
3. Some day, I don't know if I am wrong or right
As the month carries on, Max begins to really feel the effects of stress with none of the usual outlets to release them. Working out can only do so much, even if he is frequently pushing himself to the very limits of his own endurance, sometimes going for up to four hours between the gym, the pool, and the sports deck. It isn't enough. He needs better distractions. He needs... he needs a master to just tell him what the hell to do. He needs someone to fucking hold him down, bite his neck, and take away all these torturous thoughts and fears. He just wants to feel nothing but pleasure for a little while. Shut the rest of it off. Is that really so much to ask for? Is that really so wrong?
It rapidly becomes his habit to drink himself stupid in the evenings and go stumbling around the decks with his head full of fuzz and his eyes full of unshed tears. Anyone he approaches in this condition, male, female, organic or not, will find him becoming exceptionally flirty.
"Hey there good lookin'," he says, setting his lips into a sultry pout, "Like what you see? Want to get a closer look? I'll let you do anything you want. I'm all yours." There's something painfully desperate in the way he asks, a pleading look in his eyes that begs a little too hard for them to say yes.
Wildcard
Catch me on plurk at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
KansaiBanzai or discord Cmdr.Crackers#5481 if you want to pitch an idea, or just hit me up with anything and I'll roll with it.
What: Various prompts for new years and into January
When: Dec 31 - January
Where: Various places around the ship, check prompts
Warnings: Alcoholism, depression, grief, death, master/slave, potential for discussion of past trauma including sexual abuse, addiction, self-destructive behaviors, blood/biting/blood drinking, potential for discussion of dub-con, last prompt especially contains unhealthy relations to sex for coping (the boy is not okay) --if you still want to tag but need me to avoid any of the above just let me know and I will tone the scenario down as much as you need.
Edit: To bypass this toplevel (and any CWs within it) and go directly to the Baked Book for In Character Compliments click HERE
1. Soon it will be over and buried with our past
Late in the evening on December 31st, Max finds himself sitting alone in the corner of Topy with what might be his fourth or fifth drink judging by the litter of empty glasses around him. It would be easy to assume he's here drinking to forget the events of the expedition. He's happy to let people think that if they do come in--though, he chose this bar specifically because it seems to get the least traffic and he hoped it would spare people having to feel responsible for him while they are all dealing with their own issues already. Because this isn't about the excursion at all. It's about what this night represents to his past.
It's inching closer to midnight. By now, his master's annual New Year's Eve party should be in full swing. Max should be there, carrying around glasses of red liquid that look close enough to red wine so long as no one notes the viscosity. He should be making his guests feel welcome while his master, Lord Osborne, prepares to give his hospitality speech of the night. It's always timed perfectly to end at the stroke of midnight. What would that speech have been about this year? He'll never know. Will he ever hear one again?
In the absence of a party to plan, Max finds his thoughts drifting back further...to the night it all began. The night that poor college kid should have died, and didn't. The night he died, but didn't. If he'd only done things differently... Would he be here? Would anything have changed? A tear slips down his cheek and he wipes it away hastily before draining the last of his whiskey. He doesn't know what to miss anymore. He misses his family, his dad and sister, but now he misses his master too. He misses when the world made sense. He misses knowing what the future would bring. Even if it was scary, at least he could trust it to be consistent. He doesn't even have that here... doesn't have a kitchen, doesn't have anything familiar, doesn't have a clue what to do about it. So here he sits, sniffling, wallowing in self-pity, trying his best not to make it anyone else's problem just this once. Like Erin said, no one is interested in being his master here.
2. We used to play outside when we were young, and full of life and full of love
It's been days and Max is still moping about the lack of kitchens now they are back on the ship. That hotel kitchen was a dream come true and now he misses it like he misses an old friend. But, the good news is: he made a lot of desserts in just that short amount of time. More than any one person could eat. The better news is that none of it is spoiling even without a refrigerator. There's just one catch to that, desserts are taking up every available space in his side of the cabin now, and it's gotten out of hand. He needs to offload some of it. What better way than by hosting a bake sale...kind of? No one actually has to pay for anything with money.
A sign set out on one of the buffet tables reads: Pay a sweet compliment to someone and get a sweet! Next to the sign is a notebook and pen where people can jot down something nice about anyone they want in exchange for any number of cookies, cakes, pastries, or pies that are spread out on the table.
"It's okay," says Max, who is sitting there manning the table, "you can write it anonymously if you want. I just figured, with everything that happened, we could all use some kind words. Don't you think?"
3. Some day, I don't know if I am wrong or right
As the month carries on, Max begins to really feel the effects of stress with none of the usual outlets to release them. Working out can only do so much, even if he is frequently pushing himself to the very limits of his own endurance, sometimes going for up to four hours between the gym, the pool, and the sports deck. It isn't enough. He needs better distractions. He needs... he needs a master to just tell him what the hell to do. He needs someone to fucking hold him down, bite his neck, and take away all these torturous thoughts and fears. He just wants to feel nothing but pleasure for a little while. Shut the rest of it off. Is that really so much to ask for? Is that really so wrong?
It rapidly becomes his habit to drink himself stupid in the evenings and go stumbling around the decks with his head full of fuzz and his eyes full of unshed tears. Anyone he approaches in this condition, male, female, organic or not, will find him becoming exceptionally flirty.
"Hey there good lookin'," he says, setting his lips into a sultry pout, "Like what you see? Want to get a closer look? I'll let you do anything you want. I'm all yours." There's something painfully desperate in the way he asks, a pleading look in his eyes that begs a little too hard for them to say yes.
Wildcard
Catch me on plurk at
3
There is a thing wolves do, sometimes, where they go to parents or older siblings and present their face for gentle, affectionate biting. This is clearly not the same, but it's the only thing she can think of.
"Do you have something else you want me to see?"
no subject
"I do. I decided I'm not embarrassed for you to see me naked after all. I'm flirting with you because I want to have sex with you. If you'll have me?"
no subject
"You hardly know anything about me," she points out, frowning. There are several very pertinent facts about her that anyone trying to get into her pants does need to know. "But. Um. Sit down, okay?"
no subject
At her command, he lets himself slide down the rail until his butt lands on the floor. None of that was graceful. The stench of whiskey wafting off of him should be a good enough answer for why.
"It doesn't have to mean more than... just having fun."
no subject
"Okay, but I don't know that much about you," she sighs. She shifts in her seat on the convenient deck chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Tell me about you."
no subject
"I used to be a human servant. Now, I don't have a master and I'm all alone. I don't like being alone. I like to bake but there aren't any kitchens here. Everything I know how to do isn't needed on this stupid ship. The only good thing left about me is my dick." He's going to hate himself in the morning if he remembers this conversation. "So that's why I... but you don't have to. It's okay. I can just... I can go."
no subject
Ylva reaches to grab him by the arm, an attempt to hold him in place. "You're not alone here, are you?"
no subject
"Whenever I talk I just... make people upset."
He looks up at her, eyes bleary from booze and tears both. But, it's true. He's not alone right now. She's sitting with him. Does he deserve that? After the ass he's made of himself?
"No. But I... I still feel so alone..."
no subject
no subject
The above internal debate is happening seemingly independent of his body because he slumps sideways to put his head in her lap without any hesitation. A shuddering sob breaks past his lips before he manages to get a grip on himself.
"I feel less along right now..."
no subject
no subject
He goes limp in her lap as she gently strokes his hair. If he had the ability, he'd be purring like a cat. He's only realizing now as calm finally washes over him that this might be what he needed even more than what he was asking for.
"I like this a lot. Thank you..."
no subject
Ylva means that, because she always says what's in her heart. "And people are always worried I'm going to be offended, but it's just... nice. To be touched, sometimes."
no subject
no subject
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He's still sniffling, but what was potentially going to be a sobbing fit has turned into a slow and quiet trickle of tears down his cheeks. Sorrow, but the kind that comes with acceptance. It's not all bad here. Not when there are people like her willing to listen to him and hold him.
no subject
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He does wish he had a little shapeshifting right about now, himself, so he could actually purr for her like a cat because that petting is just so, so good.
"Maybe they were all just jealous of you."
no subject
She has a sense the truth has more to do with her unawareness of social niceties. "Please" and "thank you" are simple enough to grasp, but "acceptable clothing" and "table manners" are kind of harder. "I think you're pretty cool too, though."
no subject
"Then we should start a club. A cool people supporting each other club."