guinegreer | inbox for saltburnt;

How do you feel about a little redecorating in our bathroom suite?

Define "redecorating."

Adding our own flare. Maybe moving that mirror somewhere that it doesn't feel like anyone who opens the door gets a free show.

I'll admit I hadn't considered the mirror, but maybe you're right.

You think someone would just walk into the room without knocking first?

The staff might. I have a feel we're being watched anyway so it might be a little moot. Where should we move it?

We're being watched?

What gave you that idea?

They've provided the only means to communicate, they seem to know a lot about us. If I were them, I'd be watching too.

Just based on the parties, we seem to be giving them plenty to watch.

That's a terrifying thought. What they're watching for is what I'm curious about. What do they want to see?

How far we go? Or are willing to go?

Did you know there's a chapel here? I could use some help polishing it up, if you're interested.

Really? That's one of the last rooms I would have expected to exist here.

What kind of help do you need?

I couldn't believe it either, but there is.

It's in disrepair. I want to clean it up, fix things, brighten the place up some. Someone has to hold the ladder while I wash the windows.

Well, we could both wash the windows.

Guess we could find another ladder. I've been making due with whatever I've found in the shed.

Or we could just take turns. Assuming you know how to hold a ladder.

Of course I know how to hold a ladder!

Just checking. ☺️

What would make you think otherwise?

[ Gay people can use ladders, Greer. ]

Well, you seemed so set on washing the windows. I had to make sure it wasn't a cover.

For what?

Not knowing how to use a ladder.

[ she's too amused about this. ]

Well you can't do both at once, now can you?

You could. Might be unwise, though. Possibly even dangerous.

My arms are not ten feet long

The wings definitely made you look wider the other night.

Ha ha 😛

hey, princess. 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?

[ it’s not as though she’d considered saying a word to ash about that night, but reading it spelled out this way makes her feel… worse.

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.

Edited 2024-07-20 03:55 (UTC)

he cares about you, greer. i've known for a long time. and i've also known i shouldn't have touched you here. even when ash wasn't around. hey, maybe we can start a book club and read about all the greek gods that hated each other. you know, you can channel your feelings that way.

You can’t possibly know that. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. Not unless you count in passing at Sunday mass.

[ she hadn’t planned on telling ash about embry, anyway — and not just recent events, but everything before here. ]

Book club?

[ the embry she knew before might have been able to make her believe he wanted this. now? she doesn’t know what to believe. ]

Edited 2024-07-21 01:00 (UTC)

i know ash. i know things about him you couldn't possibly know. he wants to see you. badly. it would mean a lot to ash if we could still get along. we should do something normal we both like. like read about people who are more messed up than us.

[ he's really selling this. ]

[ she could’ve guessed that, knowing their history. brothers in arms. but it’s what he says next that catches her more off-guard. ]

Is that really what you want?

[ she can’t imagine embry willingly sitting through anything resembling book club. ]

[ she has no idea. no idea that he used to sit with his head nestled in ash's lap and read hamlet aloud to him, go through dog-eared, waterlogged copies of sappho, king authur, anything they could get their hands on at the secondhand shops in europe during their stolen vacations while the war went on. that they'd spend hours talking about what they'd read — before and after the hours they spent kissing and fucking.

she only knows him as the perpetual ladies' man, the most eligible bachelor in politics with a new date on his arm every night. the guy who doesn't call in the morning. ]

yeah. i'd do that with you. i want that.

[ she wouldn’t guess he’s thrilled by the idea, so what’s the point? is it something ash suggested for them? is there a hidden reason embry’s offering himself up for it? an opportunity to be around her when he shouldn’t? ]

Fine.
We should meet in the library, so we can choose something.

[ she almost doesn’t want to leave him an excuse to put this off. ]

we could read the bible cover to cover.

[ hilarious? poor taste? unknown. ]

I think you’re normally supposed to start with something shorter.

goodnight moon? we could do that one in your room before bed. then i would leave. promptly.

This sounds more and more like you reading me a bedtime story.

And I’m not sure if you’d be allowed to leave without tucking me in first.

[ fuck. ]

i'd make sure you're comfortable. warm. cozy. all the main food groups. then it's lights out. i'd have to go. but i'd be thinking of you. that's not a crime. our thoughts are our own, etc.

You're right. It's not a crime. None of this is.

Greer. Are you safe inside? I'm sorry, I should've checked on you first thing. I kind of thought this was a big joke.

I'm fine. Betty and I are in our rooms.

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?

Don't go near the door, it's hot. I guess they're burning the halls right now, for some reason. Are you sure you're alright? I'm not above scaling the walls if you need anything.

I won't even pretend to understand how they can do that without burning us up, too.

You wouldn't.

I wouldn't?

Ash, you could break your neck!

Now that, I wouldn't do. But you have no idea the lengths I'd go to in order to keep you safe. It's my pleasure to do it.

I just don't want you to put yourself in harm's way for my sake.

[ but she can't pretend the image of him scaling the side of the estate, climbing through her bedroom window, doesn't hold some thrill. ]

Besides, I'm already in bed.

( ahaha... )

Don't tell me that unless you want to be on my mind all night.

( he says, like that wasn't already a guarantee. )

You're already on mine.

What were you thinking about?

Everything you said in the church. Everything you confessed to.

How badly I wanted you to kiss me then. How badly I want you to now.

I want to do a lot worse than kiss you, Greer.

Tell me.

I want to wrap my fist around your hair and shove my cock down your throat, until you're spilling tears down your cheeks, gagging. God, I love your hair. Sometimes I think about just brushing it, seeing it flat on my pillow, catching the moonlight.

[ it's a long time before she replies, mostly because no one's ever talked to her like that before.

not that this is talking, but it still counts. and she needs him to know that she welcomes it. ]

When you touched my hair, in the chapel?
I wanted you to grab a fistful of it, use it to yank my head back so you could put your lips to my throat.

I know you did. I wanted it too.

( so, why didn't he? well. )

I've wanted you for so long, it seems criminal to rush any part of being with you. I'm not a good man, but I want to be good for you. With you. I want to make sure you like everything I want to do to you. I want you to trust me.

I do trust you.
I’ve trusted you ever since I was in a room alone with you. And you could have done anything you wanted to me then.

You really shouldn't give me your trust so easily, Greer. If you knew what I thought about, you'd probably run in the opposite direction.

Is it still easily if it’s been yours for years?

I won’t run. No matter what you’re thinking about.

Miss Galloway - it's Hawk. Fuller.

You alright out there tonight?

Don't you mean "in" there?

[ 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?

Well, you got me there.

[he'd offer a huff of laughter if they were in person.]

I'm alright. My - suitemate and I have a royal friend visiting.

Not to be forward, but are you with the President?

Wow, really? I didn’t know there were royals here.

[ there are two ways to read that question, and she goes with the surface-level one — because she’s not with ash, obviously. not like that. even if they had had a date of sorts. ]

Right now? No, I’m here with my roommate. Betty Cooper. The President’s in his own room, as far as I’m aware.

Not the kind in the history books - or at least any I've been reading. Dowager Queen Alicent, and Tim's been deemed her knight.

[which doesn't really explain his own presence in the midst of all that, oops.]

Ah. Embry mentioned...the two of you were acquainted. I didn't mean to suggest anything.

Well, I'm glad you're both safe, then. I never had siblings, so I don't know what a girl's night or a sleepover looks like - but enjoy.

Well, she's fortunate to have some of the most chivalrous men in the house with her.

[ of course she's never forgotten the kindness hawk showed her, particularly by lending her his jacket, and she certainly has her own soft spot for tim, but her mind doesn't run to any other possible scenarios. ]

We are.

[ that is the truth of it, and she could certainly leave it at that, but she doesn't. ]

I guess it wouldn't be wrong to say we have... a history of sorts. But he got married, and got elected, and I was busy with school, so timing was really never on our side.

Mighty kind of you to say so. It's at least half true.

[the part about tim, anyway.]

He's not still married is he? The way he looks at you during breakfast suggests otherwise. It's - sweet.

[he leaves out the part where embry is dead set on them staying together. or getting together? he doesn't know.]

Edited 2024-08-10 23:43 (UTC)

What I can say is that Otherworld would’ve been a lot more terrifying without you two around.

No, nothing like that. His wife… passed, a little while ago. We hadn’t really seen each other at length for years before this place.

[ and now, who can say what they are to each other? ]

Funny how that night feels miles away after the wolfman running amuck, huh?

This place seems to have a funny way of bringing people that are...important to us and keeping them in close quarters.

You know Embry too, right?

[of course he already knows the answer to that, but he's curious to get another side of the story, and there's plenty of time now.]

You can tell me to buzz off at any point.

Do you think it's going to be like that every time? In the club, that is. I'm not sure how many more people exist for this place to keep surprising me with.

We met around six years ago, but we hadn't seen each other in a while before we both arrived here.

[ ironically, him sending that just makes her want to share more. ]

It's okay. You're just the first person to ask.

Well pardon my French, but shit - I sure hope not. You and me both. The parties are one thing...but the cameos...considering the last one left me in the hospital, might not survive the next.

Long time to be apart, and DC's not always the kindest playground when it comes to mixing business with pleasure.

Well, we survived the last one, so here’s to taking it one day at a time?

It’s easy to lose touch, in other words, and I was only a part of that whole world through my grandpa Leo. I certainly never wanted to go into politics, at any rate, even if I wound up back in DC.

I'll drink to that when we get outta this. Which reminds me - I have an invite for you. I'm hosting a party, and I promise my dress code is a lot kinder than downstairs.

But sure, you grow up around it like that, it's understandable not to want to fall into the muck. You and your grandpa - you were close? Did he know Ash and Embry too?

At least I know enough to take you at your word when it comes to any potential surprises. How'd you manage to talk them into letting you host?

He basically raised me from when I was a little girl. [ whatever disagreements she and grandpa leo have had over the years, he was all the family she'd had. ] And he was VP himself, at one point. Ash's grandfather's running mate, in case you needed further proof that everyone in DC is connected to everyone else.

Well you see...I'm irresistible.

Hope you at least cracked a smile at that one - they were happy to accommodate. Got the kitchen on board and everything. To tell you the truth I think they were relieved not to have to come up with their own after the whole Greek shebang.

Wow, isn't that something. Have you known Ash your whole life too?

It's funny - that's how...[his almost-fiancée-] someone back home and I were. She was like a sister to me, considering I was practically raised by her father and lived with them both. One of the few good senators and an even better man - you know how rare that is.

I'll never tell.

[ she totally had. ]

I don't think anyone could argue that they haven't been generous hosts, in more than one sense. But I'm sure they appreciate the breather from party planning.

We first met when I was sixteen, at a party. He was... older, then. Already enlisted in the army, and about to be deployed again.

You're right. There's no shortage of backstabbing and deceit, but it teaches you how to recognize the ones who are honest and good-hearted, regardless of party affiliation.

Alright alright, I won't ask.

What can I say, I thought it was time we all get to know each other a little more personally. You can learn a lot about a person's roots. [is that a hint at an ulterior motive? yes.]

Not quite the fairytale beginning I was expecting. When did you meet again? You obviously made quite the impression, regardless. That's a long time to come back to someone.

Is that your way of saying you just want to learn more about me?

[ he's coming at it in a roundabout way, but greer, for once, has no difficulty cutting straight to the point. ]

Years later. By then he'd become something of a hero, but by the time we crossed paths again he was planning to ask someone else to marry him — which really was for the best.

Good girl, you see where I'm going with this.

[it's not condescending, and it's not just greer - it's everyone he wants more intel on. including the balfours and the house itself. the fact that she's seen right through it just means she's the kind of smart cookie he'd expected.]

Did he? Marry them?

And it was...another woman?

[embry??]

But I'm not exactly special in that regard, am I?

[ if he wants to learn more about her, that is, she's likely not the only one that interest applies to. but if he even half-knows what dc is like, then he also knows that information really is power. ]

Jenny. They were married right up until she passed a year ago.

You are. Any friend of Embry's is a friend of mine - someone I want to look out for.

[he means it too, not just because he told embry he would, but because he likes her.]

Everyone else - well, it's just for future reference.

Christ, she had to be young. Lot more recent than I would have expected.

You looked out for me from the very beginning. I won’t forget that.

[ not everyone would’ve lent her their jacket to cover up at a party like the one they’d met at. or do her the courtesy of ordering her a different drink while making it seem like his own idea. ]

It was very sudden. I don’t think she was even sick for that long. I’d seen them mostly at church, here and there, before then.

Good. You need anything - you know where to find me. I mean it.

...Jesus. That's a lot for a guy to carry on top of the Presidency. But maybe there's something to be said for trying again. Maybe underneath all the bullshit that's what this place wants us to get.

Or maybe I'm just feeling sentimental. Slap me next time I see you, huh?

How about we don't wait until the next time it's every man for himself in Otherworld?

I don't think he's looking for another First Lady, if that's what you mean. But we have been spending more time together here.

Slapping wasn't my first instinct, if that helps.

Alright - deal.

...No? What was it then?

I know of at least one person rooting for you two. Though I'm not sure I understand all the logistics of that.

[embry. which is strange considering the vague history he's been given.]

Honestly? Just a hug.

Dare I ask?

[ even if she already has a feeling she knows who he's referring to, because it's the same person who's usually telling her she should be with ash too. ]

You can have one of those whenever you like.

[like the kind you get from a big brother, no need to worry about wandering hands or discomfort.]

...Some people think we look alike. I don't know, I think he'd have a hissy fit if someone said it to his face.

I can see it. A little. You're both very charming. Almost... too charming. ;)

But I'd never be able to confuse you for him.

Not everyone might agree with you on that. My - suitemate, I don't think he's a fan and charming wouldn't come to mind.

Be honest - it's the hair, right?

[he's teasing again.]

The three of you, it seems...complicated. Is it warranted?

Kind of seems like I lucked out on my suitemate. She's never been anything other than complimentary.

The hair's definitely part of it.

Complicated is putting it mildly. The years between all three of us could probably fill their own epic novel at this point.

What, of him specifically? Or in general? Mine is - well, his tastes are specific. First time I met him, he ordered milk at a bar.

[and he fell for it instantly. but nevermind.]

Yeah? Well, if you ask me, you'd make a mighty fine Guinevere.

Of me. But I was mostly just glad to get someone who doesn't snore.

You do know what happens at the end of her story, right? [ dying of anguish and heartbreak feels like a pretty miserable way to go. ]

Come to the piano bar. Don't keep me waiting.

Greer - it's Hawk.

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. ]

Six more.

[there's a heavy pause, an exhale that's equally exhausted.]

I don't think they're connected to - to him. I'm fairly sure this one is the house putting us in some fucked up game again.

One of the victims was found with a blonde hair - past shoulder length. You can imagine how well that's going.

I've been keeping your name out of it, but another friend of mine - she's being accused by more than one person. The evidence they have...it's pretty sound, but I don't think she'd do this.

[there's a noise like hawk's run an exasperated hand over his face.]

Got a pretty good feeling if you're anything like me, sleep isn't coming so easy these days. Do you know...was she here the night it happened? Did you hear her leave at all, come back? Anything would help Greer. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't...this bad.

And I wouldn't have thought anything of it if the crimes didn't line up with a self-declared murderer.

How — ?

[ it doesn't matter how, she thinks, when it won't change the fact that they're dead, just like embry. that embry is still dead, and there's nothing that can be done about that either. there's nothing that is going to be able to bring him back.

but now he's asking her to remember, to think back to a specific time, and greer closes her eyes, pushes out a breath, tries to think through the fresh wave of emotion. ]

... no. I don't remember. I don't know if she would have come in. I wasn't listening out that closely for her — for anyone, really.

[ and maybe she would have, if she'd known she needed to be listening out — if she'd known it might be the difference between betty being accused of something she didn't do and maybe looking more suspicious in hindsight. ]

I wish I could be more help. To you, to her... for all of it. I just haven't really — [ she hasn't been able to think about anything else, since learning about embry, moving like a ghost, rarely leaving her room. she bites off the rest of her sentence then, before her voice damns her by wavering. ]

Hi Greer. I haven't seen you for more than a second since the funeral, I just wanted to check in and ask how you're feeling.

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?

[ it's a long time since she responds, mostly because she's trying to figure out how to respond. ]

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?

I...don't know.

He killed beyond the game, so he shouldn't be let out when it's over. But nothing is ever the way it should be around here.

Part of me wants to see him. To get an answer for what happened.

I don't know if you'll get a satisfying answer from someone like that. He's remorseless and tasteless, both.

I don’t expect to earn any kind of truth.

I just want to look him in the eye. See the kind of person who’d be capable of doing something like this to someone I

[ she almost finishes that sentence differently, then backspaces, types anew before sending. ]

care about.

I'd be fine never seeing again, myself.

But be careful if you do, okay?

Don’t worry. I’d be in major trouble with Ash if I went alone and he only found out after the fact.

Yeah. I know how that is.

I hope you do get something out of it, for what it's worth.

Thank you, Tim.

Sorry, I completely forgot to ask you how you've been doing through all this, too.

I'm doing as well as can be expected, I guess. The swelling's going down and I can talk without coughing.

I don't think I've ever been more exhausted. I haven't slept properly since the start, I'm in pain, I'm scared. But I'm doing what I have to.

If it helps to stick to texting in the meantime, I understand.

That's sort of how I feel about all of this too. What other choice do we have?

It helps with some of the strain. Thanks.

Abstaining won't make it stop any faster, finding the wolves will. I'm gonna try to stay out of the spotlight this time, but I'm not finished.

Would it help if I came by with something? Tea, maybe?

It's going to be over soon, right? And maybe if they've brought some of us back, that means they can bring everyone back.

Thanks, but Hawk's collected more than I could ever finish. You just worry about taking care of Ash.

I'm praying that they can.

[ 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.

You could. [ a wolfish grin, because he knows they'd both like that. she's just like him, even if she looks like an angel standing beneath the golden sunlight, the light to embry's haunting dark. ] You could make me pay until you forget how much you're supposed to hate me. It might take a while.

[ it could take another five empty years. his smile fades as he's punctured by the reality of what he's done, of what he's always done with the both of them. he's chosen to be a ghost in his own life, to walk away from the things he wants most, and neither of them know why. some days he can barely admit the why to himself, because it fucking infuriates him. it nearly topples him, some days, with grief. ]

You have to know... [ he swallows, his heart doing that skittish horse thing that it always does when he gets too close to the truth. ] I was going to come back to you that morning. I went to meet Ash for breakfast, to tell him all about you. And then I was coming back.

[ and that's where it went wrong. with ash. always ash, because that's where everything has always gone wrong. if he'd never met ash... who is he kidding? if he'd never met ash he'd be half a person, or he'd be long dead in some shitty valley in carpathia, his mother served some bullshit story of his heroism in the war when the reality of it was that embry moore would've died recklessly and violently and for nothing. ]

Ash knew you. And I knew he knew some girl he was obsessed with that he told me about back when we were in Carpathia, and I knew you were crying over some guy you were in love with, but I didn't know — [ he inhales sharply, a mirthless laugh tumbling out as he meets her eyes. ] I didn't know it was Ash Colchester and Greer Galloway. I never said a word about you. He brought you up from the party. He was a wreck from seeing you. He's probably told you all this by now, but the part I never told either of you was that I —

[ isn't telling the truth supposed to make you feel better? he feels worse and worse the more he talks, a blade wedging deeper and deeper between his ribs. heat prickles at the corners of his eyes, angry and sorrowful, and he's never hated himself more while he stands before greer right now. he wishes he could redo that moment, only he knows he doesn't deserve that chance either, because he wouldn't trust himself to go back and make anything right. he'd just fuck it up even more. ]

I never told him anything. I never said your name to him. I never told him that being with you was the first chance at happiness I'd felt in a long time. Instead, I let you go. I let you go for him, and I know it was a shitty thing to do not to text or call or send a goddamn smoke signal, but I did it anyway. I didn't want him to find out that I fucked you first, that I took your virginity, because I could see how much he fucking loved you, Greer. And even though a part of me wanted to hurt him so fucking badly for going off and marrying Jenny... I couldn't. Because I loved him, too. And the thing with Ash that I hate the most is that he'll give up anything for the people he loves, so it falls on me to have to say no. And I'm not saying I made the right or fair decision to you, but I had to say no. I'm sorry, Greer. I wish I could take back the way I hurt you. I meant it when I said I wanted you with me for the rest of my life. I know you belong to Ash, but I still wish it was you and me.

[ Judging by the expression on his face, Greer instantly knows that Embry would enjoy it — maybe even too much — if she sought to punish him, if she demanded that he drop to his knees right here and now and take whatever discipline she'd seek to mete out. So why does the thought of it appeal to her so much? Why does a part of her, the polar opposite of the part that wants to be ordered around and spanked and made to cry, inwardly yearn to dole out similar where he's concerned?

The mood shifts, however, when he starts to tell her about that morning — the one they've always danced around talking about, the one they've only been willing to revisit in so many words when they've actually spoken about it at all. In the moment, understanding instantly clicks into place for her, leads her to a new perception of the past. It's as if she's been walking through life with blinders on about the truth, and every word Embry utters makes the scales dissolve from her eyes, little by little.

Because he's right — Ash never would have been the one to choose, so Embry would have taken it upon himself to make the impossible decision, to give up the possibility of what they could have had to avoid breaking Ash's heart too. Surely now, Greer thinks, he's begun to suspect the truth about what happened between her and Embry after the party, but back then, learning that she'd given her virginity to someone else might have broken them to a degree they never would have been able to recover from, shattered what love yet remained between them beyond repair.

Greer doesn't say anything at all, for a while; instead, she just lets Embry talk, and talk, and talk, because now that the floodgates have opened it's all pouring out of him, the brutal truth, and as difficult as it may be for her to hear it now, it also crystallizes her understanding of everything. This regret has been the reason they haven't been able to move forward; this pain has been holding them in place, preventing them from the only future that makes sense. Her cards have already been played, laid out on the table since Embry rose from the dead and drew his first renewed breath, and she doesn't stand before him with an imperious lift of her chin, but she comes damn near close to demanding to see him on his knees. ]

I don't just belong to Ash. You know that. He knows that. [ He had to have known it, at the funeral, the way she'd cried on him, his hushed admission against her hair about his heart broken alongside hers. He had to have seen it, with how she'd draped herself over Embry's lap in the piano bar, surrendered herself into the cupping of their hands, the circling of their fingers around the cross of her ankles. ] I might have been saving myself for him, but he broke my heart that night. And I didn't give myself to you just to spite him, either. I gave myself to you because that choice was mine to give, and because I already loved you even if I didn't fully have the words for it yet.

[ Suddenly, she's closer, stepping down from the dais where the altar sits, standing with him along the crumbling pews, and she reaches out to take both of his hands in hers, glancing down at them. ] Even now, I... I miss you, even with you right here in front of me. You hurt me before, and you could hurt me again, but you'd hurt me most by leaving. [ Her gaze lifts to his, glassy with tears. ] Don't say no again, Embry. If you can't say yes yet, I'll understand, but... don't say no.

[ he doesn't realize how afraid he's been of this moment until right now that it's happening, that he's already standing in it and greer is still here, willing to walk toward him and take his hands in hers. willing to still talk to him at all. all these years, he hadn't thought himself worthy of her forgiveness, not after the damage he caused, worsened by the way his silence stretched from days to weeks to years. he should have said something. he should have explained, made up a story, given her some kind of closure that wasn't a rich asshole taking her virginity, selling her a promise, and then leaving her without a word. ]

Greer. Jesus fuck.

[ those words hit him like a gunshot, wounding an already tattered heart, entirely unfortified after stripping himself of the lies he’s carried since walking away from ash’s breakfast table that dismal chicago morning. it’s not that he thinks she’s lying. it’s just that — there’s no universe in which embry believes that he deserves greer galloway’s love so readily, even if he was similarly prepared to spend the rest of his life at her side after a single magical night of shared sex and tears.

how could he deny her anything after denying her everything for so long, and so unfairly — and denying himself, year after miserable year? his throat tightens at the sight of of her silvery gaze limned with tears, his own eyes hot and prickly, and for one brief, aching moment, he thinks he might actually love her more than he hates himself. ]

I don’t know what the two of you think I’m supposed to say yes to.

[ it feels like they’re leagues ahead of him sometimes, so much freer in their wants and needs than embry could ever be despite all his hedonistic tendencies and empty indulgences. he’ll fuck an entire town but he’ll never wear ash’s ring. he’ll never admit to wanting to be greer’s as much as he wants to be ash’s. every pleasure he partakes in has to have the caveat of holding as little meaning as possible, except for when ash fucks it up and lays greer across his lap and gives him orders because he knows the exact measure of embry’s willpower and all the places in which he can break it. ]

I know how the three of us being together felt. [ he leans his forehead against hers, their hands still tightly clasped. for a moment, he allows himself to imagine it. their fucked up little fantasy life, a triad of romance and suffering and unbearable beauty. then he forces the dream to dissipate, just like five years ago, and just like all the times he’s done with ash. ] But I could never be public with Ash because it would destroy everything we’ve worked for. It would ruin his career. I don’t care what he says. I’m not coming out for him, not because I give a fuck about what people think about where my dick’s been, but because there’s no sacrifice too big for Ash. What he’s doing is too important. It’s bigger than us.

[ he breathes out softly, unable to stop himself from gently seeking out her lips. here, everything feels like it’s cocooned in a hazy secret — all his confessions, all his pain, and all his love. he’s never been a fan of chapels, and recently he’s learned to like them even less, but something about this one, beautiful in its dilapidated ruin, offers him a chance at absolution. ]

I don’t know what’s worse. [ he kisses her like he’s wanted to for years, not with the desperate, fiery passion that helplessly controls his every move, but with a private longing he’s harbored for too long now, slowly aching. ] The president fucking his vice president, or — this. Wanting two people at once… and having them both.

[ It would have been better — she would have been better off, she thinks, if Embry Moore had never walked into her office after all those years, as handsome and rakish as he’s ever been, maybe even more so with the wear of age settling on his features, the stresses of time and trial and war. Maybe she would have been able to fully close her heart off to him if she’d never laid eyes on him again. Maybe she would have been able to endure until the pain dulled, until she was too numbed to it to care anymore.

But he’d sought her out not wholly on his own behalf, but Ash’s — an act of fealty for their President, for his brother-in-arms, for the love of her life — and she’d had no way of knowing, then, that it was eating him up inside, too. That the gut punch of being in the same room, relying on the same air, would hit even harder as soon as they were close enough to breathe each other in. ]

I know that what I’m asking for is selfish. I know it is.

[ And maybe she’s the most selfish out of all of them — a greedy little whore who can’t be content with only one man when she can cling to two instead, who can’t be satisfied with only one set of hands on her. No one has to leverage the insults at her when it won’t even come close to what she’s harbored about herself, laying in bed at night, turning the events of the piano bar over and over in her mind — but beyond the self-censure and judgment and shame, the only sentiment that had burned through had been a yearning for more.

Embry’s hands are strong in hers, and Greer clutches onto them tightly, squeezing like they’re standing at the altar readying themselves to say a wholly different kind of vow. He kisses her, and she sobs a little into his mouth; somehow, her cheeks are already damp from the tears that have silently been streaming down her face. Of course she understands why Embry has to be the one to make the sacrifice for them, when Ash never will, but it makes her hate the responsibilities of the highest office that much more, makes her wish they were anyone other than the President and the Vice President and Leo Galloway’s granddaughter — that it could be different, and beautiful, and painful, and perfect. ]

I can’t believe that. I won’t believe that. [ That anything between them could be worse than not having it at all, she means, and she can taste the salt of her own tears in their kisses, returning each one he gives her with equal tenderness. ] But if you can’t say yes to forever, then say yes to right now. [ A pause, as she draws in a shaky breath, whispering across his mouth, lashes dark and wet. ] I need you inside me again. Please.

[ 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.

Love, G

[ 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.

Merry Christmas, Greer.

Embry

Edited 2024-12-25 17:45 (UTC)

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?

Define "rare sleep disorder."

i sleep in a disorderly fashion sometimes.

What, like hogging the covers?

like i get up and do things and i don't remember doing them.

It sounds like you've been sleepwalking, Embry.

technically. yeah. the right answer to my original question is 1, by the way.

You really think so little of me?

It's sleepwalking, Embry. Lots of people do it.

that's not what this is about. really? name five hot ones.

Then tell me what it is about.

That's not the point.

i don't know if it's going to get worse. and you should know that you might not always be able to trust me. as much as i think i would subconsciously enjoy being with you in any situation, i want to be able to remember everything we do.

So, in other words, maybe sleepovers aren't the best idea for us right now.

there might be a pattern. once a month. i don't know, i'm trying to figure it out. i just wanted to make sure you knew. but yeah. probably not. there's nothing wrong with when i'm awake, though.

Have you considered tying yourself down at night?

extremely silly of you to think i don’t fantasize about being tied down every day. are you offering?

That's me. The silliest.

If it'll keep you from getting up in the middle of the night. Maybe I'll get Ash to help me with the knots.

contrary to what i just said, you guys can’t tie me down every single night. especially if it’s for actual captivity purposes and not kinky purposes.

You just said yourself that it doesn't happen every night.

Have you noticed anything in particular happening before the nights you end up sleepwalking? Specific stresses, or things that could be triggering it?

Edited 2025-01-15 04:17 (UTC)

no. i don’t know. can we go back to when i thought you were going to tie me up and my life was going to get better?

Try and think about it. Some other time, if not right now.

And then maybe I’ll tie you up after, if you’ve earned it.

[ 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. ]

Are you going to say sorry for what you just did?

[ his mind flits back to the sincerest apology he’d given her weeks ago, possibly the most sincere apology he’s ever given in his lifetime and ever will until his death. of course it goes to the girl he was convinced could mend his broken heart. he knows better now, that his heart is too warped a thing to be pieced back together, but that doesn’t mean he loves her any less, even if he can’t say it. those five years sit empty between them, the loneliest of his life, and he’s just starting to be able to fill them. ]

What if I’m not sorry?

[ he stumbles a little when she yanks his tie this way and that, a step closer than before and with nothing at his back now to keep him steady. she’s so fucking cute looking up at his height, a sharpness in those moonlit eyes. there’s no way, no fucking way she shares blood with abilene corbenic and her whirring, mechanical heart, capable of the kind of treachery that won’t just drag embry through the dirt but will ruin a child’s life, too. a child that never asked to have the two shittiest people in the world as parents.

ice blue eyes settle back again, blinking slowly. back in the room with greer. if he licks his lips, he can still taste her sweetness on his tongue. ]

I am not sorry. [ while she holds his tie taut, he tries to reach down to slip his fingers beneath her skirt again, fingers catching at the edge of the fabric. ] For spanking you. Because it’s hot. And if you want a real apology, you’re gonna have to punish me.

[ Of course Greer pauses to consider the apology he'd offered her before, one with so much more weight and expectation than the one she's all but demanding in this moment, but she's not allowing herself to dwell in the all-too-recent past, not when she can still feel her own pulse through the handprints temporarily marking her skin, the lingering slickness between her thighs. Instead, she's drawn in by the way Embry can look full of contrition and completely unapologetic in the same instant, his mouth wearing the type of crooked slant that makes her want to simultaneously crawl onto the bed on all fours and slap him right across the face. ]

If you're not, then you're not.

[ But the tone of her voice should serve as more than a little indication that there'll be consequences, for him, if he doubles down on it, if he not only avoids asking for forgiveness but chooses not to have regrets. She's a bit taller than she normally is, in these heels, tall enough to reach him, tall enough to make an effort at intimidation.

Another yank, but then Greer releases the tie to shove Embry back, with both hands, into the door again, his weight making it rattle in the frame — and this time, she asserts herself forward too, skirt hitching higher up her thighs as she notches one knee up between his legs, applies a less-than-subtle pressure there. ]

We both like a little pain, don't we, Embry? But I know what would punish you more.

[ There's a sudden absence of everything — sensation, scent, warmth — because she's just retreated from him, backing up one step at a time, creating more distance. ]

Forcing you to look, and not touch. [ She'd been naked before, and he hadn't been able to help himself; her fingers idly stray to the front buttons on her blouse, toying with one or two as her gaze roams over his face, heated and lingering. ] Making you beg for it until I'm satisfied.

[ the door catches his fall, and then greer is on him, grinding her knee right against his very obvious, very much aching erection, and it's perfect, so perfect, just like that night five years ago when they'd clawed at each other in an attempt to stitch up their mutual tattered hearts. they'd been like feral animals then, his emotions dragging him by the leash, and despite the careful control he's been forced to practice as he rose higher in rank at ash's side, the impulse of his desire has him now just like it did back then. he's thoughtless when he grasps her, his only aim to drag her clothes off so he can get his hands on her bare skin.

she whisks out of his grasp, and — oh, yeah. that's fucking wretched. ]

I would prefer the pain.

[ ash plays games like this, the ones where embry always ends up on his knees, or tied to a chair, or blindfolded with his hands behind his back. he pretends all of ash's commands and denials and punishments are hurdles he can best, but he knows before he even begins that he'll lose every time. and the worst part is, he wants to. there's something damaged in him that wants to be broken, wants to be punished, wants the pain every single time.

he and greer are both of a kind. they both like the pain, both crave the punishment. they’re on more equal footing with each other than they are with ash, and maybe that makes her more dangerous, not less. he watches the first two buttons pop open, halting his step forward as she matches him with a step back. fine. she can set the rules. ]

You want me to beg? [ a wolfish grin passes over his face as he lifts one aristocratic brow. ] Please, oh, please, Ms. Galloway, let me see your tits.

[ He’s hard already, which Greer likes — likes knowing that she only has to kiss, touch, clutch at him for the briefest amount of time to make his cock that stiff in his slacks, likes knowing that she could feel him hot and heavy in her hand in a matter of seconds if she ordered it.

But Embry’s so much like her, too, in the sense that pain is easier to bear, and almost a relief in some instances. Being denied, being restrained, being trussed up and made to beg and live in her shame is what’s harder to endure, which is why she knows that it’d be a harsher punishment to inflict on him here — tormenting him with a view of something he’s not permitted to put hands or mouth on.

Her hand stills on the row of buttons, before unfastening the one that would expose the lace of her bra, the little pearl nestled in the valley between her breasts. ]

Not good enough. [ Two can play that haughty game, she thinks, suddenly moving to snap her fingers before indicating the floor with an index pointing downward. ]

On your knees. [ There’s a glint in her gaze again, a hint of the rush that ordering him around brings her. She never gets to be on this end of things, and it’s a heady experience for her, too, making her hot and flushed with a different kind of want — the desire to see what Ash gets to see, to have someone as beautiful as Embry is eating out of the palm of her hand. She doesn’t want to break him, though, just bend him enough until she needs him too badly to wait a second longer, and it starts with seeing how quickly he’ll obey her now. ]

[ it could never be so easy as just asking for a glimpse, so of course she holds out, embry now ravenously fixated on her blouse coming off and having to settle for inch by miserable inch. well. technically he’s cultivated the patience of a saint by now, existing off memories alone for five years (complete bullshit — embry moore and patience do not go together in any life).

she must be learning from ash, because clearly she’s keeping track of every time he mouths off and holding it against him. from experience, he knows this would go so much better for him if he closed his mouth. ]

You look incredibly lonely over there. And I said please twice.

[ there’s a flash in his eyes at the abrupt command, the snap straightening his spine. it nearly dislodges something in his brain, the breath he’s presently drawing in moving more tightly through his chest. the color in his cheeks is a match for the flush in her own, and he only momentarily considers disobeying before he goes down to his knees, his cock straining against his trousers. his hand moves to his belt to relieve the pressure, gaze cast upward as the light plays along the icy blue of his eyes.

in a softly crooning voice, made rougher with desire — ] How about now?

[ It would be one thing if Greer were keeping score in her head, running up that mental tally of transgressions and assigning an appropriate punishment for each one in response — but the truth is she's still figuring out how to do this, embrace her more dominant side with someone in a way that comes naturally and doesn't feel like she's contorting herself to fit a kind of mold.

Beyond that, Embry is just a walking distraction for her — from the piercing blue of his eyes to the visible tent in his trousers. He even looks more handsome when he's blushing, something she didn't think was possible until she put him in the ideal position for her to bear witness to it. His breath stops, as does hers, but then he's sinking down onto the floor, the audible clink of his belt coming undone punctuating the silence that falls over the room — at least, before Greer remembers herself, and hums a noise of approval. ]

Better. [ She can't praise him too readily, not yet, not when she's made all of this about him needing to earn as much as another inch of bared skin from her, but she does stop backing up, gaze briefly straying in the direction of the small bench at the foot of her bed.

It's there that she assumes her next perch, knees tucked together while she swivels to face him head-on — and then she slowly lets them fall open, affording him a front-row seat to the white lace underneath, the fabric already visibly damp against her folds. It's too slow to be written off as accidental, like she hasn't meant for him to see it, so she thumbs open another button in the meantime, wanting to know if she can make the muscle in his jaw tic a little. ]

You know where your hands are meant to be. [ Palms up, on top of his thighs — where Ash always insists she keeps hers while she's kneeling for him, no matter what he's in the middle of doing to her. ]

[ his hands stop moving when she spreads her legs, sitting pretty on her throne at the base of the bed and showing off lace made translucent by her own wetness. he licks his lips and tastes her there, and he could just crawl across the room and take his chances, but he huffs out another breath and resumes unbuckling his belt, slowly pulling it from the loops. ]

I don't know where my hands are meant to be. That's a game you and Ash play.

[ presumably. if he sounds a little tetchy, it's only because he's pretty sure greer is the perfect submissive in ash's bedroom, while embry is the most under-performing one that's ever crossed ash's lap. whatever. he never officially signed up for that shit anyway. it was only a few years ago that he believed he was so fucking special, providing something to ash that no one else ever could, until ash married the most vanilla lawyer in america and dashed embry's delusions against the jefferson memorial. he's been careful ever since not to overstate his importance.

he discards the belt between them like a snake, then rests his hands casually against his thighs, not touching himself but itching to. his thumb twitches closer to his fly as another button slides open, her bra on display. ]

I can help you out of that, you know. [ he angles a brow at her. ] If you come here. Or let me come there.

[ Greer's gaze wavers, that initial flicker of surprise betraying her efforts at maintaining a cooler composure. It's true that she doesn't really know the full extent of what he and Ash do, at least by comparison to what Ash enjoys from her, and maybe she'd made an assumption that it tends to go similarly, or that Ash's demands, appetites, whatever they are with Embry, run parallel to what he wants when she's in his bed.

Yet the sound of Embry's belt rushing through the loops, that whisper of leather against fabric, draws her attention down to where his hands are moving, where he drops the strip of material between them like he's throwing down a gauntlet — and now it's been left to her to pick it up. ]

The first mistake would be letting you use your hands. Or get too close.

[ Greer's jaw firms determinedly, an idea suddenly occurring to her, knees sliding together again as she rises from the bench, barely breaking stride in bending over to collect the belt from where it lies on the rug. ]

Behind your back, then. One wrist over the other. [ Her intention should be clearer after that, but she's still careful to remain out of arm's reach until she's standing behind him, when she can crouch down to begin securing said wrists together with the belt. This close, the temptation to reach for him in bigger ways is rising, especially when she's practically drawing in his scent on each breath, but she's denying herself too, here, maybe even yanking the belt a little tighter than she means to in the process. ]

[ it’s hard to explain exactly what it is that he and ash do. there are right ways to go about this — with conversations and understandings and safewords — and then there’s the way he and ash go about it. rough. messy. unpredictable in its need. it’s not that ash doesn’t take care of him. he has never, ever let embry fall alone into the dark, gaping space once he’s cracked him wide open. but it isn’t how he imagines ash and greer to be, because even if he hasn’t been privy to whatever the hell they’ve been getting up to, he knows that she listens to him in a way that embry does not. it’d been apparent in the way she’d draped herself over his lap in the piano bar at ash’s behest, submitting to the sting of his palm without fighting it like embry would have.

maybe ash likes that more. something he doesn’t have to wrangle and tame. the needy little pulse throbs tighter in him when greer comes close, glad for the interruption to his tumultuous thoughts, and he tries out her tactic, setting his wrists together behind his back without complaint as she belts them tightly, turning his head to watch the spill of her breasts through her open blouse while she works. ]

That’s not fair. You should’ve let me touch you at least once.

[ he regrets giving up his hands so easily, fingers flexing as he imagines the slick glide of his fingertips against her glistening cunt. but even with his hands bound, he still has use of his mouth, so he lurches over swiftly and licks a hot stripe along her upper thigh while she’s still in reach, his teeth biting into smooth flesh as he noses up her skirt. ]

That's the whole point.

[ It's not supposed to be fair — but a different unfairness, not the kind that still has Embry convinced, sometimes, that they shouldn't be doing this, that he doesn't belong with her and Ash, no matter how right it feels. Greer's determined enough to emphasize the point otherwise at every opportunity, and stubborn enough not to let Embry push her away in the process, but maybe all of it has been leading up to this for them — him, on his knees, and her denying him more and more until he's begging for the privilege to touch her. Maybe, she wants to punish him that much more for all they could have had together before now.

Kneeling this close to him was a mistake; she realizes it all too late, but she's already crouched down within easy reach, and even with his hands bound, she should have anticipated Embry's uncanny ability for bending the rules that have just been set in place. His tongue on her skin makes her breath hitch, the scrape of teeth stealing her air altogether, and before Greer can even think twice about it she's pulled back a hand to strike him across the face with it, a reflexive slap that makes her own palm sting with the strength of its delivery.

Her first impulse is to stagger back, wide-eyed, surprised even at herself, bringing that same hand to her lips as it starts to tremble — it feels too harsh, coming from her, but there's no taking it back now, nothing she can do other than look at him with an expression of muted horror. ]

Embry — [ Surely, she's overstepped; surely, she's gone too far, her heart dropping into her stomach as the seconds tick by and she waits for him to acknowledge her. ]

[ her palm cracks across his cheek before he can get anywhere near the wet heat of her cunt, and where she might've expected a growl of anger or an absurd display of machismo, the sound that shudders out of his throat is far from either of those things, breathless and keening. a wet spot begins to darken the front of his trousers where his cock stubbornly weeps for attention and fails to get it. a quiet fuck drops from his lips, his lashes fluttering as he seeks her gaze.

and she looks horrified, as if she's accidentally stepped on her puppy's tail. it dimly occurs to him that the things he and ash do in the bedroom might take a little getting used to. ]

Come here, princess. [ his face is flushed, and it's not just from where she slapped him, color creeping down his throat where the pace of his breath has quickened. ] It didn't hurt. Well, it did. But I liked it.

[ he tries to clear the fog of lust from his brain, thinking of what ash would do. no, that's no good. he and ash don't follow any rules. instead, he thinks of what he knows from his visits to lyonesse. ]

I'll give you a safe word, so you know how far you can go with me. [ he's never hit a limit he couldn't cross, although he's distantly aware that doesn't always mean he should have crossed them. the corner of his mouth curves up in a smile. ] Steinbeck. The first thing we ever argued about.

[ his throat bobs in a swallow, his entire body straining toward her, his hips trying to flex into nothing to relieve some of the building tension. she's careful this time to stay out of reach, and he's seriously considering the merits of dragging himself across the floor just to be able to kiss her sharply heeled foot. ]

Hurt me again. [ his breath grows ragged. ] Fuck, Greer, please just fucking touch me.

[ That plaintive keen — she's never heard anything like that from Embry before. She knows other sounds, though, could replay them in her mind with very little difficulty at all. The noise he makes when he slips a hand between her legs and she's already embarrassingly wet, like something between a groan and a sigh. The breath he takes when his cock is making a home for itself in her cunt, as if he can't believe he's even allowed to get close enough to fuck her. The hurts they've inflicted on each other live beneath the skin, closer to the kind that can invisibly puncture the heart, but she's never struck him before, never even really considered it until the sight of him on his knees conjured that reflex.

When Greer reaches for him again, it's gentler, mostly so she can bring a still-shaking hand to touch the place where she slapped him, feeling where the skin's a bit hotter now. She hasn't hit him hard enough to leave a defined mark, nor the outline of each individual finger, but she wonders what she'd be feeling now if she had. ]

A safeword. [ She exhales in the form of a chuckle — with how new all of this is, she'd forgotten to even consider the need for one, but he's guiding her even from his knees, and in gratitude, or maybe even a reward, she slips her arms around him, briefly hugging him to her middle, fingers of one hand carding through his hair until her nails can rake over his scalp.

And then he begs her, the please on his lips like a vice around her heart, and her grip in his hair tightens, as she uses it to yank his head back more roughly, to return his gaze to hers. ]

Steinbeck, then. If it's too much. [ Her eyes drift down to verify the tent in his slacks, the visible spot of wet where he's leaked through them. ] But I don't think we're anywhere near "too much" yet.

[ She backs away quickly, before he can pitch toward her again, resuming her original spot on the bench, her knees slowly spreading wide. When her hand moves, it isn't to resume efforts on her blouse buttons again, but to stray between her thighs, up under her skirt, ghosting over damp lace. ]

Make me come without touching me, and I'll let you fuck me anywhere you want after.

Edited 2025-01-27 01:21 (UTC)

( 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 — )

Say "yes sir."

Edited 2025-01-27 02:14 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

( part of him is soothed just by the notion greer is kneeling somewhere, waiting for him. it makes it easier to make her wait, even if ash is crawling out of his skin to get close to her — this is better. let her reach the point of doubt and past it, to the empty nothingness of subspace. it's not something ash has ever been able to reach, but he knows all the descriptions for it, knows how to get a sub there with minimal, but meaningful effort. so, he makes her wait. he makes himself wait. really, he only finally crosses the threshold when he can't bare it anymore — not necessarily when it's best for greer, which would ordinarily be the point.

just not today. he steps inside her room and sees her poised, her back bent, every notch of her spine shadowed on her smooth skin. ash observes her, lets her wonder who walked into her room for a few long, generous seconds, before he steps past her entirely, fingers itching to stroke her hair. of course, he doesn't. he's pulled taunt with an undefinable something — an emotion there's no real name to, which he'll have to explain to her eventually. for now, he takes a seat on a chair across from her, waiting another minute or so to see if she'll break command, before snapping his fingers and pointing to the space of carpet between his legs. )

Crawl here.

[ It’s a surreal state to be in, and difficult to describe — hyperaware of her surroundings, and the slightest sound in the room, everything from the clock ticking on the nightstand to the slightest creak in the hallway. Greer doesn’t know which are Ash’s footsteps and which might belong to, say, the Balfours’ maids. If one of them were to walk in here now and find her like this…

Her cheeks burn anew, but the mere concept of shame compels her to remain kneeling. That’s the whole point — that Ash can make her feel this way, that she can revel in the discomfort, that she’s willing to embrace submission by existing at her most vulnerable, for him. It’s love, but it’s also something else, something deeper, and she feels it swell up within her the second she finally hears the knob turn: worship.

When a hush falls over the space, she knows it’s him; anyone else would have immediately moved to fill the silence, but he lets it take up room instead before stepping past. His scent fills her senses and she wants to take hold of him, wants to curl up in his lap, but she waits, practically on pins and needles, until he addresses her first. The command is a relief, and she tips forward onto all fours, crawling to him with her eyes still on the floor. He hasn’t given her permission to touch him or address him, hasn’t told her to do anything else, so she resumes her initial position, just knelt directly in front of him, her fingers briefly curving over her thighs when she harbors the thought of nuzzling into his leg before flexing out again. ]

how's general hospital?

It's okay. Nothing we can't handle, not yet at least.

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.

it's definitely better because you're there. i took it too, so you're spared the wrath of my judgement. how does the healing work? i might need your help.

You’re just saying that because Tim’s the alternative.

I need to be closer to light for it to work at all. A candle, the fireplace — I can draw the power from that and channel it into whoever I’m focused on.

Wait, did you hurt yourself?

who would choose tim laughlin to be at their bedside over you?

[ please don't answer that. ]

ok, got it. i need to make sure i steal some candles for you, then. no. sort of. when i took the drug, i ended up being able to communicate with the monsters outside using my blood. i've been bleeding myself, but that sentence sounds way worse than it actually is. i could use a greer bandage.

Lots of people, surely.

[ too late. ]

You can talk to those things? With your blood?

So when you say you’re bleeding, is it just… coming out of you?

well. i wouldn't.

[ sorry tim ]

talk might be overstating it, but there is a definite element of communication. and ash got a weird shadow thing that i think would be really sexy in a byronic hero way. if you're asking me if i stabbed myself, the answer is no. but the answer is also yes, because i did technically cut myself so i could have easy access to my blood, and only after i sliced my palm open did i realize that was the worst place to do it. i can't even jerk off now.

[ obvious parallels between ash's supposed shadow ability and greer's apparent light healing aside, she's apparently got more to worry about than surprising symmetry — like the concern that embry might give himself gangrene if he's not careful. ]

Is that your way of asking for a helping hand?

[ not chiding him, even though it is her first instinct to after hearing he's sliced into his palm — but purposefully delivering that double entendre, because she's not so exhausted that she doesn't give into the temptation. she thinks she still has enough access to light to heal something like that, even if it's only just a candle's worth. ]

Where are you now? Can you get to the chapel?

[At some nebulous time around her talking to Steve on the network...

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

Your friend?

known him since he was a scrawny kid from brooklyn back before the war
probably about the nicest guy you'll ever meet

So it'd be impossible to confuse him for anyone else, you mean.

[ as kind as ash can be, no one would ever mistake him for nice. ]

Ms. Galloway—

First, if this is not how I should address you, please correct me. I am admittedly still learning of the etiquette of this form of communication, but it still feels more proper to me to address a lady by her surname.

I was recommended to reach out to you at Mr. Laughlin's recommendation, for I would like to assist with efforts to rebuild and look after the chapel. I am handy with repairs of all sorts (and like to keep myself busy, besides), so it would be my pleasure to help. If you have need of anything in particular, do feel free to ask.

Regardless, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Yours Most Sincerely,
Sebastian Michaelis

Please, call me Greer. Especially if we're going to be working together.

Truth be told, I could use the help. I'm decent with a hammer, but I'm nowhere near handy enough to be able to handle all the repairs on my own, so I'd really appreciate it.

Is there anything you'd like me to reach out to the Balfours and ask for in terms of necessary materials? It's really no trouble. [ and giles has taken a liking to her, so she's certain she can call in a favor this time. ]

( He pauses for too long on her username, never mind it having a connection to the president's brother. His brain can't handle what that might mean. And it doesn't matter. It was years ago. He brings his phone down, still in his hand when he hears the familiar tone of a dialed number.

Eyes wide, he flips his phone back up watching the screen light up as it rings before cancelling the call altogether.

It's fine. It's fine.

She won't even know it's him. And probably doesn't answer calls from people she doesn't know. )

[ He's right, to a point — if she'd still been back in D.C., Greer might have ignored a dial from an unknown number, under the suspicion that it could either be the latest lobbyist trying to piss her off, a reporter asking for direct comment on the latest discourse dominating the Hill, or the equally dreaded spam caller.

Given that service on the grounds of Saltburnt is notoriously spotty, it's strange to even be able to check her phone and see that she has a missed call — and before she can second-guess herself, she hits the button to dial back, lifting the phone to cradle it between her cheek and shoulder as she resumes what she was doing prior (painting her nails a bright shade of red to match her dress for tonight's dinner).

If it goes to voicemail, she won't leave a message. She's already made up her mind that far as it starts to ring. ]

( As he ices over, becomes the Riley he is now - and not who he was - his phone comes to life beside him. It's her.

Was it always? Could it have ever been? She's the what if he lives with every day. He could be an entirely different person, or at least he thinks so. He doesn't do regrets, not any more. Too many lives have ended. He's lived a thousand lifetimes, it feels like.

But, still, he can't help but think of that shitty dive bar. The two dollar beers. Her smile. The back of his pick-up. And her hotel.

He doesn't know what possesses him, but he answers. ) Would you accept butt dial as an explanation?

( Does he need to explain himself? Will she even recognize his voice? ) Technically, hand dial if there's such a thing. Greer. ...Hey.

[ Right when she thinks the call is going to finally go to voicemail after all, there's a pause in sound — a shuffle of movement, and then a voice, coming through the speaker, deep and unmistakable.

Greer nearly drops her phone. At the very least, she succeeds in spilling red nail polish on the desk she's seated at, which is going to be a bitch for Giles to get out later.

Her mind is whirling with countless different responses — relief, confusion, and something all too close to longing — so she settles for something safer and much less damning, her voice adopting the sort of arch, frosted tone she takes whenever she's debating moronic pundits on CNN. ]

How did you get this number? [ Try as she might to mask her surprise, it's still there — she's not using the same phone she'd had all those years ago, but maybe she should know better than to underestimate his capabilities. She's well aware of the kind of work he's in; she's followed his exploits, even though she'd deny it outright if asked. ]

We're all connected to the same network.

( It's cold and as brief as she says it. It's being here. Saltburnt. Probably a way of everyone being able to stay in touch, or mingle. From what he was told, and the research he did, Saltburnt is about the connections made. And they encourage connecting. )

I worked for Embry Colchester.

( And the president. And after a beat. )

The invitation.

( And, her conversation not being private. )

G. Dot. Galloway. It had to be you, didn't it.

( In every fucking definition of the word, right? He doesn't mean it like that, either, and the more he says, the less the cold former army ranger comes out. And the small town, small fish Iowa roots show through. )

[ It's a perfectly logical explanation — so logical, in fact, that Greer's initial panic, entirely spurred by the mere sound of his voice in her ear, begins to subside.

If she's flushed now, it's out of a brief swell of embarrassment; she hadn't considered the possibility that their hosts would be encouraging more socializing in this vein, but it aligns with everything she's come to know about the Balfours, including their notorious reputation. ]

I'm aware. [ Sharp, though it's a bit more dulled than her initial response — and revealing, in terms of her awareness of his proximity to the White House, if only for a time. ]

I'm not sure I could say the same for you... Frank, was it? [ Referencing the caller ID she hadn't recognized, when she'd initially decided to try his number. ]

Is this some new security standard I've never heard of?

( You play the hand you're dealt, as it were. )

Costner. The Bodyguard.

( A standard, if he's honest. He liked the older movies, but that one always had a timeless sensibility to it. He likes how firmly planted tongue is in cheek. )

It's been a long time.

( Since us. Since the army. Since everything else. Why is tjis hard. He shouldn't have said anything. He's no longer that starry-eyed dumb kid. He never will be again. Fuck.

He licks his lips, taking a seat on his bed next to his suitcase. Running a hand through his hair, he glances at the man in the mirror. He's not the same. )

Cute.

[ Though it gives her more of a hint about what he's been up to since leaving the Service — when it became harder for her to follow his exploits, to pick him up in the background of various photographs in the newspaper or hovering during the occasional presidential address broadcast. Not that she'd been looking, of course.

The question then becomes who he's protecting now, if he's here — some rich friend of the Balfours, no doubt. Someone who pays well and doesn't probe too deeply.

Her breath snags, briefly, when he references all the years that have passed since she even found herself in a position to pick up his call. (Maybe if she'd known it was him, she wouldn't have.) ]

Did something happen? [ Something that compelled him to reach out to her now, of all times. She has to consider that possibility, rather than the one where he's called for a reason she isn't willing to interrogate all that closely. ]

( He never left a big footprint, until joining the secret service. It's 0 - 100 in being front and center in a way he was never truly comfortable with. But, Ash Colchester likes you uncomfortable. A completely different memory flashes in his mind and he stands, crossing to the door to his shared bathroom, closing it deliberately.

It's such a broad question.

Yes. War is real. People die. And he discovered he's good at killing someone when necessary. And then when not. And then life got structured. Rigid. And suddenly, he had all the time in the world. He learned he didn't like working for an agency, but himself.

But, he's not about to go down his resume. )

The usual. The military is a pipeline to what comes next. Here is what came next.

( After a few stops, stumbles, and a lot of borderline illegal activity. It is what it is and money is money. People use you up and leave you for dead. Better to be ready.

Or, disappear with it in the first place. You can't take it with you. )

I'm fine, though. Tip top. Shape. Not hurt, or anything. You?

Not for everyone.

[ What's the saying? About the number of soldiers who wash out before they reach their fullest potential? Greer has enough military connections in her family, or in friends of family, to know that not everyone ends up on a direct track to becoming part of the President's personal security detail.

But then again, Riley was always the type to be more modest about his exploits, regardless of whether he succeeded at being the exception to the overall rule. ]

Fine. [ An echo of his words, she thinks, is certainly safer. ] Clean bill of health, and all that.

[ If he's been paying any attention to the gossip rags lately, though, he'll have seen the headlines — about her breaking off her engagement to Sheamus, with all of the invented reasons splashed across glossy magazine pages. Some of them are a little closer to the truth than she'd like to admit. ]

A summer abroad beats sky-high temperatures in the DMV. [ She tries to make it sound casual — like it was her decision to retreat from public life in Washington for a few months, rather than more of a strategy to lay low while the worst of it dies down. ]

Let me guess: you're working.

Good to hear.

( Good to hear?

He doesn't pay too close attention to anything like that, beyond glancing down at the checkout line. Maybe he caught a glimpse, but didn't let himself read about her. He doesn't get to. She's not Gwen. He called her that the first time he'd met her because she was blonde and he was working his way through old Spidermans. Her wit. Her quickness. She was Gwen Stacy.

Not that he could ever measure up to Peter Parker.

He tried. )

The DMV? Renewing your license?

( For the summer? Forget it, he was always bad at humor, wasn't he. )

You'll see me around, standing at attention. It's work. She's a handful. ( But nothing he can't handle. God, she felt good in his arms. And she could handle him. Steer him away from his macho frat bravado. She's probably the reason why he became a feminist. Is that giving her too much credit? ) I think it's a two-for-one deal, but he didn't ask. ( Not that he ever does. ) I guess this means we'll be seeing each other around.

[ It's awkward between them — there's no way around it, not when she once envisioned herself wearing his ring, becoming Mrs. Riley Finn, vowing to love and honor and cherish if not always obey.

(Not when he'd once been so insistent on taking her to a hotel room for her first time, but she'd pulled him down against her, atop the blankets spread haphazardly over the bed of his truck, and pleaded, wanton and desperate, until he'd taken her right then and there. When he'd pulled out, and seen the blood on the condom, he'd apologized so profusely, sweet boy, but she'd kissed him, licking into his mouth until he hardened against her thigh again.)

But something in her chest twists, tightens, when he mentions someone else — not by name, which might be for the best. If she knew, she'd spend all night digging into everything she could, needing to know who this woman is, who's capable of changing the tone of his voice like that. ]

Will we? [ If he's on the job, she doesn't anticipate that he'll be able to engage her all that directly, but maintaining some form of distance is how she's protected her heart all these years. ]

Buffy's -- she'll be everywhere. So, I'll be everywhere.

( Billy's only kind of his responsibility, he thinks.

It's impossible not to crash back into the memory of their first time. Of how eager she was. He treated her so delicately, but she wanted him more than anyone else ever had. She was the dream. But, so was serving his country. And he couldn't do both. Or, so he believed.

He was beneath her. Not to her pedigree. A grunt. A nobody in boot camp beaten down and remolded into their image. Eight weeks apart changed everything. For him. He never apologized. )

Her name's Buffy. She's training for the olympics. ( Her body's a weapon, not quite like his is.

He wants to tell her more, that she just lost her mom. She's intense in a too much way and she throws herself at him - and anyone else. But they aren't friends. He has few friends like that. When does he talk about himself, anyway. ) What are the odds.

[ Greer's first impulse is to say something along the lines of who the hell names their kid Buffy? — but she bites it back. It's petty, and beneath the kind of woman who is much more accustomed to heads turning whenever she walks into a room. This is what she becomes around him, a reversion to the girl who allowed things like jealousy to get the better of her.

She's convinced herself, in the years since, that it never would have worked between them — not long-term. He'd always thought of her as something precious, something to be handled delicately, and she hadn't been able to voice the fact that she wanted him to hold her down, to pin her between rough thrusts and a hand wrapped around her throat, to grip a constellation of fingertip bruises into her hips so she could map them on herself later.

If he learned half of what she'd done in bed since getting to Washington, it might result in a few more gray hairs. ]

Maybe it was only a matter of time. [ Before their paths crossed again, before they ended up back in each other's orbit. She hasn't seen him in the flesh yet, but it's incredibly unfair that the sound of his voice still conjures a faint pulse between her legs, a subtle echo of her own quickened heartbeat. And then she gets a somewhat terrible idea. ]

Are they keeping you on the clock 24/7, or will you be in a position to buy me a drink one of these nights?

Edited 2025-06-01 19:54 (UTC)

( That they both ultimately want the same thing might mean it never would have worked and it took getting into the white house of all places to explore that side of himself. He saw a girl he loved, a girl he could take care, but he also saw an equal. A kindred spirit. )

More like, 20/7.

( He'll be able to be off the clock. To sleep - when sleep doesn't elude him.

That said, and is implied, he has the time. And he is more than willing. Why can't he say that. He was so young. So was she. Things happened how they should. Or had to. He's a man of absolutes. )

I'll buy a drink. We've come a long way from $2 beers.

[ When she flings out the suggestion, she's fully anticipating that he'll find a way to politely decline — that he'll come up with a list of all the reasons why they shouldn't. It's more surprising, then, when he doesn't.

It's equally surprising when he makes her laugh — a soft, kind of breathless chuckle, but a laugh nevertheless. ]

We have, haven't we? [ Even if she doesn't voice it as a question.

Suggesting he meet her tonight would come off as too desperate for her liking; besides, they have the black-tie dinner to attend, and he's likely occupied with having to ensure various rooms have been secured on behalf of his newest client. ]

Tomorrow night. Anywhere but the piano bar. [ Because she suspects Ash and Embry have already staked their claim there, and she'd rather not run into them when she wants to enjoy her night for once. ]

I like the piano bar.

( Or, he would. He's looking forward to it. It's not often a house has its' own piano bar. He's a man of the classics, but he can acquiesce. )

Wherever you want, Gwen.

( He'll be there, like that old song.

He drops his head back against the closed door, listening to her breathe. Pushing him to say anything else.

He doesn't miss her. He's far too old for that. But, maybe he misses what was. What they could've been. The ghost of a good thing lost. If it was ever theirs to have in the first place. )

I should go. Finish unpacking. Post up.

( Get to work. Case the grounds. Earn his keep. Run into so many unexpected faces. )

Thanks for calling back.

( He hates himself. Who thanks someone for that? It's fine. )

Then you can case it ahead of time.

[ Just to be sure. She's well aware that Embry is hard at work attempting to find guests for whatever debauchery is being organized on behalf of the president, but that doesn't mean she's eager to find herself in the position of plaything — even if there is one, very small part of her that would fuck Ash, or even Embry, if she was feeling especially self-destructive.

She hums once, softly, at the old nickname; his dangles on her lips, but goes unspoken. ]

I've gotten worse butt dials.

[ And now, if nothing else, she's getting a free drink out of it — even if she's already picturing exactly what to wear, how to look her most devastating, by the time she finally walks into that bar. Selfishly, she wants to see if she can make his jaw drop, like old times. ]

Goodnight, Riley.

Hand.

( Kind of.

And she remembers his. Probably also his butt, and he, hers. )

Goodnight, Gwen.

[ resting atop your pillow: a luxe, cream envelope, your name embossed in gold letters, holding a textured invitation — ]

Once you're back topside, let me known if you'd like to talk.

So I take it the soldier part was true.

[ who uses "topside" in regular conversation? ]

That's about the only thing. I was being honorably discharged last I checked, but I came here instead, so, who knows if they just threw me into a hole never to be seen again.

( Court-martialed or worse.

He knows he wasn't. He knows he returns to Buffy. He knows their relationship completely falls apart. He betrays her. It makes the joke easier. )

I was never in the secret service though, nor was I privately contracted.

Edited 2025-07-09 19:41 (UTC)

It's hard to say whether everything's just on hold waiting for us until we get back.

For the record, I'm not a political pundit, nor do I have any interest in going into politics. I'm sure my grandfather would've preferred it that way, but I became a lecturer at Georgetown instead.

My ex-girlfriend is from the future, so, I think it's safe to say time ticks on. We just get taken.

I guess that's not a promise of anything.

Guessing you didn't lecture on politics.

I can't decide if that's more reassuring or less.

English literature, but my focus is medieval-era.

Is anything here?

Very not 2000's politics. I'd ask who the president is, but I'm not even sure this world we're in even has a president.

You've already met him.

[ maxen ashley colchester, president of the united states — who had summoned her for a meeting she'd never ended up making it to, because she'd arrived here instead. ]

And the vice president, as it happens. [ embry moore. brother in arms, running mate, and the other man responsible for breaking her heart, responsible for bringing her to ash himself — or convincing her to meet him, at least. ]

( that's real? that doesn't make everything else real. what does she know about him and the president. the "president." )

Not where I come from.

But, in your world, they really are the leader of the free world and his second in command?

I didn't think so.

In mine, they are. Though I knew them both long before Ash was elected.

[ she'd been the girl who had knelt in broken glass before the future president, who had written him emails promising him all manner of things he could do to her while he was overseas, who had watched him return with jenny and flung herself into embry's arms, instead.

saying she "knows" both of them is an understatement. ]

Edited 2025-07-12 18:15 (UTC)

I had no idea.

( and he'd like to think she isn't aware of one side - well, two twisted sides of that coin he still can't make heads or tails of. )

It's George Bush. Where I come from.

Before Ash, then. He ran third-party.

[ which made his victory more difficult, but certainly not impossible — not for the champion of carpathia. ]

That part of the narrative spun for him was true.

Yeah, we've run a two party system for longer than I've been alive. The green party, the independents - tried. But, it's always red or blue.

That's usually how it goes, but Ash had a way of winning voters over.

It's the charm, isn't it. And the pedigree. A war hero always stokes his base.

I'm sure the all-American good looks didn't hurt.

Probably didn't.

inbox for saltburnt;

text — un: BETTY

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un: t.laughlin

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text — un: LITTLEPRINCE (private)

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text — un: COLCHESTER

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cw: nsfw hahaha

cw for ash

😔

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text | un: hzf - during lockdown

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