IC Inbox

[holyposition]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

USERNAME:
t.laughlin

text ❖ audio ❖ video

Comments

🎁 speedy delivery (12/25)

[metabolizes]

( in the wee hours of the morning on christmas day, wally leaves a package neatly wrapped with vintage nativity paper outside tim's door. inside, tim will find a cd walkman with headphones and the mixtape wally promised. the cd case has a printed cover and tracklist, collaged and curated by wally (if one of the balfour's computers has a bunch of viruses on it now because wally was trying to remember how to use limewire, no one needs to know that). tucked under the package's decorative ribbon is a card that reads: )

Tim —

Took me a while to find all these songs. It's mostly new wave, synthpop, a little bit of alternative rock, and a dash of folk. You said you liked Fleetwood Mac and Bonnie Tyler, so I thought I'd get you started with some of the best female vocalists of the 80s. Maybe for Valentine's I'll hook you up with the guys.

Uh. Not like that, obviously. I've just got tons of recommendations left!

Anyway. It's called a mixtape because originally they were made on cassette tapes — which is funny, actually, considering the cassette tape hasn't been invented for you yet but they're pretty much obsolete now. Mix-CD doesn't exactly have the same ring to it, though.

Semantics aside, I hope you love it. Or at least enjoy it. The 80s await!

Merry Christmas, Smallville.

— Wally

— january sleepwalking.

[hymen]

[ hawk’s room (petty, that he doesn’t see it as a shared room with tim, even though it is, because hawk’s entire life and being is shared with tim), surprisingly, doesn’t feel like a familiar space despite all the times he’s been in it. when he’s here, he’s mostly focused on one thing, and that one thing leads him straight to the bed, where he spends the rest of his time face down lost in carnal bliss, and any other moments are spent tangled up in the dark trying very hard not to assign meaning to the fact that he hasn’t left yet.

so when his hands slide over polished wood drawers and and golden handles, there’s a faraway — very faraway — thought in his clouded subconscious that he’s never really touched anything in this room before. he’s never touched any of hawk’s things.

the drawers slide open, embry’s eyes a glassy blue as he plucks at neatly rolled ties and velvet boxes of cufflinks and pins. below, there’s underwear, briefs and boxers and these things embry recognizes, because hawk in a state of undress is familiar. his fingers dive into the soft fabric, feeling around until he touches paper, and he shuffles it out, holding it up to find his own handwriting staring him in the face, a letter he wrote while hawk was six feet under that hawk told him he threw away on account of it being stupid. his eyes move unseeingly over the words, even as he hears a door open, even as he hears sudden, sharp words, even as he feels someone grasp his shoulder and forcibly turn him around.

embry doesn’t react, his expression blank, his eyes vacant. ]

[holyposition]

[ Tim exits his bathroom stumbling, precious hours removed from the attack. Stable enough to be left alone for however long it takes Hawk to get to the clinic for more supplies, but in no state to brace himself against the side of the dresser and see Embry looting around in there. When is Hawk going to learn to lock that damn door? ]

What are you doing?

[ He asks with gravel in his voice, courtesy of the freakish new strength of Alicent's hands, still outlined in red on his throat. Tim's in his underwear, because he was in bed and only got up to use the bathroom, and sporting all kinds of bruises and bumps. That handprint, a black eye, bruising on his ribs, a bandage on his neck that's bleeding through. Hence the supply run. ]

Hello? Hey!

[ Hawk's underwear drawer? Really? Tim grunts and steps forward, wobbly on his feet like a baby deer, and shoves him. ]

Embry! What the hell? This is a bad time, alright?

post-vampire weekend | un: koby

[kobes]

[It comes in suddenly, all in a rush, the transference of pain and fear and exhaustion catching Koby by surprise, in the middle of breakfast. He drops something -- a plate, a glass, something, steps on the broken bits when he turns to leave, breath catching. He'd thought -- it was after the holidays, Tim had gone all out for them and there was the matter of Alicent's recent death, he was just tired. He'd felt tired, when Koby had reached out, before.

But now, it's like a veil's lifted and Tim isn't just tired, he's hurt, he's hurt and Koby hadn't known and--]

What happened? [Sent as he's walking, as he's on his way to Tim and Hawk's rooms.] You're hurt.

[holyposition]

[ Honestly, he's surprised he got a full 24 hours before a check-in. Which he's grateful for, not because Koby's fussing is unwelcome, but because it'll be easier to convince him he's okay. Maybe. ]

Hey.

It's okay. I'm okay. There was an incident. I'm just taking it easy, recovering at home.

text — un: @aemond

[provoke]

Tim. We should talk.

[holyposition]

Yeah, sure. Is everything okay?

@hightower, 11/1.

[unapparent]

I am at last myself.

[ an echo, the meaning changed by all she returned from. death, undeath, war. ]

If you would see me, I have much to apologise for.

[holyposition]

[ So immediate that she may not have even put the phone down yet. ]

I'm glad to hear that.

I'd like to see you. I think I left my glasses in your room.

Not just for that, obviously. At least I hope that's obvious.

Yes. Whenever you want.

text — un: q

[longitudinal]

I was cleaning the room and found an undershirt of yours left behind. I believe Koby dropped it and it got lost beneath the bed skirt.

It still smells like you.

[ and maybe he got a little bothered by it, who knows. ]

[holyposition]

Maybe I left it on purpose. You were both so sweet last time, you deserved a souvenir.

➤ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑎𝑛

[homosexuals]

I'll take my whiskey neat, sugar.

[it's not tim's first shift at the bar, and it's not even the first one hawk's dropped in on. jacaerys has been a terrifically delectable distraction, obliging him for a few extra drop ins when the piano bar or a smoke with friends like louis doesn't quite cut it. part of him still thinks it's silly for tim to be working a job, let alone one he isn't even getting paid for - but he seems content enough that hawk can only deign to just: suck it up for a few hours. it's funny how a few months ago he would have balked at such saccharine behavior and called bullshit. but a few months ago hawk wasn't in love with timothy laughlin.

except that's not true either. alright, amendment: a few months ago hawk wasn't letting himself be in love with timothy laughlin. death has a funny way of changing all that, though. tim's more than his own, and he hasn't wasted a goddamn minute ever since.

that's why he's here now, looking smitten as tim does something as mundane as buff out the surface of the bar after he's slid over his preferred drink. but he can't fool hawk from catching the nervous way his eyes keep glancing over to the hand that's not resting around his glass - the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. he's not fidgeting per se, but hawk can tell from enough mornings in close quarters with tim in the bathroom and tidying up their shared suite to know that his motions aren't quite as coordinated in the way he flits around with a determination - if anything, they're a bit more cautious and restrained. it's cute, really - enough to have hawk lifting his brows and raising his glass - still one-handed - in a salute to his partner.

all of this because he knows tim is waiting for the other shoe to drop. he's waiting to see when hawk's hand will shift into his pocket and press a thumb over the small, remote control device that will send waves of vibration through the toy pressed up into his tight little hole where no one is the wiser. no one except hawk, taking his sweet time with the whiskey and licking his lips. there's a pleasant, teasing smile offered back to tim to put him at ease and simultaneously keep him on his toes. in fact, it's not until he's bent over a few minutes later and checking something under the fridges in the bar that his hand sneaks inside, thumbing the now-familiar button that will nudge it up two levels to a pleasant, manageable pulse.]

[holyposition]

You’re supposed to order a cocktail so I can practice. How about a Manhattan?

[ In hindsight, he’ll admit that he was asking for it, changing his drink order on him and going out in that mesh top that makes Hawk crazy, and every other patron looking for a buzz aware of the muscle in his arms and the fur on his chest. A practical choice, in service of his goal of being the best at this that he can be – even in his limited experience, he knows people want to order from the hot one. 

And maybe he wants to make Hawk crazy. Maybe his protests this morning when he’d whispered all that filth in Tim’s ear about toys and deviant tricks (he's trying to be a professional, Koby will see through him in an instant, haki or not) were all a performance, a token scandalized gasp meant to make another push impossible for Hawk to resist. He doesn’t know how to say no to Hawk, but he never truly intended to. 

Tim slides his drink over delicately, an eye very pointedly focused on Hawk’s pocket. It would be perfect, save for the pirate-sword skewer on the garnish – both cheesy and more decorative than functional, hard to poke through the cherry cleanly – and he offers it with only an innocent smile, before moving on to the next person. The toy isn’t big, but even while it’s off, he’s aware enough of it that he’s less graceful, his movements a little stilted and his face just slightly pink, now that Hawk’s here, building the anticipation. He trusts that he won’t do anything to get him kicked out of here, or while he’s shaking a drink he won’t want spilled all over himself, but still, the longer he sits there, the more it builds. The power he holds over him, made so literal, makes heat pool in his belly before Hawk’s done a damn thing.

He ought to consider himself lucky that it’s not until he ducks below the bar for more limes that he starts to feel the pulse. The gasp is soft, but Hawk can hear it if he’s listening for it. It’s fine, manageable, positioned like that. It’s not until he stands again, legs closed and hole clenched tight around the little vibrating plug, that Tim shudders and wonders if this might have been a mistake.

Sure that someone will put two and two together if he gives any ammunition at all, he doesn't even look at Hawk. He serves the next customer with a smile, flexing his arms as he shakes their margarita. ]

breaking the news post ash death (cw mentions of suicide at some point)

[hymen]

ash hasn't opened his bible for months. but i think he was just throwing a spiritual tantrum because i died in the chapel.

i think he would still want some kind of religious




something

[holyposition]

He hasn't been around for Bible study. I didn't blame him.

[ Tim’s struggled with his faith here, himself. But he has to keep it, has to believe there's some greater purpose beyond all this suffering so that he doesn't drive himself insane.

...he's not following. ]

I'm at the chapel now. You know you're both welcome. I'd be happy to pray with him if he wants.

text — un: LITTLEPRINCE

[hymen]

i cracked one of those stupid eggs open and i'm pretty sure this was meant to be yours.

[ attached is a photo of a cross necklace that looks eerily similar to the one tim had draped around ash's neck. ]

i'll drop it by your room later.

[holyposition]

Are you sure you found that in an egg? It looks like the one I gave to Ash. He can keep it if he wants.

But you can drop by anyway. If you want. Just to visit.

— text | un: jacaerys

[vermax]

Would you explain the concept of Lent to me? In your words?

[holyposition]

Of course! 🙂

It's a period that leads up to an important religious holiday. Christ wandered the desert for forty days in deprivation, while revisiting temptations that might stop Him from heeding His calling. So we make sacrifices to honor that and keep our focus on the things that are most important.

So we fast, we don't eat meat on Fridays, and we abstain from sex and alcohol. Some people add more, but all that's hard enough, living here.

text; un: goodsir

[mygoodsir]

Dearest Mr. Laughlin,

I am terribly sorry to bother you, but I am afraid that I must ask a potentially scandalous question:

Is this 🍆 meant to convey a phallus?

I am very sorry to burden you with such nonsense, but I feel I can trust you to understand that I have no desire to shock or offend.

Thank you.

Forever in your debt,
- Harry D.S. Goodsir

[holyposition]

Good evening, Harry.

I would have been scandalized if you asked me nine months ago, but I've been here long enough that it's hard to shock me.

It is meant to indicate a phallus, yes. It's usually sent to be flirtatious.

And it's not burden. You want me to teach you some more? So you're not caught off guard.

delivery

[mygoodsir]

[Knock knock knock. It's your very own personal surgeon, Tim, all dressed up nice with those stupid muttonchops. He's carrying a tray with teapot, cups, cream and sugar. A few cookies too because what is tea without biscuits?

Don't ask if he's hiding opium in his coat.]

Ah, hello. Are you feeling any less distressed?

[Because he can just drop off the tea and bolt if Tim prefers.]

[holyposition]

Ummm.

[ There are times when one must pause, think about whether they're going to give the polite answer or the honest one. But all these secrets are a burden. Tim seeks and offers the truth whenever he can, and Goodsir deserves it, if he's being invited to share, doesn't he? ]

No, but that's okay. You're here to help. Come on in.

[ Tim opens the door, ushering him inside. The room is lived in, but tidy - he and his partner have been here for going on ten months now, although not always together, and not always in this room, the last having ignited somewhat of a passion for fire - the bookshelf pleasantly arranged, the bed made, every knickknack and piece of evidence of a life built here arranged purposefully. It is Tim himself in disarray, his glasses abandoned on the coffee table and his hair mussed from running his own hands through it to soothe himself. ]

I'm a little embarrassed. I caused a scene.

text | un: stein

[missed]

Sorry it's taken me a moment to check in.
Things been busy, but know you got your hands full, too.

You and yours okay? After last month.
Saw Koby and Hawk around, so figured you had a set of eyes watching your back.

[ he couldn't sense or hear or feeling anything - turned human and made mortally weak after the better part of a century and a half. ]

[holyposition]

Hey, Louis. It's good to hear from you.

Last month was really hard. I buried a friend. And I just lost another, disappeared. I'm glad to see you're still around though.

What about you? It must have been strange being human again.

text — un: jones

[dualitys]

You're making me nervous, boy.
What trouble are you getting into?

[holyposition]

You're nervous about me? Why? I'm not in trouble.

slightly backdated; text: un: koby

[kobes]

About Harry -- I'm really sorry, Tim.

Are you all right? [he hadn't "heard" so much as realized someone was missing from his awareness, a void where someone had been. koby might not have been very familiar with harry, but he'd definitely paid closer attention since -- well. since tim had shared what happened in march.]

[holyposition]

I don't know.

I lit a candle for him this morning, but it didn't feel right. He didn't die.

text; un: goodsir

[mygoodsir]

Dear Tim,

Does the 'drug room' contain opium?

Yours,
Harry

[holyposition]

I don't go there.

But I have a friend who does. He likes cocaine.

...why?

text; un: goodsir | after prom

[mygoodsir]

Dearest Tim,

I write to you from within a tempest of emotions. Firstly, I must apologise for any liberties I may have taken with you last night. I can offer no excuse save that your presence inspires an ardent and sincere passion within me that I am ill equipped to understand, let alone contain. I will endeavour to reestablish my control; you are a most precious creature and not something to be pawed at.

Would that this be the only reason I must apologise to you, then perhaps I would not be so heavy hearted. Alas, It is not so, for I have committed another most egregious sin. In spite of your fair warning, I partook of drink last night and suffered the subsequent effects. I shall not burden you with the details, but I must confess to you that I behaved most inappropriately with your own trusted friend, young master Koby. I feel most ashamed at my actions, and I am trying to sincerely make amends to him. To you, too, I feel I owe an apology as you are most close to him.

I understand if this lechery on my part is too distasteful to you, and while a cessation of your affection would indeed wound me deeply, it would be well deserved. Thus I can only beseech your forgiveness for my indiscretion.

Yours ever sincerely,
Harry Goodsir

[holyposition]

Dear Harry,

As I told you last night, and I will repeat again with a clear head, you don’t need to be sorry for your behavior towards me last night. While I do consider your respect for decorum a welcome change from this place’s usual shameless debauchery, I’m not an innocent maiden. I’m a man, and my blood runs hot just like yours. I liked all of it. Your hands, your lips, the scandalous photos. I wouldn’t want to go any further in an environment like that, but it was a thrill. I wouldn’t change a thing.

As for Koby, I thank you for your honesty, but considering my own relationship with his partner, I don’t believe I have any right to be upset about that. But I’m not perfect, so I do sometimes get jealous, regardless of whether it’s right of me or it makes any sense. I think...if you were more inappropriate with him than you were with me, then I might be unhappy, since you deserve better than something you were drugged into. Selfishly, I’d hoped to be the one to show you that.

You’ve confessed to me some of the darkest things that a man possibly can, and I don’t find you monstrous or distasteful. Having a little too much to drink or leaving me a love bite isn’t changing that. I’m afraid I can’t forgive you, because that would imply wrongdoing, and I think I’d like you to do it again. Somewhere private this time, of course.

With affection,

Tim

text | un: q

[longitudinal]

Have you survived the great trials of your religion?
Is it blasphemous to write you and tell you I miss you in more ways than one?
I could list the ways.

It's a beautiful day outside - it made me think of you.

[holyposition]

I think "the trials" were tougher on you and Hawk than on me 😊

But yes, it's over. It ended with Easter.

So you're more than welcome to list them this time.

text; un: goodsir

[mygoodsir]

Dearest Tim,

I am terribly sorry to bother you with such trivial nonsense, but I must ask you two questions:

One: have you ever seen a film called 'Rashamon'?
And Two: would your affections ever lessen were I to go bald?

[holyposition]

I'm always happy to get a message from you.

One - I have not. Should I?

Two - No, of course not. I do like your curls, though. And I know you like it when I touch them. Is this something I should be worried about?

— text

[vermax]

May I confess something?

[holyposition]

[ . . . ? ]

Yes, of course. Are you alright?

text;

[homosexuals]

You'll never guess what the merry-go-round does.

[holyposition]

Does it make you horny?

post-tim death crashout

[homosexuals]

skiPpy;

[homosexuals]

cant sleep without you

keep waking up thinking youre right there

except you aren'T

you're six feet in the goddamn ground and im still here

during death time

[mygoodsir]

[Sent to Tim's phone (because he doesn't want to disturb Hawk by leaving anything physical) is a simple message. Normally he is far more loquacious, but the hurt is too big for words.]

Beloved Tim,

I am sorry I failed you.

I will be here when you return. Whatever you need, I will provide.

Your devoted
Harry

un: goodsir

[mygoodsir]

[attached is a picture of a white lipped snail... on a pair of leather restraints.]

Dearest Tim,

I hope sincerely that you are feeling lighter in your heart today. I confess that I am hoping this message will perhaps bring a smile to your face.

Do not feel compelled to answer if you are otherwised engaged or are deep in melancholy. (But not too deep - please do not succumb to despair, my beloved.)

Your ever constant and affectionate
Harry

[holyposition]

Hi, Harry 🥰

I wouldn't say that I'm succumbing to despair. But I'm having a hard time adjusting, still. Things are getting a little strained.

I need to get out of my head. Is that what the straps are for?

teensy bit backdated;

[longitudinal]

Are you feeling more like yourself?
It seems things have quieted down for many of us.

[ because how do you say hi i miss you but also i'm afraid you're not yourself still and you are hurting people and hurting yourself -

without sounding like a lunatic. but he's worried. has been since he saw koby burned and bloody in the library, giving tim a wide berth after that. ]

[holyposition]

I’m not dangerous anymore.

[ Not...truly answering the question, but it’s getting harder the longer he stays here and the more he’s forced to endure, what himself even feels like. He can’t go back to who he was before he died, before he became a front liner against the zombie hordes, before Hawk died, before the killing games, before-- ]

I’m so sorry, Quentin. I never would have done that if I were in my right mind. I hope you know that.

Is he okay? He says he is, but you know him.