[SALTBURNT AU INBOX 2.0]

Mister Fuller,

I thank you for your recent letter, and for your very generous contribution towards our local parish – I am very pleased that you took such a shine to it, for the short amount of time that we were there. Things have been so busy at home that I've paid no mind to goings-on in the Americas, but you have proven a reliable friend in more ways than one. Most recently, in keeping me informed. It seems the hunters on this side of the ocean could learn a thing or two from you, as monsters and demons have been allowed to infiltrate every layer of society with only lip service for pushback. My younger sister, who is dear to me but awfully stubborn, is to make her debut this season, which promises to be the great headache of my life even without such treachery at every corner.

Besides that, things are mostly well. Margaret's vocabulary is expanding quickly enough that we now have to be careful of what we say around her, because we're like to have it repeated back to us. Right now she is very fond of the word 'please', which I think bodes well. My dearest wife and I are entertaining ideas of another, but my dysfunction persists.

At risk of saying too much, I will confess to you that I have felt nothing like the night which gave us our Margaret, not before and not since. It will likely seem absurd to you that such a brief encounter could continue to haunt my dreams these three years on. I do not know if it is a blessing or a curse. I do know that I would like no other in the position that we put you in, and I appreciate both your discretion and your continued friendship more than you can ever understand. I don't mean to be so presumptuous as to urge you back to England for my own satisfaction, but should you choose to return, you will find in me a very grateful host.

Perhaps it would be advantageous for you as well, so that we may collaborate on this epidemic of monsters in our midst. There is a doctor with considerable standing who I know for a fact is stitching pieces of different bodies together in barbaric experiments, and I suspect he has his sights on my sister. I do hope that when you come back, you will bring common sense and decency back with you. If it isn't an imposition, I believe that we will be allowed the space to consult with one another alone. If you would be amenable to such a thing.

I will anxiously await your answer, and think of you fondly in the meantime.

Affectionately,
Timothy

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒚,

Your letters are a bright spot among dark days as of late. The problems you speak of are much more contained here in the Americas, though not quite so for my mentor, Lord Smith. I've settled the matter, but it took much longer than expected - unraveling like the never-ending spools of ribbon your wife had prepared for the darling Miss Margaret.

It's a regrettable situation having one's hand forced - to leave after what felt like mere days, to cut short the blossoming of such a fulfilling friendship between us. I certainly would have become a nuisance or overstayed my welcome otherwise, though I suspect you are far too gracious and kind to have said as much.

And yet I find my hand forced again - to write this to you in lieu of saying so in your chambers or on your arm in a stroll through the lush gardens just outside your beloved parish. You are not the only one who is haunted by that evening. It remains as vivid to me as the pulse of a heartbeat, the trickle of blood from a wound.

I think I'd enjoy seeing your attempts at presumptuous, but you will have to find another method, as I write this letter first and foremost to tell you that tomorrow evening, I am setting sail for Saltburnt's estate. Between the convening of one too many friends, the new social season and a personal invite to witness Rosie Balfour's debut, these rumors of something more foul at human hands than even the beasts lurking around us...and above all, your polite pleas, I cannot stay away any longer.

Now it is my turn to be presumptuous. Would you keep space for me? Near your suite? We have much to catch up on - enough to bring long hours well into the night. I'd hate to disturb the babe or any other guests in the vicinity, of course.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,
𝑯𝒂𝒘𝒌

[ Yours, Hawk.

The letter leaves him buzzing in a way he's sure he's never felt before. Pleased and anxious and excited and - guilty, yes, always guilty, no matter how many times Nami insists that she wishes him to be happy. He is happy. Timothy has a lovely, understanding wife, a beautiful child, rank and prestige that many would envy. There is nothing to be unhappy about. He has everything. Everything but the spark that had burned through him the first time Lord Hawkins Fuller had leaned in close to whisper in his ear, so bright that Nami had caught on, stoked it, created a night in which he made his greatest love and discovered his greatest desire. Heaven and hell in the palm of his hand.

The longing has been tolerable so long as they are apart. No looming scandal, nothing for the watchful eyes of the church to see. He could pretend well enough that nothing has changed within him, overshadow the yearning ache in him with the proud glow of fatherhood. It would be greed most despicable to ask for any more than the numerous blessings he already has.

And yet, any moment that is not spent preparing Melissa, is spent refreshing the roster on the watch until Hawkins' name appears. He tries not to look so elated when it finally does, and fails. He'll receive a message from Timothy within minutes. ]

Welcome to Saltburnt, Lord Fuller.

I've arranged for the suite next to ours to remain empty until your arrival. My lovely wife is hoping that you will be able to spare one of your evenings for us, but I would be grateful for a moment of your time beforehand. We have much to catch up on, as you said in your letter.

Affectionately,
Timothy

[there is much to catch up on, and they fall into an easy rhythm of it well before the night of hawk's assistance is required. but he finds no matter how close they are, it isn't enough - the effects of hunger he never experienced when he was converted into this darkness. a dam burst now that he's in the thick of it, and he finds himself taking paper to pen like a goddamn lunatic and delivering them to tim's chambers directly all the same.]

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒊𝒎,

Surely you felt the weight of my stare across the refreshments poolside this afternoon. Your smile was more radiant than the beating sun, your laugh brighter than daffodil. Are you certain you find all creatures beside humankind to be abominations? You may have the blood of something in you, for the ease of how you've bewitched me.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔,
𝑯𝒂𝒘𝒌

Hawkins, my most devoted flatterer,

I did indeed. I would invite you to be careful, so that the entire ton does not feel the same.

I would also invite you to indulge these little watches, they are quite convenient.

Your easy affection, I admit, troubles me. You offer it as if costs you nothing, as if you have no fear whatsoever of being discovered, while I worry that the longer I allow it, the more I am putting my sister's prospects in peril. That is not to say that I wish for you to stop. Only that it is difficult to reconcile with the life I have. A life which is, ultimately, thanks to you. I hope that we will see you again tonight.

Your insult to my breeding will be overlooked, as I do not much mind having captivated you.

Eagerly,
Timothy

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒊𝒎,

You believe me unable to be subtle? I was discovered, once. When I was a boy much younger and less savvy of the world. It ended quickly after that, and so the discretion you praise me for took root.

But here I am alive to tell the tale, all the same. Though I'm fortunate enough not to have siblings to worry over like you - god rest my mother's soul and thanks to her too.

I'll see when you like. Though - I'd like to see only you, if you'll have it.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,
𝑯𝒂𝒘𝒌

P.S. Not an insult, I promise. But do you ever think - that in a way, those creatures are of god too? For who else would have created the thing that begets other things, baring them from blood rather than flesh? They walk under his sky at his permission, don't they?

I haven't killed every inhuman thing I've come across, you know. Stories for another time. Have dinner with me again.

Hawkins, I apologize, but I simply lack the patience. I have waited weeks as your letters crossed an ocean to find me and I will wait no longer if the wonders of this estate do not require it.

I am sure that you can be subtle, and I promise you that I meant no insult. Of course a man with more experience in this than I would learn how to hide it.

I too hope to see you privately, but I must discuss the matter with my lady wife. I hold no secrets from her. No matter what kind of man I am, I am not the kind to break my vows to her and to God.

P.S. - My thoughts echo those of the Church. These creatures are of the devil, not of God. Whether they may overcome their nature is the moral question of our day, but none have convinced me that an attempt has even been made.

I will see you for dinner. Most gladly.

Timothy.

Well well, I think I like it when you're impatient, Lord Laughlin. Dropping the formalities and all. I admit, the convenience the estate has given us in being able to correspond with immediacy has made this all the more liberating. Dangerous, even.

I would expect nothing less from you, nor would I wish to come between the Countess. The idea of bringing ill-repute or growing a chasm between what is otherwise a beneficial and loving marriage would pain me too greatly, much as I'm aware it would you. She seems otherwise amenable, however. And if she needs some encouragement, I do have a few baubles from my travels across the pond.

P.S. It was never my intention to question the church, of course, merely to wonder whether or not there is room for interpretation within the pages that it holds so reverently. We'll save it for dinner.

6pm. I'll arrange a private room for us on the grounds.

It is the danger which concerns me. Yet, you compel me to embrace it. Are you sure that you are not the inhuman seducer, Hawkins? It makes no sense that I should be so willing to court ruin and eternal torment for you. It frightens me. But still, I savor every word that I receive from you like sweet wine, and the memory of your touch torments my dreams nearly as much as my own foul imaginings of what might occur between us if she offers her approval.

I imagine that she will do so without bribery, but she will not refuse it, either. I will ask her after the deed is done, and she is happy and hopeful and grateful for your help.

6pm is agreeable. I will look forward to it.

Truthfully? I don't think I could compel you to do anything you didn't already want to do, Tim. I mean that as a compliment to us both - for I would never force anyone to do what they did not wish first and foremost, but second because your devotion to god is perhaps the strongest fervor I've seen. That, and your family. You love them, but you know the limits to which you must protect them. I know them too.

...Your imaginations. I don't care how foul they are. I'll burn this letter if you wish - but give me some idea of it. So I might let it put me to sleep tonight and ease into my dreams. Surely they can't be any worse than my own.

Yes. About that - consider me at your service. Whenever you call, I'll come.

I believe that you could, had you the temperament for it, but you have been nothing but kind and patient to me. I almost wish that you would, so that I would not need to examine this desire within me so closely. I hope that you know I mean no insult to you in saying so, or in continuing to struggle with the reasons for my attraction beyond the obvious fact of your handsomeness.

I know not how to describe them to you without unspeakable filth. We are both as naked as Adam and there is not a single dark corner of me left untouched by you. You show me how things are done between men, and I cry out from the want of it. And I do not fear it when you are with me half as much as I do now.

That is a relief. I shall pray that you will not tire of me calling on you each and every time I desire your company.

You understand what I feel for you then, and that it is no insult at all. I will not lie and tell you I haven't encountered men with angelic countenances and alluring features in the past. Nor will I be dishonest in saying I haven't bedded them. But there are none that can compare to you - none that have struck right down to the very core of myself, reached into my chest and wrapped careful fingers around my heart. You hold it in your hands now, Tim. You have ever since I laid eyes on you.

Surely you did not think me just a devoted follower of the Church. All my intentions were always to grab at the little time I could afford in your presence.

Christ. I may not be of your faith, but I would worship every inch of you as if it were to bring me to salvation. I give fruition to every dream that has plagued me since departing too long ago; I hold back nothing, and by the end of it you're mine - body and soul. I watch you fall into slumber, and I rise to watch the sunlight kiss the top of your hair in the morning.

Don't think I'd exhaust myself quite so easily. I'm afraid you might be the one unable to keep up with me, were I to unleash the true force of my affections.

It does occur to me some might be bothered by your admitting to this, but it brings me some comfort. As absurd as it may be that you could have any man with our disposition and yet you choose to yearn for me from across the ocean, it is a warming thought, to know that I am not alone in my sleepless nights.

I had figured as much. You did not think that you escaped my notice, did you?

Would you tell me?

Perhaps not. I imagine that it will be greatly overwhelming, but I wish to try.

You must know I would have come sooner, if it were not for the untimely death of my mentor. Settling his affairs was far more of a twisted web than I anticipated. I don't sleep most nights, but it's unusual for it to be from the ache of missing someone as if I were separated from my own limb.

Of course I had hoped. In time I would have told you myself, if you hadn't bestowed me with your plight first.

Tell you what? I'll tell you anything.

Good. We have all season to make the most of it. Only you must tell me when you speak with the Countess.

I do know. Or, I had hoped. But I believe it. Again, I offer you my deepest condolences. My own father's health has been in decline these last few years, I believe I can understand, at least in part.

What you would have planned for me, of course.

Tonight. I swear it. You will have your answer in the morning.

I am eternally grateful. And should you need my support while your father is in ailment, I don't intend to depart for a very, very long time.

I don't want to talk of our fathers when I am about to go into intimate detail of how I wish to bring you pleasure akin to the heaven you speak of. They would make even a whore with extensive defilement blush.

Tonight.

I would appreciate that. And you're right, that was terribly inappropriate of me. Patience is a virtue, after all. I can wait.

After dinner.

Edited 2026-08-24 00:11 (UTC)

After dinner. I'll be thinking of you until then, Tim.

( The watch's arrival is a balm on his gaping, open wound. The Duke of Winchester doesn't come by friendship easily. Allies are certainly not friends. Family ties and connections are not friends. Friends mean something to him. He does not fight beside his friends. Those are colleagues. People raised like he is, or people that take up a mantle without the title. Which is their
wish. But, the Lord Hawkins wormed his way into his heart, bed, and throat.

He flashes back to being lured to his death. Death was the result. But, before death, ecstasy, and a little death of his own.

All of the ton has accepted their invitation to the Saltburnt grounds. Including liars, beasts, and men he no longer trusts.

He cannot stop the pull. This newfangled watch confirms Lord Fuller also accepted his invitation. But, the pull he feels is primal. Deeper. His mind reaches out before his fingers can. )

What did you do to me?

( The Lord has taken it upon himself to enhance the Duke's wardrobe. Longer sleeves, gloves, sunglasses of a type. He sees his reflection as the lads and ladies in waiting and servants unpack the rest of his belongings.

He knows, fundamentally, what happened. He expects to be thinking of blood and only blood. But, he is painfully aware of his needs. Of his hunger. Of his yearning. )

[it wasn't fair what he'd done to winchester. but then again, much about the lives they've lead isn't.

it's easier to tell him it was for the threats of hunters like them - to build up numbers of the undead against the living, to protect their kind from senseless wars and religious zealots. but that wasn't the real reason he'd turned dean - the first of his kind, a dark gift he'd hesitated to ever pass along for the complications of a sire bond and all that comes with it. explaining that dean was already dead from the moment he tangled with the last beast seemed for naught, and he hadn't the time before mania sent in and would leave his mind broken for good no matter what the blood could still save.

so he'd lured him with a bond hard won instead, of amenable companionship and safety and the kind built in blood. drawing him into bed wasn't a difficult task either - not the first time he'd considered it, and hopefully not the last, either. it's not an insurmountable task to win back his trust, to try and salvage what they had before now that they are more alike than dean had known before.

vampirism isn't the worst thing to be cursed with on this earth, not in the face of far worse stories coming from america. he's not sure dean will accept the invite, never one to be terribly social outside of a few ales and stopping in for a decent meal at the inns on long travels and longer evenings searching through shadows. but he's pleased anyhow, and the pull of his own starts the second he crosses american waters into the european countryside. he's out there. he's yours. teach him.

hawk does him the favor of sending things that will do well under the cover of britain's gloom, clouds, and rain more often than not, for its unseemly to see a man carrying a parasol and worrying about his skin. there are tricks he'll have to spare for keeping a flush, for stilling the inhuman speed of his reflexes and the little tells that a practiced hunter like himself would know. another benefit to living the other side first, he supposes, though he's certain it won't be much of a silver lining during the early years of adjustment.

he waits for dean to come to him, knowing the betrayal against his pride must be rubbing the involuntary urge to be close to a maker raw.]

You know the stories better than I did, when it happened to me.

I owe you an apology. It was the only way.

[to save him. but instead, he says without hesitation:]

Not all of us are the ravenous things we hunted together. That we still can. But there are worse things out there, Dean. Things I can't keep chasing alone.

You owe me more.

( more reverberates with a growl telepathically, touching on his betrayal, his anger, and a tinge of arousal he's ignoring for the time being. )

And you made a slave to the darkness to help in this effort. With no warning. And no recourse.

Mr. Fuller,

This is Dr. Harry Goodsir. I overheard that you were enquiring as to the nature of my character over breakfast, and so I felt a hello was in order.

Hello.

- Dr. Goodsir

Dr. Goodsir,

You know, most might say eavesdropping is not very becoming of a gentleman, but luckily I am not most men.

A dear friend of mine has expressed interest in your...studies? Experiments? I'm not quite as familiar with the ongoings lately, you see, I've just returned from a two-year visit to my home in the Americas, but I'm quite certain I've never heard of anything like them.

Hello.

-Lord Fuller

Lord Fuller,

My apologies. Americans are so boisterous that I assume you wish to be heard.

A dear friend, is it? How marvellous. They - and yourself - are welcome to speak to me directly in the spirit of scientific inquiry.

- Dr. Goodsir

Oh, come now Dr. Goodsir. Surely you know what they say about those who assume.

Countess le Domas. She speaks quite highly of you, though I've yet to see it earned.

But a man of science is one of great intelligence and greater capability - for better or for worse. In the spirit of scientific inquiry, I'll speak plainly.

Your experiments are not simply the kind of hogwash they are teaching wealthy boys at Oxford with a distinct dislike for getting their hands dirty, are they?

Touchè. I admit I have always been too curious.

Oh, yes, the Countess. One of the most accommodating ladies I've had the pleasure of meeting.

I've never had a problem dirtying my hands, no. I trained alongside Surgeons as well as Physicians, sir. I believed then, and still do now, that medical science needs both to advance.

( shanks' daughter celebrated her 21st year just last month — which, as it turns out, happens to correspond with the same number of years since he last saw his closest friend: on a crowded dock in london, shanks' brother waiting impatiently to his right, hawk's uncertain future waiting for him to his left. come with me, he'd said, hand outstretched, pleading. (his stupid, horrible brother too close behind for shanks to reach for hawk's face instead of his hand. sometimes he thinks he should have kissed him anyway; grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him so close he could whisper i love you into his ear.) hawk never took his hand, only clenched his own and told shanks i can't.

that was it — the last words they spoke to each other hanging in the humid air like the heavy clouds of smoke drifting through a gentleman's club. and shanks simply stood there, never dropping his hand until the last glimpse of his best friend disappeared into the crowd.

ash provided what solace he could, a prince shouldering his knight's tears, the weight of his monstrous emotion — and shanks had felt so powerless then, so hopeless, that it nearly broke him when ash was called to war the day before shanks' knighting ceremony, the day before he was meant to kneel at ash's feet and swear his undying loyalty, his depthless fealty. the day before he should have been reborn, baptized by water and by sword; should have poured out his entire soul into ash's hands to be a vessel for the holiness only his prince could give him.

so he ran. from the ceremony, from his father, from ash. he could have enlisted in the army, demanded to be sent to ash's unit, followed him into hell and confronted him there. but, in many ways, shanks is a coward. when people leave, he lets them. there's no fight in it, just resignation — just another reminder that, perhaps, he's been cursed to be left behind, cursed to bear an eternal loneliness, even in a crowd.

the royal navy, then. no one can choose to leave at sea, can't walk away or slip out unnoticed. not without drowning. not without the watchful eyes of hundreds of crewmates. it felt safe. freeing. the grievances and heartaches of the mainland thousands of miles away, left at the same dock he'd watched half of his heart trampled into the mud with the thudding of hundreds of boots and heels and hooves — but it hadn't been enough. not with the strict and rigid reminders that his orders came from the captain, that he was serving a man he didn't choose and didn't agree with and didn't respect. so, the next their sails set for england, he unceremoniously retired his commission in favor of requesting a letter of marque from the king. maxen wrote to you, the king told him, just the once.

shanks left with two letters that day — and, perhaps, something like hope. his reply may have arrived two years late, but the time and the distance and the slowly healing hurt only made it more sweet:

ash, my prince,

i thought i could stop missing you from the middle of the ocean, but i was wrong. i'd miss you from the other side of the world. even here at home, i miss you⸺and i'll miss you more when i capture france's ships in the name of the crown.

write to me at the port of halifax. i promise not to keep you waiting again.

your faithful knight,
S

war after war kept him at sea, dry land becoming as much a luxury as the gold in their coffers. but the responsibility to his young daughter kept him from the pursuit of enemy ships for too long, pulling him back to shore once or twice a year to see she was happy and healthy and well looked after — at least until she was old enough to sail with him. by sixteen, she'd grown tired of port towns and piracy, envious of the wealthy young ladies of upper towns and shopping districts. it seemed only fair to finally give her that life, as easily as writing a letter to the prince.

ash had seen to nami's education and training leading up to her debut — and shanks, true to his word, left his ship anchored in the london harbor throughout the entire season of nami's formal introduction to the society shanks left long before, delighted to see her thrive where he couldn't; and so, so proud of the young woman she'd become. the number of proposals came as no surprise, and when she'd accepted the one standing to inherit the most, that hadn't come as much of a surprise either. as long as it made her happy, shanks would never stand in her way. the wedding itself was extravagant and perfect and beautiful, and it was only when he'd walked her down the aisle — a beam of sunlight bathing her in gold, her face bright and girlish, her hands squeezing his arm as she whispered softly, thank you, papa — that he finally let himself cry.

not long after, he set sail again. so when lord fuller happened to grace his daughter and her new husband's home as their honored guest, shanks had been somewhere in the atlantic, en route to capture another french warship, though hawk's visit was later recalled to him briefly in a letter nami sent to one of his usual ports of call.

you simply must meet my dearest timothy's newest benefactor when you return⸺he's so charmingly american! perhaps you've heard of him? there was an article in the paper recently: "major general hawkins z. fuller, war hero: ally or agent?"

and by the time shanks saw land again, lord fuller had already sailed back to the americas to settle his newly inherited estate, and the lord and lady laughlin were expecting their first child in a matter of months. that time in his life had been filled with unbridled joy at the welcoming of a granddaughter, nami and tim glowing with new parenthood — but also with an old, familiar, melancholy longing for a man whom he loved and the man who left him.

the man he still loves, in all the ways that count, and probably always will. the man who returned to england without hesitation at the invitation of his son-in-law. the man who has yet to say a word to him, but has plenty to spare for his daughter.

he should confront hawk directly. but it's much easier to send, pointedly: )

I know when you're avoiding me, Hawk.

( no titles, no formality. only the intimate familiarity of old friends. )

I wasn't avoiding you.

[signed, guy who was definitely avoiding him. what was he supposed to do when the past had so clearly worn out its welcome? when they'd gone their separate ways and he'd fallen even farther into the darkness his father was convinced he already had in his soul just for loving another man? shanks didn't deserve to be dragged into his bullshit with the hunters, the beasts, the things that would make knocking up some girl on his trip look like it was child's play.

speaking of children:]

Did you want me to send my regards through your - daughter? She's not actually here, is she?

And anyway, I like us better this way.

( don't worry about it, he wants to say, because holding anything against hawk right now feels childish in the face of a reality where the family shanks built for himself no longer exists. but he doesn't, because daughter slips through his ribs like a knife — and it takes him a moment to realize hawk doesn't mean nami. )

Eva? No, I imagine she's back at the manor. Or with her grandmother. It's a bit of a relief she isn't getting dragged into all of these messes with us, though it does limit our time together.

( not that he was the most present father with nami, either. some things will always end up out of his control, like how they've all ended up on this train going god knows where. )

What, less repressed? Or more mature?

If we're heading where I think we are, or - into the same shit, different asshole, it's probably better that way, yeah.

Well, I was thinking more along the lines of fucking whenever we like without looking over our shoulder and worrying about overbearing parents, so not quite. But those parts too, sure. And I guess - all of it just has me thinking about the way things were last year again. I want to believe we can all count on each other. The way I handled things...some of it's a blur. I know you were just doing what you thought was right.

I want you to do that again, if that's what it comes to.

You're right. It's bad enough she got mixed up in all this because of me in the first place. It was kind of exciting, though, wasn't it?

( the sneaking around and fear of getting caught. or maybe that's just shanks' cavalier attitude coming through. if his youth was defined by anything, it was risk. )

Don't. You know we all could have handled things differently. Even when we think it doesn't, the game always gets inside our heads. But I did the right thing and you suffered for it, Hawk.

( he doesn't have to say i stood there as you burned alive, i can still hear you screaming, there's an echo of the moment you died seared into my soul. )

So if counting on each other means sometimes doing the wrong thing Well, I'm a pirate, not a saint.

[SALTBURNT AU INBOX 2.0]

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