Entry tags:
saltburnt inbox 2.0
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME: itsakindofmagic
text ❖ audio ❖ video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME: itsakindofmagic
text ❖ audio ❖ video
( how can he put this? exactly? a vampire bitten by a werewolf normally has forty-eight hours to live. the bite presents itself as an infection. quickly drives the vampire to rabid hallucinations, and finally, they die.
but he has every reason to keep damon dying. here. again. he refuses to let him. )
Do you have any experience in the adverse effects of an interspecies bite?
but he has every reason to keep damon dying. here. again. he refuses to let him. )
Do you have any experience in the adverse effects of an interspecies bite?
just an fyi, stefan's going all out to help damon, but nothing will work. he's good 2 try!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
interpersonally
- 2025-05-17 21:59 (UTC) - Expandrip damon!!! (and sorry in advance stefan) also cw: end of life-adjacent medical refs
rehandle
- 2025-05-17 22:16 (UTC) - Expandalmost!!!! (stefan's going to give him the cure!!!!)
interpersonally
- 2025-05-17 22:27 (UTC) - Expand( stefan approaches him in person about needing that spell. things progressed faster than he anticipated and damon wasn't strong enough to recognize the symptoms. or he ignored them. stefan felt guilty enough for missing the signs and the miscommunication. but, people are safe and he sat by his brother's bedside.
he found something in one of the rooms, something he never expected to find. and even though damon refused, he slipped into unconsciousness and stefan made the choice for the both of them.
late one night, stephen gets a message. )
You can take town the ward.
he found something in one of the rooms, something he never expected to find. and even though damon refused, he slipped into unconsciousness and stefan made the choice for the both of them.
late one night, stephen gets a message. )
You can take town the ward.
[ Almost compulsively, Stephen spends most of his nights wandering the castle halls while his body sleeps, trying to get a sense of the place in a form that can drift through walls and ceilings. He returns from one of these outings to find with some small measure of alarm that he has a visitor, slips back into his body so he can ask without cracking an eye open: ]
Aren't you supposed to get stuck at the threshold?
[ He's long since past the stage of assuming which stereotypes Armand is and isn't bound by, but that's mostly the point. ]
Aren't you supposed to get stuck at the threshold?
[ He's long since past the stage of assuming which stereotypes Armand is and isn't bound by, but that's mostly the point. ]
[ He needs to stay for the remainder of the meeting -- not that it's much of a meeting, more of a series of difficult revelations -- but once it starts to break up, Giles excuses himself to go looking for his friend. Or, someone who had believed himself to be his friend, who may or may not be anything like the man he thought he knew.
He has to stop and ask one of the staff to point him in the right direction for Stephen's room, which turns out to be in a different place than it was before. It doesn't help that the atmosphere of the entire manor seems oppressive and confused. But he finds it in the end, and only knocks briefly before he lets himself inside. ]
Stephen?
He has to stop and ask one of the staff to point him in the right direction for Stephen's room, which turns out to be in a different place than it was before. It doesn't help that the atmosphere of the entire manor seems oppressive and confused. But he finds it in the end, and only knocks briefly before he lets himself inside. ]
Stephen?
[ The room's dark when Giles enters, light from the hall casting a stripe across the floor, daylight dimmed by heavy curtains. Stephen's on the bed, laying fully clothed on top of the sheets, eyes closed but not sleeping.
He takes a steeling breath. Tries to decide on a name to call him by and can't ultimately decide if it's Giles or Rupert that feels like the more familiar, too personal choice. ]
I'm alright.
[ Which might be more convincing if he weren't laying there like a corpse sans coffin, but his eyes are open now at least. He even makes a move to sit up. ]
He takes a steeling breath. Tries to decide on a name to call him by and can't ultimately decide if it's Giles or Rupert that feels like the more familiar, too personal choice. ]
I'm alright.
[ Which might be more convincing if he weren't laying there like a corpse sans coffin, but his eyes are open now at least. He even makes a move to sit up. ]
Dear Doctor Strange,
I write to you to express my sincerest apologies regarding my Other Self's actions during the month of June. I assure you that I do not associate myself with that terrible man and his awful behaviour, but I must take responsibility for what was said and done.
I fervently hope that you can forgive me, but I understand completely if that is not possible.
With deepest regrets,
Harry D.S. Goodsir
I write to you to express my sincerest apologies regarding my Other Self's actions during the month of June. I assure you that I do not associate myself with that terrible man and his awful behaviour, but I must take responsibility for what was said and done.
I fervently hope that you can forgive me, but I understand completely if that is not possible.
With deepest regrets,
Harry D.S. Goodsir
[ Oh. In an ideal world, he'd skip all this. Package it up and slide the box onto the shelf containing fourteen million or so other abandoned lives and call it a day. Most people seem to have undergone such a total internal transformation that they're barely recognisable now - case in point, the author of this message - and the fact that Stephen can't quite say the same sits uncomfortably with him. Last month's life like an old coat that still fits.
But wishing does not reality change. He can't skip it. So here goes nothing. ]
If I remember right, you were an asshole because I was an asshole, and I gave as good as I got. Plus, we figured it out in the end.
Nothing to forgive.
But wishing does not reality change. He can't skip it. So here goes nothing. ]
If I remember right, you were an asshole because I was an asshole, and I gave as good as I got. Plus, we figured it out in the end.
Nothing to forgive.
Are you back from through the Looking Glass, Alice?
[ The day after a certain job application appears in what ought to be a locked drawer of a locked room, an envelope makes its way to Strange's door, containing a gold hexagon-shaped pin and a note: ]
Stephen,
Welcome to the Hex Club.
I look forward to working with you.
The next time you find a door of mine locked, leave it that way.
— Silco
* For clarity's sake: The pin is merely a gift, not an expected part of your daily dress.
[ A while later, because he is at heart a gleeful pedant: ]
Thank you for the gift.
You'll be gratified to know I never touched your locks
But I'll honor the spirit of the note and treat a lock as an invitation to keep out in future.
Thank you for the gift.
You'll be gratified to know I never touched your locks
But I'll honor the spirit of the note and treat a lock as an invitation to keep out in future.
Edited (the stupid un feels like an important detail to include) 2025-08-20 23:19 (UTC)
[ It's been a good day up until now. Tony had woken up knowing who he was and where he was, had attended prayers and accepted breakfast from loving hands -- he'd even been able to get some work done at the smithy. But he'd made the mistake of booting up his phone to try and keep his hands busy for a few minutes and had ended up chasing stray thoughts down the wrong path, messaging with some guy who could only be a few houses away for all he knows, who seems to know something -- something that Tony can't --
He doesn't so much look for Stephen as just lets the bond between them thread through his fingers like Ariadne's spool of yarn, guiding him through suddenly labyrinthine streets. The smoked glass in his shades doesn't do much against the sudden brightness of the grey September day, so he has to squint his oversensitive eyes almost closed. He stumbles into the longhouse where their communal meals are served, arrowing straight for Stephen, reaching for him to drag him up from his lunch, onto his feet and leaning in like he's interrupting him during a meeting.
Clumsily, he shoves his phone into Stephen's hands, insisting. His own fingers are ink-blackened, scored with cuts and grazes, nails shredded from days spent trying to dig equations out of the walls and furniture. Not today, though. Today had been good. Until it wasn't. ]
Here. Here. Look at this. Do you see this? [ He pushes at Stephen's hands, trying to get them to close around the phone, to look at the screen and the messages. He's frantic, energised. ] Can you see this? I'm not just -- it's real?
[ That's been happening, too -- ending up in fragments of memories, seeing deaths and betrayals of strangers in the streets, in the corners of their bedroom. ]
He doesn't so much look for Stephen as just lets the bond between them thread through his fingers like Ariadne's spool of yarn, guiding him through suddenly labyrinthine streets. The smoked glass in his shades doesn't do much against the sudden brightness of the grey September day, so he has to squint his oversensitive eyes almost closed. He stumbles into the longhouse where their communal meals are served, arrowing straight for Stephen, reaching for him to drag him up from his lunch, onto his feet and leaning in like he's interrupting him during a meeting.
Clumsily, he shoves his phone into Stephen's hands, insisting. His own fingers are ink-blackened, scored with cuts and grazes, nails shredded from days spent trying to dig equations out of the walls and furniture. Not today, though. Today had been good. Until it wasn't. ]
Here. Here. Look at this. Do you see this? [ He pushes at Stephen's hands, trying to get them to close around the phone, to look at the screen and the messages. He's frantic, energised. ] Can you see this? I'm not just -- it's real?
[ That's been happening, too -- ending up in fragments of memories, seeing deaths and betrayals of strangers in the streets, in the corners of their bedroom. ]
[ There's something off. It's not unusual - there's always something off these days. Wake happy and warm and content, everything right in the immediate world, and there will always be some part of yourself in another house feeling starved by separation, or experiencing their own private struggles even wrapped up in another's arms. Add to the din the helpless mania of two oracles and he's learned not to flinch quite so sharply when something internal takes a turn for the worse, not to turn from what he's doing in immediate pursuit of answers at the slightest sign of cloud.
So it is that he's sat at one of the huge dinner tables, smiling and talking and listening most of all, the little inward part of him on permanent weather watch uncomfortable but not alarmed when hands close around his arms, fingers caught in clothing, and he's half hauled and half stands up to his feet.
Tony's been having a good day, so Stephen's been having a good day, and so he has the luxury of a few moments of genuine frustration with him unmarred by the fear of deterioration. The chance to snap, annoyed instead of distressed or channelling forced calm, ] What? What—?
[ And then the phone is in his hands, and Stephen's glower drops inevitably from a sustained fix on Tony's face to the screen, and he reads. And the conviction drains slowly from his expression. Not all of it means anything to him - but enough of it does that that doesn't matter.
A glance up to Tony. At his back, a hall full of people feeding one another, talking with one another. The feeling of eyes, real or imagined. The villagers share everything. Stephen isn't quite so fully lost to them that he's willing to do the same. ]
I can see it. Come on, let's walk.
[ Heat gone from his voice, replaced with the bland calm command he uses more and more with Tony on the days he's not entirely (or not at all) at home. He tries to put the phone away, into his own pocket, tries to reach for Tony's arm in hopes of leading him away from the likes of his own prying eyes and ears. Tries not to bleed dread all over the both of them as he does it. ]
So it is that he's sat at one of the huge dinner tables, smiling and talking and listening most of all, the little inward part of him on permanent weather watch uncomfortable but not alarmed when hands close around his arms, fingers caught in clothing, and he's half hauled and half stands up to his feet.
Tony's been having a good day, so Stephen's been having a good day, and so he has the luxury of a few moments of genuine frustration with him unmarred by the fear of deterioration. The chance to snap, annoyed instead of distressed or channelling forced calm, ] What? What—?
[ And then the phone is in his hands, and Stephen's glower drops inevitably from a sustained fix on Tony's face to the screen, and he reads. And the conviction drains slowly from his expression. Not all of it means anything to him - but enough of it does that that doesn't matter.
A glance up to Tony. At his back, a hall full of people feeding one another, talking with one another. The feeling of eyes, real or imagined. The villagers share everything. Stephen isn't quite so fully lost to them that he's willing to do the same. ]
I can see it. Come on, let's walk.
[ Heat gone from his voice, replaced with the bland calm command he uses more and more with Tony on the days he's not entirely (or not at all) at home. He tries to put the phone away, into his own pocket, tries to reach for Tony's arm in hopes of leading him away from the likes of his own prying eyes and ears. Tries not to bleed dread all over the both of them as he does it. ]
[ Some things supersede a case of intermittent iatrophobia, and so: ]
We have a person who says she has food poisoning and is going blind. Her name is Ren. She's sick to the point she's calling me by the wrong name.
They're bringing her from the woods into Koby's cabin now
Will you come help her, please?
We have a person who says she has food poisoning and is going blind. Her name is Ren. She's sick to the point she's calling me by the wrong name.
They're bringing her from the woods into Koby's cabin now
Will you come help her, please?
[ He hears about it not at all and then all at once from different sides when he finally takes a seconds from the flying accusations to check his phone. When her message lands, he's already ready to go, just hadn't yet been quite sure where. ]
I'm on my way.
I'm on my way.
Silco’s vote.
[ fucking christ shitting hell ]
And the vampires, yes. I’m looking into it.
[ two party ass vampire yellowjacket system ]
[ fucking christ shitting hell ]
And the vampires, yes. I’m looking into it.
[ two party ass vampire yellowjacket system ]
[ Unsure to what extent Gale's caught up on chat antics, it's time for a debrief-style recap ]
Silco believes his vote will give him Misty's ear and help us corral the Yellowjackets next round. It may have helped us, though by his own admission she's already going to have lost credibility next round through our other efforts, and it won't help us if Saber escapes the cage and two of us are dead. I wish he'd seen the tide turning and balanced the risk, but I consider it bad math, not bad acting.
[ In retrospect, deeply wishing Ani had shared her smoking gun with the class and not just him, but he guesses that's on being king. Silco doesn't seem to have swayed even his nearest and dearest away from her wasted vote to support his effort, so for now he's not massively concerned. ]
The vampires are a bigger problem. I'll contact another. [ he's not got as direct an in with his lead as Gale does, but if they can sway two between them and those two can sway the rest... ] We need to know why Devon specifically. Are they aligned with the Yellowjackets, strategizing poorly, or [ stupid ] ill-informed?
Silco believes his vote will give him Misty's ear and help us corral the Yellowjackets next round. It may have helped us, though by his own admission she's already going to have lost credibility next round through our other efforts, and it won't help us if Saber escapes the cage and two of us are dead. I wish he'd seen the tide turning and balanced the risk, but I consider it bad math, not bad acting.
[ In retrospect, deeply wishing Ani had shared her smoking gun with the class and not just him, but he guesses that's on being king. Silco doesn't seem to have swayed even his nearest and dearest away from her wasted vote to support his effort, so for now he's not massively concerned. ]
The vampires are a bigger problem. I'll contact another. [ he's not got as direct an in with his lead as Gale does, but if they can sway two between them and those two can sway the rest... ] We need to know why Devon specifically. Are they aligned with the Yellowjackets, strategizing poorly, or [ stupid ] ill-informed?
[ On Friday ]
hi
roza said u came to help with doctor stuff on Tuesday when i was out of it
thank you
you helped saved my life and i wont forget that even after all this bullshit is done
Ren O'Neill
hi
roza said u came to help with doctor stuff on Tuesday when i was out of it
thank you
you helped saved my life and i wont forget that even after all this bullshit is done
Ren O'Neill
[ Shadowheart neither defends Stephen nor joins the public whipping, and knows the absence of her voice likely leaves its own mark. She takes a long bath, in the aftermath, hot enough her skin goes pink; she thinks she’ll cry in the bath, but doesn’t, only sits mute in the water until it cools, her arms around her knees.
In her nightgown, her hair still damp, Shadowheart stares at the bedroom doors she has to choose between now. Stephen’s back is to her when she crawls into bed, but she doesn’t stay carefully on her side, the stiff rhythm they’ve all more or less fallen into. Instead, she curls herself around him, slips an arm under his and presses her chest to his back, her nose to his nape, warm and familiar.
It takes her a moment to realize she’s crying. Shadowheart doesn’t have it in her to hope Stephen is asleep, nor does she have it in her to pull away. She closes her eyes against his shoulder, her lashes wetting his shirt, and tries, at least, to keep quiet through it. ]
In her nightgown, her hair still damp, Shadowheart stares at the bedroom doors she has to choose between now. Stephen’s back is to her when she crawls into bed, but she doesn’t stay carefully on her side, the stiff rhythm they’ve all more or less fallen into. Instead, she curls herself around him, slips an arm under his and presses her chest to his back, her nose to his nape, warm and familiar.
It takes her a moment to realize she’s crying. Shadowheart doesn’t have it in her to hope Stephen is asleep, nor does she have it in her to pull away. She closes her eyes against his shoulder, her lashes wetting his shirt, and tries, at least, to keep quiet through it. ]
[ There's nothing he can do to make this easier for her. All he could once have done is buried in past choices: keep his head down, keep his mouth shut. Neither of those were ever going to happen, so even with hindsight he can only really regret the consequence - tears wet at this shoulder, the light shake of ragged breaths as she attempts to not make a sound.
Her warmth at his back is a port in the storm of the last twenty-four hours, but the rest proves they're both at sea, so he pushes his fingers between hers and hooks his thumb over her hand to stroke over her skin and breathes deep, tries not to follow her lead. ]
Her warmth at his back is a port in the storm of the last twenty-four hours, but the rest proves they're both at sea, so he pushes his fingers between hers and hooks his thumb over her hand to stroke over her skin and breathes deep, tries not to follow her lead. ]
If you get a chance to look at the bodies, check for signs of strangulation. Especially those decapitated.
[ He's had to step away for a while. On which note, since he's no longer in easy view if they look for him at the main scene - ]
I'll be back soon.
[ He's had to step away for a while. On which note, since he's no longer in easy view if they look for him at the main scene - ]
I'll be back soon.
Edited 2025-10-12 10:31 (UTC)
I have Koby's notes. He says you're aware that they exist, so he trusts you. Can I?
[ Oh. He'd thought the notes lost. Set had been his contact, and Set's— well. He and Koby had ended up at the same dinner party. ]
I'm sorry. [ Koby's a loss for all of them, but it's a deeper wound for some than others. ] You can. If you need any more assurance than that, I'll do what I can to give it.
I'm sorry. [ Koby's a loss for all of them, but it's a deeper wound for some than others. ] You can. If you need any more assurance than that, I'll do what I can to give it.
( hello, what's up, would you like your worse day to become worser — )
i know where saber's head is
you think it's worth taking a look or
( her first instinct, every time her stomach roils with fresh nausea: )
chuck it before he tracks more shit onto my carpet
i know where saber's head is
you think it's worth taking a look or
( her first instinct, every time her stomach roils with fresh nausea: )
chuck it before he tracks more shit onto my carpet
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