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draino2025-08-02 12:30 pm
saltburntmods) wrote in draino2025-08-02 12:30 pm
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ππππ ππππ πππππππ ππππ ππ πππ ππππ β£ AUGUST TDM
AUGUST 2025 TDM: BALANCE
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.
GOODBYE TO SALTBURNT
CONTENT WARNINGS: house fire.
The day starts much like any other βΒ at least in the first few moments of consciousness, chased to morning light by the pounding of a hangover, the sweaty night terrors soaking your sheets, or the scent of breakfast on the rise through the house. Well, it seems someone must've burnt the bacon, now that your nose wakes you up, which is highly unusual for the skilled chefs here at Saltburnt. Flutter your eyes open and see a pillowy cloud of smoke filtering under your door, something that manages to finally alert you to the danger you're in. Out in the hallway, flames lick up the walls, smoke and ash burning your eyes. The next move is obvious: grab whatever you can carry and get out, as quick as you can. It seems that place you've called home for a day or a year is going up in flames.
Outside, flames engulf one wing of the huge manor, invaluable trinkets laid out on the lawn from the help, usually invisible, running in and out to grab what they can spare from the flames. Of course, people offer their helpful services β tending to burns and smoke inhalation, trying to put out the fire from whatever means they have, be it buckets of water stolen from the lake, or magical prowess from the population of guests. Regardless, the fire rages, and only manages to cease when about half of the house has been burnt down to structurally questionable bones, ashy remains, and the occasional falling cinder of burnt wood.
Before the mess, the Balfours stand in a range of different emotions βΒ irritation from Bunny, paranoia from Rosie. The only one who manages to attempt to find a silver lining is Portia, whose plastic smile twitches around her watery eyes, hand cinched in an iron grip around Jonty's. There's a pleading look in her eyes for all of a moment before the patriarch of the family springs (more, dustily sways) into action, calling forth, "Giles!"
The man in question appears, soot-coated and harrowed, yet still immaculately well put together, bowing slightly at the waist. "Sir?"
"The β" he starts, somewhat unsure of himself, before solidifying his resolve. "The camping gear. In the shed."
A firm nod, manners impeccable. "At once, sir."
The day starts much like any other βΒ at least in the first few moments of consciousness, chased to morning light by the pounding of a hangover, the sweaty night terrors soaking your sheets, or the scent of breakfast on the rise through the house. Well, it seems someone must've burnt the bacon, now that your nose wakes you up, which is highly unusual for the skilled chefs here at Saltburnt. Flutter your eyes open and see a pillowy cloud of smoke filtering under your door, something that manages to finally alert you to the danger you're in. Out in the hallway, flames lick up the walls, smoke and ash burning your eyes. The next move is obvious: grab whatever you can carry and get out, as quick as you can. It seems that place you've called home for a day or a year is going up in flames.
Outside, flames engulf one wing of the huge manor, invaluable trinkets laid out on the lawn from the help, usually invisible, running in and out to grab what they can spare from the flames. Of course, people offer their helpful services β tending to burns and smoke inhalation, trying to put out the fire from whatever means they have, be it buckets of water stolen from the lake, or magical prowess from the population of guests. Regardless, the fire rages, and only manages to cease when about half of the house has been burnt down to structurally questionable bones, ashy remains, and the occasional falling cinder of burnt wood.
Before the mess, the Balfours stand in a range of different emotions βΒ irritation from Bunny, paranoia from Rosie. The only one who manages to attempt to find a silver lining is Portia, whose plastic smile twitches around her watery eyes, hand cinched in an iron grip around Jonty's. There's a pleading look in her eyes for all of a moment before the patriarch of the family springs (more, dustily sways) into action, calling forth, "Giles!"
The man in question appears, soot-coated and harrowed, yet still immaculately well put together, bowing slightly at the waist. "Sir?"
"The β" he starts, somewhat unsure of himself, before solidifying his resolve. "The camping gear. In the shed."
A firm nod, manners impeccable. "At once, sir."
LIVING OFF THE LAND
CONTENT WARNINGS: nsfw themes.
By mid-morning, you'll find Portia Balfour has taken β¦ liberties with the lawn decor. Aside from a brief intermission spent sobbing at the manor's scorched stonework, the lady of the manor does what she does best (in Portia's very modest opinion): she beautifies. Gone is the sad, sad state of all that empty sprawling green; what stands in its place is an encampment of tents stretching from the gardens to the forest boundary. And not your mother's backyard camping equipment, either β that would be so terribly basic and blase, darling. They're much more exciting than that. Fresh out of the imagination of someone who clearly consolidated ideas from flipping through a Martha Stewart Magazine and browsing Coachella's website, the bell tents (100% cotton, Portia is too happy to share with you) come in a lovely selection of colors. Beige, buff, biscuit, oatmeal, fawn. And Portia's personal favorites: the chartreuse, and a shade that closely resembles bile.
At your look of confusion, or distress, or perhaps distinct horror, Portia announces, with a stiff smile to rival a fresh dosage of Botox: "It's fine. It's fine! I wanted an excuse to finally redecorate, anyway. We'll justβ we'll make a retreat out of it, my lovelies."
Well, where else are you going to go? Outside of each tent, Giles and his fellow staff have taken the time to generously assign you and your former suitemate to a shared tent, your names scribbled together in obnoxiously joyful cursive on a bright chalkboard. Just in case your amateur eyes can't distinguish between beige and oatmeal. Of course, mistakes are made. You can't possibly expect the housestaff to remember all of your names, or who you've shared space with before the "Little Setback", as Portia has taken to calling it. Some of you might find yourselves paired up with the wrong partner in the mix-up and reshuffling of housing arrangements, while others β without suitemates, or freshly arrived β find themselves shoved together by Giles' subpar matchmaking skills.
Whoever the two of you happen to be, you'll find that β while the interior is positively spacious β some concessions had to be made. Namely: there is, in fact, only one bed. Or, in your case, only one sleeping bag. Designed to lovingly cradle two bodies in disturbingly close proximity, your organic, artisan cashmere sleeping bag comes with only a narrowed zipper for entry and one built-in memory foam pillow, so you can meditate by listening to your partner's breathing at all times. Portia's private DJ turned ex-fling turned self-proclaimed intimacy coach, Ezio, insists it helps you and your partner connect to the same emotional frequency for maximum bonding. Whatever that means.
Luckily, not all of your belongings were unsalvageable. Giles has painstakingly begun the process of transferring supplies into your tent, from changes of clothes to personal effects to underwear you're 70% sure belong to another resident. Among them, you'll find both a camp counselor uniform that looks like it was pulled off the rack from an adult novelty shop, and a pair of athletic short-shorts and white tank tops for your scheduled summertime activities.
The generosity doesn't end there β with Ezio's advice, Portia has arranged a gift bag for each tent, meant to strengthen ties amongst the House's residents. What better time to connect than in the wake of such a tragedy? Inside, guests will find: a guided erotic meditation track, mood-boosting meditative candles in scents such as Nag Champa and Afternoon Scrapbooking, a set of silk ribbons with slogans reading Surrender and Trust, heated massage oils marked for tension release, an ergonomically-shaped crystal pleasure wand sculpted from Rose Quartz meant for "grounding and release", silicone bands for your, ahem, instrument to help harness your "root chakra", and a guided positions manual for Kama Sutra with Portia's favorites meticulously circled. Happy healing!
No summer camp trip would be complete without activities. Ezio, allergic to wearing anything that isn't a breathable speedo, leads a series of trust-building exercises. A blindfolded obstacle course, set up with chairs hauled down from the attic as well as pool noodles and cardboard boxes, requires one partner to lead the other successfully to the end. Ezio's twist? You can only direct your partner through sincere, heartfelt compliments in the vein of, "you look so pretty when you're confused." If you lose patience and swear, you're forced to mandatorily hug each other β medically effective to reduce your blood pressure! For the detail-oriented, there's the Human Scavenger Hunt. Sitting in meditative circles, you're given a list of clues to find on your partner's body, ranging from locating the part of their skin that's softest to finding their ticklish points. That birthmark on your buttcheek will come to light. For the more athletically inclined, there's the honeyspoon race β with your mouth as the spoon. It's your job to transfer as much honey as you can into your partner's mouth without spilling. Or perhaps you'd prefer less mouth-to-mouth contact in the piggyback race, or a vanilla and traditional game of Tug of War, or even Bunny Balfour's strange rendition of Jason at Camp Crystal Lake. Those of you who can't outrun the killer get helped to a nice dousing of red food coloring you can cleanse off in the communal showers positioned at the treeline, with nothing blocking the rest of the camp's view of your natural assets.
Mealtimes are rigidly run as scheduled by Giles' demand, though the Balfours' menu is rather limited to simpler cuisine this month. Toad in a Hole, Angels on Horseback, Bubbles and Squeak, and what looks to be a charming attempt at S'mores served on digestive biscuits β all dutifully charred over a campfire and served with a variety of fine vintages spared from the worst of the flames. And if you come underdressed for the occasion? "We dress for dinner," Portia remarks from her place at the head of a honey-oaked picnic bench, overlage sunglasses shielding her eyes. You get the impression she's looking down her nose at your choice of wardrobe, anyway. "Black tie. No exceptions."
Eat up, gather your energy; you'll need it for what comes next.
By mid-morning, you'll find Portia Balfour has taken β¦ liberties with the lawn decor. Aside from a brief intermission spent sobbing at the manor's scorched stonework, the lady of the manor does what she does best (in Portia's very modest opinion): she beautifies. Gone is the sad, sad state of all that empty sprawling green; what stands in its place is an encampment of tents stretching from the gardens to the forest boundary. And not your mother's backyard camping equipment, either β that would be so terribly basic and blase, darling. They're much more exciting than that. Fresh out of the imagination of someone who clearly consolidated ideas from flipping through a Martha Stewart Magazine and browsing Coachella's website, the bell tents (100% cotton, Portia is too happy to share with you) come in a lovely selection of colors. Beige, buff, biscuit, oatmeal, fawn. And Portia's personal favorites: the chartreuse, and a shade that closely resembles bile.
At your look of confusion, or distress, or perhaps distinct horror, Portia announces, with a stiff smile to rival a fresh dosage of Botox: "It's fine. It's fine! I wanted an excuse to finally redecorate, anyway. We'll justβ we'll make a retreat out of it, my lovelies."
Well, where else are you going to go? Outside of each tent, Giles and his fellow staff have taken the time to generously assign you and your former suitemate to a shared tent, your names scribbled together in obnoxiously joyful cursive on a bright chalkboard. Just in case your amateur eyes can't distinguish between beige and oatmeal. Of course, mistakes are made. You can't possibly expect the housestaff to remember all of your names, or who you've shared space with before the "Little Setback", as Portia has taken to calling it. Some of you might find yourselves paired up with the wrong partner in the mix-up and reshuffling of housing arrangements, while others β without suitemates, or freshly arrived β find themselves shoved together by Giles' subpar matchmaking skills.
Whoever the two of you happen to be, you'll find that β while the interior is positively spacious β some concessions had to be made. Namely: there is, in fact, only one bed. Or, in your case, only one sleeping bag. Designed to lovingly cradle two bodies in disturbingly close proximity, your organic, artisan cashmere sleeping bag comes with only a narrowed zipper for entry and one built-in memory foam pillow, so you can meditate by listening to your partner's breathing at all times. Portia's private DJ turned ex-fling turned self-proclaimed intimacy coach, Ezio, insists it helps you and your partner connect to the same emotional frequency for maximum bonding. Whatever that means.
Luckily, not all of your belongings were unsalvageable. Giles has painstakingly begun the process of transferring supplies into your tent, from changes of clothes to personal effects to underwear you're 70% sure belong to another resident. Among them, you'll find both a camp counselor uniform that looks like it was pulled off the rack from an adult novelty shop, and a pair of athletic short-shorts and white tank tops for your scheduled summertime activities.
The generosity doesn't end there β with Ezio's advice, Portia has arranged a gift bag for each tent, meant to strengthen ties amongst the House's residents. What better time to connect than in the wake of such a tragedy? Inside, guests will find: a guided erotic meditation track, mood-boosting meditative candles in scents such as Nag Champa and Afternoon Scrapbooking, a set of silk ribbons with slogans reading Surrender and Trust, heated massage oils marked for tension release, an ergonomically-shaped crystal pleasure wand sculpted from Rose Quartz meant for "grounding and release", silicone bands for your, ahem, instrument to help harness your "root chakra", and a guided positions manual for Kama Sutra with Portia's favorites meticulously circled. Happy healing!
No summer camp trip would be complete without activities. Ezio, allergic to wearing anything that isn't a breathable speedo, leads a series of trust-building exercises. A blindfolded obstacle course, set up with chairs hauled down from the attic as well as pool noodles and cardboard boxes, requires one partner to lead the other successfully to the end. Ezio's twist? You can only direct your partner through sincere, heartfelt compliments in the vein of, "you look so pretty when you're confused." If you lose patience and swear, you're forced to mandatorily hug each other β medically effective to reduce your blood pressure! For the detail-oriented, there's the Human Scavenger Hunt. Sitting in meditative circles, you're given a list of clues to find on your partner's body, ranging from locating the part of their skin that's softest to finding their ticklish points. That birthmark on your buttcheek will come to light. For the more athletically inclined, there's the honeyspoon race β with your mouth as the spoon. It's your job to transfer as much honey as you can into your partner's mouth without spilling. Or perhaps you'd prefer less mouth-to-mouth contact in the piggyback race, or a vanilla and traditional game of Tug of War, or even Bunny Balfour's strange rendition of Jason at Camp Crystal Lake. Those of you who can't outrun the killer get helped to a nice dousing of red food coloring you can cleanse off in the communal showers positioned at the treeline, with nothing blocking the rest of the camp's view of your natural assets.
Mealtimes are rigidly run as scheduled by Giles' demand, though the Balfours' menu is rather limited to simpler cuisine this month. Toad in a Hole, Angels on Horseback, Bubbles and Squeak, and what looks to be a charming attempt at S'mores served on digestive biscuits β all dutifully charred over a campfire and served with a variety of fine vintages spared from the worst of the flames. And if you come underdressed for the occasion? "We dress for dinner," Portia remarks from her place at the head of a honey-oaked picnic bench, overlage sunglasses shielding her eyes. You get the impression she's looking down her nose at your choice of wardrobe, anyway. "Black tie. No exceptions."
Eat up, gather your energy; you'll need it for what comes next.
TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK
CONTENT WARNINGS: emeto, slight body horror, potential character death, fuck or die.
While you were all asleep in your spacious tents and unspacious sleeping bags, the maze has shifted form, spreading its sections along the entire grounds of the house. You wake from what should be the end of your glamping spree already lost in a part of the sprawling labyrinth, maybe with your tent-mate, or the person you spent the night with, or someone completely new. Youβre only sure of one thing β it seems like youβve suddenly developed a pesky case of allergies. It starts with an uncomfortable pins and needles sensation that crawls over your entire body as you start to move. Sweat dampens your clothes despite the towering blossoms offering a rather pleasant shade from the sun, and soon your teeth are chattering with chills. So maybe youβve caught a summer cold, or some of you might be spreading mono from having a pair of too-loose lips. In any case, itβs probably nothing you havenβt dealt with before, and it wonβt stop you from finding your way out of the maze.
The natural thought would be to utilize your own skillset to escape, but you quickly realize that using any magical abilities yields no results upon the thick foliage β or at least you think thereβs no effect. If you try to use fire to burn down a part of the maze, not only does it not work for you, but now, in a part of the maze opposite to you, there are burning flames that other house guests will have to get past. Being big and bad, in this case, means youβre probably just an asshole now. As you stumble through the maze, you encounter more and more magical obstacles that you might begin to recognize as coming from your own friends. Looks like everyoneβs desperate to get out, and youβre only making things worse. (If your character tries to use their magic, please submit it here, so others can play with it!)
Speaking of worse, those allergies are swiftly advancing into a full blown infection from β you guessed it β the foliage of the maze itself. The constant reproducing and shifting is caused by THE BOGWOOD BLIGHT, evident by the dark lesions spotting the plant stems, and white, fuzzy spores clinging to the undersides of the leaves. Your symptoms progress into searing pain as flowers, branches, and thorns begin to grow inside of you, your vomit coming up bloody and thick with masses of dead leaves. Young vines and tiny flowers seem to spool out from your own hair, curling around your throat if you donβt keep up with tearing them out. Hallucinations plague your mind, sharp desire both violent and sexual permeating your senses and threatening to push all other reasonable thoughts out.
It would be easy to succumb to this sickness, to let your base instincts fight or fuck one another until youβre all hopelessly lost and doomed to a certain death in the labyrinth. But there is a way out, for those who can hold on to their sanity and bear through the pain: participate in the trials, and earn your freedom.
These trials? Nothing like the fun and games of a night camping beneath the stars. The verdant landscape of the neatly trimmed maze has become flush with deadly obstacles, and itβs up to you to get past them all. Naturally, your first instinct is to grab your trusty iPhone and reach out to your closest and most trusted companions β but everything you send reaches the recipient in a way that utterly twists your intentions. A simple are you okay? turns into Iβm glad to finally be rid of you. Trying to reunite with a loved one throws you for another loop when you finally do find them β three loops, in fact, because you encounter three identical copies of your love, all trying to convince you theyβre the real one. In order to reveal the truth and continue your journey along the maze, drive a thorn into one of their hearts. Hope you know your lovers well. Maybe a little physical touch will help?
The maze might break into a small clearing for you, a wide open space with checkerboarded grass filling from one edge of the field to the other β two different tones of the same haunted green pervasive through the labyrinth. Certain spaces are occupied by expertly crafted hedges to resemble all the familiar pieces to a chess board, while the Kings are left empty, awaiting you and an opponent. Take your positions, or wait for a stranger to stumble upon you, if you were unlucky enough to face the maze by yourself, and play the game according to all ordinary rules of chess. Following a checkmate, you have the option of how youβll claim dominion over the opposite side, or how theyβll claim it over you β a slap or a kiss will suffice, to earn your win. Strangely, physical touch seems to relieve the worst of your allergies. These things do have a way of escalating, donβt they? Best to keep your wits about you.
For those of you prone to clumsiness, youβre probably doomed already, but the viper pits are an easy trap for even the most seasoned of the bunch. Take one step, and the ground gives way beneath your feet, plunging you into a dark, flinty hole in the earth. The injuries you might have sustained on the way down are the least of your worries. Inside the pervasive darkness of the pit, itβs time to face your vipers β that is, your worst fears seem to press in on you, terror blooming in your very bones until your own nauseating dread is all you can feel. Maybe it's actual vipers, or rough waters pulling you down, or a thousand razors cutting your skin βΒ the mystery of the dark is that anything can be inside it, waiting. Maybe youβll be lucky enough to have a friend risk it all to help you out, but you can always just save yourself, clawing to the top while your greatest fears weigh you down.
If you manage to avoid the pits, theyβre not the only deadly thing on the ground. Step close enough to smell the honeysuckle and youβll feel a sharp clamp around your ankle. Vines, slithering out from the foliage, wrap themselves around your body in near shibari style β and these vines like to fondle and grope, ramping up the sexual side of your infection symptoms. The only way to get free? Turn to someone else struggling in the vine trap and get frisky β or let the vines turn from pleasure to true pain as they slowly squeeze the life out of you. Orgasm or die. It's a pretty easy choice, isn't it?
Just when you think itβs the dehydration of too many long days and nights scrambling through the maze that will kill you, youβre lucky enough to happen upon a water source β one of the many beautiful fountains, shimmering ponds, or rustic bird baths dotting the path of the maze. Whichever it is, youβre parched enough to drink deep despite the possibility of bird shit floating around. As you crouch over the water, your reflection stares back at you β only itβs either your most perfect self that you wish you could be, or the worst version of you that you fear youβve already become. Once you catch your reflectionβs eye, youβre caught, unable to stop yourself from being pulled into the waterβs depths. The bird bath overflows, the pond turns dark and bottomless, and the gilded fountain statues laugh at your plight as you struggle to keep yourself from drowning. Time to face those ugly truths about yourself β fast.
After your harrowing ordeals, you reach what can only be the end β a narrow pathway lined with thorn-filled hedges, too thick and solid to pry through. The only way forward is onto the path. Luckily, a piece of bright hope shimmers before you β a single strand of golden thread, hopefully leading you out into the world once more. You step onto the path, following the glimmering thread, and it seems like all is well until the moment someone enters the path behind you. The hedges rush toward you, brutally narrowing the space as thorns dig into your flesh and rip fresh wounds across your body. Looks like only one of you can complete this painfully claustrophobic trial at a time, and the other has to watch your slow and bloody suffering, waiting for the moment the walls part and you can rejoin your love without consequence. Better hurry to get there. Theyβre going to need some patching up once theyβre done.
As you escape the stifling thorns, finally emerging on the other side and collapsing with relief to be free and hopefully to get some help for your worsening illness, you realize with a sick drop of your stomach that you havenβt made it out after all. The golden thread has led you into the heart of the maze, where you know the Balfourβs beloved Minotaur statue should beβ¦ only itβs nowhere to be found. Instead, there are two statues towering over your pathetic form: Medusa cast in gold, and Midas carved in stone.
While you were all asleep in your spacious tents and unspacious sleeping bags, the maze has shifted form, spreading its sections along the entire grounds of the house. You wake from what should be the end of your glamping spree already lost in a part of the sprawling labyrinth, maybe with your tent-mate, or the person you spent the night with, or someone completely new. Youβre only sure of one thing β it seems like youβve suddenly developed a pesky case of allergies. It starts with an uncomfortable pins and needles sensation that crawls over your entire body as you start to move. Sweat dampens your clothes despite the towering blossoms offering a rather pleasant shade from the sun, and soon your teeth are chattering with chills. So maybe youβve caught a summer cold, or some of you might be spreading mono from having a pair of too-loose lips. In any case, itβs probably nothing you havenβt dealt with before, and it wonβt stop you from finding your way out of the maze.
The natural thought would be to utilize your own skillset to escape, but you quickly realize that using any magical abilities yields no results upon the thick foliage β or at least you think thereβs no effect. If you try to use fire to burn down a part of the maze, not only does it not work for you, but now, in a part of the maze opposite to you, there are burning flames that other house guests will have to get past. Being big and bad, in this case, means youβre probably just an asshole now. As you stumble through the maze, you encounter more and more magical obstacles that you might begin to recognize as coming from your own friends. Looks like everyoneβs desperate to get out, and youβre only making things worse. (If your character tries to use their magic, please submit it here, so others can play with it!)
Speaking of worse, those allergies are swiftly advancing into a full blown infection from β you guessed it β the foliage of the maze itself. The constant reproducing and shifting is caused by THE BOGWOOD BLIGHT, evident by the dark lesions spotting the plant stems, and white, fuzzy spores clinging to the undersides of the leaves. Your symptoms progress into searing pain as flowers, branches, and thorns begin to grow inside of you, your vomit coming up bloody and thick with masses of dead leaves. Young vines and tiny flowers seem to spool out from your own hair, curling around your throat if you donβt keep up with tearing them out. Hallucinations plague your mind, sharp desire both violent and sexual permeating your senses and threatening to push all other reasonable thoughts out.
It would be easy to succumb to this sickness, to let your base instincts fight or fuck one another until youβre all hopelessly lost and doomed to a certain death in the labyrinth. But there is a way out, for those who can hold on to their sanity and bear through the pain: participate in the trials, and earn your freedom.
These trials? Nothing like the fun and games of a night camping beneath the stars. The verdant landscape of the neatly trimmed maze has become flush with deadly obstacles, and itβs up to you to get past them all. Naturally, your first instinct is to grab your trusty iPhone and reach out to your closest and most trusted companions β but everything you send reaches the recipient in a way that utterly twists your intentions. A simple are you okay? turns into Iβm glad to finally be rid of you. Trying to reunite with a loved one throws you for another loop when you finally do find them β three loops, in fact, because you encounter three identical copies of your love, all trying to convince you theyβre the real one. In order to reveal the truth and continue your journey along the maze, drive a thorn into one of their hearts. Hope you know your lovers well. Maybe a little physical touch will help?
The maze might break into a small clearing for you, a wide open space with checkerboarded grass filling from one edge of the field to the other β two different tones of the same haunted green pervasive through the labyrinth. Certain spaces are occupied by expertly crafted hedges to resemble all the familiar pieces to a chess board, while the Kings are left empty, awaiting you and an opponent. Take your positions, or wait for a stranger to stumble upon you, if you were unlucky enough to face the maze by yourself, and play the game according to all ordinary rules of chess. Following a checkmate, you have the option of how youβll claim dominion over the opposite side, or how theyβll claim it over you β a slap or a kiss will suffice, to earn your win. Strangely, physical touch seems to relieve the worst of your allergies. These things do have a way of escalating, donβt they? Best to keep your wits about you.
For those of you prone to clumsiness, youβre probably doomed already, but the viper pits are an easy trap for even the most seasoned of the bunch. Take one step, and the ground gives way beneath your feet, plunging you into a dark, flinty hole in the earth. The injuries you might have sustained on the way down are the least of your worries. Inside the pervasive darkness of the pit, itβs time to face your vipers β that is, your worst fears seem to press in on you, terror blooming in your very bones until your own nauseating dread is all you can feel. Maybe it's actual vipers, or rough waters pulling you down, or a thousand razors cutting your skin βΒ the mystery of the dark is that anything can be inside it, waiting. Maybe youβll be lucky enough to have a friend risk it all to help you out, but you can always just save yourself, clawing to the top while your greatest fears weigh you down.
If you manage to avoid the pits, theyβre not the only deadly thing on the ground. Step close enough to smell the honeysuckle and youβll feel a sharp clamp around your ankle. Vines, slithering out from the foliage, wrap themselves around your body in near shibari style β and these vines like to fondle and grope, ramping up the sexual side of your infection symptoms. The only way to get free? Turn to someone else struggling in the vine trap and get frisky β or let the vines turn from pleasure to true pain as they slowly squeeze the life out of you. Orgasm or die. It's a pretty easy choice, isn't it?
Just when you think itβs the dehydration of too many long days and nights scrambling through the maze that will kill you, youβre lucky enough to happen upon a water source β one of the many beautiful fountains, shimmering ponds, or rustic bird baths dotting the path of the maze. Whichever it is, youβre parched enough to drink deep despite the possibility of bird shit floating around. As you crouch over the water, your reflection stares back at you β only itβs either your most perfect self that you wish you could be, or the worst version of you that you fear youβve already become. Once you catch your reflectionβs eye, youβre caught, unable to stop yourself from being pulled into the waterβs depths. The bird bath overflows, the pond turns dark and bottomless, and the gilded fountain statues laugh at your plight as you struggle to keep yourself from drowning. Time to face those ugly truths about yourself β fast.
After your harrowing ordeals, you reach what can only be the end β a narrow pathway lined with thorn-filled hedges, too thick and solid to pry through. The only way forward is onto the path. Luckily, a piece of bright hope shimmers before you β a single strand of golden thread, hopefully leading you out into the world once more. You step onto the path, following the glimmering thread, and it seems like all is well until the moment someone enters the path behind you. The hedges rush toward you, brutally narrowing the space as thorns dig into your flesh and rip fresh wounds across your body. Looks like only one of you can complete this painfully claustrophobic trial at a time, and the other has to watch your slow and bloody suffering, waiting for the moment the walls part and you can rejoin your love without consequence. Better hurry to get there. Theyβre going to need some patching up once theyβre done.
As you escape the stifling thorns, finally emerging on the other side and collapsing with relief to be free and hopefully to get some help for your worsening illness, you realize with a sick drop of your stomach that you havenβt made it out after all. The golden thread has led you into the heart of the maze, where you know the Balfourβs beloved Minotaur statue should beβ¦ only itβs nowhere to be found. Instead, there are two statues towering over your pathetic form: Medusa cast in gold, and Midas carved in stone.
MATERIAL GIRLS
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential character death, loss of limbs.
It's been a long, harrowing journey, but you're here now, likely with some friendships or trauma-bonds made along the way, which is what summer camp is all about. Each of the statues before you is decorated with a marble slab at the base, detailing EYE TO EYE below Medusa and HAND IN HAND below Midas. Curiosity eventually wins out against wariness βΒ or maybe the charms of the maze have worn thin on you through the days, frustration guiding your motion. Whatever the case, you weigh your options and choose accordingly between the two, stepping forward and sealing your fate.
EYE TO EYE β Look to Medusa for a few seconds, and a door will appear beside her, granting you free exit from the maze. However, for the following days, you begin to change. It starts at your fingertips, gradually spreading from arm to shoulder to neck, and so on, transmuting your body from flesh and blood to cold, icy stone. Those affected start to lean into their darker side, turning from the hero to the villain, the kind to the cruel. To stop your gravelly fate, amends must be made β forgive someone who wronged you, love someone you hate, clear up a misunderstanding you've let fester inside, make up for some injustice you've committed in your life. Give them the knife and let them start cutting. Beg for penance, and whether or not you receive it is beside the point β the begging is enough to redeem you in Medusa's eye.
HAND IN HAND βΒ Alternatively, hold the hand Midas extends for a few seconds, and a door will appear beside him, granting you free exit from the maze. However, for the following days, you too start to change, following the same pattern of those more Medusa inclined βΒ but gilt instead of stony, turning gold from the outside in. Those affected lean further into their brighter, more pleasant sides, cheer replacing sorrow, your mood uplifted to a potentially overbearing degree. To stop your gilded fate, sacrifices must be made βΒ reveal a deep rooted secret, let go of something you're insecure about, give away something of important value to you. Material good are nice, yes, but do you know what Midas would like even more? Limbs, eyes, flesh, blood, something you're really going to miss.
Regardless of your choice, you're out of the maze, congrats! Act swiftly and all will be fine. Dither and, well βΒ you'll make a beautiful, statue-corpse eventually, and the maze would be happy to have you. Of course, even a successful solution will take time to settle in. Your stony, golden limbs revert as slowly as they crawled up on you, any severed body parts taking days to reform but eventually coming back as good as new, with a small memorializing token βΒ a hand or an eye shaped birthmark to remember what you've lost.
Out of the maze, you can see the work being done on the house, renovations well underway while you were busy messing around. It was so kind of you to give the Balfours the chance to start working on the house βΒ and while it's unlivable for the next while, there are always the tents to keep you warm.
It's been a long, harrowing journey, but you're here now, likely with some friendships or trauma-bonds made along the way, which is what summer camp is all about. Each of the statues before you is decorated with a marble slab at the base, detailing EYE TO EYE below Medusa and HAND IN HAND below Midas. Curiosity eventually wins out against wariness βΒ or maybe the charms of the maze have worn thin on you through the days, frustration guiding your motion. Whatever the case, you weigh your options and choose accordingly between the two, stepping forward and sealing your fate.
EYE TO EYE β Look to Medusa for a few seconds, and a door will appear beside her, granting you free exit from the maze. However, for the following days, you begin to change. It starts at your fingertips, gradually spreading from arm to shoulder to neck, and so on, transmuting your body from flesh and blood to cold, icy stone. Those affected start to lean into their darker side, turning from the hero to the villain, the kind to the cruel. To stop your gravelly fate, amends must be made β forgive someone who wronged you, love someone you hate, clear up a misunderstanding you've let fester inside, make up for some injustice you've committed in your life. Give them the knife and let them start cutting. Beg for penance, and whether or not you receive it is beside the point β the begging is enough to redeem you in Medusa's eye.
HAND IN HAND βΒ Alternatively, hold the hand Midas extends for a few seconds, and a door will appear beside him, granting you free exit from the maze. However, for the following days, you too start to change, following the same pattern of those more Medusa inclined βΒ but gilt instead of stony, turning gold from the outside in. Those affected lean further into their brighter, more pleasant sides, cheer replacing sorrow, your mood uplifted to a potentially overbearing degree. To stop your gilded fate, sacrifices must be made βΒ reveal a deep rooted secret, let go of something you're insecure about, give away something of important value to you. Material good are nice, yes, but do you know what Midas would like even more? Limbs, eyes, flesh, blood, something you're really going to miss.
Regardless of your choice, you're out of the maze, congrats! Act swiftly and all will be fine. Dither and, well βΒ you'll make a beautiful, statue-corpse eventually, and the maze would be happy to have you. Of course, even a successful solution will take time to settle in. Your stony, golden limbs revert as slowly as they crawled up on you, any severed body parts taking days to reform but eventually coming back as good as new, with a small memorializing token βΒ a hand or an eye shaped birthmark to remember what you've lost.
Out of the maze, you can see the work being done on the house, renovations well underway while you were busy messing around. It was so kind of you to give the Balfours the chance to start working on the house βΒ and while it's unlivable for the next while, there are always the tents to keep you warm.
DIRECTORY
no subject
[ and she feels for him, not knowing that her best beloved bonnie (and damon) was alright, alive and well, was difficult. she's glad klaus told him, saved him the uncertainty. she wonders what else klaus told him.
elena, bonnie, her mother, oh. oh he doesn't know about her mother. her breath jumps, skips, but she doesn't want to think about her mom right now. she can't think about her mom right now. she circles back to being grateful klaus told him about bonnie (and damon) and lets the undercurrent of discomfort at being grateful to klaus for anything push away thoughts of her mom. ]
Do you want to talk a walk?
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( it shouldn't be this easy. but, he lets it go, turning back. it sounds like they both have to get something off their chests. )
Yeah. I'd like that. ( he leaves all things damon, klaus, katherine, unsaid. he smiles again. he's needed this. klaus is something, but he's not a friend like caroline. there is nobody like caroline. she's right. she's one of a kind. ) I've missed you.
( maybe they can talk about his mother. or valerie? or damon. or whatever happened with her damon. anything. she's here now. )
There's a lake. Or, we could walk the scenic route around the rubble.
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despite that they're not a couple, she takes his hand because stefan has to hold her hand, that's his job as her best friend. she's having a rough day and he has to hold her hand. ]
I know the lake, the rubble is new so. Let's go there first. What happened?
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he starts toward the house, falling in step with her, hand holding hers. it's hard enough to say. klaus never gave him an earful, but he deserved it. katherine didn't even call him out, she was compassionate. much like he heard she had been when this had happened the first time around. )
When Damon and I first woke up here, we realized we didn't remember the same things. I realized it, and from what impression he gave me, I thought he was in the woods - during Klaus' ritual. About to rescue you and Tyler. I didn't know until a week later that he was from after. After Tyler bit him. ( he pauses, turning them so they don't walk up onto the property, but around it. ) By then, he was a week into a werewolf bite and he picked a fight with the only person that could save him. We tried everything. I went to Gale, to this wizard named Stephen - even explored the idea of a super-soldier blood transfusion. Nothing worked. He deteriorated, except I had already made the choice once. There was no bargaining with Klaus, and Damon asked to go with dignity. ( His eyes find the dilapidated husk of a trellis, half bending off of the building. ) I know about the death consequences. And I had lost Damon once. I thought I had. And, I went to, the - there's a room at the very top a room of what can only be described as every drug you could ever find. Except, in it, I found a familiar box. One that had been used. On Katherine. ( Who wasn't human here, but that's not the part of the story he's trying to address. ) I relieved Katherine and sat at Damon's bedside. I read to him. We reminisced. I didn't know what he'd come back as. He was already on Buffy's bad side - she's a vampire slayer.
( he squeezes her hand, unable to say it. ashamed he made the selfish decision again. she can probably assume what he did. the choice he took away from his brother. again. )
no subject
she nods at the drug den, softly agreeing "mhmm, the coronal" but unwilling to speak up more to interrupt. better to let him get it all out. ]
You gave him the cure.
[ stefan may be ashamed of himself but a. caroline has never been damon's biggest fan and b. he's alive so she doesn't see the issue. alive to be mad at his brother.
she squeezes his hand. ]
You saved his life.
no subject
Stefan stops in his tracks, the hollow husk of one of the wings of the house in the background as he can only let himself nod.
Stefan looks down again, at their hands, and how comfortable this feels. God, he missed her. He misses everyone. Even Elena. How long could he really keep his loner act up. )
He was going to come back, Caroline. I don't know - as what - knowing Damon it was probably something black of heart, but I couldn't watch him die all over again.
( Slowly, he tilts his head back up. )
And now he won't talk to me. Except for the entire month we weren't ourselves. That happens here, apparently. Katherine and I had a kid. ( As insane as that is. ) I know Damon always gets over it. I know how far we've come. But, he doesn't know he died. I couldn't tell him. I didn't know what to tell him and so I lied. I pretended to be from his time. I pretended to be from Katherine's. It all... kind of blew up in my face.
( His other hand covers hers as he continues. )
He knows the important parts. That he can't become a vampire again. That if someone takes the cure from him, he'll age. That vampire blood doesn't work anymore. You can imagine how much he loved all of that.
no subject
she wonders if alina is still here, alia. homelander? she doesn't think about astarion because stefan didn't say his name only gale's and if astarion's... well, caroline with her humanity off would certainly give stefan something else to deal with so he wouldn't be able to brood. she forces her mind past astarion, to the others she remembers. louis and lestat and armand, jace, tony, theo, jason, nami, that big red haired guy she doesn't think she ever actually spoke to, tim, erik, alina's boyfriend. how many of them were even still here?
belatedly, she realizes she has completely checked out, staring blindly at the caved in mansion. she thinks this is where her room was.
she rolls back the tape, curls her lip thinking about his and katherine's kid. gross. ]
You're a worse liar than I am.
no subject
( About Damon.
And his and Katherine's son Teo was a budding activist/terrorist. His sex tape was released Kim Kardashian style. Klaus was an old friend from boarding school. His brother was partially blind, and with Katherine. Everything was complicated and operatic.
But the here and now is where he should be focusing. Like her. One hand leaves hers again, but the other remains - palm to palm, fingers intertwined. )
You're not judging me. Am I a part of the nonjudgmental breakfast club now? ( Does he have to be nicer to people? He's plenty nice but people here, they're -- a lot. He's been his snarkiest self here. But he's also tried helping, too. ) I'm sorry that my mother who's -- a vampire now? And Valerie -- were torturing you, Caroline. I don't know what Damon could've done or why they targeted you out of everyone.
( Why not him? Elena? Bonnie? Not that he'd want any of them targeted, either. Unless this was also about Stefan. Caroline is his best friend. )
no subject
[ she tries to stop herself, but she has to know and so she ignores everything stefan said about his mom and valerie and damon, it doesn't matter, it happened, it's over. ]
You rescued me, it's fine, we'll be fine, it's a very long and complicated and stupid story and I'm not even sure if I should tell you anything about it. Did you meet Gale's partner? I don't really know what their thing is but there is a thing. And I have to know if he's here. Astarion.
[ there's a thread of not quite desperation in her voice as she shoves the question onto the backend of her deflection, nearly tripping over the words in her haste to get them out. she adores gale, that much was clear from the smile that lit up her face when stefan mention him. but astarion is... he's very dear to her. ]
no subject
he stops again. that is a hasty change of topic, and one they will circle back to. he's over the whole back to the future worry of knowing what will happen. not that damon wants to know anything. stefan's told him, he'll fill him in if he wants to be. all damon knows is stefan and elena aren't together anymore. )
I haven't met him yet? In person. But, I think we might have talked over the network. Is he the one with the vampire chicken? And, as far as your story, we've both done long and complicated, so when you're ready to talk about it. I can't not be curious about Lily. But, Astarion is here. And they're together. As far as I know. Not the being here, he's here, the together part. You're making me want to make more friends. Think you can introduce me around?
no subject
this has been a lot and she feeling very emotional and hungry. ]
I'll introduce you to everyone. We can throw a party and you can pretend to hate it because you don't like fun.
[ she buries her face against his shoulder. ]
I will tell you everything, but not today. I don't want to think about it today.
no subject
I like fun.
( though, opinions still vary on whether or not he has a sense of humor. he'd vote yes! )
Okay. I'm - ( he rubs her back, instinctively, comforting her. she's here again, which means she's trapped. again. and after being trapped with his ex and his mother. why is it always damon and his extra baggage. ) not going anywhere, okay?
( there's still more he could say, about his relationship to klaus and how it's developed. how damon's pushing him away had him seek the closest ally from his shared world. how klaus has a daughter! but, she knows that? maybe she knows that. but she's right. all of it can wait. )
I almost asked the library once what would Caroline Forbes do. But, I don't really trust a sentient... room. Just yet. As far as early birthday presents go...
( he hugs her tighter. he's several months early. but it feels like something to celebrate. he leans back again, but doesn't move, doesn't pull away, or extricate himself. no. this is what he's needed, too. )
I bet this place isn't the same without you.
no subject
[ so maybe it wasn't the same. she isn't sure he had that much of an impact without her though, probably she was easily forgotten. except maybe by gale and astarion. maybe lestat. maybe... maybe maybe maybe. caroline thinks she is forgettable and she isn't in a place right now to fake self-confidence. ]
The library would probably give you all my school supplies.
no subject
( Nascent Billy Joel references aside, he can see some of that melancholia seeping in, but he's in such a weird place himself, he doesn't know what to do with it. The first thing, he thinks, is to keep the hug going at least. He means it when he says he's not going anywhere. And, partially, it's because none of them can go anywhere. But, Caroline is the first person here besides Klaus that reminds him enough of home. Damon's first month was a blur of missed connections and bargaining, that ultimately, Stefan's betrayal in more ways than one frayed their already tenuous relationship.
He should've kept him closer. Fought harder. Let him make his choice.
Tilting his head down, he agrees. )
I've heard mixed reviews of the library.
( He hasn't really had his usual steadfast politeness in him. Technically, he feels like since he lost Elena, he lost that "righteousness." Or, maybe it was way back when he traded his life for Damon's. Everyone has this idea of who he was.
Still, there is something telling him she needs comfort. How could she not, considering where she came from. )
And, I'm sure you'd make good use of your school supplies. ( If he asks for something else and they give him markers and pens, he knows who to go to. ) Can I do anything?