[ has anyone ever, in life, felt reassured to see him? maybe ash during their years deployed in carpathia as tensions turned into a war, just because seeing him meant embry hadn't gotten himself recklessly killed yet despite the abundance of opportunity. embry is typically the one disappointing the ones he loves, watching their faces twist into magnanimous suffering as he pulls away, never one to stay put for too long despite making his homes in people instead of places. his life is sacrificial, secondary to ash's grandeur. it's a choice he made, and any bitterness he holds is his personal fucking business — and fuck, is he bitter. not towards ash, not really, because he loves him too much to hate him like he wants to. but he has enough bitterness to feed the entire breakfast table and more.
but he is a politician, and he's spent years honing his vice president voice. he's not the same wild idiot he was at twenty-one, falling obsessively in love with another man under the crushing weight of don't ask, don't tell. the smile with which he greets alicent is equal parts adoring and mischievous, the smile that's earned him his rightful place as the most eligible bachelor in politics, a man that's known to have a new woman on his arm every night while spending his days standing loyally by the president's — his best friend ("friend") — side.
it's a marvelous sight first thing in the morning to see alicent's exposed back. especially since he'd spent the night in torment thinking of ash and greer and all the dirty things they might have been up to without him. ]
Morning, sunshine.
[ embry looks like he's stepped out of the pages of a magazine in pale trousers and a baby blue sweater that matches his eyes, his dark hair doing a perfect regency flop over his forehead. as a professional in his misery, it's undetectable that he was up half the night drowning his sorrows in a bottle of gin. with the practiced ease of a man who's helped many a woman into — and out of — a fancy dress, he begins zipping alicent closed before running into the obstruction of her enormous mane of hair. ]
How's your arm feeling this morning?
[ he asks the question only half because he cares; he is intensely distracted by the color of her hair, glorious, deep copper set in waves that rival the goddamn ocean. it's nearly the same shade as greer's cousin, abilene, and when embry lifts a gentle handful to sweep over her shoulder to clear a path for the zipper, all of last night's gin threatens to come back up as stale bile burning his throat.
he swallows swiftly and yanks the zipper the rest of the way up, setting his hands on her bare shoulders as he twirls her around to face him. ]
cw for potential mentions of rape
but he is a politician, and he's spent years honing his vice president voice. he's not the same wild idiot he was at twenty-one, falling obsessively in love with another man under the crushing weight of don't ask, don't tell. the smile with which he greets alicent is equal parts adoring and mischievous, the smile that's earned him his rightful place as the most eligible bachelor in politics, a man that's known to have a new woman on his arm every night while spending his days standing loyally by the president's — his best friend ("friend") — side.
it's a marvelous sight first thing in the morning to see alicent's exposed back. especially since he'd spent the night in torment thinking of ash and greer and all the dirty things they might have been up to without him. ]
Morning, sunshine.
[ embry looks like he's stepped out of the pages of a magazine in pale trousers and a baby blue sweater that matches his eyes, his dark hair doing a perfect regency flop over his forehead. as a professional in his misery, it's undetectable that he was up half the night drowning his sorrows in a bottle of gin. with the practiced ease of a man who's helped many a woman into — and out of — a fancy dress, he begins zipping alicent closed before running into the obstruction of her enormous mane of hair. ]
How's your arm feeling this morning?
[ he asks the question only half because he cares; he is intensely distracted by the color of her hair, glorious, deep copper set in waves that rival the goddamn ocean. it's nearly the same shade as greer's cousin, abilene, and when embry lifts a gentle handful to sweep over her shoulder to clear a path for the zipper, all of last night's gin threatens to come back up as stale bile burning his throat.
he swallows swiftly and yanks the zipper the rest of the way up, setting his hands on her bare shoulders as he twirls her around to face him. ]
Green's a great color on you.