Tim Laughlin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holyposition) wrote2024-06-13 06:55 pm
holyposition) wrote2024-06-13 06:55 pm
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WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
t.laughlin
text ❖ audio ❖ video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
t.laughlin
text ❖ audio ❖ video
I know there's no diverting your attention, you little perv
Good. Pay attention. When this mess is over, I bet Hawk could teach you some things about being in charge.
Alright, it’s not that I CAN’T be. He's just exceptionally good at it.
( 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
[ 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. ]
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. ]
[christmas last year hadn't even happened on christmas. it had been two nights before, not even christmas eve, lest they get stuck in the hellish traffic and the rest of the world carrying on to see friends, family, and lovers they were allowed. this year hawk's done everything in his power to make it the perfect season. helping him with his christmas presents, cutting down that tree and letting him get tinsel over every inch of the room after, letting him play those songs until hawk thought they might have bored a hole in his skull for how much the lyrics were now ingrained between the folds of it - anything just to see him smile and revel in the shared intimacy they'd so long been denied.
alicent's death had been an ugly wrench tossed into the mechanism of the tim laughlin express, grinding him to a halt and forcing him to drop everything in favor of tending to her sons. hawk's supported where he can, but selfishly it's given him the opportunity to finish the last touches on this gift. he supposes it's more like a grand gesture in some ways, but it's the thought that counts. it'll be better than a blowjob and some cufflinks anyway, or so he hopes.
the day had started by waking him up with soft kisses, humming fucking silver bells of all things against his neck while letting him know good st. nick had a few surprises for them today. after breakfast he'd dragged tim to the theater, which had been reserved only for them complete with popcorn and soda and blankets. the lights were dimmed to run last year's macy's day parade, featuring none other than the rockette's in new york city.
i know we can't be there, but i thought it was the closest thing. you like it?
and then nerves eat at him throughout lunch and merriment and delivering tim's gifts and christmas spirit - waiting for the sun to creep lower and lower in the horizon before it hits the right line to make hawk lean over and murmur in his ear that it's time for the last part of his gift. he tells hawk to put on a coat, knowing they'll have to trudge out through the frozen grounds after they cross to the opposite wing.]
Somewhere special. Ready?
[it's not until they get to the exit that hawk turns, something gentle and a little reserved in the line of his jaw and the glimmer of hope in his eyes. one of his ties is pulled out of a pocket, extended not for him to hold, but to put over tim's line of vision so he can't see where they're going.]
D'you trust me?
[and as long as he does, he'll carefully loop the silk over his eyes and gently rest hands against his waist, guiding him past a few stragglers towards the outskirts before pushing outside into the cold with a soft easy, take a step into the grass. he switches to lacing his fingers through tim's hand and pulling him along the worn but familiar path towards the chapel, wondering if he'll still recognize it despite his lack of use of it lately.
the wood's been restained: a rich mahogany over dull brown. all the windows polished: glass planes replaced where they'd been shattered. blood's been scrubbed from the stone, and the shabby pieces of wood that had been falling apart have been re-sanded with new bark and made fresh. the candelabras have all been swapped for something less gothic and gloomy in nature: now bright gold, gilded and bright. he's even added a few lights to the low, beamed ceilings, letting it wash over as if god himself thought to shine down upon the place. and no, he's not into any of that whoo-whoo shit, but someone at the fair had told him sage was good for burning away demons and evil spirits attached to a place. it's been burned, along with fresh incense to make for an unfamiliar but clean scent now.
will it be enough? to forget about the bloodshed and the suffering wrought here?
he hopes so, exhaling lightly as he leads tim inside and carefully down the center of the pews right up to the altar as he stands behind his lover and puts both hands on his shoulders.]
You've been busy...so have I.
[hawk's fingers lift, threading through tim's soft chestnut hair and tugging the tie away to slip to the floor.]
alicent's death had been an ugly wrench tossed into the mechanism of the tim laughlin express, grinding him to a halt and forcing him to drop everything in favor of tending to her sons. hawk's supported where he can, but selfishly it's given him the opportunity to finish the last touches on this gift. he supposes it's more like a grand gesture in some ways, but it's the thought that counts. it'll be better than a blowjob and some cufflinks anyway, or so he hopes.
the day had started by waking him up with soft kisses, humming fucking silver bells of all things against his neck while letting him know good st. nick had a few surprises for them today. after breakfast he'd dragged tim to the theater, which had been reserved only for them complete with popcorn and soda and blankets. the lights were dimmed to run last year's macy's day parade, featuring none other than the rockette's in new york city.
i know we can't be there, but i thought it was the closest thing. you like it?
and then nerves eat at him throughout lunch and merriment and delivering tim's gifts and christmas spirit - waiting for the sun to creep lower and lower in the horizon before it hits the right line to make hawk lean over and murmur in his ear that it's time for the last part of his gift. he tells hawk to put on a coat, knowing they'll have to trudge out through the frozen grounds after they cross to the opposite wing.]
Somewhere special. Ready?
[it's not until they get to the exit that hawk turns, something gentle and a little reserved in the line of his jaw and the glimmer of hope in his eyes. one of his ties is pulled out of a pocket, extended not for him to hold, but to put over tim's line of vision so he can't see where they're going.]
D'you trust me?
[and as long as he does, he'll carefully loop the silk over his eyes and gently rest hands against his waist, guiding him past a few stragglers towards the outskirts before pushing outside into the cold with a soft easy, take a step into the grass. he switches to lacing his fingers through tim's hand and pulling him along the worn but familiar path towards the chapel, wondering if he'll still recognize it despite his lack of use of it lately.
the wood's been restained: a rich mahogany over dull brown. all the windows polished: glass planes replaced where they'd been shattered. blood's been scrubbed from the stone, and the shabby pieces of wood that had been falling apart have been re-sanded with new bark and made fresh. the candelabras have all been swapped for something less gothic and gloomy in nature: now bright gold, gilded and bright. he's even added a few lights to the low, beamed ceilings, letting it wash over as if god himself thought to shine down upon the place. and no, he's not into any of that whoo-whoo shit, but someone at the fair had told him sage was good for burning away demons and evil spirits attached to a place. it's been burned, along with fresh incense to make for an unfamiliar but clean scent now.
will it be enough? to forget about the bloodshed and the suffering wrought here?
he hopes so, exhaling lightly as he leads tim inside and carefully down the center of the pews right up to the altar as he stands behind his lover and puts both hands on his shoulders.]
You've been busy...so have I.
[hawk's fingers lift, threading through tim's soft chestnut hair and tugging the tie away to slip to the floor.]
[ 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?
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?
[ what is he doing? he crushes the letter in his hands, not wanting to see the words he wrote back when he thought — whatever he thought about hawk, a thing that feels trapped behind stone now, like the rest of his thoughts, like the rest of — whatever he came here to do. garbled yelling strains at his ears. put the letter back. no, why should he? hawk doesn't need this obvious, damning evidence that embry moore once gave a shit about him.
a weight hits his back. he hits the dresser, his hands coming up to block against the heavy wood, shaking it so hard that the lamp tips over and crashes to the floor. he flinches, whirling around to face tim laughlin, in the worst shape of his life.
panic rushes him. no, god, fuck, no. ]
Tim. Holy shit. [ he steps forward, his hands up to steady him. ] I'm — Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't — I didn't mean to hurt you, fuck, I've been blacking out and I don't know what's happening to me. Let me help you.
a weight hits his back. he hits the dresser, his hands coming up to block against the heavy wood, shaking it so hard that the lamp tips over and crashes to the floor. he flinches, whirling around to face tim laughlin, in the worst shape of his life.
panic rushes him. no, god, fuck, no. ]
Tim. Holy shit. [ he steps forward, his hands up to steady him. ] I'm — Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't — I didn't mean to hurt you, fuck, I've been blacking out and I don't know what's happening to me. Let me help you.
[ The sad thing is, it's not the worst shape of his life. It's not the worst shape of his last three months, but Embry wasn't here during the wolf games, as he makes so glaringly obvious every time he opens his mouth to speak on it. Tim's ready to reiterate to him that he needs to go, this is a bad time, that he's happy to have peace between them but tonight he really needs Hawk to himself-- and then he starts...speaking nonsense. ]
What are you talking about?
[ Tim blinks, his head tilted slightly, like a puppy. Or someone dealing with dizzy spells after head trauma. Is he confused again, or is Embry insane?
Hard to think when he's tipping over again (or is the room tipping, trying to throw him off like a mechanical bull?), and grabbing for Embry's arm, something to keep him steady. ]
Quit smelling Hawk's underwear and just...walk me to the bed, please.
What are you talking about?
[ Tim blinks, his head tilted slightly, like a puppy. Or someone dealing with dizzy spells after head trauma. Is he confused again, or is Embry insane?
Hard to think when he's tipping over again (or is the room tipping, trying to throw him off like a mechanical bull?), and grabbing for Embry's arm, something to keep him steady. ]
Quit smelling Hawk's underwear and just...walk me to the bed, please.
[ is he confused, or is embry insane? these things are not mutually exclusive.
he's there to make sure tim doesn't fall, guilt sawing at him with all the staggering unknowns pouncing through his mind. he doesn't remember coming here, just like the first time. at least this time he has all his clothes on and he's not in anyone's bed. but it seems so much worse with tim's blood heavy in the air, leading him toward the bed and easing him onto the mattress. ]
Did I do this to you? [ the bed dips as embry leans a knee miserably beside him. ] Tell me the truth. I can't remember anything.
he's there to make sure tim doesn't fall, guilt sawing at him with all the staggering unknowns pouncing through his mind. he doesn't remember coming here, just like the first time. at least this time he has all his clothes on and he's not in anyone's bed. but it seems so much worse with tim's blood heavy in the air, leading him toward the bed and easing him onto the mattress. ]
Did I do this to you? [ the bed dips as embry leans a knee miserably beside him. ] Tell me the truth. I can't remember anything.
[ Tim mutters a pained 'thank you' as he settles in and pulls the blanket over himself, leans back against the pillows stacked to keep him propped up. ]
No, of course not. How would I be bandaged up already?
[ Softly, more then berating. Tim's blacked out multiple times just today, he can be understanding about it, but... ]
What are you doing here?
No, of course not. How would I be bandaged up already?
[ Softly, more then berating. Tim's blacked out multiple times just today, he can be understanding about it, but... ]
What are you doing here?
[ embry looks at him, haggard, suddenly exhausted. too exhausted to be as embarrassed as he should be about having just gone through hawk's underwear drawer. he has a lot of kinks, but sniffing his boxers isn't really one of them. ]
I don't know. [ it's the answer to both questions. ] Fuck, you look horrible.
[ he gets up, moving to the broken lamp to begin picking up the pieces, carefully collecting broken glass to chuck into the trash. ]
Did Aemond do that to you?
[ he doesn't look at tim when he asks, his expression pointed darkly to the shattered bulb he's presently picking at. ]
I don't know. [ it's the answer to both questions. ] Fuck, you look horrible.
[ he gets up, moving to the broken lamp to begin picking up the pieces, carefully collecting broken glass to chuck into the trash. ]
Did Aemond do that to you?
[ he doesn't look at tim when he asks, his expression pointed darkly to the shattered bulb he's presently picking at. ]
No, he did not.
[ Mustering all the firmness he can, because it's true first of all, but also, he doesn't need Embry yapping about that theory to anyone else. Who would he tell? Hell if Tim knows, but he's not the only person he's had to defend Aemond to. ]
It looks worse than it is. I'm okay. Hawk should be back any minute.
[ He pulls a mug of tea towards him, which is getting cold now. During the murder games he nearly succumbed to, he started to hate the taste. It brings him right back there, only Embry is alive and Alicent isn't helping him investigate. What a mess. ]
Thank you. For...picking up. [ It's Tim's fault for shoving him, but if he bends over, he might puke. ] You said you've been blacking out?
[ Mustering all the firmness he can, because it's true first of all, but also, he doesn't need Embry yapping about that theory to anyone else. Who would he tell? Hell if Tim knows, but he's not the only person he's had to defend Aemond to. ]
It looks worse than it is. I'm okay. Hawk should be back any minute.
[ He pulls a mug of tea towards him, which is getting cold now. During the murder games he nearly succumbed to, he started to hate the taste. It brings him right back there, only Embry is alive and Alicent isn't helping him investigate. What a mess. ]
Thank you. For...picking up. [ It's Tim's fault for shoving him, but if he bends over, he might puke. ] You said you've been blacking out?
[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.
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.
[ 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.
Hey.
It's okay. I'm okay. There was an incident. I'm just taking it easy, recovering at home.
["Maybe" nothing -- Koby's presence is there, like a rush of light, warm and fretful and heavy enough that the windows around Tim rattle a little, shivering with the force. The air is tight, crackling, an energy that's more intense than Koby's let his haki be around -- anyone, actually.
And it stays, curling around Tim like a blanket, like a shield, something protective and watchful and dangerous.]
What happened? Who was it? I can feel you, I can feel you're hurt.
And it stays, curling around Tim like a blanket, like a shield, something protective and watchful and dangerous.]
What happened? Who was it? I can feel you, I can feel you're hurt.
I can feel you doing something.
I'm past the worst of it. I got bitten and lost a lot of blood, and got banged up in the process. A concussion, a few more good hits.
I'm past the worst of it. I got bitten and lost a lot of blood, and got banged up in the process. A concussion, a few more good hits.
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