I know there aren't any words right now to make it hurt less, and you're probably sick of people asking how you're doing, but I just wanted to say hello anyway.
That...and I've got to ask you something. I hate to bring it up now, but it's important. People are dying, and it doesn't look like it's slowing down any time soon. I want to make sure you're safe, first and foremost, okay?
But I need to know how well you know Betty Cooper. Have you seen this?
[ when greer's reply comes, it mostly just sounds tired — like she's been trying and failing to get any sleep (true) and keeping confined to her room (also true). most of the breakfast trays left outside her door (by giles, most likely) have gone untouched. ]
What? You're saying — more people now, not just — ? [ she can't really bring herself to say his name right now, for obvious reasons. but it does prompt her to sit up in bed, looking over betty's profile more thoroughly. ]
I... I didn't see this before. I wasn't really looking at anyone else's — but Betty's never been anything but kind to me, anything but a friend from the beginning of us all being here.
This place makes us do things all the time, things we'd never do if we were in our right mind. So what if she was manipulated somehow, compelled? [ it's the only way she can make sense of it in her mind, especially because she could never imagine betty would be capable of murder. ]
[ he's never been one for churches, even if he's allowed ash to drag him to mass too many times, where he sneaks glances at ash's cute, concentrating, pious little face as he communes with his god in prayer. it almost makes embry want to believe there's something to these places — holy, consecrated ground, where magic might be real, or at least delusions feel comforting in times of crisis. there might've been some hope of that thought enduring, if danny johnson hadn't chosen a church to slit his throat in, posing his body upon the altar like some kind of demented sacrifice to god.
as if any god would ever want him.
this particular chapel reminds him less of the church he died in and more of the little pockets of beauty in the tiny ukrainian villages he was stationed to protect all those years ago. he'd go exploring with a pack of cigarettes after playing soccer in the streets with the village kids, watch the sunset reflecting in a lake or turn in circles beneath the light streaming through the thick woods. he'd search for a leaf the exact color of ash's eyes and pocket it, only to find it shriveled up a week later in his dirty jacket. the chapel is something he always dreamed of stumbling upon, something out of a story when he wanted to romanticize his shitty, dusty, hateful army life, usually when he was annoyed that ash wasn't fucking him or he was terrified that he was about to step on a bomb and die.
more beautiful than the vine-steeped chapel is greer galloway, standing by the altar like an abandoned bride, like his bride, a scene he could have easily envisioned five years ago when they first met. he stands at the threshold of the broken-down chapel for a lingering moment, remembering every moment of that night, how he'd tongued and kissed and fucked every inch of her and then fallen asleep holding her in his arms. you can stay with me for the rest of my life.
he'd meant it. even if he couldn't follow through, even if he still can't now... he still meant it. ]
Hey, princess.
[ his feet carry him toward her, like he's walking down the aisle on his wedding day. it's laughable. embry knows he's already given up the right to be anyone's husband. he's barely even worthy of being greer's friend right now, after everything he's done to her without apology or explanation, after everything that's been said between them. guilt presses down heavily on his tongue, a confession laid before her feet. ]
I never meant to leave you in Chicago. [ it feels stupid and ridiculous to say, because it's something embry has known for years — and yet has never said to her. ] I've never held myself accountable for how I made you feel that night.
[ The chapel on the estate has been tainted, tarnished, forever marred by the memory of having to lay Embry to rest, to mourn him without even so much as a coffin to look at. Greer hasn't set foot in it since the day she tucked herself into a pew, dressed in all black, and cried into Ash's chest until her eyes were sore from the effort. Even now, it feels... strange and surreal to be celebrating, to participate in this so-called faire when she's still nursing the bruises around her own heart, the parts of her that carry the lingering ache of Embry's rejection.
She still means every word she'd written to him, every sentiment she'd texted, her jaw set with determination. It doesn't matter how much time he needs to understand it himself; she's willing to wait until he sees how right it is, for them all to be together. His death had punctured her so keenly, in part because when Ash had touched her the day of his memorial, there'd been a distinct lack in it, an absence she couldn't successfully ignore. Only days later, wallowing in her own grief, had she realized: she hadn't felt as whole as she had that night in the piano bar with both of their hands on her.
The crumbling structure, out here in the forest, must have been a chapel once; now, it sits abandoned, lost to the elements, but still partially standing, shafts of sunlight spilling in through the cover of greenery overhead. She's standing in a golden patch of warmth when she hears the sound of leaves crunching beneath someone's steps, and turns — Embry looks like something out of a dream, coming towards her, walking down the rows of moss-covered benches, and she almost can't find her breath at the sight of him.
Even now, after all that's happened between them, her heart lifts with hope. ]
Took you long enough. [ But the words have no bite, no malice; her eyes are already welling, although her chin doesn't so much as threaten to wobble. ]
I hated you for it a little, I think. I wanted to make you pay, over and over, for every kiss, every touch, every — [ Every time you were inside me, she almost says, and then bites it back, because she's certain he knows what she's referencing without her needing to finish that thought aloud. ] I still do, sometimes.
[ sometime during the holiday season, wrapped in red and gold paper, tidily and well done because grace enlisted some of the staff to help her, a small gift is delivered to greer's door. ]
G,
You're a hard person to shop for because I figure if you want anything you're going to get it for yourself, but when I saw this, I thought of you. Happy holidays, I'm glad I found you.
[ left on the bed in a creamy white box tied off with a sleek ribbon is a very princess-like (but bridal-themed if you squint) lingerie set in greer’s perfect size. the note tucked against the box reads as follows: ]
Princess,
I don’t take for granted that you let me back into your life. I hope we have forever, but I’ll take just the day with you, every day, as it comes.
on a scale of 1 to 10, how much would you still like me if i told you i have developed a rare sleep disorder given to me by a higher power because i cheated death?
[ the public nudity isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened — embry has found himself in many a compromising situation over his years at boarding school and then yale, and certainly while traveling abroad and making his personality all about being the best anonymous fuck whatever european town he was in had ever seen. when their clothes disappear in the otherworld, he’s already had enough jello shots and cocaine not to care. and when the exquisite form of greer galloway appears before him, as naked as the very first night he’d met her, he really doesn’t care who sees.
the 8-ball has given him specific instructions — go down on someone — and he knows exactly who that someone should be. it’s without shame that he pushes her up against the railing of the seating gallery, going down to his knees to tongue her to a prolonged, vicious orgasm, her legs squeezing his shoulders, their hands tightly hooked so that she’s never in danger of falling. easiest challenge he’s ever been given. when the doors open for them they make their way back to greer’s room, pawing at each other the same way they did years ago the night that they met, clothes magicked back onto their bodies but now more of a burdensome distraction than anything else.
embry is only a little sorry that he might have flashed greer’s ass to the random passing guests in the halls, his hand busy up her skirt, and when they finally make it to her suite, he finds himself pushed against the door, his coke-addled brain sparking with interest at greer’s flushed cheeks and the indignant (playful? of course, she likes it, because she’s just like him) look in her eyes. ]
Don’t be mad at me, princess. [ he loosens his tie, still leaning against the door for balance. ] Unless you want to be. I did spank you pretty hard, after all.
[ Greer's been in similar positions to the one she finds herself in now in Otherworld — but then, she'd at least had something to cover her naked form with, even if it had barely amounted to little more than conveniently placed scraps of material. Other guests may have no trouble at all walking around naked, basking in the attention of whoever they encounter, but Greer's first impulse is to cover herself before frantically glancing around the room for the closest available hiding place.
Embry finds her before she can successfully achieve the latter part of her plan, and by the time he drops to his knees in front of her, she's hot and squirming, all too conscious of the attention that might be on them while trying to calm the twin fires in her complexion, the way her heartbeat echoes just as intensely between the splay of her thighs when Embry hauls her legs up over his shoulders. By the time the door opens to seemingly set the two of them free, she feels ravenous, like all the hunger she's been keeping stifled is spilling out of her one kiss, one clutch of fingers, one well-timed smack at a time.
Her ass is stinging, and her pussy is a slippery mess, courtesy of his tongue, but there's a fire in her gaze when she shoves a now-dressed Embry back into the door, the combination of that force and his weight closing it behind them — but her approach, the way she moves toward him, could only be described as prowling, before she snakes fingers around the end of his loosened tie and gives it a brief, taut yank to assert herself even closer. ]
You're right. I am mad. Furious, actually. [ Another, punctuating tug on his tie, and Greer lifts her chin, giving him her best imperious look. ]
( he doesn't really stave off the instinct to text greer once it's in his head. he tries to be calm and then realizes that isn't going to happen anytime soon, so he goes in with his usual brand of brunt force. ordinarily he might offer some semblance of explanation, or at least an easy out for greer if she's not in the mood to play. he, unfortunately, needs her in the mood and isn't willing to offer any lifelines right now, not when he needs her this badly.
so, )
Keep your door unlocked. I want you naked and kneeling and waiting for me, head bowed, hands flat on your thighs.
( there's purposely no time given, because ash is an asshole, and he wants her to suffer, he likes her pain. quickly after — )
[ it's not expected, but when have ash's messages ever been? given the hour at which it comes through, she's not occupied by anything other than the book she's been reading and rereading while the library is closed — which means she's been reading the same passage again and again without realizing that's what she's doing.
the text, however, makes her sit up a little straighter, makes her skin go hot and tight. she's not pressing her thighs together just yet, but it's only a matter of time before that starts, especially since she's already typing out a reply with shaking hands — though they're only shaking with anticipation, not fear. ]
Yes sir.
[ and after that, what else is there to do but comply? greer slips out of her pajamas, leaving them in a neatly folded pile at the foot of the bed. right before she settles into a kneeling position, she remembers to unlock the door, hurrying back to her original spot out of sudden worry that she hears footsteps already coming down the hall.
but it's nothing except the pounding of her own heart as she gets down on her knees, palms resting on her thighs, gaze directed down toward the rug. enough time passes that she starts to succumb to the meditative quality of it, even if she remains constantly aware of the air licking over her naked skin, her nipples peaking into hard buds. her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, as she listens for even the slightest hint of ash's nearness, his presence, craving his proximity like a flower tilting up towards the sun. ]
text — un: BETTY
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un: t.laughlin
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What kind of help do you need?
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text — un: LITTLEPRINCE (private)
we've gotta get on the same page about something.
what happened between us... ash can't know. about any of it.
the good thing is we didn't talk for five years anyway, so it's no big loss, right?
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like it didn’t mean a thing. like he’d rather just keep it buried and pretend it never happened. ]
I’ll admit it hadn’t exactly crossed my mind to tell him, let alone first thing.
Right. No big loss.
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text — un: COLCHESTER
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Besides, there's nothing you could have done while we're all supposed to be staying in.
Why ARE we supposed to be staying in?
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cw: nsfw hahaha
cw for ash
😔
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text | un: hzf - during lockdown
You alright out there tonight?
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[ she's trying to make light of it all, but that doesn't mean she isn't appreciative of the check-in. ]
I'm okay. Are you alright?
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text — un: COLCHESTER
voice;
I know there aren't any words right now to make it hurt less, and you're probably sick of people asking how you're doing, but I just wanted to say hello anyway.
That...and I've got to ask you something. I hate to bring it up now, but it's important. People are dying, and it doesn't look like it's slowing down any time soon. I want to make sure you're safe, first and foremost, okay?
But I need to know how well you know Betty Cooper. Have you seen this?
voice;
What? You're saying — more people now, not just — ? [ she can't really bring herself to say his name right now, for obvious reasons. but it does prompt her to sit up in bed, looking over betty's profile more thoroughly. ]
I... I didn't see this before. I wasn't really looking at anyone else's — but Betty's never been anything but kind to me, anything but a friend from the beginning of us all being here.
This place makes us do things all the time, things we'd never do if we were in our right mind. So what if she was manipulated somehow, compelled? [ it's the only way she can make sense of it in her mind, especially because she could never imagine betty would be capable of murder. ]
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@t.laughlin
Stupid question, probably. Putting Danny away doesn't fix it. But I'm here, if you need to talk, or...anything, really.
Take care of yourself, okay?
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I thought it would feel different. Knowing. I thought it might make a difference to know.
The man who murdered Embry is in the dungeons now, right? But what happens after that, when their game is over?
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— (thorn)chapel wedding.
as if any god would ever want him.
this particular chapel reminds him less of the church he died in and more of the little pockets of beauty in the tiny ukrainian villages he was stationed to protect all those years ago. he'd go exploring with a pack of cigarettes after playing soccer in the streets with the village kids, watch the sunset reflecting in a lake or turn in circles beneath the light streaming through the thick woods. he'd search for a leaf the exact color of ash's eyes and pocket it, only to find it shriveled up a week later in his dirty jacket. the chapel is something he always dreamed of stumbling upon, something out of a story when he wanted to romanticize his shitty, dusty, hateful army life, usually when he was annoyed that ash wasn't fucking him or he was terrified that he was about to step on a bomb and die.
more beautiful than the vine-steeped chapel is greer galloway, standing by the altar like an abandoned bride, like his bride, a scene he could have easily envisioned five years ago when they first met. he stands at the threshold of the broken-down chapel for a lingering moment, remembering every moment of that night, how he'd tongued and kissed and fucked every inch of her and then fallen asleep holding her in his arms. you can stay with me for the rest of my life.
he'd meant it. even if he couldn't follow through, even if he still can't now... he still meant it. ]
Hey, princess.
[ his feet carry him toward her, like he's walking down the aisle on his wedding day. it's laughable. embry knows he's already given up the right to be anyone's husband. he's barely even worthy of being greer's friend right now, after everything he's done to her without apology or explanation, after everything that's been said between them. guilt presses down heavily on his tongue, a confession laid before her feet. ]
I never meant to leave you in Chicago. [ it feels stupid and ridiculous to say, because it's something embry has known for years — and yet has never said to her. ] I've never held myself accountable for how I made you feel that night.
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She still means every word she'd written to him, every sentiment she'd texted, her jaw set with determination. It doesn't matter how much time he needs to understand it himself; she's willing to wait until he sees how right it is, for them all to be together. His death had punctured her so keenly, in part because when Ash had touched her the day of his memorial, there'd been a distinct lack in it, an absence she couldn't successfully ignore. Only days later, wallowing in her own grief, had she realized: she hadn't felt as whole as she had that night in the piano bar with both of their hands on her.
The crumbling structure, out here in the forest, must have been a chapel once; now, it sits abandoned, lost to the elements, but still partially standing, shafts of sunlight spilling in through the cover of greenery overhead. She's standing in a golden patch of warmth when she hears the sound of leaves crunching beneath someone's steps, and turns — Embry looks like something out of a dream, coming towards her, walking down the rows of moss-covered benches, and she almost can't find her breath at the sight of him.
Even now, after all that's happened between them, her heart lifts with hope. ]
Took you long enough. [ But the words have no bite, no malice; her eyes are already welling, although her chin doesn't so much as threaten to wobble. ]
I hated you for it a little, I think. I wanted to make you pay, over and over, for every kiss, every touch, every — [ Every time you were inside me, she almost says, and then bites it back, because she's certain he knows what she's referencing without her needing to finish that thought aloud. ] I still do, sometimes.
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🎁
G,
You're a hard person to shop for because I figure if you want anything you're going to get it for yourself, but when I saw this, I thought of you. Happy holidays, I'm glad I found you.
Love, G
christmas delivery
text — un: LITTLEPRINCE
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dommy greer hours
the 8-ball has given him specific instructions — go down on someone — and he knows exactly who that someone should be. it’s without shame that he pushes her up against the railing of the seating gallery, going down to his knees to tongue her to a prolonged, vicious orgasm, her legs squeezing his shoulders, their hands tightly hooked so that she’s never in danger of falling. easiest challenge he’s ever been given. when the doors open for them they make their way back to greer’s room, pawing at each other the same way they did years ago the night that they met, clothes magicked back onto their bodies but now more of a burdensome distraction than anything else.
embry is only a little sorry that he might have flashed greer’s ass to the random passing guests in the halls, his hand busy up her skirt, and when they finally make it to her suite, he finds himself pushed against the door, his coke-addled brain sparking with interest at greer’s flushed cheeks and the indignant (playful? of course, she likes it, because she’s just like him) look in her eyes. ]
Don’t be mad at me, princess. [ he loosens his tie, still leaning against the door for balance. ] Unless you want to be. I did spank you pretty hard, after all.
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Embry finds her before she can successfully achieve the latter part of her plan, and by the time he drops to his knees in front of her, she's hot and squirming, all too conscious of the attention that might be on them while trying to calm the twin fires in her complexion, the way her heartbeat echoes just as intensely between the splay of her thighs when Embry hauls her legs up over his shoulders. By the time the door opens to seemingly set the two of them free, she feels ravenous, like all the hunger she's been keeping stifled is spilling out of her one kiss, one clutch of fingers, one well-timed smack at a time.
Her ass is stinging, and her pussy is a slippery mess, courtesy of his tongue, but there's a fire in her gaze when she shoves a now-dressed Embry back into the door, the combination of that force and his weight closing it behind them — but her approach, the way she moves toward him, could only be described as prowling, before she snakes fingers around the end of his loosened tie and gives it a brief, taut yank to assert herself even closer. ]
You're right. I am mad. Furious, actually. [ Another, punctuating tug on his tie, and Greer lifts her chin, giving him her best imperious look. ]
Are you going to say sorry for what you just did?
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text — un: COLCHESTER
so, )
Keep your door unlocked. I want you naked and kneeling and waiting for me, head bowed, hands flat on your thighs.
( there's purposely no time given, because ash is an asshole, and he wants her to suffer, he likes her pain. quickly after — )
Say "yes sir."
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the text, however, makes her sit up a little straighter, makes her skin go hot and tight. she's not pressing her thighs together just yet, but it's only a matter of time before that starts, especially since she's already typing out a reply with shaking hands — though they're only shaking with anticipation, not fear. ]
Yes sir.
[ and after that, what else is there to do but comply? greer slips out of her pajamas, leaving them in a neatly folded pile at the foot of the bed. right before she settles into a kneeling position, she remembers to unlock the door, hurrying back to her original spot out of sudden worry that she hears footsteps already coming down the hall.
but it's nothing except the pounding of her own heart as she gets down on her knees, palms resting on her thighs, gaze directed down toward the rug. enough time passes that she starts to succumb to the meditative quality of it, even if she remains constantly aware of the air licking over her naked skin, her nipples peaking into hard buds. her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, as she listens for even the slightest hint of ash's nearness, his presence, craving his proximity like a flower tilting up towards the sun. ]
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text — un: LITTLEPRINCE
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But I took that Temp V stuff, and before you say anything about how stupid that was, I think it might have worked. I can heal people now.
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un: barnes.
A (colour version of a) photograph is sent.]
steve rogers
sgr on the network
you won't be able to mix them up
but i thought you should know