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draino2024-09-07 10:00 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-09-07 10:00 am
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π πππ'π ππππππππ ππππ πππππππππ ππππ β£ SEPT TDM
SEPTEMBER 2024 TDM: LUGHNASADH
Welcome to SALTBURNT, a panfandom smut/thriller game based off the film Saltburn, where characters are encouraged to indulge their deepest desires. The money never runs out and the liquor never stops pouring, so you may as well indulge from the bounty. Of course, things are rarely what they seem, and the manor itself seems to have a consciousness of its own. Throw parties, trash the house, engage in youthful merriment, but remember β dangers come out at night, and no one, no matter how rich you are, is safe from demons lurking in the shadows.
Threads can be considered game canon, provided the players agree. Players can also start fresh upon acceptance into the game. In game characters can post to the TDM directly, using Β« NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEΒ» in the header. There will be a spot below for new characters to link their toplevels for easy access. Alternatively, prompts on the Test Drive can be used for in game logs.
WELCOME TO SALTBURNT
It's the hangover more than the light streaming in through half drawn curtains that wakes you up, your brain rattling in your skull, your mouth dry and cottony, your stomach churning with whatever it is you drank last night. If self preservation is your strong suit, you might turn over in bed and see a few painkillers laid out for you on a silver dish, accompanied by a glass of water. If it isnβt, stay in bed and wallow β eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itβs normal for you. Maybe it isnβt.
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, some who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "Breakfast will be out in a minute," they say. What's that?
EDIT SEPTEMBER 2024: For those who have attended breakfast with the Balfours before, a change in routine might come as a shock, given how rarely they stray from form. However, as of September, CARMY BERZATTO has taken over Head Chef position, alongside his cousin RICHIE JERIMOVICH and always the bridesmaid never the bride, SANJI. In place of the self-serve style breakfast, there is an elevated menu, including: a self-serve juice bar, with pitchers of various juiced fruit and vegetables, shaved ice, coconut water, green and black tea syrups, potted microherbs, sliced whole berries, and finger limes. There is also, naturally, liquor and champagne available. Guests can make their own drinks, or ask the allocated staff member to serve them one of the "specials" if they're feeling adventurous.
πππ πππππ: one runny boiled egg shelled and recoated in edible gold leaf, seated on a throne of fried bread soldiers, plated with whipped butter and italian parsley.
ππππ ππππππππ: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
ππππ πππππππππππ: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
πππ ππππππ: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
ππππ π πππππππππ: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
πππππππ ππππ: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
πππ ππππππππππ: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
β momofuku's "cereal milk" β
β fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss β
β a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping β
β a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling β
β poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection β
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, some who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "Breakfast will be out in a minute," they say. What's that?
EDIT SEPTEMBER 2024: For those who have attended breakfast with the Balfours before, a change in routine might come as a shock, given how rarely they stray from form. However, as of September, CARMY BERZATTO has taken over Head Chef position, alongside his cousin RICHIE JERIMOVICH and always the bridesmaid never the bride, SANJI. In place of the self-serve style breakfast, there is an elevated menu, including: a self-serve juice bar, with pitchers of various juiced fruit and vegetables, shaved ice, coconut water, green and black tea syrups, potted microherbs, sliced whole berries, and finger limes. There is also, naturally, liquor and champagne available. Guests can make their own drinks, or ask the allocated staff member to serve them one of the "specials" if they're feeling adventurous.
That said, these are world class chefs, so the gold is really in the menu:
THE EGGS
πππ πππππ: one runny boiled egg shelled and recoated in edible gold leaf, seated on a throne of fried bread soldiers, plated with whipped butter and italian parsley.
ππππ ππππππππ: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
ππππ πππππππππππ: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
πππ ππππππ: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
ππππ π πππππππππ: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
πππππππ ππππ: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
πππ ππππππππππ: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
THE SWEETS
β fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss β
β a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping β
β a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling β
β poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection β
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
ITSY BITSY TEENIE WEENIE
CONTENT WARNINGS: drugs, alcohol, nudity, potential for nsfw.
POOLSIDE PLAYLIST courtesy of Robin
It's an innocent enough, offhand suggestion from the mouth of one (1) DIARMUID about wanting to learn how to paint, and honestly, the house couldn't agree more: a party is necessary. As August winds down, it's important to go out with a bang, and what better way than through an explosive end of summer pool party? To say goodbye to the waning summer nights, the manor is throwing a pool party with an artistic neon twist. Per the growing complications of everyone's relationship status in this new age of bisexuality, polygamy, and pegging, glow-in-the-dark bracelets with matching solo cups have been set out with the appropriate labels βΒ TAKEN, SINGLE, OPEN, and IT'S COMPLICATED, depending on your interest. Lounge by the water in your cutest bikini or trunks or nothing at all and engage in some very relaxing full-body painting using the supplies provided β that is, the paint is supplied, though brushes and sponges are few and far between. Better just to use your own body to paint your masterpiece. Put yourself on display as a model by the pool, or engage in a brutally competitive game of chicken fights, wherein the loser loses their clothes and the winner gets to keep them.
Not your style? Sneak off somewhere more private like the twinkling gardens illuminated with multicolored tiki lamps, lakeside decorated with bio-luminescent rocks, or the (perfectly safe, wolfless, we promise) maze to indulge in your inner desires. You might find that certain colors glow beneath the moonlight and unlock desires youβve kept tightly under lock and key. It's hard not to feel impulsive or unrestrained under the full moon's light, with your body paint as armor. People might appear more attractive to you under this witching light like a magic spell cast β but really, you havenβt had any trouble with that, here. Have you?
If youβre thirsty, the house has tasked RICHIE, CARMY, and SANJI (dressed as cabana boys) with an extensive poolside drinks menu, since theyβve been so helpful with breakfast. Thanks, boys. Ask them for anything. In fact, ask them for everything. They're here to serve.
As the night closes out, turn your eyes heavenward for a spectacular fireworks show. Many apologies to those of you who suffer from PTSD; you can head inside for an early night and cover your ears with a pillow, but do be careful not to suffocate yourself, unless you're into that. The fireworks shimmer and shatter, and those watching closely might start to see hidden messages written in the stars for you, though is that your eyes playing tricks? Better ask that friend youβre snuggled up with. As anxiety weighs a little heavier on your heart, you might feel compelled to confess a few secrets on this last night of summer, big or small, something loving or not. Seek out that destructive habit, or take some steps toward healing. Let the fireworks drown out the noise.
POOLSIDE PLAYLIST courtesy of Robin
It's an innocent enough, offhand suggestion from the mouth of one (1) DIARMUID about wanting to learn how to paint, and honestly, the house couldn't agree more: a party is necessary. As August winds down, it's important to go out with a bang, and what better way than through an explosive end of summer pool party? To say goodbye to the waning summer nights, the manor is throwing a pool party with an artistic neon twist. Per the growing complications of everyone's relationship status in this new age of bisexuality, polygamy, and pegging, glow-in-the-dark bracelets with matching solo cups have been set out with the appropriate labels βΒ TAKEN, SINGLE, OPEN, and IT'S COMPLICATED, depending on your interest. Lounge by the water in your cutest bikini or trunks or nothing at all and engage in some very relaxing full-body painting using the supplies provided β that is, the paint is supplied, though brushes and sponges are few and far between. Better just to use your own body to paint your masterpiece. Put yourself on display as a model by the pool, or engage in a brutally competitive game of chicken fights, wherein the loser loses their clothes and the winner gets to keep them.
Not your style? Sneak off somewhere more private like the twinkling gardens illuminated with multicolored tiki lamps, lakeside decorated with bio-luminescent rocks, or the (perfectly safe, wolfless, we promise) maze to indulge in your inner desires. You might find that certain colors glow beneath the moonlight and unlock desires youβve kept tightly under lock and key. It's hard not to feel impulsive or unrestrained under the full moon's light, with your body paint as armor. People might appear more attractive to you under this witching light like a magic spell cast β but really, you havenβt had any trouble with that, here. Have you?
If youβre thirsty, the house has tasked RICHIE, CARMY, and SANJI (dressed as cabana boys) with an extensive poolside drinks menu, since theyβve been so helpful with breakfast. Thanks, boys. Ask them for anything. In fact, ask them for everything. They're here to serve.
As the night closes out, turn your eyes heavenward for a spectacular fireworks show. Many apologies to those of you who suffer from PTSD; you can head inside for an early night and cover your ears with a pillow, but do be careful not to suffocate yourself, unless you're into that. The fireworks shimmer and shatter, and those watching closely might start to see hidden messages written in the stars for you, though is that your eyes playing tricks? Better ask that friend youβre snuggled up with. As anxiety weighs a little heavier on your heart, you might feel compelled to confess a few secrets on this last night of summer, big or small, something loving or not. Seek out that destructive habit, or take some steps toward healing. Let the fireworks drown out the noise.
FRUITS OF LABOUR
CONTENT WARNINGS: body horror, gore, cannibalism.
Saying goodbye to summer means welcoming in the new season, and as August nights turn into September mornings, the landscape of the grounds changes from verdant greens to egg yolk yellow and sunburnt orange, a gradient of autumnal colors. To that end, a week long festival erects outside to enjoy the last of the year's good weather β a generous harvest bounty fills up tables and tables of ample displays, full of ripened fruits and fresh baked breads, baked potatoes roasted in the coals of a bonfire, sausages, wheels of cheese, marshmallows, cider and apple juice, tomato soup, apple and blackberry compote, rhubarb crumble, all richly decorated in sunset hues. Among the servings, anyone with a birthday in August or September will find themselves a individualized cake, perhaps with some motif to define them, otherwise just with the harvest decorations of gourds, leaves, wheat, and fruit. Alongside that, a new smaller maze has been made from hay bales on the lawn. During the day it's just a silly and fun maze, but at night it takes on a new form and characters can easily become lost and find themselves in a maze that seems to go on forever, with the ominous lowing of a bull somewhere in the distance. Luckily, everyone is released at daybreak, maybe a little traumatized, but all in one piece.
What would a festival be, without some games to indulge in? Around the celebratory grounds, there are four pumpkins painted gold, hidden around the festival. Anyone who finds one is entitled to a boon from your very generous hosts (join the race HERE). Hunting not to your tastes after the last few goose chases? No worries, there's plenty still to do β from apple bobbing, jumping over bonfires, throwing discus/shotput, horseshoes, and more, it's a festival jam packed with games and prizes to be won, from little jars of handmade jam from France, to stuffed chicken plushies, to tin cans with the labels ripped off, full of ... well, it's anyone's guess, really. Crack it open and find out!
In honor of the handfasting ceremony, characters are selected at random and tied together at the wrist, much to everyone's amusement. Once knotted, the ribbon will not give way under any physical or magical duress, meaning you'll be stuck together until the tie undoes on its own. It could be day, a night, two nights, or more, but it seems like the ribbon is waiting for something in particular βΒ a genuine heart to heart, maybe? Consummating the marriage? Hopefully you like the person you're tied to, because you're going to be spending a lot of time with your temporary spouse, in immediately close quarters.
At the end of the week, there's a final end of summer ceremony, wherein the vampire ARMAND is given special homage for being an especially adored guest, donned in floral regalia and ordained with crowns of flowers, much to his growing malcontent. In fact, he and all the vampires present in house seem to be given the regal treatment from the staff with less grand flower crowns of their own, honored at the head of the festival's final gluttonous table, lined with naked, giggling bodies covered in autumnal produce, sprouting mushrooms, blooming flowers, and distinctly meaty dishes β steak and kidney pie, blood sausage, pumpkins stuffed with zebra meat. It's only after you drink the wildflower tea and locally (Very, Locally) crafted beer that things start to feel a little off. The happy bodies used as serving platters look sometimes, between one blink and the next, like masticated corpses, the gourds and fruits set more deeply in the cornucopia their opened chest cavities make. Despite that, there's no real sense of death in the air β get a better look, and you might find the veins of the dead work more like the vines for the plants, giving them life.
The question becomes: which is the hallucination? The smiling faces or the blooming corpses?
Though hysteria rankles through the crowd the more people come to terms with the visions they're seeing, given the population at the head of the table, it's a fairly easy riddle to crack. Can vampires eat the cursed food? In short: yes, they can. Sorry we made you eat people again.
Saying goodbye to summer means welcoming in the new season, and as August nights turn into September mornings, the landscape of the grounds changes from verdant greens to egg yolk yellow and sunburnt orange, a gradient of autumnal colors. To that end, a week long festival erects outside to enjoy the last of the year's good weather β a generous harvest bounty fills up tables and tables of ample displays, full of ripened fruits and fresh baked breads, baked potatoes roasted in the coals of a bonfire, sausages, wheels of cheese, marshmallows, cider and apple juice, tomato soup, apple and blackberry compote, rhubarb crumble, all richly decorated in sunset hues. Among the servings, anyone with a birthday in August or September will find themselves a individualized cake, perhaps with some motif to define them, otherwise just with the harvest decorations of gourds, leaves, wheat, and fruit. Alongside that, a new smaller maze has been made from hay bales on the lawn. During the day it's just a silly and fun maze, but at night it takes on a new form and characters can easily become lost and find themselves in a maze that seems to go on forever, with the ominous lowing of a bull somewhere in the distance. Luckily, everyone is released at daybreak, maybe a little traumatized, but all in one piece.
What would a festival be, without some games to indulge in? Around the celebratory grounds, there are four pumpkins painted gold, hidden around the festival. Anyone who finds one is entitled to a boon from your very generous hosts (join the race HERE). Hunting not to your tastes after the last few goose chases? No worries, there's plenty still to do β from apple bobbing, jumping over bonfires, throwing discus/shotput, horseshoes, and more, it's a festival jam packed with games and prizes to be won, from little jars of handmade jam from France, to stuffed chicken plushies, to tin cans with the labels ripped off, full of ... well, it's anyone's guess, really. Crack it open and find out!
In honor of the handfasting ceremony, characters are selected at random and tied together at the wrist, much to everyone's amusement. Once knotted, the ribbon will not give way under any physical or magical duress, meaning you'll be stuck together until the tie undoes on its own. It could be day, a night, two nights, or more, but it seems like the ribbon is waiting for something in particular βΒ a genuine heart to heart, maybe? Consummating the marriage? Hopefully you like the person you're tied to, because you're going to be spending a lot of time with your temporary spouse, in immediately close quarters.
At the end of the week, there's a final end of summer ceremony, wherein the vampire ARMAND is given special homage for being an especially adored guest, donned in floral regalia and ordained with crowns of flowers, much to his growing malcontent. In fact, he and all the vampires present in house seem to be given the regal treatment from the staff with less grand flower crowns of their own, honored at the head of the festival's final gluttonous table, lined with naked, giggling bodies covered in autumnal produce, sprouting mushrooms, blooming flowers, and distinctly meaty dishes β steak and kidney pie, blood sausage, pumpkins stuffed with zebra meat. It's only after you drink the wildflower tea and locally (Very, Locally) crafted beer that things start to feel a little off. The happy bodies used as serving platters look sometimes, between one blink and the next, like masticated corpses, the gourds and fruits set more deeply in the cornucopia their opened chest cavities make. Despite that, there's no real sense of death in the air β get a better look, and you might find the veins of the dead work more like the vines for the plants, giving them life.
The question becomes: which is the hallucination? The smiling faces or the blooming corpses?
Though hysteria rankles through the crowd the more people come to terms with the visions they're seeing, given the population at the head of the table, it's a fairly easy riddle to crack. Can vampires eat the cursed food? In short: yes, they can. Sorry we made you eat people again.
DIRECTORY
no subject
[He supposes he can't just ask her to trust his monster instincts. He huffs and is most definitely not pouting as he follows her into the kitchen and catches the bag she throws at him. He blinks, glancing down at the bag and then looking back at Eunyu as she starts to explore.
His gaze lingers on her as she wanders around the kitchen, although when her hoodie rides precariously high up on her thighs as she reaches for something he glances away for a moment. Then he tells himself not to be a coward and shifts his gaze back to her...only to find her bent over, and...
She knows she's not wearing pants, right? That's the sort of thing a person notices, isn't it? That they're aware of. Ignoring the fact that Hyunsu himself has almost forgotten that he is wearing a mostly sheer, not entirely buttoned up beach shirt that is doing literally nothing to hide flush creeping up his neck.
That's different though, he got used to being naked in that stupid lab.
By the time Eunyu turns her attention back to him, Hyunsu is so busy trying to figure out where he's supposed to be looking that he almost misses the offer of food. He blinks a few times at the fork she's offering him, trying to clear his head, before taking it.]
Oh. Sure. Yeah.
no subject
in one swift move, she has the prongs of her fork poised at his jugular. she presses in β not enough to bruise, but not nicely either. a quick jab. like she's trying to fork up his blush and eat it. )
What's that about?
no subject
It's also...kind of hot, actually. Which he doubts is the reaction she wants and thinking about it is just going to get him into more trouble. He's very aware that there is probably no right answer to this question. But he thinks lying and saying it's nothing would be worse because Eunyu would be able to tell and she doesn't trust easily.
He licks his lips, which suddenly feel very dry, and keeps his gaze on her face.]
Your legs.
[And her ass, if he wants to be really specific, but he is making some effort to not make this worse than it absolutely has to be.]
no subject
( her brows tie together in a confused knot, the fork not losing pressure on his throat until she glances down and remembers βΒ she has bare skin pressed against the metal table tops, thighs distantly chilly from soaking up the cold. oh. she doesn't let herself get embarrassed, even if her shoulders roll to fight off the weird not-quiet insecurity that charges her veins when she looks back up to him, fork still pressed. in place.
what's most strange to her, is that she managed to forget at all. that putting clothes on hasn't been a priority, for however briefly she thought about it before. hyunsu is hyunsu. he could hurt everyone in the world, but he'd never hurt her. )
You've never seen a pair of legs before?
( the fork moves up, digging into the line of his jaw, a little like how someone would use a gun to prop someone's chin, to catch their attention. she's not sure why she does it, really. because hyunsu is responsive, or because she isn't scared in any way that isn't thrilling. a science experiment. biology.
curious, ) You weren't around when Hyunsu saw me dance. Do you have that memory?
no subject
He is aroused, though.
He focuses on her words and the sound of her voice. Which, in fact, does nothing to lessen his body's reaction to her. His heart is pounding in his chest and he can't quite stop his breath from catching in his throat when she pushes the fork a little more firmly into his flesh.
His hands grip the edge of the counter as he tries to think, forcing himself to focus, even though this is really not the part of Hyunsu's consciousness that likes to think. But he's intrigued by the question. He searches his mind, trying to access Hyunsu's human memories. Most of them are a distant blur unless bullying and parental neglect are involved. Or the death of his family, of course. Those are the things that manifested this part of Hyunsu in the first place so he can see them clearly enough. And while he feels like he's always been aware of Eunyu, he can't quite find the first few times she and Hyunsu met, before the curse really took hold.
Finally he shakes his head once, perhaps a questionable decision with a fork pressed into his chin, but he doesn't complain.]
No. It must have been happy memory.
no subject
the ultimate answer surprises eunyu, head tilted. she can admit to never asking about how their dynamic works before, more intentional about getting rid of the monster and gaining back hyunsu, that she never really considered there might be more than just an obstacle to find inside the monster. well. that and using the benefits of his superpowered body whenever the need struck. maybe this is how they reach an agreement with the monster and get hyunsu back βΒ making him satisfied or happy enough to willingly go back inside. )
You don't have any happy memories?
( she lessens her fork threat until she pulls it back, into her lap. she isn't sure she'd describe it as a happy memory β to eunyu, is was a farewell to all her long suffering hopes and dreams, while also telling the cute, new guy in the apartment building to go kill himself somewhere more convenient. still, she's a little warm at the thought it might be happy for hyunsu. )
Should we make one?
no subject
He's not sure.
If her first question was just difficult to answer, though, the follow up actually surprises him. He stares at her, his bright blue eye dilated as he tries to make sense of this. Is she...talking about eating salmon together? It doesn't really sound like that's what she's talking about. But a lot of bloodflow has recently been redirected from his brain to his cock, so how clearly he's thinking is up in the air.
The last time he was in this state and dared to look at her lips he got headbutted in the face. Which, honestly, he's not mad about, but it also makes him doubt that her reaction to him at the moment could be the same as his reaction to her.
In the end he decides not to make assumptions and just try to follow her lead.]
Is that what you want?
no subject
mostly, she knows he's hyunsu. one aspect of him, but still that boy who protected her, who came back, who wouldn't let her be alone. so.
he's only scary from what he can do. not necessarily who he is. she gives a shrug. )
Don't know. Depends on what it is. ( she's not inside the moment enough to not have contingency plans. she knows who she's talking to β that's the whole point. ) If killing someone would make you happy, no. It's not what I want.
Other things could be what I want, though.
no subject
The corners of his mouth pull upward slightly at her explanation.]
I don't want to kill anyone.
[Not at the moment, anyway. He was tempted earlier, when the crowd wouldn't leave him alone, but she had stopped him, grabbing his hand before it got that far. The thought of killing hadn't really entered his mind since that moment, and it's definitely not what's on his mind now]
no subject
( she considers. the moment drags out a little longer, like two predatory animals eyeing each other, waiting for the other to make the move. only β eunyu knows hyunsu won't do it. it has to be her.
after a moment of indecision, she hefts herself off the table and onto her feet, taking the few steps it takes to stand in front of him, effectively crowding him in against the table despite her size. the extended quiet carries on, eunyu looking up at him, really seeing him β letting him see a little trepidation in her expression, but no real doubt. blindly, she finds his hand again and, after a second, links their pinkies together int he scatn space between their stomachs. )
This is a promise.
no subject
Something like this has happened before, and this side of him existed then, but was new and not in control. Thereβs a sense of warmth associated with the memory even though it feels distant and fleeting at the moment.
He leaves his pinky linked with hers, making no move to pull away, but he does lift his gaze back to her face, tilting his head slightly. ]
What promise?
[He can't quite remember the first one. Or...it was a secret, wasn't it? Something like that. He's not sure if this one is different.]
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he doesn't. it's just them. eunyu is in hindsight a little thrilled at what she might've done if eunhyuk didn't interrupt their first promise, and likewise a little affronted by her current self showing restraint in going forward. anyway, she's not giggling or laughing at him now βΒ her expression is serious and intense and a little watery, like she forgot how to be charming, if she ever was. )
It means ... ( there's little appeal in hiding secrets from hyunsu now βΒ anything could happen tomorrow, and he'd never know, and she'd have to hate herself for it. ) When I'm ready to take what I want from you, you'll let me have it.
( her free hand moves up and catches his face, holding him in place. with intention: )
You know what I mean, right?
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He does know what she means, because this part of Hyunsu manifested from three things: Trauma, rage and desire. Sure, the desires that created him weren't necessarily this type, but still, on a fundamental level he understands wanting. There are things he wants right now. Running his fingers through her hair, for instance, or pressing their bodies together, maybe to bury his face in her neck.
But he doesn't do any of that, because that's not what this is about. It's about what she wants. When he first woke up and asked her what she wanted, he had been honestly curious. Unfortunately for him what she wanted at that moment was apparently to hit him in the face. Now she's talking about something different and it's interesting and new. Fun in a way that he's unaccustomed to.
His gaze flickers to her lips and then back to her eyes and he hums softly, affirmative.]
I'll give you whatever you want.
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( she scoffs, maybe the closest she's gotten to a laugh in any time recent, immediately thinking a palace, a million dollars, my brother back. part of her wants to say something ludicrous just to listen to him tell her no, but the bigger part of her knows that as much as he's taking care of her safety, she should look out after him, too. not make a joke of the offering, but put it in her pocket like a coupon for a rainy day.
viper quick, she pushes up on her ballerina tip toes and presses a kiss on the underside of his jaw where she can reach. eunyu drops their pinkies and immediately pretends like nothing happened, taking back her seat and digging into the salmon with a kind of hunger that can only be born for apocalypse settings and the general additive of feeling at ease. )
Hm. We met on the roof of our building. I was dancing β I used to be a ballerina. You were going to kill yourself. ( she says this a little crassly, with nonchalance. his monster side surely must be aware. ) I asked you a bunch of questions, and you only ever said, "No." Did you make a mess up here? No. Do you want a cigarette? No. Are you a loner? All silent. ( a knowing look. ) I said handsome men shouldn't be loners, or something. You didn't take me seriously. ( she juts the fork in his direction again, more for emphasis than stabbing. ) I was serious. If you were a little more charming, I would've waited until my brother left and brought you back to my apartment.
I'm not bragging, but it would've been better than killing yourself.
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She's recounting when they met, something he doesn't quite remember, although as she describes it he can see flashes of it, distant though they are.]
I didn't kill myself.
[He points out, because he didn't. Whether he remembers clearly right now or not, that much is obvious. What she had said and done on the roof that day had been enough to stay Hyunsu's hand at least for awhile. Whether she took him back to her apartment that day or not, he lived. He's still alive.
He tilts his head as he watches her eat. Beyond the reminder that he didn't actually commit suicide, he doesn't argue that the human side of him can be pathetic and lame, he's very aware. He's even pointed out to her himself that he's weak, but she stood up for him.]
You say all that like you're complaining, but that's the Cha Hyunsu you want back, isn't it?
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Yeah. ( she can't deny that. ) Ah. Well.
( but it's not the full truth of it. she thinks about the paper eunhyuk wrote when he started having symptoms, and thinks about what she would've done if he went through them with her. she wouldn't have been reasonable about it β she wouldn't have killed him, not in a million years. the monster still would've been eunhyuk, the way hyunsu is still hyunsu. )
They say monsterization is a curse. You're not a parasite or an infection, or anything new. There isn't anything in you that wasn't already there to begin with. Isn't that the truth? ( the science of it is all a little over her head and out of her expertise, if she's honest. but the point, ) I think ... all I want is Hyunsu. And I think you're a part of that. You're just β repressing the softer half of you, maybe. I don't know how it works. ( with a huff of a breath. ) I'd be happy if I could have both. I won't stop fighting for that.
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And he listens, watching her, taking in her body language, the subtle ways her facial expressions shift when she speaks. She may be on to something, whether he wants to admit it or not. If Cha Hyunsu represses the rage inside him to keep the monster at bay, it's possible that the monster is simply doing the opposite. But even this part of Hyunsu doesn't feel any real rage toward Eunyu the way he does at the rest of humanity. He feels frustration sometimes, maybe, but it's different. It comes from a different place.
His anger is a result of mistreatment and neglect, the fact that no one helped him when they should have. But Eunyu is different. In her own way she's always tried to encourage him and be there for him. She did what she could with what she had and that was more than anyone else had ever done for him.
Finally, after a moment of reflection, he responds:]
I could be soft. For you.
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I thought you would say that was weak.
( eunyu doesn't think so. if anything, hyunsu is the opposite.
clenching her jaw a little, she gestures him over to her with grabby fingers, encouraging him to stand in front of her, between her legs bent over the edge of the table. )
Prove it. ( how soft can he be? eunyu doesn't think it's wise to tempt any kind of monster, but hyunsu is different for all the aforementioned reasons. having him close isn't anything but a comfort. ) Stand here and close your eyes.
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He watches the muscle in her jaw clinch as she makes her decision and when she tells him to prove it he pushes himself smoothly away from the counter, moving to stand between her legs just like she directed.
The hardest part is closing his eyes. Not necessarily because he's afraid (even if she decided to stab him, it's not like it would kill him), but because he likes looking at her. In the end, of course, he obeys, and closes his eyes. If nothing else, he's curious.]
Now what?
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You like it when I touch you?
( her voice is low, suggestive. testing the water. )
Keep them closed.
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Mmm.
[The hum comes in response to her question. Low in his chest, a sound of agreement that that's bordering on needy. She's touching him the same way he's been tempted to touch her. This may be better, though. He's not sure. No part of Hyunsu can remember ever being touched like this before, but he knows he likes it, and the temptation to completely melt into her touch is so powerful it makes him feel a little lightheaded. His pulse has kicked up in speed again, but he still manages to keep his eyes closed.]
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And this?
( hands flatten on his chest, through the opening in his shirt. she lets out a soft breath, her fingers slipping inside to outline where her eyes can't reach. )
I was trying to sound cool, before. I wouldn't have invited you to my apartment. I've never done that kind of thing before. ( softer this time, ) Don't open.
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Yeah.
[He likes this too. It's obvious, isn't it? He's sure she can feel the way his heart is pounding with her hands resting on his chest.
He gives a lazy shrug at her confession, an offer of reassurance. Or an attempt at one, at any rate.]
I haven't either.
[He's endured a lot more violence than he has affection or tenderness or sex. They're on equal footing there, more or less.
He huffs softly, his lips twitching upward, though his eyes remain closed.]
I won't open them until you tell me to.
cw: self-harm injury
a hand slips to the side, over one broad shoulder, down his arm. it's the one that's sometimes a wing, but it's normal now β except for the bumpy scars her fingertips trail along, mapping out the roadwork of hyunsu's pain. if he cast his wing out now, she'd be down a hand. the thought is terrifying, enthralling. )
You won't, huh.
( she lifts up his arm, hesitating a second, before licking across one of the horizontal scars. her cheek settles in the center of his wide palm. )
Is it a good memory, Cha Hyunsu? Do you feel soft?
( asked, while her spare hand slips under the hem of his shirt, laying flat on his abs. )
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And then her cheek is in his hand and she's asking him a question and he's so overwhelmed that it takes him a moment to make sense of what she's saying, let alone find a way to respond.]
I'm...[He falters a little, licking his lips and swallowing again.] I don't think... "soft"...is the right word.
[Or, not entirely, anyway. The throbbing between his legs is not soft. It's the opposite of soft. But the instinct to lean into her touch, to pull her closer, to wrap his arms around her...those are soft. They're probably the softest thoughts this part of him has ever had.]
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