SALTBURNT 🩸 inbox

[chipped]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

USERNAME:
SPIKE

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(this inbox is a choose-not-to-warn experience, please read at your own discretion.)

Comments

@GETJINXED

[smudgy]

[ a few days after spike arrives, after finding silco in the woods — ]

u have to sleep on the floor tonight
and maybe every night after that 🔫

[ she might have let him share her bed before. shut up. ]

[chipped]

This a kink thing? Because I usually like to know a girl more than a couple days before we start putting my blood in a doggy bowl on the floor

1/2

[smudgy]

wouldn’t it get all
coagulated
down there

2/3

[smudgy]

whatever
don’t be gross doggy 🙄

why am i lying 3/4

[smudgy]

someone showed up
and he’s kinda
not my dad or anything

4/4 im done

[smudgy]

but he
took care of me
for a while

✉️ text — un: astarion.

[thirsted]

Is it common practice for vampires in your world to bite anyone they come across?

[ astarion didn't you try to bite someone while they were asleep at camp

astarion

hey astarion ]

1/2

[chipped]

I mean. Yeah

This a thought experiment or are you seriously asking

[chipped]

Also: who the hell are you

[thirsted]

Call it a thought experiment, to see just what kind of fellow I'd be dealing with.

From one vampire to another (and yes, I know you hardly need the advice), there are plenty of willing necks in this house if you'd simply bother to ask.

🎁 — delivery.

[smudgy]

[ At the crypt that Spike’s taken to calling his own and Jinx has affectionally named “the saddest place in the world”, she has helpfully decorated a blank, dilapidated wall with sprawling graffiti (including the claim, SPIKE’S PLACE, in her jagged scrawl, explosions, skulls, and a fanged version of her usual monkeys, to boot).

And on a card, left on whatever piece of cement he calls a table, she writes: ]

SEE YA AT PROM, FANGS.

[ Accompanied by a drawing of figures that are clearly them, dancing at said prom. Not asking him so much as telling but, hey, it’s affectionate. ]

1/2 📲 text

[chipped]

[ A day-ish later, a photo of a big, overstuffed blue armchair in front of the graffiti wall, definitely stolen from some posh sitting room or other. ]

Got you a chair to go with your mural. For when you want to come watch telly with me

[chipped]

You sure it's me you want to take to the big dance, pet? Daddy won't give us an 8 PM curfew?

✉️ text — un: astarion.

[thirsted]

And how does one get from "William" to "Spike," exactly?

[chipped]

Don't tell me you've never fancied a little image change in your hundred-plus years on earth

✉️ text — @waterdeep.

[corporeity]

Most likely to break hearts! What a superlative. I have to assume there’s a story behind it, my friend.

[chipped]

What can I say? I've always been bad

Tough break on coolest powers, though

text — un: SCATORCCIO

[doped]

hey i need help

[chipped]

This the urgent sort of help or more of a "should I do matte or glossy finish on my nails today" situation

text — un: BUFFY

[bronze]

this is not me crossing the five day line but it is a warning. you tell anyone anything about what happened i will stake you.
i mean it, spike.

[chipped]

Damn, Slayer, you barely made it 24 hours

( ACTION. ) POST!WEDDING HEHEHE

[redsoil]

[ The man who steps ( rudely! ) through the doors where Spike is convalescing after being

um, shot in the dick fr???

wears an arched, fae-like expression of distaste; wearing a crocheted top underneath flowy forest green, linen overalls, his hair seems brighter than ever. His eyes, even narrowed as they are, are unmistakably red — dark pupils narrowed, thin as an animal's in the sunlight. He's somewhere between masculine and feminine in shape, lines strong and smooth in eldritch perfection; a pretty face with full lips, flawless skin and dark kohl painted in Egyptian fashion.

He stands in the door's frame, raking his eyes over Spike's state and ruining whatever prettiness he has by declaring, imperiously: ] Was the honeymoon canceled, then?

[chipped]

[ All things considered, this recovery isn't anywhere near as miserable as getting tossed around like a ragdoll by Armand. But getting shot in the dick is still getting shot in the dick, and Spike's inclined to lay low when half the manor is still out for his blood.

So he's in the crypt when Set finds him, propped up on his pillows in bed. Nat and her friends have cleared out, but he hasn't exactly gotten around to tidying since--more soda and chip bags lying around than usual, game consoles and DVDs out of place.

More notably, though, Spike's very naked. Bruises and cuts still healing on his face and torso, dark red sheets pulled low over his hips. He's holding a sad bag of frozen peas on top of the fabric over his groin, his other arm slung behind the pillow. ]

Very canceled.

[ Deadpan, as Set announces himself. Spike doesn't sit up properly, just shifts to get a better look at him, one brow arching. ]

You're the MILF, yeah?

text

[ripher]

[ It's very strange to be able to reach out like this -- to Spike of all people -- but Giles has to admit it's rather convenient. And it does mean he doesn't actually have to talk to Spike, which is a bonus. ]

I trust that you're feeling better now?

[chipped]

[ Spike's having a real party with these follow-ups. At least he doesn't have to see Giles's face. ]

Loads.

Hope you enjoyed the catering before all hell broke.