#and it's breaking everything around them and cassius is begging him to just let go. WHO AM I. TO TRY AND FIX IT

[ghoul-haunted]

sextus pompey-mark antony but not in a way that fixes anyone

[a2000yearjourney]

Rome 49BC: Order from Chaos

Two thousand years ago, at the dawn of the first century, the world was ruled from Rome. Rome was in turmoil. Civil war had engulfed the empire’s capital city. Dictators seized power, and the Roman future seemed bleak. But from the chaos, the Roman Empire would rise stronger and more dazzling than ever before. Within a few short years, it would stretch from Britain, across Europe, to southern Egypt, from North Africa around the Mediterranean, to the Middle East. It would embrace hundreds of languages and religions and would till those diverse cultures into a rich soil, from which western civilizations would grow. Rome would become the world’s first and most enduring super power, spanning continents. The glory days of Rome were studded with names that reach out to us across two millennia: Ovid and Nero, Seneca and Caligula. But the story of Rome is more than the story of famous men. Millions of less familiar figures struck different chords in the symphony of empire. People such as the wealthy benefactor, Umachia. The rebel queen, Boudicca, and countless uncelebrated soldiers and slaves, senators and peasants.

Above them all, is this man, Caesar Augustus. This was the emperor who set the tone for the astonishing renaissance of Rome.

Part one of my history tells the story of Augustus, (the great-grandfather of my 51st great granduncle) and his people, the men and women who wrested order from chaos. They shaped the greatest empire the world has ever seen and launched the Roman Empire in the first century.

Two thousand years after Egypt’s pharaoh’s reigned supreme, four hundred years after the flowering of Greek culture, three hundred years after Alexander the great - a boy named Octavian was born in a small Italian town. The child would one day be called Augustus, and his birth, one ancient historian tells us, would be gilded by legend. His father, leading an army through distant lands, went to a sacred grove, seeking prophecy on the boy’s future. When wine was poured on the altar, flames shot up to heaven. The signs were heard only once before, by Alexander the Great. The priest declared that Augustus would be ruler of the world.

Suetonius tells the story. Writing at the turn of the first century, he based his biography on eyewitness accounts, on common gossip and on research conducted as imperial librarian. In truth, he writes that the prospects of young Augustus were far from grand. The boy was sickly, with few connections. His family were country people. His father was the first in their line to join the Senate. But worse - Augustus was born into dangerous times. Civil war had flared for decades. Feuding nobles fought to gain power for themselves. And Rome’s traditions of open government were often trampled underfoot. So too, were innocent bystanders. When Augustus was just four years old, his father suddenly died. Without a male mentor, the boy’s future looked bleak. But in 49 BC, when he was thirteen, Augustus’ fortunes took a dramatic turn. For in that year, his great uncle, Julius Caesar, gained the upper hand on the battlefield. Leading an army across the Rubicon River, Caesar declared himself master of Rome and ruler of an empire still aspiring to greatness. At the time of Julius Caesar, the Roman Empire was a bit like a boy who has reached six feet tall, yet he’s only fourteen or fifteen years old. He’s not yet a man. The externals of empire were there - the armies were there. The Romans governed most of the coast of the Mediterranean, with the exception of Egypt. However, they had not yet learned to bring that into a functioning organism. The past decades of internal fighting had weakened the empire. Northern tribes harried the borders. Enemies were confronting Rome in the east. And the province of Spain threatened to break free. Julius Caesar moved quickly to bolster the frontiers, and his own legacy. Caesar had no heir, so when Augustus completed a dangerous mission, Caesar adopted the teenager in his will. Karl Galinsky, Professor of Classics, University of Texas, Austin:

“Augustus realized this was a tremendous opportunity. Mind you, he had no military training, but he was the heir of the greatest political figure that was under the Roman sky at that time - and he cashed in on it.”

It was a heady opportunity for Augustus, but also a perilous challenge. For in 44 BC, foreigners were not the only threat to stability. There were enemies within Caesar’s small circle of advisors. They murdered Caesar at a meeting of the Senate. For the second time in his life, Augustus lost a father. Now, on the verge of manhood, he thrust himself into the maelstrom of Roman politics. Keith Bradley, Professor of Greek and Roman Studies, University of Victoria:

“The death of Julius Caesar was not just a turning point in Augustus’ life, it was a turning point in world history. Augustus was extremely young at this time, only in his nineteenth year. Yet when he knew that he had been made Caesar’s heir, he immediately took up the political legacy of Caesar. He entered the mainstream of Roman politics. He didn’t hesitate to try to avenge his father. That meant, of course, stepping onto the stage of politics, raising an army and immersing himself in a contest for supreme political power in Rome.”

He displayed brutality against enemy prisoners. Once, when a father and son were begging for their lives, he ordered that they should draw lots to determine which one should be executed. The father offered himself and was killed. Because of this, the son committed suicide. Augustus watched them both die. Suetonius describes the crisis as “trial by fire” and Augustus didn’t flinch from the task. He formed a strategic alliance with Marc Antony, a powerful general, who also wanted supremacy. Together they massacred their enemies in the capital. Then they pursued their rivals to the shores of Greece, where they fought and won two of the bloodiest battles in Roman history. When the carnage ended, the empire was theirs. Augustus and Antony divided the spoils of war. Augustus remained in Rome. But Antony took control of Egypt, a land not formally joined to Rome, but firmly under the empire’s command. There, he joined forces with Egypt’s queen. Ancient historians, like Cassius Dio, believed that was a fateful move. When Antony fell deeply in love with his new ally, many feared the ambitious queen was scheming to rule Rome herself. Her name was Cleopatra. Cleopatra’s brazen desire for passion and wealth was insatiable. By love, she had made herself queen of Egypt. But she failed in her goal to become queen of the Romans. Judith P. Hallett, Professor of Classics, University of Maryland, College Park:

“Cleopatra did not enjoy a good press in Rome. What really irritated people about Cleopatra was that she was a powerful woman from the east, and from a very wealthy country with a monarchic system of government. She therefore symbolized lack of moderation, lack of control, frenzied fury, everything that Rome tried not to be. Cleopatra and Antony were cast as leaders of the evil empire.” Antony’s alliance with Augustus withered. But Augustus struck first. The poet, Virgil, later cast the battle as an epic struggle of east against west. “Standing high on the stern, Augustus leads the Italians into battle. Carrying with him the bite of the Senate and the people. Opposing him, with barbarian wealth, is Antony, suited for battle. He carries with him the powers of the orient. And to the scandal of all, his Egyptian wife, their monstrous divinities raised weapons against our noble, Roman gods.” Three quarters of the Egyptian fleet was destroyed. Anthony and Cleopatra committed suicide - and the land of the pharaohs was formally annexed to the Roman Empire. Judith Hallet:

“The annexation of Egypt for Augustus was immensely important. It was the equivalent of Hitler’s troops marching through the streets of Paris. Here was a wealthy country that was going to be providing food, that was going to be providing land. But above all, it was a country of great cultural prestige, and once Rome had Egypt as part of its empire, they had truly arrived.”

A Voice:

“There is nothing that man can wish from the gods, nothing the gods can do for men which Augustus, when he returned to the city, did not do for the public, the Roman people, and the entire world. Civil wars were finished - foreign wars ended and everywhere the fury of arms was put to rest.” Upon Augustus’ return to a war torn Rome in 29 BC, the city went wild with enthusiasm. The triumphant general vowed to restore peace and security. It was a promise he would keep. The victory of Augustus launched a period of stunning cultural vitality, of religious renewal and of economic well being that spread throughout the empire. It would be called the ‘Pax Romana’ - the peace of Rome. To many, it marked the return of Rome’s mythic and glorious past. But Augustus himself would never return to the past. He was now a hardened thirty-two-year-old man - the sole ruler of the Greco-Roman world, Rome’s first emperor. Victory had been costly, but the greatest challenge still lay ahead, for to avoid the fate of Julius Caesar, Augustus must disarm the Senate and charm the masses. He must do better than win the war. He must win the peace. That challenge would occupy the rest of his life. A Voice:

“Let me step forward, clear my throat, and announce that I am a native of Soula, a few days’ journey eastward from Rome.” While Augustus fought his way to the pinnacle of power, a boy named Ovid was coming of age under less demanding circumstances. Ovid Speaks:

“I was the second son, a year to the day younger than my brother. We always had two cakes on the birthday we shared, and were close in other ways as well. We studied together, and then went up to Rome to seek our fortunes. I used to waste my time trying to write verses. My father called it waste. He disapproved of any pursuit where you could not turn a decent living, and always used to say, ‘Homer died poor.’” Ovid came from the same stock as Augustus. They were both landed gentries, and like Augustus, the young man found his identity and his ambitions moulded by his demanding family.

Ovid:

“I tried to give up poetry, to stick to prose on serious subjects, but frivolous minds like mine attract frivolous inspirations, some too good not to fool with. I kept returning to my bad habits, secretive and ashamed. I couldn’t help it, I felt like an impostor in serious matters, but I owed it to my father and my brother to try to do my duty.” By Roman law, a father wielded absolute control over his children. Those who displeased him could be disowned, sold into slavery or even killed. The young Ovid tried to meet his father’s expectations. He married, studied law - but the strain proved unendurable. Miserable, Ovid and a friend set out on a journey of self-discovery. Ovid:

“We toured the magnificent cities of Asia. We watched the flames of Mount Etna light up the heavens. We ploughed the waves in a painted ship, and also travelled by wagon. Often the roads seemed short, as we were lost in conversation. When we walked, our words outnumbered our steps - and we had too much to say, even for the long evenings of supper.” Eighteen months later, Ovid settled in Rome, older and more self-confident than before. He resolved to become a poet. He cultivated new friends in Roman literary circles, and soon, Ovid made a name for himself as Rome’s reigning poet - of stolen kisses. Ovid:

“So your husband is coming to this dinner party? I hope he gags on his food. Listen - and learn what you must do. When he settles on his couch to eat, go to him with a straight face. Look modest and lie back beside him. But secretly touch me with your foot. Don’t let him drape his arms around your neck, don’t rest your gentle head against his chest - don’t welcome his fingers to your lap or to your eager nipples. Most of all, no kissing. When dinner is done, your husband will close the bedroom door. But whatever the night shall bring, tell me tomorrow - you refused.”

Keith Bradley:

“It’s a mistake to think that Ovid’s poetry can be read very literally in purely autobiographical terms. That wouldn’t be true, I think, of any poetry from antiquity. But at the same time, Ovid is writing of subjects of which he has some sort of experience and he certainly, through the love poetry, opens up a world that is very different in tone and quality from the official atmosphere.”

While Ovid bloomed as a man of words, the new emperor thrived as a man of action. He rebuilt Rome - and his own family. Divorcing his wife, Augustus married his heavily pregnant mistress - Livia. The move raised eyebrows and hackles, as love was not the only motive. Although Augustus shunned the trappings of absolute power, many suspected he was building a dynasty - a line of heirs to rule Rome for generations to come. Augustus knew it was a dangerous move. He knew that Julius Caesar had been murdered for appearing as a king. Augustus would not make the same mistake. He relinquished high office and struck a delicate balance between fact and fiction.

Augustus writes:

“Having, by universal consent, acquired control of all affairs, I transferred government to the Senate and the people of Rome.” Judith Hallet:

“Augustus was a very cagey political leader because he pretended to be restoring all of these republican political traditions. In fact, what he was running was a full-fledged dynastic monarchy.” A Voice:

“Augustus conquered Cantabria, Aquitania, Pannonia, Dalmatia and all of Illyricum, as well as Raetia.” Augustus not only changed the empire, he expanded it. Egypt had been added early in his career. Soon, Northern Spain was joined. Augustus drove across Europe, into Germany, and he united east and west by adding modern Hungary, Austria, the Balkans and central Turkey. These victories employed Roman soldiers and senators and offered welcome distractions to the city’s poor. When Augustus wasn’t staging chariot races or gladiator shows, he displayed exotic animals, the quarry of Rome’s far-flung empire. A rhinoceros appeared in the arena, Asian tigers in the theatre and a giant serpent in the forum.

Karl Galinsky:

“One key constituency for Augustus was the plebeian population of Rome, and that is basically the city mob. You have several hundred thousand folks here who have no jobs, and to put it very simply, who need to be kept off the streets, and kept from making trouble, because it’s a very volatile, combustible mixture.” The volatile mix that made up Rome stayed quiet for the first four years of Augustus’ rule. Then, in 23 BC, events took a critical turn. Cassius Dio writes that a series of disasters convinced the people that Augustus needed not less power, but more. “The city was flooded by the over flowing river and many things were struck by lightning. Then a plague passed through Italy and no one could work the land. The Romans thought these misfortunes were caused because Augustus had relinquished his office. They wished to appoint him dictator. A mob barricaded the Senate inside its building and threatening to burn them alive, forced the Senate to vote Augustus absolute ruler.” The demands threatened to unsettle the emperor’s precarious political balance. Augustus fell to his knees before the riders. He tore his toga and beat his chest. He promised the mob that he would personally take control of the grain supply. But Augustus refused to be called a dictator. The crowd disbanded, but the lesson was clear. Augustus was riding a tiger. To keep order on the frontiers, the streets and the Senate was a super human task. Super human skills were needed. Luckily for Rome, Augustus had them. Karl Galinsky:

“Then something very fortuitous happens: Halley’s Comet shows up and the word is given out by Augustus that this is the soul of Julius Caesar ascending into heaven. So from this point on he is called Julius Caesar the divine. Politically it became very potent, because what does Augustus do at this point? On all his coinage on all his writings, on all his symbols, whatever, he puts on the words “DF”, meaning Son of the Divine. And it’s really quite an asset in politics to be the Son of the Divine. There are modern politicians I think would be very jealous of being able to do that.”

Augustus enhanced his pious new identity with stories of his lean habits. It was said that he slept in a modest house, and slept on a low bed, that he ate common foods, coarse bread, common cheese, and sometimes, even less.

Augustus:

“My dear Tiberius, not even a Jew observes a fast as diligently on the Sabbath as I have today. I ate nothing until the early hours of evening when I nibbled two bites before my rub down.”

Moral change, Augustus began to argue, was the enemy of Rome. He believed that its future ran through its past, through the restoration of the values he thought had first made Rome great. Augustus:

“I renewed many traditions which were fading in our age. I restored eighty-two temples of the gods, neglecting none that required repair at the time.” In public, Augustus led by example. He sacrificed animals in traditional rituals and he re-established traditional social rules. New laws assigned theatre seats by social rank. Women were confined to the back rows. Adultery was outlawed; marriage and children were encouraged. To many, Roman society had recovered its true course. The son of a god was building an empire for the ages. Augustus:

“Who can find words to adequately describe the advancements of these years? Authority has been returned to the government, majesty to the Senate, and influence to the courts. Protests in the theatre have been stopped, integrity is honored, depravity is punished.” But amid the applause, there were also cries of protest. The emperor’s new traditional values rankled friends and enemies alike. It even rankled his own daughter, Julia. Long a pawn of family politics, Julia assumed that she was exempt from her father’s stringent views. She was wrong. And in the coming years, Augustus, son of a god, would have to confront Augustus the father.

“If there is anyone here who is a novice in the art of love, let him read my book. With study, he will love like a professional.” As the emperor, Augustus firmly charted a course of moral rigor. The poet Ovid staked out different ground. He was now Rome’s most famous living poet, and his boldness grew in step with his reputation. Having all but exhausted the conventions of love poetry, he decided to stretch them. He began composing a manual of practical tips on adultery.

Ovid writes:

“Step one - stroll under a shady colonnade. Don’t miss the shrine of Adonis, but the theatre is your best hunting ground. There you will find women to satisfy any desire, just as ants come and go, so the cultured ladies swarm to the games. They come for the show - and to make a show of themselves. There are so many I often reel from the choice.” Many Romans yearned to follow their emperor back to the good old days of stern Roman virtue. But others reveled in the promises of Rome’s newfound peace. Ovid was one of them. To the youthful poet, old limits seemed meaningless. “Do not doubt you can have any girl you wish. Some give in, others resist but all love to be propositioned. And even if you fail, rejection doesn’t hurt. Why should you fail? Women always welcome pleasure and find novelty exciting.” Indeed, the earlier civil wars had unleashed enormous social change. Some women had gained political clout, new rights, and new freedoms. Tradition holds that one such woman was Julia, the emperor’s only child.

“Julia had a love of letters and was well educated - a given in that family. She also had a gentle nature and no cruel intentions. Together these brought her great esteem as a woman.”

Julia didn’t reject traditional values wholesale. She had long endured her father’s overbearing control. She dutifully married three times to further his dynastic ambitions, and she bore five children. Her two boys, Guyus and Luccius were cherished by Augustus as probable heirs. But like Ovid, Julia expected more from the peace. She was clever and vivacious, and she had an irreverent tongue that cut across the grain of Roman convention. Her legendary wit was passed through the centuries by a late Roman writer called Macrobius.

Macrobius writes:

“Several times her father ordered her in a manner both doting and scolding to moderate her lavish clothes and keep less mischievous company. Once he saw her in a revealing dress. He disapproved but held his tongue. The next day, in a different dress, she embraced her father with modesty. He could not contain his joy and said, ‘Now isn’t this dress more suited to the daughter of Augustus?’ Julia retorted, ‘Today I am dressed for my father’s eyes. Yesterday I dressed for my husband.’

But apparently Julia’s charms were not reserved for her husband alone. The emperor’s daughter took many lovers.

Judith Hallet:

“Her dalliances were so well known that people were actually surprised when her children resembled her second husband, who was the father of her five children. She wittily replied, “Well that’s because I never take on a passenger unless I already have a full cargo.” The meaning here is that she waited until she was already pregnant before undertaking these dalliances, so concerned was she to protect the bloodlines of these offspring.“

Julia, like Ovid, was a testament to her times. But neither of them were average Romans. The life they represented shocked traditional society to the core. And as Julia entered her thirty-eighth year, crisis loom

"In that year, a scandal broke out in the emperor’s own home. It was shameful to discuss, horrible to remember

One Roman soldier voiced deep revulsion at Julia’s extraordinary self-indulgence. "Julia, ignoring her father Augustus, did everything which is shameful for a woman to do, whether through extravagance or lust. She counted her sins as though counting her blessings, and asserted her freedom to ignore the laws of decency.” Julia’s behavior erupted into a full-blown political crisis, which was marked by over-blown claims. The emperor’s daughter was rumored to hold nightly revels in Rome’s public square. She was said to barter sexual favors from the podium where her father addressed the people. When the gossip reached Augustus, the emperor flew into a violent rage. He refused to see visitors. Upon emerging, Suetonius reports, he publicly denounced his only child. “He wrote a letter, advising the Senate of her misbehavior, but was absent when it was read. He secluded himself out of shame, and even considered a death sentence for his daughter. He grew more obstinate, when the Roman people came to him several times, begging for her sake. He cursed the crowd that they should have such daughters and such wives.” As a father, Augustus could not abide Julia’s behavior. As an emperor, he could not tolerate the embarrassment. Augustus banished Julia for the rest of her life. “I was going to pass over the ways a clever girl might elude a husband or a watchful guard. But since you need help - here is my advice.” Soon after Julia’s exile, Ovid released his salacious poem. It couldn’t have been more poorly timed. “Of course a guard stands in your way, but you can still write. Compose love letters while alone in the bathroom and send them out with an accomplice. She can hide them next to her warm flesh, under her breasts or bound beneath her foot. Should your guard get wind of these schemes, she can offer her skin for paper and carry out notes written on her body.” Ovid’s poetry extolled behavior for which the emperor’s daughter was banished. Her fate loomed large as a warning. For the present, the emperor remained mute towards Rome’s most gifted rebel. Ovid turned his hand to less provocative forms of poetry. He remarried, and he embraced a new appreciation for discretion.

“Enjoy forbidden pleasures in their place. But when you dress, don’t forget your mask of decorum. An innocent face hides more than a lying tongue.” Ovid was on notice. The order of Augustus had firm bounds of propriety and Ovid had tested them to the fullest. “Now consider the dangers of night. Tiles fall from the rooftop and crack you on the head. And the drunken hooligan, spoiling for a fight, cannot rest without a brawl. What can you do when a raving madman confronts you? Or tenants throw their broken pots out the window? You’re courting disaster if you go to dinner before writing your will.” At the turn of the first century, the poet Juvenal, was writing verses, which exposed much of Rome to scorn. He was acerbic and had a keen eye for the gritty realities of urban life. Juvenal writes:

“Our apartment block is a tottering ruin. The building manager props it up with slender poles and plasters over the gaping cracks. Then he bids us sleep safe and sound in his wretched death trap.” Ronald Mellor, Professor of History, UCLA:

I don’t think our notion of Rome bears much relation to the Rome of every day life. Because what is left today are the big public buildings, not the squalid hovels without plumbing and sanitary conditions that ordinary people lived in. That’s precisely the reason members of the elite preferred to withdraw up into the hills, and to have their villas up on the hills, a little bit away from the noise and away from the stench and away from that incredible hoard of people pressing close together. Juvenal writes:

“I would love to live where there are no fears, in the dark of night. Even now, I smell fire and hear a neighbor cry out for water as he struggles to save his measly belongings. Smoke pours out from the third story as flames move upwards, but the poor wretch who lives at the top with the leaking roof and roosting birds, is oblivious to the danger, and sure to burn.” In the year 4, in the imperial palace, the emperor, Augustus also lost sleep, but not from fear of fire. Now an old man of sixty-six, Augustus has lost much of his youthful vigor. “His vision had faded in his left eye, his teeth were few, widely spaced and worn down, his hair wispy and yellowed. His skin was irritated by scratching and vehement scraping, so that he had chronic rough spots, resembling ring worm.” As the emperor neared death, plots to succeed him sprouted. His grandsons and intended heirs had both died, unexpectedly. And the emperor himself lived under constant threat of assassination. Speaking for Augustus, one ancient historian voiced his dilemma: “Whereas solitude is dreadful,” he wrote, “company is also dreadful - the very men who protect us are most terrifying.” Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, Director, British School, Rome:

“In many ways, Augustus looked so solid, and what he created looked so solid you forget the fragility. I think contemporaries were very aware of that fragility. And surely Augustus was, he was - over anxious, in a sense, to provide a secure system after he’d gone.”

At this time, there were unusually strong earthquakes. The Tiber pulled down the bridge and flooded the city for seven days. There was a partial eclipse of the sun, and famine developed. Ancient historians report that natural disasters predicted political ones. In the year 6, soldiers, the backbone of the empire, refused to re-enlist without a pay rise. New funds had to be found. Then, fire swept parts of the capital. A reluctant Augustus turned to taxation. It was a dangerous tactic, and the emperor knew it. Fearing a coup, Augustus dispersed potential enemies. He recessed the courts and disbanded the Senate. He even dismissed his own retinue - Rome remained on edge.

“The mob, distressed by the famine of the taxes after the fire… openly discussed rebellion. When night fell, they hung seditious posters.” The crisis passed. But soon a new and even greater disaster battered the aging Augustus. It began in Germany, a land of fiercely independent tribes, and to the Roman eye, rugged barbarism. The region had been recently conquered, and Roman customs were taking root - or so they thought. “The barbarians had not forgotten their ancient traditions, their free way of life or the power of arms. But, as long as they were assimilated slowly, they did not realize they were changing, and did not resist Roman influence.” That peaceful evolution stopped, however, in the year 9. The year an arrogant young General named Quinctilius Varus became commander of the Rhine army, and brought an iron fist to the province. “He forced more drastic change on the barbarians, and exacted money as if they were his subjects.” Varus disastrously miscalculated the extent of Roman control, and misjudged German compliance. A trusted German chieftain organized a full-scale revolt, and lured Varus’ troops into a trap, deep in unfamiliar terrain. “The mountains were rocky and covered with ravines. The trees were dense and tall so that the Romans were struggling to make progress. Rain began to fall in sheets. The heavy wind scattered their numbers. The ground became slippery around the tree trunks and leaves. While the Romans were dealing with these troubles, the barbarians surrounded them, suddenly coming from everywhere. First, they came from afar. Then, since no one was fighting back and many were wounded, the barbarians came ever closer, and the Romans were unable to retaliate. They kept crashing into each other…They could not grip their arrows or javelins. The rain forced their weapons from their hands. Even their sodden shields were useless. And so every man and every horse was slaughtered.” Three legions were massacred - a tenth of Rome’s army. Augustus, his biographer reports, was traumatized. “They say he was so disturbed, that for several months, he let his hair and beard grow, and would sometimes bash his head on doors and cry out 'Quntillius Varus, give me back my legions.’” The disaster in Germany underscored a stark reality. The empire was born of violence, and to violence, it ever threatened to return. The emperor was in no mood for leniency. “Believe me, love’s climax of pleasure should not be rushed, but savored. But when you reach those places a woman loves to have touched, don’t let shame get in the way, don’t back off. You’ll see her eyes shine with a trembling light, as when the sun glitters on rippling water. She’ll moan and murmur sweet words just right for the game. But don’t outpace your mistress, or let her leave you in the dust. Rush to the finish line in unison. When man and woman collapse together, they both win. That’s the greatest prize.” Ovid’s sizzling words gripped Rome when they were first published. But a decade later, they would return to haunt him. For the patience of the emperor Augustus has reached its lowest point. Beleaguered, he saw plots in every corner, anarchy in every act of disobedience. Blaming the subversive book, Augustus banished Ovid from Rome. “Hello. Are you there? If so, indulge these verses of mine. They don’t come from my garden, or from that old couch I used to sprawl on. Whoever you are and in whatever parlor or bedroom or study, I have been writing on decks, propped up against bulkheads.” The poet was sent to an untamed backwater on the edges of the empire, on the shores of the black sea. For Ovid, the ultimate urban sophisticate, no punishment could have been harsher. His roguish aplomb crumbled to anguish. “When night falls here, I think of that other night when I was cast out into the endless gloom. We managed to laugh, once or twice, when my wife found, in some old trunk, odd pieces of clothing. This might be the thing this season, the new Romanian mode. And just as abruptly, our peal of laughter would catch, and tear into tears. And we

held each other. My wife sobbed at the hearth. What could I say? I took the first step with which all journeys begin, but could not take the second. I was barely able to breathe. I set forth again. Behind me, she fell, rolling, onto the floor, her hair swept onto the hearth, stirring up the dust and ashes. I heard her call my name. I thought I had survived the worst - what could be worst? But my wife arose, pursued me, held on to me weeping. Servants pulled her away. Whatever worth there was in me died there.”

Ovid was sure his talents would bring him home. He wrote constantly. And as he waited, he sought refuge in a remote frontier town. When the temperatures dropped, Ovid wrote, the wine froze in its vessels, the river in its banks. Across the ice thundered hostile horsemen, plundering and killing. It was a brutal life. Ovid wrote home from exile, a side of the empire that few Romans ever saw. “Beyond these rickety walls there’s no safety. And inside it’s hardly better. Barbarians live in most of the houses - even if you’re not afraid of them you’ll despise their long hair and clothes made of animal skins. They all do business in their common language. I have to communicate with gestures. I am understood by no one, and the stupid peasants insult my Latin words. They heckle me to my face, and mock my exile.” Writing for this audience, Ovid complained, was like “dancing in the dark.” As the years passed, Ovid shrivelled into a bony old man. He fell ill. Contrition replaced his former bravado. “Oh, I repent I repent. If anyone as wretched as I can be believed, I do repent. I am tortured by my deed.” Ovid, however, never got an answer to his pleas. And would never get a reprieve. As he approached death, he became sadly resigned to his fate. “Look at me. I yearn for my country, my home, and for you. I have lost everything that I once had. But I still have my talent. Emperors have no jurisdiction over that. My fame will survive, even after I am gone. And as long as Rome dominates the world, I will be read.” Nine years into his exile, Ovid died. He outlived Augustus, but he had bent to the emperor’s will. At the start of the emperor’s public life, Augustus had won the wars engulfing Rome. By the end, he had won the peace, and men like Ovid paid the price. In the years ahead, when lesser men would rule Rome, that price would rise higher still. “Oh Jupiter and Mars and all gods that raise the Roman Empire to ruler of the world, I invoke you and I pray - guard this prosperity, this peace, now and into the future.” In the year 14, prayers such as these were heard around the vast dominion ruled by Rome. For in that year, the empire stood at a precipice. The emperor Augustus had died. Augustus had been a towering figure. He had extinguished a century of civil war. He presided over forty years of internal peace and prosperity. He forged the vision and power that cemented the empire together. But the peace of Augustus came at a price. By the end of his life, Augustus had eclipsed the Senate, ruled as a monarch, and founded a dynasty that was fraught with troubles. His heirs, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius - these men would lead Rome through years of political terror, imperial madness, assassination - and through the distant founding of a new religion that would one day engulf the empire itself. The years to come would be years of trial - testing the endurance of subjects and citizens, soldiers, and slaves. The men and women of the Roman Empire in the first century.

[thirdwars]

the battle at diagon alley // diomedes avery.

Mentions/features: Cassius Rookwood, Eden Dolohov, Juliet Avery, Davina Travers, Molly Weasley senior, Olive Longbottom, Jimmy Fletcher, Ronan Nott, Molly Weasley junior, Theodore Burke, Fiorella Longbottom.  Triggers: violence, torture, blood, death, loss of a child.

To summarise: Diomedes came out to attack and had so much fun. Pre-battle, he has a little huddle with Cassius and Eden, where they discuss their plans. He’s told Juliet to stay away. At the battle, he duels with Davina, who he injures mildly and who abandons the fight. He also comes across Molly Sr, who he fails to kill. When he sees Olive, he supposes that it’d be poetic to subject her to the cruciatus curse, and he does, but is confunded by Jimmy before being able to finish the job. This leaves room for Ronan to get some spells in, but once Jimmy and Olive have disapparated, the spell breaks and he duels the other for a while. He also comes across Molly Jr, who he intends to kill with the sectumsempra after having failed to kill her namesake. Unbeknownst to him until later, he fails at that too. He also comes across Theodore Burke and Fiorella Longbottom while they’re in the midst of their half-hearted duel, something he will keep in mind in the future. I’m not sure about the order in regards about all these events, I just know that Molly senior came before most of them! Ahhhh. Diomedes comes out relatively unscathed, to a rather furious Juliet ( which is played out on the dash, see here ).

THREAD 001: Eden, Diomedes, Cassius.

EDEN DOLOHOV: murder tw / "I'm going to take out the Minister,"  Eden announces. She's still as a statue, hands clasped under her chin in a perversion of prayer, eyes trained on the table in front of the three of them. It's an unfamiliar sight to anyone that doesn't know her well — this is her planning face. Granger-Weasley at the helm of government is a problem, after all, and even if she cares little for politics, it doesn't hurt to clear the way for the Death Eaters to assume control of the Ministry. "Killing Potter was the right move, of course, but he wasn't the only thing that gave mudbloods and blood traitors hope." 

Her eyes flit to Cassius and Diomedes, then. Her resolve is steel-firm, but she's accustomed to collaborating with the two of them — strength in numbers, and all that. 

DIOMEDES AVERY: murder, death of a child tw / Part of him wants to say, all child-like, that he wants to take out Hermione Granger, but he bites his tongue. Eden can have her glory: he'll find his own. "It looks like Lestrange junior will be focusing on Longbottom," he said, thinking out loud. He'd like to see all of them die, all of Potter's friends picked off. "So that leaves three more of them, if he succeeds." With them, he meant those who'd been there the last time Voldemort had been defeated, when his father had gone to jail. "I'm not sure, what would be more ... ah, satisfying. Most of them dying in one night, or drawing it out a little?" 

He shoves his chair back, folds one leg over the other. "I'll focus on their children, I think. Nothing like losing a child to make someone lose their fight." His mind thinks to the hole he ripped in the Bardon family, and he smiles despite himself. 

CASSIUS ROOKWOOD: He doesn’t like deferrring but it’s a necessary sacrifice. It won’t always be this way. But until then, it’s true enough that he find Diomedes and Eden valuable, feeds off their energy. There is, perhaps, purpose after all in letting the lines between alliance and friendship blur. “Come now, Dio, it’s not meant to be satisfying. We take life only to accomplish our goals,” Cassius makes as if to lecture but can’t hold back a sharp smile. “Though of course, I’ll take out any Weasleys I see with pleasure.” They both make valid points, a good team despite Cassius knowing in the end they each had their own agenda. “The Minister is the brains”, he agrees, nodding at Eden. It’ll be a challenge but he’s seen her in action, and he believes she’s capable of defeating Granger. He’d far prefer Eden have whatever glory would come attached to the deed than Rabastan. “And undoubtedly the most important target. But losing Potter didn’t break them. Victoire Weasley assured me of that personally. Apparently, it only made them want to to fight harder.” Cassius only just manages not to roll his eyes at that. “We need to kill as many of them and their people as possible. Destroy their numbers.” For the most part, he takes this planning session with utmost seriousness but once more he lets humour into his voice, “We could always make it a friendly competition.” 

THREAD 002: Molly Sr and Diomedes

DIOMEDES AVERY: death of a child tw / Eyes fall on the matriarch of what is Diomedes least favourite family, and he hardly hesitates as he approaches her, wand at the ready. "Shouldn't you be keeping your children indoors, Molly?," he asks, voice sharp, aiming his wand at the ground at her feet, where he lets the cobbles burst in an explosion. He's smiling behind his mask, feeling like he's getting the revenge he deserves, he has deserved for so long. "You already lost the one, after all."

MOLLY WEASLEY SR: Molly’s head swings around at the sound of her name. ‘’And shouldn’t you be in Azkaban by now?’’ She snaps in retaliation, jumping back as the ground beneath her feet explodes. A shooting pain explodes in her left leg. FURY takes over her body and she sees RED, she throws a scorching spell, watching the flames burst from the end of her wand and dance in the air as they move. ‘’ do not talk about my family. ‘’

DIOMEDES AVERY: He jumps aside as the fire shoots past him, missing him only just. Impressive. "Azkaban? You should know better than to put your faith in such a faulty prison." He lets out a cold laugh, then, sending pain-inducing hex her way. He wants to see her family burn, fall, eradicated. "But your family loves to be talked about, don't they? Weasley this, Weasley that, the fucking paper is filled with you red-haired nuisances. It's like you're asking for it."

MOLLY WEASLEY SR: The pain hits her in the chest and for a moment she’s sure her hearts going to give way. She bends over in pain, hands over her chest, the others words echoing in her head. She will not back down. ‘’ You sounds almost jealous,’’ it’s said with a laugh as she sends another scorching hex his way.31 October 2020

DIOMEDES AVERY: "Oh, of what?" He laughs, even as the scorching hex hits him, and he points his wand to his aflame robes, putting out the fire. His actions are quick, but he hates the gap that he's leaving in his offense, and he soon points his wand at her again, returning her favour and sending a scorching hex back. "Two dead family members, in less than a month? Can't say that I am."

THREAD 002: Olive and Diomedes ( torture tw throughout )

DIOMEDES AVERY: Much like his shoes, he picks his duelling partners with care. Diomedes thinks not everyone is worth is time, considers the long-game. Short-term sadism isn't his style, after all: he much prefers to cause suffering that lasts. And so, when eyes fall on one of the Longbottom children, a plan clicks into his mind. What happened to their grandparents is legend, after all, a notorious fate: who is he not to try and show her what they went through? He's quick to act, wand at the ready, "Longbottom," he calls. "How's grandma?" And then, his wand whips. "Crucio." 

OLIVE LONGBOTTOM: in years past, olive had staunchly refused to attend the annual halloween fair that was held in diagon alley — she was never a fan of such large groups of people. but (one or two, certainly not all) her sisters and her parents had practically begged her to come along and she had reluctantly agreed. the night had gone by rather smoothly, much better than she could have expected, and she had been enjoying spending time with her family. then, all hell broke loose. the death eaters decided to do what they did best, turning a joyful event into a terrifying one. olive lost track of her family rather quickly, not by choice, but due to the sheer chaos happening around them. standing in the middle of the street (like an idiot), she scanned the area around her, desperately trying to locate her family. it was then that she heard the voice of diomedes avery and her stomach dropped. she swiftly turned on her heel, wand drawn, her eyes filled with a mixture of panic and rage. "she's saner than you are." olive spat, his allusion towards what had happened to her grandparents only fueling the anger boiling up inside her. when she noticed his wand she acted quickly, darting behind the nearest building in order to escape whatever spell he had in store for her. the failed cruciatus curse missed olive by inches and instead, connected with the brick of the shop that she had jumped behind, scattering debris on everything in the immediate vicinity, including her. "protego." she whispered, taking a moment to gather her breath (and her thoughts), before stepping out from behind the building, ready to face diomedes. "what the fuck is wrong with you?" she hissed before raising her wand once again. "sectumsempra!" 

DIOMEDES AVERY: As she hides behind the building, he's just satisfied at her cowardice. Let him terrify her. He doesn't care about the pain he causes, he cares about the power it grants him: the power that comes with being feared, with being run from. He wants to hold all the cards, to be the strongest piece on the board of chess and win. When Olive shows her face again — just when Diomedes was considering striding over, cloak billowing — he grins behind his mask. "Plenty," he snarls, waving his wand to dodge curse, redirecting it to the building. Debris covers his shoes, his cloak, but he hardly cares. In this anonymity, appearances hardly matter, after all. "Using dark magic, now? What would your dear father say?" He remembers the start of the battle, how Neville Longbottom had dropped, with a satisfied smirk. "If he can even speak after tonight, that is." One by one, all of them will fall. Harry first, now Neville, and hopefully Eden is taking care of their new minister somewhere, too. Perhaps after tonight, there'll only be three left. For now, though, he'll keep himself busy with one of their children. He focuses on Olive, wand waving again as he attempts a — "Crucio!" — again.

OLIVE LONGBOTTOM: as he redirected the spell into the nearest building, she cursed under her breath. she didn't want to admit it but he was talented, much more so than she had previously assumed. when she heard him talking about her father, she tightened the grip she had on her wand, knuckles turning white. "don't you dare talk about my father." she replied, attempting to keep her voice as calm and level as possible, not wanting to give diomedes the satisfaction of knowing that he had been able to get under her skin. on the inside, she was screaming, panicking, obsessing over what he had said about her father — why hadn't she spent more time trying to find her family? when he attempts another cruciatus curse, olive tries to redirect the spell, but she isn't fast enough. pain, a white-hot pain, floods throughout her entire body and she can't help but scream. "leave me and my family alone!" 

DIOMEDES AVERY: "Oh, what are you going to do about it?" His voice his a sneer, his expression filled with sickening glee. "Me keeping my mouth shut won't save him." The legacy of the Longbottom family is stuff of legend, and Diomedes feels nothing but satisfaction at the idea of building on that. Taking a part in it. He doesn't care about the causing of pain, per se, just the rammifications of it, the things it means. The Longbottom family will not know rest: that he promises. Not untill they all die. Her screaming echoes, and Diomedes' lips curl into a grin as he steps closer. "Actually, no, I don't think I will." His voice is a snarl — this is classic predator versus prey. "I'm just trying to give you something to bond over." Ruthless, merciless, twisted: Diomedes Aveyr is far removed from the polite man he presents himself to be, and that is where his danger lies. He is both, after all, a man of luxury and wealth and charity, as well as a monster. "Crucio."

OLIVE LONGBOTTOM: "why don't you just kill me?" she spoke through clenched teeth, still in excruciating pain. "kill me and leave my family alone." olive didn't want to die — in fact, she was afraid to die. there was so much that she still wanted to, so much that she still needed to experience, but she was willing to sacrifice that all for her family. 

THREAD 003: Davina and Diomedes 

DIOMEDES AVERY: On first look, a scene like this – chaotic, fiery, filled with debris and mess – doesn't seem like Diomedes' scene. It is, though: he'd been raised with an appetite for chaos, and it shows in moments like these. He carefully picks his sparring partners, not wanting to waste time on those who weren't worth it, and so when he sees Davina – estranged cousin, childhood friend, enemy – he chooses her. He intents to hurt. He intents for her to know it's him: it's not like she hasn't been able to guess. Diomedes gets close, wand pointed at her face – it's so familiar that he hardly needs look at it, "Kind of ballsy, to show up when you have so many enemies, Davina." His words are spat out, his eyes narrowed behind his mask.

DAVINA TRAVERS: she’s rattled. all she can think of is catriona, and getting away, getting back to her instead of staying trapped in this battle that isn’t her’s to fight. somehow, a voice cuts through the din. she knows that voice. so desperately wishes she didn’t.  “well, i’m not quite subscribed to the family newsletter anymore, so i didn’t have time to prepare.” but he’s right, he’s right, he’s right — how many people here would be just as quick to hurt her as they are to sneer blood traitor? there’s a pang in her chest for him. she can’t bring herself to put the name to the voice. she refuses. “if i’d known i was such a hot topic, though, i would have picked a better outfit to see everyone in.” grip adjusts on her wand, tightens. she doesn’t want this.

DIOMEDES AVERY: Good. She knows it's him. He hopes that his oncoming ruthlessness will instill her with a sense of fear, that she will refuse to reciprocate it. Davina is weak, he thinks. "I think you should have reconsidered your outfit regardless," he says, and he's unable not to think back to those days where they'd bantered as friends. Their history lies between them, so much lighter than whatever is between them now: a hatred, a deep-rooted anger, a feeling of betrayal, in all truth. He hates to admit it, but it's rather unsettling that she knows him so well. On the other hand, he knows her well, too. "Where's little Catriona, then? I should hope you brought her, to such a fun evening?"

DAVINA TRAVERS:  there’s something poetic about blissfully ignoring red flags for years, and then having all of those flags waved in front of your face in the form of a wand. one where the etching alone is familiar, evocative of school and big manors and laughter. once upon a time she wondered how they were so similar, but now she just thinks that they couldn’t be any more different. “i can think of a furry little thing you should reconsider too, but i suppose i’ll keep my mouth shut.” even still, she finds the desire to protect him lingering in her lungs. it was so fucking sad. “where she is is none of your business.” a shrug, like saying c’est la vie. “remind me, does your daughter know about your extracurricular activities?”

DIOMEDES AVERY: Even here, people seemed awfully occupied with his mustache. Eyes roll behind his mask, Diomedes' tendency to be annoyed not stilled by the chaos around him. "You'll keep your mouth shut? Then why, in Merlin's name, are your lips moving and making sound?" The taunts are childish, almost, but that's what he's used to when it comes to Davina. As adults, they barely talk after all, most of the words spoken between them either child-like remarks or their conversations before she left. "Hmm, she's my family, is she not? That makes it my business." His family loyalty hardly extents to her runt, though. He lets out a laugh, then, but it's cold, hiding the discomfort he feels as Davina addresses Helen. "Oh, come on now Davina, you must know enough about child development to understand that she is much too young to know, let alone understand, such things!"

DAVINA TRAVERS: "y' got me there. i've never been good at the whole quiet thing, anyway. think that runs in the family? i've always thought it was a rowle trait." just when she thought she had taken a step forward in her life, she's sent reeling five steps back. perhaps she shouldn't be surprised that it's him that has that impact on her, as stinging and abrupt as any hex to the gut. "so she's family now?" a click of her tongue. a tilt of her head. "i thought that was forfeited the day i was kicked out. might want to make up your mind, eh?" davina knows she's no longer precariously balanced on the edge of dangerous cliff -- when he laughs, she's falling headfirst into the canyon that had eroded between them over the years. he laughs, and a chill ghosts down her spine. he says her name, and it feels like a curse. the center of his attention was the last place she wanted to be. "sure. but you know as well as i do that even the best attempts at sheltering someone from the truth can fail. does she know about me? do you ever wonder if she did whether she would start questioning everything that daddy dearest told her?"

DIOMEDES AVERY: Her wit is sharp as a knife, as sharp as his, and he falls back into this way of banter easily. "At least there's one thing you didn't disappoint on." The list of reasons she did disappoint is endless, most of them labeled as personal betrayals in Diomedes eyes. No one breaks his heart and gets away with it. He's not built for pain like that, has not been raised to be familiar with things like nostalgia and perhaps even, deep down, regret. Because the truth of it all is, is that he misses Davina. And he can't have that. "Oh, only in the technical sense. Emotionally, she's nothing to me." He pauses. "Or, well - perhaps a little less than that." He hates that she speaks of Helen, hates how it gets to him, the thought of his daughter questioning him. He's doing this for her, after all, for her and all the children of his that might follow. Davina is clever, though, and knows how to point her arrows. Diomedes hates her for it, when he once loved her for it. "Helen will never be like you Davina." That has to be the truth, because anything else is unimaginable. He hates how she's able to get under his skin, and he tightens his grip on his wand. "She will value loyalty, family, unlike you."

DAVINA TRAVERS: "go on." when she looks down the path of the wand pointed at her, she meets the silver, emotionless face staring back at her. davina wonders if he feels the same noxious lump in his lungs that she does with every word that drags against her throat. "paint me all the ways that i ruined the family. how i let all of you down. how i am the disappointment. tell me whatever story you've created to vilify me because it can't be worse than anything i told myself when i was alone during that pregnancy." there's a certain breathlessness to her, now. she thinks she might hate him when he speaks of catriona. the challenge he makes of her loyalty. (hurt and ugly nostalgia root in her chest. it blooms, like an invasive thing that spreads and spreads until there's nothing left of her to claim.) davina's throat bobs when she swallows and spine straightens. fingers shift in their grip on her wand. "you say that, but i think part of you is afraid. it wasn't like my da' ever saw it coming, either. helen might not look like me, she might not sound like me, but there's always a chance she could become me."

DIOMEDES AVERY: The worst thing is this: Diomedes thinks, somewhere, that she is right. He does not like guilt, it's not an emotion he permits himself to feel, but as she speaks about being alone in those months, something eats at him. Still, he's been raised on a warped vision of history and has made that all his own, and even this - something so personal - is something he can twist. He is the one in the right. "Oh, boo-hoo, Davina. Must I remind you that you had options, and still chose to leave? I won't cry for you." Family loyalty is one of the things that is deeply rooted in Diomedes Avery's being, something that starkly opposes all that he does now. It stirs, as he looks at Davina, her emotions so much more easy to read than his are. He is glad for the mask, because he knows his face is revealing more than he wants to. He hates nostalgia, and it seeps through him like poison. He has no retort to the comments on Helen, because Davina is right, she's right, and it scares him, it throws him for a loop, so he just waves his wand in stead, "Diffindo!"

DAVINA TRAVERS: “you keep rattling on about loyalty, but where was that virtue when my parents were more loyal to appearances than their own daughter?” she had always worn her heart on her sleeve. hiding her emotions wasn’t something davina was familiar with, and this was a pitfall her mother had often found. but alisha rowle had also been the one to show her how to sharpen her words when she was angry — taught her to shoot to kill. davina’s been provoking him this entire time, that much she’s certain, and it’s a question of just how hard he’ll retaliate when it’s said and done. “i’m not asking you to pity me. i just think you’re so fecking sad, diomedes.” his name tastes like something decayed dripping off her tongue, and she wishes she could take it back. but she can’t, and she isn’t quick enough to completely sidestep the curse he directs at her — though she manages to avoid a direct hit to the chest, it still skims her dominant arm. coat sleeve and shirt beneath are ripped near her shoulder as the skin beneath tears open into a nasty gash. “expelliarmus!” she can’t be certain it’ll reach her mark. heart beats out a melody dissonant to the symphony of madness around her: run, run, run.

DIOMEDES AVERY: blood tw / "I am not your parents, Davina, if you have an issue with them I suggest you send them an owl." He says her voice like its a curse, something dirty that needs to be spat out. That he has regrets, about how things went back then, he doesn't say: such things he hardly admits to himself, after all. Diomedes is carefully skulpted lies and disillusions, it's how he's able to observe the world the way he does. "Well, I don't need your pity either," he snarls. "I'm quite happy, after all." And that he is, especially on a night like this, when power seems so easy to grab, every curse he sends that hits its target a rush. That is what he wants: pure power. He does not want this nostalgia or longing, this hidden curiosity in regards to how Davina is. When his curse hits her, albeit not too directly, he grins behind his mask. Sadism is easier than empathy, after all. He watches the blood with a satisfaction, considering how ruined hers is, despite the magic flowing through it. It's not a waste. He dodges her spell with a quick protego. "What, are you tired? You're not getting my fucking wand, Davina."

DAVINA TRAVERS: blood tw / "then i guess my issue with you is that you're a coward. would you have really forgiven me if i'd gone with those plans, anyway? she still would have been born a half blood. all the lies in the world couldn't change that." chest rises and falls in heavy breaths. seeds of doubt linger at the fringes of her mind -- would she have been able to say anything she has tonight if he didn't have the mask? would she be able to look him eye to eye and lay herself bare? of all things she abandoned, diomedes is one of the ones she regrets the most. "are you? because, i gotta say, it really looks like you could use some new friends." she can feel the blood dripping down her arm. it's warm, and the fabric of her clothes clings to her skin. there's no way to tell how deep it is, but there's an inexplicable flash of pain against her nerves when she moves her arm again. fight or flight is a powerful instinct, and davina finds that the need to flee outweighs any desire to continue this twisted dance. she takes a slight step back. "not tired. out of practice, maybe." another step. just enough to give her room -- "confringo!" davina doesn't linger long enough to make sure that the blast hits the stone between them, simply hopes that it's enough to knock him back. then she runs straight into the bedlam, abandoning him again.

DIOMEDES AVERY: "I'm the coward? Didn't you take the easy way out? Speculate all you want Davina, but had you stayed, I would have had your back." And now he's ready to drive a knife into it, as if their history does not matter to him at all. Of course, a knife to the back is personal, and proves that he does care. It's clear, from the way he fights her with words rather than magic, that he does, from the way he considers their history out loud, albeit twistedly. He cares, and he hates himself for it. No: he hates Davina for it, and points all blame to her. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm quite satisfied in my interpersonal relations." His voice is dripped in sickening honey, a drawl made out of years of praise and prejudice. He watches Davina step back, and considers it a victory already. Part of him hopes she runs, another part will condemn her for it if she does —— and so when the confringo hits the street between them, Diomedes knocked back, he grins behind the mask. Weak, she's weak, just like she was years ago when she chose the easy way out. He does not follow Davina, if only because he knows he will have his revenge one day. And then, she will see his face.

THREAD 004: Molly Jr and Diomedes

DIOMEDES AVERY: It can't be said that Diomedes doesn't have an artistic touch to what he does. He considers himself a deliverer of poetic justice, or at the very least poetic suffering, and so when he sees Molly Weasley junior (as if one of them wasn't enough), he fights off his current duelling partner with a stunning spell and moves on. How poetic is it, after all, if he fights both Molly's in one evening? He sends a stinging hex her way - if only to get her attention - and then calls (because  a duel without a bit of dialogue is bland) to her, "All by yourself, Weasley? Is that wise, these days?" 

MOLLY WEASLEY JR: "Oh my god!" Molly yells as she jumps out of the way of the death eater's hex, more out of annoyance than desperation. Her makeup is smeared, and she supposes she looks not at all serious and fierce but rather pathetic in her bright pink, cheetah-spotted outfit. She readies a shield charm (her specialty, thick and sparkling) before shouting back. "Fuck off, you fucking muppet! Tarantallegra!"

DIOMEDES AVERY: "You want to dance?," he asks, dodging the hex. Diomedes, is in all truth, amused by the other's interpretation of a duel, and he almost wishes the other could see the way he's grinning. "This isn't second year duelling club, Weasley." He sends another pair of stinging hexes her way, relatively harmless yet effective enough for now.

MOLLY WEASLEY JR: "It's not? Because I feel like I'm talking to a twelve-year-old right now." The stinging hexes — well, they sting, but Molly knows this Death Eater is capable of much more. He's toying with her, in that fucked-up little way Molly's always heard about in stories of Bellatrix Lestrange, who likes to play with her food before she eats it. Her shield falls, and instead of recasting it she sends three Knockback Jinxes to the Death Eater in quick succession: "Flipendo!"

DIOMEDES AVERY: "You must have met some interesting twelve year olds, then." He'll give her one thing: she's quick-witted, and apparently quick with her wand too. He dodges the first two jinxes, but the third one hits him— he's knocked backwards in the rubble surrounding them, his fall broken by a quick non-verbal spell. She's got ... well, he doesn't want to say skills, but spunk at the very least. He rises, wand pointed at the ground near her feet, "Expulso," and he's moving forward, distance closing between the two. Then, a cutting hex, "Diffindo," for good measure.

MOLLY WEASLEY JR: blood tw / She only just manages to jump out of the line of fire of the Death Eater's expulso; it blows apart the stones where she was just standing, sending sharp stones cascading against her legs, sure to cause bruises. The cutting hex opens a gash on her calf as well. "Fuck you!" That's the least of her concerns, however, because it's quickly dawning on her that she's no match for this masked man as a duelist. 

Thinkthinkthink — Molly wracks her brain in an effort to think of a spell that can buy her time to run away. She sees a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye — and it doesn't even matter that it's probably not her aunt, it just gives her the spark of inspiration she needs. The young witch aims her wand at the space between the Death Eater's masked eyeholes and rattles off Aunt Ginny's most famous spell: the bat-bogey hex. 

DIOMEDES AVERY: blood tw / Behind his mask, Diomedes Avery is showing his ugliest self. A twisted smile, watching the other dance around his curses and failing, eyes dark. He failed to kill the other's grandmother: maybe killing her namesake would be good enough for today. Determination takes a hold of him, and he's planning to end this. Sooner, rather than later. 

 Her hex takes him by surprise, and things go fast, then: bats force their way from his nose, his mask falls to make way, and then wings are slapping him in his face, leathery and quick. Indignant fury takes a hold of him, ice cold, the embarrassment inspiring a rage. He's never been one to shrink, when made a fool of: he's been fed too much pride for that. 

 He forces his mask back on, hoping she's not seen him ( and if she has, it hardly matters: she won't live to tell the tale ). "Sectumpsempra!" His voice is all ill-contained fury, as he slash, slash, slashes, not once or twice, but thrice. He watches the gashes open in Molly's skin with sickening satisfaction. A moment he waits, saying, "Say hi to your uncle, will you?", before retreating as she falls.

[starryshaze]

CASSIUS WILKES.

           Angry was one way to put it. Anger was all James had felt for years and he was so tired of being consumed by this feeling. In fact, James had just been angry and exhausted for so long, he no longer knew how to feel anything else. In the seven thousand years James had lived on this shitty planet, nobody made him feel the way fucking Cassius Wilkes did. Even just the name sent a hot rush of anger running through whatever fucking veins he actually had in his cold body. Anger had always been the easiest emotion for James to understand so it made sense that it was the one Cassius managed to bring out of him, even after all these years. Their break up had been messy and he was fairly sure the entire fucking New York vampire community knew this – perhaps even outside of that. They’d been insanely in love but when Cassius betrayed him, James exiled him and refused to speak his name, ever again. Any fledgling who dared to speak the man’s name was immediately punished, to the point where most of them were far to terrified to even THINK about the man’s name around him. For a long time, James went on an angry rampage when he lost Cassius because it was as though he’d lost complete control without Cassius. He’d always been renowned for being kind and happy-go-lucky around his fledglings and took care of them as though they were his own children but losing Cassius changed him drastically. Gone was the laidback man he was once and in his place was a ball of fire, who’d lost control of his inhibitions. It used to be rare that James ever got angry but everyone had known he had a temper on him but for a long time, there was no controlling that temper and the littlest things set him off. After a long time of this constant cruelty, James’ fledglings no longer respected him – they feared him. He was cold and angry and cruel and it was all because of Cassius Wilkes.

           He wasn’t even sure what changed him. Maybe it was the day he realised his fledglings were thinking of running away from him that he suddenly snapped out of his cold and cruel daze. He was empty and felt nothing, therefore he stopped caring about anything but as soon as he realised he was going to lose the very last thing he cared for, he knew he had to stop. He’d lived a long, long life filled with losses and heartache and so much REGRET and this had been the final straw. He couldn’t lose his fledglings as well as Cassius so he flipped the switch and soon enough, he was back to the old James. He was still heartbroken but he refused to allow his life to be defined by Cassius Wilkes, who was making a name for himself. Good for him, but James was never going to respect a thing he did after he snapped his heart in two. It was only when Cassius decided to move his fucking Vampire HQ to New York that James decided was the final straw. New York was HIS territory, everyone knew that. He didn’t mind other vampires living here but people knew it was his place. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Cassius was bold enough to step on his ground but he was furious and wanted the man to be as far away from him as possible. He made a point to blatantly ignore his presence, refusing to allow his fledglings to speak about him. He knew they all whispered, the newer ones fascinated by his historical relationship with Cassius but he never spoke a word of him. Sometimes when he thought nobody was looking, he found himself staring off into the distance, with a sad wistful look on his face and sometimes, very late at night, he’d find tears on his face, mourning everything he’d lost.

             As much as he hated to admit it, he had affairs with a few of his fledglings. When he was feeling his worst, he would shamelessly flirt with some of the cute boys who walked into the coffee shop and once he’d seduced them, he bit them. He knew he shouldn’t have done it because he promised to himself a long time ago he’d make no more but he still did it, for no reason other than the fact that he was selfish and bitter. He knew it was an awful thing to do, especially when he met Alexander. Alexander was too sweet and too pure for his world but James had wanted him so he did what he did best and took him. He had so much potential but James had been selfish and stole his life away just so he could have him. They’d flirted a lot and James had done what he did with Cassius and put his own blood into the coffees he gave him so he’d keep coming back for more. It wasn’t long after until they were going on dates together and one night, James bit him before he could do anything about it. James knew perfectly well that Alexander was upset at him for doing that but he couldn’t bring himself to care. If he wanted something then he fucking deserved to take it after everything he’d lost and given up. So he looked after Alexander and kept him in the coffee shop until he was happy. He wasn’t into commitment anymore -- frankly, he never had been but Alexander had a special spot in his heart so he kissed him a lot and sometimes they’d fuck but they both knew deep down, James was still mourning over Cassius.

          Both colonies managed to live peacefully in the same city for a long while without James having anything to do with Cassius. Whatever shit Cassius implemented, James ignored and subtly encouraged his fledglings to ignore it too. James was KNOWN for being a rebel, everyone wove thousands of stories about all the shit he’d done. He was fucking old and had done a lot of dumb shit and James couldn’t even remember half of it. He didn’t really mind it when people gossiped about the things he did and often he found amusement in it and when he was feeling nice, he liked to tell the stories properly. It was a long process but James was finally winning back his fledglings’ trust. He looked after them, he always had and he gave a fuck about them all. It was as though they were all his own children. Which was why whenever they went rogue or something bad happened to one of them, James always did everything within his power to protect them and get them back home. It had been far easier to hide shit before Cassius and his loyal subjects were kicking around in the city but now they were here, James had to pull out all the stops to wipe memories of mortals and look after his fledgling until they were nursed back to health or happy again. But this time, he hadn’t been able to do it in time and after he went on a killing spree, he’d been taken and sentenced to prison. James had been to vampire prison and he knew it was literal torture and he couldn’t allow that to happen to his own fucking kids, so he knew there was only one thing to do, which was to swallow his pride and fight for him. By seeing Cassius Wilkes. 

          It had been three hundred years since he’d seen the man and even though it was a short time, a lot of shit had happened. They had once been so in love they thought they were soulmates but now they were at opposite ends. James had saved his life when Cassius had almost been killed and he still wasn’t sure if it was the biggest mistake of his life or not, but that was what he told Cassius the last time they ever spoke. Cassius had always been the one for flamboyancies, so of course his office was this fancy huge building in the middle of the city. He wasn’t sure if mortals could see it or not but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they couldn’t. James gladly welcomed them into his home, mainly because of the time he liked to select a few and make them his own. But that was done now, Alexander had been his last one and now he just wanted to take care of them until they were fit to live without him. Then he was going to close down the coffee shop or maybe let them take it over and he was going to leave the city and never come back. Maybe he’d live alone, isolated somewhere or maybe he’d find a vampire colony and be with them. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he needed to be out of New York, away from Cassius Wilkes and away from his broken heart. Maybe he’d even find a way to die there, end his broken heart finally forever. He was tired of life and he’d heard of a few old vampires who wished for death so they didn’t have to live anymore terrible days. 

           James had never really been one for niceties, especially with people he loathed and even more so with people in so-called power. He let himself into the office, considering the guards were pathetic and not even a quarter of his age and stormed his way up into Cassius’ office, which he found the location of after questioning another terrified looking vampire. Everyone knew who he was and everyone knew how powerful he was and sometimes he liked to instil fear into other vampires just to get what he wanted. After one knock on his door -- and naturally, no booked appointments -- James let himself into the office and ignored the way his heart clenched when he looked back at a pair of eyes he’d forgotten he loved. James had forgotten how beautiful Cassius became after James turned him and he looked different now. Older, harder. There was something different in his eyes but it was the same something that James had in his own eyes after they’d lost one another. “Wilkes.” He spoke coldly, not allowing any expression to take over his face or voice. It had taken years of practice but he was perfectly good at being stony-faced now. “I think you know why I’m here.” It was killing him being here, he didn’t want to look at Cassius, he didn’t want all these memories flooding back to him and he CERTAINLY didn’t want to swallow his pride and be the one to come back to him. But he HAD to save his fledgling, there was no other option. “I’m not going to fucking beg you because we both know I have some fucking pride and dignity but I’m here to politely ask you to release my fledgling and let me help him. You KNOW how well I look after them and you KNOW I can train him and reprimand him for his fuck ups. If you knew what’s best for you, you’d fucking FREE him.” But then his lips curled into a nasty smirk. “You never have known what’s best for you though, have you?”

[pbiskillingmehere]

Conquered (Marc Antony x MC)

Fandom: A Courtesan of Rome

Pairing: Marc Antony x MC (Maeve)

Genre: Angst, Smut

Word Count: ~4k

Rating: NSFW

Author’s Note: Just an FYI, I’m aware that intertwining the bargain with the *ahem* romance is kind of dicey. I definitely don’t think PB will do that this week when MC talks to Antony, but this is just a testament to how complicated and problematic their relationship can be. So just a disclaimer: if you like the political intrigue with MC and Marc Antony to be kind of separated from the romance, this might not be the fic for you. Feel free to put feedback in my inbox! 

Maeve gave up on going in with a plan halfway to Antony's villa. The most powerful courtesan in Rome and she had no cards to play. A single bead of sweat trailed a path down the length of her back. Pitting Syphax and her father against each other in the arena was like a knife poised for a killing blow. One wrong move could lead to tragedy.

Right after Xanthe had sneered the news at her, Maeve caught sight of Lena over Xanthe's shoulder, eyes filled with horror and sadness. She mouthed go before she came up beside Xanthe. "Dear, you cannot see Marc Antony in anything less than the scholae's finest. Come, I have the perfect dress."

Xanthe gave her one last cruel smile before letting Lena lead her away, and Maeve had to remind herself that cutting her throat would not save her father or Syphax before fleeing the scholae. Hopefully Lena would keep her occupied long enough.

Antony's villa was every bit the worthy home for Rome's most powerful man. It was larger and finer than any of the homes of other Roman elites. The marble columns were gleaming and unblemished, foreboding sentries that stood before an undoubtedly expansive home. However, it lacked the ornate luxury that she often saw in the homes of senators and other figures of influence. There were not complex carvings in the facade, no lush gardens or triumphant statues. Power without the frills. How very Antony.

She approached the guards, smiling airily. She could see the slight shift of tension in their shoulders as she came closer, but they did not relax. Antony would not have fools guarding his home. "I'm here for Antony," she said, her voice light and suggestive. "He should be expecting me." She brushed her dark curls back to reveal the chestnut skin of her neck and the curves and dips of her collarbones.

One guard chuckled, eyes never leaving her. "I'm surprised I haven't seen you here before, Queen of Vulcanalia," he said.

She laughed along with him. "I'm guessing you were at the celebration." She looked at her feet, feinting a touch of embarrassment. "I would have gladly come sooner, but Antony is a busy man. Luckily, I am very understanding," she purred, smiling as she looked up at them through her lashes.

The guards shared a lascivious look with one another at that. "He should be just inside," one said, motioning for her to pass.

She thanked them, and her muscles clenched in an effort to keep herself from running into the estate.

She entered the atrium, the room illuminated by the moonlight coming in from the square opening in the ceiling, casting a silvery glow against the shallow pool in the center of the floor. Reflected in the water, was Antony himself, leaning against the doorway on the opposite side of the room. Dressed in a purple-lined toga and wearing a studying expression, he was every bit the master of such a household.

Maeve's heart clenched, the blood in her veins turning white-hot. "You're not surprised to see me," she said, her voice indicating it was more of a statement than a question. Her words were warped to a sharp ring in the silence of the room.

Antony, stayed where he was, arms crossed as they always were. He gave a wry smirk. "That Xanthe has reliably loosed lips, as we've both learned," he said simply.

Maeve was almost shaking. He was speaking as if they were playing their usual games. He had cast her aside and now put Syphax and her father's lives at risk. She was done playing. "Did you expect me to come crying, begging?" she bit out. "Vulnerable and ready to bargain away my very soul for their sake?" There was no point in circling around her purpose here. He clearly already knew the reason.

"I had expected that you would want to talk," he replied, his tone and face revealing nothing.

She crossed her arms, matching him. "So now you want to hear what I have to say?" She scoffed, thinking back to how he dismissed her on Xanthe's word without hearing her explanation. "Of course you do when the fates of my father and my guard are in your hands."

Antony quirked an eyebrow. Usually when she took liberties with him, it was out of flirtation or disregard for the fear she should feel around him, but not this open rebellion. His gestures of casualness made her want to scream.

"Antony, tell me this wasn't you," she said, her voice so close to breaking. "Because you should know that if it was, I will take it to mean that you wish to be enemies." But it was him. There was no way around it. She just needed him to say the words.

Antony pushed off the doorway. "It was just how the ludus masters arranged it, Maeve. I had no hand in it." He began approaching her slowly, intently.

She laughed humorlessly. "Even if that was true," Maeve began, shaking her head. "You knew who they are to me, and you did nothing to alter their plans. You knew I would coming running hear as soon as I heard."

He stopped halfway to her, his face a study in light and dark as he stood half in the moonlight, half in the shadows. A little white scar winked at her near his eyebrow, and his features were sharper and stronger as some were illuminated and others ominously hidden. However, his expression was unmistakably hard. This was all beyond their usual dance. He was too serious and quiet and she was too angry and loud. It was uncharted territory.

Her eyes blazed a warpath on him, daring him to contradict her. "You scorned me when you thought I manipulated you, and yet you've manipulated me, and not for the first time. I knew you were many things, Marc Antony, but I did not think a petty hypocrite was one of them," she spat, baring her teeth.

That hit a nerve. "That is enough, Maeve," he snapped, his voice taking on a quality that had likely sent more than one soldier scrambling.

"I will say when it is enough!" she snarled, showing him the ferocity of the heir to the Catonnui.

And that is when she saw it, the hot flicker in his eyes that consumed her like a wildfire. Antony liked her playful and teasing, but he liked her vicious and bold even more. She just never expected him to enjoy it when it was directed at him. There was a part of her that begged herself to stop, that said this would unravel everything between them and leave her vulnerable, but it was drowned out by the fear and the anger that she felt at the thought of her father and Syphax fighting in the ring the next morning. "What is it, Antony? Do you want me by your side as an equal, or do you want at your mercy like a pawn? You cannot have it both ways."

A muscle in Antony's jaw ticked. He gave a long blink, and she saw that he took that moment to compose himself. "This is simple, Maeve," he said, ignoring her words completely. "You owe me too many favors, and now you need another one. It is only a matter of price. I cannot give you something for nothing. Especially if you are in league with Cassius against Caesar."

It took all of Lena's training for her not to throw something at his head. She needed to be strategic. The only thing she had to offer him was information. Antony would see through any seduction tactics, and she needed to prove that he could still trust her, but she still had ire in need of release. "Fine. You wanted to talk. Let's start with Cassius then. Cassius cares about me. A great deal."

Antony’s lip curled and a familiar feeling of being close to danger crept up her spine. It was like when she drew to close to a cliff's edge in Gaul or ambushed Roman soldiers with nothing but a sword and her wit. Her skin tingled and her blood sang with anticipation.

She took a step toward him. "And I have been using that to get information about Caesar and the Senate. I knew that I couldn't trick that information out of you, especially when you were unearthing every secret about myself I tried to keep buried. So I've been spending time entertaining Cassius," she said baldly. Antony already knew her to hate Caesar for the sake of her people, if she reminded him that her loyalty was to a long-gone tribe and not to Caesar's most vocal enemy, she would just be a bitter conquered woman rather than a traitor. It was a risk, but a calculated one. "What Xanthe saw, was me keeping a significant source of information at my ear. I might have told you that if you hadn't chosen the word of a spiteful, ambitious harpy over mine."

Antony wasn't eased just yet. "What am I to make of your relationship with me, then?” 

She let out a shaky breath."I cannot deny how much I've enjoyed your company." She paused. Only the hard truth would satisfy him, or some version of it. "As for the rest of it, you are the most powerful man in Rome. Only a fool would pretend to be blind to that. Being close to you keeps me safe and allows me powers I cannot acquire on my own." She stepped closer, letting the fear she felt flash across her face. "Invoking your name has kept Aquila from hurting me. Antony. Do you really need proof of what you are to me after I brought you him on a silver platter?"

Rage twisted Antony's face at her mention of Aquila, his fists clenched meanacingly. "He's a fool for ever thinking he could touch you and not suffer the consequences. And I fail to see how revealing him to me is a sign of your fealty when it benefited you as well.”

Slowly, she came to stand directly in front of him, so close she could see the lines of his face even in the semidarkness. She wanted to trace them and feel the history of them, but steeled herself at their proximity, choosing anger over lust. She put her hands on his shoulders, and Antony was like a statue.

Maeve turned her head, her lips a hairbreadth away from his jaw. His warmth radiated off of him and brought gooseflesh to her skin. “I was this close to him.” She pressed her hand into his throat as if she still had her blade. "I had my knife pressed to his throat, Antony. I could have slit his throat," she said quietly. His pulse was steady under her hand, unwavering. "The man who killed my people and enslaved my family," she choked out, barely a whisper. "But I didn't. I gave the object of my pain and hatred for the past eight years to you. Was I wrong in doing that?"

Antony roughly circled a strong arm around her waist, his other hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. "He is subject to the worst kind of punishment a man like him can get. Of course you were right," he said lowly.

The hand at his throat fanned out and lowered to his chest. "What about the part where I trusted you? When you reward me by hurting me in the worst way. As if I am not a force to be reckoned with." Her spite was like flint, at risk of sparking every dangerous bit of tinder between them.

Antony was silent for a long moment. "I see what you’re doing, Maeve. You're backed into a corner,” His voice was even, but it teetered precariously. The next words he practically snarled into her mouth as he turned into her. "And you're baring your teeth to save yourself."

She rose to the challenge, almost closing her eyes at the closeness of his lips and his breath on her face. "Call anything I've said a lie. I welcome it. Because you know I'm keen enough not to lie to you."

She could feel every movement of his mouth against hers as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Then tell me this. Do you want me?" The question seemed out of place, but it fit terribly, perfectly in this tangled web they were in. His voice suggested that simple yes would not suffice, that he meant did she want him beyond what power he could give her.

She pulled back and met his gaze, his eyes the color of steel, and just as sharp. "Only you," she breathed. "All you need to do is stop this, and let me have you."

With that, every bit of his restraint snapped. Antony hauled her body against his and finally captured her mouth in a kiss filled with a harsh passion that only he could produce. She moaned as he spun her to press her into the wall, hands clutching and pulling at the fabric of her dress. She bit at his bottom lip savagely and he growled his pleasure. She clutched at his shoulder and buried her hand into his short hair, her nails scraping his scalp. Even through the folds of her dress and his toga, she could feel the battle-harden muscles of his body, and the desire that he felt for her.

Maeve pulled back with a gasp, but Antony only moved to kissing and nipping at her jaw and neck. “We haven’t reached a resolution yet,” she said, determined but breathy. May the goddess punish her for how much pleasure she felt while the lives of those dear to her were still at stake.

"Choose one to win, make sure they give a good show, and I will spare them both," he said into her skin before biting her earlobe. He pushed his pelvis against her and her head fell back against the wall. "Just make sure it's convincing."

“And in return?” Her hearted ran a rabbit’s race in her chest.

His hand came up to burry into her hair. "You will come with me to every festivity I host. You will not see any other patrons, unless they may have something I need, and you will report necessary information back to me," he whispered in her ear.

She froze at this. “So you want me to be your pawn after all.” Despair crept at the edges of her mind, but what other choice did she have? She would just need to figure out how to work her ends from this new, very limiting role.

"I want you to be my spy, Maeve." He licked a line across her shoulder that roused her from her momentarily paralysis and had her bucking her hips against him. "You are in the perfect position for it, and you're more than adept at getting information out of foolish men." His hand buried underneath her dress to bring her leg around his hip, getting his fill of the skin of her thigh as he stroked her.

"Starting with Cassius," she guessed, trying to focus on his words and not his punishing touch.

He let out a mirthless laugh. "You've had no qualms about using him for your purposes. Using him for mine should be no different." Then he took to sucking at where her neck met her shoulder.

Except that it would be different. "You would have me aid Caesar.”

He stopped his ministrations to brush his nose along the column of her neck. "I would have you aid me. You made it clear that you've already separated the two of us in your mind. You've had your vengeance against the legate and the tribune, but moving against Caesar would be disastrous, and everyone and everything here that you care for would be at risk, not just your father and the gladiator." He finally looked at her, eyes darkened with lust but not dulled in the slightest. "You can have all the power and influence you have earned for yourself, just stay your vengeful hand against Caesar and me."

“This is more than just staying my hand. This is actively helping you plot against Caesar’s enemies.” She tried to turn her face away but he brought it back to him with the light push of his fingers.

His expression was almost entreating, as if he was capable of such a thing. “You would also have my protection in return. There are far crueler demands I could have of you, Maeve, and no amount of sharp words would have me believe you wouldn’t accept it.” He held her face in his hands, gaze steady. “I do want you at my side.”

She was unsure if he was just saying this to put her at ease, or if he actually spoke the truth. If a pawn believed itself to be a player, it did not change the fact that it was still at the mercy of a controlling hand. For now, she had to choose to believe him. She swallowed. “Okay,” she said softly, and she was still the fool she was eight years ago, the one that tricked herself into believing they could defeat the Romans.

He smiled. “It’s a deal then.” As soon as the words left his mouth he kissed her once again, tongue skillfully pushing against hers, undoubtedly feeling a great tension in her body release at the thought of her father and Syphax living another day. His hands began working under her skirt once more.

She pried herself away from him, one hand suddenly cupping his jaw, the other cupping his hardness through his toga and he jerked. "Beg my forgiveness for doing this,” she demanded. Pointless as it was, she still needed some small victory. “I can walk back to my villa right now and still keep my end of the bargain.”  

He cocked his head at her, a surprised and strangled laugh escaping him. "I don't think I've ever begged for anything in my life." Despite this, Antony carefully dropped to his knees, bringing her leg over his shoulder. His thumb brushed along her knee. "And don't pretend you would have done anything differently in my position. Like it or not, you and I are the same."

Maeve pursed her lips. "And would you not have me on my knees, asking for reconciliation, if you were in my position?" She placed a hand at his shoulder to steady herself.

He bit at her thigh, eyes never leaving hers, pushing more fabric out of his way. "I'm not sorry for doing the smart thing, and I'm not sorry for bringing you here. But I am sorry for the pain I saw in your eyes." For a moment he almost looked sweet, but that quickly changed when a positively ruinous smile formed on his lips. "Allow me to provide recompense." With that, he bunched the rest of her dress to her waist and licked at the wetness between her thighs.

She cried out, her grip on him tightening as his tongue worked inside her and his thumb pressed against her clit, wasting no time in pleasuring her. She panted as she let her head fall back against the wall. He gave a long, teasing lick along her slit, and she could practically feel how much he wanted to smile. She held the back of his head, harshly directing him to where she wanted him. The chuckle he gave reverberated against her and she nearly sobbed. 

One of his hands held her and her skirts in place as the other crept slowly up her body to cup her breast. “Antony,” she moaned as her pleasure crackled through her body to settle low in her abdomen, desperate for release. 

“It sounds like you’re the only begging here, lovely,” he chuckled. 

“I wouldn’t speak too soon. The night isn’t over yet,” she growled. 

He laughed one more time before returning his mouth to her with renewed vigor. He brought her so close to the edge that a traitorous part of her thought maybe begging would be worth it. But before she could entertain such a thing he sucked at her clit once more and she was shattering.

He stood as she caught her breath, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, his face a picture of obscenity. “Say you want me.” 

She lifted her chin, looking at him unwaveringly. “I want you. Dangerously so,” she declared. 

In a display of warrior’s strength, he effortlessly lifted her to wrap her legs around his waist, giving her but a moment to prepare before he hastily cast fabric aside and slid into her wet heat. 

He groaned and let out a soft, “Finally,” as he let her adjust to him. Then he pressed his face into her neck and set a harsh pace. She rolled her hips at every thrust, keening as he nearly ripped the top of her dress to free her breasts, palming and kneading them almost desperately. 

She bit his neck in retaliation, wrapping her arms around him as he pressed her further into the wall. “Would I be wrong in assuming you have a bed somewhere in this enormous place?” she panted. 

“Later,” Antony grunted. “I plan on having you in every room of this house before the night is done.” He kissed her again, his tongue unrelenting as it slid into her mouth. 

Maeve pulled away. “That’s quite the ambition. Are you sure you can keep up with a wild Gaul like me?” She slid a leg higher so he would hit a deeper angle. 

He breathing was uneven as he grinned at her. “That pretty mouth will soon get you into trouble, you silver-tongued viper,” he growled, tangling his hand in her curling hair. 

Before she could smile or construct and equally clever quip, his pace became faster and more erratic, blocking out every sensation but the slide of him inside her and the rough hands on her body. “You’re mine,” she whispered before pressing her mouth to his temple. 

In a final hard trust, Antony came deep inside her with a loud shout. Without missing a beat, he rubbed her clit once again until she followed him in her release, gasping his name as he held her. 

When Antony pulled out of her and put her back on her feet, she almost fell at the unsteady lightness in her legs, but his solid arms around her kept her upright. Their breathing was labored and their bodies slick from exertion.

Antony didn’t stop touching her, hands still wandering to caress every spot he could reach, his light touch bringing her an odd sense of comfort. Then he stopped. “You had better not make me fall in love with you, Maeve. Or I think we’ll both come to regret it.”

She pressed her palm into his cheek. “We are conquerors, Antony, not lovers.” 

[commanderkats]

“I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Aurelia au Brutus.” Her old name on those lips was like some kind of dream she wasn’t ready for. Turning around she saw Cassius standing there, same breathtaking gorgeousness that he had years ago as they grew up. That almost seemed like a different life now. He came closer to her and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. For years now she had done her best to keep her mind and heart away from the thought of Cassius au Bellona. 

For a moment she pretended not to hear him, pretended she really was Pinecat the Howler and not that girl anymore but just hearing his voice made her that girl again. Taking a deep breath and finding that courage, the same courage that made her go headlong into battle. “Hello Cassius.” She said trying to mask any emotions that might come through, she didn’t want to be that girl again. 

He smiled that cocky smile, that one that made every girl stop and drool, that one that made her all those years ago fall in love with him. “I didn’t think to find you here.” He said simply. 

“My family followed yours, I followed my own.” Aurelia said, he knew her history with her family and why she would choose whatever the opposite of them. Cassius went to say something again but she stopped him, honestly her heart felt like breaking just being this close to him, “What do you want Cassius?” She interrupted him. 

“What do you mean?” He asked curiously. She gestured around her, they both stood in the weapon supply room, “I came back to the fight.” He said as if that answer covered everything. Aurelia just shook her head and went back to what she was doing before he had stepped in even though her heart was pounding out of her chest. “Did I do something?” His voice was laced with concern but she couldn’t tell if it was real.

She turned back around towards him, “It’s fine Cassius just you go your way and I’ll go mine.” She tried to push past him but he stopped her, his hands feeling good on her skin. “Let go of me Cassius.”

“No, what did I do Aurelia?” He asked again and she wanted so desperately to be anywhere but here. “We were friends once, what happen to us?” His voice quiet. 

Aurelia fought the tears, this wasn’t ever supposed to happen, her feelings for him were just supposed to be something deep down inside that no one else saw. “You left.” Her voice a whisper. 

Strong hands lifted her chin making her look into those vibrant gold eyes, those ones that swam with so much life, “Do you mean when I left for the Passage?” He shook his head, “That was years ago Aurelia.” 

She shook her head in his hands, “You left long before the Passage.” She could hear the defeat in her own voice and hated it, this was the one man, the one thing that could break her and she had guarded it well. Golden pools searched hers and she knew the tears were standing there, standing right where he could see them. “I need to go.” Aurelia said trying to step away from him but Cassius just held her more firmly. “Please Cass.” 

His thumb stroked her cheek, “You know what my family is like, you of all people should know what it was like to grow up there.” A tear fell, she couldn’t help it and Cassius caught it with his stroking thumb. “I’m sorry for leaving you Aurelia, I thought you’d be fine, Julian was still there,” His throat caught at the thought of his brother. 

She scoffed, “I never felt that way about Julian.” She said without thinking and Cassius focused his golden eyes back on her. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, his grip a little more firm, “Aurelia?” 

It was now or never she thought, “I loved you Cassius and it hurt watching you conform to what your parents wanted. To the man that I didn’t know. That’s when you left.” She couldn’t help the tears now and desperately wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere. Hell she’d take being randomly thrown into whatever battle, no instead she was here coming to terms with her most guarded secret. “Please let me go, please.” She begged trying to step away from him but his grip held firm. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice broke her heart over and over, until it was nothing but powder. His thumb stroked her cheek, “I’m so sorry.” 

Aurelia could feel the pain in his words, hell she could feel the pain through his touch and she knew he could feel hers. Without thinking Aurelia reached her hands up between them and touched his cheeks in a similar way that he held hers. Before her brain or heart decided to change its mind she stood on the tips of her toes, coming more level with him. He had always been taller than her, though she was always a bit petite for a gold as it was. Cassius knew every secret she ever had, he was the one she ran to when her father’s training took their tolls. He knew everything about her. 

Leaning forward she kissed him, her lips featherlight as they touched before she pulled back, “I’ve wanted this for so long.” Her voice so quiet she wasn’t sure she spoke it but before she could pull away completely, before she could run away from this he gripped tighter and kissed her again.

[iwashedmyhand-ofdoubtforthis]

Like a virgin || self

NoThe woman sat on the edge of the cliff with her back to the tree. Trainer knew she was who he was looking for yet he still didn’t want to speak to her. She still had the red stripes in her dark chestnut hair and plump red lips to match. today she had tied it back from her face with a red scarf. Her skirt laid out around her in the grass, her pale skin glistened in the moonlight. She slowly smiled. She had caught his scent. 

“Come here.” She motioned for him with her index finger, but didn’t turn to look at him. she was watching something. He slowly walked up to her with a soft sigh, his knees going weak. She cleared her throat softly, “You can feel it.”

“Yes.” He stood directly behind her and slowly knelt to her eye level. Off in the distance was another cliff, not too far away. A small light came from the beach at its base.

“That is what you seek. Don’t go any further. I beg.” She turned to him. He had tried to avoid looking at her eyes. She was obviously blind, the acid had burned her skin almost as I tears had scarred her cheeks. Her price for her search. With her help he had made it this far. Without her sacrifice he wouldn’t have known where to even find this. Sadly, he had learned the easy way, by her example.

“You know I have to.” He whispered, hugging her for a moment. The water was so clear he could see all the way to the dark black rock of the bottom. His sharp eyes flickered around the entire area and saw no sign of life, no movement, no vegetation. This wasn’ t regular water.

He jumped feet first into the cold. He quickly only felt that. He seemed to sink for so long he lost track of which way was actually up. the bubbles had long since returned to the surface... and gathered there as if something were holding them there. He drifted up and reached above the water to touch the roof of a cave. The rock was above the water only an inch. If he had been a human he would be trapped with no way to actually get any air from the small space above him. He must have sank at an angle and ended up under the cliff face. 

He didn’t turn or spin or even look around too fast, afraid he would end up turned around and lost. As he started to swim the water looked so clear, but above him it seemed almost solid, like a tarp laid in the waves. The only break was the light he had seen from the ciff. He didn’t swim to it. Instead he came close and dove deeper below it. The rock opened below him and started to twist and turn. He knew where he was going. he was always going here. Always meant to be here. He was pulled this way. He dove down deeper and suddenly broke through the water into the air. humans would say that he was disoriented and hadn’t realized he was right side up. He knew better. He started to pull himself out of the water and fell away from it, landing hard on the dark rock, the water rippling above him.

Standing was hard at first. He felt so heavy and it all felt so foggy and he was numb from cold. How could he be numb from cold? Werewolves put off so much body heat they barely felt chilly and vampires were so cold that snow felt warm. He looked to his hands as he shivered and tried to unfurl his wings. 

“You can’t use those here. I’m going to have to take them.“ He didn’t bother looking for where the voice had come from. He knew whose it was. His own. the voice he heard in his head all his life. No. Scratch that. He had been the voice in the head. He had been the soul in hell. He was hearing his other half. 

Blinding pain ripped through his back as his legs gave out. He dropped heavily to his hands and knees, warm blood running down his arms and soaking his shirt through as his shoulder blades felt like they were being hacked open. He started to cry out, his fangs extending. Tears sprung to his eyes as he felt more pain in his face, a harsh hit, so harsh his teeth broke, his fangs shattering. He spit the pieces on the floor. The pain was starting to be too much for him. His bones started to snap and crack and shift, his wolf was taking over, even as his attacker started to slowly peel his claws off of his fingertips. He screamed louder until his voice was taken.

Slowly he laid down, pain just overwhelming him. Until. he felt. Nothing.

Nothing. 

Almost as if he fell asleep. 

He couldn’t fall asleep.... now. Not now. It was important that he didn’t... 

“Daddy. Daddy you can’t sleep here. The horse will run you over. Grandpa told you that.” Trainer opened his eyes, the sun was so bright in his face. He held his hand up to cover his eyes against the light, catching sight of red hair and white dress.

“Adria?” He whispered.

“No, Daddy. Adria is with her husband over seas.” Izzy giggled, taking hold of his hand trying to haul him to his feet.

“Oh, I forgot they were gone. Where has grandpa gone?” He stood slowly, “To see Cassius and his wife?” He let her lead him. Winter was coming early this year so they had been working straight through lunch and having dinner late and even working after dinner. Aaron was exhausted. He couldn’t take a day off even if he wanted to.

“No, he is home. He’s a little angry so I left. I remember you told me to.” She smiled.

“Good girl. How about you take your horse over to uncle Casey? So I can talk to Grandpa.” he said. She nodded and ran off to the stables. Joseph became mean when he was angry but he became cruel if he was drink. Either way he had to go make sure it was safe for izzy to be home. He hadn’t adopted her so that she would be abused by his father. 

Joseph was definitely drunk when Aaron arrived at the old farmhouse. He had flipped the table and was sitting on the counter, beer in hand. He looked up as Aaron came into the room.

“You here to kick me out for looking at Lysandra too agressively?” Joseph scoffed and took a long swig.

“Get out of this house.” Aaron pointed to the door.

“No, Aaron... you need to get out of this house. You need to get out.” Joseph glanced to the basement door.

“No. Get out of my house!” Aaron grabbed him by the shirt.

“This is not your house!” Joseph stood and pressed his chest to Aaron’s, snarling in his face,”I would never leave my house to a faggot.” 

Aaron hauled off and decked him as Cassius and Izzy came in the back door with Adria. Adria pushed Izzy behind herself and Cassius put hands on her shoulders to pull her close to himself.

“Joseph, leave now!” Aaron warned.

“Without your powers, you aren’t strong enough to make me leave.” Izzy seemed to appear in Joseph’s grasp, in a chokehold. Aaron took a step toward them but a wall seemed to have appeared between them.

“Let her go.” he hit the wall and scratched at it.

“that’s why you kept piling everything on, isn’t it? Just kept trying  and trying to make yourself strong enough, good enough, trying to make yourself enough, and you are never enough.” Izzy struggled as Joseph started to strip her.

“Get off of her!” He screamed desperately.

“he is right, Air. You’ve never been enough, have you?” Cassius walked up and picked Aaron up, throwing him hard into the invisible wall between them.

“I am strong enough! I am enough!” Aaron choked.

“Are you?” Joseph laughed as he forced Izzy to her hands and knees, mounting her from behind.

“I am.” Trainer’s eyes started to glow and cassius screamed, covering his eyes and backing away. He slowly stood and turned to his father and backhanded him harshly, grabbing Izzy and pulling her close, using his body to cover her.

“I’ve got you.” Trainer whispered.

“don’t ever leave me again. Please. They are all here all the time and Joseph isn’t the only one that likes to do this to me.” She curled closer making tears spring into Trainer’s eyes. He wanted to save her. He wanted to be there for her.

suddenly there was a flash of blue eyes flickering to black. A promise. Someone who he hadn’t failed and who would always have faith in him. Someone who he had to go home to. 

“I’m sorry.” He pushed her slowly and gently away as she screamed. Cassius grabbed her and bent her over the counter as Joseph stood up and prepared for his turn.

“I can’t base my worth off of others.” He whispered as he reached for the doorknob. 

He woke up in the front yard of their Cabin screaming for Cassius. His mind seemed to be tearing apart over and over and everything burned. The vampire venom started to kill him again, the werewolf venom snapping all of his bones, his wings growing all at once. He screamed for Casey and for Moloch at the top of his lungs.

[hexiewrites]

my heart’s always yours

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson / Daphne Greengrass Setting: modern, non-magical AU Word count: 1988 Written for: the femslash February trope bingo: au: unrequited (with some crossover into au: childhood best friends and au: childhood sweethearts and a bit of au: highschool tossed in for good measure ;)) and hp femslash february in general A/N: well. this got out of hand... alternately: pure wish fulfillment brought to you by baby gays who fell in love with their straight best friends and never got their happy endings. deep never-ending love to @nymphadoraholtzmann and @flintwoodandco who beta’d this for me!! <3

Now if time is what it takes I'll be here, I'll be waiting for you I don't need a break No tears, always in your corner You know, I'll be waiting for you You know, always yours My heart’s always yours -       Arkells, My Heart’s Always Yours

(my femslash feb bingo card) (my other writing)

Pansy was three when she fell in love with Daphne Greengrass.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because Pansy certainly couldn’t remember being three, let alone understanding complex constructs like love. But according to her older brother, that was when she had started holding Daphne’s hand, grinning at her with stars in her eyes, and begging to spend all of her time with the little blonde girl. They grew up inseparable, joined at the hip. One tiny and graceful and blonde and perfect, the other dark haired and angry and too loud, too busy, too - Pansy won’t you just shut up!

It took Daphne a little longer for the same realization to sink in. In between, there were years of holding hands, giggling into the phone, staying up late and whispering about who they wanted to be. Endless summers spent lounging by the Greengrass pool. Fall afternoons huddled together in the park under a giant plaid scarf with over the top coffee orders warming their hands. Winter mornings, first of snowballs and snow angels, and then of lazy excitement and treks through the snow to spend their snow days huddled under a big blanket in Pansy’s basement watching rom coms and sighing wistfully about love. And then spring, bringing promises of warmth, hours of braiding flower crowns, and Pansy, falling more in love with her best friend with every sunshine scattered giggle and wind whispered promise of forever.

Specifically, it took until they turned fourteen for Daphne to understand what was happening between them. Pansy had sat Daphne down and poked at the pathetic salad on her plate – her mother’s fourth attempt an an enforced diet – and tried not to cry when she told Daphne she thought she probably wasn’t really into guys. And Daphne had promised her it was fine, until Pansy looked up and glanced over at bubblegum pink lips, and Daphne’s ever present pout, and that stupid piece of her hair that never lay flat and confessed that actually, she thought she was really into Daphne.

Which hadn’t gone very well at all.

Daphne had backed away, their friendship shifted to the edge of a precipice, and Pansy cried every day for a week. They started high school, and she met Draco Malfoy, and decided she could maybe be into pretty boys with blonde hair and pink lips. Or at least, she could try her best.

It took Daphne three days to realize she had made the biggest mistake of her life, and three years to fix it.

By seventeen, Pansy and Daphne barely spoke, and Pansy had filled the empty spot in her heart with a vigorous exercise routine, mediocre sex with her on and off mostly-boyfriend Draco, and old photo albums. They passed in the halls and Pansy forced herself to look away, to pretend it didn’t hurt that Daphne had learned the truth and ran. Daphne let her eyes linger on the red of Pansy’s lips, the curve of her breasts and jut of her hipbones, and told herself that it was her fault, that she was a coward, that she would forever be stuck in a position of wanting but not getting because Pansy would never forgive her.

Daphne could never forgive herself.

Mostly, she tried to cover it up by pretending to be sociable, by hanging off the arms of older boys, and, of course, by looking through old photo albums.

One Friday, Cassius Warrington (now in community college) invited her to a party. Daphne would have turned it down, most other times. But there was something in her that demanded she go, get out of the house and breathe in some fresh air and some fresh people and get drunk off cheap vodka and try not to cry too much. Sometimes, it felt like all she did was cry.

When, standing near a wall with a lukewarm cup of keg beer, she spotted Pansy across the room, she nearly screamed. Pansy looked gorgeous, as always, in a tight black dress and blood red lipstick. She’d half curled her short hair and her eyes were fierce. Her arm was wrapped around Draco’s, but his eyes were trained across the room on a girl Daphne recognized from English class – swotty, stuck up, and a constant subject of Draco’s mockery. She seemed to be looking back with something suspiciously like interest in her eyes.

Daphne left the room in search of vodka. One of Cassius’s housemates, Marcus, had gratefully taken her beer and replaced it with a shot glass, pouring her four in a row until she felt the edge of pain slip away. He tried to start a conversation about football and Daphne did the best to plaster a curious smile on her lips, but she knew she fell short because eventually he shrugged and gave up, leaving her behind.

And then Pansy sauntered into the kitchen, where Daphne was leaning against one of the counters with her head swimming and her stomach churning softly, and stopped.

“Oh.” Pansy said, and the noise of the party seemed to splinter and fall apart around them and Daphne had to swallow the sob that came from nowhere, choking her and threatening to ruin her mascara for good.

Finally, Daphne took a deep breath, and looked up. Pansy looked just as lost as she did, and she was biting her lip in a way that Daphne knew meant she was nervous. The image of fierce and formidable was gone and left was Pansy. Just Pansy. All of the pieces that Daphne had loved and longed for and needed – bared in front of her and more raw than she had ever seen them.

“Hi.” Daphne said, unable to stop herself. She blamed the vodka.

“I should… um…” Pansy gestured around the empty kitchen, and shook her head once. “You were probably… with someone…”

Daphne responded far before she realized she was doing so. “No!” She all but shouted, and then she felt her cheeks flush and she had to take a breath and keep talking. “No. I was talking to… I don’t know his name. Only wanted to talk about football. How dry.”

Pansy had snorted a laugh but she clearly was trying to stifle it, and she still stood slightly awkwardly in the doorway. “I didn’t… know you were going to be here. I wouldn’t have come.”

Daphne couldn’t stop the wince that tugged at her features and instead of trying, she looked back down at her pink leather ballet flats and berated herself, again, for her failure. “I don’t usually. Come to parties, that is.”

Heels clicked against the floor and when Daphne looked up again, Pansy was only a few feet away from her. She wobbled just slightly and Daphne almost reached out to catch her but Pansy clearly had practice being drunk in heels and she steadied herself quickly, took a breath, and bit her lip once more. “I’ve missed you.” She whispered, and Daphne had to swallow another sob, but she couldn’t stop the tears that were now definitely leaking from her eyes and probably smearing her mascara on the way down.

“Pansy I…” She knew she needed to apologize, to explain why she had reacted badly as a terrified preteen, why she had never apologized or tried to make it right. Tell Pansy what she really felt.

But Pansy was acting before she could wrap her mind around what to say, and there were smooth cool hands on her face. Daphne managed to take a small breath and then Pansy was kissing her. Pansy was kissing her and it was everything Daphne had thought and hoped it would be and more and of course of course because it was Pansy, it had always been Pansy but before she could fully react Pansy was pulling back, stepping away.

“I’m sorry I just… I’ve wanted to do that for so long and you looked so sad and I shouldn’t take advantage of that but, we’re going to graduate and I might never… never see you again and-”

“I love you.” Daphne whispered, and then she cleared her throat. “I love you and I have loved you since we were fourteen, probably longer than that but I didn’t realize and then I panicked and you left and then you started dating Malfoy and I figured well, it won’t last, she doesn’t like him she just told me she likes me. So I thought I’d wait and then I’d be there and then it never ended and you… and I… I wasn’t brave enough to tell you because I love you but I’m terrified of you and I need you in my life like I need air and-”

Pansy was blinking over at her, opening and closing her mouth, trying to process what was going on. Before Daphne could finish speaking she had reached out again and pressed their bodies together. They were kissing for real now, with Pansy’s hands on Daphne’s cheeks and Daphne’s resting on Pansy’s hips and everything was so right and would never be wrong again.

“I’ve always been yours,” Pansy whispered, as she pulled back, and started to pepper small kisses across Daphne’s cheeks and forehead as if she couldn’t believe her luck and needed to get all of this in before Daphne sobered up and changed her mind. “My heart has always been yours.” She said again, and Daphne giggled like she was a child sprawled on the grass with the sun beating down on her and Pansy was grinning and everything, everything was okay.

“I’m sorry I ruined everything.” Daphne murmured, and Pansy paused her kisses and pulled back just enough to look down into Daphne’s eyes. Bright blue, just like she remembered, wide and bright and so goddamn earnest that Pansy wanted to melt.

“You didn’t, beautiful, you never could. I would have waited to the end of the world for you.” And then she kissed Daphne again, full on the lips. “And now I’m going to take you home and lock you in my bedroom and I’m not letting you leave until I’ve memorized every part of you.”

Daphne blushed, but she also pushed away from the counter and slid her hand down into Pansy’s. They were almost out of the kitchen when she remembered. “What about Draco?”

Pansy grinned almost gleefully and tugged Daphne into the main room, stalking across the party towards the blonde man who was talking to a handful of friends. He glanced up when he noticed Pansy and then looked down to see her hand intertwined with Daphne’s and he grinned. “Well, Parkinson?” He asked, crossing his arms in a way that seemed more joking than anything.

Pansy’s grin slipped into something slightly more evil and she turned her head over her shoulder. “Granger!” She shouted, and the party quieted a little as the girl on the far side of the room stepped forward and frowned. “Draco here is a little bit in love with you and, although I am actually quite gay and very much not interested now that I don’t have to be, he’s not half bad with that cock of his. Don’t fuck it up!” She half sung, and then she turned back to Draco who was gaping at her like a fish. “I’m taking my girlfriend home.”

Daphne was blushing furiously but she couldn’t stop the grin that was splitting her face in half. “Thanks for looking after her for me.” She said to Draco, and then turned back to Pansy like she was the sun. “Lead the way.”

And as Pansy pulled open the front door of the party, the entire room burst into a round of raucous applause and a cheer of “that’s how you do it!” and Pansy and Daphne tumbled out onto the street and Daphne pulled Pansy back towards her and kissed her, just because she could.