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you're waiting for a train

A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you don't know for sure. Yet it doesn't matter...

...why doesn't it matter?

The riddle rings around in your head as you wake up, jolting from your sleep as though you've fallen through the sky in a dream, the ground rushing to greet you. On the table to your side is a matte silver briefcase, innocuous and full of possibility.

( Welcome to the dreamshare business. )

(no subject)

THE KINK CLUB MEME

A picture of a black leather collar, two Xs made of electrical tape, and a black leather flogger on a bright red background.

A setting-based meme.

Kink or fetish clubs, dungeons, or studios are places where people interested in partaking in BDSM can play with other like-minded individuals. Though sex is certainly on the table (or under it, or over it) at this particular establishment, guests here can also engage in kinky activities that keep their clothes on. We're here to have fun, not to judge: just keep it safe, sane, and consensual, and wipe down the surfaces when you're done.

Treat this meme like a jamjar or AU setting! Write up a top-level with what your character's up to in the club. The settings below are jumping off points, if you want to use them, but the club is also infinitely large and absolutely will cater to kinks not listed. Do what you want, I'm not the cops.

Link to kink lists and info, or include some OOC notes on what you're down for.

This meme is designed for BDSM and other kink play and therefore may involve potentially upsetting or triggering content.

Please tag threads appropriately and don't be a dick.

( need the crack of the whip, need some blood in the cut )

⩥ The Club: Welcome in! Leave your bag—and any clothing you'd like to shed—at the coat check. Masks are available for those who need a little more anonymity.

Are you here to play? Maybe you're just here for a drink? Or are your goals a little more mysterious—a meeting with a contact where no one can eavesdrop, a magical ritual, a hiding place? Just because kink is happening at the club doesn't mean it's the only thing happening here.

⩥ The Bar:One of the first areas guests encounter after the coat check is the bar, fully stocked with beer, wine, and liquor, as well as some fancy mocktails. The bartenders are always busy mixing drinks. You're mixing drinks—or you're planning to buy a cocktail for the hottie a few stools down.

⩥ The Dance Floor: Feel like dancing? The DJ might be playing pounding industrial goth, or something sultry and jazzy, and you're out on the floor trying to catch someone's eye. Or you're one of the dancers in the cages scattered around the space, collecting tips while you show off your assets.

⩥ Impact Play: A section of the club is dedicated to impact play. A St. Andrew's cross is bolted to the floor by one wall. A spanking bench is ready for use. Any combination of whips, floggers, crops, and paddles can be borrowed for use.

Someone might be offering a demonstration—and someone else might be the demonstrated upon. Maybe you're here just to watch and pick up some pointers. Maybe you're looking for someone to help you burn off a tough week in the endorphin rush.

⩥ Rigging and Ropes: Always wanted to try your hand at ropework? The club has a dedicated space and the materials you'll need. Here's another place where someone might be offering a class on knots, and they'll certainly need a model, won't they? Plus, the ceilings here are low enough that you can reach the sturdy beams overhead, if you want to try your hand at suspension.

⩥ Quiet Socializing/Aftercare: Want to just chat with someone? Finished an intense scene and need a blanket and a bottle of water? This room has a softer vibe than the rest of the club, with comfortable couches, lots of pillows, and good soundproofing.

Hydrate and rest! That's an order.

⩥ The Back Rooms: Not like that, unless your kink is liminal horror and you really want to take this meme in a fun direction, in which case, yes exactly like that.

Look, we know what we're about. Did you meet someone interesting and you don't want to pull their hair in public? There are private rooms up the spiral staircase. Any toys you need for a good time—or a bad time, if that's what you're after—will be provided.

⩥ Theme Nights: Looking for something specific that isn't listed above, like pet play,
latex,
knife play, and the like? There's a night for that. Bring your own kinks.

Seasons of Mist: in which the dead return

Look, I have to run. There's a whole can of worms opened up here, and no one else seems to be doing anything about it. I'm doing what I can ...

But the dead are coming back, little brother. The dead are coming back.

It's December. London is done up in fairy lights and tinsel, a winter wonderland -- as long as you look up, of course. If you look down, it's slush and salt, and people trying not to freeze to death in doorways, and discarded beer cans in the gutters. Though these last are hardly seasonal, of course. They just hit different at Christmas.

In her warm flat in the center of the city, Johanna Constantine has a dream that she hasn't had in months.

It doesn't go like it normally does.

Normally in this dream, Astra runs into the room clutching her father's book, and Jo turns to yell for her to get out, and the distraction lets something come snaking out of the door in the air to rip her and Astra off their feet. That's what happened, as far as Jo remembers. At any rate, it's how she's replayed it night after night for years.

But this time, Astra doesn't come in. Jo screams the Latin and Enochian at the mouth of Hell, her throat burning with sulfur -- and to her shock, the thing shuts. She drops to the floor, panting, blue-black afterimages dancing over her vision. In the dream, she feels cold. Freezing.

All of a sudden, she hears a silence behind her that frightens her so badly she wakes up in a sweat.

It's December. Frost traces the corners of her window, and it flashes blue and white as a police car goes past outside. When she checks her phone, it's 3:33 in the morning. The witching hour.

Something feels very, very wrong.

The earth will reveal her bloodshed
and will no longer conceal her slain.

It takes her a couple of days to work it out. The calls start coming in the next day, first from Ric, then Nige, then fucking Watford, which is how she knows things are getting dire. Ghosts, apparently -- ghosts by the dozens, but not just people's dear old grans.

Well, actually, dear old gran had been quite helpful, in her way.

Well. Actually. At least one of them was dear old gran, apparently, but dear old gran had been somewhere a good deal hotter and bloodier than her kids had expected.

Dear old gran had been quite helpful, in the end, as Constantine snarled for her to "go back where you bloody belong, will you?" Gran screeched back that she belonged right where she was, thank you, and there was nowhere to go now that the Devil had been defeated and God had let her out of Hell, and then she'd thrown a full pot of scalding tea at Constantine, and at that point Constantine reckoned her usual methods weren't going to be effective.

The dead are back. Some of them ephemeral, many of them physical. And the signs of infernal incursion on Earth are all over the place, too. Something has happened in Hell. Constantine doubts that the Devil has actually been defeated, but something has happened. And she's pretty sure that, like the man said, Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.

Going to be a bit of a problem, that.

She should probably call on some people.