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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 )

Chell

One moment it was a shadow in the corner of Chell's eye. The next, it was a stinging pain across her arm -- and her fist hitting this demon-ghost-thing in the face.

She thought that was enough. The thing, whatever it was, dissolved back into the darkness, and Chell, buzzing with adrenaline, hurried back towards the castle.

You again. Well, well. It's been a long time since we've done any testing, isn't it?

The voice feels like a buzz in the back of her neck, where the microchip was placed. Chell turns nevertheless, as if she'll see the source. She hears a chuckle through her skull, and a camera on the wall above turns to focus on her.

Oh. You look surprised. That's interesting. This test was only intended to measure the effect on test subjects of encountering deadly biohazardous monsters. Which, honestly, I thought you were expecting. I guess you're even more useless than I had accounted for.

Chell looks down at her arm and sees black lines beginning to grow outward along her arm from the cut. She jerks backwards as if she can get away from the infection, stumbling until her back hits a wall. Shaking, she looks up at the camera again -- which, to anyone not currently poisoned, looks like a totally normal lamp in a sconce on the wall -- grabs for the nearest object, a vase, and throws it with all her strength.

Nott

Listen, is it really important what the thing looked like when it beckoned Nott closer for a kiss? No. It's not. It's definitely not. Please do not ask her what it was and whether it was a minotaur.

(It wasn't.)

The point is that she got got, okay? she went in for a smooch and suddenly her whole body felt like it had been plunged into freezing water. Things went hazy for a few minutes. When she came to, she hauled herself back to the castle, shivering the whole way.

Since then she's been in a bad way. Tired and cold, Nott has dragged herself out to the Autumn Wing common room to huddle in front of the fireplace. Her hair looks frosty, her skin ashen. She's so fucking cold.

⚜ The Interuniverse Inn ⚜

It's your friendly local watering hole. Well . . . maybe not so local. But on a night like tonight, when the weather is terrible, when you really need a drink, the sympathetic ear of a bartender or a place to wait out the storm, you'll find just the place you need.

The Inn is a place at the crossroads of many different worlds, where people from the past, present, future, and the universe next door can gather. There's a crackling fireplace with couches and chairs nearby where patrons tell stories and jokes and warm their bones. The bar is very long, with tall barstools lining the counter and more taps than you can count at a glance. And if you have a bit too much -- or meet someone you'd like to get to know better -- just head up the stairs, where the inn has rooms to let.

The ambiance is warm and the waitstaff are attentive. Sure, that person sitting next to you might be a little odd compared to what you're used to, but what an excuse to strike up a conversation, right? Take a load off. Quench your thirst. Share your story.

Inspired by Callahan's Crosstime Saloon, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, and the Worlds' End Inn, here's a setting to facilitate all your cross-canon CR, your one-night-stands, and your drinking games. Pick a starter from the list! Tag out! Have fun!

BARTENDING: you're more than a regular, you're the familiar face behind the bar, polishing glasses and lending an ear to the patrons' sob stories. What'll it be?
DRINK SPECIALS: management recommends the Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster, but does not accept any liability if you choose to actually order it.
MAKE A TOAST: raise a glass to something you're celebrating, something you're mourning, or whatever's on your mind. If the spirit moves you, toss your glass in the fireplace! You'll feel better.
STORYTELLING: everyone here has a story to tell, and that storm outside is still going strong. Why not share a tall tale to pass the time?
KARAOKE: don't be fooled by the rustic atmosphere. We've got modern conveniences! Get some liquid courage and give us your go-to karaoke jam.
BAR BRAWL: ooops. Someone's had a little too much to drink and is getting a little too loud. Things are getting tense. Are some heads gonna get knocked?
READY TO MINGLE: are you here by yourself? Got a good pick-up line to use? Maybe someone will buy you a drink to get the conversation started.
DRINKING GAMES: Whether it's Flip Cup, Beer Pong, or just a good old shot-for-shot drinking contest, there's no better way to get very smashed and make new friends. Or enemies, if they're sore losers.
BAR GAMES: fancy a game of darts? Maybe you're a pool shark. Or maybe you're a pinball wizard. Or just a wizard, who's cheating at pinball. Rude.
WILDCARD: choose your own adventure.

BONUS: NEW YEAR'S EVE PARTY

Welcome, traveler! You've found yourself here on a rather special night! There's sequins everywhere and a festive atmosphere as the patrons celebrate the end of one year and the arrival of a new one. (Don't ask exactly what year it is; just get yourself some champagne and enjoy the night!)

FIREWORKS: hey, has the weather cleared up a little? Grab a sparkler or a couple of fireworks and head up to the roof to light up the night and celebrate.
FIREWORKS GONE WRONG: shitshitshit LOOK OUT THAT ONE'S GONNA BLOW -- whoops. Everyone okay? Still got your fingers?
NEW YEAR'S EVE KISS: Three ... Two ... One ... happy New Year! Pop the bubbly and grab someone for a kiss!

In the desert, everyone can hear you scream. For miles, and miles, and miles.

Welcome to Night Vale.

It's a beautiful day in Night Vale. The sun is up, the kids are out playing baseball, and the air quality is pleasantly glassy. Even the Shape In Grove Park That No One Acknowledges Or Speaks About is looking just lovely. A perfect day to go by Big Ricco's for a slice of pizza, or for a walk in the Scrublands, or just to give terrified thanks and blood sacrifices to the dark and whimsical forces that have allowed you, outside of all reason or sense, to survive another day.

Or go to the zoo!

How did you get here? Perhaps you have always been here. Perhaps you looked up from your book or your phone today and found yourself in this place -- this strange, strange place -- with no knowledge of how you got here, nor any memory of where you were before. Perhaps as you fled your old life, with only what you could carry packed in the back of your car, as you huddled bleary-eyed over the steering wheel and desperately hoping that the needle on the gas gauge would stay above E for a few miles longer, a few miles longer, just a few -- as the ribbon of road rolled out ahead of you through trackless and boundless sands, and dark shapes shimmered on the horizon in the corner of your eye . . . you saw signs for GAS and LODGING 5 MILES, and your radio picked up the soothing, sonorous voice of a local radio station announcer, and you knew this, this town, this inexplicable oasis was not what you had been looking for but what had drawn you, inexorably, implacably. And what it wanted of you -- or you of it -- you cannot think.

Or do not want to think.

Oh! Don't forget the ice cream social is today, too, in front of the Moonlight All-Night Diner.

Just don't go to the dog park. Do not go to the dog park.

[ooc: So for those of you who have not yet been inundated with information about Welcome to Night Vale, it is a town in a desert in which strange and terrible things happen on a regular basis. From secret government agencies (both local and national or possibly global) monitoring your every move and conversation, to an underground city preparing to invade the world above through the bowling alley, to an invisible clocktower, to a cat that hovers in the men's room of the local radio station -- if it's weird and kind of unsettling, it's probably happening in Night Vale. You can find out more at the wiki, or read transcripts of episodes or listen to the show itself.

Given that this is Night Vale, your characters could be AUs who have always lived in Night Vale, or they could have ended up here with no idea of how or why they arrived, or something else! It's pretty open-ended. Go crazy. ~~It's inevitable anyway. Beat the rush~~.]

Is it a blessing or a curse to be reunited with those who are gone?

The question has been much on Kate's mind since she returned to this place and found her Harry here, seemingly alive -- and yet, as he told her, trapped in this purgatory, unable to move forward or back. So Kate finds herself in a position no widow has ever been in: she may have the enjoyment of her dead husband again, but not the keeping of him. Should she leave this place at the end of the world, he dies to her again. And she's not sure she has the strength to lose him more than once.

They're heavy thoughts, but she can cast them off for hours at a time in Harry's bed. They only begin to creep up on her when she slips out of his room while he sleeps. (He looks too much like the dead Hotspur of her nightmares, then, still and quiet. She used to love sleeping beside him; now she prefers him awake and laughing.)

So evening in Milliways finds her in the common room, dressed again in her mourning black -- the only clothes she has here -- and splitting her attention between brooding glances at the fire and fascinated people-watching.

What it comes down to is that the current tax structure is untenable. We throw good money after bad in the Middle East in the hopes o

Kate Percy pauses, frowning at the blog post she's drafting. Nobody has come to her office to ask for a snack or a Band-Aid or any of the other interruptions a stay-at-home mother is accustomed to.

Which means someone, somewhere, is probably getting in trouble.

She clicks "Save draft" -- it's not going anywhere interesting, anyway; she needs more coffee -- pushes back from her desk, and pokes her head into the hallway to listen for things breaking.

[First, notes on Kate:

Kate is properly called Lady Elizabeth, after her grandmother, Elizabeth de Burgh, but to her lord she is always and ever Kate. She is some years younger than her husband (historically 32 to his 37 [Joe Armstrong is 34, Michelle Dockery is 31]), but she has always been his match. She reads and writes very well, embroiders and keeps accounts, and knows a little medicine -- the sorts of skills the mistress of a house needs. When her husband is away, she runs the household with as firm a hand as he does, though perhaps a more even-tempered one.

It's Harry that brings out her bad temper, her impulsiveness. Kate tries to keep Harry's choler in check, and more often than not she succeeds -- but if he can't be calmed down, then he will of a certainty set her off, and they'll have one of their fights that set the servants to shaking their heads. Kate has never had any qualms about striking her husband, if it seems warranted, since he won't hesitate to toss her about by the same token. (But she only actually broke his finger the one time, when he ignored her for a week in favor of arguing with his father, and she needed some way of making him fight with her again.)

She loves Harry deeply, even when she wants to dash his head against the wall, and she counts herself blessed that he loves her so in return.

She enjoys riding, embroidery, and good food. She takes care with her clothes and appearance when she must, but day to day she wears her hair loose and prefers simple gowns to elaborate ones. Her favorite dog is named Jack.]

Harry and his father have been some days from home, but they are to be returning soon, and Kate's mind is more on the preparations for their return than on where her feet are taking her. There will have to be food and drink and entertainment--

But she is not so far away that she won't notice when she walks through the door to the storeroom and into somewhere entirely different, full of people and noise and utterly unfamiliar decor.

Lady Percy halts, and narrows her eyes, and considers whether this is a miracle or merely madness.