#in my mind shes about 37 or so and never let go of the dismissal she faced in school. over ten years later and it pisses her off-- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

floralseokjin · 4 years

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⤑ made-up love song viii.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, angst, just straight up angst and drama, arguments, both seokjin and nana are frustrated, both have reasons to feel hurt, both make mistakes words; 5,122

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

You looked at Nana, chest a little tight, something heavy in your stomach. When your eyes locked the corners of her mouth curled upwards. “The stepmom!” She sneered.

Your face fell, confused at first, as you attempted to make sense of her words, of her anger. You didn’t understand what was going on, but unable to stop yourself, irritation began creeping its way up your body, heat prickling your face. Confrontation made you uncomfortable, but under appropriate triggers, you often saw red. You opened your mouth, ready to say something – you didn’t quite know what – but then your gaze fell to Arin. Still clutching her mom’s hand. Her eyes were on you now, still wide and brimming with tears. She looked frightened. You came to your senses.

There was no good getting angry. Especially in front of a child. By your side, Seokjin straightened his back, letting go of your hand to step in front of you slightly. You appreciated the thought, but you didn’t really need protecting. You could look after yourself.

“Stop embarrassing yourself, Nana.”

Caught off guard for the second time in under five minutes, the tone of Seokjin’s voice threw you for a loop. The venom you heard unnerved you, a sick feeling twisting your gut. You’d heard him stressed, you’d heard him tense, you’d even heard him stern a few times on the phone, but you’d never heard his voice filled with such bite like this.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Nana spat back, her long hair flipping around as she raised her hand to point at him. “Not when you’ve been playing house with your daughter’s teacher, letting my daughter call her stepmom.”

Seokjin chuckled, the sound humourless. He shook his head, practically laughing in her face. “I don’t know where you’ve heard that from because it’s not true.” The look on Nana’s face told you she didn’t believe a word he said.

Seokjin bent down, attention on Arin. He held his hand out, wanting her to take it. “Arin, come here,” he asked, voice gentle, nothing like how he’d spoken to her mother. She let go of Nana’s hand and slowly made her way over. He immediately wrapped his arms around her middle. “Tell daddy where you got that word from.” She still looked afraid, hesitating as she opened her mouth. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you,” he reassured, stroking her hair.

“Mommy is.” Arin’s voice shook, one lone tear falling down her cheek. It broke your heart.

“Mommy isn’t mad at you.” Seokjin’s voice was a murmur, but as he looked up at his ex-wife he had to try his best to sound composed. “Right?”

Nana stared at him for a moment, her dark eyes piercing through him almost, but he didn’t flinch. Her gaze fell to the back of her daughter’s head, immediately softening, the regret obvious on her face. “No, darling, mommy isn’t mad at you. I’d never be mad at you.”

Her words comforted Arin, and she looked up at her father, small voice still trembling with emotion as she explained. “Suzie told me that’s what Y/N is because she’s your girlfriend. She has one too.”

Seokjin exhaled slowly. “So, you heard it from your friend?” Arin nodded, and he quickly embraced her, rubbing her back as he soothed her. “That’s okay. No need to be upset.” You heard her sniff into his shoulder, but Seokjin’s attention was already on Nana again.

“Happy now?” He shot, not giving her any time to reply. “Now get out of my house.”

“Excuse me?” Her nostrils flared.

“You heard me. Get the hell out of my house!”

“Seokjin,” you breathed, reaching for his shoulder. He needed to remember everything he was saying was being heard by his daughter. He might be mad right now but he needed to think of Arin.

As if Nana realised too, she took control. “Arin, go upstairs to your room and let me talk with your father.”

Seokjin’s eyes flashed in anger. “Don’t tell her what to do in my home.” Nana scoffed, but Seokjin’s attention was back on Arin. He cupped her face in his hands.

“Sweetie, why don’t you go and play upstairs for a little while, okay? Daddy will come and check on you soon.” She nodded slowly, her tears dried. At least that was a positive. He kissed her cheek and stood up, encouraging her to make her way out of the room and upstairs with a nod. As she passed by you, you gave her a small smile. She returned it. You thought someone should at least accompany her to her room, but you thought best not to suggest it. It wasn’t your place.

There was silence, a few moments as they waited for Arin to be safely out of earshot. Your heart drummed against your ribcage, still feeling nauseous. This wasn’t over just yet. Nana had no intentions of leaving.

“Hypocrite,” she scoffed under her breath.

“What did you say?” Glancing over at Seokjin, you saw his jaw was clenched, his gaze hard, unwavering as he stared at her.

“I called you a hypocrite.” She sounded unbothered, eyes finding yours. “You don’t know him at all, sadly. You’ll soon find out how miserable he is. How frustrating it is when he always has to right. Mr. Perfect, aren’t you, Jin?” She was trying to rile him up, get a reaction. “Could never do anything wrong.”

The way she called him Jin made you feel funny. It was so…personal. It had never crossed your mind to use the shortened version of his name. It had always been Seokjin for you.

“Nice try,” he gave a hollow laugh. “Say what you want, we don’t care.”

That much was true. Nana’s words wouldn’t make you doubt anything. Your relationship with Seokjin was solid. His relationship with Nana was nothing similar.

“So when were you planning on telling me?”

Just like that you felt your heart drop, turning to look at Seokjin on instinct. You must have understood wrong. Nana knew about you, right? He’d told her about you, surely?

“Did you just think you could pretend I didn’t exist?” Seokjin stayed silent, only infuriating Nana even more. “Answer me! How long has it been going on for?”

“It’s none of your business!” He exploded causing you to jump. You had never once heard him raise his voice. His face was red, his blood pressure soaring.

“None of my business?!” She cried, laughing in disbelief. His shouting did nothing to deter her. They were used to arguing, you guessed. “It is when my daughter is concerned.”

It was Seokjin’s turn to scoff. “Oh, so now you care? You’re a joke.”

Nana’s expression faltered. It took a moment for her to compose herself. “What is that supposed to mean?” Her tone was icy.

Seokjin didn’t give her an answer. “I don’t owe you anything, Nana. You’re nothing to me anymore.”

“I’m the mother of your daughter!” She was enraged, her eyes wide as she glowered. “You shouldn’t have kept this from me. I had no clue, Jin!” His indifference infuriated her even more. “Not one! Did you tell Arin to keep quiet?”

That had him biting, face scrunching up at her ludicrous claim. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Then why,” she demanded, “why was I so oblivious?!”

“Do I come up in conversation much? Maybe there’s your answer.” Seokjin shrugged. “When was the last time we were in the same room together?”

“Don’t! No, Jin, don’t use that as an excuse.” Nana’s voice wavered, words dotted with an emotion you hadn’t heard yet.

You felt a pang of guilt. You’d been so oblivious too. Hadn’t realised she had no clue of your existence. You understood her frustrations. It was difficult not to. Seokjin was adamant though. Ruled by his emotions. He couldn’t see his fault.

“You let our daughter stay with a stranger last weekend!”

But that hurt.

You weren’t a stranger. You had known Arin for months. You adored that little girl and she liked having you around. You weren’t just anyone. Desperately, you tried to keep it together. Logically yes, you were a stranger to Nana. She had a right to be mad. You knew that.

Although Seokjin didn’t see it that way, defending you angrily. “Y/N is not a stranger!”

“To me she is!” Nana shouted. “I didn’t have a clue. What if something had happened to Arin?”

You wanted to say something. To tell her you understood her reservations. Maybe you even wanted to stick up for yourself, but you couldn’t find the words. Guilt was eating you up.

“Just shut your mouth,” Seokjin hissed. His defensiveness made you nervous. “You don’t care. If you did you would have dropped everything and said yes when I called you.”

“I was working.” Nana ran a hand through her hair, face patched red. “You think I didn’t want to say yes? I thought you’d just cancel or ask your parents to help out.” Then her eyes fell on you, that familiar sneer on her face. “Instead, you asked her.”

Taken aback, you opened your mouth, words rushing out. “I’m really sorry you had to find out about our relationship this way, I… I thought–”

“I don’t want to hear it, stepmom.”

Your cheeks flushed, anger bubbling at her dismissal. She wasn’t even going to hear what you had to say? “I’ve never referred to myself as Arin’s stepmother.”

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “And what if I don’t believe you?”

Before you could defend yourself Seokjin flew in, in front of you once more. You felt fresh anger, but everything was moving so fast you didn’t know how to place it. “Don’t speak to her like that. God, you’re such a condescending bitch.”

“And you’re a smug, arrogant bastard.” She shot right back immediately.

Seokjin scoffed. “Don’t try to deflect. You’ve just heard Arin say she learned that word from a friend. Do you think I’d force my own daughter to lie?”

Nana stared at him, her breathing laboured with anger. Her eyes flicked to you and then back at Seokjin quickly, a devious smirk spreading across her face. “She’s younger, Seokjin. Having a midlife crisis?”

Seokjin exhaled slowly, his voice calm as he replied, lips twitching up in amusement. “Your goading won’t work.”

Although she still tried. “What would Arin’s school think? Knowing you’re fucking your daughter’s teacher.”

You didn’t take kindly to threats, no matter the situation. Straightening your back you spoke clearly, voice raised a little. “I’m not her teacher anymore and the school already knows.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Nana,” Seokjin sighed softly, taking your hand. It didn’t feel as comforting as it usually did. “So just let me be happy. It’s the least you can do.”

That did it. Nana saw red instantly. “Oh, quit playing the victim!” She exclaimed, laughing at his seeming absurdity. You prayed Arin couldn’t hear all the commotion. The house was large enough, the walls thick enough, but who really knew. “Am I not allowed to be mad? You’ve kept this relationship,” she mocked, eyeing your laced fingers, “a secret this entire time. You’ve been playing happy families with my daughter.” There was a beat of silence. “I’m Arin’s mother.”

“Yes, but that’s all you are.”

A noise fell from Nana’s mouth. “I know, I know, you hate me. You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.”

“I don’t hate you, Nana.” With a sigh, Seokjin let go of your hand, rubbing his temples. “That would imply I still care. I don’t. I stopped caring a long time ago.”

Nana rolled her eyes. “This again.” You on the other hand were lost.

Seokjin’s eyes locked on hers, gaze steady, just like his words that seemed to knock you for six. “I stopped caring the moment I found you in bed with another man.”

You probably couldn’t hide the shock from your face, mind reeling, but they didn’t seem to notice. You were barely concentrating on what they were saying anymore.

“Shut up.” Nana shot, provoking him further. “You never cared, Jin. Never. I did you a favour when I fucked Jaehyun. It gave you the perfect excuse to leave because you were too much of a coward to do it otherwise.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” Seokjin scoffed quietly, but you could tell by his face he was visibly irritated. Maybe. He felt like a stranger right now. “Believe what you want.”

“I will because it’s a fact.”

Seokjin’s chest heaved with anger, breathing heavily as he failed to keep calm. “I didn’t leave sooner because I wanted Arin to be happy!” His voice broke with emotion. “I wanted to stay together for Arin’s sake.”

“And look how bitter that made you.” Nana laughed, her eyes quickly finding yours again, remembering you existed. “Are you taking notes?” She folded her arms across her chest. “This is what will happen. He’ll promise you the world and then a few years later hate your guts.”

You looked at the floor, unable to rebuff her claims even if you wanted to. Your thoughts slipped to last night, out on the deck… The way Seokjin had held you, gazed at you, the words he’d said... I want to give you the world. It was silly to let Nana’s words sting, but they did, nevertheless. Last night felt like a lifetime ago.

You felt a strong arm embrace you, wrapping around your shoulders as Seokjin held you to him. It did little to comfort you. Your head was whirring, thoughts swarming you. “Y/N is nothing like you, so don’t.” He warned, glaring across at Nana. “Don’t you dare try to compare our relationship to the one I had with you.”

Nana laughed loudly, her face contorting as she yelled. “What am I like then, Jin? Go on! Tell me! I’m so fucking curious!”

“You’re a cold, heartless cow who can’t even be bothered to be a mother to her own daughter!” His words flew out as if they’d been impatiently waiting for the opportunity.

“Seokjin!” You exclaimed in shock, spinning your head to look at him. He was letting his emotions rule his head, so much so, he didn’t even bat an eyelid at your voice, continuing his tirade.

His arm let you go as he stepped closer to his ex-wife. “Do you know why Arin probably felt so comfortable calling Y/N her stepmom?” It was a question not meant to be answered. “It’s because she’s been there for her these past few months. Where have you been, huh? She’s so used to you cancelling plans that she always expects the worse.”

You were gobsmacked, unsure what had just left his mouth as you tried to make sense of his words. He couldn’t be comparing you both. He couldn’t be using you to hurt Nana. Right?

“That’s not fair, I haven’t cancelled in weeks.” Nana’s voice was quiet, a far cry from her earlier volume, and you took a glance, noticing that her wide eyes were shining in the sunlight that streamed through the window. She seemed smaller now, less imposing.

“Bravo,” Seokjin spat, beginning to slowly clap his hands. “What do you want, a round of applause?”

“I can’t help it I’m busy with work. That’s why we agreed she’d live with you.” Nana sounded clearly upset now, Seokjin’s words striking a nerve. You couldn’t help but feel bad for her.

“And I’m not busy?!” Seokjin wasn’t done. “Your excuses don’t work on me. They never have.”

“I love my daughter. Don’t you dare try to insinuate otherwise.”

Seokjin wasn’t listening. “You came here just to create a scene. You didn’t think about Arin at all, did you? You made her give you all the details just to twist the knife in. That’s all you care about. You can’t handle the thought of me being happy because you’re so goddamn miserable!”

“Just come out and say it, Jin!” She shouted, arms out. “You think I’m a terrible mother.”

With a casual shrug of his shoulders, he replied, “I never said that, but if the shoe fits.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, a sick feeling turning your stomach. You didn’t want to be here anymore. You didn’t want to be involved in this shouting match. You didn’t want to see your boyfriend this angry, you didn’t want to hear him speak like this.

Eventually, Nana’s voice pierced through the silence. It wavered but she kept her cool, head held up high. “Well, thank you, Jin. Thank you so much for finally telling me how you feel. How very brave of you. Finally.”

You watched as she straightened her jacket and smoothed down her hair, and then she took a step forward. She was heading for the door.

“That’s it?” Seokjin scoffed, his voice hoarse. “You’re leaving without saying goodbye to your daughter?”

Nana didn’t reply, she didn’t even look at him, just carried on walking out of the room. You heard her heels against the tiles of the hallway, steps retreating.

“You really have no shame!” He called after her as you both heard the front door open, and then it clicked shut. “Fuck!”

You jumped at the sudden raise of tone, watching him kick the footrest beside the chair across the room in temper. He had his back to you, his shoulders shuddering with his heavy breathing. You swallowed, feeling your throat dry but you couldn’t say anything. This was all new to you. This side of your relationship, this side of Seokjin. Actually, this whole situation was unlike anything you’d been involved in before. You’d had your fair share of relationship drama in the past, that was a given, but this… You were in over your head. This wasn’t about you. This was a situation involving Seokjin and Nana. You didn’t know what to say or do to make it better. In all honesty, you didn’t even want to try.

“Daddy?”

The tiny voice from behind startled you both, and you whipped your head around to see Arin in the doorway. Her eyes were pulled wide, worried and confused. It made your heart hurt. A small part of you couldn’t help but feel to blame.

“Did mommy leave?” She asked, her gaze on her father, who was staring blankly ahead.

“Yes, she did,” was all he said, stunning you in the process.

“Seokjin, you can’t just say it like that!” You exclaimed, looking at him properly for the first time. Arin had walked into the room by now, hovering by your side, a hand to her mouth as she flicked her thumbnail over her teeth nervously.

Seokjin’s eyes met yours, refocusing before something flickered inside of them – realisation. He looked down at his daughter, voice softening instantly. “She had to go home, Arin. Something came up.”

You could tell by her face she didn’t quite believe him. She was a bright kid, not that you thought Seokjin was undermining her intelligence, but she knew something was wrong and you didn’t think it was fair to just gloss over the issue.

“Why don’t you watch some cartoons?” He suggested, guiding her to the sofa. “I’ll make you something to drink. What would you like?”

She gave him a small smile as he passed her the remote control. “Hot chocolate, please.”

The tiniest of smiles lifted the corners of his mouth too. “Okay, one hot chocolate coming right up.” He turned to you, a hand brushing yours for a brief second, voice low as he asked you a question. “Can you stay with her?”

Your nod was barely there, and you watched him walk out, heading for the kitchen. After a moment’s delay, you joined Arin on the sofa, attention on the television, watching the cartoon characters bounce around the screen, but you were in a world of your own. Arin’s voice’s tore you from it, her question rattling you.

“Why did she go?”

“I don’t know.” You hated yourself for lying to her but it wasn’t your place to explain. Especially not now given the circumstances. Your thoughts were captured once more. Nana had been clueless to your existence this whole time. Had you been a fool to assume otherwise?

“Did they argue?”

Your eyes fell to Arin’s, wanting to embrace her but thought better of it. You’d have to reassure her another way. With words. If you could. “It’s nothing to worry about, okay?” You smiled, the action stiff. “They’re just a bit angry at one another.”

“Because of me?”

Her question broke your heart. You shook your head hastily. “Of course not.”

She didn’t respond, turning back to the TV. She didn’t seem visibly upset, nothing like earlier, but maybe this was worse. She seemed despondent, quiet. You were reminded of when you were a kid, hearing your parents argue nonstop before their divorce. At times you used to feel at fault too.

“I’m sorry I called you my stepmom, I didn’t know it was wrong.” As she spoke she kept staring at the television, voice quiet.

“Arin, it’s okay, sweetie,” you told her, this time unable to stop yourself from wrapping an arm around her shoulders. You wanted to comfort her. She needed comforting. “You’ve done nothing wrong at all.”

You knew what children were like together. The conversation she’d had with her friend had been innocent. She’d had no clue what the weight of such a word could mean, or even do. None of this was her fault.

You held her for a while, getting consoled yourself almost as well, but time was passing and Seokjin hadn’t come back with her hot chocolate. You glanced at the clock on the wall, he’d been gone fifteen minutes. “I’m going to check on daddy,” you said, pulling away gently. “To see what he’s done with your hot chocolate.” You tried to joke around but your laugh sounded forced. Arin nodded, giving you a tiny smile as you stood up. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

You found him in the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters as he held a glass of whiskey in his hand. Arin’s drink wasn’t even half made. Irritation flooded your senses for a moment. You got that he was upset, angry, maybe even a little dazed by the situation, but he still needed to pull himself together and be there for his daughter. Drinking at two o’clock in the afternoon was unacceptable.

However when he saw you, his expression softened into worry, concern colouring his tone as he asked, “Is she okay?”

You swallowed down your frustration, but once again your mind was beginning to whir. You had so many questions, so many answers that you needed, but now wasn’t the time. He needed to make sure Arin was settled and then you both could talk.

You walked further into the room, speaking as you went. “She’s upset. She thinks she did something wrong, that’s why you and Nana argued.”

Seokjin sounded regretful when he sighed. His eyes closed, fingers tightening around the tumbler. “Do you think she heard any of it?”

In a clipped voice you replied. “I hope not.”

Hearing your tone he opened his eyes, coming to his senses almost. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, placing his drink down on the counter. He moved towards you, a hand ghosting over your back. “Are you okay?” Despite his tone of voice being one you were familiar with, his concern did little to console you. All you could do was nod your head.

“Don’t take any notice of her, okay?” He continued, his voice slowly changing again. “This is what she does. She pushes and pushes. She can’t stand–”

“Seokjin, enough,” you begged, exhausted. You could hear him becoming more and more irate.

The hand on your back froze and then dropped to his side. “Are you sticking up for her?” He more or less accused.

“What?” You looked at him, baffled. “Of course I’m not. You just need to calm down. I know you’re angry but your daughter needs you right now.”

His features smoothed out and he stepped back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right.” He sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You watched as he walked towards the fridge, getting out a carton of milk to pour inside Arin’s mug, chocolate powder waiting. He mixed it together with a spoon and placed it in the microwave, setting the timer. As it whirled around, you spoke again. “We can talk about it later.”

There was silence as he placed the milk back inside the refrigerator. He closed the door. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

He didn’t believe you. Turning back he folded his arms across his chest, staring at you. “She’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? That’s what she does.”

You heard yourself sigh. You didn’t want to do this now. Not with Arin just down the hallway. Why was he being so insistent? Your mind flew through the tonne of questions you wanted to unleash his way, but one slipped from your mouth before you could stop it. Before you could even acknowledge your own words.

“Did she really cheat on you?”

Seokjin looked taken aback, whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. Maybe you should have gotten your priorities straight, but stood in front of him right now, you felt deceived. You watched as he gave you a brief nod. Your heart dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He lifted his shoulders, not meeting your eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Your voice raised and you willed yourself to keep it down. “It seems like it was the reason you divorced her, Seokjin.”

The microwaved beeped but you both ignored it. “It was over long before then.” He chuckled humourlessly. “She was right, I was a coward.”

A part of you wanted details but you knew right now wasn’t the time or the place. Besides, you didn’t think he’d share anyway.

“Is that why you’re mad? Because I didn’t tell you?” He sounded worried, regretful, some other emotions you couldn’t think of right now.

You sighed softly. “I’m not mad, Seokjin. I’m just… I didn’t know.”

He went to step forward, to walk towards you but stopped himself. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. Especially with–”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear the words you knew he was going to say out loud. You couldn’t bear it. You’d told him about Donghae in a bid to open up – because you trusted him. Why hadn’t Seokjin told you about Nana? You couldn’t help but feel betrayed. You didn’t know if you were being fair or not.

“I should go and check on Arin,” he said suddenly, moving to the microwave to open it up. “Thank you for taking care of her. It’s more than her own mother could do, and she’s the one who caused this whole mess.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, closing your eyes. He wasn’t going to do it again. “Don’t do that. Compare us.” Seokjin looked your way, confused now. “I don’t know Nana. I don’t know what your marriage was like, not really, and I don’t know what her relationship with Arin is like. You shouldn’t have said those things to her. She was obviously upset.”

You understood that people spoke out in anger, that words just flew out, no matter how small the thought was, but it wasn’t an excuse. He was still emotional, but all you wanted him to see was the bigger picture.

“I don’t care,” he brushed off. “She needed to hear a few home truths.”

You scoffed. “And you used me to really drive them in, didn’t you?” You continued regardless of his frown. “It’s not a competition. I’m your girlfriend. I’m not even Arin’s stepmother. We haven’t talked about that yet,” – Seokjin went to speak over you but you stopped him with a hand in the air – “and I know Arin made an innocent mistake, but it obviously hurt Nana. She had no clue I existed, Seokjin. Not one!”

He did look guilty at that, dropping his gaze, but you weren’t done. “You can be mad because of how she acted but you’re also at fault…”

“I know,” he murmured. “I know that and I’m sorry.”

You weren’t the only one he should be apologising to, but by now you were too exhausted to keep this up. You couldn’t stay here, not when you were sure it would end in an argument. You didn’t want to fight with him. You needed space to think. On your own.

“I should go.” You told him, noticing his face wrinkle up in confusion.

He was in front of you immediately, clutching your hand. “Y/N, wait,” his voice was unsteady, “You don’t have to go. I’m really sorry that I made you uncomfortable.”

You appreciated his sincerity, and had no doubts that he meant his apology, but it still wasn’t enough to get you to stay. An I’m sorry wasn’t what you needed. It wasn’t as simple as that.

“Honey, please,” he begged softly. “This is me with all my baggage. I’m not perfect.”

Your brow furrowed. “I never thought you were, Seokjin.” This wasn’t about your so called flawless vision of him. He was human, just like you. Yes, seeing him mad like that had shaken you up at first but it wasn’t why you were leaving. Nor were you leaving because of the situation. Everyone had a history, or “baggage” as Seokjin chose to call it. It didn’t change how you felt about him. It was all just very overwhelming.

You put your other hand over his, silently telling him to let you go. Above all else he needed to spend time with his daughter. “Go and check on Arin. She’s waiting for her hot chocolate.” You told him softly.

He clasped your hand tighter. “Please don’t go.”

“I just need some space to think.” You admitted.

He watched you for a moment, eyes glassy – you expected yours were too – but ever the gentleman he respected your wishes and didn’t press you any further, no matter how much he wanted to plead with you to stay. Deep down he probably knew it was the right thing to do. If you stayed now no good would come from it. You could speak about everything when you were both ready. Whenever that was.

With a tight nod he slipped his hand from yours. You gave him a soft smile and turned your back to him. He had no choice but to watch you leave.

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #fic:mls #floralseokjin:writings

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obviouslygenuinely · 4 years

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Babygate Analysis/Conclusions: A Non-Larry Perspective

(Image Credit: Hollywood Life)

I'm prefacing this post with a few disclaimers:

After some consideration, I chose to write this without factoring in Larry whatsoever. No Larry-related points, proof, or speculation in any way. This is solely analyzing babygate from an unbiased perspective.

I don't claim to know the entire truth. It is impossible for any of us to know. What I conclude is based on direct evidence, circumstantial evidence, research, and analysis.

I am willing to discuss opposing views. I’m happy to talk about the topic in a civil, kind, and mature matter. I will dismiss any discourse that is aggressive, immature, and so on.

I did not include every single opinion/conclusion/piece of evidence I found. I condensed my thoughts as much as possible (and this is still a novel-length post). There are so many more points I can think of. However, babygate masterposts cover all of that; I’ll link to some of those at the end.

The conclusion points aren't in a very specific order. I aimed to list related points one after another. Aside from that, it's not in order of "hardest to weakest" evidence.

Please read “Author’s Notes” for additional clarity/input. They interject thoughts/etc. that I feel are necessary to include.

Lastly, I included links to every source I cited in this post. However, I did not tag the Tumblr users. I’m not sure if they are comfortable with having Babygate questions/comments directed to their blogs. If you are a linked source and want to be tagged, please let me know!

My Initial Reaction To Babygate

In February of 2020, I received several messages on LateToLarry requesting that I analyze something called “babygate”. I had no idea what babygate meant at the time.

I learned what it meant, and prior to any research I felt the theory was so absurd. I also felt uncomfortable analyzing it because I believed I’d feel bias as a single mom. The idea of discussing a random child in depth initially bothered me, too. I declined to analyze it last year.

However, I did a LOT of research over time. My opinion has changed significantly. Below, I’ve shared my main conclusions and analysis about babygate. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy my post!

1. No Paternity Test Was Performed Prior To The Pregnancy Announcement

Louis was/is a prominent celebrity and has a current net worth of $70 million. From legal, financial, and practical standpoints, it makes no sense for him to choose not to get a test.

It’s unheard of in Hollywood and the entertainment industry. Any sensible team -lawyers, PR reps, managers, advisors, etc. - would not just go along with it. They are employed to protect his career and image.

The Opposing Views

A. “Briana/Louis didn’t want to risk miscarriage with prenatal testing.”

Non-invasive testing is completely safe for fetuses and pregnant women, so there’s no medical reason for the lack of testing.

B. “Louis chose not to get the test done because he wanted to be a father and was invested in the pregnancy/parenting.”

Time has shown that this is not true. Louis does not have custody; there was a brief custody case in 2016 that led nowhere. He does not have a consistent or prominent role in the child’s life.

Conclusion

There is no logical reason for the lack of paternity testing prior to the announcement unless Louis knew he was not the father and all parties knew this to be true.

2. There Was No Confirmation Of A Paternity Test After The Birth

I’ll keep this section fairly short. A quick Google search returns dozens of conflicting reports. Many of them state that Louis demanded a paternity test shortly after birth. Other reports state that he has never pursued a paternity test.

Here are a few examples:

“Louis Tomlinson not interested in paternity test” - Business Standard

“EXCLUSIVE: Louis Tomlinson Demanded a DNA Test “As Soon as the Baby Was Born”” - InTouch Weekly

“Louis Tomlinson: No DNA Test Needed ... Positive Freddie's His Son” -TMZ

“Louis Tomlinson & Briana Jungwirth: WhyHe Had DNA Test Done on His Newborn Son” - Hollywood Life

This Twitter thread discusses TMZ reports that - as of 2020 - no DNA test was done.

Conclusion

There is no reliable confirmation that Louis pursued a paternity test. The media cannot come to a general/factual consensus.

Again, there is no reasonable explanation for the lack of paternity testing unless Louis knows he is not the father of the child.

3. The Conception-To-Birth Timeline Is Inconsistent/Unreliable

Pregnancy and conception as a whole can be rather confusing; timelines from conception to birth are unique to each person. Having said that, Briana’s timeline is full of glaring inconsistencies that don’t add up.

I’ll begin with this timeline based on bulletprooflarry’s post and my own research. Dates I’ve added myself include linked sources:

May 5th, 2015 - Louis and Briana were first seen together in public.

May 6th to May 31st, 2015 - Briana and her mom followed baby-related social medial accounts.

May 12th, 2015 - Louis and Briana were pictured together in public.

July 3rd, 2015 - Louis is seen with Briana’s brother in Hollywood.

July 14th, 2015 - The first pregnancy report is published.

August 4th, 2015 - Louis confirms pregnancy on GMA.

January 21st, 2016 - The child is reportedly born.

Based on the dates above, these are the possible dates/milestones for her pregnancy:

Scenario A - If conception occurred on May 5th, Briana was 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant on January 21st, 2016. This is considered an early-term birth and about 26% of births occur at 37 weeks.

Scenario B - If conception occurred on May 12th, Briana was 36 weeks and 2 days pregnant on January 21st. This is considered a late-term or late premature birth and about 10% of births occur at 36 weeks.

These dates matter because Briana’s alleged hospital stay was not consistent with a premature or early-term birth. She was pictured in public - healthy and holding a baby carrier - within one week of giving birth.

(Image Credit: Daily Mail)

(Image Credit: larrysbbrbb28)

If she gave birth based on the dates above, it’s extremely unlikely that she or the baby would be out in public so soon.

Below are screenshots of an additional timeline from an archived Tumblr post. It provides excellent points about more timeline inconsistencies:

The main inconsistencies and red flags are bolded in the post. It supports the unreliable conception timeline, and it also mentions my next point - the official pregnancy announcement.

The post above mentions that the Jungwirth family followed baby-related accounts before Briana could possibly know she was pregnant. Here’s one screenshot from skepticallarrie proving it:

I’ve also seen several posts that show inconsistencies with the size of Briana’s baby bump. Unfortunately, the most reliable post no longer exists. You can view a web archive of Briana’s pregnancy photos, but most of the image links are broke.

The only post I have saved is a web archive of a long babygate post. The beginning of the post contains photos showing discrepancies in the size of Briana’s baby bump.

The Opposing Views

“Pregnancy looks different on everybody, everyone recovers differently, etc.”

Yes, this is true and a valid point! As a woman who has gone through multiple pregnancies and two live births, I truly understand this argument.

However, the sheer amount of inconsistencies are what make this a red flag. There are too many unreliable and contradicting points to brush this off. It goes beyond the point of “well, each person has a different experience”.

Conclusion

There are a few conclusions/scenarios I believe you can draw from the information above:

Briana was pregnant prior to meeting Louis.

Briana was never pregnant in the first place.

Both are valid to consider, but I personally believe she was never pregnant.

(Author’s note: My calculation for dates are based on the date of alleged conception. Most due date calculators, by default, use the date of a woman’s last mentrual period - LMP - to provide estimations.

I also used Date Duration Calendar for my calculations. Accessible due date calculators only allowed me to input dates from 2019/2020. Depending on the tools and dates you use, your mileage may vary.)

4. The Announcement Itself Was Highly Unusual

This point ties into the first and third points. I don’t consider it a major piece of evidence, but it’s noteworthy due to the other points.

So, there are a few reasons why the Good Morning America announcement stands out.

A. If Briana got pregnant on May 5th, then she was approximately 10 weeks pregnant when the first pregnancy report was published. This also means she was approximately 13 weeks pregnant at the time of the GMA announcement.

If Briana got pregnant on May 12th, she was approximately nine weeks pregnant at the time of the first report and approximately 12 weeks pregnant at the time of the GMA announcement.

B. The public announcement on Good Morning America raises a lot of questions. I’ve had multiple issues embedding the video; the bolded link takes you to the GMA announcement on YouTube.

Anyways, these questions/thoughts - disregarding any Larry theories - come to mind when watching the video:

This is a segment for promoting/discussing their album/music.

The baby announcement is the sole non-album/music related topic that is mentioned during the segment.

The announcement is not organically worked into the segment as a natural talking point.

Louis’ reactions - such as bringing the microphone to his lips and not talking - is very unlike his standard interview demeanor.

The male interviewer and the band members have noticeable facial expressions and body language that suggest discomfort, stress, or awkwardness.

A post by skepticalarrie draws similar conclusions. Her post is much more detailed than mine, and I highly recommend reading/viewing it.

(Author’s Note: I’ve touched upon this on LateToLarry and will make a post here eventually, but body language and facial expressions are valid. They’re valid to the point that they are used in court cases.)

Conclusion

My conclusions here are twofold. One is that:

Announcing a pregnancy - especially a celebrity-related pregnancy - this early is extremely uncommon and unlikely.

The announcement itself seems out of place and very forced.

This particular point, to me, is not extremely strong evidence. I still think it’s worth keeping in mind and is relevant to other points here. So, I’ve included it either way.

5. Briana Posted Stolen Pregnancy/Baby Photos On Social Media

(EDIT: I wrote this piece before the recent release of Briana’s alleged ultrasound and don’t have time to add it. It’s pretty strong proof and can easily be found in recent babygate posts.)

Babygate posts often point out that Briana and the Jungwirth family used stolen/fake pregnancy and baby photos on social media. It’s a well-known topic that’s often discussed.

I’m condensing this section to a few examples. I encourage additional research if you’d like to see more.

A. This Tumblr post shows stolen baby bump photos that Briana’s cousin Ashley posted on Twitter:

B. This Tumblr post and Twitter post show a stolen baby photo that Briana posted on Instagram:

(Author’s Note: Since I was not active in the fandom at the time, I am relying on information from other blogs and social media posts. I vetted my sources pretty well, but any false information is my own mistake.)

Conclusions

The only word that sums this up is “suspicious”. Using stolen photos of a pregnant woman/baby is not necessary if you are legitimately pregnant. That’s really what it boils down to. It lends to the conclusion that Briana was never pregnant.

6. Photos And Videos Of The Child Are Heavily Altered And Manipulated

It is indisputable that many photos and videos of the child are heavily manipulated to alter his appearance. This goes beyond filters, lighting, and angles.

Several detailed posts show the manipulations; here are some examples:

A web archive of all Photoshop evidence from tellmethisisnotlove

An in-depth post from genuineconspiracy that includes detailed photo evidence.

A video post from freefreddiereign that shows Photoshop evidence based on photos the child.

There is no doubt that his facial features are frequently altered. This is easy to conclude using any free software that detects Photoshop. As a photographer myself, I can easily spot the manipulations.

(Author’s Note: I know that directly discussing the child is controversial. When I first heard of babygate, my initial reaction was discomfort about analyzing a child.

I quickly learned/concluded that his family members are responsible for heavily putting him in the public eye. All content I’ve used for research is based on the family’s posts.

Still, I have personally chosen not post pictures of the child, but the links I am sharing contain photos/videos of him.

Additionally, I used FotoForensics on photos of myself prior to writing this. It was important to me to feel absolutely certain about this point. I’m fine with sharing my own FotoForensics images if anyone is curious.)

The Opposing Views

A. “Freddie looks like Louis in pictures that aren’t Photoshopped.”

Parentage cannot be based on whether or not a child looks like his mother/father. I understand the viewpoint, but it’s simply not evidence. Additionally, thinking the child looks like Louis is a matter of opinion.

There’s also the fact that appearance means nothing overall. Science backs up this statement very well. Examples and references:

“How can children from the same parents look so different?” by HowStuffWorks

“My Baby Looks Nothing Like Me: A Genetic Explanation” by FamilyEducation

Additionally, here is a personal anecdote. I have two sons close to Freddie’s age. One of them looks exactly like his father and nothing like me. The other looks exactly like me and nothing like his father. Despite how they look, they are both of them are our biological children.

Conclusion

There is no reasonable explanation for altering the child’s appearance - particularly to make him look more similar to Louis.

I cannot think of a single argument as to why the Jungwirth family would do this unless they need/want the child to look a specific way.

7. Johannah Deakin’s Official Obituary Does Not Mention The Child

When looking into babygate, I read the argument that the child is legitimately Louis’ son because he is listed as her grandchild in Internet-based obituaries and announcements.

I also read the counter-argument that Louis’ mother’s official newspaper/print obituary does not mention the child. I recall seeing proof, but I did not save it at the time. I did some research and this appears to be true.

The Doncaster Free Press is a local weekly newspaper in Doncaster, and it published an article about the funeral. The article is NOT an obituary itself, but it does list her obituary details. The publication does not list the child among the surviving family members.

If a mistake is made regarding these details, it’s typical for newspapers to post a correction addressing a misprint. Upon further research, the Doncaster Free Press did not issue a correction at any time.

(Author’s Note: I lost my own mother and am personally familiar with how local obituaries are written. Immediate family members - i.e. spouses and adult children - provide information regarding surviving family members.)

Conclusion

The conclusion here is straightforward. Louis and his family chose not to include the child in his mother’s official obituary. This strongly suggests that he is not legitimately related to Louis.

My Opinion-Based Conclusions

Update: After some consideration, I am saving my opinion-based conclusions for a separate post. I originally intended to include them here; transparency is important to me.

Unfortunately, the section became rather long and took away from the main post points. So, I’ll be working on a post that’s just my opinion-based conclusions. In the meantime, feel free to message me with any questions.

Final Thoughts

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my post! I appreciate the interest expressed for it, and I hope it lives up to expectations.

Again, I want to reiterate this is:

Not an all-inclusive post; I narrowed down my findings to seven points.

Not a masterpost on babygate.

Purposely omitting any potential Larry-related points to remove bias.

I’ve reread this quite a few times, and it’s as error-free as possible. If you spot any mistakes/errors, I’m completely open to making corrections. Just kindly let me know.

This list contains references/research about babygate that I consider the most reliable. It includes Larry and non-Larry related Babygate content.

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by Tumblr use genuineconspiracy.

A web archive of babygate posts by Tumblr user tellmethisisnotlove (her account was deactivated by staff).

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by darkrainbowlouis.

Tumblr posts tagged with babygate by skepticalarrie.

Lastly, if there’s interest in an opinion-related post or Larry-related post, I’ll consider writing them. Feel free to let me know as you all did with this post.

Thanks!

Amy (obviouslygenuinely/latetolarry)

#babygate #bg #louis tomlinson #briana jungwirth #freddie Tomlinson #baby tomlinson #end it #larry #larry stylinson #analysis

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yougotthat-write · 3 years

Text

Tinder (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: Female reader, fluff, Rollisi shenanigans, cringey and inappropriate pick-up lines, potential PTSD for former/current users of dating apps and all the awkwardness that ensues from it :)

Summary: Amanda and Sonny try to find the perfect match for their uptight (and while he would never admit it - lonely) A.D.A.

Read on AO3 here!

It had started off as a joke, really.

Rafael Barba would never sign up onto a dating app if it wasn’t against his will. When he heard the snickering of Amanda and Sonny when he stopped by the 16th precinct, his feet couldn’t help themselves but bring him over to the two detectives.

Amanda bit her cheek to settle herself as the ADA’s polished shoes made their way over. Sonny’s ears turned pink at the tips, which gave Rafael the tell-tale sign that Sonny and Amanda were up to no good.

Hands in his pockets, Rafael quipped, “What?”

Amanda and Sonny exchanged glances. The silence between the two was not a normal thing but when Rafael asked a second time - more aggressive - Sonny held out a cell phone to the lawyer. Rafael’s brows went up in question but when Sonny motioned him to take it, Rafael grabbed it. Looking down at the device, the screen lit up and a plethora of information singed itself into his brain.

Rafael Barba, 37

Manhattan, NY

Assistant District Attorney

Oh baby, I’ll give you so much due process, standing will be the only issue.

Rafael’s eyes widened at the dumb pick-up line. His thumb swiped through the photos. One was of an appearance on the news - dressed up in a suit on the steps of the courthouse with a furrowed brow and serious look on his face. One was him at Forlini’s - scowling over the rim of his bourbon while sitting at the bar next to a grinning Sonny. He remembered when Amanda took this picture. It was the day he told Sonny he could be his second chair. Another picture showed him actually smiling - dressed in a Tom Ford tuxedo, champagne flute in one hand while the other was resting on the waist of his date for that night. She was an oil company lobbyist that he hooked up with sometimes when she wasn’t in D.C.

“What is this?” Rafael’s eyes hardened as he looked up at the two detectives. Sonny flinched at Rafael’s tone. Amanda simply blinked at Rafael. She wasn’t one to deal with attitude willingly but given how uptight Rafael could be sometimes, she was letting it slide. Rafael’s eyes went back down to the dating profile and he felt an annoyance bubble within him. “What the hell is this?”

“Calm down,” Amanda said as she grabbed the phone back with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just a dating profile.”

“Of me!” Rafael looked at Amanda like she was speaking some foreign, alien language. “Why does it exist?”

Sonny’s face seemed to become more pink. A hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it as his mentor for all intents and purposes became more annoyed. “We just thought it would be fun-”

“You thought it would be fun impersonating a Manhattan A.D.A.!” Rafael’s voice was raised. A few passing officers gave some glances to the group. Amanda waved a dismissive hand to one of them, letting them know that Rafael wasn’t someone to worry about when angry. “You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested.”

Amanda snorted, “We were going to tell you about it when we got you a date.”

“Yeah,” Sonny added, “we just thought you were stressed lately and needed someone to... ya know.”

If looks could kill, Rafael Barba would have murdered two very well-liked and very hard working detectives right then and there in a New York police precinct. He would have to tell Olivia that she would be short staffed for god knows how long.

Rafael’s fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, taking a hard breath before looking back at the detectives. “You think I need your help getting laid?”

Sonny’s mouth gaped like a goldfish, trying to find words but nothing seemed to make itself at home in his pretty little head. He looked over at Amanda with wide eyes, hoping for her to smooth over the situation. Amanda simply shrugged her shoulders, “It’s not that we think you can’t get laid, Counselor,” she paused, eyes almost sympathetic and it made Rafael’s nostrils flare, “you just haven’t had… anyone around… long-term, you know?”

“I’m struggling to find where this is any of your concern,” Rafael pointed a finger at the two of them, “or why you would think I would find it on a dating app.” Rafael’s mind was flooding with things to make the lives of these two detectives a living hell. Maybe if he pulled some strings with Olivia, she’d put them on desk duty for a few weeks. “I want it deleted - get rid of it!”

Amanda held the device out of the prosecutor’s reach, giving him a few nods of understanding but she needed to tell him of one important thing, “But before we do that, you should know that there’s someone who matched with you-” Sonny nodded enthusiastically, “and she messaged you - us? - back.”

“It’s why we were laughing,” Sonny’s smile faltered when met with the fiery gaze of Rafael. He cleared his throat before continuing, “we found the dumb pick-up line on the internet and she shot back with one of her own.”

Rafael’s fire was lessened with the mention of a match. And she happened to message him? Amanda stepped closer to Rafael, finger mindlessly swiping from one screen and to another. There Rafael had seen the actual large amount of messages he was getting. “Seems like more than one match.” He muttered under his breath. And while this whole ordeal wasn’t something he necessarily wanted, the temporary boost of his ego made his shoulders straighten and his tongue dart over his lower lip.

“You’re very popular, Counselor,” Amanda’s brows wagged.

“But we like her the most,” Sonny said, “she seems fun!”

Rafael’s eyes rolled, before they settled on Amanda’s phone.

Are you the Court of Appeals because I’m tryna get overturned.

After he read the message, he couldn’t help the snicker. Back in his Harvard days, Rafael had heard just about every dumb pick-up line you could think of that was in the realm of lawyers. He may have even used a few of them but could you blame the guy. Rafael watched Amanda switch over to your profile.

Rafael swallowed. And then he grabbed the phone out of Amanda's hands. She let out a protest but Rafael had taken a few steps away and studied your profile like it was a law book and he had a final the next day.

It stated your name and your age. Then the same location as Rafael - Manhattan, NY. Your job was stated simply as a lawyer. Huh. That certainly piqued Rafael’s interest. In your bio, you had:

What better alibi could you have than spending the night with me?

He swiped through your photos. One was of you at the Central Park Zoo, scowling at a monkey who was seemingly doing the same thing back at you. Another was of you at a bar or a club - one arm thrown over the shoulder of another woman and a fruity drink held in your free hand. Your attention was focused on your drink rather than your friend or the person taking the picture. The last photo was of you at a brunch of some kind. You held up a mimosa with a wide smile and a large sun hat atop your head.

“Did you say anything back?” Rafael asked. Amanda shook her head with a smirk. You were certainly attractive and if you had taken the time to message Rafael on the cursed app then you must have thought that he was attractive too. He went back to the message you sent and swallowed again. “W-what should I say?”

Amanda’s smirk didn’t falter as she stepped over to Rafael, plucking the phone out of his frozen hands. Rafael heard the speedy tapping of the blonde woman’s fingers, tapping out a message quickly. Sonny stepped over, peeking down over Amanda’s shoulder. Rafael watched Sonny’s face as it went from curiosity to what Amanda was writing and to a lopsided smile, essentially giving his approval of the message.

Rafael didn’t like the idea of Sonny approving anything of his - especially if it came to how he got a date but he patiently waited until a swoosh noise came from the phone. Rafael stepped over to see what she had written but Amanda’s fingers were quick with logging out of the app and swiftly deleting it off her phone.

“Hey-” Rafael couldn’t stop the protest from his lips, brows furrowed. Amanda ignored him, grabbing a sticky note and a pen. She scrawled the login information for the account and slapped it onto his chest.

“I don’t want it on my phone if that conversation starts to get dirty,” Amanda said. Sonny chuckled.

“I think it started out pretty fiery.”

Rafael held the sticky note in his fingers. He could feel his phone in his suit pocket. It felt hot and electric against him, even through all the layers of clothes he wore. “Nevertheless, I’m deleting the account,” he looked over the two detectives with a hard gaze, “and you are to never to do this again. Or else I will be put in jail for voluntary manslaughter.” Amanda swiftly ignored Rafael’s threat whereas Sonny seemed to take it more seriously. The lanky man gave a nod before settling himself at his desk.

Rafael stepped away from the detectives’ desks and dug his phone out from his pocket. His fingers twitched and he felt this wave of embarrassment wash over him as he searched the app’s name and watched it download onto his phone. It seemed to take hours for the dumb thing to fully be situated onto his device. He tapped it, used the sticky note information to log in and was greeted with new profiles to swipe across. He ignored them and went to his messages to see what the pesky blonde detective had said. He hoped it wasn’t something too inappropriate. The last thing Rafael needed was headlines of him sexually harassing women over social media.

He hesitated for a second before tapping on the messages with you. He took a deep breath. He felt nervous. Was it because of the potential can of worms that Amanda could have unleashed? Was it because he found you attractive? Was it because the two detectives were right and it had been a while since he’s had anyone around? While Rafael was capable of finding a temporary suitor to share his bed, he couldn’t find anyone to become something more permanent.

His eyes searched the screen, brain trying to quickly decipher the jumble of letters on his screen. “Ay Dios mío,” Rafael muttered under his breath and the grip on his phone tightened. Rafael thought he read the message a dozen times, just over and over again, trying to really see if Amanda truly did send this to you. He tapped various spaces on his phone, trying to see if there was an undo button but to no avail, the message taunted him.

Something something dictum. Sleep with me.

Rafael was caught off guard by Olivia who called his name from her office door. Rafael cleared his throat, slid his phone back into his pocket with one hand and slid the other down his chest, smoothing out any wrinkles in his shirt. Rafael finally remembered why he was there at the precinct. He needed to do his job and watch a line-up be conducted. Olivia had sounded very confident over the phone, so he figured he had a simple day.

He had spent the rest of his day watching various victims come forward to pick out their attacker confidently. When the defense lawyer monotonously asked to speak with his client after the lineups were done, Rafael felt his phone buzz. For a brief moment, Rafael had forgotten the dating app debacle. He wondered if it was Carmen, telling him of more paperwork and messages that needed to be signed and answered.

But no, it wasn’t Carmen.

It was a notification from the stupid app.

You have a new message!

Rafael bit down on his bottom lip, finger hovering over the notification. He took a breath and tapped his phone. God, what is wrong with me? Grow some cojones, Barba. Rafael watched the screen load and then plaster your message into his line of vision.

Ah, this definitely is a catfish account because there’s no way an ADA would use a line like that.

Rafael smirked. Took a moment to think and then started to type.

The DA has very low standards these days.

You messaged back quickly.

If they’re hiring based on looks, then I’d say they have very high standards, Counselor.

Rafael’s hand lifted to scratch at his jaw, a smile breaking across his face. His eyes widened at another message from you.

Does the prosecution want to rest at my place later tonight?

The forwardness from you made Rafael’s smile turn into a smirk. If Olivia or Sonny had seen him, they would even consider to call it a cocky smirk.

Would you want to meet for drinks first or just take this back to chambers?

I suppose I could side-bar for some drinks.

Great!

He paused before sending another message.

Let’s just agree to not use any more lawyer puns.

Objection!

After setting up a time to meet up at a swanky bar later that night, Rafael entered the bullpen again but with an air of confidence about him. Amanda noticed the shift in energy within the counselor. The corner of her mouth ticked up, fingers fiddling with a pen as she leaned back in her chair, side-eyeing Rafael. “Line-up went well?”

Rafael picked a piece of nonexistent lint off his suit jacket. “It went great, Rollins.” She hummed quietly, eyes studying every inch of his face with amusement.

“We’re heading to Forlini’s tonight,” Amanda stated, “would you like to come?” At the mention of Forlini’s, Sonny peeked over at the two of them from his laptop.

Rafael gave one curt shake of his head. “I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.” And with that, Rafael had turned and exited the bullpen and towards the elevator. Even though he hated it in theory of what Amanda and Sonny did, Rafael couldn’t deny that he didn’t not like the outcome of it.

#rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fluff #rafael barba #raul esparza #raúl esparza #law and order fanfiction #law and order #law and order svu #svu #svu fic #rollisi #amanda rollins #sonny carisi #esparz-uh

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gallpall · 4 years

Text

canaan bubble redux as a womb for story/character arcs

I’m sure most of this has been posted about before but: ever since my initial read I’ve been obsessed with the gross bodily/gorey stuff in the Canaan redux and I wanted to organize some of my constant+chaotic thoughts!!

TM has said that a lot of the motifs/events in the bubbles are actually “Silent Hill stand-ins” for story elements and she hopes we pick up on stuff, so here’s my Attempt!

At the same time that Harrow’s mind is being made a tomb for Gideon Nav Wake’s subconscious is pulled in to act as a womb for certain plot elements right alongside it. The chronology/time period of HtN mimics a full nine-month gestation. There’s a lot of very literal imagery here (which is below the cut), but I also think we’re meant to see it as metaphorical: we’re able to glean some things about character arcs based on how everything in the bubble goes down.

I’m particularly interested right now in those ‘side’ characters in the bubble who aren’t actually dead, who barely appear in the bubble at all except to get summarily offed, all in very distinctive ways. Judith, Camilla, Palamedes, and Coronabeth.

(cw below cut for some pregnancy/insemination imagery, canonical body horror and gruesome bubble deaths rehashed)

First of all just some quotes showing some of the imagery that I’ve attributed to being Wake manifesting pregnancy trauma stuff (there’s possibly some of Harrow’s conception trauma here, too) seeping through, for the purposes of this line of speculation.

This isn’t nearly all of it, but some things that stood out to me as possibly comparing Canaan House 2.0 to a functioning reproductive system:

(ch. 21) a “collection of large, rusted pipette needles” -- turkey basters?

(ch. 35) “great, slithering, pulsing tubes” which contain “whitish-pearl bubbled globules”-- this perhaps recalls ovaries/fallopian tubes, with the ‘globules’ being follicles produced by superovulation for insemination, or corpus luteum that supply progesterone to maintain a pregnancy.

(ch. 45) “stretched webs of organ [...] like nets of sticky venous spiderweb” --uterine walls, maybe; it’s all over the windows, totally encasing them in Canaan’s rooms, and arguably even contracting like a uterus would: “every so often they would tremble uncertainly and erupt in floods of bloody, foamy water.”

in the next pgh we get some more of the tools Wake would have used to conceive/upkeep the pregnancy: “pipettes, broken glass-fronted containers filled with dark fluid,” skeletons sitting atop piles of “capsules or pills” perhaps hormones/supplements. (also holding Drearburh tools, the way Wake’s skelly would have been doomed to do)

(ch. 43) “from that hole emerged a clattering pile of plex scope slides, the type you would preserve a cell sample between“ -- Wake would’ve had to carry out the IVF process for implantation, this also seems like apparatus for that

(ch. 47) there’s the “libation” Abigail uses to summon Wake which is... well. It’s a “thin, milky, whitish liquid pooled at the base, sluggish in the cold,” and the summoning involves a bunch of ‘come’ commands, which I think might be Muir making a very elaborate jizz-adjacent “silly buggers with the emissions” joke.

Just a note, cause I’m hopeless about Pyrrwake: the Seconds’ quarters are almost completely preserved from the leaky body horror (though it’s still cold in there)--as if they represented a sanctuary in Wake’s subconscious. There are also letters in the nonagonal coffin room which spell out an anagram of “PYRRHA” (ch. 47).

So with all that in mind, I’d posit that the fake-ghost deaths are all metaphorical “rebirths” of various characters arcs for ATN. I haven’t delved into what this imagery might mean for Harrow or Gideon specifically because I know there’s a LOT and it’s probably above my theoretical paygrade (I would love for someone to tack on with that though!!) but I can talk about ‘side’ chars on a very big-picture level.

Judith’s simulacrum gets knocked off first (ch. 18); shot through the heart (both atria) while she and Marta’s ghost are trying to complete the winnowing trial. The Sleeper shoots her 7 more times after that, I guess partly just ‘cause she can, but Ortus notes that it seems like there was an element of "Anger” to it. It’s possible Wake wasn’t pleased to have someone messing around with Pyrrha’s lyctoral trial, infuriated that anyone would be attempting to replicate G1d/Pyr’s original downfall. She then ignores Marta entirely and climbs back in the coffin (now with the sword) once Judith’s out of the way.

[Marta’s] scarlet necktie looked redder too—by the time they’d gotten hold of Judith Deuteros the blood had dried hers nearly black.

Cohort red-and-whites being stained black with blood, like a certain high-collared BOE uniform... could be another little clue to Judith’s "heart” for the Emperor (and for Marta, and pretty much everything else she knew) being lost and her realigning--though not willingly, at least at first--with the other side.

Cam and Pal’s simulacrums are plainly executed (ch. 21), they have their “faces obliterated” each by a single gunshot, and it’s as if they just stood there and let it happen. In the bubble, “Harrow had never seen Sextus or Hect except from afar.” These simulacrums totally avoid having their features revealed to Harrow. I’m willing to bet their faces being obscured and then exploded is one of the clues we get to their eyes being swapped around the next time we see them in the epilogue and in ATN.

Regarding the twins: They are essentially non-extant in the bubble. Ianthe never appears because she’s still kicking and, in her own words, “doesn’t live alternate histories” (GtN ch. 15).

Coronabeth’s simulacrum scene (ch. 37) is SO vivid and cryptic. It fascinates me because it definitely is, in part, trying to tell us something poignant about the initiation of Corona’s “worse twin” arc in ATN.

[Corona] was turned away from Harrow, and her riot of hair—half-caught in a fillet, half-escaping—was soaking wet, a dark and crinkling amber in the rain. She was not fighting or arguing. She was still as a statue, and ready and waiting as a dog.

Sounds like the fake ghost preparing for that major shift in allegiance. Silas is the one to ‘dismiss’ her, with his “may the blood of your blood suffer,” which perhaps is a really Templar-y way of saying ‘now go wreck ianthe’s SHIT.’ When Harrow accuses him of sending Corona to her death, Silas asks “Death?”--as if he sees that what’s really just happened, at least metaphorically, is (re)Birth.

[Harrow] thought she saw, absurdly, a sudden gush of watery blood, as though the fog itself had been knifed; but it was gone almost as soon as she had seen it.

Sounds a bit like amniotic fluid/water breaking? Coronabeth doesn’t ever seem to hit the ocean (bodies of water=necromancy and that’s not her deal), she instead just kinda poofs, and Silas says she would have ended up “on her feet.” Coronabeth is ditching her family ties and is out for blood, and I think her charisma, willpower, and sheer desire for revenge will move her a long way in the ranks of Eden--probably even to the point of echoing Commander Wake’s ambitions and actions. I could delve into that damn portrait mirroring Ianthe’s obsession w/ Cyrus’ paintings on the Mithraeum... but that is a whole other post!

So all of these are fairly baseline observations and I think there’s a LOT more to be expounded on, if y’all wanna reply/reblog/DM with additions I would freaking love that, every time I open a page of this book I find something I missed before and it’s such a delight. Thanks for reading if you got this far!!

#the locked tomb trilogy #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #htn spoilers #shoutout to kallistoi and rusty-k for bouncing ideas around w me

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enjennie · 3 years

Text

Bottom’s Up

synopsis: the dreamies during a night of drinking somehow end up talking about their exes, revealing the different types of relationships and exes they have or had.

a/n: this has been long been in my drafts so Jisung was still a minor here, thus I didn’t give him any drinks lmao. Enjoy! btw, I’m still deciding if I should make Haechan’s backstory for this, or if the markHyuck one should do…

[10:37]

The boys have arrived, piling into Chenle’s condominium that was set up just to have their long awaited guys night. They planned this weeks prior, promising each other that after their finals they’d set aside time to drink away their thoughts and release any stress they have that built up.

By 10:50 bottles have been popped and cups have been poured, the boys sat in the balcony to feel the cool air of the city night.

“You guys really aren’t sharing?” Jisung watches as the older boys raise their glasses in celebration.

“You wait a few more months, sir,” Mark sets his glass down and pats the younger boy on the shoulder. Guy nights wouldn’t be complete without Jisung, even if he wasn’t allowed to drink yet. He never minded sitting in the living room, playing with Chenle’s console with Jaemin and then later on laughing at his older friends’ shenanigans once the alcohol hit them.

Renjun isn’t quite the drinker, but Haechan made him a bet and unfortunately, he lost. Being an art major wasn’t easy, he knew he had a few more things to finish before his semester ended but with that, Renjun drank to forget.

Besides his plates, he had nothing else to worry about. He’d been getting emails from companies waiting for him to graduate, a family happy to support him, but surprisingly, the boy lacked in the love department.

His previous relationships, only being flings and one night stands, none of them really ever stayed after the cuddles. Except… a particular someone.

On the opposite side of him sat Jeno, who was watching his friends in amusement. Now, Jeno has a high alcohol tolerance. Although he becomes chatty, and starts to excessively clean his surroundings, he takes care of his friends well. Usually he’s the one who tucks them into bed or prevents anything like drunk driving and some other stupid shit to happen.

Jeno the architectural major was the responsible friend in a night out. The single friend who starts playing the guitar to set the mood when 2am rolls in. And, the single friend with the broken heart, which hasn’t quite mended yet even after three years.

Haechan on the other hand, is a messy drunk but handles his alcohol well until the 2nd bottle. The boy has a lot going on in his mind, and was the first to initiate the plan to drink.

His phone rings, but Haechan dismisses it, tapping the red decline button and watching as the screen faded into black. Mark follows his eyes and hesitantly brings it up.

“Aren’t you going to talk to her?”

Haechan only shakes his head before taking another swig. Everyone knows well enough about Haechan and his girlfriend’s on and off relationship. They break up, make up, fight and the cycle repeats.

Mark’s adam’s apple bobs as he asks another question. “Why don’t you just break up? Y’know… for good?”

The boys around them seem to have noticed the tension that built up and had their eyes fixed on the pair.

“I don’t know, man,” Haechan is too drunk to think about Mark’s question. Too drunk to realize how Mark completely sold himself off to be in love with him with that one question. It wasn’t a big secret, especially since Mark has done a poor job in hiding it, but apparently not bad enough for Haechan to see. Everyone knew, except for the clueless boy.

Jaemin was too busy babysitting Chenle, who was having his first drink tonight, to even have shots of his own. He didn’t like drinking, anyway, and used Chenle as an excuse to keep sober.

Jaemin the medical student naturally tells his friends to lay off the alcohol, as it can damage their liver. He can only do so much though, as the others tend to be hard-headed and stubborn.

“I can handle myself!” Chenle protests, reaching for his glass which Jaemin took away. “You’re supposed to drink, eat a lot then drink again,” Jaemin explains. “You’ve only taken drinks so far, you’ll be knocked out in an hour if you keep this up,” He tells Chenle.

Of course, Jaemin knew his way around drinking. He just didn’t enjoy it, doesn’t like the bitter taste of it. Didn’t like how it made him think of his past either. Jaemin’s cup remains half full, and he uses this tactic to not get refills.

It keeps him away from his phone, sober enough to know better than to drunk text her. Even if her presence was all he yearned for at a night like this.

Jaemin x Reader – By My Side

[COMING SOON]

[12:03]

As the night gets deeper, so do the conversations between the close friends. Just like Jaemin predicted, Chenle had his head down on the table already, passed out.

“Jeno, you know what to do,” Jaemin nodded his head, signaling the boy beside him. Jeno gave him his smile, which now looked more drowsy and silly because of his tipsy state.

Jeno lifts Chenle easily, with Jaemin assisting him, leaving the three boys on the table.

“I want ____. Where is she?” Chenle had his eyes closed, mumbling to his friends. Jaemin and Jeno exchanged looks and laughed at the younger.

Poor boy, had a ton of expectations to meet he couldn’t even date around.

Chenle’s main priority had to be his family, and their business. He couldn’t afford any distractions, but to him, she was more than that. She was his driving force, and it hurt the boy to be keeping her a secret. Only the boys knew about his secret relationship, if word got out that Zhong Chenle the son of the most well-respected corporate business owner was dating, it would be the entirety of Shanghai talking about it.

As much as he wanted nothing more than to show the world and tell everyone who he’s in love with, he knew she wasn’t ready to face it all and step into that kind of light yet.

Chenle x Reader – In The Limelight

While the two boys took Chenle into his room, it left the three boys and Haechan’s buzzing phone out in the cold night air that the terrace provided.

“What happened this time?” Renjun asks, in line with the phone that’s close to annoying the hell out of him if it doesn’t stop vibrating the entire table. Haechan had his head down, and he lets out a laugh. Humorless, just cold.

“I don’t get her. She wants me, then the next second she doesn’t,”

When the boy lifts his head, it’s made obvious of all the pain he’s been hiding. His eyes, teary and sullen. Renjun couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s face, clapping his hands and throwing his head back in laughter. “Aw, c’mon man! It’s only 12am,”

This, however, doesn’t humor Mark the same way. Seeing Haechan in pain was like a bullet through his heart. He gave the boy a pat on the back and watches as his head fall once again. Mark swears he saw a tear fall too.

“I’m not just an object you can set aside, then use when needed,” Haechan continues to wail. Although he was already drunk, Mark felt that Haechan’s words were the most sober when he wasn’t.

As for Mark, the literature major didn’t care much about alcohol. However, it did get his creative juices flowing. Most of Mark’s best written pieces were done when he couldn’t even remember writing them.

During blurry nights intoxicated in alcohol, Mark’s thoughts flow easily through him and onto the sheets of paper that lie around his room. Sometimes, he’ll drink on a school night to get an essay finished for it’s due date the next day.

But seeing as he had no pending things to write, Mark drank for the sake of trying to numb himself somehow. Although it didn’t work well when the person he’s trying to get his mind off of is sat right beside him, thinking of someone else.

Mark x Haechan – Always, I’ll Care

[COMING SOON]

[1:13 am]

When Jaemin and Jeno came back, Jeno was already carrying a guitar. He strums it softly to a random tune he came up with on the spot. Haechan, of course, was singing along. Throwing in words like ‘baby’ and murmuring a few words about love. By now, Renjun’s cheeks were pink and a few hiccups had already escaped him.

“Do you remember that girl Jeno dated second semester of senior year?” he says, out of the blue.

The boys need not ask who, as they all knew who Renjun was referring to. The group of boys burst into fits of laughter and the guitar takes an abrupt stop as its player shoots his friends a nasty look for bringing up his past unprovoked.

“You were smitten, bro,” Mark smacks Jeno’s shoulder as he giggles.

Jeno daggers his eyes to Renjun, who has his head thrown back, laughing.

“How about you, huh? What was her name? _____-“ Jeno begins his avengement by mentioning the name he knew would get back at Renjun. He gets cut off shortly.

“I’ll stop you right there, sir,” Renjun places a hand over Jeno’s mouth before he could speak the name.

“C’mon, how many years has that been though?” Jeno asks after getting the boy’s hand off of his mouth.

“Two, and what about it?” Renjun defensively counters, surprising the other boys.

“He knows! Wow, do you keep count?” Jaemin chuckles, amusement all over his face.

“Shut up, ____ ,” Renjun points a finger at the male, mentioning the name of Jaemin’s past lover. Jaemin’s jaw drops and he crosses his arms,

“That was low,” The corner of his lips tugged into a smile nonetheless.

“C’mon, guys. It’s not like we’re releasing bad omens talking about our exes,” Haechan tugs on Renjun to sit him back down.

“Easy for you to say, you’ve only had one ex and she’s your girlfriend,” Renjun huffs. No one dared to speak the name of Renjun’s ex around him aside from people who have balls like Jeno, Jaemin, Haechan and Mark.

It wasn’t because he was bitter about her. But try as he might, there was a feeling within him that says she’s the one. Or she was. And Renjun was stuck, thinking about all the what if’s. Even after 2 years.

Renjun x Reader – To Be So Lonely [COMING SOON]

“I see things are getting heated over here,” Jisung stood by the door to the balcony now, with a sly smirk on his face.

“Ah right, let’s talk about mister lover boy over here,” Jeno motioned to the younger boy, who surprisingly is the only one to have a love life at the moment.

Jisung was courting the student body president. He could not, however, get her to answer him, but the boy never gives up.

“You must have some balls to hit on your senior,” Jaemin comments. The student body president was in fact two years older than Jisung, but the boy was determined.

Jisung x Reader – Like A Fool

[COMING SOON]

“At least one of us is progressing in terms of love,” Renjun sighed.

“Jeno’s doing well though, isn’t he? Lots of girls always after him,” Jisung gestures to the male beside him who’d started playing the guitar once again.

“I don’t think that counts as doing well,” Jeno mutters, absentmindedly.

“Oh yeah? And how does having half the school pine over you not count as doing well?” Jaemin lightly nudges his friend.

“Because the one I love, is in someone else’s arms right now,”

And cue the exaggerated crying and wailing of his friends, who’d given him sympathetic pats on the back.

Jeno x Reader – We Find Love

[COMING SOON]

“Oh, man,” grumbled Haechan, clearly already very intoxicated. He placed his head between his hands to try and stop his world from spinning. “I got to go to her, I have to say sorry,”

The boys all averted their eyes to the boy who looks to be having his spiritual awakening.

Mark’s heart dropped upon hearing Haechan’s words. He looked down at his hands and sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time Haechan had a sudden realization and wanted to be in his girlfriend’s arms right then and there.

It usually happened when he was smashed drunk, after the 7th or 8th cup. Asking his mates to take him home and running into the arms of his girl.

Mark didn’t know why he wasn’t used to it at this point. It isn’t and never will be him.

“No way,” Jaemin tutted. “You gathered us all here to drink and bothered us for weeks then you’ll flake midway? I don’t think so,” The other boys agreed.

Renjun stretched his arms and fell back onto the chair he sat on. “What’s with the sudden change of atmosphere anyway? It’s like we did release bad omens when we spoke about our exes,”

“You just had to bring ____ up!” Jeno threw a fry at his friend, who was the first to mention his ex and start the discussion. Renjun caught the fry in his mouth, surprising the boys and himself.

“Let’s just drink up,” Renjun raises his glass in the air, although it’s half empty.

“Nice try, here have a refill. We’re all taking equal shots,” Mark had risen and was now reaching for the bottle of beer to pour his friend’s glass.

“To… I don’t know- fuck! To getting fucked up!” Haechan yelled, raising his glass in the air.

The rest of the boys do the same, clinking glasses together and downing it mercilessly to their livers.

Relationships come and go, but the dreamies are always here to stay.

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jaxsteamblog · 3 years

Text

Moonlight

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

Shouting made Katara sit up in bed with a jolt. Her muscles seized with the electricity and she was frozen, listening to the commotion coming from down the hall.

Throwing off her quilts and furs, Katara grabbed her robe as she ran to the door. She yanked the door open at the same moment guards reached it.

“Master Katara, it’s unsafe.” One man said.

“There’s an intruder.” The other added.

“And I’m better at this than you are.” Katara snapped.

She waved her hands and coils of water came from the walls and wrapped around their middles, pulling them to opposite sides of the hall. As the guards struggled, Katara ran onward toward the din.

Sliding around the corner, Katara used her bending to melt the top of the ice floor to send her drifting. Ice shot out from the wall and she grabbed it, using it to push herself forward.

“I’m allowed to be here!” Zuko shouted just as Katara slammed into the backs of more guards.

The paltry inches of icemelt on the floor refroze and the guards staggered when their feet couldn’t move.

“What are you doing?” Katara yelled, pulling Zuko up from the floor with both hands wrapped in the front of his jacket.

Still disoriented, Zuko was slumped enough that she was holding up all his weight. His smile told her he enjoyed that and she dropped him with a heaved sigh.

“I missed you.” He said.

“Why did you break in? You could have called!” Katara said.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Getting killed by my guards would certainly be a surprise.”

“Katara!” Hakoda shouted and Katara closed her eyes.

“It’s fine, dad.” She said loudly. “It’s just Zuko being an idiot.”

Hakoda pushed through the wobbling pillars of stuck guards and looked wildly around.

“Why is the Fire Nation prince here?” He questioned.

“He missed me.” Katara said.

“A lot. I missed you a lot.” Zuko added.

“You invaded a foreign power.” Hakoda growled.

Katara rubbed her eyes with both hands.

“Your daughter’s boyfriend tried to sneak into her house and got caught.” She said. Zuko snorted as he finally stood up.

“This is serious, Katara.” Hakoda retorted.

Katara glared up at him. “Only if he’s the bad guy.”

“It was a bad idea. I’m sorry.” Zuko said, stepping in between them. “I honestly thought I could explain myself if I got caught.”

“If?” Hakoda asked. “Do you think you’re better than a palace full of trained armed guards?”

“What do you think happened to Yue?” Katara shot back.

Zuko winced and Katara recalled the water that froze her guard.

“You are dismissed.” She said.

“I’m sorry, Master Katara, but Chief Arnook is still our commander.” One guard said hesitantly.

“Is he?” Katara asked in vicious irritation. “Or do I outrank you as Master and he is my commander?”

The guard cleared his throat and bowed, gesturing for the others to leave.

“You are overstepping.” Hakoda said.

Katara kept her back to her father. “I have told you multiple times. I am going to do whatever I want when it comes to Zuko.”

Taking Zuko’s hand, Katara walked back around the corner to head to her room.

“Well, that did not go the way I thought it would.” Zuko said after they got some distance away.

“What did you really think was going to happen?” Katara asked, amused.

“Madam, I’ll have you know the Blue Spirit has never been caught and broke into countless impregnable cities and forts.” Zuko replied.

“Oh? So what happened tonight?”

“I respectfully remind her highness that I am not wearing a mask.”

Katara laughed and walked closer to Zuko.

“You’re trying to lighten the mood.” She said.

“Absolutely. That was terrifying.” Zuko agreed.

“Almost getting murdered?”

“You.”

Katara stopped and turned to him, frowning.

“Are you afraid of me?” She asked.

“I didn’t say that.” Zuko said, caressing her cheek with his free hand. “I said you were terrifying.”

“And the difference is?”

“I’m more afraid of the fact that I now understand how Sozin felt about the comet.” He kissed her and Katara leaned into him.

When she did pull away, Katara pulled him into her room wordlessly. She closed the door and pushed him toward the bed while she moved to the large sliding doors that led to the balcony. Tugging the curtains back, moonlight trickled in and collected in a small pool on the glassy floor. The moon was waxing, becoming an eye that would open on her coronation day to judge her. Now it was split in half, and this was a special time for Katara. The full moon was for Tui, the new moon was for La, and half moons were when the human world finally synched up with the spiritual energy and Katara regained her own mind.

Basking in this light, Katara closed her eyes.

“I’ve never been so close to a spirit before.” Zuko murmured.

Her eyes still closed, she smiled.

“I recall someone questioning my spirit status due to some face paint.” She replied. Katara heard him get off the bed and move slowly toward her.

As Zuko held her, Katara relaxed into his arms.

“You were calling me, weren’t you?” He asked, lowering his mouth to her ear.

“How did you know?”

He kissed her just at her jaw and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“All of the planets revolve around the sun, but the ocean only listens to the moon. I watch the waves and I get jealous.” He finally said.

“You know Arnook is going to have your head.” Katara said.

“Let me rest it in your lap and I’d happily go.” Zuko replied.

“Where does your family think you are?”

“Northern Air Temple. Visiting Rohan.”

“Rohan is in Republic City.”

“Mmm, what a shame.” Zuko kissed her neck and Katara sighed.

“Wait.” Katara said, opening her eyes and furrowing her brow. “How in Yangchen’s name did you even get into the palace?”

She could feel his smile against her skin.

“You’re not the only one who is good at what they do.” He replied.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #zutara month #modern au #the fic that prompts built

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leapyearkisses · 4 years

Text

Consequences - (m, m/m preslash) Oneshot

Reupload. My brief attempt at writing an action thriller. Imagine if it were possible to buy a pill to make you sick. Then imagine you tried to use that pill to avoid the monumental consequences of your greed-motivated actions.

Probably a bit nsfw, mess, crimes against the environment, bastard men, capitalism, tw alcoholism

---

Murashiki Aritomo lifted the small white pill and examined it with a critical eye. It looked no different than an aspirin or a breath mint, so innocuous as to be almost unbelievable. But he was running out of options. There wasn’t a lot of time to arrange anything different, and he wasn’t sure now whether there was any other course of action that wouldn’t land him in prison. “This pill will make me sick?”

“It will, I can promise you that.” The drug’s purveyor, Paul Gascoigne, had been Murashiki’s classmate in undergrad, although while Murashiki had gone into developmental chemistry, Gascoigne had pursued medicine. Or at least pharmacology. He looked the part now, dressed in a bespoke black suit and a white lab coat for effect, although his bright ginger hair brought a touch of life to the somber outfit. “Flu symptoms for a week, starting about six hours after taking it.” He shook the unlabeled bottle in his hand. “If you double up, the symptoms get worse and last longer. I’ll even give you a discount.”

Murashiki eyed the bottle, then shook his head. “No, I only need to be unavailable for the length of the Summit.”

Gascoigne smiled in a manner befitting a fox. “Yes, I’d heard on the DL there was some nasty business with the LiveBetter plastics. Are you seeking new employment opportunities?”

Murashiki produced his wallet. “I’ll give you an extra €50 to stop asking me questions.”

“Deal.” Gascoigne slipped the bottle back into an inner pocket and got up from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He held out a hand for the money and didn’t make a secret of counting it before secreting that away as well. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said. “While I have your attention, may I just say that my doors are always open if you’d like to seek out other opportunities as well.”

“I’m married,” snapped Murashiki, automatically running his thumb over the place where his wedding band used to be.

“Ah, young love,” Gascoigne said, mocking. “You know, she’s a decade gone to Monaco, or Dubai, or wherever it is these days where they pay for high-class whor-”

“Get out.”

Gascoigne spread his hands, conciliatory. “On my way.” He turned on his heel and left the office, letting the glass-fronted door swing shut behind him. Murashiki glared at his retreating back until it was gone, then glared at the door itself. White frosted writing identified his sins.

Aritomo Murashiki, Ph.D. Senior Project Lead, LiveBetter Development Group

He’d shredded all of his files already, but he checked the desk once more to be sure. Everything he wanted to keep he’d put into a slim silver suitcase. He wouldn’t be coming back here, God willing. The pill sat on top of his desk. He swallowed it with a mouthful of whiskey from the decanter underneath. With luck, he could make his excuses the next morning to the relevant people and be on his way out of the country by evening.

---

Murashiki reached his room at the Holiday Inn just past midnight. He put his suitcase by the door and stripped to his shirtsleeves and boxer-briefs before going into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He’d always been one to keep up appearances for the investors, but after all the late night as alcohol he was starting to look wan. He rubbed his eyes, pushing up his glasses. He hadn’t expected that, at 37, his life would be self-destructing in such a public manner. As soon as the environmental compliance reports were brought up in front of the EU, the company would throw him under the bus and that would be that.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. He drew away from the mirror and back into the darkened bedroom. He’d been present for almost every step of the process. His initial warnings had fallen on deaf ears, and then... well, the money had been too good.

“Lead me not into temptation,” he mumbled, laying down on the bed closest to the exit. Maybe he should have stuck with the whole religion thing after Satine had left, but he hadn’t been too fond of faith in the months after. He touched his ring finger again. He knew he was a fool. Gascoigne was right, if insufferable. He closed his eyes. Unbidden, the man’s face came to him. Always looking sly and fit, he’d cut a dashing figure in college, too. They’d made out once, twice... Murashiki had already been married then, but a little bit of beer and bisexual guilt had motivated a slip here and there. He’d never felt like he was “settling” for Satine - in fact, he’d loved her quite dearly - but he’d always been afraid of missing out.

He set an alarm for 5 AM. That would give him enough time to contact the VP. Hopefully by then the pill would have kicked in so it didn’t seem like he was shirking. Of course, everyone would know why he wasn’t there soon enough, but he’d have a head start. He felt fine at the moment, if stressed. It had been four hours.

For the price he’d paid, Gascoigne had better not have ripped him off.

------

Five o’clock came too quickly. Murasaki groped for his phone on the bedside table, slapping at it uncoordinatedly to turn off the alarm. The room was still pitch black. He groaned.

The doctor hadn’t been playing him; he felt awful. His head was heavy and his limbs ached dully - perhaps he was already running a fever? His mouth was dry, and when he tried to moisten it he realized why: he couldn’t breathe through his nose at all. Rubbing it produced no relief, just an irritating shift of congestion in his sinus that led to sharp gasp and a rushed sneeze.

“Hahkyusht!” He caught it against his wrist, and the next two in his palms. “Hhkyuschtt! Hgkktschkt!” Head throbbing, he wiped saliva and snot on the sheets and got out of bed. He’d seen a tissue box on the toilet tank last night and was in great need of it.

The fluorescent overhead light set him cursing when he flicked it on. It felt like high beams stabbing him in the face after a particularly intemperate night of drinking. He shielded his eyes with one arm and grabbed a handful of tissues to crush against his nose. He was going to sneeze again. He could feel an itch clawing deep inside his left nostril. He squinted against it, trying to take shallow breaths, but it didn’t help. “Hahgktsciutsz!”

The tissues were a mess already, but he tried to blow his nose. That lead to coughing, too, and he found himself leaning over the sink, trying to get his bearings. “The fuck did you put in that pill?” he growled to himself. Surely not a live virus? The consequences would be staggering. And not just because he felt himself a little dizzy and unsteady on his feet. It would be easy to transport pills across borders, easy to disguise them as something harmless - they already looked it. Influenza was already one of the most deadly of epidemics. What if Gascoigne could take TB, rabies, ebola and weaponize it marketed as aspirin or loperamide??

In the mirror, his gray eyes were wide and Murasaki could see even without his glasses that he was sweating. He shivered. Right. Things were getting out of hand. He was just feverish and letting his tension take over.

He took the tissues back into the room with him and returned to the bed. He just had to make a few calls and then get out. Everything would be fine. He could make flight arrangements in the taxi and then be on his way back to Japan faster than you could say “non-extradition country.”

It was 5:12. The VP picked up on the third ring. “Dr. Murasaki?” she asked, sounding like she hadn’t had her coffee yet. “What is it?”

“Good morning, ma’am.” He didn’t have to force the coughing that followed. “I realize it’s terrible timing...”

“You sound awful.”

He coughed again in agreement. “I feel awful. I’m nih- not sure I’ll make it to the convention center.” He pinched his nose, at least until he could feel the sneeze cresting. Then he let it out, not too far from his phone’s microphone. “Hahkgtschgt!” Mess painted his lips and he struggled to breathe past it for a moment.

“Santé!” She was too polite to sound appalled, but she was quick to dismiss him. “We’ll miss you at the luncheon and awards ceremony.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, through more tissues. “The team is just as deserving of recognition for this as I am.”

“Yes, of course. I will pass on news of your absence to the event coordinators.” In the end, it didn’t really matter to her whether the scientists behind the company’s products were there or not, just that the presentation was made on time and the right people (her) made the right headlines. Someone would make sure the info made it to the European stage. And that someone would not be Murasaki. He didn’t envy whoever was left with the data. He didn’t even know if anyone else who was going knew exactly what they meant. But the audience would.

He was free, though, for now. He thanked her and hung up, then let the phone fall from his hand to the pillows. “Hah... haah-” If he could leave off sneezing for twenty minutes, he would be golden. His nostrils flared, and he fumbled for more tissues as the right started running, worsening the irritation to an unbearable degree. “Hakgschtgnx! Nktscgshx!” His ears rang and he dropped to lay back on the bed. He hadn’t felt this bad since back in college, junior finals week, when he’d stayed up for four days and then been bedridden for just as long. His nose felt raw already. Even his eye sockets hurt. He lay his arm back over his face, enjoying how cool it felt on his forehead.

He would just close his eyes for a minute. For one minute, he would try to will away the pain and heat.

------

“HEY!”

Murasaki startled awake to the sound of fists raining down against the door. He tried to kick out at an assailant, caught the sheet, and struggled until he found himself on the floor. Threadbare carpeting pressed into his cheek and he tried desperately to remember where he was. Not the office. Not his apartment in Montmartre. He forced himself to sit up and had to lean against the bed to stay upright.

He was in a hotel, he finally remembered. He was staying here before he left the city. Just a few phone calls to make- no, he’d called the VP. The room was awash in the orange light of fading afternoon. His stomach twisted. That wasn’t right.

The pounding hadn’t stopped, but by the time Murasaki thought he might be able to address it, whoever was outside had forced their way in. He expected a horde of angry journalists, armed with cameras and microphones like on TV, but it was only one man. Gascoigne, he thought. It took him a moment to place the man without his glasses, but that hair...

“What are you doing?!” Gascoigne practically shouted. He shoved the door closed again and used Murasaki’s suitcase to keep it from swinging. “You’re still in Paris? There’s an uproar! They were showing parts of the Summit live, you know.” He grabbed Murasaki’s elbow and yanked him to his feet. “I wasn’t sure whether Le Monde or Greenpeace would get you first, but it’s much worse than that.” No lab coat today, Murasaki noted distractedly. Jeans and a bomber jacket. Did black-market doctors get weekends?

He tried to free his arm and failed.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Gascoigne was saying still. He shook the smaller man. “Idiot. Did you hear what I said? The Russian mafia put out a hit on you! Hey!” He grabbed Murasaki by the nape. “They found out LiveBetter is behind the collapse of their fishing interests in the Black Sea. This is all over the deep web. Hey.” He shook Murasaki again. “What’s wrong with you??”

Murasaki pressed his hand against Gascoigne’s chest, tried to push away from him. “You,” he said. “You poisoned me, or s- somethih- Hahktsch! Haktschngx!”

“Christ.” Gascoigne let him go.

Murasaki lifted his hands. “Hgkttschzx! You... what is this? I’m burning up.” He was shivering, too. He felt sick and dizzy. “I must have passed out.”

“Yeah, you look like shit,” said Gascoigne. He shrugged at Murasaki’s glare. “What? Sometimes it hits harder for people if they haven’t taken it before. S’not exactly FDA approved.”

Murasaki collected more tissues and blew his nose. “How did you find me?” This was not good. He’d be stopped at the airport, probably. The mafia had connections all over Europe.

“Your phone.” Gascoigne had picked it up off the pillow. “You have... sixty missed calls and messages. Wow.” He dropped the device unceremoniously behind the bed. “We’re leaving that here. Get dressed.”

“‘We’?” Murasaki tossed the tissues to the carpet and started trying to button his shirt. His pants were where he’d left them, and he picked them up, leaning against the wall dizzily as he tried to get them on one leg and then the other.

Gascoigne moved the blinds aside and took stock of the street outside. “Yes, ‘we.’ I didn’t come after you for my own health. Get going. Where are your shoes?”

The two of them, led by Gascoigne, left out the back stairwell. Gascoigne had parked an unassuming tan Renault at the sidewalk and he pushed Murasaki into the passenger seat before taking the wheel and driving out of the courtyard. After only minutes, the car blended seamlessly in with the local traffic. “We’ll head to Germany for now. I’m sure the mafia has people at Charles de Gaulle. When we get a chance, maybe Brazil?” He was driving admirably despite the pressure he’d put himself under. Not drawing the attention of anyone.

It didn’t occur to Murasaki, with how terrible he was feeling, to ask why Gascoigne had actually come for him until they were close to the border. “I mean, you didn’t have to get involved,” he said. “No one would have connected our names.” He was looking up at Gascoigne’s face from under his bangs. The car window was nicely cold against his temple.

Gascoigne glanced over to him and rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

There was a silence. Murasaki coughed. “Is that it??”

Gascoigne didn’t meet his gaze, focusing on the highway ahead. “You didn’t think I was just hitting on you to piss you off, did you?”

Murasaki frowned, then looked away. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to answer me,” Gascoigne said, voice carefully neutral. “I’m doing this because I want to.” He reached down and turned on the radio. The point was clear: no discussion was to be had at this time.

Murasaki stared out at the passing countryside and tried to get a handle on the mix of emotions churning inside him. Fear, gratitude, helplessness, lust... he couldn’t think through the fever and eventually gave in to a numbing haze. With luck, he would live long enough to figure out what he wanted a day, a week, a month from now.

Gascoigne kept driving.

#snz #lyk writes #murashiki aritomo #paul gascoigne #oneshot

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

Text

Listed: Guardian Singles

Guardian Singles converged in Auckland in 2015, around a core of guitarist/vocalist Thom Burton and drummer (and ex-Vivian Girl) Fiona Campbell, building a reputation through live shows for raucous, melodic punk rock. Jennifer Kelly heard nods to the Clean, Mission of Burma, the Feelies and Wire on the band’s debut self-titled album released internationally on the Trouble In Mind Label in July. However, she concluded, “This is a band that sounds like the best parts of lots of other bands, but crucially, it also sounds like itself. There’s a core of Guardian Singles-ness that makes these songs impossible to dismiss as homage and able to stand up on their own.” Here Thom Burton lists some of his favorite music for Dusted.

Kia ora, my name is Thom, I play guitar and sing in the band Guardian Singles. Here’s a list of ten songs I've been moderately obsessed with recently — in no particular order. Not by any stretch “all-time favourites” thing... that would just be a bunch of Tik Toks of me crying and listening to Slint. Anyway, this is what I’m currently “straight vibin’ to.” As the kids say.

Actress — “Leaves Against the Sky”

youtube

From the Karma and Desire album that came out last year. My favourite release of his for a few years, even though they’re all pretty amazing. My friend saw him play with the London Philharmonic Orchestra and said it was almost a religious experience.

Andy Stott — “Never the Right Time”

youtube

Andy Stott’s music is kind of out there on its own for me… the same way that I think that some people listen to classical music because it can make you feel like anything you’re doing is important? I’m not though, I’m just sitting here thinking about soup. It’s strangely familiar and alien at the same time (the music not the soup). But yeah, this record (and song) is gorgeous. I think Andy Stott could make the sound of someone doing handbrake drifts on a forklift in an aircraft-carrier hangar sound like a choir of angels.

박혜진 Park Hye Jin — “Y DON’T U (feat. Clams Casino & Take A Daytrip)”

youtube

In my mind I’m sexy dancing to this by myself in some “futuristic” club somewhere. By futuristic I mean that the wait staff wear rollerblades and there’s a mezzanine floor. Anyway, I asked my Kiwi/Korean friend if she would kindly translate the lyrics for me and she said (and I quote) “What is this? I HATE THIS. It doesn't even make sense.” And I’m like “that’s cool, I’ll just let you get back to listening to My Bloody Valentine and Cocteau Twins, all good, sorry to bother you,” (lol sorry Maria).

Sweeping Promises — “Out Again”

Hunger for a Way Out by Sweeping Promises

From their fantastic album Hunger For a Way Out — I found out about them via Gonerfest last year, and I can't stop listening to this record. Really, it’s becoming a bit of a problem. The production is crispy and filthy, the songs are catchy AF. I wouldn’t be surprised if these guys blow up huge. Wish I could catch them live at this year’s Gonerfest. Go see them if you can.

P-Model — “Holland element”

youtube

A good friend of mine makes these great playlists called “The Tinny Mission” on Spotify (“tinny” is NZ slang for 20 bucks worth of weed, often covered in fly spray). The idea is that you borrow your Mum’s Honda Civic, drive around Hamilton (the greatest city in NZ) all night looking for somewhere or someone to score one off, but you never do. In the meantime, you’ve listened to hours of genre-less awesome tunes. This song was on the last mix he made. It sounds like it could have come out last week, but it didn’t. Just casually dropped 37 years ago.

Belong — “Perfect Life”

Common Era by Belong

This from the album Common Era by a brilliant New Orleans band that I think broke up in 2011, around about the time this came out. There doesn’t seem to be too much info about them online. If you don’t get all the feels from this then you are dead on the inside (sorry I hate it when people say shit like that, but you are). There’s probably about as much chance of Kranky records reissuing this as there is of me starting an Onlyfans, but it doesn’t mean you can’t listen to this in the car at the beach on a stormy day and wonder where it all went wrong.

Yves Tumor — “Crushed Velvet”

youtube

When they’re not getting bit on the neck by crazed fans or levelling venues in Shanghai with extreme noise terror [no link for that one, my friend was there and just told me it was scary as…] Yves Tumor sometimes makes romantic motoric-tinged tunes like this one. This song is my favourite of what I’ve heard of the new-new stuff, but I still reckon Serpent Music is boss.

Cindy — “Justin”

I'm Cindy by Cindy

If I DID have a “shrine” or “wall of appreciation of photos of people I like” in my basement, I would probably be listening to this song while I added glitter and locks of hair to it. I’m not saying I do, I just… I mean that’s the first thing that popped into my head. You can find more info on the artist here.

Yu Su — “Xiu”

youtube

I’ve already talked random so far, so I’ll just say this is a very, very pretty, wavy banger that has a really beautiful subtle guitar going through it. Love heart emoji eyes etc.

Night Lunch — “House full of Shit”

youtube

Jeez — got this far with nothing from Aotearoa! We’ve played a couple of shows with these guys, hopefully we get to do more. They are very nice young men, and they sound evil. Also, the video is priceless.

#dusted magazine #listed #guardian singles #thom burton #actress #andy stott #park hye jin #sweeping promises #P- Model #belong #yves tumor #cindy #yu su #night lunch

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soup-fish · 3 years

Note

Hiya I meant to send you asks like forever ago but I'm bad so I didn't do that so here they are now they're from this ask prompt thing you reblogged

Feel free to answer these about any of your OCs cause I don't really remember any except rabbit and Knight so~

1, 10, 25, 29, 33, 37, 46, 50, 61, 63, 78, 80, sorry there's so many you don't have to answer them all, I am just cursed with insatiable curiosity only balanced out by my fear of asking too many questions and being annoying—

Hi!!! You’re not bad!! You’re one of the coolest aliens ever!!!!

I am absolutely answering them all with multiple OCs because I will take every opportunity I get to talk about them.

Putting it under a cut because it is LONG and I don't wanna bother.

1. What is their gender?

The Knight: (she/her)

Rabbit: agender but they use (they/them) pronouns

The Apprentice: (he/him)

Dijon: (he/him)

Julienne: (she/her) (they/them)

Monty: (he/him) (they/them)

Diana: (she/her)

Captain Pumpernickel: (he/him)

William: (he/him)

10. What are some of their talents/skills?

The Knight: Swordfighting, Dancing, pottery

Rabbit: Parlor magic, puppetry, Acting

The Apprentice: collecting, Dunescotch [the world's rough equivalent of chess], chemistry

Dijon: cooking, writing, gardening

Julienne: biking, photography, bird watching

Monty: people watching, bingo, garage sales

Diana: fencing, archery, calligraphy

Captain Pumpernickel: Singing, acting, swordfighting

William: whittling, philosophy, accordion

25. What is their biggest flaw?

The Knight: her naivete

Rabbit: Their reluctance to be vulnerable

The Apprentice: His aversion to change and the unknown

Dijon: his self-pitying nature

Julienne: Her self-centeredness

Monty: his...not quite human-ness

Diana: She’s uptight

Captain Pumpernickel: hooboy where do I start? For one, his complete and utter dismissal of everything that doesn’t contribut to ADVENTURE

William: his lack of ambition

29. How would they describe their own personality?

The Knight: “Hmmm. I try to be as nice as possible and I’ve been told I’m rhapsodic! I don’t think my singing’s that good but it’s a sweet compliment!”

Rabbit: “Witty. Yes. Sarcastic? Yes. The people’s demon? In more ways than one~ Even hell can’t handle me.”

The Apprentice: “Simple, studious, and an enjoyer of quiet studying. I tend to be rather straight-forward in my methodology.”

Dijon: “God do I even have a personality? What am I besides a vaguely human shaped pile of mistakes and disappointments?”

Julienne: “A fun loving fun person!”

Monty: “Just your average Earth person! Nothing else to see!”

Diana: “Calm, cool, collected, the perfect dignitary”

Captain Pumpernickel: “AN ADVENTURER! And a lover! Of your mother! Bring out the good ale my good fellows! Your captain has won another battle of the wits!”

William: “Personality? Never heard of it. Wouldn’t even begin to know what the word means. I know no such words such as sarcastic, laid-back, carefree. Nooooo.”

33. What is their biggest fear? How would they react to having to face it?

The Knight: Being ignored and unheard. She’d probably get really frustrated and maybe cry a little as a result. If it really got to her, she’d need help being pulled out of a dark place.

Rabbit: Abandonment. Their general reaction to it is to put on a veneer of not caring and close off from the outside world more, even going so far as to act annoying and unlikable so that people leave before getting close.

The Apprentice: Not knowing. Or, by extension, not being able to learn. He’d probably lash out in anger and storm off.

Dijon: Being an unredeemable person. He faces it every day and he deals with it by being melodramatic in all of his writings and wallowing in misery. AKA, not dealing with it.

Julienne: People being genuine. They’d probably get really uncomfortable and try to excuse themselves from the conversation or make jokes to redirect the conversation.

Monty: The republic finding him hiding out on Earth. He’d fight or do anything possible out of desperation.

Diana: Being a disappointment

Captain Pumpernickel: Not being able to bang your mom not having adventures with his crew. He'd probably be reduced to a shell of his former self.

William: Not being able to talk his way out of a situation.

37. How easy is it for them to say “I love you”? Do they say it without meaning it?

The Knight: Pretty easy but she means it when she says it. She's just full of love tbh.

Rabbit: It's really hard for them to say "I love you". Really really hard. Especially at the start of their arc, they would never say it, however much they mean it.

The Apprentice: It's hard for him to say, simply because it's not quantifiable enough. How does one properly explain how much they love someone? He prefers showing love through actions and more direct compliments.

Dijon: It's not easy for him to say, but he says it without meaning it, both knowingly and unknowingly.

Julienne: She doesn't say it often, but she says it to the people she cares about occasionally. She prefers to say it through time spent and physical touch though.

Monty: The Dude Loves Everything. But they also barely understand the meaning of the word so...

Diana: She doesn't say it almost at all, but prefers to use acts of service and gift giving.

Captain Pumpernickel: He never says "I love you" because he usually doesn't really mean it. He'll use some other compliment or compound of it.

William: He doesn't throw it around easily, so when he says it, it has so much more weight behind it.

46. How easily can they express emotions? How easily can they hide emotions?

The Knight: She expresses her emotions a lot and very easily, but she has a hard time hiding them.

Rabbit: They think they're sly at hiding their emotions, but they let micro-expressions slip constantly. If anyone decided to notice, one would

The Apprentice: He's a blank sheet baybee. What is he thinking? Unless it's frustration or anger, you'll never know.

Dijon: He's just kinda sad all the time. He's miserable and everyone notices.

Julienne: She allows some emotions to come through. It's a bit of a calculated effort.

Monty: All of his emotions come through all the time and he doesn't mind.

Diana: Well, she hides her sadness and happiness, but allows her frustration and such to shine through.

Captain Pumpernickel: He expresses emotions very openly and very loudly. He is a dramatic ham of a captain.

William: He keeps a near perpetual smile that occasionally wavers when things go wrong. He doesn't like to open up emotionally.

50. How would you describe their style of clothing? How would they describe their style of clothing?

The Knight: "fun and comfy!" Light armor with room for mobility but colorful

Rabbit: "...sexy" literally naked except a cloak.

The Apprentice: "practical and sensible" like a fucking nerd

Dijon: "presentable" the best time to wear a sweater, is all the time

Julienne: "quirky" quirky.

Monty: "human clothing for humans! :D" weird mixture of 1800s stuff and modern day stuff. Weird guy.

Diana: "regular??? Clothes???" Fancy ballgown at first then swashbuckling but still expensive.

Captain Pumpernickel: "EXTRAVAGANT AND ASTOUNDING" sexy hobo pirate.

William: "only the highest tier clothing/s" ...rags. doesn't care enough.

61. Which season is their favorite season?

The Knight: Spring

Rabbit: Autumn, harvest festivals and such are good for demons.

The Apprentice: Winter, you have excuses to stay inside and work. Plus the vibe is nice when it's harsh outside and cozy inside

Dijon: Summer, fewer holidays and he's not really cold resistant.

Julienne: Summer. They like the general vibe and popsicles and shorts and sunglasses and such.

Monty: Winter, they love the holidays.

Diana: Summer, she likes the heat.

Captain Pumpernickel: Autumn! He just thinks the weather and vibe are RIPE FOR ADVENTURE!

William: Winter! He like staying inside and the cold.

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile?

The Knight: her partner! Or a silly joke! Or a delicious snack! Or friendship!

Rabbit: schadenfreude

The Apprentice: order and productivity

Dijon: his favorite childhood book

Julienne: her pet rats! Or pet frog!

Monty: A human thing like paperclips

Diana: this one is a hard one. Succeeding at any of her hobbies.

Captain Pumpernickel: ADVENTURE. and friends

William: seeing Diana smile and be free.

78. Who do they consider to be their best friend?

The Knight: The prince!

Rabbit: the Knight

The Apprentice: books

Dijon: julienne

Julienne: no one. Monty is close.

Monty: ALL HUMANS ARE BEST! AND FRIENDS!!

Diana: no one [William eventually]

Captain Pumpernickel: The sea. And his first mate. And his quartermaster.

William: no one [Diana eventually]

80. Are they a morning person or a night owl?

The Knight: Morning person

Rabbit: Night Owl

The Apprentice: Morning Person

Dijon: Night Owl

Julienne: Morning Person

Monty: Morning Person

Diana: Morning Person

Captain Pumpernickel: Morning Person

William: Night Owl

#arc-gx #17th #February #2021 #February 17th 2021 #THIS TOOK FOREVER #IM SO SORRY #FINALLY GOT THROUGH THEM ALL #THIS WAS FUN #THANK YOU #dante babbles

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marvelous-imagines-for-all · 5 years

Text

Spencer x BAU x Sister

Requested? Yes!

“Can I request something platonic for Spencer Reid in Crimnal minds? Maybe where he has a younger sister that's around 5 or 6 years old and for some reason she has to stay at the office with Spencer for the day and he's hesitant because he thinks she will just cause a scene but everyone loves her?”

Author: Jade:)))

A/N: So this is definitely the longest imagine I’ve ever written (Over 2k), but I loved the idea and I got carried away with it. I also have no idea if it makes sense but I hope you all enjoy!

The team had barely checked into work when Hotch called them into his office for a brief meeting, no one knew what it was for, but they noticed the absence of Spencer’s presence.

“Is there another case? You said today would be a paperwork day.” Emily inquired, looking down at Hotch who was seated at his desk.

“It is. That’s not why I called you here. If you haven’t noticed, Spencer is running late. He called me ahead of time to notify me of this. Something came up and he has to bring someone in with him today.” Hotch paused, taking notice of everyone’s shifted behavior. Confusion was evident on the faces before him. “Although this is out of the ordinary, I expect nothing less from any of you today. You will continue to work and not create any scenes about the situation.”

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, worrying filling his mind about Spencer. Who was he bringing in? His mom? Everyone knew how much his mom wasn’t a fan of the “government’s work”. Or maybe it was a girlfriend? But that didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to have to bring her here even if he did have one.

The team was dismissed and they went back to their desks, waiting for Spencer to arrive.

Back at Spencer’s place, Spencer was distressed to say the least. Today was Monday, and it wasn’t until he had woken the little girl up despite her protests that he forgot she didn’t have school. Some teacher work day thing. Spencer was at a loss for how he forgot, but it didn’t matter at this point. He didn’t have time to call a babysitter, not that he really trusted them anyways.

Now he was gathering items in a backpack for the little girl. Coloring books, a couple of barbies, a book, and a stuffed elephant, her favorite one. Spencer had already prepared a lunch for her moments earlier, it was sitting on the counter waiting.

“Skye, are you ready?” Spencer called from the living room, searching for his keys. He was already late to the BAU and even though he called in advance, he hated being late. “Skye?”

After the second call the little girl ran into the living room, hairbrush in hand.

“I need help!” Her lips formed a pout as she looked up at her older brother. Spencer looked up to see his sister’s hair half in a tangled mess. No matter what he did, he could never seem to get her hair under control. He wanted to tell her that he could fix her hair later, that they didn’t have much time or that her hair looked fine. But he decided against it since he knew she would argue and he definitely did not have time for that. Kneeling behind her, her took the brush from her hand and combing it gently through her hair.

“We’re going to my work today, which means that you need to be on your best behavior. You know what that means, right?” Spencer paused his actions, waiting for a reply. Skye nodded her head furiously. He smiled at her eagerness and continued to brush her hair. “My friends will also be there. They’re super nice, but you still aren’t allowed to go anywhere without letting me know, you understand? I can’t lose you.”

Skye nodded again before turning around to face him, “I understand.”

Spencer smiled and placed a kiss against her forehead, “Then I guess we’re ready to go.”

Walking into the BAU was a task in itself. Skye claimed her hands were full; one arm wrapped around Mr. Pebbles, her stuffed elephant, and her other hand holding on to Spencer's. So Spencer was left with one arm to carry his bag, both of their lunches, Skye’s backpack, and the files that Spencer had collected on the way up to the elevator.

The elevator ding was enough to attract the team’s attention. Everyone’s eyes moved down to the little girl who was slightly ahead of Spencer, practically dragging him into the bullpen as she looked around amazed. Spencer directed her to his desk where he hastily dropped everything onto his desk. Skye was too busy staring at Derek, who was approaching the scene along with the rest of the team behind him.

“Hey, kid, who’s this little lady?” Derek smiled down at her and she instantly smiled back. She already liked him.

“This is, um, she’s my little sister. She doesn’t have school today and I couldn’t call a babysitter so I brought her up here. After confronting Hotch first.” Spencer chewed on his lip, not sure how to continue.

The team examined Spencer for a moment. They always noticed the bags under his eyes, but they assumed it was just lack of sleep from nightmares, not from dealing with a kid. The random pen marks on his hands? Those were just supposed to be his random scribbles to get a pen to work, not markings from a kid at home who was drawing. The way he knew how to talk to kids? It was assumed it was just all the knowledge he had. Not that he had experience.

“My name is Skye.” Skye broke the silence, and the group turned their attention to her, whose eyes solely focused on Derek.

“Hey, Skye, my name is Derek! I’m a friend of your brother’s. How old are you?”

Skye bounced on her feet as she held up her hand, “I’m 5!’

Derek laughed at her and the team knew in that moment they couldn’t be upset with Spencer for keeping it a secret.

“How could you not tell us you had a little sister?” JJ nudged Spencer softly, a smile playing on her lips.

“She’s adorable!” Squealed Penelope as she joined the conversation with Derek. Spencer felt himself blushing, he wasn’t expecting such a positive response. He wrapped his arms around himself and shrugged.

“I don’t know, I guess safety and privacy.. I told Hotch for work reasons, so he understood my household situation.”

“Well I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her safety anymore. She’s about to have the whole team wrapped around her finger” Emily spoke and shot a smile at Spencer before she went to go introduced herself.

An hour passed and Skye hadn’t caused any trouble. She stayed seated next to Spencer and played with her dolls. Occasionally asking him to name a location for her dolls to pretend to be, or have him play as Mr. Pebbles for a few minutes. He didn’t think twice before agreeing, not thinking of the teasing Derek would give him later.

“Where does Mr. Pebbles wanna go?” Skye thought out loud. Spencer glanced over from his computer and smiled. Her hair was already starting to stick up in places despite his efforts to comb it down earlier.

“Elephants can be found in 37 countries just south of the Sahara Desert. Maybe you should take him somewhere warm.”

JJ walked by, setting a file on Derek’s desk and then onto Spencer’s. Overhearing the conversation she interjected,

“Like the beach? It’s warm there!”

Skye looked up with much wonder in her eyes as a grin broke across her face, “The beach! Yes!”

JJ and Spencer exchanged a smile as the child went on pretending to take her elephant to the beach.

A little while later, Skye had insisted that Derek needed his help completing paperwork. Spencer objected at first, saying that Derek needed to focus on work but Skye swore that she would be on her best behavior. So now Skye was seated on Derek’s leg and had colored 2 pictures for him. She was currently writing his name on a paper since Derek teased that he didn’t know how to spell his own name. Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Derek trying to fill out paperwork around the child in his lap.

“Derek starts with a D! And this is how you write a D..” Skye stuck her tongue out in concentration, slowly writing the letter on the paper in front of her for Derek to see. He took his eyes off his files to watch the girl and smiled.

“Are you sure that’s how you do it?” Derek teased, tickling her sides. A loud squeal left her lips followed by a laugh.

“Yes! That’s how you write it. Spencer taught me and he’s always right.” She smiled proudly, looking back at her brother who smiled right back.

Lunch time rolled around and Skye claimed that she wanted to sit with the girls, who happily accepted her. She shared her grapes with Penelope who had not so subtly given her multiple pieces of candy in exchange.

“I got candy!” Skye held it up for Spencer to see.

“Yes, you do. But why don’t we space out the pieces so you don’t get sick from eating them all at once?” Spencer stood next to her chair pushing her hair back out of her face, attempting to run his fingers through her locks. It was even more tangled than earlier and he knew it was gonna be hard to brush through later.

“Ah, come on, genius. We know a few pieces of candy won’t kill her.” Garcia smiled, winking down at the little girl.

“Of course it won’t. You have to eat approximately 262 fun sized bars of candy in one sitting for it to have a deadly affect.” This statement earned eye rolls from the ladies and a not so quiet giggle from the little girl as she zipped the candy up in her lunchbox.

“So Skye, what’s your favorite thing to do?” Emily asked, eating the meal she had picked up at the beginning of the break.

“I like drawing!” Skye looked up at Emily, her legs swinging under the table, “And Spencer gets me a lot of coloring books. There are some in my backpack, I can show you!”

By the end of lunch time, each of the women had been assigned a coloring sheet to color. Hotch had reentered the building from his meeting and Spencer pulled Skye back to his desk, worried that Hotch would think she was causing too much trouble. But much to Spencer’s surprise, Hotch walked to his desk with a soft look in his eyes.

“So I hear you’re Miss Skye, is that correct?”

“Yeah, I am!” Skye sat up straight at the mention of her, something Spencer always told her to do to make sure the person knew she was acknowledging them.

“I wanted to say thank you for coming in today and helping my team with their work. You make an excellent helper.” Hotch lifted his palm and smiled as the girl gave him a high five, “Keep up the hard work, Miss Skye. I’m counting on you”

“Yes sir!” Skye saluted Hotch before turning her attention back to Spencer desk where she was helping Mr. Pebbles recite the ABC’s.

Soon the paperwork filled day that everyone had dreaded coming into work for ended, and it went better than any of the team had expected. Skye had the team wrapped around her finger and they all knew it. Spencer walked to the Elevator, hand in hand with Skye who was smiling and waving at the rest of the team.

“She is just too cute” Emily remarked, smiling at Skye who had finished waving and was now talking up a storm with her brother in the elevator.

“She is the most pure thing to ever step foot in this building, if anything happens to her I might literally die. Auntie Garcia can’t have that happen!” Penelope looked around with her eyebrows raised, confirming she was serious. Derek laughed,

“I can’t have that happening either. But don’t worry. Spencer’s been taking good care of her. And now that we know about her, we can help.”

“I know exactly what we’re going to be helping him with.” JJ chortled besides Derek.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh please, did you see that girl’s hair? Lord knows what he’s doing to try to keep that mane contained.” JJ smiled as the group laughed in agreement.

Back in the elevator Spencer smiled to himself, knowing that this would not be the last time that she gets to visit the team.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid headcanons #dating spencer reid #reader x spencer #spencer reid x sister #spencer reid kid imagine #alana and jade imagines #requested

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 3/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 17.4k

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

note: finally! it is the last part and I can finally finish my other works! thank you for reading! finn is 18, the reader is 37

Part 1 | Part 2

It had been nearly five weeks, some would call it few which passed by in a blink of an eye; however, it was not the same case for Y/N as she was forced to sit in the bed, tucked with puddling sweat in the sheets of her bed while she was being nurtured by her own employees. Even though the poor quivering doctors who had been ‘kidnapped’ (Dante liked to call it guiding) had said that it would be good to walk, she has to keep in mind to not push herself. The woman was not having any of it.

There were so many things to listen to, so many mouths babbling, so many feet dashing in and out of her room while she was in the bed, forever to be plastered over the surface by suffocating tight bandages. With that, she was caught scribbling in her book after three weeks. Dante had steam gushing out of his ears when he stumbled upon the sight, knowing the book resided in the living room. The only reason he was furious was due to the fact that the furthest distance he had strictly ordered to her was the only window in the bedroom, which was ten steps away from her bed. Three days after his hour-long lecture, she was found smoking and sipping on whiskey in the open kitchen, a newspaper splayed out on her lap.

Despite the words from other advisors, she waved it all off as if she was flipping away from the sports’ section of the newspaper. What made matters worse were she had been counting the days she had last seen or met up with Finn. Every time she would try to focus on the work that laid in front of her, to blind herself from the tremoring pain muffled by the bandage, much to her men’s dismay, her mind would revert to him and the night he had stayed with her. The oozing ink in the pen would dry off like clothing hung up in the snoring wind for the never-ending counting days.

The very unfortunate time Connor had barged through the front door he was met with a very bare man. It didn’t go so well with his boss. During her venting, three minutes in and Y/N was clutching on her waist. The woman insisted stubbornly that she was fine, however, the men knew better than to believe the lies she sputtered. In all honesty, she felt fine. Halfway through week four, she had tried to relieve the frustration of being strapped to the bed and pain from the wound by meeting other men. Some she had met while prancing down the street or strolling around the nearby park. To only end up alone in her room, sipping on whatever liquor was strong enough to haze the thought of Finn. None of them was like him. Their touches didn’t feel like his. Had she gone through all the trouble for a cuddling session?

So for days, she has been desperate for anything. Any chance or luck for someone to fall on her platter; she was starving, her mouth drooling to devour a meal, heck, she can even shove down a whole horse right at it. When she wasn’t scribbling on her books or worrying about her business in America, she had enough time to ponder. Even though she had these time to leisure, she wasted it all on trying to relieve the pent up frustration by going to places.

“Is there anything on my schedule today, Dante?” The woman quirked up, shaking her feet that were perched up on her wooden desk, a hair’s breadth away from her container of pens. One wrong kick and the floor would be an exercise to clean (not to her, of course). Her windows were cranked open, the wind blew whistles into the hotel room, breezing an infant tornado. However, the space between its frame and the window was minuscule. A faint odour of smoke and factories danced in the air, all the way from the industry side of Birmingham. With her body slouching lazily on her rotating chair, the seat let out a desperate squeak as she shifted sharply. Although it was the long-awaited day for the removal of the bandage, she had done what she was told not to do as soon as the bandage was removed, which was sitting in a manner that could make the wound worst. While her chin laid on her chest, a burgundy glass of wine swirled in her cup, dancing in a regular choreography. The surface of her tongue was coated with the sweet, intoxicating flavour.

The man lifted up the leather book, his raven hair swept down to curtain his eyes. As his fingers descended down the dates, the caress halted when it landed on the current date.

The Italian shook his head, “Today’s free day. Tomorrow, get ready to buy a bottle of whiskey. So… can I go to the pub?” Shooting a glinting smile, Dante hugged the book to his chest as if a little kid, pleading to his mother for a lemon sweet. Y/N let out a huff, her head was thrown back into the back of her chair.

“When have I stopped you?” He nodded, agreeing to her point.

Even though she had tried her hardest to get over with the work that had been piling on her desk, towering above her and nearly grazing over the ceiling, the thought of Finn somehow made way into her head- even when her task had nothing to do with the boy. To say the least, it frustrated her, especially with the fact that her efficiency in completing work has been declining. No matter how many papers she stuffed in her ears, nothing stopped his appearances in her head.

An exhale fell off her lips, slightly heavier than she thought it would’ve been.

“Anyways, good. I want to visit a friend today.” She mumbled, kicking her feet off before placing her cup on the table. Dante watched his boss as she paced around the room, a compass hovered over her head while she dashed left to the right. Her dress that rested below her knees danced in the air, slicing it in half with every sprint. After yanking her coat from the hanger with a swift tug, the clothing that was made for frigid weather let out a huff as it was thrown over the wooden table.

It was possible for her to visit Finn, entirely possible. There really was nothing stopping her from visiting him, except for the extensive list she had concocted for herself. It had killed her to why she hadn’t done so, a thought of her reverting the direction of the car to pay him a visit popped out in her head before it was poked with a pin. No, it was harder than it sounded.

Polly’s words swirled in her head, hovering around her mind as she would scribble against paper all day. Women like us. What had the lady meant? Every time she would dismiss that thought and not worry about the age gap since Finn was technically considered a man, she remembered that he was the younger brother of the man that had saved her. Heck, Finn was fresh out of the womb born when she was nineteen. That was a lot to digest. But a part of her clung onto the moments where it seemed he had returned back the same kind of affection.

If she could not fall asleep, all she had to think of was the night he pulled her out of her bedroom during the sobbing incident. He didn’t even ask after the night, leaving it in the past. Although a part of her had been slightly grateful since she wouldn’t be able to conjugate sentences if he were to ask, another part of her believed that he truly didn’t care, a faded idea was that she was just his host after all- he was just repaying back that deed. However, she had been slightly upset that he hadn’t bothered to prod in, he hadn’t insisted for her to open up. The woman herself was a frustrating mess. The road split into two, could she not go through the middle? Maybe it was for the best.

There were so many reasons that should’ve already been embedded into her head to why being around Finn wasn’t good for her or for the boy himself; however, looking back, she liked the aura he radiated when she was around him, she felt different. A good different.

“Where you goin’?” Dante inquired. He watched as his boss smoothly slides into her shoulder holster before stabbing her metal key into the lock, yanking open the drawers which sent quivering tremors throughout the container. Whatever had been chucked in the drawer had danced to the earthquake-like beat.

Bending, Y/N squinted her eyes for any sign of her pistol. Her fingers rapidly wrapped around the gun. She twirled it around, her eyes ran over the firearm for a quick inspection. When she made sure the safety pin was still intact, she tucked it safely in her holster, “Near the bridge.”

Dante bopped his head even though a part of him had been driven to confusion. Normally, she would either go to the club alone or at fortunate times, she would call the day off for everybody. He still remembered the joy radiated from Connor when he had heard the news. Only because Y/N had thrown one of the clients she could not tolerate due to his irritating voice. Everyone agreed with her opinion, the nasal tone was no different than rubbing a squeaky cloth on a window. His eyes followed her as he watched her slide into her coat in one swift, “Do you need me to fetch Connor to drive?”

Y/N shook her head, “There is no need.”

“You should take at least one of the boys, I’ll come.”

While she struggled to pick up the car key from her desk, she threw a glare at the man, “You stay here and watch over the boys. I know that last slice of pie was eaten by one of you. You keep your eyes out and tell them I’ll shoot a bullet through their forehead if they touch my last piece of cake, I’m sure they do not wish for a third eye to be a permanent tattoo.”

Without waiting for his response, she had left her room. The carpet caused her heels to sink into the bedding, she let out a huff at the factor that would slow her speed down.

Although it was a risky move to leave the hotel or leave the city overall, she knew that it would be impossible for the opposing side to know that she was involved in the situation. If they had found out, though, she would just applaud. She hoped that they hadn’t thought about inspecting each and every one of the garages since it was random and out of the blue. There, she would run into some trouble. No target had hovered above her forehead just yet. Tommy didn’t save her so she could prance on the street or take a tour around England while his family was held on strings by the mafia.

Inserting the keys in her car, she let it rest in place while she leaned back into the seat; her fingers subconsciously already ready with the flaming stick of cancer. While going down the elevator, she had noted the unrelenting eyes thrown at her as if she was a mere museum display. They weren’t even bothered to hide behind a cloth. Disgust prickled against her skin when it didn’t stop there. There were an abundant amount of judgmental people who would elevate their eyes to look run their eyes on her figure.

Sauntering down the street were white-haired men who waved their golden canes and women with their head held up so high that the flap of their head might just flip open. It was not quite like America. However, the amount of times eyes had gazed at her while she sat in the car alone had multiplied tenfold. They were probably wondering where the real owner of the car was. She chuckled, shaking her head before starting the heavy journey.

The ink from his pen smeared the paper, seeping into the sheet as he scribbled with confidence after he had read the line for the second time. Strokes of black lines finally set into the sheet of paper once he had given it time to rest. Raising it in the air, Tommy narrowed his eyes, squinting as he ran his orbs over the lines once again. Nothing wrong with rechecking. The man clicked his tongue when he spotted the unsatisfactory word.

As soon as the paper glided back down onto the wooden table, his fingers were agile to scribble over. The sheet was organized, neat and professional. That was until the intended marking he wanted to be a sophisticated dot was dragged to draw a line across the paper.

“Fucking hell, Finn,” Thomas let out a huff, creaking back into his seat as his eyes gazed at his youngest brother. Was his office a barging room now? Slight aggravation roared in the boss’s gut at the paper which seemed his son had plucked out for a quick drawing session. “What do you want?”

Resting the pen onto the table, Thomas pulled his glasses off. Finn gazed around the room before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a creak, “I heard you were going to send Arthur to tell Y/N of the party.”

“So this’s about Y/N then?”

Thomas saw right through him like a beam through a badly-woven sheet of wool, cutting through the pores with an exhale. Finn cowered his true intention by a blush, although, he felt like Thomas already knew. Watching people be read by Thomas was amusing since they tried hard to stack bricks around them, thinking they had him on the other side. However, all Finn wanted was his older brother to lose that ability or power of doing so.

“Well, what do you want to know about it?” Yanking a fresh cig out of the metal case, Thomas rubbed the stick over his lips before flicking his lighter.

Finn pursed his lips before he made way towards his older brother, his strands of hair had curled out in peculiar angles, almost as if he was in a haste to meet Thomas. His fingers brushed over the bulging strands of cloth from his flat cap, “Could I be the one to tell her?”

Narrowing his eyes, Thomas leaned back against the back of his creaking chair. A swirl of smoke danced from his cigarette while he stared at the youngest Shelby. Just a little bit of digging and he might be able to find a treasure chest, “Is there any particular reason to why you would want to do such a simple task?”

The youngest chewed his bottom lip, eyes darted to the shadowy corner, “Not exactly… Could I just tell her?”

With the dangling stick resting between his fingers, Thomas raised the cup of whiskey. He took a quick sip before he tried to read his brother once again, “I was planning to just ring her a call, simple as that.”

“Well, I’ll do it, I’ll go meet her.”

A moment of silence squeezed in between the brothers before Thomas rapped the air with his huffing cig, “Shagged her yet?”

“Huh?” Eyes shooting wide open, Finn’s ajar mouth suddenly became parched, lost at words from his brother’s words.

“You stayed at her lodge, defended her against Polly and Ada. Now you want to be the one to invite her, personally, might I add. So, have you shagged her yet?”

Finn’s cheeks tainted red before he shook his head. The vapour swirled into his nose, warming his lungs, “Good, she was close to John,” Noticing the confused stare from the youngest of the Shelby, Thomas quirked his eyebrows. “Well then? Why you still here?”

Never had Finn sprint out of Thomas’ office as fast as he ever did.

As the breeze kissed her skin, she sported a smile that had not faltered or quivered. Nothing was there to threaten the curved line. When her eyes darted towards her left after she made sure that no objects were obstructing her way; that the vehicle was on the right path, she took in the view of the gentle and young stream of pure, nearly crystal-clear water. Beheaded flowers glided over the smooth stream as if a basket-worth of the unfortunate greeneries had been dumped, its white petals gave the flower equilibrium, floating. No matter how hard of an effort the flowers tried their best to close their arms, luck was not on their side. The sweet pollen was bare in the open as if it called for the blade ends of bees to suckle onto its treasury. While it floated over the water, it sang in falsetto. Amusing infant-like curls of waves nudged against the odd land, which curled and twirled in an almost peculiar way that mother nature herself would never act upon.

Even if one was to be shackled in gold chains towards their banks, their money would never be adequate; it wasn’t possible to have such an astonishing view in the cluster of bar-like buildings. Here, in the middle of nowhere, was a sea of colourless diamonds, with a tint of hazy blue which had labelled a price tag that would cause ones’ eyes to bulge out of its socket, and a tranquil melody, a song sung by no one, yet, clearer than the freshest record player on the market. In the midst of a city, weaving canals were the bloodstreams of death and feculent odours. It was humorous, a plot of land, ruled by the dominating creature was nothing to an open area- where there was no crown, no king. Just survival. Without a doubt, the only thing that could stand against the clarity of the stream in the fields would be the new batch of glass cups that would sooner or later be the wives of countless of lips; home for attentive liquor. The wind was a monitored road, heavily watching the children pass the street towards their school for education, the empty bags they had brought sacked the heaviness that sat on her shoulder for weeks on end. Not even liqueur, a close friend she had opened up to, can relief of the lively thoughts in her head.

There were no other disturbing noises, no other exhausts that had tainted the air (even though she wished she had just chosen to walk, the distance would’ve caused her to collapse like an emaciated horse), no yelling and no other reminder of the city life, other than her car which was her sole accompany. A smear of bleeding red jam against the white toast was the extensive field of bristles of grass whose heads stood erected like swords. Despite the bedding of blades, there were elegant heads of flowers that protruded in between the warriors. Her fingers drummed over the steering wheel, she began to hum, which was muffled by her throat as she imagined the life she had desired in the past.

A life in the forest, a family in a humble, little cottage in the middle of nowhere. Was it even possible? A man whose hands had been dipped in blood? It was forever to be stained. No matter the barrels of cleaning agent, no matter the intense concentration. How had she expected him to drop the empire he had ruled over for a fairy tale? Even though he was a speckle of dirt in the past, her broom swishing technique was not yet solid, despite it already being two years. Her mind swatted the thought away. It left her at awe how a sauntering thought could ruin her mood. That was until she had to force upon her head to ponder of joyful memories she had actually enjoyed.

Once a blur of what would normally be claustrophobic and grey, trickled in the corner of her eyes, her lips faltered to a tight line. The tree that hovered above the plot of land, protected the buried bodies under it like a parasol. Y/N let out a staggering exhale at what she was about to do. Was she even ready? It might’ve taken eight years for her to overcome, was it enough? While her brain chattered amongst its belief of how she had succeeded to wipe that part of her memory, her heart, in piercing shackles, disagreed. Although she wanted to turn the vehicle back into the deadly fumes of the city, the time had ticked short. The graveyard waited patiently as if it had expected her visit. Various shapes of standing blocks of stone stood out from the breathless view of nature which she’ll never be able to get tired of. A calm resting place for inanimate bodies. If she had the chance to choose where her body would be buried, it would be here.

After halting the exhaust, she hopped out of the vehicle, trying her hardest to fend off the hefty thoughts that would only chain her to the car, her only escape. Inhaling in the air, she noted that it was light, a twinge of sweetness swirled in the batch as if dripping honey. While her eyes were shut tight, she sucked it in as if she had been starved of it. Cleansing the fumes of city life in her lungs, the crisp strands made home in the warm organ, she made sure to cover every nook and crevice. The woman who wore a coat that was the colour a tone down of cigarette ashes lingered near the ton of metal before taking a hefty step. It reminded her of the unforgettable war, the heavy sludge of mud she had to trek into, to drag a wounded soldier to safety.

The air was truly one of a kind, it would be considered as an extinct species in the bustling life in the city with all its deadly vapours and feculent odours. If it was to be bottled up and released into the tainted air of the city, the existence of humans alone would cause it to shrink to death. Every step she took towards the location felt like it had been inching down, engulfed by the starving ground. The strings that held her beating heart snapped, after all the years it had to endure while she wore her heart low- the line was bound to wear off, it plunged the organ into the gurgling acid of her gut. The holster that she had been wearing daily ever since she had entered the risky business, suddenly felt like a hefty cargo hook. The feeling was uncanny to that of when she had been given her first shoulder holster, given by someone who had engraved ‘L’ on the front of the strap.

Finally, after what felt like ages, she stood in front of the tomb. The engraved letters that spelt out his name blared into her eyes. Seeing his name in her head was different than seeing it in reality. Her hands curled into a faint fist as thoughts bounced off the walls of her head. The woman squatted down, her knees brushed against the poking heads of the grass. The soft caress of flowers and the breezy wind was the only anchor wrapped around her ankles that kept her from floating away from reality.

Her mouth stood, gaped open, there were so many words she wanted to regurgitate out of her chest, yet, it had clogged in her throat, obstructing the path of air. The coat that draped over her shoulder felt like an awful whole load of weight sitting on her. Reluctantly, she pondered if removing her coat and her defence was a good idea, especially since she was out in the open, where she was vulnerable. Was she to risk her life in the field of grass over buried bodies? Yes, all in the name of respect and trust in those who watched over her. Tugging off her navy swing coat, her fingers brushed over the warm leather straps of her shoulder holster. A second passed; she hesitated before she slid them off. The ground muffled the thud of the metal with its thick layer of soil, the pair of her favourite firearms accompanied each other onto the grassy ground.

Fiddling with the hem of her sand-coloured skirt that stooped below her knees, she sat, pondering with lively thoughts in her head that milled around, the tranquillity of the air gave her the opportunity to think, which might not be pleasant since there was a chance for her to overthink. An offer the city could never be able to provide unless she had downed at least two rock glass worth of vodka, neat. Even though she was enjoying the memories that were played in her head, she had finally spoken up, “Wished I got here earlier, you could’ve shown me around Birmingham,” Y/N sent a smile at the carved name as her fingers brushed the blades of grass. The woman could imagine his face, his voice and his reaction. Eight years of nothing. “You wouldn’t have been underground.”

The smile she wore flew off her face, the wind fled from the scene with the joy it had just stolen. Wincing from the pinching ache in her leg muscles, she let out a huff before making herself a place on the ground, somewhat reluctantly, indenting the field; it took a long second to get used to as the blades pierced into her, mercilessly. Even shifting to find a more comfortable position was painful. After succeeding, her fingers played with the neck of the flowers. “Finally met your brother, saved him too,” She grinned at the thought of the youngest Shelby as she patted the head of the flower who let out an uncomfortable groan. Before it snapped its face away from her, not wanting to be assaulted, once she had let it go from her suffocating grip. “I remembered when I saved you.”

Her fingers halted, hovering above a neighbouring quivering daisy who danced to the tune of the air, “Blood covered you from head to toe, thought you were a mental man before Tommy came to me,” The poor flower was caressed by her finger. “Not a mental man,” Her eyes flickered towards the tombstone. “A good man.”

An ache twanged in her chest as she laid out the heavy words that had been piling up for eight torturous years, “What happened during the war was a mistake, I’m only quoting whatever you said,” She chuckled when she could practically hear his voice trickle in her ears, his chuckle felt nostalgic. The clarity was as if it was just a faint whisper from the night before. “It must’ve been rough after hearing the news that Martha had passed, she was a strong woman. I wouldn’t know how it’d feel if my husband left to fight for the country while I stay at home, a babe in me,” Y/N sent a glance at her belly before she darted her eyes towards the carved name. “Even though what we did was a mere… moment, I can’t forget about it,” She mumbled. “When I left for America, all I could think about was you, though for a period of time… it was suppressed. You said you were the kids will be looked after you, all by yourself, I remembered asking if you needed help… you said no. If only I had stayed... if only I had insisted.”

Beads of tears rested to glaze her eyes, a haze coated her vision, “I’d assume they’re doing fine with your new wife.”

“They are,” Her eyes snapped wide, the tears she held on her eyes splattered into the air, breezing through the wind to splash upon thirsty greeneries. As she hastily yanked her pistol from the holster, there were a series of tremors pulsing in her fingers. Y/N stared at the figure, elbow pierced into the ground while her lip quivered from her oppressed tears that sat behind a thin sheet of a dam. “Woah, woah, there’s no need for guns, hey...”

Behind her layer of salty tears, she could make out that it was Finn. His lanky height, his cut of a hair and the way his voice smeared against her ears. Squatting down to her level, he rested his hand above hers that gripped on the firearm. He pushed it down to point it at the ground, away from him. Although he had not experienced such a situation where a gun was so closely held for his head, his reaction was calm and collected. While staring deep in her glossy eyes, he swam through the endless barriers. Finn managed to gently remove the gun from her grip before he placed it back on her coat.

His face hovered over hers by a hair’s breadth, their eyes lingered as if locked. Y/N couldn’t believe this was the second time he would get to see her like this, frail and weak like a quivering doe. Before she had the chance to wipe the tears off, his hand rested on her cheeks as he took a casual seat, pulling her to do the same. As soon as his thumb pressed softly against her eyes, she let out a sob. His heart drummed against his ribs, had he poked her by accident? He had been extremely meticulous. What he didn’t expect was for her to bawl in his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a desperate hug. Without a thought, he shifted closer towards her, his hand laid behind her head as she let out bursts of tears.

It felt longer than it should’ve, but Finn was not complaining. The view of her against the atrocious field was a sight. The memories of her and John had overflowed her head, it was seeping out of the bucket to flood and concoct a puddle. The soothing caress of Finn’s fingers against her hair had placed her in a tranquil mood. When her sobbing had died down, a melody worth dancing to was sung by the stream of water and the rustling of the sole, lonely tree. Not a sorrowful tune. There was peace the place engulfed them in, more comforting than any blanket she had slept in. Although a thought flew by for Finn to pull away, the boy hadn’t bothered. Growing up in a family of violence and harm, the Peaky Blinder boy found the warmth of the place to be just like when he was a mere boy, cared for. Weaving through the locks of her hair, his fingers were wrapped as he prodded his digits into her roots. Finn sprung into the spotlight when he found the beats of the song to be catchy. The humming of a lullaby echoed from his throat, the muffled noise resounded down his chest and into the woman’s ears.

“I’m not a baby, I’m a man,” Fingers brushing over the drenched puddle of salty tears, which was worth a scandalous rumour, she chewed the bottom of her lips as she waited for his reaction. A loud cackle hurled into the air, a booming noise that awakened the slumbering flocks of birds. There was no doubt, it was not difficult to find his laughter pleasing and almost like a strum of an ethereal strum. It was contagious. The disease jumped into her before she knew it, she joined by letting out a chuckle. Although she would’ve liked for her head to remain on him, the cloth had become damp- slapped onto her face, a favourite method of Dante’s to wake the woman up from her sleep. Finally pulling away from his chest, the weight placed on his chest had been removed. “I’m sorry, I don’t easily cry… I don’t know what’s with me lately, it’s just…”

Finn gawked mockingly, “What? I make you sad?”

“No! no!” Y/N shouted, smacking his chest which caused him to let out an amused chuckle. “It’s just, I just let it all out when I’m with you.”

Finn watched the way the strands of her hair flew in the sky as she sprung her gaze towards the field. Taking note of the way her fingers were fiddling quite nervously, he dragged the mood up, “So I’m your doctor now, huh?”

Throwing her head back in laughter, the grin on her face hadn’t been wiped off as the moment felt surreal. A glint of sparkle twinkled in his eyes, “Yeah, you fix me.”

“Then, I must’ve done a good job.” A chuckle bounced off his cocky statement.

Gesturing her head towards his flooded stain on his suit, she mumbled under her breath, “I’m sorry about that.” The boy glanced down, words sprinted around his head as he tried to find the correct method of replying. Never had he had to deal with a woman bawling her eyes out on him.

Even though he hadn’t found the perfect way to reassure her, he threw the coin into the canal with fingers crossed, “Just a few hours in the wind and it’ll not even be there,” She nodded, the back of her palm swiped over the line of tears obstructing her vision from the gorgeous view. Although a part of him had brought up the idea of raising his voice to ask her what had been causing her such sorrow, in hopes of maybe lifting the weight off of her shoulders to ease her from the pain, he decided to revert the topic.

“Wait, how did you know I was here?”

“Oh, right, Tommy sent me to your hotel,” The half-lie and half-truth echoed into her ears. It was more truth than a lie, although, he had not bothered to interject the part where he had insisted, forced, his brother to send him, to deliver the message to the lady. How great of an actor the boy was. Y/N hummed at his reply, fingers rummaging through the pocket of her dress before pulling out a compact metal case. The engraved lines on the silver cigarette case were intricate as if a show plane had carved peculiar swirls in the air. “Asked around and Dante told me, so here I am, inviting you to a party.”

Finn gazed down at the open case, it had been full except for two, the lid clanked as she waited for him to take one, his nimble fingers accepted. As her stick rested on her lips, she flicked her lighter for him. While his cigarette was dying to flaking ashes, she lit hers, “Party?”

Finn hummed, body leaning back as he perched upon his hands, face coating by the warm rays of the sun, “Tommy decided to play truce before the war, called the guy and now we gonna have a drink with them.”

Driving herself to the brink of death by bottles of English liquor didn’t sound like a bad idea. Sadly, if she had known this activity was to happen during the vacation, she would’ve brought flasks of the finest her tongue had ever laid upon, all the way from home. Blinking from the most pathetic and ridiculous idea she had ever heard, she stared at him in disbelief, “You’re gonna drink with the man who murdered your brother?”

Finn let out a heavy sigh as he still could not figure out his brother, who was the leader of the business. Tommy was always like assembling a gun from the base, complex and evasive, “No one knows what’s going on in Tommy’s head, not sure why he’s doing this… It’s Tommy.”

“That’s Tommy, alright. When?”

“Next Friday, dusk.”

She let out another hum while she scribbled a not in her head, hoping that she would be able to remember to tell Dante to jot it down in her book. Finn chewed his bottom, lively words scurried around in his mind. Although he had wanted to propose the idea of her going to the party with him, doubts engulfed him, wholly, as if it had waited to starve itself. Surely she could’ve found someone else? Someone older? Someone who didn’t look like a babe? Cloudy vapour swirled out of her lips like that coming out of a chimney, the deadly fume was ready to sprint, dash out of the cave of her mouth, ready to evaporate into the free air. Except, only a strand fled with the breezy wind while the rest stirred into her nostrils.

“Michael can do that,” Yanked back into reality, she stared at him to continue. Someone had mentioned that name. “My cousin, Aunt Pol’s son, can do that smoke…thing.”

Her eyebrows clashed for a second as she tried to piece together what he was trying to inform. Realization kicked in when his finger wiggled at her cigarette.

“Didn’t see him at the meeting.”

“He’s recovering. Was shot at John’s house.”

Silence emitted from her lips. Another drag to cloud her thoughts, another pull to loosen her head and another inhale so she could meet the reaper who had taunted her. Specks of dirt crawled into his nails as if it found solace in the tight crevices, clumps and clusters chained their arms together to form brown streaks. As he took a drag of his cigarette, the other hand was occupied with another method of relieving the roaring nervousness. The lines of the Earth concocted a painting, a barrier formed when his fingers dug into the bedding of the grass, “Was wondering if you would like to… uh… maybe go with me?”

With high hopes, his fingers buried dead in the soil crossed, “Of course.”

Finn wore a goofy smile.

“Wear blue. Dark blue, you would look dashing in it,” Redness crept onto his pale cheeks at her compliment before he frowned, trying to recall the clothing in his closet. When the woman noticed his change in demeanour, an idea sprung into her head after she inhaled the smoke in. Ah, the wonders of cigarettes. “Alright then, upcoming Monday, come to my hotel and I’ll bring my finest tailor all the way from Paris.”

Finn’s eyes widened. Was she really willing to do all that for a party?

“Y/N, that’s like… grands.”

A chuckle fell off her lips at his reaction, “Isn’t that the point? We’ll be matching. Unless, of course, you don’t want that.”

It was as if he had been trapped in a corner, the clock above his head had sung a limited tone. He glanced at her quirked eyebrow, “No, no, I’d love that.”

When she glanced at the sky, the once blue became an ombre of yellow and purple, stirred in the middle of the two warm colours was a faint line of grey. The gradient was like an astounding backdrop of a painting, worth three grands at least. However, it wasn’t enough for a painter to take a glance before smearing his paint against the bleached canvas. The corners of her lips curled down as it was a sign of the approaching night, they would have to split up. The rustling of the surrounding trees indicated the pair that the flocks of birds have arrived at their homes, ready to slumber during the breezy night.

“Well then, that’s it for the day.” Y/N mumbled, pushing herself up before muttering a thanks to the Peaky Blinder for dusting her coat up, strands of grass sprung off the cloth. Taking a final drag, the stick let out a desperate cry as the fire began to deteriorate its top portion of its body. With a flick of her thumb, the stick met with the grass blades. Its death was painless and quick. To not disrespect the resting dead, she made sure to discard it elsewhere. Not to taint nature. As she put her shoulder holster back on, tucking the pistol she had used at Finn, back in, her arms slid into the cooling sleeves of her swing coat.

“Sadly.”

A minute of their eyes lingered onto one another when Y/N leaned in to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Oh, how Finn wished it would’ve lasted longer than a second. Pulling back, she grinned, “Thank you for staying, not a lot of men do that.”

Finn stood astonished, he watched as she got into her car. His eyes glued onto her, she waved him a soft bye before driving into the distance. His hand rested on his cheeks, a smile crept on his face as he played the memory on repeat. If only he had it recorded, he could play it on the pictures endlessly. The cigarette in his fingers rolled its eyes, the boy who seemed to be struck with love stared at the street she had faded away into. She had called him a man, Finn was a man.

As the familiar door swung open, the scent of perfume that reeked of money rammed into his nose. It had been a battle of floral against liquor. Finn’s lungs had been assaulted the Peaky Blinder was met with a man, who was dressed so freely, Finn was sure he would have been the walking-gawking figure if he was to step outside of the house. The two hooks at the end of his pointy moustache prodded in the air. Although Finn had tried his best to ignore the fact that the man had ran his eyes on his figure, judging him, the man’s eyes flickered back to the woman who stood on a circular wooden platform that rested in the middle of the living room, obstructing the path towards the kitchen. Well, if one could squeeze through the narrow alleys between the table and its wall.

The boy allowed his eyes to be fascinated by the beauty of the nude-coloured dress that sat perfectly on her. However, his cheeks flushed red when he was caught gazing upon her exposed arm, sleeveless with lace ending up to her shoulders. “Finn!” After a stretched out week, Y/N had been waiting for the time the Peaky Blinder would pay her a visit. It had finally approached. The woman sported a wide smile that ran from one cheek to another, her joyful mood had been lifted higher. “Glad you could make it, Finn, this’s my finest tailor from Paris.”

Victor rolled his eyes while he paced back towards his client. Finn who had been stranded made way to sit on the couch that possessed an unspoken memory. The word fine was of low standard, the compliment served no justice to his splendid talent, “Baby, I’m more than fine,” Y/N let out a giggle. Though, it was cut short when the French man had accidentally tugged a string a bit too tight. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Victor,” Roaming his eyes up and down the figure, Victor’s eyebrows clashed before he stood on his tiptoes so his mouth hovered over the lady’s ears. The additional height added from the platform caused her to be taller than him. “’Tis one looks young, is he underage?”

Y/N let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes. Finn, who had been the statue pointed at, threw perplexed glances at the figures. Were they talking about him? He was only right to assume as they kept darting rapidly towards him. Victor, who had been Y/N’s tailor for some time had been there for most of the guys she had gone through. Only those she had been serious with. As a tailor, a worker of art, he had remembered all of their faces as if it was just yesterday they had walked through his door for an outfit.

Although Victor was pleased with her way of enchanting customers towards his shop, Y/N wasn’t doing charity for the men. It was something he had yet to unfold. All of their faces had a streak of wrinkle, the person that had entered the room was a boy. No line of age. The French man recalled her visit to his shop with a Greek man. Victor’s heart was at ease when he had heard they pulled away, mutually. The chiselled jaw and the Adonis’ figure screamed for Victor.

“Come on, Finn, after this is your turn.” The guest nodded, his eyes attached to the woman’s figure, nothing can peel his eyes away from the ethereal sight.

“So, Mr Shelby, what’re your true intentions with our Y/N ‘ere?” Noting the awkward silence, the question buttered by Victor’s thick French accent smeared over Finn’s confused face. The corner of his lips curled up. Oh, the boy made the teasing so easy.

“Huh?” Finn blinked his eyes at the man.

“Victor!” Y/N threw a smack on his chest while he yanked a square piece of cloth from his blue-grey waistcoat. Letting out an entertained giggle, the 37-year-old man hovered the material over her skin, pondering if the tone was spectacular enough.

“I’ve seen all sorts of eyes on ‘er, what’s it you want from ‘er?”

Stammering, Finn squeezed out an answer, “Well, I want to go to the party with her.” The older man let out a huff from the disappointing reply even though he enjoyed the teasing game.

“Obviously. What is it? Money? Sex?” The blood vessels in the boy’s cheeks dilated, smearing crimson red across his face. He did not see that coming.

“What? I have to ask because I’ve seen those eyes before,” Although she was better at suppressing her tinting of cheeks, Finn could see a twinge of red. It was a less vibrant shade than his, though. “So what’s it, kid?”

“I’m not a kid.” Victor hummed, flicking out his measuring tape. The string of cloth sprung out of his chest pocket to bounce in the air, ready to be yanked for measurement.

Slow-paced days sauntered past, not by a blink of an eye, though. The countdown until the party had caused everyone to be pushed to the edge of their seat with tense shoulders. Well, Thomas especially since he had wanted everything to be top-notch. If he could describe the party in a phrase, it would surely be, without a doubt be reeked with gold. And reeked with gold it was. After overseeing the lavish bar, he had hurled the stacks of money for the place to be drowned with stacks of money that were once in his bank. He still hadn’t figured out why he had done so (wasting money that caused Polly to stumble); although, a part of him believed that he wanted to leave a mark on the Italian to the power that bled in him. The consequences of any side of the party to oppose the set punishments had been secured and agreed by both sides. Though, the Italian believed that the English should finally consume the right liquor, so, he had shipped his preferred liquor (that of his own company) to the social gathering.

Y/N let out the air she didn’t know she was even holding in. The dark blue flapper dress sparkled even under the faint light of the distant moon. It was embedded with slinking strands of jewels which draped down as if sagging curtain lines. Stars decorated and embellished her dress, it felt ethereal to have the whole galaxy plastered against the skirt, priceless. Twirling in front of the golden mirror, she wore a grin that peaked from one cheek to the other.

Lost in the specks of glitters, the knock on her hotel door peeled her attention from the enchanting sight. Victor had made dozens of her outfits if she was lucky to visit Paris. However, his style had always left her astounded.

On the other side of the door stood an incredibly nervous Finn. Drowning in sticky sweat from head to toe, Finn wondered how many more litres of the liquid his body could secrete despite the chilly night from the recent showering of rain. The palms of his hands were drenched with beads of sweat, the tie he wore was suddenly too tight despite the incessant amount of times he had adjusted it. Finn’s fingers unfurled over the tie as he remembered the conversation with his eldest brother.

“Whose petrol did you suck, huh, Finn?” Arthur cackled, hand smacking over the youngest back. Under the hazy light of their house in Watery Lane, Finn’s suit was a blur of rich blue. After running his fingers down the lavish-looking suit, the eldest couldn’t believe Finn was capable to enchant someone.

While Arthur was rummaging through the table of clanking glass bottles, Finn mumbled with a smile he couldn’t help but sport, “Y/N got it for me.”

The scavenger hunt for the whiskey bottle halted. Arthur’s calloused fingers hovered over the packed alcohol glass containers that called for him, “Y/N?”

Despite the buzzing in his ears, Finn’s hum as a reply made way to the eldest ears, “We’re going to the party together.”

Taking a second to realize his words, Arthur poured himself a cup of the liquor, “You and her close?”

The smooth cloth caressed against his fingers as he straightened the waistcoat for the hundredth time. Clicking his tongue, Finn replied, “Sure.”

Arthur nodded, chugging down the whiskey in a gulp. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the blur of the younger man, fondling with the pocket watch. Finn could not stay still. The youngest Shelby was rocking on his feet, fingers in and out of his pocket, hands straightening his waistcoat. There was only one viable solution to his nervousness.

Finn’s eyes brushed over the blue bottle. Relief engulfed his body at the sight. While tapping out a line of the white powder onto the wooden table, making sure it didn’t seep into the cracks, Arthur inquired, “D’you know their history?”

Midway of the line, Finn’s neck craned up to glance at his brother. Although Finn did not know the pair his eldest brother was talking about, he shook his head. Arthur proceeded, “We always thought John had the ring ready. Even Thomas heard bells singing in his sleep. The war was horror and yet, the two of them made it worth fighting for.”

The bottle in Finn’s hands shook, glass dancing to the tighter grip he held. His dead brother was in love with Y/N? Steadying the heaving of his chest, Finn breathed in the line. Finn shot up, shoulders rolling to pick up his date for the night. There were questions blaring in his mind that were in need of answers, desperately. But tonight, the drugs were his leash.

Before he had the chance to yank his tie and alter it, the door creaked open. His jaw grazed over the carpet floor. The dress she wore glittered under the hallway lighting, the hem had been sliced into dangling strands, brushing over her knees. Maybe Y/N should’ve taken a breather before opening the door, maybe then she had the time to compose herself.

“Y/N..,” Finn mumbled, still in awe. “You look fantastic.”

The woman pressed her lips at his compliment, her cheeks flushed crimson red, “Thank you, Finn, you don’t look bad yourself.”

The cheeky smile played on the boy before he extended his arm, to which she gladly took. During the car ride, Finn had made countless glances towards the woman who sat next to him. It was a miracle he did not crash the vehicle.

Once the car had stopped in front of the golden building, Finn mumbled a ‘wait’ before zooming out of the car, opening the door for her. A pleased smile crept onto the woman’s lips. While the pair sauntered towards the smeared light of the bar, a trio trailed behind them. Silently following their boss, the three men were dressed in uniform clothing, an oversized coat hung on their shoulders.

As they approached the elegant green door, the moonlight bounced off the golden doorknobs to shimmer the iridescent sparkles. The air outside of the club was hefty and still. There weren’t a lot of people capering on the street. There were only half a dozen men who had been moving about.

“So, when do you plan to visit me in America?” With her fingers caressing over his velvet suit, she hadn’t bothered to throw a glance at where she was even walking, placing all her trust in him to guide the two.

Finn chuckled. Although her face was hovering a hair’s breadth away from his, he didn’t muster the courage to change his gaze. If what had left him astonished and speechless, how could he react to her up close? The closeness between the two allowed him to sniff the strong yet chill scent of vanilla.

They were closer towards the bar, now. Their glass panes of the French door was hazy, it was smeared with a blur of plastered yellow paint, obstructing the passer-by’s ability to take a glance on who partook a glass of whiskey. However, the crying of the trumpet and chill jazz seeped out the crevices of the door, to play in the silent cry of the night. On the empty street, wandering mice could dance as they scour for food for the night.

Halting in front of the door, Finn turned his shoulders to face the woman. His fingers trailed from her arm that had wrapped around his to her bare fingers. Tingles trickled on the skin he had run over, despite the occasional singing of the wind.

Y/N’s eyes watched him in interest, where had he gain all this confidence? The question was hurled through the window as her head gone blurry. His warm lips pressed against her evening glove-covered knuckles. Flickering his eyes to meet hers’, Finn couldn’t help but sport a satisfied smirk once he spotted her cheeks flushing.

While his thumb brushed over the bumps of her knuckles, he mumbled, moving his body closer towards hers, “When this war’s over and I get to convince Tommy, I’ll go to America.”

“You need permission from your older brother?” An amused chuckle fell off her lips.

Nothing fell off Finn’s lips while the carefree song trickled into his ears, “Yes, he needs to know I won’t be coming back to Birmingham.”

Bloodshot up to her cheeks, before she had the chance to react, Finn interlaced his fingers with hers. Their digits weaved through one another as they stepped closer towards the bar. While Finn tried to suppress the smirk that had curled up on his lips, Y/N’s eyes never found the convenience to blink, had he meant what he said?

As soon as the door creaked, cracking a gap between its frame and the slab of wood, boisterous chatter and jazz fled into the night air. Gold sparkled into her eyes. It was an overwhelming amount of the precious metal. If the marble counter and silver sparkles weren’t enough to blind her, bodies that passed her blared their sparkling gold into her eyes. The incessant amount of gold prickling her vision made her ponder, was the night holding something grand?

They made only three steps into the bar when they were stopped.

“Weapons? We’ll have to pat you down,” Y/N’s eyebrows clashed in confusion. “Both of the parties ban weaponry.”

Finn nodded when he had recalled a smear of memory in the family meeting, though, he couldn’t remember it vividly because he had snoozed off. His fingers slithered into the inner pockets of his jacket, the frigid material caressed his skin before he had brushed against a freezing metal that clunk with his nail. Tugging the pistol out, it was soon out of his grasp. The doorman turned his gaze to the woman, although he was to walk away, Y/N let out a sigh.

“Finn, one second,” The Peaky Blinder’s eyebrows furrowed before he extended his arm which she graciously took. A tint of red was smeared against his and the doorman’s cheeks when her hand crept under her dress. “Here.”

The blushing doorman reluctantly grasped the firearm, “Oh, one second, just one more.”

Finn couldn’t even lay a glance on her, his crimson red cheeks had not yet cooled down when he had turned his gaze away to give respect to the woman. The air was sliced with a sharp blade. His mouth gaped open when his eyes landed on the weapon gripped in her hand.

“Take care of her, or else you won’t ever hear another trumpet.” The doorman vigorously nodded at the order before he paced away with the weapons.

Poking his inner cheek with his tongue, Finn looked at her, impressed to how she had brought two weapons, “What else you got under there?”

“Finn!” With a smack against his chest, the pair let out a series of laughter as they descended down the red carpet, their heads turned to gaze at the extravagant bar. Thomas had outdone himself. It must’ve cost stacks.

“Tommy booked the place, it’s only us,” Bopping her head, Y/N didn’t bother to inquire what was lingering behind the, ‘us’. “Thank you.”

The figure that weaved through bodies passed on flutes of champagne while a silver tray rested on his palm. Finn handed one to the woman of the night. After a nod of gratitude, the employee paced away to serve the customers.

“Y/N, this is my cousin that I told you about, Michael.”

Clasping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, Michael wore a large grin, “Talked about me? I’m honoured,” Finn’s smile dropped down when the Grey mussed his hair. Despite him being recently discharged out of the hospital, Michael’s strength would never abandon him, no matter the dose of morphine, “Glad to meet you.”

Once they shook their hands as a greeting, Michael’s figure faded into the crowd, either returning back to his mother or to tangle with a woman, “You’ve caught yourself a big fish there, Mr Shelby.”

The pair’s neck turned to face the voice, to be greeted by the father and son duo, “Mr Aberama Gold, Bonnie, this’s Y/N, she’s the ally providing us the guns.”

“Indeed, with that face of yours, no one’ll suspect a thing.” She didn’t know if she was to smile at his words. Soon, their figures were diluted in the crowd.

Her fingers dug deeper into Finn’s arm when her eyes landed on a familiar, too familiar man. Y/N’s eyes blinked rapidly, not knowing if she was hallucinating or if her champagne had been spiked. The caterpillar of a moustache that sat below his nose was just like it was three years ago. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Matteo’s eyes narrowed at the familiar group of men trailing behind the couple, which was met with the opposing Italians’. Then, it all clashed once a booming voice echoed through the bar, “Y/N!”

The woman’s eyes didn’t mean to graze upon the heads rotating to face who the eldest Shelby had called for… but, she did. As if he had been pulled away from an amusing conversation, the matchstick that rested on his lips nearly clashed against the marble floor. Arthur’s figure sprung out of his seat when he saw the lady of the night entered the bar.

Her gaze with her ex-fiancé remained. His aquiline nose pointed at her as if it had been surprised by her abrupt appearance. Surprised was an understatement for the Italian gangster. The red streak on his cheek had remained, a forever scar he would have to bear. As his hand descended to place the glass of liquor onto the table, the black ink flashed a smile towards the woman. The same tattoo artist had painted the same tattoo on the same spot for the two. What a fool she was, to think they would end up together. The memory of her nagging about his hairstyle seeped through her head. He stuck with the horrible slick back?

“Why’s he here?” Y/N whispered under her breath, too quiet as the band’s bustling noise filled the room.

“Hm?” Finn hummed, however, noticing her gaze towards the man who had killed his brother, Finn’s jaw clenched before replying, “Luca Changretta sent men to kill John.”

Just like that, the idea that the night would be one for her to enjoy had demolished into a rubble of bricks and dust. She tried her best to digest the new information, but it was too much. Her ex-fiancé had killed the first man she had loved?

Eyes watched as the Italian gangster rise from his seat, chattering died down with the suspenseful pace of the Italian towards the middle of the bar. Two pairs of eyes set upon his unexpected action like starving vultures, in need of the hidden truth. Even though Arthur had not seen his brother’s murderer stand up behind him, he gleefully sauntered towards the girl, to only be halted by Johnny.

“Y/N.” Luca breathed out, the name falling off his lips like the silk sheets they used to drape over their shoulders while their bodies connected as one. He had said the name multiple of times when she had not played a figure in his life anymore; it was nothing like her standing in the same room as him. Although his eyes flickered towards her arm wrapped around the youngest Shelby’s, his chest finally felt free. It wasn’t the same for her. Her chest tightened with every step they both took towards the middle of the bar. Finn’s hands were occupied with two cups, focus lingered on the pair. While Luca wore a faint smile, Y/N bore an unpleased frown.

Luca’s tongue raised from his bottom teeth, ready to mumble her name again. Silence weaved through the bar. His hand rested on his sizzling cheek, the spot she had slapped him was now throbbing with pain. A series of gasps echoed in the air once the noise of her hand meeting with his cheek trickled into their ears.

“Not as painful at the last one.” Luca chuckled it off as if to give a sense of clarity towards the prominent watchers, cracking his neck.

“What’re you doing here?” The venom dripped from her lips, her eyes narrowing on his dark eyes. Was he the mafia the Peaky Blinders were against?

Luca huffed, not liking that he was being watched while he was having a long-awaited conversation with her, “I could ask the same to you.”

“You lost that privilege years ago.” At the mention of why they had split apart, Luca’s jaw clenched. In the middle of a party, set by Thomas Shelby, the murderer of his father, his ex-lover was to converse to him about his mistaking past while they were being watched by strangers?

“We should talk in private, away from wandering eyes,” Luca mumbled, deeper as if he had not wanted any eavesdropping ears to hear him. “Amore.”

A scoff fell off her lips when he dared to call her the nickname he had given her when they were in love.

“Don’t call me that.” The Italian couldn’t help but pace back a couple of steps when her pointing finger prodded his chest, fingernails stabbing his sternum. His hands raised in surrender, gesturing to everyone he would not dare to lay a finger on the woman.

“Parliamo altrove.” (let’s talk elsewhere) The Italian words fell off his lips like a sharp dagger, embedding into her skin. The tone and words would’ve sent her knees to quiver, it used to but not now.

She rolled her eyes at his attempt to fade away from the crowd, was he trying to protect his reputation? “Fanculo!” (fuck that) She stomped closer, forcing his neck to crane down at her. “fuck you!”

Luca let out an exhausted huff, hand dragged upon his face at the uncooperative woman, “Se sei ancora arrabbiato-“ (If you’re still mad) He was cut off by her disbelief scoff.

“If I’m still mad? If I’m still mad?” The tone of her voice raised, she finally realized the silence from the band. “I saw my fiance in bed che abbiamo condiviso with another woman and you expect me to be fine?” (we shared)

“Tesoro-“ She cut him off again

“No!” Her index finger pointed at him, fumes of anger burst from her ears. “You go back to the whore you fucked e tu la chiami Tesoro,” (and you call her treasure). “Because Luca,” His name fell off her tongue like silk, he gazed at the beads of tears threatening to gush out. Her finger quivered at the amount of anger she had suppressed. “You love your treasures, not throw them away.”

He bit his inner cheeks at the remembrance of how the names he would call her fell off his tongue in a series of moans. Having had enough, Y/N spun back to face Finn who had watched the dispute with mouth hung open.

“Let’s go, Finn.” Without a thought, the Peaky Blinder placed the barely drunk cups onto the counter before trailing behind her out of the bar.

“Y/N!” Luca yelled at the fading figure, to only be halted behind the wall of the trio.

Cold air engulfed her. It was no longer still but the presence of the strong wind caused her exposed shoulders to shiver, quivering at the breeze. Finn who saw that she was quivering, not sure if it was because of the sudden drop of temperature or what had happened in the bar, moved his nimble fingers to tug off his coat, draping it over her wavering shoulders. Bitterness lingered on her tongue, a stir of emotions had been provoked out of her throat, tugged from the deepest over her chest. All she could hear was the coat singing as it lands on her shoulder, the rapid clicking of her heels and a pair of feet shuffling behind her, trying his hardest to keep up with her pace. Although she wanted to mumble a ‘thanks’ to the one who had gifted her warmth, she was afraid a sob would echo into the air. Two times she had allowed Finn to see her in such a broken state which was two more than enough.

A waver from the fire well confined in the walls of the gas lamp played a peculiar puppet show against the dark night. With her head craned downwards, her eyes had lingered on her fast-shuffling feet that wanted to flee away. The tightness of her ribs suffocated her lungs, holding the organ as a hostage. Before she could take another step, the familiar scent of cigarette filled her nose. Finn’s eyes faltered close as his chin rested on her head, his fingers weaved through the locks of her curled hair. Her fingers clutched on his jacket, nails digging into the lapels of his jacket as if to hold her body up. Blocked by the lingering odour of cigarette and salty tears, Y/N let out a sob once she had realized she was crying. Once the realization kicked in, the streams down her cheeks splashed onto the concrete as if a drizzle.

Finn’s arms wrapped around her head, covering all angels of her sobbing face. Had she digested it all? Doubts rammed in when she replayed what Finn had said about the Italian. An ugly cry echoed out of her throat. All she could see was the scatter of clothing, haphazardly thrown across the wooden-floored hallway. None of the female apparel was owned by her. Not the blue laced brassiere, not the drenched knickers. Was it easy? The question she had grown to live with ever since he had dragged a whore into the bed she and him had made love for countless of times. The question she had wanted to ask but feared her tears would be seen by him. Was it easy to fuck another woman who wasn’t her? Because Y/N could vividly see the first few months she had tried to get into a bed with someone who wasn’t him. It took four years for her to only want him.

She could hear the wanton sounds trickling into her ears as if to taunt her. Staggering moans stirred with groans. Not hers, it wasn’t her. Three years of their relationship and a year into their engagement. That was all it took for him to fuck another woman.

Footsteps approached Finn from his back. Although the man had wanted to twirl around to take a glance at who snuck up on him, he had a sobbing girl in his arms.

“We’re leaving, Tommy called for a meeting.” Arthur patted his youngest brother’s shoulders, glancing at the locks of the woman before sauntering away into the fading darkness.

The Peaky Blinder didn’t want to do it, but he pulled away, fingers trailed from the back of her head to her drenched cheeks. As his thumb wiped the stream away, her eyes were glossed with a layer of haze that sparkled under the moonlight. He mumbled in a tone as if he had a newly born kitten his grasp, “Never had I have to hold a beautiful lady cry in my arms three times.”

That was enough to pull a chuckle from her. Craning her neck back down to view the petite puddle of her bitter tears that would soon be engulfed by the occasional rain of England, Y/N bit the bottom of her lips at his jest. The corner of Finn’s lips curled up as he succeeded before gently pulling her face up by his hooked index finger, “He’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve a jewel.”

His eyes flickered to her pursed lips. Before they knew it, their lips moulded into one another, fit into each other like a perfect puzzle piece. His hands trailed down towards her waist, softly pulling her to his body before one laid on her cheek. Her fingers were soon laid flat on his chest as their eyes shut tight. Y/N pulled back, inhaling the fresh air as the ones in her lung had been used up.

“So you deserve a jewel?” Finn threw his head back before pulling her into a long-awaited kiss. “Let’s see what shit Tommy has to say, eh?”

With his hand weighed on her shoulder, her fingers brushed over the bumpy hills of his knuckles. Finn and Y/N’s eyes watched as a ruckus spiralled out from the family. Arthur’s clenched jaw caused his neck veins to pop out (nearing to explosion), his body was seething with anger while a series of never-ending words hurl from his lips as if it was a catapult, all inclusively directed towards his only younger sister. The room was suffocating, particles of fury and red were stuffed in the walls that seemed to inch inwards, ready to strangle the irritating war. Scoffs and slamming of hands on the wooden table was the irregular tune made by the refuting family. It was prominent on who was on which side, it was clearly separated by the extensive table; splitting the two groups apart. Although the topic of the argument had started with Y/N’s connection that was correctly presumed by none other than Ada, it had somehow lead to their past mistakes as children. It went from ‘passing information to the enemy’ to ‘you sold my favourite hairclip for bread!’.

Fluttering petals of rosy red crawled up Ada’s neck, smearing her face. The woman was educated, intelligent and smart; however, her patience and will to live while arguing with her stubborn eldest brother was short. Arthur would mock her witted reply which enraged her. If she didn’t have the speck of maturity in her (and the reminder that she was a mother), Ada would’ve sprung onto the table and smack the man. It was like a bloodbath with the two, on the other hand, it wasn’t the same for the aunt and the nephew. They took casual puffs of their preferred cigarette, although, it seemed that Polly was the one who would spark a comment after lingering her eyes on her only niece.

Rummaging her fingers through the pockets of Finn’s single-breasted overcoat that was still draped over her shoulders, she pulled out the clanking chain of the pocket watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. In the line of firearm business, late nights was an aspect she had to learn to adapt to. However, late nights was also the time she had had enough which is why doing business with the woman so late could only end up with a disastrous ending. Connor copied his boss’s actions before he pressed his lips, ready to watch the scene unfold before him. The three men threw knowing glances at each other as they have seen it first-hand, experienced to what a late hour can result in. Dante tried his best to not let the laugh fell off his lips when he recalled the time one of her clients ended up on his knees. Late nights call for a catastrophic boss.

In the corner of her eyes, puffs of migrating clouds peeked into her view. Although the room had practically reeked of the deadly fumes, the nearby scent provoked her to snatch one for herself. If she was to go through another minute of their hurling words, a cigarette would be the first good cause. However, it didn’t have the same promising results a bottle of good ol’ whiskey provided.

Craning her head as if she had been enchanted to, the mist called for her, whispering her name in a blurry yet choral tone. Dante’s orbs that were once set upon the family that seemed to be cracking like a fine China piece, darted towards the pair of eyes who had been ogling his cigarette. Although there was a slight argument to the presence of the Italian in the room, he was glad Thomas had won with a swerve just like that of a politician. As he passed her a cigarette, the Italian could feel a pair of eyes pierce onto his cheeks. The corners of his lips curl up like a mischievous serpent. Hovering his lips over her ears, blocking the boy’s view of the woman, Dante mumbled in a raspy voice he would use for whores, “Il ragazzo.” (the boy)

There was no need for her to inquire when she felt a tighter clench on her shoulder. Finn’s eyes seethed anger, a red coat of paint over the glass pane of vision. Y/N hummed, picking up the hints of what the Italian implied. Slightly amused by herself participating in the scheme, Y/N swam in the stream, ready to flow with the boat’s rocking. Dante wore the devil’s smile as he pulled one cigarette for his boss. A sigh of relief fell off Finn’s lips once he noticed she had just wanted a cig. The sense of jealousy gushed out of his skin.

Dante’s cigarette was dying alone in his other hand, its flaking ashes pierced into the carpet with a sizzle. So why was he rubbing another one over his lips? The Italian did not quiver his eyes away from the gawking Shelby as he dampened the unfiltered cigarette over his lips. Dante placed the cig on her lips, a colossal smirk sported on his lips. While her cigarette waited for the fire to burn its head, Y/N’s eyes batted like a curtain in a windy summer’s breeze as she gazed at Dante, the stick was now on fire with a flick of a lighter. There was a shimmer in her eyes, a plaster of sparkle. It was something Finn had wanted, all to himself.

Connor shook his head, slightly entertained by Dante’s wit and ability to piss people off with his sharp green eyes. Once her lungs were warmed by the intoxicating bonfire of fumes, she shot up from her seat, startling the pissed off Finn.

“Alright, listen, I’m going to make it short and simple. After I left England, I went to America. Met Luca, got engaged to him. He helped me build what I have today. Four years in our relationship, he was in bed with another woman. Now, it’s incredibly late at night and I’m sure your children are very much missing you at home. Goodnight.”

With a bop of appreciation for their understanding, her three men trailed behind their boss. Finn darted his eyes at the creaking door; impulsively, he dashed to run outside of the building. The wind whistled, breeze swirling around his body that was not protected by his coat.

“Finn… what’re you doing? It’s late. You should be getting some rest.” Patting her gloved hand over his red cheeks, she entered the car.

Noting her men was not around, he quirked up, “Where’re your men?”

Once she started the car, she turned to face him, “They needed to finish something.”

He gnawed on his shivering lips, contemplating on the idea, “Take me with you,” Before she had the chance to give a reaction, he proceeded. “I can protect you.”

Patting the indent of a pistol that was tucked in his trousers, Y/N narrowed her eyes if it was a good idea. Because the last time it was the two of them, the night had not gone so well; she could defend herself just fine. However, there were times you say fuck it, “Fine, get in.” Without a word, he hopped in.

“Have you ever touched a woman?” Heavy puffs of air grazed over her skin as her fingers brushed over the fuzz of his face. Finn’s eyes flickered to hers, away from the smeared paints of her lips. The grip he held on her waist loosened as the words began to swirl in his head. Was she going to walk away if he had said no?

Running his tongue to moisten his lips, the Peaky Blinder reluctantly shook his head. Strands of hair poked down to curtain his face, his brown locks blocking his eyes. With a finger hooked on his chin, Y/N gently pushed his face to meet hers. He gulped before saying the words, “No, I haven’t... touched a woman.”

It was a blurry haze. One second they were swimming deep in each other’s gazes, the next Y/N’s body hovered over his. Finn tugged her body as he laid down on the loveseat, her body laid in between his legs. A hair’s breadth away from his lips, she mumbled, “Then I’ll be your first.”

Finn nodded, fingers trailing from her arm to her cheeks, “I want you to be the first.”

As she urged him to stand, her fingers trailed to his forearms, pushing it to wrap around her waist. The tremoring pain in her toes had pinched as she tried to reach his lips. Their tongues danced with one another, puffs of heavy air gushing into each other.

“You can go lower.” A twitch played in his pants as the trousers began to feel tight and clamouring with heat. The breeze of her words brushed against his ears. With slight reluctance, his hands splayed down to rest lower. Although the corners of her lips had quirked up once he had listened to her words obediently, she let out a squeak when his fingers began to knead it.

“I know,” Finn mumbled on her lips as he tapped his fingers. “Overheard Arthur.”

Y/N let out a groan. Throwing her head back at his horrible interruption, she glared at him, “Finn, lesson one, you do not talk about family when you’re going to fuck.”

He giggled, pushing his face into her the crook of her neck, lips running over her collarbone with a brush of his skin. The scent of lingering vanilla trickled on her skin, swirling into his lungs as if an enchanting spell.

Her fingers trickled down his exposed chest, finger tugging his boxers. A wince slipped through his teeth at the smacking pain. Lost in the caress of her tongue, Finn didn’t bat an eye at her fingers that slipped through his boxers. An audible groan echoed, his thighs clenched at the hand around his tightness. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as she caressed his length in a languid pace. With a smirk, she watched as he couldn’t find stability to stand properly. Breathless exhales fell off his lips, the puffs of air caressing her shoulders.

“Y/N…” Her staggering name stammered into her ears once her palm met with his dripping slit. Frustrated at her slow pace, his hips thrust into her hands, followed by a guttural groan from the man. Although she wanted to tease him, she guided him into the bedroom. Not without a whine echoing from his lips, though.

Nudging him onto the bed, Y/N’s bottom lip let out a cry when her teeth bit down onto it. Finn’s body bounced on the mattress before he pushed his back to lay on the wooden headboard. Although he still had his boxers on, Y/N could feel the rush of heat spurt through her veins. His eyes wavered on her running fingers. A twitch in the only layer left which covered the tent growing, caught Y/N’s eyes once her garter has snapped open. Without quivering from his eye contact, she hurled the lace bra to the side. It screeched on the wooden ground before halting. Finn gulped, his throat suddenly parched at the sight.

In a blink of an eye, his boxers were thrown without care; she was on him. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, whites covering the area that was once placed for her coloured iris. Pants and moans trickled between the two scorching hot bodies. Finn’s grip on her waist tightened once she had accidentally clenched around him tightly like a vice.

“Fuck…” Finn growled, heavy breathing coated over her pebbly nipples that bounced with her pace. The night dragged towards the bright morning, filled with relief.

Glistening light poked at her hefty eyelashes with a temper of an untrained dog who waited for his breakfast. Even though the sun was already hung high in the sky with warm rays radiating upon the city, the two slumbering bodies could not be bothered to pace with the world’s set speed nor did they bat an eye at the world’s attempt to yank them out of their comfort. Honks seeped into the crack of the window which was stuffed with the yelling of people. People who were sauntering side by side, however, the volume of their voices was as if the other had stood all the way on the other side of the road.

Lingering in the air was a barely traceable scent. The twinge residual of the perfume she sprayed the night before toned down. The overpowering scent of whiskey and cigarette springing off their coats fought an easy battle with the perfume. It was the first time she had slept without the excessive amount of perfume spraying.

Craning her neck up, the corners of her lips curled at the ethereal sight. With his eyes shut tight, chest heaving at a casual pace, Finn had looked peaceful, tranquil in his own sleep. As her eyes grazed upon the smearing of her kisses against his pale skin, her fingers brushed upon the red marks of her lipstick, tracing imaginary outlines along the marks, up to his jawline. Nuzzling her head into his arm, the drumming of his heart echoed into her ears. A song she could fall asleep to.

“Good morning.” Finn croaked out, body aching which urged him to stretch. Hands caressing the headboard, he dropped his arm to drape over her shoulders, pulling her closer to his warm body. Their bare legs weaved with one another. They scurried from the chilly edges of the bed to find solace in each other’s presence and warmth. With the addition of them slumbering late at night and their exhausting activity, the two had not bothered to cover themselves.

“Good morning to you, too.” The pair giggled, lips meeting. Bodies finally facing each other, Finn’s fingers caressed her cheeks; he swirled the loose strand of hair while their lips moulded into one another. Back arched for his teasing-paced fingers to plunge into her, a knock slashed the tension air. A huff fell off her lips; a giggle echoed from his at her disappointed in the interruption.

“I’ll get it.”

Toes already poking out of the sheets to be engulfed by the frigid breeze, a shiver crawled up his spine once the warmth of the covers was no longer defending him. Faint rustling from the door seeped through the cracks as if the person could not find a casual position.

“No, stay here. I’ll get it.” Although Finn was slightly reluctant, he nodded at the hand gripped around his wrist. Once his body submerged back into the pad of heat, his eyes lingered on her figure as she sauntered towards a robe, body bare for him to gaze upon. Running his tongue across his lips, he gnawed on the flesh until she was out of his sight. With a frigid weapon in her hands, Y/N moved like a cat, sneaking upon without producing a quiver of sound.

The pistol was useless. After a mumbling of ‘Room Service’, followed by haste shuffling of feet against the carpet, Y/N waited until the shadow faded; no presence of the person. Jumping quick on her feet, the woman yanked the trolley in before slamming the door shut as if she was being watched with a target hovered over hers. What was she to fear? She knew Luca was the enemy, what would he do? Stacked upon each other as if building blocks, pieces of freshly cut fruits sat as a tower, somehow still balanced. Surrounding the tower were plucked out leaves, thrown around it for decoration. An uneaten part. Almost as if hidden, a piercing corner of a card poked out from the plate, the rays of light bouncing off the material to shimmer in her eyes. A sigh brushed her lips.

‘Six-thirty. Inkberrow Hotel. Stratford-upon-Avon. Henley Street. Do not bring any of the fucking Shelbys. –L.C’

A noise that was midway of a scoff and a huff echoed in the air. The familiar handwriting was smeared with frantic scribbles, almost as if he had left to write the note last minute. A few more months and she would’ve had the same last name.

“Bed’s getting colder.” Her eyes faltered shut, hands raised to tangle her fingers with his hair after placing the gun on the tray. A pair of slithering arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to press against him. Pressing a chaste kiss on her exposed neck, a smacking noise played in the air, causing a giggle to trickle out of her. Although her fingers were nudging the paper into the pocket of her robe discreetly with invisible movements, Finn’s eyes brushed over it. However, he didn’t bother to prod as he had other ideas in mind.

Craning her neck to the side, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth distance away from his, Finn could feel the warm breeze when she mumbled, “Yeah? Let’s make it warm.”

A twitch stammered and she let out a squeal once his arms raised her in the air.

Even though Y/N held onto the hope that Finn would remain longer in her sheets, there was a minuscule part of her that knew he was to leave anyway. So, it did. A ring from Thomas and the youngest Shelby would obey without any refute. However, it didn’t mean she would give in without a fight. So while he suggested for them to shower, she had grounded him into the bed for a short while before he had trekked to the bathroom with her on his back, clinging onto him like a monkey. With the first phase of her plan gone to waste, she proceeded with the second phase, which was in the bathroom.

Although she had tried to linger the moment by brushing over his chest, it had only worked until he recalled the urgent call. Once they were out of the bath, Finn had only gawked at her before his bare body had been covered with his suit. How had she been infatuated by him? Finn was a spell, a dangerous one. A part of her had tugged on the time for him to leave because she had wanted him to stay longer, but she knew, underneath the bubbling surface was her tight chest had not been ready to meet the long-awaiting appointment. Despite three whole years. Were three years even enough?

Once Finn had left the hotel after countless of sights that urged him to stay, to which he had yanked away from, she was left on the edge of the bed with the crumpled note arched on the tips of her fingers.

As the door cried in the still air, Luca’s wrist halted, hovering over the sheets of paper with a pen whose ink had begun to dry. Although he was in the midst of scribbling vital information, the blaring lines had only smeared against his eyes, his brain was not able to process the moment he had been waiting for, for far too long. The air he had enjoyed with a twirl of breeze and a stitch of his whiskey had suddenly felt hefty on his shoulders. The pressure tightened around his chest like a whip. Fragments of his ribs cracked like china dinnerware that met the ground with a clash, floating in his chest cavity to pierce against his muscles. Once the door met with its frame; the shuffling of the maid had faded, Luca’s tongue swept over his pearly white teeth.

Y/N noticed there were no overpowering sounds trickling in the background. As his eyes grazed over the ink one more time, he pushed his back against the chair, shoulders squaring up. With a caress, the sleek, luxurious pen which must’ve cost more than an average one since it was embellished with gold and jewel of diamonds, the pen rolled over the wooden table to play a suspenseful tune. Finally, his eyes met hers. It felt like the night before. A voice in his head shook in disbelief as it implied its opinion. This is just his imagination, he had too much. Although he took years to compose himself, build himself back up, sometimes, time is not what one needs to start a decent conversation. Without a thought in his head, he blurted out, “You fucking the Shelby boy?”

The frog leapt out of the crevice of his mouth; the creature hopped onto the hovering lily pads in the air. Her eyebrows clashed in confusion at the brash accusation, “Three years and that’s the first thing you say? Be grateful that I’m giving you the privilege to even speak.”

A staggering breath sang out of Luca’s lips. With a gesture towards the guest seat on the desk, he popped in a matchstick into his mouth. Noting bad habits were pulled out, Y/N lit a cigarette, reluctantly plopping on the seat. Luca watched with furrowed eyebrows at the smoke dancing into her lungs. The Italian man hated the horrible habit she had during their relationship, always bugging her on how it would be the death of her. While his tongue danced with the wooden stick, his eyes lingered on her casually dragging the cig, “You still smoke that shit?”

“You still biting matchsticks?” Without a word, he nodded, tongue poking on his cheeks. There were countless thoughts in his head, yet, time felt so restricted. As he ran his eyes over her dress, he pushed himself off the table.

“What’re you doing here?” The air was an ocean. Sunk at the lowest level of water, the pressure sat on her shoulders. She was a fish roped to an abandoned ship, struggling to flee away from the sauntering sharks. Silence. Her fingers brushed over one another as she watched him pace towards the alcohol cart.

“Whiskey?” A hum played in his ears. His square back faced her as he refilled his own cup since what was about to happen clearly needs whiskey, and another cup for the guest. Placing a cup in front of her, he plopped back into his seat. “What’ve you heard?”

“A vendetta.”

Luca hummed, his eyes glued onto the swirling tornado in his cup just like when he had been told of the heart-breaking news by none other than his distraught mother, “They killed Angel and Father.”

Digging a grave in the shrivelled velvet purse, her fingers were engulfed by the warm stitching. Although the history between the pair was rough over rugged waves, memories will linger. Y/N will never forget the high admiration the Italian held for his father. To be groomed as the heir and the successor of the empire that Vicente has yanked out from the deepest of American soil, words murmured about Luca had been hurled around, an inevitable future everyone could see. Y/N remembered word-to-word. Feared for their quivering loyalty, the people who had even the minimal of ties with the Italian syndicate, had to learn their consequences first-hand if they were to step out of the boundary.

Despite him being portrayed as this painting of the devil in a cloth of black, there was an underlying layer, beneath the one he had coated himself in. Y/N got the privilege to meet that part of him. The Italian did not hover the façade of a mask in front of his family; in fact, the belief of blood being thicker than water was the reason they all had gotten along. Uplifting when surrounded by his blood relatives, Luca had been an excellent older brother. Everyone could claim so even with a glance. Y/N’s throat suddenly became parched in realization. Luca had lost the only brother he had, “Luca…”

Not tearing his eyes away from the cup of whiskey, he mumbled under his breath, “Mother misses you, wished you were home.” Before she even opened her mouth, he gulped down the whole drink.

Ever since Luca had courted the woman, it was definite for Y/N to be interrogated by the Italian. During the course of befriending his family, Audrey had taken a liking to the girl. Seeing the effects Y/N held on Luca, Vicente had peeled his wife’s overprotective layer, which soon caused her arms to wrap around the woman. The feeling of acceptance by the Italian mafia had been a foreign emotion. To be seen as one and not a threat built a tie with each member of the syndicate. Chewing on her inner cheek as if a stress-reliever, she took a sip to ease the pain, “Have you told her?”

“What do you take of me? Of course I told her,” Luca’s gnawing teeth sawed on the matchstick as if a blunt saw. Though, he was more of a beaver who had migrated elsewhere. Painfully recalling the moment he had cracked the reason to why his ex-fiancé had fled away, to his mother, a sorrow scowl sported on his lips. “Didn’t talk to me for two weeks. She heard that I was drowning in a bar, then she cooked up those pasta you liked.”

“Go home, Luca. Staying here is no good for you.”

Hurt layered his eyes as the strain his voice staggered down the steps, “Why should I? You won’t be there.” Luca’s head darted away. The sentence clogged in his throat. You won’t be at home. Deep down, Luca knew, no matter what he would do, nothing would bring back the scorching love the two had. Had, the past he should’ve already moved on from.

“No, I won’t be at home. But I know that Capone is singing in victory while you’re here.” The Italian let out a scoff while his towering figure shot up from the seat. The chair let out an ear-pitching screech, no different than that of a triggered explosive.

“It’s for Angel and Father!” Pain weaved through his words. With a slam on the table, flying sheets of paper danced in the air as the empty glass swung in place.

To be courted by the Italian had taught Y/N countless of things not many knew about him. After four years of being with the man himself, Y/N had concluded that he was as persistent and stubborn, “It is for Angel and your father, but you have to go back. Here, you’re vulnerable. Capone is King in your absence.”

“I was vulnerable when they died!”

Scoffing at his words, she too, shot up from her seat, her purse was slapped against the surface, letting out an echo, full of frustration, “I was vulnerable when I found my husband was fucking a whore!”

Taking a second to digest her words, Luca mumbled with a clench in his jaw, eyes narrowing, “So I leave their deaths in vain?”

“Going back to New York and staying there is not leaving their deaths in vain. You know I’m right, when have I ever been wrong? Go back Luca,” Splaying on his large hands that were once a source of warmth on her cheeks, Y/N’s hands pushed his palm onto his beating heart. “And remember them here. Their deaths will never be in vain.”

Eyes trailing from her hand to her eyes, Luca mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

A haze of misty smoke drowned the room. Dangling between his fingers was a huffing cigarette whose head has been flicked to a pile of cremated ashes. The faint sizzling echoed from the crystal ashtray, accompanying the only other present sound of paper turning. While his fingers glided over the sleek sheet, Thomas took a drag of his cig, pondering to the typed lines. Although it was nearing noon, he felt he needed a haste nap in his bed. Terribly. The lines of words squeezed into one another, clumping up into balls of black ink just like the period of time when he had not owned a pair of glasses. Except, this time he did (all to blame the immeasurable volumes of liquor he had chugged down). An unreadable tragedy. Letting out a frustrated sigh after his head could not digest the word, the warm vapour of his cig wrapped around his head as if a blanket. No matter how many cups of liquor he had refilled, the droopiness in his eyes was impeccably heavy.

Finally over with the uncooperative feeling, Thomas shifted the stick to his non-dominant hands. The frigid kiss of the pen bit into his palm, sending shivers up his arms. Even though he wanted this to be over; he wanted the day to end, the papers must be read thoroughly as any slipped lines could be the end of his empire. But, honestly, Thomas was nudged. Fuck it. Gliding over the surface in one swift movement, Thomas scribbled his signature. Somehow, the black strokes seemed as if he had pondered with great thought. The loop of contemplation between the ‘o’s concocted a circle, an orifice to the hole he was forever to be stuck in.

Boisterously, the crying door let out a pleading creak. Thomas’s eyes snapped away from the dozen sheets of paper he had gone through that sat on the top corner of his desk, even though a hefty stack rested on the left side, the glistening crown it wore blared into his eyes for hours. A slight furrow in his eyebrows played before he clicked back his pen, taking a sip of his drink, ready for what news the woman came in for, “Call it off.”

Without a word uttered, Thomas quirked his eyebrows at her statement. Shutting the door behind her, Y/N made way to lean against a wall, swirls flaming from her cig created a hazy mist around her. The battling of two cigarettes trickled in the air while the lingering odour of whiskey cowered in the corner, “I know when you’re planning and you’re planning something right now. So, call it off.”

Thomas blinked his eyes. The rays of sun danced through the cracks of the blinders, blaring into his eyes. Placing the vision-helper onto the surface, his fingers made way to massage the clenching that rested behind his eyes. If only he could pluck the orbs out to satisfy the itch. Glowing a minuscule orb, the light source sitting on his desk smeared a flickering green onto his face (a contribution to his sleepiness), “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Luca’s leaving.”

With a sweep against his ears, the clenching muscles in his lungs halted. The gears and spanners in his body did not creak a limb as his brain processed her words. Thomas wasn’t sure what to feel. A can of petrol regurgitating its contents into the bonfire he made from the vain death of his brother. It was a bitter scorch of fire, swirled in a cooling mint. Despite the refreshing drinks he had consumed, all of its effects wiped off once the words were stuffed into his throat, “What?”

“He’s going back to New York.” Y/N mumbled, fingers running over the velvet spines of books stuffed onto the bookshelves.

“And why the sudden change of mind?” There were so many ways he could react; Thomas Shelby didn’t know which one was appropriate with his current mood.

“Gave him an offer.” Quirking an eyebrow, the corners of Thomas’ lips curled up.

“Will I be invited to the wedding this time?”

“I’m not marrying him,” Y/N almost huffed out. “Said that I’d work with him.” Thomas hummed, fingers lacing into one another as the back of his mind began to calculate a plan. Well, plans. To kill or not to kill. Pondering to himself, Thomas branched out in the countless of ways of response. Was he to leave his brother’s death in vain?

“Good. Cause Finn would not shut up about how good you were.”

The smoke seeping down the column of her throat screeched to a halt, clogging the airway at his words. A tint of red smeared her cheeks at the prominent smirk the man wore. Oh, was the boy done for.

A layer of light glazed over the green-tint of water, grazing over the horizon in smears of blurs. The island her foot once rested upon faded in the distant, it became nothing but a haze of grey. Orbs of yellow embedded the vertically-placed cuboid buildings while a stroke of gold plastered across the city. Sinking into the vast, never-ending horizon of cerulean blue, the arms of the sun widened, radiating rays of warmth upon the night before it slumbered.

Crashing of waves sang into her ears, the overlapping of the warm grumble from the ships’ horn and the hasty shuffling of feet against the deck created a sense of adventure. With a lot of memories and experience in spending countless of days entrapped in the cabin over the migrating waves, Y/N had found herself accustomed to the smell which some people would found sickly. The twinge of salt and smeared breeze of the pure ocean trickled in the air, not an odour that a new traveller would find pleasant.

Chattering of overflying birds who wouldn’t find the need to rest their vocal cords played from above, raining upon the travellers as if series of bullets. With the kissing of wind engulfing her figure, Y/N stuffed her hands in the warmth of her coat pocket. The corners of her lips curled down at the memories she decided to reminiscent. People she won’t be seeing for quite some time; a grave she won’t be able to visit.

Other presence of people ebbed. Nauseated by the overpowering pungent of blocks of salts, the onlookers who had exited from the boat to the wooden deck to embrace the view shuffled back in. Only one remained. Y/N’s eyes never left the sacrificed, infant waves who rammed into the rusted metal sheets of the boat. Too lost in thought to realize the temperature of the air faltered, zipping down to bites of frost. Echoing from a great distance, which trickled closer to her proximity, a pair of feet rubbed against the beads of rain decorating the deck.

Seeping through the barrier of salt with a muffled slithering, the odour of freshly smoked cigarette battled with the ocean’s musk, “Let’s go back in, it’s cold out here.” Once the words fell off his chilling lips, her body tingled up the new change in temperature. Finn placed a chaste kiss of heat on her cheeks, despite frost cracking on his lips. Their gloved fingers tangled with one another, weaving like irritating locks of hair. Making their way to their designated cabin, warmth gushed through their pores. A heart can be mended back, you just need to find the right string.

Part 1 | Part 2

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kriscme · 3 years

Text

One Life to Live

Hi, so now we come to the end. The final two chapters. Thanks to everyone who’s been following this story. It can be read on AO3 too. My name is Kris22 there. As always, thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” available on AO3 and Fanfiction. And thanks to Loueze for her encouragement and support. Chapter 37 By the time the television crew was due to arrive, Peeta and I were as convincingly in love as two people could possibly be. Of course, it was helped a great deal by the fact that we actually were. Even so, we were hardly looking forward to our private lives becoming public again and cameras following us around as we went about our daily routine. We worried about how intrusive it might be. Cressida had promised it would be tasteful, but the Capitol idea of tasteful can be very different from the districts. I was afraid that it might be like that show I once saw on television about a houseful of people under constant surveillance. They couldn’t even shower in privacy. Would it be like that for Peeta and me? Would they follow us into the bedroom? Expect us to perform? Our one consolation was that we’d be left alone once filming had ended and we vowed to ourselves that we’d do nothing newsworthy for the rest of our lives. The day came. The house had been cleaned and tidied. Everything was where it was supposed to be to reflect a couple who lived together as romantic partners. Buttercup was bathed and freshly groomed. I had the scratches to prove it. Peeta, always considerate, had baked an assortment of breads for the crew, although I told him he shouldn’t bother. At 7 am everything was in readiness. 10 am came and went. And then 11 am. At 2 pm we were still waiting. At 4 pm we wondered if we’d got our dates wrong. It was 6 pm when Haymitch finally got around to telling us. They weren’t coming. At all. The video Remus took had violated victor media protection. I had been filmed without my consent, wasn’t engaged in illegal activity and hadn’t voided my own protection by taking on a public role or seeking publicity. Plutarch knew this but gambled that in our ignorance, we could be coerced into co-operating. And once filming had started, our media protection was automatically revoked, since we had clearly consented to it. It took only one phone call from Haymitch to President Paylor to have it sorted. I suppose it’s of some consolation that Plutarch was severely reprimanded and threatened with dismissal. And that he was also out of pocket for the purchase of the video and pre-production costs. As for Haymitch, I couldn’t decide whether to thank him or kill him. He had certainly saved us from our lives being turned into a media circus for a second time but he’d let us have the worry of it for a whole week. Peeta calmed me down and reminded me that it had brought us together. Haymitch’s defense was that he was sick to death of our crap and wanted an end to it. He thought that a week of living together would get us sort out our differences and he was proven right. I argued that it would have happened anyway, although I had to concede probably not as quickly. With that in mind, I decided to let him live. The year rolls around. Peeta doesn’t move back into his house. It was never discussed; it was simply taken for granted. We keep busy. Peeta still works at the bakery as a specialist cake decorator. He’s a partner now. The sign above the new premises reads “Carter and Mellark Bakery and Patisserie.” I teach at the school and on weekends I hunt. Marcus wrote to ask if I was interested in culling pest species such as wild dog and feral pig. I jumped at it. It seems you can be a hunter and a conservationist. Haymitch works at the council and raises geese, which he does a pretty good job of considering he’s inebriated most of the time. We attend two weddings and one toasting. Arthur and Lace don’t wait long before they tie the knot, or to be more accurate, thread the needle. Predictably, it was the source of much hilarity for Max, who was also invited. At least he refrained from making jokes until after the ceremony. I enjoyed catching up with Sateen and her husband Roy. They have a little boy. They called him Felt. Poor kid. The second wedding was Octavia and Thom’s. Octavia made a beautiful bride with her rich auburn hair and fresh complexion. Venia’s fear that their past as prep team to the Games would jeopardize their position in 12 proved needless. Everyone knew who they were. They’d seen them on television. Flavius’s bright orange hair and Venia’s facial tattoos made them easily recognizable. But people had moved on. They were tired of holding onto resentments – especially for three harmless beauty therapists whose former “victim” still willingly availed herself of their services. The toasting was ours. One day, we just did it. There was no planning, no prior understanding that we’d have one. It was the middle of winter. We were snowed in and confined to the house. Peeta got a roaring fire going and we picnicked in front of it using odds and ends from the pantry. We had some stale bread to use up and toasted it by the fire. He’d hold the toasting fork with a piece of bread to the flames and offer it to me when it was done. The significance of it entered our heads at the very same moment. It was just a look followed by a kiss. Nothing needed to be said. One day we might make it official, but for us we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us. Johanna won the election for District 7 mayor. She’s kept very busy but we talk on the telephone regularly. She’s coming to visit 12 for a few days next month. Doubtless she’ll be as disruptive as ever. But sometimes we can use a little stirring up. That’s what Johanna says anyway. She takes full credit for getting Peeta and me back together and I can’t say she’s entirely wrong. And we had a visit from my mother! I had her possessions shipped to her home in District 4 and it seemed to have jolted something inside her, because soon after she was making plans to travel here. It was a short visit. She was nervous about coming here, of the memories it could evoke. But aside from the Village, there’s nothing left of the old Twelve. The debris from the bombs has long since been cleared away, new buildings have replaced the old, and the grass grows long and thick over the meadow. We had a long talk about her reasons for not joining me in Twelve after I’d been released from the Capitol. She feared being pulled down into a depression along with me. I understood. When you’re in the grip of it, you can see no way out. My mother, having recovered once, was deathly afraid that she wouldn’t recover a second time. And since misery feeds on misery, she would likely have only made mine worse. Peeta is somewhere in the house repairing the painting of the primrose he did for me. I don’t visit Prim in her room anymore except for that one time I when I wanted to tell her about my toasting with Peeta. She wasn’t there. She hasn’t been for a long time. It was then I realized that Prim doesn’t reside in any particular place. She’s with me every time I think of her. I took down the primrose painting from the top of the dresser. It belongs somewhere where I will see it every day. I had an idea for a book, similar to my family’s plant book. It’s to preserve the happy memories of the people we’ve lost. Lady licking Prim’s cheek, what Cinna could do with a length of silk. In my best handwriting, I carefully record all the details it would be a crime to forget and accompany it with a photo if we have one, or a sketch or painting by Peeta. There are photos of Finnick strewn across the dining table as I try to make my mind up on which one to use - a publicity shot that shows off Finnick’s sea-green eyes or a photo taken of himself and Annie at their wedding. “Katniss, I was looking for some kind of adhesive tape to fix the painting and I found this letter in one of the drawers in the study. It was addressed to me, so I opened it.” I look up, wondering what Peeta’s talking about. He holds the painting in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. He leans the painting up against a wall and then pulls out one of the dining room chairs to sit across from me. He lays the letter down in front of him. I immediately recognize the handwriting on it as my own. It’s the first letter I wrote to him after the mayor’s party before I thought better of it and wrote a second. But not before putting it in an envelope and stuffing it in a drawer. I’d forgotten all about it. I try to snatch the letter away but he swiftly puts it out of my reach. “Dear Peeta,” he reads. “I’m writing to you because – ““You don’t have to read it. I know what’s in it,” I say. “Give it back.” I make another grab for it but he’s too fast. “. . . because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.” He stops reading and hands me the letter. I take it from him, refold it, and slip it beneath the memory book, hoping against hope, that this will prevent any more mention of it. “Did you really want to break off all contact with me?” he asks, frowning. “I didn’t think it ever got that bad. When? Why?” I sigh. Why didn’t I throw the damn letter out? “It was after the mayor’s party. I was very upset when I wrote it. And then I had second thoughts and wrote you another. That’s the one I slipped under your door. I’d forgotten about this one.” He gives his head a shake. “I don’t understand. Nothing happened that night. Not between us, anyway. Did someone say something? Was it Max?” His lips thin in anger. “That – “ “No,” I say quickly. “It was nothing Max did.” I let out a breath, and plough forward. “It was something you did. You and Lace. It was when you sneaked off to have sex.” There’s a moment of stunned silence. “What?” “You know what I mean. I saw it all. Well, not all, but I did see the two of disappear through those swinging double doors only the staff used. And when you came back, Lace’s hair was all mussed. And if you didn’t have sex exactly, it was something close. That was really tacky, Peeta. Civilized people have more decorum than to do that. Civilized people wait until they get home. Civilized people – “ “Katniss, we didn’t sneak off for sex. Cass invited me to see the kitchens once the dessert course was over. That’s where we went.” Oh. I guess that’s a reasonable explanation. But that dream had been so vivid. “Then why was Lace’s hair messed up?” “Was it? I don’t know. I don’t remember anything different about her. We went to see the kitchen, Cass showed us around, and then we came out. Nothing else happened.” “But it was sticking out,” I insist. I know what I saw. The scene plays again in my head. I was at the bar with Haymitch and Max, sampling shots of whisky and getting drunker and more agitated by the minute. Agonizing over what they could be doing. Kissing, fondling each other, maybe even fucking. “And then you didn’t even look to see if I was still there when you came back,” I add in a small pitiful voice. It sounds so pathetic, saying it aloud. It’s a trivial reason for cutting someone out of your life. Just because they didn’t look for you when they came into a room. But after everything, that’s what tipped it over for me. What finally made me give up hope and decide to end it. He reaches across the table to take one of my hands. “Katniss, look at me.” I turn my face away, and he gives my hand a tug. I reluctantly meet his gaze. His eyes look earnestly into mine. “I can’t explain the hair, okay? But I can tell you what I do remember about that night.” He pauses, as if waiting for my approval before he proceeds. I shrug. “Go ahead.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds. “You, looking so beautiful in your Cinna dress. And me, assailed by memories of other entrances and other gowns. Being dragged around by Lace from one boring conversation to another, unable to resist looking around to see what you were doing. And Max, who didn’t leave your side for a minute unless it was to get you another drink. I was jealous of him without knowing why but attributed it to a fear of losing your friendship.” He pauses and adds, “At the time, you didn’t seem very happy with me.”I feel a twinge of remorse. He’s right. I was often moody and distant with him. The tape viewings weren’t going as I wanted and I’d recently learned of a pattern book he was making for Lace, similar to my family’s plant book. “You seemed to be having such a good time together, at dinner and on the dance floor. So, when we came back into the ballroom, I just didn’t want to be reminded of it. I kept my head down and headed for the nearest group of people. And then I did my best not to think about you. I’m sorry. I hurt you and used Lace to hide from my feelings. But that’s the truth, awful as it is.” But not nearly as awful as what I’d convinced myself of. I don’t know what to say. I feel so foolish. So much anger and pain for something that existed only in my imagination. And I’d also assumed that Peeta’s willingness to help me with the Marcus thing was due, in some part, to either empathy or guilt for having being in a similar situation himself. “No, I’m the awful one for jumping to conclusions. I thought the worst. You’d never be so crass as to do something like that. I owe you an apology. I should never – “ “You don’t owe me anything,” he says, interrupting me before I can go further. “In fact, the opposite is true. You wouldn’t have thought it if I hadn’t given you reason to.” He reaches across for the memory book and flips through the pages we’ve done so far. My father. Peeta’s father. Boggs. It stops on Rue. Peeta has drawn her poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. There’s a reason why I asked him to portray her like this. It’s how I want to remember her. You can’t change the past, but you can bring the best of it into the future. “Let’s make a deal. Only good memories for us from now on. Like this book you’re working on.” He walks over to where I’m sitting to pull me out of my chair. “Now come show me where you want this painting hung.” I take him into the living room. It’s the room we use most and where I’ll see it every day. As I decide where to place it exactly, Peeta comes to stand at my back to hug me from behind. I lean back against his broad chest and luxuriate in the strong arms that encircle me. My dandelion in the spring. The lullaby that Prim liked as a baby comes to mind. Here it’s safe, here it’s warmHere the daisies guard you from every harmHere your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them trueHere is the place where I love you. “I was thinking over the mantle? Or maybe on the far wall . . .” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 38 Lace’s story: what happened on the night of the mayor’s party. It wasn’t fair! This was supposed to have been her night. She had been looking forward to it for weeks ever since Peeta casually mentioned it on one of their date nights. The mayor’s inauguration party was to be the biggest social event in District 12 in living memory. All the important and influential people in the district would be there. For ambitious Lace, it was invaluable in terms of creating contacts and securing the kind of clientele that could afford to buy her evening wear, a design niche she wanted to develop. Besides, she dearly loved a party and she hadn’t been to one in ages. The last one had been the district party where she had met Peeta for the first time. He didn’t remember it though. That was fortunate since she had come to District 12 for a new life and a new identity and didn’t want her past in District 8 compromising it in any way. Since she was to be her best advertisement, she put a great deal of thought and effort into her gown. She hadn’t much money saved but she splurged the lot on pale yellow satin and then spent many hours making it up. The final touch was a trip to the salon to have her hair colored and styled. It was an extravagance, keeping up the hair color. But she loved it and it formed something of a disguise as it was subtly different from the typical ash brown of the natives of her home district. As she entered the ballroom, Lace felt she was at the beginning of an exciting new phase. After a slow start, her business had gained momentum and she was making a steady income. A few family members had also made the move to 12 which added to her sense of security. But best of all, was the man on whose arm she clung. How did she get so lucky? Peeta Mellark! Her teenage crush. The romantic heartthrob whose posters had adorned her bedroom wall. The boy she had married in her dreams every night. What a fortuitus twist of fate it had been that day when he came into her shop to have a coat made. A flirtation had led to a date at a restaurant and then another, until she could now, without exaggeration, call him her boyfriend! True, he wasn’t quite what she had expected. He seemed a bit aimless, and he liked activities she had outgrown, like hanging out at the ice-cream parlor and the swimming pool, but he was Peeta Mellark! And he really was so sweet and considerate with his little romantic gestures and compliments to her beauty. He told her she was a wonder. And the more she kissed and flattered and stroked, the more wonderful she became. It was a mutual admiration society that she was more than happy to live in. The one blot on her happiness was Katniss Everdeen. Lace had mixed feelings about meeting her. Katniss was intimidating. Her reputation as romantic heroine, fearless symbol of the Rebellion, skillful warrior and (privately thought by most of the populace) savior from another Snow, preceded her. But most intimidating of all was her relationship with Peeta. He talked about her all the time. Not in a romantic sense, it was true, but it was clear she occupied a great deal of his thoughts. The Games had been mandatory viewing and Lace, like everyone in Panem, had watched Peeta gaze at Katniss with love in his eyes. But Peeta had an explanation for that. It had been an illusion. He thought he had been in love with her, but it turned out that he was in love with his idea of her, rather than who she really is. But now he thought of her as very good friend with whom he shared an unbreakable bond. As for Katniss, well, she had never loved him. It had all been an act on her part. That should have been reassuring. And it was. Sort of. But Peeta had lost many of his memories and what was left was distorted, so how could he be certain? But what gave her most pause wasn’t Peeta. It was Katniss. It was clear at the first meeting that Katniss didn’t like her. Katniss wasn’t rude, but she was cool, even giving her the once over when they were first introduced. And when Lace and Peeta discussed a housewarming gift from the two of them for Lace’s brother, a shadow passed over Katniss’s face. It was subtle but unmistakable. Katniss wasn’t as disinterested in Peeta as Peeta made out. That’s why Lace gatecrashed the tape viewings. If there was anything going on, she wanted to know about it. She didn’t trust Katniss one inch. Unfortunately, the second of the tapes triggered the memory of a traumatic incident for Lace and she reacted hysterically. Peeta asked her not to attend anymore and she had no choice but to do as he said. However, despite Peeta watching video tape of hugs and kisses and romantic slow dancing at Capitol parties, nothing changed between herself and Peeta. If Peeta had ever loved Katniss, it appeared that he no longer did. Even Leevy’s revelations in the salon that day didn’t worry her for long. So what if the star-crossed lovers had been real? It still aligned with Peeta’s version. What had happened in the Games and during the tours was before Peeta had realized his true feelings for Katniss. And she’d already guessed that Katniss was in love with him. The party was everything Lace had dreamed of. So elegant. The women in evening gowns, the men in dinner suits. Waiters with silver trays laden with flutes of sparkling champagne. The tables resplendent with starched white tablecloths and napkins and gleaming cutlery. She turned to Peeta to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” she said. “You really are the best boyfriend.” He brushed her lips with his and gave her a fond smile. “Only because I have the best girlfriend,” he replied. She beamed and squeezed his arm. She could hardly recall a happier moment. And then Katniss Everdeen arrived. Lace’s practiced eye immediately recognized her gown as haute couture. Cinna, probably. Deep blue, the bodice studded thickly with diamonds – were they real? – with a strapless sweetheart neckline and more diamonds scattered on the skirt. It dazzled and Katniss dazzled with it. Luxuriant dark hair cascading down her back in loose curls. Smooth olive skin, fine features and those surprising eyes. Silvery gray, the colour of storm clouds. She had a man for each arm. The school teacher Max Matson, who all the girls agreed was very good looking if you could get past his personality, and – it couldn’t be – Arthur! Lace’s friend who adored her since they were children together. She knew he was coming tonight but not with her! She felt the arm beneath her fingers stiffen and her glance swiftly turned to his face. Peeta appeared stunned, his mouth gaping slightly. There was admiration, certainly, but also something darker and more sinister. Recognition. A memory, perhaps several, had resurfaced. Lace’s happiness dimmed as if a cloud had passed across the sun. But she rallied, pulling Peeta quickly along to greet the new mayor and his wife who were momentarily on their own. Lace was in her element. She was a natural networker. She loved to interact with people and was always searching for opportunities. Peeta seemed a little distracted though. Looking around, not quite keeping up with the conversation. She followed his gaze, and it led directly to Katniss Everdeen, who, no surprise, was looking directly at him. They both looked quickly away, but that was of no comfort. It was clear that they were on each other’s mind. Meanwhile, she was pleased to observe, Arthur had detached himself from Katniss and was busy working the room too. Now there was a man with get-up-and-go. He didn’t let his natural reserve get in the way of achieving his ambitions. Lace waved him over and he changed direction to come to her side. Soon they were talking business, a fascinating subject for them both. She didn’t notice how restless Peeta was during the exchange. Dinner was announced and everyone made their way to their allocated seats. Unfortunately, theirs was a dull table and not even Lace’s pearly laugh could liven it up. A burst of laughter from nearby grabbed her attention. Arthur and Haymitch seemed to be at the center of it. It caught Peeta’s attention too. He seemed envious, it appeared to Lace. But whether it was over the entertaining company or because Katniss was seated there too, she couldn’t tell. After the food had been served, people resumed their mingling, moving from table to table. Peeta wanted to talk to Katniss. Ordinarily, Lace wouldn’t feel particularly threatened by this. Over the preceding weeks, Peeta had confided to her that Katniss seemed uninterested in spending time with him unless it was watching the tapes. And even then, she often seemed angry with him. Lace immediately guessed the situation. Katniss had grown frustrated with Peeta. He hadn’t responded as she’d hoped and she was distancing herself as a form of self-protection. As long as this status quo was maintained, Lace felt safe. But after tonight, she wasn’t sure of anything. Lace demurred. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. Katniss appeared occupied and hadn’t he told her that she didn’t seem keen on his company lately? It was best to leave her alone. But Peeta said that they should, that it would look odd if they didn’t. So, when Max headed off in the direction of the bar, leaving Katniss on her own, Lace reluctantly let Peeta lead her to where Katniss sat. It was an awkward conversation. Lace embarrassed herself with her ignorance on what it meant to be a victor at the district parties and having to face the families of the dead tributes. Worse, she let it slip that she had been to a district party. Her story was that she’d been a factory worker in 8. Factory workers weren’t allowed to attend district parties. Fortunately, Peeta didn’t pick up on it, but Katniss appeared to sense that something was amiss. There was an awkward pause. Peeta broke the silence. “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he said to Lace, pretending to be annoyed. She had intended to stay at Peeta’s side, but perhaps it would be better to leave before she dug herself a deeper hole. “Okay, okay,” she said, in mock surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted. I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway. Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” There, that would show Katniss who’s really in charge and hopefully plant a seed that Peeta wasn’t exactly happy in her company either. She stroked his hand and kissed his cheek, enjoying her Svengali-like effect, knowing that his eyes would follow her as she walked away. She went to the ladies’ room as she said she would and did the usual things women do there. She wanted to get the timing right and was gratified to see Peeta waiting for her at their table when she returned. The dancing started up soon after and Lace pulled Peeta to his feet. She loved to dance. Peeta didn’t. His prosthetic leg made it a chore rather than a pleasure and he had faint memories of dancing at Capitol parties. But he wanted to be a good boyfriend, so up he got, and shuffled dutifully around the dancefloor with her. But then Katniss and Max came into view. Max had Katniss pulled tightly against him and he swung her around in a series of fancy turns, almost lifting her off her feet. They were making fools of themselves, thought Lace. That’s no way to behave at a formal event. So undignified! So tasteless! She turned to Peeta, expecting him to be as unimpressed as she, but his face was hard, giving away nothing. Suddenly, he put his head close to hers and whispered words in her ear. She nodded and followed him through the double swinging doors the staff used to bring food from the kitchen. It had been pre-arranged. Peeta had told her about it. Cass from the bakery was to show Peeta around the kitchens. He had never seen a commercial kitchen before. While he marveled at the long row of ovens, the walk-in freezer, the huge storage room, Lace could barely stifle her yawns. So boring, and it was fricking cold in there after the warmth of the ballroom. But she stuck a smile on her face and did her best to appear interested but she was hardly in the mood to hear about the merits of blast chillers when her heart was breaking. Somehow, she had to widen the gulf between Katniss and Peeta. She had to ensure that any fledgling signs of a possible reunion between them was snuffed out before it could begin. And then she had an idea. Just as they were about to re-enter the ballroom, Lace ruffled her carefully styled hair and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth to wipe away some of the lipstick, smearing it a little. Let Katniss believe that she and Peeta had snuck away for some canoodling in a dark corner. Isn’t that what Peeta and Katniss did as star-crossed lovers? Sneaking off to be alone when they were at fancy events? It was in a fan magazine she’d read, anyway. With a bit of luck, Katniss’s mind would go straight there. She scanned the room and saw Katniss by the bar with Max and Haymitch. The hour was growing late and the crowd had thinned but there was a group of merry young people standing around nearby. She started to lead Peeta in their direction, but he seemed to have the same idea and led her. And when his arm went around her waist and he pressed a fond kiss to the crown of her head, relief flooded through her. Everything was as it should be. She turned in his arms slightly to look over his shoulder and managed to catch a glimpse of Katniss’s stricken but resolute face, just before her hasty exit with a startled Max close behind her. Satisfied, she leaned her head against Peeta’s shoulder and he squeezed her waist. She had worried over nothing. It was inevitable that as Peeta regained his memories they’d be focused on Katniss. They were, after all, the memories that Snow had meddled with. It didn’t mean that Peeta was wrong when he said his feelings for her had been an illusion. The real proof of who he loved was in who he chose to be with. And that was her, Lace Bomul from District 8.

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hyperewok1 · 4 years

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*cracks knucles* Right! For Harridin: 33, 38, 75. For Nyomi: 17, 25, 48. For Remi: 37, 73, 90, And last, for Jillian: 31, 72, 86

Harridin: 33. What five objects or things could be expected to be found on your oc’s person at any time? Why? Scalpel, spare scalpel, small medpac, lighter, cigarettes.

38. What does your oc do to relax? Any specific activities? Why? Smoke, read surgical medicine journals, watch space TV cop shows, play with Ami, and otherwise try to maintain a semblance of normality in between all the thrilling heroics.

75. What would your oc’s dream home be like? How big would it be? What sorts of rooms would be in it? Where would it be located? He's pretty happy with how things are at Port Knowhere and more concerned with the people in the house than the house itself, so the current house is quite perfect. He does miss a bit more greenery sometimes when it comes to the outside, but open space is still good to have in one form or another.

Nyomi: 17. How polite is your oc? Do they know how to act in a formal situation? How would they *actually* act in a formal situation? Nyomi tries to be polite and can do formalities, certainly better than she used to, but she still generally doesn't want to, and tends to see formalities as a barrier (though she does acknowledge that barrier has occasional importance, since she doesn't think you should be too chummy with the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order in the context of a council meeting, etc). But for the most part, if she's being formal and polite instead of casual, it's because she feels an annoyed obligation to do so and maintain that barrier. But she's also well aware that she has that obligation to be a Jedi Master Representing The Jedi Order, so she has to maintain that level of politeness in most circumstances with people that she isn't working with on a daily basis. She’s certainly not uncomfortable with presenting a stiff, authoritative image, but she still prefers a nominal amount of casualness when she’s commanding the same subordinates for an extended time, and prefers to dismiss ranks and titles entirely in the long term, unless there’s command decisions to make.

25. How stubborn is your oc? Are they open to considering different options or opinions, or are they more closed off? Incredibly stubborn, for better or worse, and usually only begrudgingly open to other options if they're from someone she sufficiently respects.

48. What are your oc’s nervous tics? Are they aware of them? Do they attempt to hide them? Nyomi gets more tense than nervous usually and mostly just grits her teeth and glowers when she's in such a situation of being annoyed, angry, and/or impatient, which she is not good at hiding.

Remi: 37. How does your oc handle heavy stress? Do they have any specific coping mechanisms? Are they healthy or not? More healthily than some of my characters, since Remi has more people to rely on and who also aggressively ensure she handles things more healthily, and she thus hasn't formed assorted bad habits, even if she's not necessarily leaping to open up about some things. (And thus for today she wasn’t allowed to have an evening to brood by herself, which is probably for the best.) Overall she has a calm and steady faith in herself, the party, and the will of the gods, so usually all that she needs to destress is some relative safety with good company for the evening.

73. If your oc were to be arrested, what would it most likely be for? Is it justified? Have they actually been arrested before? Remi hasn't been arrested and is generally mindful enough not to do something that would lead to that (she really was originally going to let Carter off with a light beating, which is presumably not enough to trouble the law in a city full of mercenaries). Circumstances might change in an eventual trip to a city ruled by a dragon disguised as the king, of course, but she’s not exactly going to count that if the local laws are unjust.

90. Does your oc have any objects they could never give up? Why is it so important to them? Do they have any family heirlooms? Well now she has a couple of very romantic pieces of jewelry that she is most certainly not going to give up. And also a magic dragon slaying sword that took great effort to acquire. All of which are important for obvious reasons. Her parents' family heirloom is probably primarily the bakery itself.

Jillian: 31. What inspired the creation of your oc? Any specific things, a general aesthetic or idea, or something completely random? An aesthetic that I found interesting by way of relating to my Warcraft void elf shadow priestess (and also my Jedi Shadow) is the dichotomy of having varyingly immense cosmic power restrained in a comparatively frail body. Jillian's a good bit more physically fit from being young and having an active lifestyle before, but she was still ultimately a civilian, and certainly didn't train for a martial profession even if people weren’t still swinging big swords and lugging around plate armor in that era. The idea here is a bit more pronounced with my elf priestess, who's very gaunt and skinny even by elf standards, with the notion that containing shadow powers within herself has started to wither her body (and becoming a void elf is not an easy process by itself), but Jillian also had to deal with that in the one story where her fleshy human body was stuck dangerously between two clashing cosmic forces (meanwhile my Shadow has been pretty beat up in wars past and thus relies heavily on the Force to unleash levels of acrobatic whoop ass that seemingly wouldn’t be possible in her physical condition). This also relates to the art I use for her, where I really like how you can see her hand is almost too pale and veiny because channeling primal cosmic power probably takes a good bit out of you.

72. What is your oc’s ideal environment like? Urban or natural? Fancy or rustic? What’s the weather like? Definitely natural and rustic. She really misses home, even if home was the place where one had to put in a good bit of work to make a living off the land. I have no idea what the weather is like in whatever part of Arizona she's from, but the general idea was that it was only barely fertile enough for raising cattle and some crops, and thus everyone had to rely on each other to ensure that everyone made it through the winter.

86. What would someone assume about your oc based on their appearance? Would those assumptions be correct? That she couldn't possibly be Chosen By God To Smite The Wicked And The Damned. Fortunately for them (unless they're being smited), they would be incorrect.

#writing #prompts #deadlands #SWTOR #D&D

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sargeantwoof · 4 years

Text

Don’t You Ever Tame Your Demons

There is a boy, awaiting her.

She knows it like she knows the scent of Fall, of the way change, twines within her soul. She can feel it, beneath her, the earth growing and stretching, brushing against her tiny senses. She breaths in once, sucking in the dirt and the rot in the moss under her small hands. She presses down, calling out a greeting in a language she does not know.

Instead of welcoming her, there is a moment of panic, the earth frenzied, before it all dies down. She hears a single note, low enough that she feels it moreso and then her eyes slip shut.

When she awakens, she knows nothing of the moments before she was asleep, just has a slight shift in her mind, an awareness that wasn't there before. Her mother comes over, gently running a hand over her curly hair and her awareness sinks beneath her consciousness, latching tightly into her being, hidden for now.

***

Friendship is nothing like what she thought it would be.

It wasn't that she was expecting anything groundbreaking - except, well, she had hoped. Instead, she was left to the sidelines, vaguely accepted for friendship but more useful for research and books. There were moments, though, moments when her eyes caught on her peers, specifically one. His eyes felt like more, felt like they were tracking over her soul, reaching into places she did not know.

She would blink and look away, her eyes catching on others, watching the way none would ever really look at her the way he would. She paused, fingering her vine wood wand, darting a glance to the left of her where he stood. He offered a small smile and she stared, uncertain with the potential until his smile slipped from his face and he left the common room, his small first-year body slipping from the crowd with ease.

She started, almost standing until a heavy grip landed on her wrist. Ron arched a brow at her, frowning, "I need help with this," he said, his voice rising to become a whine. "You said you would help."

"And I will," she said, slipping back into her place on the couch, the worn threads irritating her for once. She picked up a quill, forcing his exit from her mind. It would be fine, she would make sure of it.

***

She scurried along the hallway, keeping her head down. She had had enough taunts in her single year at Hogwarts to last her a lifetime, and still, hearing Malfoy call her mudblood had almost done her in. She didn't understand for a long moment why she was so upset on the Quidditch pitch until she had gotten back to her dorm room.

She hadn't been hurt so much as enraged. Something had called to her in the moment, to cut and sting and strip those who laughed at her of their very selves. She had wanted to kill them, and in the moment, the emotion had scared her so much that it had become palpable to those around her. Her tears were after her self, her sudden potential of destruction. She had no idea where it had come from, her sudden rush of violence.

She had followed Ron and Harry to Hagrid's hut, swallowing raggedly over and over again until the tears stopped falling and she felt centered. None of them had been of any help, with Ron too busy vomiting and Harry too caught on his own ferocity. She had felt tiny, swamped by the depth of her emotion, until she had suddenly felt completely empty, drained of anything.

When her head had nearly knocked itself against the table in her tiredness, she had excused herself, slipping deftly from the cabin with a small murmur. Harry had been concerned but she had waved him off, heading up the lawn, each stride of hers feeling as though she was walking a mile.

She could not remember when she had last felt normal.

***

He had heard the whispers before he understood them, and in those moments where understanding built, he felt numb, until it crested into a terror he had never felt before. The sudden emotion of fear took him by surprise, leaving him panting in the shared bathroom, curled in a ball.

"Alright mate?" Dean asked, pausing from where he had thrown open the door. Dean stepped closer, ignoring his nodding head. He heaved him up to his feet, splashing cold water on his face. He shivered in Dean's grip, wrenching himself back as soon as he got his feet underneath him.

"I'm fine," he gasped out, ignoring the water trickling down his face as he avoided looking at himself in the mirror, too aware of the disaster that he was. "I'm fine, Dean, thank you." He closed his eyes at the look in Dean's eyes, wiping his face with a random towel left hanging on a hook.

"Sure thing," Dean said after a moment of quiet. "Just be careful, okay?" He shook his head, pressing his face deeper into the towel, waiting until he heard the footsteps leave the room and the door shut behind him. Neville lifted his head, making eye contact with himself in the mirror for the first time in days. The whispers echoed in the back of his head, petrified, petrified, stone, stone, ceaselessly.

"Get it together," he whispered, taking in his red-rimmed eyes and translucent skin. Outside the bathroom, threaded into the stone, a vine shriveled and died, a line of black through striking the middle of the green.

***

"And you still think this is the best route for her?" Minerva said, taking a sip from her tea and watching as a flicker of darkness passed through Albus' eyes. She closed her eyes against the wash of rage that she felt from him before he smothered it.

"Of course my dear," he said, smiling at her. "What's the worst that could happen?" He extended his hand, gently dropping the time turner into hers. Each clink of the chain felt like another weight on her shoulders, another piece she had to carry.

"May I go?" she asked, clenching the turner so tight she was afraid it might break.

"Of course," Albus said, his voice full of smug satisfaction. She turned away before she had to see the look of satisfaction on his face, her shoulders tense, rising to leave. "I would so hate…" he said, trailing off as she reached the door. Minerva stood, her back to him, waiting for him to finish his sentence and counting down in her head until she could leave without causing an issue. He cleared his throat, taking a long sip before continuing. "I would so hate for Miss Granger to not succeed."

"Indeed, sir," Minerva said, pushing open the door and stepping through, forcing back a shudder at the change in tension. "I imagine you would."

***

"…There is nothing that can force the awakening on earlier than 17, though many have tried. Forcing the body through varied stresses and complications can only hurt the potential and as such, all those who are suspected of being an Awakened are told to not do anything too serious…"

-The Awakened: Guides to Knowledge by Salazar Slytherin

Underlined by three separate quills, in a well-worn book sitting in the Hogwarts library on the Northernmost shelf of the 'Awoken' section. Chapter 2, Page 37, Second Paragraph.

"…Those who have awakened often speak of their urges to do something which had only become clearer when they awoke. Not following those urges had no real ill intent, but many who don't have been heard to wish that they had. This is especially clear for those who follow repeated paths. Rarely will partners be torn apart or disgusted by each other, and reincarnated twins will follow each other through their lives though they may not be born to the same family…"

- Patterns and Problems by Minister Artemisia Lufkin

An accidentally dogeared page, with smudged ink from the batch of misprinted books from 1932, sitting in the Lovegood library underneath a three-week-old cup of tea. Chapter 5, Page 87, Third Paragraph.

"It is whispered about, what the uncompromised and steadfast chosen are like, said that they are cruel and vicious, unrelenting in their rejection of mortality even as they stride among those who are mortal. There are those who choose to remain on the earth and do not visit the Parthenon remain stuck in an increasingly toxic mindset. Being a God but not returning to Godly soil taints the current manifestation in ways still not understood…"

-Shaken Faith by Hestia

The burned original, held in the Black family library under lock and key which has not been touched since 745 AD. Page Unknown, First Paragraph.

***

He was watching her again, with a stare that she suddenly felt no matter where she was. She shifted, trying to listen to Professor McGonagall without letting him know how unnerved she was.

She didn't know what he wanted, she didn't know why he suddenly was so interested in her. Unless, she thought, suddenly struck by inspiration, maybe he knew about the turner. She frowned, dragging her hand over her wand, the familiar pattern of leaves soothing to her as always. She knew logically that she shouldn't say anything to him, her secret was only suspected unless she said something and it would do nothing but cause problems if she confronted him.

But.

But if she confronted him, she would have to be near him, and maybe that would soothe the ever-growing ache that she felt when they were apart. She didn't understand it, having gone to Madam Pomfrey the first time she had felt the ache. She thought it was simply a part of growing up, the strange hollowness. She had been checked over, the invasive search yielding no results, her ache still present.

Since then, she had worked in ways to get close to him, helping him with homework when Ron and Harry were busy or walking with him to the Greenhouses when she was on her way to Hagrid's. It was only recently, only this past week, that she had become increasingly aware of just how many times he stole looks at her. His gaze was unending and made her feel strange, like a jolt of caffeine to the system.

"We have a third-year meeting this weekend," Professor McGonagall called before she dismissed them. "It is absolutely necessary, and it concerns the Awakening." At her words, the class stilled, before bursting into a flurry of activity at the toll of the bell. Hermione followed Ron and Harry out the door, sliding away from them as they became absorbed into the larger group of Gryffindors heading to their dorms.

She stood outside the door, waiting for him to appear, only the tapping of her fingers on her bag betraying her nervousness. A shadow slid over her, the sudden change in light causing her to jump. She whirled around, finding Headmaster Dumbledore behind her.

"Miss Granger," he said, smiling at her. "Just the student I was hoping to see. Would you mind terribly if we took a walk together?" He nodded towards where the time turner chain was concealed against her neck, stepping away from the doorway and waiting for her to follow him. "I have some questions about how you're holding up."

***

"Wow," Ron said, falling backward onto his bed, their dorm empty for once. "I can't believe one of us might be a God."

"Or Goddess," Harry mumbled, his face smushed into his pillow. He turned his head, cracking open an eye to take in Ron's disgusted expression, before rolling his eyes and sitting up. He frowned down at his hands. "It makes me wish that my parents had survived."

Ron arched an eyebrow at him. "What?"

Harry shrugged, interlocking his fingers over and over again, clenching tighter each time. "It just would've been a nice thing to know."

"Oh," Ron said, floundering for something to say. "I suppose."

***

Hermione stared at the flames in the common room, slowly absorbing the information Professor McGonagall had told them. She hadn't realized that some of the Gods were still out there, still waiting to be awoken. She shivered at the thought. It had been a lot to take in when she had been new to the Wizarding World and was being told that the Greek and Roman Gods were able to be reincarnated within their society. To now be told that some were missing, that some had chosen to be returned to a semi-mortal cycle? That the power in the Parthenon was incomplete?

She shivered again, flinching when her arms brushed up against something solid. She tore her eyes from the fire, flinching back again when she made eye contact with Neville. He sighed, scooting over, giving her space. They sat there for a moment, him studying her as intently as she was studying him.

"You okay?" He finally asked. She shrugged, her face softening from the tense lines it had been in and her hair aglow in the setting sun. He nodded, turning away from her. "Yeah, me too." He felt more than saw her turn back to the flames. They sat together, sliding closer every so often until darkness fell outside. By the time the moon had risen, the two were asleep, heads tilted together as though they were telling each other secrets in their dreams.

***

"Oh, I knew that already," Malfoy said interrupting, after having listened in on the conversation that most of the third-year Gryffindors were having. At their upset faces, he smirked. "Malfoy House secret," he said, turning and flouncing away.

"One of these days…," Seamus said glowering at his back and letting his threat trail off. The others nodded in solidarity. Hermione stood still, watching as Malfoy faded in the distance. Neville stayed with her, the others in their group sweeping off towards the tower. "Is something wrong?" He asked when they were alone in the corridor.

Hermione shook her head before turning to face him, curiosity flashing across her face. "Why does he think he's so much better than everyone?" she asked.

Neville shrugged. "Probably because of who his family is," he said, watching her. "When your mother is the Queen of the Gods you tend to get a big head."

"I thought she would've been married to the Headmaster," she said her nose scrunching up in thought. "Aren't they bound for life forever?"

Neville shrugged again, looking back down the hallway where Malfoy had disappeared. "I guess after so many years the sanctity of marriage doesn't mean so much anymore."

***

She knocked on the door of Professor McGonagall's office, waiting for a welcome before stepping through. She fidgeted with the coiled up necklace in her palm, careful to not turn the hourglass too far in either direction. As she entered, she took in the small changes to the room from when she had been there last, at the beginning of the school year.

"Ah, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said warmly, gesturing to the seat in front of her desk. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione sat down on the edge of the seat, balancing on the edge, ready to spring up as soon as she needed to. "I'm here to return this," she said, extending her hand. For a moment Professor McGonagall didn't move, staring at her. Hermione forced herself to unclench her hand, letting the time turner drop. Professor McGonagall, reached out, gently pulling it from her hand.

Hermione snatched back her hand as soon as she was free, sitting on it to fight the urge to grab the turner back and run from the room. Professor McGonagall gave her a long look, before dropping it into a drawer. As soon as it was out of sight, Hermione sagged forward, her tension leaving her frame.

"Miss Granger," the Professor exclaimed, getting up from behind her desk. Hermione waved her off, taking in a deep breath. Professor McGonagall stopped, leaning back against her desk as she waited for Hermione to regain her composure. She took another deep breath, smiling for the first time in ages.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, getting up from her seat and offering no explanation. Before Professor McGonagall could say anything she turned and left, a skip in her step.

For a long moment, Minerva stood at the edge of her desk, thinking. She could not remember giving Miss Granger the time turner. In fact, she could not even remember approving more than the usual classes for her.

***

"It is in the height of summer that certain Gods are said to be strongest, and others are said to be weakest. As with each turn of the year, new seasons heighten powers. The only one rumored to be unaffected by this power is the mighty and unstoppable King of the Gods: Zeus…"

- Power Dynamics in Gods by Bathilda Bagshot

Albus Dumbledore's private annotated copy, stored among countless other books at the private Dumbledore cottage.

Prologue, Page xi, First Paragraph.

"…Hidden underground is said to be a realm of wealth, accessible by only one God, Hades. Allegedly used for the whims of Persephone, these riches are untouched six months of the year, though even if they were touched every day of every year, the wealth is essentially inexhaustible, with more being churned out. The nonstop growth has many calling Hades the Lord of Riches, though no one knows how much that is…"

- Powers of the Gods by Unknown, translation attributed to Merlin

The show book in the 'P' section of Flourish and Blotts which is permanently broken on the spine from being held open to the entry of Melinoë, Goddess of Nightmares and Madness.

Chapter 8, Page 134, Third Paragraph.

"..coiled within, the darkness can sing, voices have called, none more appalled, the God of night, the bringer of fright, those who fear, never been more near…"

- Luna Lovegood's Journal

Tossed underneath her bed at home, the top half of the page is ripped out, with this line written through underneath the tear and a field of flowers drawn underneath. It is unclear if the two are related.

Page Unknown, Paragraph Unknown.

***

"Gods can come down from the Parthenon, right?" Harry asked, not making eye contact with her as they sat underneath an apple tree in the Weasley family orchard. She had to restrain her immediate flinch at the mention of the Gods, instead, turning and cocking her head inquisitively in an unspoken invitation for him to continue. He swallowed, fiddling with a piece of crabgrass in his hands. "I just…" He flicked his eyes up, taking in her face quickly before dropping them back to his lap. "Last year, when Professor McGonagall said all that stuff about how the Parthenon was still looking for some who had been reincarnated and how if we had any they'd be awoken at 17 with the onset of adulthood and whatever, she also said that we could all stay friends." He swallowed hard. "We could all stay friends because we could come and go from the Parthenon."

She reached out, stopping him from ripping up more crabgrass. "And?" she asked. "None of us are 17, we still have like three years - if any of us even are one."

Harry nodded, flipping his hand up so that their fingers tangled. "And so I realized that I use to have two of the Gods in my life but," he paused, making direct eye contact with her. "But when my parents died they left." He frowned, the sorrow and anger deepening his normal scowl. "They bloody left."

"Who left?" Hermione asked, frowning back at him. "Because that might've played a part in it."

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin." He said, his voice almost a growl. "And I looked up who they are, and they're both important, yeah, but they could've come to visit at least once, you know?"

Hermione nodded, looking away from him so she wouldn't be tempted to ask which of the Gods they were. She could always look them up later, she supposed, which was better than making Harry angrier than he was. Harry sighed beside her, his tension seeping out of him with each quiet moment. "You can ask," he said rolling his eyes.

She shook her head, "If it bothers you…"

"It doesn't," Harry said, "At least not with you."

"Oh," she said, fighting a smile. "Then who…?"

Harry sighed again. "Aphrodite and Hermes," he said. "Which is so weird to me."

She hummed absently, her mind whirling over the possibilities. "Did you ask Headmaster Dumbledore?" Harry nodded. She frowned, her lips twisting. "Ah."

Harry shrugged as though it didn't matter to him, but the expression on his face belied that. "He said that Tom Riddle was closing the barrier to the Parthenon." Hermione nodded slowly as he continued. "He told me all about how he was trying to overthrow him and how he wanted to change everything." He shook his head, a dark look on his face. "Riddle's causing a lot of issues for him."

***

The announcement of others to join them was unexpected. She swallowed down her momentary uneasiness at the thought of foreign Parthenon's joining them at Hogwarts. She knew why it was happening, as it was always good to have friends in high places, but she was confused as to why they would invite Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to their halls if they were incomplete.

She had mapped out the missing Gods and Goddesses, tracing through book after book, stumbling across knowledge she would have thought that Headmaster Dumbledore, or Zeus, would have hidden. Apollo, Artemis, Tyche, Nemesis, Hades, Persephone, Deimos, Phobos, Morpheus; other Gods and Goddess were still missing. She didn't understand why either. For all intents and purposes, they had no reason to become reincarnated.

Rowena, Godric, Salazar, and Helga had remained the same year after year since the founding of Hogwarts. She knew it was a bad sign when Godric, Ares, and Salazar, Athena, were still friends. In the early years of the Parthenon, neither could stand each other. She frowned, tracing over her notes again. Why would they be so close now?

Something was wrong.

There was something rotten in the core of the Parthenon, and try as she might, Hermione could not stop until she found the source.

***

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape called over the ruckus of the exiting students. "I need you for a minute."

"Yes sir," she said, making eye contact with Neville and blushing. She headed to the front of the class, waving off Harry and Ron who tried to wait for her. Harry caught her eyes, raising his eyebrows expectantly. She rolled her eyes but nodded in agreement, she would fill them in later.

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, watching her. "Are you aware of who I am?"

"Yes, sir," she said, ducking her head from his piercing gaze. "Professor McGonagall explained just who certain staff members were last year."

Professor Snape said nothing for a moment, steadily trailing his gaze over her. He took in her frizzy hair, the semi-permanent ink stains splashed across her fingers, the way her tie was sharply knotted and placed precisely in the correct spot. "Yes," he finally said, grimacing. "And unfortunately, that means that I am here to offer a word of warning from my other half."

"Oh," she breathed, raising her eyes just in time to catch the flicker of other that he rarely let loose.

"Yes," Professor Snape said again, breathing in. He held it for one moment, and then, "I hope you will listen," Janus said, the haze of mortality lifted for a brief moment. He too studied the girl, watching for her choices and options to come before him. "Trust yourself," he said abruptly. "There is no one who knows yourself more than you."

Hermione nodded, a flash of fear sliding down her spine. "Yes sir," she said again, watching as Janus nodded once before subsiding into Professor Snape once again. "Thank you."

***

Hermione's quiet no was a surprise to everyone in the dorms, Neville reflected. The moments after she said that she had a date, it had almost felt as though time had slowed, her word shaking through the ground until everyone had known. Neville had nodded, offering her a smile, brushing past Ron, whose face was growing redder with every moment that she didn't say she was joking.

He stumbled through the doorway, brushing past Fred and George, ignoring whatever it was they were saying. He walked through Hogwarts, letting the shadows creep over his shoulder as the darkness grew. He left the well-traveled paths, wandering down the stairs, heading for the dungeons. He walked until he was lost, turning corner after corner until he was dizzy, sliding down the wall to sit, the gentle Lumos from his wand the only source of light.

He flicked his wand, extinguishing his light and letting the absolute darkness seep into his bones. He closed his eyes, revisiting the flicker of sadness through her eyes as she said no. He replayed the memory over and over until he felt nothing, blinking open his eyes.

He blinked again, rubbing his eyes to check to see if he was seeing what he thought he was. In the stone before him, a tiny speck of something was glowing. He stood, uncaring of the dig of the rough stone wall into his hands. He reached out, gently prodding the glow, before glancing around, and taking another two spots in opposite directions.

He picked a direction and walked to the spot, peering further down the hallway to see if he could find another. He could, so he moved forward, shuffling awkwardly forward with his hands out, praying he didn't run into anything too hard. He followed the spots, noticing that they grew brighter as he did, before eventually reaching the last one.

The last glowing spot was roughly the size of his fist and as he peered closer, he realized it was in the shape of a door handle. He extended his hand, gripping his wand tight in his other. His palm covered the majority of the glow, which felt vaguely warm to him.

He turned the handle, stepping through into the wide room. The glowing lights were everywhere in it, illuminating the area so he could see without any needed help from his wand. He walked further into the room, his mouth dropping open in amazement as he took in the depth of the room. Behind him, the door swung shut, it's heavy thud heralding change.

He wandered down the rows, taking in the raised beds and the strange plants growing from the walls. He cocked his head, hearing a rush of water. He smiled, a feeling of satisfaction settling into his shoulders as he spun once more, taking in the whole room.

It was perfect.

***

She frowned, taking in the set of his shoulders as he turned away from her. Her lack of desire to go after him only further cemented what he had been whispering in her ear as they stood in the shadowed alcove. Victor was simply not for her.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she considered her options. She could leave, go back to her dorm, have the peace and quiet that it would afford her before the rush of her roommates came back. She could stay and be visibly alone, and deal with the various rudeness that she would get from her peers. She sighed again, her exhale shaky with tears.

She turned, brushing under her eyes once, careful to avoid the mascara and eyeliner as she stepped out into public view once more. No one was around, something she was grateful for, as she took another deep breath.

"Granger," a boy said, appearing at her elbow. "What's the matter now?"

She glanced up, taking in the pale hair and fair skin before dropping her gaze once more. "Victor decided he was better off without me," she said after a moment of consideration. After all, it wasn't like Malfoy wouldn't know the story anyways in the morning.

Malfoy frowned, awkwardly placing a hand on her chin to raise her eyes back up to his. "I didn't take you for someone who would be swept into Tyr's games."

Hermione flinched back, pulling from his grasp. "I didn't realize he was Tyr and not Victor tonight," she said bitterly, glaring at him. "I just thought that he was being Victor."

"He is," Malfoy said, staring at her. "Victor is Tyr and Tyr is Victor. They're the same person." He reached out again, his hand dropping at her twitch away from him. He sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "Did no one explain to you-"

"They did," she said, cutting him off and glaring at him. "And I know that even though I'm a mudblood, I can still keep up."

Malfoy sighed again, frowning. "I don't think they did, Grang- Hermione," he said, avoiding her stare at her name. "And don't call yourself that," he muttered, turning from her to head back into the Great Hall. "Happy Yule," he called over his shoulder as he pushed through the doors, the warmth and light spilling out into the corridor she was standing in.

She shivered, frowning at his words. The silence behind Malfoy's exit was too much and she turned, hiking up her dress and beginning the lonely trek up the stairs to the tower.

***

"…I don't understand, Albus. You tell me it's too much for me to come back. You say that it's dangerous. And yet, when I tried to leave this morning, simply to stretch my legs on Earth, I'm unable to leave at all? Not only does that cross so many lines it isn't even funny, but you've gone to the length to restrict me from my duty. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

- Sirius Black's Letter to Albus Dumbledore

Sirius's eighth letter to Albus in the past week. It sits unread underneath three others in Albus's study.

Third Page, Final Paragraph.

"…Hogwarts is rumored to be directly descended from the Parthenon, as in it is directly taken from the Mount and was put on Earth as a way to connect to the Gods at all times. Who wouldn't get a kick out of that? Now, readers, I know what you're thinking, how is that possible? And I do not know how it is, but I do know that under the guidance of Headmaster Dumbledore, also known as Parthenon Leader Zeus, that there is nothing the Gods can't do…"

- Questions for the Gods, Answers for the People by Rita Skeeter

The 1982 article sits among the stacks of other newspapers in the Hogwarts Library, in the News Archive Section in the Eastern shelving unit.

"…Poseidon, Ares, Athena, and Hestia have not been seen since the founding of Hogwarts, leaving many feeling as though something was going wrong. Zeus has been seen every century since, often unchanging and instead simply taking on a new name as he wished. When Hogwarts was founded, Zeus was known to the common folks as Merlin, a title which is often distant from his current name of Albus Dumbledore today…"

- Where Have They Gone? by Valentina Slughorn

Hidden in Hermione Granger's trunk, under three interlocking wards covered by a blood ward. It is one of the last copies within the British Isles.

Chapter 11, Page 256, Second Paragraph.

***

Neville hummed to himself as he left his cavernous room. It had been months since he had first found it and in that time, he had put so much effort into the room that it was almost unrecognizable from when he had first stumbled in. He no longer brought out his wand to find the room, wandering around until he found the glows. He had finally nailed the turns, memorizing the path to the room. He smiled to himself. He probably could do it blindfolded, and that was a nice surprise.

He paused, hearing a strange noise up ahead. He slid into the closest alcove to him, his fingers tight on his wand as he balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to spring out at a moment's notice. He peeked around the corner, blinking at the lights emanating unexpectedly from someone's wand. He pulled back, moving deeper into the shadows and casting a small notice-me-not charm across himself.

"Are you sure he went this way?" a voice hissed lowly. "I don't want to be down here all night."

"I'm positive," Malfoy responded. Neville flinched further back, his back scraping against the stone. Why was Malfoy looking for him? He gripped his wand even tighter, the wood pinching the skin of his palm. Malfoy sighed, coming around the corner. "He can't be coming down here like this." Behind him, Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass stood, their wands equally bright, but lowered.

"We know," Greengrass said, frowning. She huffed, exchanging a look with Nott before turning back to Malfoy. "How far down do you think he went?"

Neville thought for a moment, his face twisting before he slipped from the shadows, stepping directly in front of Malfoy. Malfoy jumped back, a shout cut off as he clenched his jaw. Nott flinched, bringing his hand up and Greengrass flicked her wand, casting a stunner that Neville neatly dodged.

"Good god, man," Malfoy said, his face whiter than usual with fear. "What would possess you to do that?"

Neville shrugged, leveling him with a look. "What would possess you to follow me here?"

***

Fred knelt on the cold stones, ignoring the aches in his knees as he slid the last piece into place. The runes spiraling around him flared, glowing intently. George tilted his head from where he stood, studying the dizzying array.

"I think you were right," he said. "The runes wouldn't look like this if we weren't-" He cut himself off. "If you weren't one of them."

Fred rolled his eyes, rocking backward to his heels, the sudden rise of his body snapping himself from the runic sequence. The glow disappeared, the room muting in color. "It's going to be the two of us," he said confidently. "Otherwise, I'll have to do something drastic."

George sighed, nudging him out of the way as he took his place in the center. He paused, steeling himself for disappointment before slowly lowering himself to the floor. The glow began again immediately, lighting up the room just as brightly as they did for Fred. George swallowed a laugh, glancing up at Fred whose eyes were shining with glee. "Well that's that, then," he said softly, reaching out and touching a rune.

"Uh-huh," Fred said, scrunching his nose. "Now all we have to do is figure out who we are." He smirked at George. "I think I know who we can ask to help us."

"Oh," George said, a sly grin sliding onto his face. "I bet she would be delighted." He stood, brushing his knees and striding to the door. "Let's go find her now." He swung the door open, hearing Fred follow him through. "Oh Miss Granger," he called, as he walked through the doorway into the common room. He caught sight of her sitting by the window, Neville at her side. He smirked, winding his way over to her through the usual ruckus. "Would you be so kind-"

"No," Hermione said, not looking up from her book. Neville stifled a smirk, hiding his face in his book.

"You haven't even heard the offer love," Fred said, sitting on the armrest beside her. He tugged a curl, taking care not to pull too hard, chuckling when she swatted at him without glancing. "I think you might like this one."

"The last offer you made me involved me letting you charm me for twelve hours and when I said no, you did it anyway."

"But," George said, dragging out his word. "The charm lasted for only one." He smiled at her, prodding Neville over until he was able to slip in next to her. She glared at him. He lifted his hands in supplication, a pleading look on his face. "No charms this time?"

She narrowed her eyes. "No charms?"

"No spells even," Fred answered. "Just a little research." Her expression didn't change. He huffed, "On my honor." She arched a brow, looking between the two of them before glancing over at Neville who shrugged.

She sighed, rolling her eyes and snapping her book shut. "Fine." She ignored them high-fiving over her. "What do you want me to look up?" George leaned over, whispering their discovery into her ear. She nodded once, surprised. "I'll get on that tonight."

"Thanks, love," George said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek, Fred mirroring him. She blushed and rolled her eyes again, punching him on the shoulder. George cackled, getting up from the couch, waving goodbye to them as he tugged Fred away.

Hermione sighed, her face content even as her blush remained bright on her skin. "So it's like that, isn't it?" Neville teased, smiling at her. He held his hands up as she threatened to punch him too. "Just a joke! Just a joke!"

***

"He said what?" She frowned, staring at him. "And we should believe him why?"

He stared at her, blinking. "Did you not hear a single thing I've said?"

She waved her hands at him. "No, I did. I'm just finding it hard to believe." She sighed. "Let me go over it one more time, just to make sure I have it down. Mrs. Malfoy is Hera, and so Malfoy has known about a lot of this stuff before he was supposed to. Mrs. - Hera, has felt something shifting and told Malfoy to look out for unusual things. He has been and noticed that you've been slipping off and followed you to warn you because - not only is Hera worried but she thinks that Zeus is building up to potentially destroy new Gods?" At the end of her spiel, Hermione was panting, her curls bouncing with every vigorous nod.

Neville nodded, fighting the urge to reach out and pull a curl. "And," he said, his face twisting in a frown. "He thinks I might be one." He paused, before adding. "And you."

"And- Hades?" Hermione said, shifting in her seat. Neville nodded his head. Hermione huffed a laugh, Neville smiling at her. "Well, that's… something."

He grinned. "It is, isn't it?" Hermione rolled her eyes. He gave in to his urge, tugging a curl. "You're taking this awfully well."

"It's bullshit," Hermione said, staring at him. She arched a brow at his look. "There's no way," she held up a hand at him, pausing what he was going to say. "There's no way that's true." She laughed, her voice uncertain in ways she didn't let herself think about. "You- you being an awoken, I can understand, no really," she said, her voice earnest in a way Neville didn't expect. "You're good and kind and you're so smart." She breathed for a moment before continuing. "You could be any of the remaining Gods or Goddesses and it makes sense. Me?" she asked. "Me? You want me to believe that I'm reincarnated, that I'm waiting to be 'awoken' in a few years?" She shook her head. "That's not- I'm not… just no."

"I think you're wrong," Neville said, watching her so intently she had to look away. "I think that Malfoy is wrong about parts too, but," he swallowed. "You're wrong too." He tugged another of her curls, grabbing her hand when she tried to brush him off. "There's something more to us," he said, peering at her. "You can't say we haven't always been drawn to each other, or at least interested in each other in ways that were more than we expected."

She sighed, brushing her other hand over his cheek, "I'll admit to the fascination," she said, blushing lightly. "I don't think you're right about the other stuff."

Neville smiled, tightening his grasp on her hand. "All I needed was one concession."

***

She paused, staring at the greenhouse. The glass room was familiar to her, as beloved as the library. She had taken to following Neville in, working on her homework as he puttered around. By now, the smell of growth and soil was as soothing to her as the scent of inks and parchment. She tilted her head, absentmindedly thinking over the past few months.

She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't sought Neville out. She blinked, stunned at the sudden revelation that she was closer with Neville than Ron and Harry. That wasn't to say that she didn't see them just as often as she had before Neville had really come into her life, but that she would go to him instead of the library when she could which was increasing at the stress of OWLs rose.

It also helped that he was willing to know her. He would listen, really and truly, willing to be all ears for her, just as she was willing for him. With Neville, it was easy, from the flow of conversation to the silence. She felt no pressure, no need to morph herself into something else. She could simply be, accepted and known, completely at ease.

"Are you coming?" Neville said, bumping the door open with his hip and offering her a smile. "I've been waiting for you."

Hermione smiled at him, joy blooming across her face in the way that only he could bring. He smiled back, running a hand through his hair and offering her his other. She skipped forward, gripping his hand tightly. "Of course," she said. "Wouldn't miss seeing you for the world."

***

"There is an issue," Headmaster Dumbledore said, watching the crowd of children in front of him intently. His voice had muted the entire room but the sobriety of his words silenced all of them. He sighed, offering them a small smile. "I know that those in the government wish for me to be cautious with my words, to hold them back in hopes that there will be no spilling of blood, no fight." He paused for a moment, his eyes steady on them. "That is not how this world works," he said. "And even as a God, I know better than that. War will always find its way in, even when Ares is not leading the charge."

"There is another God who seeks to challenge the current positions we hold." He said, making eye contact with various students throughout the crowd. "Tom Riddle, or as we Gods know him, Nike, has been raising issues within our community for many decades but only recently has he gained enough followers to actually pose a problem." He paused again, letting the tension build. "The Parthenon and I believe that he is going out of his way to seek Hades."

The name of the longest missing Council God sent whispers spiraling through the crowd. He waited a moment before clearing his throat to continue. "Hades is thought to currently be walking among you." At that news, the students erupted into noise, people throwing accusations and pointing fingers. Hades had been missing for so long that the thought of his incarnation walking the halls had people up in arms. No one knew why or how he had gone missing, and everyone wanted to.

Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his throat again, silencing them once more. "As you know," he said, staring down at the Gryffindor table. "Hades is often, though not always, accompanied by his bride, Persephone." He made eye contact with Hermione, a prickle creeping down her spine at his look. "And we at the Parthenon are looking forward to welcoming them home." He dragged his eyes away from her, offering a smile at the crowd. "If you think you know which students are them, please, come forward."

He leaned across the table, his voice darkening as his power of Zeus shined through. "And, if you or anyone you know, have heard of the power this Tom Riddle is attempting to gather, come to me immediately." He smiled, the twinkle in his eyes absent. "I would be most delighted in what you had to say."

***

"…Lord and Lady Potter perished last night in an unfortunate freak accident, leaving their seat on Wizengamot able to be accessed by Lord Zeus, as per usual. Today our hearts are with the remaining Lord Potter, a child of one, who Lord Zeus has assured us has been placed in the appropriate care of family…"

- Radio Transcript from November 1st, 1981

Stored neatly in the Wizarding Network Radio storage shed in Diagon Alley. Obituary Section, Second Page, Third Entry

"You have gone too far, Zeus. This has become a point of issue for all of us. You know that I was chosen to send this letter because there was the hope that I could appeal to your brotherly nature. However, they do not know what I know, which is that even when we were young Gods, you were paranoid and selfish, filled to the brim with ideas of power…"

- Poseidon's Seventh Draft Letter to Zeus

It sits in Rowena's private office, full of scribbles and cross-outs, the paper is torn as though the writer had been furious. It and all of the others will never be sent. First Page, Initial Paragraph.

"…keep your eye on them, darling. Even though I am not with Zeus in this life, and I haven't been for centuries, I know what he is like, jealous and fickle, unrelenting in his quest for more. If Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger are who I suspect they are, then Zeus has known for years. Make no mistake, he will kill them, just as he has in every incarnation since…"

- Narcissa Malfoy's Letter To Draco Malfoy

It burns in a fireplace. Draco sits, waiting for the letter to become ash, which he will then scoop up and take with him, sprinkling a little bit across every place he visits this year until there is no hope of it being reformed. This is the 16th time he has done this, this year. Third Page, Second Paragraph.

***

"I'm afraid," Hermione whispered, sitting next to Neville in the slowly darkening greenhouse. Professor Sprout had come through, gently closing off the glass windows until the only one that remained was the one in front of them. She hadn't come over to close it or told them to head back to their dorm, instead, she had offered them a small sad smile and left, the vines of plants attempting to cling to her. "You'd think there would be more than this," she continued. "That in the world of Gods and Goddesses that more would be figured out. That more would be known."

He shifted beside her, pulling her closer to him so he could whisper into her hair. "Maybe more is known." She stilled, resting her cheek against his collarbone. He continued, lowering his voice even more. "I think there may have been a sweep of information."

She hummed lightly, thinking over his words in her mind. "I just wish we could have faith in everything," she said. They fell quiet again, content to stay tucked in close together. The sunset passed, darkness falling across them as they watched the sky. Hermione ran her eyes over the stars, mulling over the gaps in her knowledge, the sudden changes in Malfoy's relationship with her and Neville, the fact that Fred and George were set to turn 17 and their badly kept secret of awakening.

"Hermione?" Neville said, breaking the silence in the softest way possible, his voice a mere hint against her skin. She tilted her head back, looking up at him. He blushed, flicking his eyes at her, before looking back out the window. "I just-" he paused, starting again. "I really like you," he whispered. He looked down, watching red bloom across her face. "Would you-" he swallowed hard. "Could we- maybe- labels?"

She smiled at him, reaching out to touch his face. "I've been waiting for you to ask forever," she said, her hands cool on his burning face. He smiled back, before reaching out and twining their hands together. She pulled back, tilting her head up, Neville dropping his down.

Hermione shuddered at the touch of his lips on hers. She had kissed others before, Victor once, Ron, Harry, Lavender, random others on dares in the common room. Nothing felt like kissing Neville, that there was something more, something delicate that felt like coming home. She smiled into the soft kiss, feeling him smile in return.

He pulled back, snapping open his eyes to see her. She reached up, touching her smiling mouth before opening her eyes. Neville swallowed hard that the glint of other that slid through them, his heart pounding at the knowledge that it was true, what Malfoy had told him, that she was more. He knew she would never believe him, so he kept quiet, vowing to tell her as soon as she would be receptive to it.

"Oh," Hermione said, glancing around her. "Oh, that's different." Neville looked around them, taking in the sudden blooming of flowers in shock. Every plant that had a flower had one, their petals open and unfurled, the scent of pollen suddenly heavy in the greenhouse. Neville reached out, rubbing a hand over the flowers, shivering at contact. When he glanced over at Hermione, he was surprised to see how pleased she looks.

At his glance, she shrugged. "I'm just glad - I'm yours and you're mine," she said, a sly look in her eyes. "You're quite a catch." Neville sputtered, his face going vibrantly red as Hermione began to laugh. He sighed, rolling his eyes but his annoyance softened as she settled back into him, the two sliding together as though they were made for each other.

***

"I am concerned," Minerva said, frowning at Filius, Severus, and Pomona. "If he gets worse than this, the Parthenon will fall."

Pomona nodded in agreement, her cup of tea set aside as she busied her hands with the growth of the ivy on the walls of the staff room. "I am concerned for you," she said, expectantly looking at Minerva. "Magic has felt strange recently, are you sure that you are doing well Hecate?"

Minerva shuddered at her name, rolling her eyes. "I am, Dionysus," she said pointedly, ignoring the scowl of displeasure on Pomona's face at her older name. She shook her head, getting back to the issue at hand. "My concern is that he will do something drastic and the Parthenon will fall and we will fall with it."

Filius hummed, sitting in front of the fire, his hands fiddling with his wand. "He has done something drastic, and we all are aware." He looked at Severus, watching the younger man. "We have all made choices."

Severus huffed. "Say what you will, then."

"I mean that we are aware that he has sought out Hades and Persephone each incarnation," he said. "Is there nothing you can do?"

"Of course there is nothing I can do," Severus said, his voice sharp. "You think I have not stood before him asking time and time again to try to choose another option?" He shook his head. "He does as he wants, and damned the consequences." He smirked at Filius. "I thought you would've remembered that, as he stood next to Hera as she threw you from the Mount."

Filius glared. "You forget yourself too much Janus."

"Enough," Minerva snapped, exchanging a look with Pomona. "I do not have time for this, and unless you two forget - you do not either. He will be returning soon and this must be over and done with." The two men inclined their heads, their apologies unspoken. She scoffed. "Now, back to the issue, we all think that Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom are the two?"

"Yes," Pomona said, inspecting the vine to make sure it was to her standard before grabbing her tea and sitting down. "It's almost obvious in hindsight."

Severus shrugged. "We warned her fourth year." He glanced around the room, taking in the looks of surprise. He rolled his eyes. "I am not so much a complete bastard that the thoughts of one of my students being murdered in my care does not sit well with me."

"Right," Minerva said, a shadow passing through her eyes at the thought. "Nonetheless, we must shield them as best we can." She shuddered again. "I would not see them murdered on the eve of the awakening like last time."

***

He stood, pacing the halls of the Malfoy Manor, its sleek design of no thought to him as he wore down the centuries-old carpet. "Sir?" Bellatrix Lestrange said, cocking her head at him. "Severus has reported that it is almost completely confirmed that the two we suspected are Hades and Persephone."

Tom Riddle spun, smiling at her. "Well, that is excellent news." He walked past her, heading into the office which held Narcissa and Regulus Black. He set himself on the edge of Narcissa's desk, positioning his body so he could see the entire room before asking, "Any other news?"

Narcissa tilted her head, her eternal crown winking in and out of sight as she thought, watching at Bellatrix slid into a seat in front of her. "Well," she said, "Draco says that the twins, whom we have suspected for as long as we've known about them, are set to awake within this week." Narcissa smiled, her face bright and lovely, so much so that the others had to restrain themselves from beaming back at her as well. "I am hopeful that they will see sense and not be quite so swept up in the usual Weasley support of Zeus."

"That is good news," Tom said, well aware of the fact that Narcissa didn't make such predictions lightly. He turned to Regulus. "Any news from you?"

Regulus nodded, a pained grimace slipping over his face. "Sirius has reached out." He pulled a note from his pocket, smoothing out the wrinkles. "He has been constrained to the Parthenon much like the others."

Tom frowned. "I had hoped that he would have been overlooked."

"No," Regulus said, sighing. "He was friends with James Potter."

"And that's still an unknown piece, right?" Bellatrix asked, her gaze darting from Narcissa to Tom. "Their deaths were sudden and so strange," she said, her brow furrowing in thought. "And then Sirius and Remus were recalled back to the Parthenon and Harry was whisked away."

Tom nodded, tapping his fingers on the wooden desk in front of him. He looked back at Narcissa. "Are the others at Hogwarts receptive to us?"

She nodded, taking a sip of her tea, the gentle clink of china the only sound in the quiet study. "Minerva, Filius, and Pomona would all work with us if they thought they could. Severus said that Minerva has been consistently confounded over the past few years, and the other two are wary of Zeus too, but also that we cannot expect them to assert themselves against him when he is so powerful in his castle."

"That's… understandable," Tom said. "Unfortunate, but understandable." The room fell silent, each contemplating their own thoughts.

"Why is Harry Potter so important?" Bellatrix exclaimed suddenly. "I have been running it over in my head, and Zeus has sought to isolate him from other Gods time and time again. Did he somehow manifest when he was a child and Zeus had to take him out? But why not kill him?" She got up from her seat, beginning to pace. "Which God would Zeus want on his side, to the point that he would not destroy him?"

Regulus shifted, frowning in thought. "If you weren't alive," he said, nodding at Tom. "I would've guessed Nike."

Tom blinked, his eyes widening in realization. "Zeus would love for nothing more than for me to fall on my sword, wouldn't he?"

"Oh no," Narcissa breathed, her thoughts following Tom's exactly. "You think that Harry Potter is Nemesis, don't you?"

Tom smiled a small weary smile. "If Zeus can fashion Nemesis into a weapon against me…" he trailed off, locking eyes with Narcissa. "If we fall, and Hades is unable to awake…"

"The powers will eventually go to Zeus," Bellatrix said, staring at them. "And the Parthenon will fall. For good."

***

The gasps woke George first, the heavy pants emanating from Fred's bed. He frowned, rolling over in the darkness, grabbing his wand and waving it, casting the date in low glow above his bed.

"Shit," he hissed, beginning to pull himself up as the 01.04 began to fade. He sat up, pushing his covers off, before slumping over as heat began traveling through his body. He clenched his teeth, his knowledge expanding, information suddenly slotting in. Across the room, Fred screamed, the sharp noise suddenly cut off as Lee swore, flicking his wand and illuminating their dorm.

"Fuck," Lee muttered, sliding from his bed. He strode over to Fred, asking him questions that he couldn't answer as he lost himself in the awakening. George attempted to stand, getting his legs under him before losing control and falling. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for impact, but instead of pain, he saw a flash of color from behind his eyelids and he knew no more.

***

"They're going to be okay, right, Professor?" she asked, suddenly nervous at the thought of what Professor McGonagall would say. She had never disliked the twins, in fact, she had always thought that they were brilliant, but she hadn't known how deep her affection for them went. It had only been when she had woken up to the utter madness that was the common room and heard what had happened, that she had suddenly realized how worried she was.

Professor McGonagall nodded, her face worn. "Awakenings are always different for each God, Miss Granger," she said, offering her a biscuit from her tray in her office. "Messrs. Weasley had a hard awakening because of who they are." Hermione nodded, her face attentive. "They are two sides of the same coin, but that coin is one for strife and pain." She sighed at the look of curiosity on her face. "They will tell you who they are when they awake, I am sure," Professor McGonagall said, well aware that Hermione would be able to find out who they were from that sentence alone. "And please, remember that because they are newly awoken they are sensitive to those also reincarnated."

"They are?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing. "I didn't realize that those recently awoken could tell that."

"It is typically kept quiet," Professor McGonagall admitted. "That way they are not overwhelmed." She sent a stern look over the rim of her glasses. "I trust you will keep that quiet between you and Mr. Longbottom."

Hermione flushed, dropping her gaze to her hands. "Yes, Ma'am."

Professor McGonagall hummed, her gaze steady. "Miss Granger, have you ever considered that you may be one of the Awoken?" She kept herself still and quiet as Hermione's head snapped up. When she gaped but didn't say anything, she continued. "I only ask because there have been some strange instances around you."

"Around Neville and I, you mean," Hermione muttered, her face going pale as she realized what she had said. "No disrespect of course," she said, stumbling over her words in the face of Professor McGonagall's arched brow. "I have thought about it," she acknowledged. "I know that Malfoy thinks that we are Hades and Persephone and that I am Spring reborn, here to soften the darkness."

"And you disagree?"

Hermione stared, her face flat and deadly. "I don't think I'm one to soften the darkness, Professor."

Professor McGonagall nodded her head. "So you think that you-"

She shook her head. "I don't know what to think." She sighed, clenching her fists before relaxing. "I think that anything is possible at this point." She shook her head again as if to clear it. "I think there is something wrong though," she said, her voice sharp and her glance pointed. "And I think you know it too."

***

"…All the Gods are powerful, each with their own domain and their own set of powers. However, it is the three original brothers, Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon who hold the biggest sway over the others. Many forget, however, that the power began with none of them, instead, burgeoning with Hestia, the original Goddess of the stomach…"

- Power Dynamics in Gods by Bathilda Bagshot

Albus Dumbledore's private annotated copy, stored among countless other books at the private Dumbledore cottage. It has been recently moved. Chapter 7, Page 94, Third Paragraph.

"…There is a mystery surrounding the disappearance of all the Gods but none has been more intriguing than the sudden vanishing of Hades. Reincarnation is a piece of the godly powers bestowed upon them, but since Hades has gone, those who attempted to find a new vessel have been unable to. Those who left before him were able to come back, though in some cases it had taken centuries, and others still have yet to appear…"

- Where Have They Gone? by Valentina Slughorn

Hermione Granger's copy. It is currently bookmarked and stored in Neville Longbottom's trunk. Chapter 18, Page 497, First Paragraph.

"…I'm worried, Albus. They haven't reached out or spoken to me since their awakening. I know that it is typical for a withdrawal to occur but they haven't even told me. I had to find out from Ron. I would just simply feel so much better if you were to check up on them for me, especially as there is the potential for them to fall into Tom's grasp. Oh! It's the burden of motherhood to worry, but I never expected to worry for any of the Gods."

- Molly Weasley's Letter to Albus Dumbledore

It is opened, resting against a stack of books on the Headmaster's desk. Every once in a while, it is picked up and the last paragraph is reread. Final Page, Final Paragraph.

***

She hissed under her breath, pulling her head back from where it was resting against the couch. She blinked, rubbing her eyes to double-check that she wasn't hallucinating what she thought she was. Neville leaned over her, pressing his face to the glass window behind them. "Is that…?"

"Harry and Ron running off to do something incredibly stupid?" Hermione said grimly, pulling herself up and offering her hand to him. "Looks like it." She rolled her eyes, yanking him off the couch and turning, piling her hair on top of her head as she grabbed her wand. She turned back to him, smiling. "Ready to go kick some ass?"

Neville grinned back at her. "Always." They left the common room, ignoring the glances they got from the others. They strode through the halls, making their way out the front door. As their feet hit the grass he frowned, looking over at her. "What are they even doing?"

She shrugged before sighing and stealing a guilty look at him. "They may be convinced that Malfoy is going to be meeting up with Riddle tonight." At his look, she scrunched up her face. "I didn't think they would fucking leave the grounds," she said, picking up her pace as Harry and Ron's voices began to reach them. "I thought that they'd just use the map." She passed through the first few trees leading into the forest, skidding to a stop. "Where the hell are you two going?"

Ron jumped, whirling around, "Blimey, 'Mione, where the fuck did you come from?" He narrowed his eyes at Neville who came to a stop beside her. "What're you two doing here?"

"She's here to stop you," Luna answered, wandering over from where she had been hidden behind a tree. Hermione arched an eyebrow at her, flicking her eyes to the Ginny who had also appeared from the same tree. Luna waved to Neville, smiling when he waved back. "Isn't that right, Hermione?"

"Yes?" she said, glaring at Harry when he opened his mouth. "Where the hell are you even going?"

"Are you going to let me answer or are you going to bite my head off when I open my mouth?" Harry muttered back, a scowl on his face. She said nothing, tapping her foot and crossing her arms instead. He huffed, "we heard him talking about meeting Riddle in the Parthenon entry tonight." Harry shrugged. "If we go and catch him, we've solved the issue, right?"

"What issue?" Hermione said slowly, Neville steady at her back. "Riddle's not letting other Gods leave the Parthenon," Ron said, his face wane. "Dumbledore told us." When Hermione just stared at him, he shifted awkwardly on his feet. "If we stop him, Harry can see Sirius and Remus again."

"Are you sure?" Neville said, his voice low but carrying. "How do you even know that Malfoy isn't here?"

"Oh," Luna said. "He isn't."

"Luna's right," Harry said. "Also, he's not on the map."

"Nothing I say will convince you to do this another way will it?" Hermione asked.

"No," Ginny answered, speaking for the first time. She and Luna traded looks, something heavy in their gaze. "So I guess you're just going to have to come with us."

***

"What do you mean they're gone?" Professor McGonagall said, staring at Dean. He paled, his eyes wide, shrugging helplessly at her. She breathed in, holding it for a moment before nodding once. "Okay-"

"Professor, Fred and George are gone!" Lee said, barreling into the room with no regard for the meeting she was in. "I can't find them anywhere."

"Mr. Jordan!" Professor McGonagall snapped before his words registered. She pressed her hand to her head, pausing before rising from behind her desk. "Come," she said, ushering them from her room. She asked questions as they walked, heading towards Professor Snape's quarters, getting back nothing concrete from the two boys. She sighed, knocking on the door, hoping that he would be in.

The door cracked, Professor Snape's eyes widening minutely when he was the trio outside his door. "Minerva, Mr. Lee, Mr. Thomas," he said, opening the door and inviting them in. "What can I help you with?"

"Severus, I have been told that Gryffindor is missing students who have supposedly gone to confront Mr. Malfoy at the Ministry." His eyes flickered, the only part of him that changed, causing her to raise both her eyebrows. "I see," she said slowly to the confusion of Dean and Lee. "Well, if this is what I have been told, I must go to Albus." She nodded once to him, before turning to the other two. "Come, you two, I'm bringing you back to the dormitory where you will stay for the rest of the night."

The door shut behind her, cutting off the student's responses. Severus sighed, steeling himself for the dramatic and awful fight that was about to happen. He gathered himself, flooing into Malfoy Manor, where the others waited. He arrived with little fanfare, though the group quieted when they realized he had arrived. He walked through, heading straight for the study where Draco, Narcissa, and Tom were. He knocked, entering as soon as he was bid to. "Nike," he said, inclining his head. "I have bad news and good news. Bad news, Albus will soon be alerted. Good news, the others have been set up and are on their way to the Parthenon entry."

Tom grimaced, "I suppose we must make do." He glanced at Draco. "I insist you return to Hogwarts with Severus," he said. "Tie up loose ends where you can."

Draco nodded, brushing a kiss over Narcissa's cheek. "I'll find Father and let him know," he said, nodding once to Severus. "I'll see you in your office, sir."

He left, the tension in the study ratcheting up. Narcissa studied Tom, a small frown on her face. "Are you certain this is the best path? Won't Zeus' appearance make everything too difficult?"

"No," Tom said, rolling back his shoulders. "The best path to victory is never easy."

***

"This is the entry to the Parthenon?" Hermione said, surprise coating her words. "I expected something more." The room the six of them were arranged in was small, with pale grey stones. There was a runic array full of ancient runes burnt into the floor. She tilted her head, studying them. Every time she thought she understood one, the meaning slipped away as soon as she moved to the next.

"Yeah," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "What, none of your books have pictures?"

Hermione huffed but didn't deign to answer, instead exchanging a look with Neville. Luna and Ginny skirted the edge of the runes, Luna dropping down every so often to trace one. At the front of the room, Ron stood with Harry, both tense, gripping their wands.

They all tensed as the sounds of footsteps reached their ears, Luna rising from her crouch and walking over to stand beside Hermione, Ginny following. She swallowed, gripping her wand so tightly the etched vine leaves pinched her skin.

"Fred?" Ron said, staring at the figures who were striding down the hallway towards them. "George?" He frowned at them. "I don't think you're supposed to be here."

Fred snorted, sliding past him, ignoring the wands trained on him. "I'm fairly certain that out of everyone, you six aren't supposed to be here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry said, lowering his wand. "You two aren't-" He cut himself off, his face falling. "You're here to meet him."

"What?" Ron said, spluttering. "No, they wouldn't- right? Right?"

George sighed, glancing around at their group before shrugging. "We aren't here to meet you," he said. "In case that wasn't clear." He nodded to Neville, offering a smile to Ginny and Luna before raising an eyebrow at Hermione. "Wasn't expecting you to be here."

"Oh?" She said, raising an eyebrow. "What were you expecting?"

Fred smirked at her, "I think you know by now I can't tell you." She scrunched up her face, nodding.

"Okay, what the fuck is happening?" Ginny asked, frowning at the three of them. "What does she know that we don't?"

Hermione sighed, "I don't know anything that you all don't," she said. "I just know that they want plausible deniability, so they won't say anything that they can't deny."

"Quite right, Ms. Granger," a low voice came from the hallway. Harry and Ron whirled around, their wands at the ready, Ginny's swiftly following. Fred and George frowned, exchanging a look, while Neville jumped. Only Hermione and Luna looked completely unsurprised. "And look," the voice continued. "You were expecting this, weren't you?"

She sighed again. "Unfortunately yes Mr. Riddle." Tom slid from the shadows, flanked by Bellatrix and Regulus.

"Riddle," Harry hissed, his eyes narrowed. "You've gone too far this time."

"I have?" he said his tone mocking. "And just what have I done?"

"You've stopped the others from coming down!" Ron cried, his wand shaking in his grip. "And- And! You've corrupted my brothers," he said triumphantly.

"Oh, no," Bellatrix answered, her eyes glued to Hermione. "I'm afraid you're quite wrong on that one boys." Hermione met her gaze, only a slight head tilt giving away her unease. Bellatrix smirked, her face triumphant, the glint of other sliding through her eyes. "We were right."

"Right?" Harry said, his voice hard. "Right about what?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Tom answered, his lips curling into a predatory smile. He nodded once, Bellatrix and Regulus whirling into motion, the two of them casting at the runic array on the floor. The students flinched.

"I knew it!" Ron cried, casting a spell at them. "Harry they're trying to destroy it!" Luna and Ginny exchanged looks, backing up to move with more ease around the room to get a better angle. Neville and Hermione remaining where they were standing, wands lowered and stances tense.

Before the spell could hit, Fred grimaced, flicking his wand out and halting the spell. "Don't," he said as Ron turned appalled eyes on him. Ron spluttered. Fred continued, his voice deadly serious. "You don't know what you're interfering with."

"What are we interfering with?" Harry asked, swallowing hard, his eyes tracking the girl's movements towards Tom.

Behind him, Tom laughed, "You have no idea what you're even fighting for, do you?" Harry whirled, his face set in a mask of anger. Tom sighed, flicking his wand and stunning Luna and Ginny in quick succession. They slid to the ground, crumpling in place.

Ron let out a roar of anger, turning to Fred and George. "You're going to fight for a God who does that?" He said, his wand sparking. He twisted in place, casting towards Tom who stepped out of the way.

George's face fell at the sight, "I know this is a lot," he said, wincing at the look Ron shot him. "But you need to listen."

"I don't need to do anything," Ron cried, glaring at him. "Harry you need to help me take them down." He glanced over his shoulder, taking in Hermione and Neville who were standing to the side. "Figures," he snorted. "Brightest witch of her age - can't even do-" His voice cut out as he crumpled from the stunner Hermione sent towards him, her face murderous.

"Hermione," Harry yelled, staring at her as though he had never seen her before. "What the fuck?"

Hermione glared at him, panting, Neville reaching over to grip her hand. "You need to listen to him, Harry James Potter," she snapped, moving out of the way as Bellatrix spun past her, still casting spells in tandem with Regulus. "He's telling the truth."

"What truth?" Harry cried, his wand aimed at her but lowered. "All I know is that-"

"You know nothing but lies," Regulus said, cutting him off. He cast a final spell, the array glowing suddenly. The stones lit up, their vibrancy blinding as a faint hum pierced the air. For a moment every person fell quiet, the stones capturing all their attention. Harry shuffled forward, his face confused. The brightness grew until it blinded them all. Hermione flinched back, hiding her face behind Neville. When it finally receded, a figure was collapsed among the runes.

Regulus barely waited for the runes to stop before he was rushing forward, Bellatrix following, both of them kneeling and murmuring to the figure. The student's attention so drawn to the scene that they didn't hear the sounds of more people moving towards them.

"Oh Tom," Dumbledore said, entering the room, others following. Hermione shivered, sliding so she was more hidden before Neville than before. Harry frowned, his eyes going back and forth between her and Dumbledore. Dumbledore ignored the others, his focus entirely on Tom. "You have gone too far." He gestured around the room, his grip tight on his wand. Molly Weasley shrieked at the sight of Ginny and Ron collapsed, her glare landing on the twins who had clearly done nothing for them. Dumbledore tsked, the satisfaction of cornering him obvious on his face. "You've done - what? Poisoned bright minds against me? Brought them to a dangerous place, all to sate your need to be the ruler of the Gods?"

Tom raised his eyebrows. "I think you may be mistaken." He shook his head, frowning. "I did not invite any of these underage children here," he said. "I came here, as is my right, and found them here." His eyes flicked to the side, watching as Regulus was able to prod the man into beginning to sit up. He snapped his eyes back to Dumbledores. "The stunners were an unfortunate side effect as they attempted to attack me."

"A likely story," Molly huffed out, her face set in a mask of anger. "We know what you want." She turned to the three children, her voice pleading. "He's lying to you all," she said. "He wants to use you to overthrow Albus!"

"That's - that's a lie," the figure said, coughing as he rose from the floor, an arm slung around Regulus' shoulders. He lifted his face, offering a pained smirk at the room. Molly stared at him, her face slack. He nodded at Tom, before glaring at Albus. "Now, then, Albus, are you finally going to answer my questions?"

Dumbledore blinked at him, "Sirius, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you fucking don't," Sirius snapped, glaring harder. Beside him, Bellatrix slid to the side, her focus on Tom as she brushed past the trio, slipping a small note in Neville's pocket. She exchanged a look with the twins, the two of them slowly moving to flank the trio. Sirius coughed again, shaking his head. "I am not one to lie in the face of something like this and you know it." He slid his hand down, pulling out his wand.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, looking pained. "Don't do this."

"Don't do what?" Sirius said, tilting his head. Dumbledore gestured around the room. Sirius shook his head again. "You brought this on yourself, Zeus."

"I was simply worried that you would be unable to see sense but I had hoped that with time you would understand," Dumbledore growled, his pleasant façade fading. "I see now that you too have been corrupted beyond measure." He spun his wand, the others behind him drawing theirs as well. "If we must fight, so be it."

***

Neville had never seen so many Gods fighting in one space, their power destructive and deadly. Fred and George had herded them back against the wall, conjuring a wall to hide behind as the adults attempted to destroy each other. They had accio'd Ron, Ginny, and Luna's unconscious bodies to keep them safe as well. He frowned up at them, taking in their steady positions and the grip on their wands.

"This was a part of the plan," he said, watching at they exchanged looks but ignored his words.

"What plan?" Harry said his face pale. "I'm confused about what happened in the last five minutes, and that's not even with me thinking about how we ended up here."

Hermione sighed, gripping her wand tighter. "It's… complicated to understand," she said. "But I think that I'm going to have to live at Malfoy Manor this summer, so I'll see if you can come too."

"What the fuck?" Harry said, staring at her. "Since when are you friends with Malfoy?"

"I'm not," she hissed, turning to glare at him. "But since I'm positive that Dumbledore wants to murder me, that's the safest place for me."

"What?" Harry laughed, his face growing more and more uncertain when she just looked at him. "That's not- that's not true, right Nev?"

Neville shrugged, looking pained. "Sorry, mate." The three of them flinched at the sudden screams that began, the shrill sounds taking the place of the continuous noises of stone breaking and taunting. They tried to rise before both Fred and George shoved their heads back down.

"Do not get up," George hissed, his grip tight enough that Harry's arm would be purple in the morning. "Dumbledore's gone and started attacking his own people."

Beside him, Fred froze. "Mum," he whispered, George, snapping up to turn around. The two exchanged a look, nodding before striding from where they were. Harry, Neville, and Hermione peeked up, watching as Dumbledore sent three spells towards the Weasley's one hitting Molly. The wall they were hiding behind disappearing as the twins fell.

Hermione sucked in a breath, "That wasn’t an accident." Bodies littered the room and she was uncertain if any were dead, her face pale. In front of them, Sirius and Tom stood, their wands pointing at Dumbledore.

"Give it up Zeus," Tom said his voice quiet.

Dumbledore smiled, shaking his head. "Oh Tom," he said, "What a mistake to make." He twisted, avoiding both spells that were cast at him, before spinning and casting one back. He smiled again, watching as the two of them dodged. "Did you really think that I wouldn't get what I needed tonight?" He said, casting another spell towards them. He paused, studying them before his voice hardened. "I always get what I want." He cast again, pulling back at the last moment to flick the spell at the corner of the room. The foundation shook, the room rattling, as he stepped forward and turned, whirling from the room.

"Is that it?" Neville said, frowning at the space. "It seems like-"

A scream cut him off. Turning to Hermione beside him, he froze, watching as she convulsed once, her hands flying to her throat, her wand falling from her fingers as she tipped backward, her face set in pain. She screamed again, her voice high and piercing before she collapsed, taking Harry down with her.

"Fuck," Tom hissed, his calm façade fading for the first time all evening. He strode over, grabbing her body, ignoring Harry and Neville's cries. "Take care of this," he snapped at Sirius before turning back to the two boys. "Which of you is her chosen?" He said, before shaking his head at the looks of confusion, "Nevermind, both of you, grab onto me." Neville moved first grasping his hand with Harry quickly following. The four of them whirled away, leaving Sirius alone in a room full of stunned bodies.

"Goddammit," Sirius said, frowning at the sight. He sighed, and began awakening those he could, starting with Regulus. At the sight of his brother, Regulus launched himself at Sirius, clinging to him as he hadn't since they were children. "It's okay Reggie," Sirius soothed. "We're going to fix this - I promise."

***

"You can't go in there," Tom said, pulling Harry back from his attempts to get into the room Tom had set Hermione in. Inside Narcissa was tending to her, attempting to cure her before she fell under the depth of the spell. Neville sat, his hands twined, his face in a mask of pain, at her bedside. Harry glared at him and Tom shook his head. "I'm sorry Harry," he said. "You can't."

"Why- not?" Harry panted, glaring even harder at him. He punched Tom on the shoulder, scowling when he didn't even flinch. "Fine," he snapped, slumping in his grip. "You're explaining all this to me then."

Tom nodded once, his tension fading as Harry stopped fighting. "We'll go to the study," he said, leading Harry down the stairs. Harry pulled his arm from his grip, fingering his wand as they walked through the manor, his gaze studying the corridors they passed through. "In here," Tom said, gesturing him through a doorway. Harry leveled him with a suspicious look before following him through. Tom pointed at an armchair, the door locking behind them. "Sit." Harry opened his mouth and he held up a hand. "I'll tell you everything you need to know. Just- a minute."

The two sat in silence for a moment, Harry dragging his gaze away from Tom to study the room. The office was opulent, with heavy velvet drapes, a sturdy oak desk, and plump armchairs. The fireplace smoldered, the main source of light coming in from the windows. Harry twisted in his seat, his eyes catching on a painting of the Parthenon. He tilted his head, studying the people moving among the open-air marketplace, their faces bright and happy.

"That's from 2,000 years ago," Tom said, following his gaze. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It was a much simpler time." He paused his eyes on Harry's. "What questions can I answer for you?"

"What happened back there?" Harry said, questions exploding from him. "Why does Hermione trust you? What were the twins doing? Was that Sirius Black? Why did Dumbledore curse Mrs. Weasley?" He panted, his face red from the force of his questioning.

"Those are all important questions," Tom said, his face serious. "I'll give you the best answers I can, but understand that some of these are speculation." He sighed, getting comfortable, gesturing for Harry to do the same. "Understand that this was not always how things were run. Before Hogwarts, before Zeus became too twisted, there was peace and understanding. We had moved on as Gods from the petty squabbles that had established our power structure in our youth. We had joined together, becoming more cohesive, more of a family."

"There were, of course, smaller issues that sprang up from time to time. But for the most part, things were good. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, the others in charge, they were good." He sighed again, looking pensive. "We had established this issue of reincarnation though, that some Gods wanted to try to be mortal. They wanted to try - not remain mortal. So, there was a trial run, with a smaller minor Goddess attempting it."

"Hecate made it through the reincarnation, completely smoothly. She was able to grow under her parents, keeping relative magical power until she turned 17 and awoke. And once she was back on the Mount, she was full of stories. She had learned and grown in a way that we as Gods were unable to when we were stuck in our whole and complete form." He smiled, the soft look wistful. "It was such a revelation. We, as Gods, had a way to know more than what we held, we could experiment in ways we wanted too, free of the issues that came with our powers."

"So began the mass movement towards reincarnation. We had no idea what we were doing," he said. "We just thought it was a grand old time."

"What were you doing?" Harry questioned, concentration clear on his face.

"We were giving parts of our Godliness over to Zeus," Tom said. "It's hard to explain to those who aren't Gods, but essentially, it's as if every time we became someone new, in the 17 years before we came back, Zeus held our powers-"

"He didn't ever do it?" Harry asked. "Like not at all?"

"No," he said. "Zeus thought it was beneath him, that he didn't need to change, and as Gods began choosing mortal lives for themselves, he began to grow accustomed to the power. He realized what was happening and kept it to himself, seeking ways to make it a larger and larger power grab for him."

Harry shook his head. "I'm confused - did he have the other Gods' powers?"

"Not exactly," Tom answered. "More like he got boosts to his own. He was able to be more powerful, do more on his own without relying on anyone else. It got to a point though, where he was searching for a large boost. And then he realized that the bigger the Godly power, the bigger the boost. So he began a campaign to convince the Council Gods to try it."

"Poseidon, Athena, Ares, Hestia - they had all gone and become the Founders as you know them. So since it had been so close, Zeus gave up on them, instead focusing his attention on the others - Demeter, Aphrodite, Dionysus, Hermes, Hades, Persephone, Hephaestus, Hera, Apollo, Artemis. He only had minimal success, with a few choosing to go at a time, but there was a limited boost to his powers."

"How do you know all this?" Harry interrupted, his eyes narrowed. "You seem to have this pretty well known."

"A lot of it came from Hera," Tom admitted. "She has access to his every room until she became who she is today and awoke to find all of Zeus' plans in motion. He offered to let her join him, but she knew he would kill her as soon as she let her guard down so she stole away, finding and collecting like-minded individuals since."

"But-"

"Harry," Tom said, exhaustion coating his words. "I will get there when I can." He sighed, waiting for Harry's reluctant nod before continuing. "Eventually Zeus somehow convinced almost all of the council to go at once, with only Apollo and Artemis withholding, aside from the four founders who wouldn't budge on any of his points. They all choose to go, ending with Hades."

"One by one, they dropped, each one adding to Zeus' power. However, what they didn't consider was the fact that while Zeus collected the power, Hades had kept them on track to be reborn. Without Hades - those who had chosen to go didn't appear after the 17 years that they were expected to. Instead, they seemed to disappear - with some appearing every so often afterward. None of us know what Hades did to keep us on track, but what did become apparent was that the older Gods took for longer to return, with some only returning in the same Hogwarts class as your parents."

"However," Tom said, "We do know that Zeus murdered Hades and Persephone, who always appear together, at least twice."

"How do you know that if he should have taken the longest?" Harry asked.

"I don't know why Hades was able to come back quickly - and I suspect that only Hades can answer that. I just know he was." He held up a hand at Harry's mulish expression. "Keep asking questions and this explanation will get longer." Harry rolled his eyes but subsided. "We're going to fast-forward to the fall of 1980. In early September, Hades awoke, briefly, for under a literal minute, but he awoke in such a way, that the others who were hidden awoke as well." Tom shook his head. "I don't know how it happened but it did."

"The flare caused seven other children to awake as well; Persephone, Nemesis, Tyche, Deimos, Phobos, Morpheus, and Iris. Two were hidden from Zeus' sight, but the sudden drain on his powers alerted him to the fact that he was about to lose everything. He tracked the power down where he could, unable to find Hades because of the muggle world, but gaining access to the others. Deimos and Phobos were in the Weasleys, a family he already had under his control, so he was unafraid of their Godliness. The others, however-" Tom cut himself off, scrubbing his hands over his face. "The others were unknown anomalies, so the parents ended up killed or tortured if they refused to give up their children."

Harry nodded slowly, taking it in. "So you know who the others are?" He frowned. "And I'm confused, why wouldn't Zeus kill them if he killed their families already?"

"Well," Tom said, watching Harry closely. "He needed Persephone to find Hades, and he desperately wanted Nemesis to aid him in the fight against Hera and I. The others I suppose he left alone because they weren't a big enough boost. If Apollo or Artemis had appeared, I suspect he would have killed them."

"Wait," Harry said, "I thought they didn't choose to go with Hades originally."

"They didn't," Tom said. "They went about 15 years after the big group with Hades. They haven't appeared since." He sighed. "To answer your questions from the beginning of this as best I can, in the years since Hades' brief flare, Zeus has become even more paranoid, taking to locking in the Gods on the Mount when he could, luring them up and trapping them. Ms. Granger trusts us- or well, she knows we won't kill her because she's been in talks with Draco since the beginning of this year." Harry scowled at him as Tom laughed. "I expect she didn't tell you because of that reaction."

"The twins have been wary of Zeus for a while, but they waited for their awakening to offer to help us. Tonight was supposed to be their way of proving themselves to us, but that was evidently ruined. We were attempting to open the Parthenon because it's been locked down since 1981 per Zeus' order. We wanted to try to get an open pathway for Gods again, but we were only able to pull Sirius through before we were interrupted as you saw. And as for your final question?" Tom shrugged, "I have no doubt that Zeus will spin that one on me."

"Say I believe you," Harry said. "Now what?"

"Well," Tom said, standing, "Now we get you situated and check up on the others."

***

Neville sat as still as he could manage, his hand clenching Hermione's. Her body was still, the convulsions that had wracked her frame for the past hour had finally faded. Across from him, Narcissa sat, her eyes closed, though Neville could tell that she wasn't asleep. He sighed, gently adjusting his position so he could lay his head down. He closed his eyes, slipping into sleep, waking only when Hermione was moved by Narcissa once. She smoothed a hand over his forehead, her face kind. She whispered something to him, but he had fallen back asleep before her words registered.

He woke up slowly, his arm numb from holding Hermione's hand the entire time. He lifted his head, grimacing at the fuzzy taste in his mouth, glancing around the room. Narcissa was across from him once again. He offered a small smile, yawning.

"Good morning," she whispered, smiling back. "You slept for almost twelve hours." Neville blinked at her in surprise. She laughed softly. "We believe it was partially the bond and partly the fact that you had had an exhausting day yesterday."

"Is Hermione going to be okay?" Neville asked as soon as he processed her words. Narcissa nodded. "When will she wake up?"

Narcissa frowned at the question. "Unfortunately, for as much as I was able to heal her, she still needs time to heal. She was hit by a spell Zeus had made specifically to strip Hades of life, and to take you out as well." He arched an eyebrow at her and she grimaced. "She had been hit by a slightly different but no less targeted spell in her third year if the tests I ran on her were true."

"Then why-"

"I can answer these questions over breakfast," Narcissa said, interrupting him. "Harry is still here and Draco also arrived this morning." She rose, ignoring his glower. "I know you wish to remain here Neville but Hermione would be most upset with me if you were to wither away at her bedside." She smirked, "And I have no desire to have an awoken Hades after me."

Neville sighed, reluctantly unlinking their hands as he stood, the blood rushing into his arm. He grimaced, nodding at Narcissa to lead the way. "But after…"

"After breakfast and a shower, yes, you can return to your vigilance." She ushered him through the door, shutting it with a soft thud. "I have monitoring spells on her if her pain spikes. I promise nothing will happen to her in the hour you are gone." She turned to him, meeting his gaze head-on. "As, Hera, Neville. I promise."

He nodded, his eyes wide. She nodded back, turning away and leading him through the manor. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice they had entered the dining room, only coming back to awareness as a body slammed into him.

"Neville!" Harry cried, pulling him into an even tighter hug when Neville hugged him back. "Thank God you're here."

"What?" Neville said, his anxiety skyrocketing. "Why, what's happening?"

Harry shot him a look, pulling him over to a chair. "I just know you wouldn't leave 'Mione unless you were positive she was okay and on the mend." Harry looked him over, frowning. "Though you look awful."

"Thank Harry," Neville muttered.

"Honestly, Potter," Draco drawled, "That was rude, even by my standards." Narcissa's chiding Draco, doing nothing to curtail the smirk he sent Harry's way.

Harry rolled his eyes, sitting next to Neville. "How is she?" He asked, biting at his nails anxiously. "Tom said I wasn't allowed in to see her until she was more stable."

"She's okay," Neville said, taking a sip of water. He smiled at Narcissa. "It was only thanks to Lady Malfoy that she's as stable as she is."

Harry heaved a sigh, sinking even lower into his chair. "Thank fuck."

"You're taking this way better than I expected," Neville said, nibbling on a piece of toast. "I would've thought you would be long gone."

Harry shrugged. "Tom explained a lot of stuff - like about Zeus and the awakening and stuff." At Neville's arched eyebrow he shrugged again. "It makes sense to me."

Neville snorted. "It barely makes sense to me and I'm the one living it." He put the toast down, his stomach rolling. The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound the clinking of cutlery.

"I always knew 'Mione would be one of the awoken - she's too powerful to not be," Harry admitted quietly. "She didn't believe me when I brought it up to her but, now she has no choice." He was silent for a beat before adding, "You two make the most amount of sense to me. She was always drawn to you. Like in a more than a crush way," he said, blushing. "In a 'love for the ages' way."

"Of course she was," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Persephone is always drawn to Hades." Neville set down his water he was sipping, exchanging a look with Harry. Draco furrowed his brow. "What?"

Neville turned to Narcissa. "You didn't tell him?"

She shook her head, a slight smile playing around her mouth. "I figured you would like to do the honors."

Draco scowled at her, before glaring at Harry and Neville. "What?"

"Hermione's not Persephone," Neville said, a grin growing at Draco's dawning look of horror. "She's Hades."

***

Hermione blinked, her eyelids sticking together for a moment before cracking open. She shifted, taking in the absence of pain, before tipping her head to the side. She was in a bedroom, which she assumed was in Malfoy Manor, as she wasn't dead or still being harmed. She twisted again, pushing herself up and wincing as her muscles groaned in protest. She sighed, slowly reaching over for her wand resting on the bedside table next to her.

She flicked her wand, taking in the glowing numbers of 09:37 before shifting again. She was suddenly aware that she could sense that Neville was somewhere close to her. She slid her legs to the side, contemplating how bad it would be if she put any actual weight on her feet. Shrugging, she decided it was worth it, standing gently. She stepped forward, staggering for a moment before getting her balance. She slowly walked to the bathroom, her burning urge to pee the largest issue in her mind.

While in the bathroom, she caught sight of what she looked like in the mirror, grimacing at the streaks of dried blood that someone had missed while she was unconscious. She spun, smiling at the massive shower that was behind her.

As she showered, she realized that she had no idea what had happened last night. She vaguely remembered burning pain, the awful feeling of convulsions running up and down her spine, her throat raw from screaming, the sensation of someone gripping her hand, which had been the only part of her that hadn't hurt. She swallowed hard, wincing at the sensation, before stepping out to towel off. Her clothes that she had been in had been taken by elves as she had been in the shower, leaving behind the softest pair of pajamas she had ever felt and a thick robe.

She dressed slowly, taking care not to strain her muscles any more than they were. By the time she was fully clothed, her stomach was growling in hunger. She paused for a moment upon entering her room, debating between slipping back into bed or attempting to find the kitchen or dining room by herself. She sighed, knowing that she should stay in bed, but the urge to find Neville and food was too strong to resist so she left her room, leaving the door cracked so even if she got lost she could maybe find her room again.

She walked slowly down the hallway, her eyes catching of portraits and paintings, many of them turning to whisper to others as she wandered through. She paused at the top of the stairs, uncertain if her legs could take them. "Hermione!" a voice called, causing her to jump, her muscles groaning in agony as she landed. She turned to see Fred and George striding towards her down the hallways, their faces concerned. "You should be in bed," Fred said, frowning at her.

"Ne- Neville," she croaked, wincing at the pain. "Ple- please."

The two exchanged a look, before Fred nodded slowly. "I'm going to carry you though," George said, raising an eyebrow at her irritated expression. He shook his head. "It's either I carry you or you go back to bed." Hermione huffed, before nodding, extending her arms to let him lift her.

He picked her up gently, carrying her down the stairs as softly as he could, Fred hovering anxiously around them. "Neville," George double-checked, feeling her nod against his chest. He exchanged another look with Fred, the two of them worried but not voicing it.

Hermione patted his chest, reaching out to Fred to hold his hand. "Do-don't worry," she whispered, offering them both tiny smiles. "Stron-stronger than I l-look."

Fred sighed, his voice fond. "I know, 'Mione." He opened the door for George, hiding a smile. "I think everyone in this house knows it." She grinned at him, squeezing his hand as they entered the dining room. The laughter cut off immediately.

"Hermione?" Neville said his focus on the girl in George's arms. As soon as she heard his voice, Hermione turned in his arms, squirming out of them and throwing herself at Neville, ignoring the twinges of pain in her body. "I was so worried," Neville breathed, wrapping her in his arms, unable to keep the tears at bay at the sight of her awake. He nodded to Fred and George, who were avoiding Narcissa's glare.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Narcissa said, staring them down. Beside Neville, Harry reached out, softly whispering to Hermione, with her reaching out to hold his hand.

They shifted, exchanging looks before they both began to talk.

"Some portraits told us-"

"-And she was just wandering around-"

"-Looks like she's going to fall down the stairs-"

"-Couldn't-"

"I-I was go-going to walk down the sta-stairs, with or without-t them," Hermione said, her vocal cords growing less strained as she spoke. "My choice." Draco watched her the recent revelation clicking several things into place for him.

Narcissa looked at her, trailing her eyes up and down her body, taking in her wet hair, and her change of clothes. "Yes," she said. "I can see that." She sighed. "And it's not like they would've been able to leave you there."

"What does that mean?" Harry said looking up from Hermione. She patted his hand, sliding herself so she was sitting more comfortably in Neville's lap. She leaned back, letting him hook his chin over her shoulder as he gently pulled her back against him as if to reassure himself that she was real.

"They're Phobos and Deimos," Hermione answered, reaching out to pull a cup of tea and oatmeal towards her. "They're kind of like my bodyguards."

Harry gaped at her. "Have you awoken?" He said, looking sick suddenly. "That wasn't what was happening last night, right?"

"No," Narcissa answered. "That was torture." She eyed Hermione, taking in the steady way she and Neville leaned into each other. "I suspect it made somethings clearer for her though." Hermione nodded at her, swallowing down a small spoonful of food.

"I'm also confused as to how you're awake," Harry said, backpedaling at Neville's glare. "Not that it's a bad thing!"

Hermione shrugged, "I don't really know either." She looked at Narcissa who shrugged as well, though her shrug was far more elegant. She looked back at Harry. "Magic?" She offered, ignoring the groans it brought about. Fred and George winked at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Well," Narcissa said, rising. "I will be back to check on you, Ms. Granger." She smiled at the eclectic group sitting in her dining room. She inclined her head, towards her, ignoring the cut-off gasp Draco made as she left.

"What?" Hermione and Harry said in tandem.

Draco glared at Harry before swallowing and looking at Hermione. "She doesn't do that," he said, his voice so soft, she had to lean in to hear it. "It's a sign of respect and hierarchy in the Parthenon." Hermione nodded, her eyes steady on his. He grimaced but forced himself to say it. "You are Hades, aren't you?"

Hermione smirked, a mean look flitting across her face before she nodded once. She settled back against Neville, letting him take the majority of her weight as she ate, the smirk playing around the corners of her lips for the rest of the meal.

***

The next week settled into a routine. Hermione would wake each morning, entangled with Neville, rising to stretch and keep her muscles moving before showering. She would gain a hot flash of pleasure at the sight of him in her bed each morning as she left for breakfast. When Neville had the choice, he would sleep in, meeting her at the table later, brushing an absentminded kiss over her head as he sat beside her.

Harry and Draco would join them, always bickering and taunting each other. As the week wore on, Hermione noticed that the taunts became more friendly, their insults taking on a vaguely affectionate air. Draco remained wary of her, occasionally falling silent at her stare, though Harry would always tease him for it later.

Fred and George would shadow her most days, just appearing in the room she was in, checking in on her before going off to wherever Tom had asked or where Narcissa was. As Narcissa put it, Hermione was only in charge of getting better for now, though she looked forward to when she was cleared to help them with whatever they were doing. Harry would follow join her and Neville every afternoon, though he would often spend tea time with Sirius, getting to know him. She had met him at dinner after the first morning, and she had been pleasantly surprised at his kind and welcoming demeanor.

She hadn't known why she had expected the incarnation of Aphrodite to be a rude bitch to her, but she supposed that she had long thought of Aphrodite as just a worse version of Lavender. Sirius was brilliant in his own way, though he was far more heavily invested in getting to know her as Hermione, Harry's friend, than he was in getting to know her as the reincarnation of Hades.

Tom, Bellatrix, Regulus, and Lucius, Draco's father, also joined them each night at dinner. Draco had explained to her in the days after her initial recovery day, that Narcissa had fallen for Lucius before she had known she was Hera and had already decided to marry him when she awoke. Her awakening to the mess that was Zeus had only further confirmed her desire to escape and she had slipped away, marrying Lucius as soon as she could.

At her side the entire time, Neville stood, growing more and more into the man she knew he would become. They were quickly reaching new depths in their relationship, their ability to live and sleep together unhindered only enhanced their already strong relationship. Though she knew Neville had suspected for years that she was Hades, his unconditional support and love meant the world to her, and her love for him grew in return.

They were completely and utterly devoted to each other, two halves of the whole, soulmates; reunited at last.

***

HADES SIGHTED AT LAST - HEADMASTER DUMBLEDORE TELLS ALL

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, also known as Parthenon and Council Leader Zeus, has let the Daily Prophet know that he has at long last found Hades, not yet awoken sixteen-year-old Hermione Granger who was sorted into Gryffindor in 1991. He warns however that, "she has found her way to Tom Riddle's side" and has "let him blind her to the truth".

As worrying as that sounds, Dumbledore assures us that all is not lost.

"She is welcome back at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said at a press conference this past Wednesday. "In fact," he said, smiling at the crowd, "So is Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom." He sighed, his voice weary. "All I ask is that you renounce Tom Riddle's views." He shook his head. "He wants to drag you down, using you until you have served your purpose." He sighed again, tear glistening in his eyes. "Just look at what he's done to your families."

***

"What the fuck," Harry said, ignoring Narcissa's glare at the dinner table. He tossed the paper further down the table, uncaring of the glasses he knocked over. Tom picked it up, his eyes glancing over the title of the article before raising an eyebrow. "Read it," Harry said tersely.

Tom picked up the paper again, skimming until he hit the third paragraph. "Ah," he said, handing the paper over to Sirius who paled as he read it.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Explain that."

Tom glanced around, taking in everyone's expressions before glancing at Narcissa. She nodded once, before rising. "Everyone out," she said, brushing a hand over Harry's head as she passed. The others, aside from Hermione rose, following her out quietly.

Neville lingered at the door, watching her. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked quietly. "I can go if you want." Harry shook his head, curling his hand around hers. He glanced up, taking in Neville, Tom watching the three of them interact. He sighed, jerking his head to the seat next to her, Neville giving him a small smile as he slid back into his seat.

"So," Hermione said, her eyebrow arching. "What's happened now?"

"Zeus has accused me of destroying your two families," Tom said, watching as Neville absorbed the news. "There is no doubt that he hopes that your rage would blind you to the truth, that you would've stormed in and cast first, asking questions later." He turned, facing Harry straight on. "Do you remember at the beginning of this, when I said that Dumbledore had gone, from family to family, and killed them or tortured as he went?" Harry nodded slowly, a look of horrified realization creeping over his face.

"Yes," Tom said, in response to the unasked question. "You are one of those children."

"What?" Harry whispered hoarsely, his grip on Hermione's hand tightening until she was wincing in pain. "That's not possible." He glanced at Neville, only to see the expression of sympathy on his face. He looked back at Tom. "Who- who am I then?"

"Nemesis," Tom said, his face clear of sympathy. "The one Zeus wanted the most."

"No- no," Harry said, his voice wavering. "That's- that can't be true."

Tom grimaced, "I'm sorry Harry. I thought Sirius had told you already."

"No," Harry said blankly. "He hadn't said anything."

"Hey," Hermione said, squeezing his hand. "We're doing this together, okay?" Harry nodded. "I'm serious," she said, locking eyes with him. "Together."

***

"What's the plan?" Hermione asked, on the morning she was finally deemed healthy enough. She bounced through the door, bringing Harry, Draco, and Neville with her, uncaring of the looks she received. She stretched, smirking at the adults. "I'm ready to kick some ass."

Narcissa rolled her eyes, having given up in her attempts to curb Harry, Hermione, and Sirius' mouth. "If you stopped moving ceaselessly, we would tell you." Hermione smiled at her, pulling Neville over to a chair and sitting on his lap, ignoring the snorts she garnered.

"Okay," she said, once she was settled. "What's the plan?"

"Well," Tom said. "As of right now, the plan is keeping you alive until your birthday in September."

"Oh," Hermione said, frowning as Neville tensed beneath her. "What happens after?"

"Up to you," Sirius answered. "We do expect those we know of will also awake with you." He elaborated at Fred's look. "The pull of Hades should be enough, and if it is, we can definitely overwhelm Zeus - he'll have expected a drop in powers but not one that is followed by everyone else awakening."

Harry shifted next to Draco, ignoring his irritated look. "Can we know the others who will awake?"

Tom and Narcissa exchanged another look before Tom sighed. "We can tell you who we suspect-"

"Good enough!" Harry said, grinning excitedly. He subsided under the looks he got. "Sorry."

Narcissa waved him off. "Well, there's you four," she said, Harry's mouth dropping open in astonishment as he glared at Draco who was pointedly looking elsewhere, a satisfied smirk on his face. "And then, we believe there's Theodore Nott and Susan Bones." She sighed, looking down. "And if we get very, very lucky, Apollo or Artemis might surface as well."

"You didn't tell me you were one of us too," Harry accused Draco. "What the hell?"

Draco shrugged, glancing around the room before looking straight at Harry. "You were the only one who didn't seem to know."

"Hey!" Harry said, glaring at Hermione and Neville. "You're supposed to tell me stuff like this."

"Sorry," she said, badly hiding her smile. "Won't happen again." Harry huffed, crossing his arms. Hermione rolled her eyes, before turning serious. "What happens if- when," she corrected, "when we kill Zeus?" The room instantly sobered, her question ratcheting up the tension immeasurably.

"He'll reincarnate eventually," Tom finally said, his expression pensive. "We'll just have to figure it out with the full council afterward."

***

The few months until her birthday flew by, tensions rising each day, as the adults in the manor began to grow more and more anxious. Earlier in the summer, they had come together and decided it was too risky for the four of them to return to Hogwarts, leaving them essentially trapped in the manor, though as they lived together, the four of them became closer and closer, each simultaneously dreading and looking forward to the return to normalcy. The day before her birthday, she awoke, feeling the tension immediately. She turned her head to meet Neville's eyes, a soft smile spreading across her face.

"Good morning," he whispered, pulling her close to him. She closed her eyes, tilting her head against his chest, pressing an absentminded kiss over his heart. They remained in bed far longer than they normally did, dreading leaving and facing the uncertainty that the day was set to bring.

Though none of the adults were certain, a theory had been floated at the beginning of summer that Zeus would save most of his power for the day before her birthday, attempting to kill her one final time before she awoke. He had taken to sending her curse mail items or mail pieces with portkeys embedded in the paper. Every attempt had been caught, though there had been a few which had almost succeed, leaving her exceedingly wary for the day before her birthday.

She sighed, reluctantly pulling herself from Neville as she rose. She smirked at him, a sudden playfulness in her expression. "Shower with me?" she asked, watching as he choked. He nodded slowly, his eyes intent on her as she slowly stepped from her clothes, leaving them puddled on the floor as she made her way into the shower.

She hissed, moments later, the sudden touch of his bare skin on hers a surprise, even though it was expected. She turned, peering up at him, rejoicing in the feeling of him near her. As each hour ticked closer to her birthday, she could feel him more and more, her senses becoming more attuned with him.

He smiled down at her, bending down to kiss her even as he hoisted her up. She smiled back into the kiss, wrapping her legs around him. He pulled back, a sly look in his eyes. "How do you feel about a pre-birthday present?" he asked, pressing a kiss over her heart.

She smiled back, her happiness clear in every line of her body. "Sounds like the best present possible," she answered, leaning down to kiss him again, more than willing to let him sweep her away.

After their shower, they skittered downstairs, where instead of the smaller breakfast group, the usual dinner crew was waiting for them.

"Surprise!" they cried, flicking their wands, as streamers and balloons erupted from them. Hermione laughed, hugging each of them before pulling Neville to their usual spots. Around them, bright chatter erupted, though the tension of what could come remained. Hermione smiled at everyone, only her heart betraying her nerves. Neville squeezed her hand, exchanging a look with her before she shook off the vaguely foreboding air that surrounded her. It was almost her birthday, she reminded herself. She deserved this.

***

The day had been excellent in a way Hermione hadn't expected. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, everything progressing so smoothly that she kept glancing around, waiting for the atrocity the Zeus had set up to fail. Narcissa had confessed earlier that he had sent her some cursed birthday gifts, but that they were confiscated.

The hours were ticking down more quickly than she expected, until they were only a half an hour from her real birthday, all of them drowsy in front of the fireplace.

Harry shook himself, glancing around before clapping his hands. "Presents!" He said, pulling a gift from out of nowhere. He nudged Hermione, waking her from her doze, ignoring the glare she sent him.

Neville nudged her too, also immune to the narrow-eyed stare she sent him. "Sorry love," he said, holding in a smile, "Harry's right, we should do presents tonight since tomorrow's a big day." He waited for her to roll her eyes before offering her Harry's present.

She pulled the wrapping paper off, smiling at the sight of a new book. "You know me so well," she said.

"I know," Harry smirked, dodging from her gentle slap. He mock-scowled at her. "Hey, Neville's the one who put this all together." Hermione tried to scowl at Neville, but the look quickly dissolved into a smile. Harry mimed throwing up, rolling his eyes at their sappiness. "Open Neville's next," he said, bouncing in place.

Neville grinned at her, grabbing her present. "Okay," he said, his smile slipping at the feel of his present. "Wait," he said, panic rushing into his expression. "This-"

With a soft pop, Neville and Hermione disappeared.

***

Her and Neville's sudden disappearance stunned everyone in the room for a moment before they slid into action, weeks of prep work suddenly coming to fruition. Fred and George strode from the room to gather their supporters, their wands already out and casting patroni to summon them to Hogwarts.

Bellatrix and Regulus disapparated, immediately heading to the Parthenon entrance. Sirius locked eyes with Tom, waiting for his nod before grabbing Harry and Draco and heading to Hogsmeade.

Narcissa and Tom stared at each other for a moment.

"All or nothing," she said, watching for his acknowledgment before she left the room to go change into her armor. Tom clenched his fist at her exit. All those precautions, all those issues, completely for naught. He shook his head - it didn't matter now. Hermione was mere minutes from her birthday. She would be able to hold on, he knew it.

***

Zeus smiled as they arrived, the shackles snapping into place with two cries of pain. He had expected that they would fall for it. Focus on getting to Ms. Granger, and he would train them to expect threats for her. He shook his head, a smirk gracing his lips. What fools they were, he thought, to even believe that they could outsmart him.

He tsked, striding from the shadows. "Ms. Granger," he said, the smirk only growing at the look of absolute hatred she sent him. "How unfortunate that you couldn't join my side." He tilted his head, ignoring her petty threats of destruction. "I wonder," he mused, walking over to Mr. Longbottom. "I wonder if the bond has progressed enough for you to feel this?" He slid his wand down Mr. Longbottom's chest, shallow slices following. He flinched is his grip but made no sound. At her lack of reaction and continued threats, he frowned.

"No?" He pulled his wand back, stabbing deeply into his shoulder blade, the wound causing Mr. Longbottom to scream. Across from him, Ms. Granger paled, her fingers reaching back to touch her shoulder blade. He smiled. "I thought so."

He repeated the action, taking deep satisfaction on the pained noises the two were letting out. As he finally dropped the knife, letting Mr. Longbottom breathe for a moment, he crossed over to Ms. Granger, he watched her drop in the chains, her face slamming into the concrete.

He shook his head. "That's quite-" Cocking his head he paused in what he was saying, a slow terror sweeping through his body as he realized what he was hearing - the clock tower striking midnight.

***

As the bell tolled midnight, Zeus turned to her, his face suddenly crazed. Hermione smiled, the blood from her broken nose, dripping onto her teeth. In the darkness, he realized that she looked dangerous. He pushed the fear to the side, casting a dizzying array of spells at her.

"Oh," she whispered, feeling the welcoming grasp of power, suddenly feeling the slide of knowledge across her nerves, the stunning rush sweeping her up. She snapped her head up, shifting to the shadows to the left of her and pulling herself through them. She barely paused, sliding from her shackles a moment before the spells slammed into her, pulling herself to Neville.

Neville, who at the toll of the bell, had snapped his eyes open, staring at her. She felt their bond settle at the touch of their skin, needing no words to pull them and Zeus to the front hallway where she could feel the gathering of people beginning. They fell through the shadows, her and Neville landing far more gently than Zeus did.

Upon his realization of where he was, Zeus pulled himself up, doing little to hide his shock at the sight of the gathered Parthenon who was staring at him. "Friends," he said, attempting to smile. "I'm so glad you could join us."

"Shut the fuck up," Sirius said, striding through the room, his face murderous.

Zeus sighed, flicking his wand at the entrance to the Great Hall, which opened to reveal a large group of his supporters. "I did try," he said, offering another smile before narrowing his eyes. "But I guess that's what I get for trying."

***

The two groups collided, though it became quickly obvious that Zeus had done nothing to provide his followers with any sort of idea of who they were following. They were downed easily, but the sheer amount of them was stunning.

Hermione and Narcissa exchanged glances, Hermione quickly pulling Neville away to the sidelines even as he protested before heading into the thick of the battle.

She headed towards Zeus, only casting stunners towards others when the got in her way. "Zeus," she called, staring him down as he turned towards her. "We have some unfinished business."

"Oh," Zeus said, his expression mild. "I hadn't realized."

Hermione growled, launching herself at him. The two exchanged spell fire quicker and quicker, Hermione relying more on her luck and shadows than her actual knowledge of spells. Their fight built and built, with her growing more and more exhausted as time went on.

She shifted to the left, immediately realizing her mistake when it left her wide open. Zeus grinned whirling around, his wand aimed directly at her before freezing as a spell burst through his chest. Hermione stopped, panting harshly, as the last sounds of the battle faded at the sight of Zeus toppling. Narcissa grinned at her, expression fierce, from where she stood behind his body, her face coated in blood.

"Zeus has fallen," Tom said, appearing at her side suddenly. "Long live the queen." Slowly a cheer built up, those who had come down from the Parthenon yelling their support the loudest, until the entire room was full of cheers.

She turned, her eyes searching out Neville's in the crowd. He smiled at her, the two of them colliding with each other, with no regard for any of the attention they were receiving.

"We did it," she gasped against him, pulling as tightly against her as she could. He nodded against her head, gripping her just as tightly. "We fucking did it."

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