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draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
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๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ โฃ JULY TDM
JULY 2024 TDM: LECTISTERNIUM
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 โ 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, so all posters can use the title ยซ CHARACTER NAME | CANON | NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEยป in the header. There will be a spot below for new characters to link their toplevels for easy access. Alternatively, prompts on the Test Drive can be used for in game logs.
WELCOME TO SALTBURNT
It's the hangover more than the light streaming in through half drawn curtains that wakes you up, your brain rattling in your skull, your mouth dry and cottony, your stomach churning with whatever it is you drank last night. If self preservation is your strong suit, you might turn over in bed and see a few painkillers laid out for you on a silver dish, accompanied by a glass of water. If it isnโt, stay in bed and wallow โ eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itโs normal for you. Maybe it isnโt.
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youโll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnโt dissipate, though โ this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itโs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itโs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youโll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnโt dissipate, though โ this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itโs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itโs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
WHICH WAY TO THE BACCHANAL?
CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol, nudity, potential for nsfw.
Itโs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities โ a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed โ a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youโll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods โ six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) โ as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereโs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
Itโs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities โ a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed โ a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youโll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods โ six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) โ as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereโs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
VENI, VIDI, VICI.
CONTENT WARNINGS: violence, body horror, gore, animal attacks (specifically wolf), potential body transformations.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day โ a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public โ a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast โ abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration โ less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day โ a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public โ a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast โ abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration โ less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
DIRECTORY
no subject
...yeah. I donโt either. Playing at things like that, I mean. But not with randomly assigned strangers, for the world to see.ย
[ Heโs more comfortable serving than being served, but the latter is the position heโs been granted for the day. Thatโs more than Louis needs to know, though. Maybe he can already tell, if heโs met Hawk, and spent any amount of time wondering how they fit together. Best not to ask. ]
I had a great time on the dance floor! [ Exclaimed, in faux-offense. ] I wasn't scared.
no subject
[ louis' nose crinkles a little, his head shaking a tiny bit. but he lets his hackles back down, breathing a little and taking in the heat of the water. it's relaxing, dangerous enough for him that he might nod off in it. ]
I'm glad you weren't. You're a good dancer - most of the people there barely know how to wiggle their hips or move an arm. [ a beat, then: ] Things ever turn out with that guy of yours?
no subject
Are they really not willing? I didnโt know. [ As he did not want servants, so he didnโt seek them out, didnโt talk to them, didnโt ask. Heโd just assumed that in the twenty-first century, itโs considered normal to make your niche sexual behaviors everyone elseโs business. It would not be the first such case Timโs witnessed here. ] Were people being forced at the last party?
[ How are things with Hawk? Good question. Tim can feel a headache coming on at even pondering the question, and he groans, dipping under the water, hoping the heat with smooth that out. When he emerges, he pushes his wet bangs away from his face and lets him have it. ]
I thought they did. Things were really good for the last week or two. But just a couple hours ago, he started freaking out again, โwe need to be more careful, theyโre watching us.โ As if thatโs new information. [ Dropping the purgatory thing. Not for good, but for now, acknowledging the merit in investigating other angles, if only to learn enough to cross them off the list. ] Heโs not an idiot, he has to know if they can bring us here from across space and time, if they chose, what, fifty of us, out of everyone in the world, they know who we are. Not taking a stupid party favor from me wonโt fool them into thinking heโs gone straight.
[ Heโs saying too much, he knows he is. But really, Hawk? He thought they were through this. Itโs more than disappointing, itโs sad. ]
no subject
[ he shakes his head, a frown pulling across his lips. bad enough that this place traps them against their will, but watching the servants earlier and those collared had made his stomach churn. some looked entertained, delighted. others looked as though they were merely going through motions until they could find an out.
louis hums, listening to tim's store, his brow furrowing. he's seen inside hawkins fuller's mind - he can see the intricacies, the deep seated fear, the pride, the love he has for a man named tim. the very man beside him. complicated. messy. ]
It's like a knee jerk reaction. You ever seen a dog bite someone in fear? Out of their mind, not recognizing its owner, and it bites? Not that it's excusing the back and forth of it all, but while it might seem like an active choice, sometimes it's just a survival instinct. Fight or flight.
[ he sighs a little. ] I had a lover once who was more comfortable - like you are. I wasn't. Took me some time, but in public? You'd not know the difference save for the way we walked side by side. I didn't want anyone to see.
no subject
Itโs not as easy for me as you think it is. But I have to be strong enough to face it, because heโs not ready to. And thatโs not a slight against him, I know why. But I need to do this. And I want him at my side while I do.
[ Timโs cross necklace floats in the water as he wades deeper, up to his shoulders. He takes it and wraps the chain around his finger. Despite his wistful complaining, thereโs a band across his wrist that holds a tag with Hawkโs name on it. ]
How did you overcome that?
no subject
[ he remembers the looks, the way his mother thought so loudly about his clothes and style and behavior. how long had she looked at him like that? he'd wondered, but the time never came for it to be brought up. probably better that way. ]
It took me a lot of time - navigating the safe ways to be out and about, dealing with the way the world moved around me. I left a position of power and affluence, and that helped. But that's not possible for everyone, of course. I moved to Europe.
[ there's a shrug of his shoulder and he looks over at tim. ]
Things were different there. My lover, before? He'd been French. Had all the wild French ideals about romance and love, even for us. Took some arguing, some fighting, some ways to figure out how to put us together where the public wouldn't think twice. Him, wealthy and rich, me, the servant. Wouldn't do that now, not for any kind of love, but it was necessary then.
[ he sighs, tipping his head back, eyes closing as he enjoys the heat. ] But I was so miserable of faking it. Took me the better part of a year to admit it. Life was hard but dealing with all that? Harder. I asked myself every day why God put me in the position I was in, why he took those I cared about away from me.
no subject
Louis and Tim and Hawk, and probably this French lover to some degree, weren't so lucky, but someday. Right now, at least, they have the stories they have, and if they were to pick through each others with a fine-toothed comb there would be a lot in common, he's sure. The French lover and moving to Europe sounds thrilling and adventurous enough to keep Tim's rapt attention. ]
You say He took them because...they found out? That you were with a man?
[ Tim's family doesn't know. They can't know. He loves them, and they love him too, but he knows already that it would be too much for them to accept. They'd be praying for him instead of with him, and he wouldn't be able to bear it. At least, that's what he thought before. Now, knowing what he does about the future, that progress is possible and the fight is winnable, he could change his mind. ]
cw: period appropriate homophobia - talks of internalized homophobia
[ he shrugs in the water, sliding a little deeper, enjoying the heat and the warmth of it. ]
They didn't find out, per se. They assumed. Saw me stepping out with new company. I introduced them to him - they were curious. He was a business partner at the time, but things didn't get on too well. So they questioned. I didn't come over as much, missed bigger family events in turn to spend time with him.
Sacrifices.
[ he looks over at tim, curious, watching the thoughtful lines of the other man's face. he can't look at him and tell him that things will be easier, because when they leave this place, it might not be. not where he's from. not with what he does for a living. ]
So it may look easy to deny what you want. To go after what your heart wants. It took me a while to get over the guilt of it. I didn't for a long time. Watched my family move and grow around me without being a part of it. I was the man of the house, too - funded their home and lifestyle. But they couldn't quite bring themselves to understand mine.
I can't blame them. I sacrificed them for him, in a way. For myself.
let's just apply that blanket warning to the whole thread it is what it is
I guess I'm lucky I'm far enough away from them that they don't see it. [ He wouldn't be able to keep it from them. Lying to strangers and bosses and casual acquaintances is one thing, but his mother? He almost slipped just going back home for Christmas for a few days. It just wouldn't be sustainable. ] If they knew I'd spent the last two years sneaking around with a man, it would be the same. They'd be so ashamed. I know they would. I'd have to lie to them, or lose them completely.
[ Maybe not Maggie? Maybe. But he's not sure it's worth the risk just yet. This place provides the freedom for him to be honest about who he is, and if he ever does find a way home (assuming that there is one, and that he's wrong about purgatory) Tim's not sure he'll be able to go back to the way things were. He's trying not to think too hard about what that looks like right now, since Hawk's proven himself completely unreliable once again. ]
I'm sorry you had to make those sacrifices. No matter what we choose, we're sacrificing some part of ourselves. We shouldn't have to.
no subject
[ he shrugs a little bit - it's odd thinking of them now. it was all so long ago, and while he'd never been able to truly keep tabs on them, he'd tried. peeked into their lives with better technology, sending money to trusts for her children and grandchildren and so on.
his only legacy, his only view of a life he could have had, but would have been miserable within. ]
And you're right - we shouldn't have to. But loving someone, regardless of what the world says, will always come with sacrifices. That's how it is. I don't regret what I did - I'm able to sit side by side with you in this bath and not worry a bit because of it. Maybe it took time, maybe it took some soul searching, but that's the thick and thin of it.
[ he sighs, looking over at tim, nudging him with an elbow. ]
It gets better. It's not easy, and it never stops being hard, but it does get better. And my guess is with you behind all that, you'll pave the way for other people to be honest with themselves too.
no subject
He believes that itโll be worth it, no matter how hard it is, that itโll get better, as Louis says. He speaks as through he has the benefit of hindsight, like itโs settled and the storm is gone, all smooth sailing from here. At Louisโ age, he doubts thatโs true. Itโs a calming sentiment, all the same. ]
Thatโs very kind of you to say. Itโs all we can hope for, isnโt it? To leave the world a little better than we came into it?
[ He doesnโt want to be boastful above naive intentions to change the world, but Tim knows now, heโs learned here, that people like them do have a chance to live normal, happy lives. Itโs a fight he wants to be a part of. ]
no subject
[ and that strikes louis, deeply. tim's time on this planet is finite, and while louis' certainly can be, there's an eternity stretched out ahead of him until an action is taken otherwise. and while he's tried to do good along the way, and certainly in his mortal years, it weighs on him now that there's more he could do. the kind of power he yields in a world like theirs. ]
It's the year 2022 where I'm from. It's not all perfection and bliss. There's struggle daily on the rights of those who some see as other. Like you, like me. But you seem to try and live honestly - I wish I had, sooner. It's admirable, what you're doing.
no subject
[ Might as well be honest about that. But this has been a safe place to be honest about himself, even if it's dangerous in other ways, and even more to be revealed as the night goes on. Tim doesn't share Hawk's fears about this place spying on them, or at least, he doesn't see this as something that can be avoided. Even if it isn't God, who would have eyes everywhere regardless, anyone powerful enough to bring them here is powerful enough to know what they're up to. It's be open, or be celibate, and he's already failed on the latter front. ]
But I'd like to be. Mr. Molloy said things are better where you are. Not perfect, but we won't be in jail for it. If it's possible to leave, I want to bring what I've learned here back.
no subject
[ he shrugs one shoulder, rolling his head on his neck and stretching it, letting some of the tension ease out. ]
Taking that optimism back is good, though. Can't hurt trying to inject a little good in the world where we can. Or at least that's how I tried to think about it. Only way to keep them out of your head.