— WELCOME TO SALTBURNT.

[ it’s not unusual for him to wake from the kind of deeply sticky sleep that only an afternoon session of liquor can induce, mouth dry and head hammered in with regret’s rusted nails, only this time he’s thrown for a time loop in a strangely european room, sunlight pouring through the parted curtains. prague? berlin? some sleepy little town where he’s spending his r&r reading waterlogged copies of king arthur and letting ash fuck him like he’ll be in love forever?

he turns with a rustle of expensive sheets and an ugly twist of his heart that can only be hope, expecting to see dark hair, bottle-green eyes, a chiseled jaw with an ever-present dusting of shadow. hoping, hoping, hoping.

no such luck, because life is shit, and this room isn’t goddamn europe. embry looks at the stranger occupying the space beside him in the opulent bed, another not-unusual occurrence, but a slightly irritating one, even if the stranger is rumpled in a decidedly pleasant way, which is maybe how they ended up sharing a bed in the first place. embry is not the most discerning of lovers, since his appetite includes nearly everything under the sun.

he slips out of bed and inspects the room, but loses interest quickly at how similar it is to vivienne’s mansion, a snobby trait that would probably make him unlikable if he voiced his apathy to wealth. pulling fresh clothes out of the closet, he dresses in slacks and a white button-down, squinting in the sunlight before finally yanking the curtains closed with a mumbled curse.

looking at his barely-conscious companion, he slides onto the bed, his shirt hanging open, and puts on his most charming grin even while his eyeballs threaten to pulse right out of his head. ]

Hey. You wanna go downstairs and bring me up a plate?

[ breakfast? self-serve? while he has a hangover? fuck off. ]

— LET THEM EAT CAKE.

[ his costume has long-since been debauched, though he doesn’t remember which of the party-goers popped the buttons and which one spilled wine on the pretty blue fabric, and is the red across his mouth lipstick or frosting or something else entirely? roman architecture is perfect for snorting cocaine, and he’s far enough gone not to care — not when the grass is this soft and the stars are so bright and he can almost pretend that he doesn’t have a hole so wide in his chest that his heart practically falls out every day. ]

We could have a wedding here. [ he’s stolen someone’s lace veil, which he’s been carrying around for the last half hour he’s been wandering the perfectly manicured maze, hopelessly lost and half wondering if someone might find his body out here by midday tomorrow. ] We could elope. I don’t believe in God, so we don’t need anyone ordained.

[ it makes perfect sense to him, and fuck, no one knows how badly he wants to be someone’s husband, and how he gave up the chance twice because of reasons he can’t even put into words right now because he’s too drunk and high and politically fucking furious about it.

he swallows down his sorrow, placing the veil atop his companion’s head, then swoops down to one knee, the grass staining the expensive fabric of his trousers. his cheek nuzzles against your hip, his fingers trailing down the edge of one thigh. ]

Marry me.

— or wildcard him!

[ ooc: will default to brackets. check out his info + permissions here. embry is very much your problematic fave so i’m open to all kinds of fuckery. he comes from the new camelot trilogy by sierra simone where he is a subby switch and his kinks are wide and varied. 100% bisexual. ]