#faultyconscience

a cigarette dangles from ruby lips. leather wraps tight around her legs — comfortable, black, heels lined cherry red. her turtleneck bunches around her throat when she glances around and her thumb follows suit to tug it self-consciously. the sterling zippers on her leather jacket wink. she stuffs her hands into her pockets and jogs up quick, breath steaming just behind the cigarette’s draconian coil.

“i can’t believe you talked me into this. i feel like a fucking teenager.”

holly is quite aware she’s out, of course. no need for the poor kid to think she’s been kidnapped. but some nights she crashes hard and the kitten’s been out since 10 pm.

the loose little belt at the leather jacket jingles. she rubs her hands together and then pockets them again. always cold.

“do we have to break in or you wanna climb it? because i can climb it but a sane human being would take the stairs. this is a little too recreational for the suit.”

mixing business and pleasure, you know how it is.

@faultyconscience (coop) said: "life sucks. get over it."

@faultyconscience said: "I'm not a good man. Not anymore." - remus to wynonna

@faultyconscience said: “Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. I might as well be talking to myself. I surely listen more to myself than you do.” -from rum

prompt: dusty toybox.

His words, coupled with that infuriating tone of his, would've made her mouth fall open in indignation... but Emma is not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her riled up ( at least, not if that's how he chooses to go about it ) so she presses her lips together instead, so tight they turn bloodless. Her whole expression hardens, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring, and though that phrase is awfully overused, if looks could kill, the murderous glare she is burrowing into him would have dropped him dead.

( It's a good thing they can't, though )

At times like this, Emma's hands are itching to punch him in the face. Just once, just to snap him out of that damn cocky omniscience... but then again, he would probably see it coming, the bastard.

So take a deep breath and focus, Swan.

Words are what he's good at. If she wants to take him down a peg, she needs to use them.

“ I know that you are not helping Regina... or me... out of the generosity of your heart, ” Emma says, tempering down her anger and trying ( and not exactly succeeding, the tone sliding a bit to the mix of anger that she can't quite fully get rid of and desperation that becomes too, uncomfortably familiar a feeling for her these days, but she hopes she makes up for it with how thick she lays the sarcasm on the word generosity, clearly indicating her doubt he has any ) for the same cocky omniscient tone he is so fond of, trying to establish she is in charge here, “ You have some hidden agenda, and I don't expect you to share it with me. But I do expect you to tell me if you're on my side or her side in this case. ”

Emma swallows, blinking rapidly to not let the tears she convinces herself are of frustration fall, for a moment seeing not Gold in front of herself but Mary Margaret, too out of place in her school teacher outfit behind the bars, a resigned, hopeless look on her face.

She cannot afford to place her trust in the wrong person, now more than ever, because it's not just her on the line, it's her friend, one of the closest and dearest friends she has... Hell, practically family.

She cannot possibly let her down.

Acutely, painfully aware of that fact, Emma swallows her pride and does the one thing that she promised herself she would never do and pleads.

“ Please, Gold. I cannot let my friend down. I need to know if you're on my side... or I have to look for help elsewhere. ”

There he has it. If he wants her to plead, she will, for her friend.

But she won't let him entertain the idea he's the only one who can help her, who she can rely on.

Another night spent at ​12 Grimmauld Place. Severus couldn’t even begin to tell how visits turned into stay awhile. Their sole job and purpose centered around the menace haunting the floor above as he paced back and forth, slammed the doors occasionally, and even grew quiet.

The quiet is the most alarming, they had found. 

With time Severus has managed to convince Sirius to down their potions; to allow them to help him bring him back to full strength. Going as far to evoke Harry’s name, striking a sore spot and earning his ire. It was good enough. Bottles would be empty by the time they returned, and Remus would be waiting for their company in the kitchen. Like clockwork, a new routine has been established.

Severus has no desire to break it. Nursing a cup of tea between their hands, they listened with half a mind and a wry smile, picking up bits here and there. Proving to Remus that he knew so little about them, and how their perspectives of one another revolved around assumptions made when they were far too young to understand. 

Enough so to rise to the bait when prompted. Fun being made at their expense, Remus goads them in a way only he could ever. Challenging Severus to loosen up and poke fun; that the world isn’t ending quite yet.

Alright.

So they will.

“It’s your ears you are risking,” they remarked, sipping from their cup to wet their throat. Humor is not their forte but....

@faultyconscience​ said:  “   all  my  friends  are  dead  .   ” [ RANDOM LYRICS SENTENCE STARTERS ]

And so it has become official.

Grimmauld Place is no longer usable. The last of the Marauders as Severus has known them to be now sat outside the Burrow, head in his hands as he spoke to whoever would listen. An ear extended by the most unlikeliest of people, while the rest of the Order carried on with their meeting.

The wound is still fresh. Less than twenty-four hours have passed since then, members of the Order coming and going, busy with the cleanup required in the aftermath of great devastation and blatant corruption. Never did they care for the Ministry before, less so do they care for it now. Severus could not be bothered.

And with the children kept behind at the castle, they must pick up the pieces. Regroup and reassemble Dumbledore’s Army. Severus who must carry the brunt of these secrets.

“You’ve outlived them all,” they remarked softly, and they too, in the end, have outlived them as well, no?

An unacknowledged twist present in the pit of their stomach. Something most familiar rears its ugly head and whether it be over their inability to take action or for the loss of someone who they could rely on continuously to acknowledge their meager existence, Severus could not say. Only that to grieve is a luxury they can no longer afford and so they will let Remus carry it; to bear the weight of emotions Severus fears they may have lost.