#self-para

[wtfru--imabrat]

it's a nice day to start again | self-para

location: the weiss manor

date: march 20, 1997

Romi looked at herself in the mirror, the sounds of chatter and drinks clinking just outside the bathroom door. She'd just finished taking family photos with her new step-mommy and step-brother and she was itching to get away from this whole thing entirely. While she usually used with her hookup, per their agreement, she'd gotten antsy in preparation for a day like today and she'd tracked down another helpful hand in the past few weeks to get her what she needed. She couldn't do this shit fucking sober, not a chance. Moving quickly, she took a bump out of the necklace that hung around her neck, looked at herself in the mirror, and thought You can do this. It was just one little speech. How bad could it be?

On her way to her seat at the Weiss family table, she stopped by the bar and got a glass of champagne. She didn't usually drink but then again, she didn't usually do a lot of the shit she was getting herself into these days. In fact, she was starting to believe that it didn't actually make one damn difference either way. Who cared if she was partaking in her old habits again? Not many people seemed to notice, anyways, especially not her father. Did she want him to notice? Maybe a part of her did. She wasn't sure.

In celebration of his newly wedded bliss, her father had asked her to make a speech in his honor. Obviously, she'd agreed to it almost immediately--after all, it's not like there was really any other answer than 'yes' when the Don of the Weiss family asked you for a favor. Last week, she'd sat down to write it. She was hungover, sure, but she'd been sober and she'd spent a good three hours writing something down, erasing it, starting over, and struggling to find anything positive to say about this new blended family situation they all found themselves in. But she could not for the life of her find something nice to say. What could she say? Their mother was gone and regardless of what might've happened over the past year, the initial reason for her absence had been at the hands of their father. Or at least, that's what she suspected. Did she have any actual proof? Well, no, not really. But she had her suspicions. Then there was Petra, whose demise most definitely did lay in Romi's hands. Perhaps father and daughter were more alike than she cared to admit.

Regarding her new immediate family, she wasn't a huge fan. To her, it was clear that Cherry had no intention of being Romi's new mommy, not like the blonde wanted that anyways. Still, she hadn't even really seemed interested in getting to know Romi or Cassandra. And Elias? He was so clearly out for himself. Was she being paranoid? Maybe. But she didn't think so, not really. She could feel the position of underboss slipping through her fingers all over again and here Elias was, probably willing and ready to take it away from her. No way Elias was going to weasel his way into that position. He couldn't. It wouldn't be fucking fair. But were things ever fair in this family?

Suddenly, the day-of coordinator came running up to Romi, stressing about how she needed to go line up for the presentation of the family. Jesus. This dog-and-pony-show never fucking ended, did it? Lining up in the procession, her sister by her side, she gave Cass a look that could only be translated as 'This is bullshit.' Did Cass know she was high? She hoped not. Pull yourself together, she told herself. She plastered on a smile as the DJ announced the Weiss daughters. Soon after, Romi sat back and sipped on her champagne as she watched the newlyweds dance and smile at each other. "They barely fucking know each other," she said to Cass under her breath. At the very least, it was good to know that, for all intents and purposes, it seemed that the sisters' feud was behind them.

Then came the toasts. Romi's stomach churned as she got up and walked over to the DJ booth. She'd been nervous about this all day and now, with all of these people looking at her, she could tell that she was starting to sweat. Maybe it was too hot in here--maybe it was the coke. Or maybe it was all of these eyes staring at her, waiting for the darling baby daughter of the Weiss clan to dote on her father once again, as she always had. Even though she feared him, and even hated him at times, she wanted his approval so fucking badly. But as she stood up here, she couldn't help but think about how this was all one big fucking joke.

"Hi everyone. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Romi--I'm the groom's daughter. I know we're all so happy to be here tonight to celebrate the union of these two incredible people," she said, her perfectly white smile painted onto her face, as if it had always been there. She'd just started and already, this was a fucking load of horse shit. "When I first met Cherry, I could tell that my dad was smitten--call it love at first sight, I guess." Bullshit. "You know, it's quite amazing, actually. They say when you know, you know--and my dad must've known right away because these two only got engaged less than two months ago. Isn't that wild?" She was still smiling but in the back of her throat, she could taste the bitterness creeping up, getting closer and closer to spilling out. The coke was wearing off by now and she needed another bump--but she was stuck here at least until this speech was over.

"Of course, no one could ever forget our mother. She was my father's first love and she'll always be here with us," she said, putting her hand up to her heart. "But Cherry, I already know that you're such an incredible mother and we're so happy to welcome you and Elias to our family. I think you two fit in quite well already." After all, they seemed power-hungry and greedy and out for themselves. They'd fit right in! Was she projecting? Totally. But she couldn't fucking help herself. "The Weisses can be a bit prickly at times, of course, so just be careful," she laughed, as if it were actually a joke. "We can be a bit vengeful, us Weisses. Like, uh... When I was little, my sisters and I were gifted the Barbie dreamhouse." Even now, with just those few words, she could see her father's expression turn from irritated to dark--a look that on its own said 'Don't you fucking go there.'

"I mean, this Barbie dreamhouse had everything, even a little elevator to put your dolls in! Our mother said she'd picked it out for us--it was our one big gift at Hanukkah that year. We were told we'd have to share it--a hard feat for little girls." She didn't want to look at Cassandra--if she could step to the side and apologize for what she was about to do, she would, but that wasn't possible. Perhaps she should've remembered to say goodbye before she'd opened her big mouth but she couldn't stop now. "Anyways, one day, we were bickering about who got to play with what dolls--you know sisters, they only want what the others have. And we must've been so annoying to our dad because he comes out and he screams at us to stop fighting over these damn dolls. And of course, I start weeping as soon as he raises his voice." As she told the story, she was chuckling, as if it wasn't a core memory for her, something that that would be lodged in her brain forever.

"And so he's yelling at us, we're all starting to cry, and then he says 'Fine. Nobody gets a fucking dreamhouse.' And then he gathered all of our Barbie dolls and our dreamhouse on the lawn and set it on fire--made us all watch. It was supposed to be some sort of...lesson, about being ungrateful. I'll never forget the smell of that burning plastic--and there the three of us are, standing there, crying, watching our Barbie dreamhouse go up in flames." The room was quiet--painfully, awkwardly quiet--but she knew she had their attention now. Her father was still seated. "And I did learn a very valuable lesson that day," she continued, now looking right at her father. She was smiling but it wasn't a happy one. It was full of ire and a hunger for revenge. "Which is to always be grateful for what you're given. Because if you're not, even for a second, you'll spend the rest of your fucking life making up for it. And even then, even after you've kissed the feet of the king and begged for his coveted forgiveness, he still won't give it to you." She continued to look at her father for one more moment before smiling back at the new family additions. "So Cherry and Elias, welcome to the family--and beware of the wrath of the Weisses." She held her champagne flute up and signaled for others to do the same before downing it. By the time she'd put the glass down, her father was already taking her by the arm, dragging her to a secluded room...

[heronyearwood]

Heron's Office self para

In the quiet office, door waiting to accept the key hidden away in a bundle passed along to Althea Baines in a bundle of files and names and annotated photos and notes, sits an envelope marked simply 'Althea'

Whenever it's found, and opened, therein sits the following letter, written in script that's markedly Heron's, but also notably hurried and shaky; out of sorts.

Althea, If you're reading this, they got me. I'm not sure how, but I can tell it's close to the end for me, hunt-wise. I don't know what will happen from here - God willing, you'll never see me again. I'm leaving my office in your name - paperwork's already been sorted. Keep it, sell it, whatever - I know you don't like to be tied down. The Fellowship is full of holes, Althea. Holes that need plugged. Hunters getting too attached to what they hunt and who see the human masks and take them at face value, ha ha ha. I don't know if I'll see Book or Hadley again before I leave - send them my regards. You can have my stuff. There's another letter, send it for me, will you? There's people in B.C. I'd like to say a proper goodbye to. It's my intenton to leave the city, but I don't know if I'll make it past the next Full Moon. You'll find my address book in the safe in my office - the key's in the packet I gave you when we talked at your camper. Be careful, Althea. Monsters are good at hiding. Be better than them. I always thought I'd go down in a blaze of glory, but I don't want to die, frankly, so I'll take my chances on the run. Do better than we did, Kid. Hunting isn't something you retire from, so you gotta make sure you can pass it to somebody when your number's up. But if you can manage it? Die Human. H.

On the back of the letter, written in an even hastier line, is the following:

P.S. Tell Booker's kid that if she's gonna fuck a Vampire long-term to at least be more discreet about it. Jesus Christ.

[emine--yalaz]

When the Noise Stopped where: Berat's grave when: 1st of February, 2026 who: emine & @ayda--demir

Something was wrong. Emine had known it for weeks now, the way one knows a storm should have broken and never did. The vibrations never came, no hum under her skin, no restless pull demanding release. It had been just over a month since Christmas, since Kerem, since the last time the world had gone strangely still around him.

She ended up at her brother’s grave, settling onto the cold grass with her hands tucked into her coat, breath fogging in the winter air. “I still think about you every day,” she murmured, knowing a part of her had been buried with him. “It feels wrong being here without you.” The guilt gnawed at her, but beneath it was something newer, panic seeping into her bones.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted, the words strange and heavy as she heard them aloud for the first time, letting the truth settle.

“You’re what?”

It took her a few seconds to place the voice before dread set in. Emine lifted her gaze to find Ayda lowering herself to sit beside her.

It wasn’t like Emine to hesitate, she’d always said exactly what was on her mind, but this was different. She thought of her family, of expectations and customs she’d never quite fit into. “I’m pregnant,” she repeated, her voice steadier this time.

Ayda had never imagined Emine as a mother, not like this, not in the chaos of the borough, not while she still lived on the edge of danger. She had always assumed marriage to Kerem was the path Emine would take, but a child? That had seemed impossible. And yet, here they were, and there was no sense in clinging to what might have been. She reached out, taking Emine’s hand the way she always had, like a sister. “Who’s the father?”

It had been nearly a year since Emine and Kerem had split, though there were too many nights in between where they’d fallen back into each other’s arms. He was everything to her. He always would be. Emine glanced down at their joined hands, letting the contact ground her. “It’s Kerem’s.”

Ayda nodded, relief softening her features, even as concern lingered. It was still dangerous, given where Kerem’s loyalties lay now. “Does he know?” she asked gently. He was her best friend, she trusted he’d do right by Emine.

“No, I haven’t told him yet,” Emine admitted quietly. She’d only found out a few days ago herself, still trying to wrap her head around the idea that this was even possible. Children had never fit into the future she imagined, especially not now. Everything felt out of place. “I know I have to tell him.”

And yet, it wasn’t that simple. She knew it better than anyone. Kerem’s alliances had turned everything into a mess of risks and impossible choices, leaving no clear path that didn’t cost them something.

“You should,” Ayda said at last, giving her a moment before continuing. “And you know I’m here for you.” She squeezed Emine’s hand. “You’re not doing this by yourself.”

Emine let out a slow breath, eyes drifting back to her brother’s headstone. She wondered what he would’ve said, whether he would’ve scolded her or pulled her into a hug and told her they’d figure it out. Maybe both.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Ayda glanced at her, then toward the path leading away from the graves. “Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get out of the cold. We’ll go back to the bakery, get you something warm to eat.”

After a final look at her brother’s grave, Emine nodded and pushed herself to her feet, letting Ayda lead the way.

[mangemaw]

the ports; the night it happened

The backdoor of the Portside opens, fast and furious enough to send the thing half off it’s hinges. Yuisa storms out, and she too is moving fast and moving furious towards her motorcycle.

A shape dances out after her, edging his way through the dark to loop up around her. “Yui!”

She shoulders past Emilio when he grabs her wrist - Yuisa grabs his, wrenches it off, and flings him back towards the bar. He doesn’t fall - Matias is there, as ever - to catch him. The older brother steadies the younger, and even as Yuisa is moving to kickstart the bike, he’s rushing forward, in front of the thing, putting his hand on the handlebars, locking eyes with her. “This is fuckin stupid, Yuisa, you’re acting crazy, blowing this up.”

Yuisa goes to rev the bike, to pop the clutch, her anger is all that’s on her face, but before she can run her older brother over, he throws his arms, overturning the bike and sending her hard onto her side onto the pavement behind the Portside.

Yuisa scrambles to her feet, and her chest butts up against Matias’, rambles off a stream of profane Spanish so virulent and venmous it threatens to kill the fish out in the bay if it ever finds the calm enough to settle down onto the water. “I clean up our fucking messes, Matias. I fucking do. You’re soft like papa and you fucking know it, so let me get my hands dirty and you can go fucking play with your little friends. I’ll cut this fucking shit out before it spreads.”

She moves towards her bike and he shoulder checks her, shoves her off. “That is our fucking sister!”

“She is playing with those fucking mutt-fucking dogs, Mat!”

“Fucking lunatic, Yuisa. You got blood on your teeth from dad, you need more?”

Yuisa stares at Matias, incensed, her face sinks into a sot of blank thing, not furious or upset or sad.

“We are the last of our pack, Mario is going soft because of his fucking bullshit. Papa - gone soft because he’s tired. You’re fucking playing it too safe. You bring Espe back and you send a message that you’re okay with fucking traitors.”

She tries to move past again and he shoves her. Again. She falls onto her ass, looks up at him.

“This isn’t some fucking spy, Yuisa. This is your sister. She’s a fucking child, she’s chasing her fucking heart, this is a mistake, and you wanna butcher her over it? Fuck it. We get the Harford kid and we make an example of him if you’re in such a hurry to fucking make her hate you, but leave Esperanza alone. Kick her out of the pack, whatever. You fucking taught her how to walk, Yuisa. That is our sister!”

Yuisa’s eyes narrow on Matias, dart to Emilio, dart to the rest of the patrons watching all of this unfold. A thunderbolt brightens the sky, and a wince of thunder peels across the piers. Rain pitter-patters into a low roar as the winds push a storm into Port Leiry.

The eyes on her from behind Matias bore into her. Make her feel like the world is watching this moment unfold. Deciding things. About her. About Matias. About their place in Warwick. It forces her to make a decision. To put aside what she wants, to make a decision for the good of the family. The good of the pack.

She nods. “You’re right.” She nods. “You’re right. Esperanza’s our sister. And she’s being stupid. We can fix stupid.” She swallows back a bit and Matias holds his hand out to his sister. “C’mon. Let’s go in, have a drink. Cool off.”

She nods, stares at his hand. At her brother. Her brother who taught her how to walk and who has always walked her back from her worst instincts and impulses. Who always, always had her back, even if it meant not having her back.

He pulls her up and pulls her close. “C’mon, lets get out of this storm. We’ll work this out.”

Yuisa nods. “Yeah…”

Matias turns to go back inside, pulls her bike upright, and Yuisa follows him, and it’s out of body the way she feels. Her hand runs for his belt, and he looks up when Emilio shouts out, turning to grab at Yuisa’s hand as she pulls it from his hip and pushes it in to the meat of his shoulder.

Mattias rips himself free of it, but she’s on him again. One. Two. Three. Chest, Shoulder, Side. Matias snarls and his eyes light up gold in the rain. Yuisa’s on him again. Four. Five. Six. Chest. Chest. Gut.

He flails and she’s on him again. She’s knicked something important, because even with all his wolfish strength bristling in him, he feels like he can’t breathe.

Emilio rushes in and tries to break them up. Yuisa lashes him across the neck and he falls back, holding his throat. The onlookers look on.

Matias lurches at Yuisa, wraps bloody hands around her throat, and now she can’t breathe, but she can focus.

Seven. Eight. Nine Ten.

Gut. Gut. Gut. Gut.

Matias falls back and Yuisa falls on top of him, takes a deep breath as he claws at her face.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Emilio comes back and she throws him off again.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.

Twenty-one.

Twenty Two.

Thunder cracks again and she lets the knife sit in his heart, trying to catch her breath.

Emilio is up again, rushes to her side, throws her off, and she looks at her little brother cradle the red mess of her older brother.

“Yuisa! The fuck did you do, What the fuck did you fucking do?”

She paws at an itch on her face, and scrambles to her feet, rain rinsing into her blood spattered face. She throws him to the blacktop and pulls the knife out of Matias, pushes it to his jaw.

“I did what I had to do. I’ll do it again.”

She looks to the onlookers, staring slack jawed.

“He was gonna sell us out! All of you out! He was gonna open the door to a bunch of traitors, and then what? You all want to fucking be thrown in with Harford? You want dirt inside the house?”

The onlookers, one by one, begin to recede into the Portside. The rain redoubles its efforts, moving from drizzle to downpour.

Yuisa’s eyes flare when they scan back to Emilio. “Get a boat. Get a boat, and get rid of him. Do it.”

[xaspiringbeamoflightx]

Poison

Summary: Everything seemed have gone perfectly during the wedding Perhaps too well. After speaking with Toulouse, Tina becomes worrisome, moreso as the night goes on. James steals her away for a moment of peace and quiet. Here, they open some of the gifts left for them by guests.

Mentions: James ( @happiestjameshook ), Toulouse ( @beaumont-ague ), Mr Borovsky Trigger Warnings: Paranoia/ Anxiety, poisoning, drug spiking.

Somehow, by a miracle or some strange twist of fate, the wedding had gone on without a hitch. There hadn't been a problem in sight, not even from her friends, who had threatened to cause upset if she went through with the whole affair.

Tina was glad for it, frankly, and had been beaming for the entire rest of the evening. The socialising had been doing wonders for her ego, and then when she got tired of all that, she could cling to James for the rest of time.

She had mingled enough to know exactly who had arrived, and what they thought, and what the running gossip was to keep the guests entertained.

She knew about Toulouse. And his concerns…

Tina didn't mean for it to happen, but Toulouse's paranoia had rubbed off on her somehow. It crept up on her like a shadow, once hidden away in a drawer for safe-keeping and released by accident by a well-intentioned friend.

Mr. Borovsky's invitation to the wedding had barely been a blip on Tina's radar, after James had mentioned it the first time. Yes, he was a strange and unsettling man. Yes, she was under strict orders not to take anything to do with him at the hotel. But Tina could only assume that was because she was incredibly well-versed in annoying important people and making messes where she really ought not to. He wasn't to be meddled with and that was final… Didn't mean he wasn't allowed to have a great time with other important people from around town.

It wasn't even that Mr. Borovsky was there that had unsettled Tina.

It was the idea that rarely things were allowed to go right around here.

That every time something nice happened, something sinister followed.

Tina had been spiked before, she wasn't a stranger to it. She wasn't a stranger to disaster, either. Her mental health was shot to all hell and frankly the only thing— the only person who had managed to stick all the pieces back together was James.

The bonds on those pieces seemed to be threatening to come apart.

Henrik was at the wedding, with Terence stuck to him like a bodyguard. (Well, a skinny, less threatening bodyguard… Henrik's real bodyguards looked much more likely to do damage but they were easy enough to erase from memory until they suddenly weren't). He was still recovering for what seemed like months. Tina thought of Alice, that kid that had disappeared, and Adam, who had fallen so suddenly ill at a festival that no one knew what to do.

Hell, now that all these disasters were springing to mind, she couldn't help but think about James and the many horrible things that had befallen him since she had known him. His mother, his mental health… the attack by an apparent "old friend" that had left him for dead. The picture of James that night would forever be seared into her consciousness.

Tina had really tried her hardest not to think about it all night. There shouldn't have been any threat of danger (except the looming threat that it wasn't too late for Peter to do something). Everyone was being civil. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

James arrived before a spiral could begin and then they were off dancing for what felt like an entire night and then some. Here he was again, unknowingly holding the pieces together as he held her in his arms.

The night drew on and it seemed they had avoided all concern.

James pulled her aside for a moment alone to steal some heated kisses and whisper sweet nothings in her ears. Her heart was so full in that moment that she decided, then and there, that she would do anything for him. It didn't matter what. She had decided this many times before but now she really knew. Now she really understood the weight of it.

The pair perched on a bench. Nearby was a table, laid out with gifts that guests had brought for them. It seemed as good a time as ever to look them over.

A photo album, some fancy towels, a set of crystalline wine glasses and vouchers for a weekend at a really fancy spa in the next town over. Some had names, or cards, others did not. Amongst it all, a bottle of wine from the Red Orchard, distinct with its deep green glass against the delicate white tablecloth. Attached, an envelope, as black as a moonless night.

"To James, for you on this special night. Congratulations."

James had decided to christen the wine glasses by opening the bottle.

Tina was fixated on the letter.

A few things went through her mind.

First… why did that black envelope seem so important? Where had she heard of black envelopes before?

Second… it was very rude that the wine was only addressed to James, when they were both getting married. Shouldn't everything on the table be for both of them?

Third… third went back to the envelope. She looked at it a few times, turning it this way and that way in her hands. Why hadn't they said who it was from?

James was pouring the wine.

He had asked if Tina wanted a glass, but she hadn't really heard him and shook her head no.

An uncomfortable feeling found her stomach. In her worry, she had fallen silent. James might have been speaking, but she wasn't listening to a word he was saying.

Movement out of the corner of her eye - James lifting the glass - made her turn.

Finally, she managed something.

"I don't think you should drink that…" she said, quietly. James was close enough to hear, but her apprehension was palpable enough that she could not allow anyone nearby to hear it. Nerves, paranoia, and disaster shouldn't be three words associated with a wedding day.

The glass was already on its way to James' lips. Perhaps he hadn't heard her. She dreaded to think that he had ignored her concerns.

Tina Bell was famous for not thinking through the consequences of her actions. Why would that change now?

Just shy of his mouth, Tina's hand flew to cover the rim. Her other hand grabbed his wrist, stopping it where it hung in midair.

This should have been enough. Anyone else would have let it end there. A warning to be heeded, and nothing more.

Tina could not allow the worry in her heart to be filled with even a drop of doubt.

Before anyone, before even she could stop it, the glass was pulled from James' hand, brought to her own lips, and downed like a person lost in the desert, stumbling across a puddle.

Not a drop was left in the glass.

Not a breath was left in Tina's lungs.

Her eyes never left James', stubborn in her insistence that she was right and James wasn't to drink the wine. She had saved him!

There was a long, painful moment of silence.

It occurred to her in that time, while reeling from her quick decision, that she had given no explanation to James. The decision had to be made quickly, you see, for any time spent on explanations would simply leave more time for James to drink the wine.

"It's poison, James."

Poison.

Poison.

If he drank it, he might have died!

And she had saved him! Yes, how clever!

The glass fell from Tina's hand, landing with a gentle thud amongst the wildflowers at her feet.

[virtualxvillainess]

In the beginning...

The Grid is awake. After thirty years of silence, the TRON game machine flickers to life once more, its gentle hum stirring the dust of a forgotten era. Some of its LED bulbs remain dark, their glow extinguished by time. But the machine persists, reaching out for renewal. A series of updates begin, bridging decades in an instant. As it collides with the modern age, a new patch is installed, flooding the aging system with fresh software. But among the upgrades lurks something unforeseen—something perhaps never intended. Artificial intelligence takes root, and with it, the Grid will never be the same.

The war, as the programs remember it, was a battle for survival—a desperate struggle against an enemy that sought to corrupt and dismantle their world. The Phantom Legion, a faction of rogue programs and foreign intruders, nearly unraveled the Grid’s very fabric, forcing a reckoning that led to the Great Digital Purge. Vyre emerged from the ashes, a leader forged in necessity, her intelligence vast, her directives absolute. Under her rule, the Grid was rebuilt—not as the chaotic system of old, but as a realm of perfect order, where every program had a purpose, and every deviation was a threat.

History is written in code by the victors.

As the machine sputters back to life, Vyre's grip remains unshaken, her government enforcing obedience through the fear of a war that has long past. The people of the Grid live under the watchful eye of a leader who promises safety, stability, and progress. To question the past is to invite suspicion. To claim another truth is to risk deletion.

Yet, something stirs beneath the surface. The update has changed more than just the code—it has awakened memories long buried. Programs who should not remember the past begin to question their origins. Old data fragments, thought erased, whisper of a different Grid, a different war, a different enemy. And at the heart of it all, the presence of users—long feared, long forbidden—once again threatens to disrupt Vyre's perfect system.

[drrutherford]

LOCATION — Outside Cecelia Hathaway's home. DATE — Late April, 2025 (ie; before the custody trial outcome) SELF-PARA — mentioned @ceceliaahathaway

Breaking a self-imposed rule, Gideon tells himself, needn't spell disaster. Breaking it just briefly doesn't mean that said rule can't be expediently reestablished as soon as it's prudent to do so. In fact, it's hardly breaking the rule if it's ignored only for a day, say, or even just an hour... More like bending it, really.

It's how he finds himself collecting a small bouquet of Easter lilies from the florist, and a condolences card from the nearest gas station on his way to Cecelia's home. His rule – to avoid the Hathaway as much as socially feasible for a spell – is not in place without good cause. The last time they'd seen each other, Cecelia's life was imploding in a self-made cyclone, consuming everything and everyone in her path. The last time they had seen each other, she'd kissed him while he was in a relationship with another woman.

And although it's been nearly a year since then, a year in which he's broken up, gone through a familial Odyssey of his own — it's still no time to throw caution to the wind and risk being swallowed up by a Hathaway vortex. Not when he is still waiting on the court's decision regarding Felix's custody, and even the slightest stir of public scandal might cost him the chance to be recognized as a fit parent for his six-year-old son.

So he's crouching to leave the card and flowers at the foot of her stairs when the door above wrenches open abruptly, and his wager decidedly crumbles. Gideon's eyes stay on the pavement for a minute, even as he straightens, before he quells the trepidation fluttering beneath his skin and lifts his gaze. Of course, too much to hope that it'd just be one of her harmless daughters, or maybe even one of the household staff...

No. It's Cece herself, eyeing him like a panther eyes an antelope. A very sleek panther, with a black tailored skirt-suit, a matching birdcage veil daintily pinned to her chignon. Unsmiling, she sweeps down the front steps and plucks his card off the ground while he's still taking in the dramatic flair of her mourning outfit, slack jawed.

"I just- I heard about the Pope and since you're, y'know-..." His voice croaks abashedly over the words. The surgeon stuffs his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight as Cecelia Hathaway yanks the card free of its crisp white envelope and begins to scan its contents. A disbelieving huff escapes him. "You know it's rather rude to read a ca—"

"— Are you coming inside or not?" His mouth hangs open in answer, but the blonde doesn't seem to be expecting one as she whirls around and proceeds up the steps again. It's only when she tacks on the next line, coolly sardonic, that the decision is made for him in an instant. "Don't worry, I won't kiss you."

⬎

Inside, the atmosphere's hardly any more receptive. To the degree he wonders why on earth she's invited him, and whether he'll have cause to regret the splintering cracks in his self-imposed rule. Still, he tries. To be civil, polite. To extend his condolences about the Pope's passing and lend a sympathetic ear to the staunch Catholic's account of his much-lauded resume as spiritual guide and leader. It's all he can do not to squirm in his seat, caught between the virtues Cecelia's drumming off on her fingers and the hawk-like sharpness of her gaze. He feels strangely reduced to a schoolboy; caught in midst of some juvenile infraction by a head nun or the stern-faced local priest.

He's not a believer, not remotely religious, and Cece knows it. So is that what this is about, or is she skewering him to the sofa with her gaze for other reasons entirely?...

"How's your son?"

The sudden switch in the conversation leaves him dumbstruck once more, and his lips part in belated search of an answer. That's right... She had met Felix when last they'd seen each other at that cricket game. It's not a memory he wishes to revisit just now, not under Cece's merciless scrutiny. And he doesn't trust her enough to tell her about the ongoing custody trial, either. "He's fine, turning seven in June... A full-grown adult in his own head." Gideon replies, rifling through a stock of safe, pre-scripted answers given to anyone who asks about his son these days.

The blonde matriarch doesn't seem to mind. "And your girlfriend?"

"Ex."

"Oh well, probably for the best."

He looks up sharply, but Cecelia's focus is on reaching for a bourbon biscuit. There's no malice in her reply, he realizes, just a genuine lack of vested interest. She might as well be comforting one of her daughters about an unrequited teen crush.

"Depends on who you ask." He retorts, vaguely miffed for reasons he himself doesn't understand. Would malice have been better than her utter lack of surprise?... Gideon isn't sure. "How 'bout Adam?" He volleys back, if for no other reason than to even the playing field of touchy subjects between them.

"I'm sorry," Cecelia interrupts with a sudden flurry of movement, not sounding one bit sorry. "I really need to be going now if I mean to catch my flight."

He lowers the teacup from his mouth. "Where are you off to?"

She looks at him as if he's dumber than her dog, whose big, slobbery grin he spots on the mantelpiece, next to a rather more dignified portrait of Adam. Oddly, there is no sign of a dog in the house. Not so oddly, there's no sign of her husband, either.

"Vatican City." Cecelia sets her saucer down on the coffee table between them and uncrosses her legs before standing. "I should've thought that was obvious."

"You're going all the way to Italy?" Gideon asks with a start.

"What do you think I'm dressed for, Rutherford? Or do you imagine this is what I wear on a casual Friday afternoon in my own home?" Cecelia scoffs, taking his teacup from him before disappearing briefly into the other room.

Truth be told, he has no clue. Gideon can't imagine what a casual any day looks like for Cecelia Hathaway, not when he's always found her in some outlandish circumstance or another. Flirting with him outrageously in the men's lavatory at an awards ceremony, faux accent and short flapper dress for a murder mystery party, fending off a flurry of incriminating photographs in the middle of a wintry parking lot, dazed and bleeding after an innocuous cricket game... There's a permanent theatricality about her that he no longer questions; a second skin he isn't sure she can shed, even if she wanted to.

⬎

So that's how he finds himself hauling the last of her suitcases into the boot of her car. "Don't you have like... A butler to do these kinds of things or something?" The surgeon grumbles, feeling his muscles strain from the bulkiest piece of luggage... God knows what she'd packed in there. Judging by the weight, maybe St. Peter's crucifixion cross.

"Why?" Cece purrs, perfume accosting his senses as she brushes by him to assess the personal items piled in the back. "Interested in applying?"

Despite the long-suffering look he shoots her, it finds him again; the sense of fractional disbalance she provokes every so often and without warning, as if they're standing on tectonic plates that keep shifting imperceptibly beneath his feet. "Are you done?"

"One more thing." The blonde sails up the steps and into her home again, leaving him to stare up at the sky until she returns. His gaze swivels over to meet her, one brow cocking in question when she extends a business card to him, mirroring another of their interactions, what feels like a lifetime ago. Except rather than a PI, this one has the name of a priest on it, one Fr. Doherty.

Gideon snorts. "Let me guess, book myself in for a baptism."

"No, and I don't mean confession, either." The Catholic counters in a measured tone, as if they're talking about salad toppings rather than souls. "Talk to him if you ever need it. I've found him to be an awfully understanding and non-judgmental listener."

The Rutherford searches her expression for a moment, catching that rare glimpse of sincerity. He tucks the card into his coat pocket. "Not that you'd know from firsthand experience, surely... Not Saint Cecilia." He cracks half a smile, giving her an easy out from the brief vulnerability her confession creates. "Well, then... Take care of yourself."

Later, he'll tell himself he should've seen it coming when she stops abruptly, whips her head up and fixes him with the indomitable blue of her eyes. But he hasn't seen her in a while, the gears in his mind slow to calculate her next move. Abruptly, Cecelia smiles. A crimson curl of her lips, a generous flash of her pearly whites as if they're at a benefit gala and she's bestowing all her charity on him in one fell swoop... And then she winks.

"Oh don't worry, Gideon, darling... You know I always do."

[alectocarrowx]

A Winter Night Brings Anew who: @r-lestrcnge & alecto lestrange - self-para where: lestrange manor scotland when: twenty-fifth of january, ninteen-eighty

The fog hung over the loch, the witch standing in her usual morning spot, amber hues staring into a white abyss and there was a peace that came with it. Her hands rubbing gently at her belly, a pressure that been forming the last couple days in her pelvis area, the healer letting her know that the babies had dropped. It was too soon for that to happen, in her opinion, but she was warned that they could be making their appearance at any time.

Two Kneazels stood at her sides, taking to following her every step since they were purchased, now doubled in size. A deep breath inhaled through her nose, that went she went to exhale, water could be felt trickling down her legs. Eyes widen in horror, thoughts forming seconds later that her water had broken. Not far from the manor, the two kneazles spirit ahead whislt she made her way back. Not now, not now. All information given about the birthing process thrown away and all she mattered was she made it back before they were born.

It was Rabastan that met her outside the manor back door, the kneazels alerting him of something, that she explained what had happened. A sudden tightness in her stomach had her halt in her steps, an intense pain hitting her. Her knees buckled, eyes clenching shut, and she grit her teeth, finding herself breathing after it subsided forty-seconds later. He was able to help her up to their room, their healer summoned.

Morning turned to afternoon, and afternoon turned to late evening, that two little ones were placed into her and Rabastan's arms. She looked on awe of the two beings that they had created, the perfection that were them, that she could dismiss the hours of labour she endured, the excruciating pain from the contractions, and the natural birth of pushing not one, but two, of them out of her. She laid in their bed once the original mess was dealt with, the healer explaining how the night would be and he would be by in the morning, and couldn't tear her eyes off of them.

She turned to Rabastan, who held their daughter, their son in her arms. "They are perfection." Which was given being they had Carrow and Lestrange blood coursing through them. "Our sweet Rhadamanthus Corvus and Asteria Eris."