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π–˜π–†π–‘π–™π–‡π–šπ–—π–“π–™ π–’π–”π–‰π–˜. ([personal profile] saltburnmods) wrote in [community profile] draino2025-03-01 08:00 am
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πŒπ„π 𝐀𝐑𝐄 π’πŽ π‹πŽπ•π„π‹π˜ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 πƒπ‘π˜ β–£ MARCH TDM





MARCH 2025 TDM: RENEWAL


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 (THE REMIX)


CONTENT WARNINGS: drugs.

For once, it's not the pounding hangover that stirs you awake. Oh, it's still there, like little shards of glass being shoved through your skull — but your dry, cottony mouth should be the least of your concerns. When you turn over, it's clear that the glitz and glamor of your room has been ... well, neglected, as of late. The sheets are musty, the furniture covered in layers of dust that sets your nose off, the nightstand decorated with a glass of stale water growing a new bacteria culture. If you're looking for room service to cure your headache, you'll have look elsewhere for painkillers β€” the maid has very generously left you a more traditional form of medicine. A neat little bag of white powder rests at your bedside, for those that need a little extra pep in their step. Don't say the help never did anything for you.

Unfortunately, that's where the perks of your accommodations begin and end. If you thought you had the room all to yourself, think again. Maybe it's a stranger snuggled up to you in bed that first clues you in. Or maybe it's the mattresses laid out on the floor, sleepover style. Complaining to the maid that enters won't get you very far. "We apologize for the inconvenience," she says, clearly a rehearsed script she's had practice delivering. "We're in the middle of repairs. Guests will have to share four to a room." Ask her again, and mumbles out a mousy apology, before scurrying away. Guess you'll have to rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to claim the bed.

Eventually, your curiosity or hunger (or anger) wins out. Entering the corridor, "repairs" suddenly seems like an understatement. A putrid scent sits in the air, maids scrubbing at bits of guts stuck into the carpet like chewing gum. No one looks up from the frantic cleaning as you stroll down the corridors where you might find yourself ending up in the twists and turns of rooms, lost in what they offer. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks that have been ripped from the wall and ancient artifacts knocked down from their rightful places, lead to the dining room in all of its cobwebbed disrepair.

There, Giles ushers guests onto the lawn. "Breakfast will be served outside today," he says, tight lines around his mouth. Traditional gingham blankets have been sprawled out on the lawn, protecting your legs from the thin layer of snowmelt still on the ground, as you're nudged together and urged to share amongst yourselves. Open up the wicker basket to a strange assortment scrounged together last minute by the kitchens: champagne before noon, lobster salad sandwiches, fruit cakes, artisanal cheeses, apples that look questionably rotten, and old Valentine's Day chocolates in plasticky heart boxes to polish it off. Do those taste spiked to you? It's a good thing it's still a crisp day to cool you off, once you start feeling a little warmer under the collar.

For those of you attempting your daring escapes, 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 doesn’t want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they can’t 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 doesn’t 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 cocaine is there, just like you remember. The strangers in your room are there, just like you remember. In fact, it’s all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time. Walk to the estate lawns, and find everyone there eating away at their breakfast.

Welcome to Saltburnt, esteemed guests. Enjoy your treats while they last.




CUPID'S ARROW STRUCK ME

CONTENT WARNINGS: possible sex, violence, a/b/o themes (pheromones, mating, heat/rut), breeding, body transformation/body horror, aphrodisiacs.

They say all is fair in love and war, but making war instead of love is a tiresome sport. While the help mops blood from the floorboards, the Balfours have kindly arranged for a (very belated!) Lupercalia celebration. What better way to distract yourself from your pesky mortality, if not with the life-giving act of sex? Just ask the Ancient Romans.

For those guests who like to watch (we see you, voyeurs), the lawn's knolls offer a perfect viewing. There, you can participate in a hunt of a more innocent sort. Sprinkled throughout the lawn, hidden in flower pots and tree alcoves, are brightly colored plastic eggs. Pop them open, and you'll find hidden trinkets inside. Those lucky enough might win a new pair of Tiffany's diamonds; some, to your annoyance, explode in your face with glitter and confetti. Others contain chalky conversation hearts, stamped with their own sayings. Some lean more innocent, but there's no mistaking the X-Rated hearts in the bunch.

Whether yours are PG or NC-17, they share one thing in common: you're compelled by the spirit of whatever heart you munch on, whether it be embodying its mood or acting out its instructions with a partner.

For those guests who are a little more daring (helped along by the chocolates that might have you feeling bolder than normal), Jonty has agreed to lend his expertise to leading a hunt — of sorts. With his expert knowledge on nature, HALSIN has been appointed to lead the charge alongside him, calmly watching over those who take an interest in signing up. By the edge of the forest, volunteers are divided into various groups and given all they need to transform. Masked hunters browse through an assortment of flogs, bindings, collars, leashes, and riding crops for the pleasure (or pain) of their captured prey. As for guests who draw the short end of the stick? You're the prized catch of the day. You best run, rabbit, and hope the wolves don't catch your scent.

PREY is, at least, given the mercy of a head start — we're not complete animals, here. Stripped naked and vulnerable, with only a mask to protect you, the only goal on your mind is to outlast the hunters. It's all in good fun, at first. Women and men alike are dragged laughing and kicking by their ankles, a reward for their captor to do with as they please. Eventually, the thrill in your stomach turns to dread, and the dread turns into a cramping ache that leaves you gasping on the forest floor, unbearable pain wrenching through your insides. For a horrifying moment, you're certain your bones are going to split apart from your flesh. You burn and burn and burn with no relief, caught between your desire to run and your need to fill the emptiness within you.

HUNTERS aren't immune, either. There's something animal within you, clawing for escape. Instincts overtake all sense and logic, leaving behind the natural, predatory drive to claim. Participants gradually lose themselves in their roles, reduced to nothing more than a mess of base instincts. Your fellow hunters, perhaps once friends, are nothing more than competition to you now; you snap, violent and territorial, at any who cross your path. Your senses grow stronger, scenting the sweetness of your prey on the wind, single-mindedly chasing their trail.

Think that's the worst of it? Think again. You might become so absorbed in your role that your body follows suit, transforming before your very eyes. Furry ears sprout, tails emerge, fangs descend, claws sharpen, mating glands throb in your throat beg for attention, your anatomy grows new changes to accommodate your fun, compatible mates smell especially enticing — all determined by the mask you don, now trapped in your new form.

Happy hunting, dearests. Don't let your prey be the one who got away. You never know who might get to them first.






A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME


CONTENT WARNINGS: nsfw (exhibitionism, ritual sex, orgy), dubious consent via magical compulsion.

After a debauched weekend, the Balfours eventually get sick of cleaning cum and blood off of their expensive Tuscan curtains courtesy of their guests' constant animal urges, and search for a solution. It starts with a magic pull in the pit of your stomach one night, guiding you further into the woods, back to where it all began. The further you step into the darkened forest, the more that feeling unspools, until you find yourself at the base of an altar. Branches and flowers decorate its sides, but it's the whorling sigils that draw your eye. To even the most educated eye, they're indiscernible, like nothing you've ever seen — yet they seem to soothe you, as if you know this is where you were meant to be.

Gentle hands from servants shed your clothing. The night air is a balm on your overheated skin as countless hands paint the same symbols ritualistically over your stomach, your chest, your neck, imbuing you with a sudden overwhelming burst of ... something. Something ancient and powerful, a vessel for magic growing root in your belly. Regardless of gender, they name you LORD or MAIDEN as they step aside to form a holy circle, watching you with reverent stares.

As a Lord, you don't know how you know, but you're aware you must choose your Maiden from the crowd. Maybe it's your mate, if you've taken one; maybe it's a stranger, inexplicably calling to you. But the magic leads you to them, unable to deny the call, as you bed them on the altar for all to see. Others around you do the same, pairing off or joining couples with wandering hands, smudging lines of paint in their ecstasy. Upon completing the rite with your chosen (or several chosens), magic releases itself into the land like a ripple, urging on the fertile beginnings of springtime. Trees sprout full leaves. Rose bushes come into full bloom. Those who suffered transformations come back to themselves, losing all of their animal features, and regaining their minds.

To fully embrace the season's change, you're invited to the lakeside festivities that follow. Several fires flicker warmly, dancers in various states of undress beckoning you to join them as they twirl themselves around. Some call for you to leap over the flames, showing you how it's done with a bit of drunken grace. All guests are urged to "purify" themselves in the spirit of rebirth, starting with your fears and hang-ups and rancid vibes. Choose a sentimental item to sacrifice, and release yourself from the bad memories attached, by feeding it to the flames. Or pen those letters you can't bring yourself to send, pouring out those emotions you've kept inside, and watch the pages burn away the baggage they contain.

Be careful with them, however — those letters are delivered to rooms the very next day, airing out your dirty laundry to their intended (or unintended, oops) recipient. You might even find they've been left in very public view, carelessly strewn onto the dining table or hung up in the corridors, for anyone to read. Those text drafts you also never meant to see the light of day? Fired off to the person you thought better of sending them to. Did you mean for those to stay private? Too bad, so sad. Part of purification is making amends with yourself and your loved ones, so get to it if you want to clean your dirty soul.

More of a "wash that guy right out of your hair" kind of person? Come join the communal bathing in the lake, where you're encouraged to give your neighbor a helpful hand. Is it just the moonlight, or do they look much more irresistibly beautiful? Whatever the case, pouring a palmful of water over each other seems to wash away old pains, whether physical or mental. Scars begin to fade as complexions become brighter. Your anxieties melt away until you can't remember ever having them. Festering grudges disappear. You are well and truly free for the night, unburdened by what came before. Nothing can hold you back.

If you're not looking to get your toes wet, you can participate in love fortune-telling at the seed planting and flower-making station. Individuals are paired off and led to a patch of garden where they can plant new life for the upcoming season, encouraged to write down their intentions and hopes for the upcoming spring, and share them by burying them alongside their seed. In another area, supplies have been left out to twine together your own flowering wreaths, which are then sent to float in the lake. Whoever picks up your wreath is rumored to be your soulmate, and if you didn't believe in them before — you do now. As if struck by Cupid's arrow, you fall head over heels for them, no matter how you felt about them before.

As you sip on tea and munch on sweet dumplings, be sure to make your final stop the Wishing Tree. Ribbons hang from its branches in delicate pastel colors, each of them bearing someone's desire. Blank scraps wait nearby, encouraging you to write and share your own. Who knows? It might just come true.



DIRECTORY


viver: (256)

[personal profile] viver 2025-03-06 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
Don't be so modest. It doesn't suit you.

[ Delivered like a compliment and an order wrapped in his usual, oppressive affection. He squeezes the hand back, pulling him in. ]

I won't tolerate any more tears.
viver: n (082)

[personal profile] viver 2025-03-06 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ Sear speaks, touches him, but Zephir seems fixated on the one thing, even as the temperature under his touch matches the threat of something inhuman destroying this body from the inside. Isn't that what is already happening? It certainly feels as though he's devouring himself the longer he goes without feeding on others. ]

Are they?
viver: (248)

[personal profile] viver 2025-03-06 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
[ They're not mine. This seems to disappoint and amuse Zephir all at once, who is as curious about the thing in front of him. Here they are, two creators wondering why what looks like their design isn't quite… that. ]

They're pleased with you.

[ After another pause, Zephir releases his hand with a soft pat. Like he's saying good job. ]

Those are mine. I'd let you keep them, but … they'll be dead within the hour, I'm afraid.
viver: k (046)

[personal profile] viver 2025-03-06 01:28 am (UTC)(link)
[ There's warmth in his smile, the kind of love that suggests almost pride, buried deep in the same woman who once carved him open to prove that he was real. He doesn't bleed for her now, but he would, if she asked, if she demanded it of him, just as willingly as she is parting her lips for him now. Zephir closes the distance, tongue pressing into her mouth with something soft, smooth and cold to the touch. The flower petal tastes of spring, of rain; Zephir brushes his thumb over Lauralae's lips after he leans away, as if to seal them, waiting for her to swallow. For her ears only, ]

Don't let fear ruin what we're feeling. Just let it happen.

[ A kiss rests on the corner of her lips, one hand on her cheek, the other flat on the surface for support. Zephir moves his hips again. ]
viver: (041)

[personal profile] viver 2025-03-06 01:28 am (UTC)(link)
Problem solved, then.

[ Smiling like he's in on the joke, Zephir twirls the pen in his fingers, each passing it onto the next. ]

Me? Oh, no. Everything is finally as it should be.
morrer: (018)

[personal profile] morrer 2025-03-06 01:34 am (UTC)(link)
morrer: (012)

[personal profile] morrer 2025-03-06 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
[One little rock held so much power here. Souls, as one person put them - but a split part of the being was more like how he viewed it. But he supposed that's what many humans considered a soul to be. It did encapsulate and for a few days' time steal that unique presence of Zephir away, but now they're back on dry land. For the foreseeable future.

He still wears a scarf around his neck; for the sake of other people, as to not be forced to see the atrophied and exposed muscle of his throat. He stands in the doorway watching Zephir, perhaps cherishing the view, strange as it is. He lost him briefly, both physically and then mentally; is it strange that it's still kind of intriguing, when you look past the true horror of that? (How this place can play with Life and Death like anybody else.)]


I tried to water them.

[His voice is off, hoarse - beaten.]
flyktig: (pic#17458344)

[personal profile] flyktig 2025-03-06 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
They have a whole hunting game going on in the woods that's kinky as shit, so kinda yeah.

[ he isn't really listening to him though, is he? not really.

it's easy enough to tell by the way the guy is staring at him so intensely, like he's seriously considering risking it by biting him anyway.
]

C'mon, you. [ he reaches down to take him by the wrist. ] I'm going to fetch you a deer or a wolf or whatever the fuck is out there, before you do something reckless and dumb. Like feeding on me. If I knew how to lower the temperature or change the effect of my blood, I would gladly give you all of it, but unfortunately, I don't remember how to.
katharma: and the heartbreak prince (miss americana)

[personal profile] katharma 2025-03-06 02:09 am (UTC)(link)
I don't know. [ it's back to the petulant, frustrated whine she'd often taken on in the wilderness, especially earlier on. ] I thought I might get picked as a hunter so I could fucking learn how to do something, but then they told me I was prey and stripped me down and told me to line up with the others.

[ she doesn't know where the others are. they'd more of less been told to fan out and fend for themselves, and she'd done the only thing she knows how to do - she'd ran.

she presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to calm down. natalie's here. she's not going to let anyone hurt her or abandon her. natalie's strong and safe. jackie's trembling calms as she comes closer, touching her face and stroking her hair back. impulsively, she reaches for one of her wrists. ]


Not - not any of the hunters. They took our clothes and - [ she pulls her mask from the top of her head with her free hand; a somewhat frightening looking rabbit. ] - gave us these masks and told us to run. I think they may have drugged us.
1966: (70.)

[personal profile] 1966 2025-03-06 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
[ with his hand freed, adam slowly brings his finger back to his own mouth as if he was never interrupted, chasing after a sour-sweet that isn't there anymore. it's no trouble - he's still got plenty of apple left in his hand, and he starts to peel back more of the wrinkled skin with his fingernails - all while never looking away from zephir.

he blinks again, too long of a stretch again between this one and the last. curiously, adam tilts his head, but only slightly, and then turns his chin toward the moth on his shoulder. as far as he can tell, the little insect is perfectly healthy, and feels... terribly young, and within the hour is oddly specific. he takes his opposite hand and brings it to his shoulder, carefully offering the tiniest sliver of apple. ]


How do you know?

[ he glances out of the corner of his eye, waiting. does he mean how do you know they're pleased, does he mean how do you know they're yours? or is he asking about their rapidly approaching death? maybe all three. ]
dead_tongue: (bare)

[personal profile] dead_tongue 2025-03-06 02:37 am (UTC)(link)
[Iggy moves into Zephir's arms with an overwhelming sense of gratitude, even if he still worries Zephir might rip his heart out in retaliation.]

Okay.

[He manages not to apologise for crying, at least.]

I was worried you might come back wrong.
dead_tongue: (profile curious)

[personal profile] dead_tongue 2025-03-06 02:50 am (UTC)(link)
[Iggy hugs him tight.]

Thanks. It means a lot.

I know I can be really needy. I'm trying not to be.
chokedout: (275)

[personal profile] chokedout 2025-03-06 02:52 am (UTC)(link)
It's okay. I'm - I'm needy too.

[Pushing his elbows into the bed, he lifts himself up a bit, looking at Iggy - sun might be slow to rise behind the curtains but there's enough light to see him.]

I'll tell you a secret... I'm trying hard not to be needy anymore. Or, rather... I'm trying to believe in myself more. Which sounds stupid and not like a secret at all but... I'm shy about it.
viver: (195)

🐟

[personal profile] viver 2025-03-06 02:54 am (UTC)(link)
Thank you, Sullivan.

[ Eyes on the plant under his care, lips curved softly, Zephir keeps working for another moment. Getting it to grow, bloom, reach its most vibrant color, he finally relaxes his shoulders and turns to his other half, hand held out, love in his eyes. ]

Come here. Let me see what I did to you.
morrer: (Default)

[personal profile] morrer 2025-03-06 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
[Sullivan approaches, hand out - fingers cool, skimming up Zephir's forearm, touching skin to skin. How he missed the warmth of his other half. His other hand removes the scarf, showing off his throat. The skin is jagged, parts hanging and others stuck together without their edges mending, like a puppet made of flesh. When he swallows, it all moves, a crust of black blood over his adam's apple and lines of it down the divot of his collarbone.]

You were quite hungry.
dead_tongue: (purdy)

[personal profile] dead_tongue 2025-03-06 03:06 am (UTC)(link)
[Iggy looks back, pupils wide and expression sweetly open.]

That doesn't sound stupid to me.

Why don't you believe in yourself? You always seem so strong.
Edited 2025-03-06 03:06 (UTC)
verbo: (z014)

[personal profile] verbo 2025-03-06 03:09 am (UTC)(link)
[ She just winks.

When he asks for a light, she smiles.
]

What are you talking about? It's already lit.

[ Same as before, it feels bit weird for a moment, and then...the cigarette is lit. It was always lit, wasn't it? Probably. ]

Actually, that's kind of a hassle, you're going to be looking for matches later on. Um, lighter.

[ The single most average red plastic Bic lighter materializes in her hand. Ella clears her throat, then tosses it over to him. ]

Okay, enough showing off. Man, wish I hadn't stopped smoking, now I'm craving one.
chokedout: (115)

[personal profile] chokedout 2025-03-06 03:09 am (UTC)(link)
'Cause I'm a coward.

[Said with a smile - he's self aware, alright?]

I've been running away from someone for decades. Lives, even. I made myself small and hid behind magic spells and anything I could but I don't want to anymore. So you have to pinch me, if I try.
verbo: (z016)

[personal profile] verbo 2025-03-06 03:10 am (UTC)(link)
Easy-peasy, but I still feel like we should fill these things, you know?

[ She leans back, taking a moment to look around her. ]

So you're happy to be here? Lucky you.
verbo: (z011)

welcome

[personal profile] verbo 2025-03-06 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
[ Ella is passing by, holding a tall glass of some sort of fruity cocktail that's already making her feel light on her feet, when she hears someone complaining in...Portuguese? ]

Wow, I was starting to get worried everyone had had their languages changed to English.

[ She stares for a moment before leaning on the door frame. ]

You okay man? Need a hand cleaning up? The entire house has gone to shit. It just hit me, messing with someone's room? Ultimate dick move.
verbo: (z013)

rose - a.

[personal profile] verbo 2025-03-06 03:19 am (UTC)(link)
Lemme see...

[ Ella waddles closer, hands lifted. She touches Nami's chin with soft, delicate fingertips, index fingers tracing the scar. ]

Wow, did someone think you were wearing a mask? Let's see if we can actually scrub this one away.

[ Cupping her hands, she splashes Nami's lower jaw before massaging it. ]

...I actually have no idea if I'm doing this right. Are you supposed to feel something? Are you? Feeling something?
kobes: ([:(] eavesdropping)

rose (fire edition)

[personal profile] kobes 2025-03-06 03:20 am (UTC)(link)
[To say Koby knows how to mind his business would be a serious stretch, yes, but even he can tell when it’s wiser, kinder to stay away. The welcome wagon routine might work in line for breakfast, or on the network or the radio, but in person – especially at times like these, when people are sending their most aching, secret hurts into the embers of the fire, watching them disappear in the murky depths of the lake – it’s better not to engage in niceties and polite introductions.

Of course, any attempt at minding his own business goes right out the window when the dark-haired girl sitting several feet away tosses something small and bright into the flames, then makes a lunge for it seconds later, reaching out into the flames. Koby reacts – throws himself sideways, his own hands going out to tug hers back, away, out of the steaming embers, squawking as he does:
] Don’t – do that!
kobes: ([:)] laughs nervously)

mermand b

[personal profile] kobes 2025-03-06 03:21 am (UTC)(link)
[Koby’s not hunting eggs, per se – the lake has thawed, the world is waking, and he very much wants to try to return to some sense of normalcy, so he’s heading down to the chill water to see what sort of aquatic life has returned to it’s depths. And it seems he’s got his answer – albeit an unexpected sort.

Crouching down to sit on his heels, safely out of Armand’s reach, Koby rests the makeshift fishing pole over his shoulder, lets his bucket dangle loosely from one hand. He notes the webbed fingers, the new scar, nudges out his energy just slightly, brushing his mind to this, the least familiar of all the vampires in Saltburnt, seeking out the edge of familiarity. Once upon a time, in a dark, snowy village, Koby had experienced his own change, his own alteration of his mind and body, his own transformation into something unearthly. His came with a sealskin and a taste for herring – he wonders how similar Armand’s may be.
]

No, you found it fair and square. I wouldn’t want to take that away. [Light, cheerful, not close enough to grab.] But I’ll see what’s inside it, if you feel like opening it?
kobes: ([:(] puppydog eyes)

rose b

[personal profile] kobes 2025-03-06 03:24 am (UTC)(link)
[It’s been months now, since they ran into one another in the quiet, dark streets of the village, frowning and trying to place the almost-familiar features, until it clicked – Luffy’s navigator, Luffy’s little marine friend – and almost became acceptance, became affection became attachment, and now it’s over a year later and Koby’s never loved anyone as long as he has the Straw Hats, as long as he has Nami knocking on his door with her arms full of clothes. Everything had shifted that day, the beginning fo a thousand steps that leads to Koby sitting by the fire feeling the absence of a man he’d never spoken to back in the real world like a hole in his chest.

And somehow, in all that time, he’s never felt this sort of helpless, as he does watching Nami twist marigolds and tiger lilies and bright orange roses into a circlet, her eyes faraway, guarded. Koby’s never hesitated once, not since that first day, never held back from finding Nami in her grief and offering his arms around her, his voice soft in her ear. He loves wide-open and reckless, especially them, especially her.

But somehow in all this time, through the winters and the blood and the transformation and the games, death has never actually caught them. It’s almost like the nights spent clinging to one another under the covers like that’d be enough to keep away that particular horror had worked, had kept the Straw Hats (and Koby) scarred and haunted and hollow, but alive. And then – now. And then that damn letter and the memory of their last converation beating at his ribs, why didn’t I notice, why didn’t I ask, why did I leave, why didn’t I help him, and the return of his haki with a void where Sanji used to be.

And Nami, standing and setting her flowers in the water before slowly turning and walking away.

For the first time, Koby hesitates, hands full of asters and bluebells. But then he stands, brushes himself off, petals and leaves tangled in his hair as he tags along after the shock of orange hair, swallowing back the anxious unease to call:
] Nami?
diarists: (Default)

cupid's arrow

[personal profile] diarists 2025-03-06 03:39 am (UTC)(link)
[the signal is given and the sleek, bare shapes of bodies leap forward, into the moonlit night and beneath her wolf mask, shauna can smell them, can smell heat and blood and heart and breath, and she bounds after them, thrilling at the hunt (returning to her again and again, reliable and true as the tide), but beneath it, oh beneath it she can smell nat. months in that cabin meant the sharpness of their bodies had become familiar, a musky perfume of rotting youth and simmering rage that nearly drowned out everything else that had happened that winter. shauna knows the scent of each of her teammates, each girl distinct, each tang of sweat and grime as recognizable as walking through a mall food court after skipping breakfast.

shauna can smell nat and it makes her enraged and it makes her hungry and it makes her swerve suddenly, towards the pale-tipped bounce of her hair (smooth and washed and combed, like that'll change anything, like shauna won't be able to scent her with her eyes closed) and she doesn't think about it, doesn't consider how much it's going to hurt, she just flings herself through the brush and the trees and collides with nat, using all her strength like she had chasing mari, like she had chasing javi, like she had running out of the cabin through the snow to uncover jackie.

it knocks the breath out of shauna, sends her staggering, breathing raspy and hollow, shuddery with the rush from making contact with a shape she knows so well -- you can't huddle for warmth for a hundred nights in the dead of winter and not know someone. but she bites out, staggering:
] Watch where you're going, Scatorccio!

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