ritaofwar

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

RITA.

Rita hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted him until his fingers are tangled in her hair, and his mouth retracing memorized paths across her skin. Clothes are shed, sighs are passed between connecting lips, and each moment feels like an eternity. there is an urgency to their movements, a hunger that feels insatiable even as they tumble towards their desire, but it won’t stop there. Even when it’s all said and done, and he’s zipping up her dress, as she fixes her hair it won’t fill the cavern that has been carved into her heart. Rita knows she won’t be satisfied with a raunchy liaison, no matter how delicious it felt to press her hips against him in need, no matter how passionately they touched one another. 

But for now it will have to be enough, and having shed any second thoughts with dress that now gathered at her waist, Rita grasped at Remus’ shoulders as he tugged at the last remaining article of clothing between them. If she thought her heart was hammering before the sound of the party grew louder, it paled in comparison to the way the muscle nearly leapt from her body when Eden’s presence suddenly breaks the reverie. It was strange seeing a familiar face in the lease expected places-- not that they wouldn’t be in attendance at Remus’ party, but Rita had truly forgotten everything beyond those oak doors. 

Rita felt like a teenager caught in some salacious act by her parent, and it washed the scene in a grey, and altogether unappealing light. Scrambling off of Remus, she turns away from the intruder, arms flung over her chest in an attempt to conceal herself. “Get out!” She shouts unkindly, caught between embarrassment, anger, and disappointment. Once the doors are secured once more, Rita’s eyes find’s Remus’, but only for a moment before she rearranging herself back into a presentable woman, one who was sure of her decisions and the reasons behind them. 

“I should go,” she murmurs, sealing off any lingering regrets, and suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. The ghost of his touch still runs across her skin, and jostles her heart, but whatever inhibition had been thrown to the wayside is now refastened. It would only have complicated things, and complications are the last thing either of them need. No, it was for the best. Damn you, Eden. 

With everything in its proper place, or as close to it as she can manage, Rita finally holds her chin up to look at the man whose name she once bore. Still does? Clearing her throat, she nods in a formal, and almost comically juxtaposed way, “Happy birthday, Remus.” And with that, she moves past him and out the door without so much as a glance back until she is freed of the flat entirely. 

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21 #nsfw #train ride is over kids pack up and go home

[ritaofwar]

sxint​:

Saint pouts, shaking his head in retort of Rita’s observation before presenting her with his next smart comment, “I can’t help it, smug is my default expression, that’s like telling a fish not to swim.” But of course he were smug, or rather, he’s absolutely delighted by the notion that Remus would have yet another thing to ruffle his feathers that evening. Because Saint is still plagued by a hostility towards his brother, spending the last seven months dreaming up multiple revenge fantasies that should hurt Remus in the same way in which he hurt him. The stripper, for example, it was petty but then that was just like Saint. Always electing for the low blow than to venture for a moral high ground.

He half anticipate’s Rita’s reaction, obviously unsettled by the idea of her ex-husband in any provocative scene. And that, in a lot of ways, even in a divorce he envies the pair. Because at least the separation had been a decision made by one party and not forced. As he was required to betray his own relationship to prove loyalty to the gang, to his family. A family that would sooner see him decaying to skin and bone, the once golden boy no more. It’s not hard to understand why he would be bitter about it still, not really, and definitely resentful enough to get a gift for Remus he knew he’d hate. “Sure, it’s been said,” mad, psychotic, an egomaniac, all of which are names the Warden’s wear with pride. Pretty titles for their mantlepiece, inherited from and passed down through the generations. “See, I just didn’t think he deserved the 1961 Ferrari 250 GT that I was planning on getting for him. You know… after he got me demoted to make himself feel less shit.” She knew, it almost goes without saying, the number of times he had come to rant about demotions and heartache.

“No,” Saint grins even wider, as that were entirely what had been intended, that he had hired the call girl to belittle his brother rather than doing something nice for him. It had never been the agenda, not as of late anyway, perhaps if he hadn’t had a dagger twisted between his shoulder blades yielded by Remus himself he would have felt differently. “He hated it, he sent them away and then I left soon after– not with the stripper!” Saint clarifies, index finger pointing over in Rita’s direction towards the kitchen, “to be clear, no one got any use out of the stripper last night.” He huffs, letting his weight rest back into the sofa and allowing for his hand to rub over tired eyes, “You didn’t answer my question, was he happy to see you? What happened?“

In the kitchen she busies herself with finding mugs, teabags, and biscuits, hoping that perhaps she could segue the conversation towards Saint’s romantic troubles rather than her own. Together they really were a mess, a pair of souls that had known and lost love at the hands of the same man. He wasn’t entirely to blame, of course, but it was easier to pretend, and more harmful, a voice in her head needlessly supplies. The laugh that had been caught in her throat is suddenly expelled, floating from the kitchen to the living room in its oft heard octave. Saint had a way of wringing humor out of the less savory aspects of life, turning even his own heartbreak into a cruel joke of sorts, he was often a salve to the most poisonous of thoughts. It was a work of evil genius, a way to spell out the simmering resentment that lingered, the loss of dignity that came with the dissolution of Remus’ marriage. She even left a wave of defense rear its head before she beat it down with a flick of her hair, and another breath of laughter. 

“How unfortunate,” she calls, smile evident in her voice, “You could have at least handed her off to Zach. I’m sure they would have been glad for the attention.” Remus had failed to mention the stripper, she notes with a twitch of annoyance, and in some strange round about way, it threatens to lead her down the rabbit hole of all she is suddenly unaware of in his life. “Perhaps you should have gotten yourself the Ferrari, told Remus you had a surprise for him outside, led him to the car and opened the door to reveal the cheap stripper inside.” She places all the necessary items on a tray, before looking in vain for something else to keep her busy. There’s nothing, so with a sigh, Rita returns to the living room to face Saint’s question. 

“Happy...” she repeats the word as though tasting it on her tongue, “I think that might be too simple a notion. You’re happy when you get a parcel in the mail or set a new background on your phone.” She couldn’t begin to describe how he must have felt even if she tried. 

Grabbing a biscuit as she sits, Rita shrugs with an unbefitting nonchalance. “Nothing really happened. We spoke for a bit, which turned into an argument of course, and then we shared a kiss and that’s all.” She takes a bite, and glances over at Saint, hoping to gauge his reaction.

#thread. #•saint: 01• #date: 1/16/21

[ritaofwar]

queenwar​:

Let it be known: this was not an act of cruelty. If it was, she might have sent flowers to accompany the invitation; a peace offering and a plea for sympathy. If it was intended to hurt, she would have led Rita to a 5-star hotel suite and sent Remus under the pretence of surprise. As it is, this is closer to an experiment than a twisting of the knife. A clinical observation of cause and effect, action and reaction. What happens when you introduce an unpredictable variable into a molotov cocktail of anxiety and repressed childhood neglect? The realist in her leans in the curve of calculated chaos; the logic that says there is nothing salvageable here. But perhaps there’s a streak of romanticism to it all, the idea that love is capable of winning against War. Or at the very least, putting up a damn good fight.

For a woman of her position, Rita has always cleaned up quite nicely. Beautiful and intelligent, as well as wildly accomplished and exceptionally resourceful; it was not difficult to see why Remus had chosen her, above all others. Before Rita, there had been a brief period of airheaded heiresses and Nordic models staggering about like gazelles wandering into a lions’ den. Juno had almost believed her elder brother might never find his perfect match. And then Rita had come along. 

“Rita. So glad you could make it. The birthday boy will be so pleased.”  With Juno, the devil is in the details, the subtlety shading her voice with insinuation. Rita’s entrance has drawn the eyes of half the room, and the inquisitive attentions of the rest of the half of the room only pretending to be polite. In other words, an ordinary night for a Warden.  “Well, of course. Nothing but the best for Remus. You know how he is — pretends he doesn’t want to make a big fuss but secretly enjoys having the spotlight on him.”  She lowers her eyes, slipping into the familiarity of former sister-in-law, if not friend, with ease. The fact that they haven’t spoken outside of their duties at Bellum Nova for months lingers in the footnotes of every word and interaction between them.  

“And how have you been? I’m sorry we haven’t been able to catch up sooner. Things have been… chaotic, to say the least. The last thing I’d want to do, however, is give you the impression that I, or anyone in the family, are choosing sides.”

There is very little that Rita admires more than a woman who knows the inner-workings of her own mind. Juno is one such woman, and so is her mother. The matriarch of the family had imbued her daughter with the same radiating perspicacity and rigorous persistence-- a consciousness that left others disarmed and paled their assuredness. Even Rita, who prided herself on a composed, and thoughtful nature often found that the cadet Warden left her feeling subtly untethered. Still, there was an understanding between the two, a kindred spirit of sorts that had always made Rita feel welcome; if she were to tell the truth it was Juno she was most worried about connecting with once her and Remus became serious, and it was Juno she had found herself most at odds with now that they were separated. 

It isn’t fair that Rita blames her for their troubles, it isn’t Juno’s fault that Remus developed tunnel vision, that his ambition ate away at his life like a necrotic infection. But hurt leads to confusion, embedding itself like shrapnel into people beyond those that are aimed at. Perhaps Juno means well, perhaps they aren’t all pawns in some greater scheme at reaching power, but Rita was blind to it by her own unresolved quarrels.

She doubts he even expected her to show, and truly, at this first real acknowledgment of her presence, Rita is surprised she showed up herself. She smiles thinly, “Yes, well, he is a Warden after all.” Comes her response, and before Juno can comment on it, the woman continues. “Speaking of Wardens where’s the troublemaker? He’s not one to miss a party.” Perhaps it was rude asking after her brother, but she was more at ease with Saint, as unfortunate as that truth is. 

It is easy to convince herself of Juno’s fault when operating on a strictly professional level with her in-laws, but mightily less so when forced to face the reality of her relationships. They were family-- are still family, and it presses at the bruise on her heart to hear her sister in law speak so candidly. “I’ve been...” She wets her lips, toeing the line of honesty, “... quite alright, thank you. Work has kept me busy. There are no sides here, J, not everything is war.” 

“Now, where might I find a drink?” 

#thread. #•juno: 01• #date: 1/15/21

[ritaofwar]

darkromeo​:

+ RITA

──── AS THE MORNING light trickled in, it gave Fazal Khan a moment to shed the sleep from his mind and allow the visions of last night to make way for the new day. Right, Rita Zhang. That dangerous thing; Lord help the men she laid her eyes on for good. He lazily turned his head to the side, only to find out she had left. It was no secret that she enjoyed waking up earlier to arrange the chess board anew to her liking. Her entire being was a brain tease, a puzzle his hands itched to solve. He sat up in time with her reappearance, his hair as wild as his eyes that carried a gleam like he’d been waiting for her. His head rolled back at her remark. “Not planning to steal my keys next, are you?” He feigned annoyance with a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he were privy to her thoughts.

Slowly but surely, he slid out of bed and put on his grey sweatpants - talking nonchalantly all the while, “I’ll be less surprised if you hire men to break down the door for you, and turn this place upside-down.” When he walked towards her, his disarming stare hardened. Calculated, he read on her face what she refused to voice. “But let’s get things straight for a second, Rita,” he pronounced slowly, closing the distance between them by reaching across. He harshly took her by the jaw, forcing her back to flatten against the wall and his body to press closer to hers. Their gazes locked. With his other hand anchored to her waist, he lowered his head in such a way, it deceived her with a promise of a kiss. But instead of warmth, he ghosted her lips with cold words, “You can’t ruin me without ruining yourself in the process.”

__

Sipping her tea, Rita lounges against the wall as she watches Fazal put on a pair of pants. “Oh, I don’t need to steal your keys, darling.” She drawls with a coquettish arch to her brow. The events from the night before tumble through her mind in a haphazard replay. Penetrating music, flashing lights across the rich color of his skin, dark eyes that promised unknown depths, his breath against her ear as they exchanged challenges, and hidden agendas. Rita had gone out looking for a distraction, and wound up tangled in the sheets of trouble. 

“I’m less interested in what I can find in your flat than what’s stored up in that head of yours,” she muses. He makes his way towards her, and in the soft, almost tentative morning light she reacquaints herself with his features anew, following the planes of his enticingly devilish appearance. His movement is quick, and in a flash his hand clasped around her jaw, fingers pressing uncomfortable into the bone. For a moment she thinks to toss her cup of tea in his face, to meet his physicality, but she has never been rash, never been one to act without thinking, and in a moment the urge is gone. 

Her eyes are like daggers, but her fingers skim lightly across his abdomen before hooking into the elastic of his sweatpants, tugging at the material. The threat of their respective gangs is not taken lightly, but the shadow of a smile touches her lips. “If that were true I wouldn’t be in my position.” She tugs him closer by his pants. “And if I weren’t in my position I wouldn’t be here.” 

#thread. #•fazal: 01• #(pretend thats tea not wine) #date: 9/12/20

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

-

A moment of deliberation between warring parties, then, as slender fingers slip down to hook into his belt, Remus’ breath hitching in response. A strategic mind couldn’t help but see this as a battle of attrition – the heart sighs, the parted lips, soft skin grazed ever so slightly after months of loneliness, wearing each of their carefully built defenses down. He couldn’t tell who had the upper hand, didn’t mind if it was Rita who had the superior tactics, not caring, as long as it meant that she would remain pressed against his body.

His heart almost audibly sinks at her dismissal of an apology – though genuine, it’s clearly not enough on it’s own, prompted by intoxication as a feeble attempt to return to a closeness he has ached for. It’s in this moment that Remus can see Rita, really see her, and the hurt that he had brewed and left to age in her heart. It’s painful to be confronted with a realization that you’ve maimed someone you love, possibly worse to know you’re the reason you’re broken in return. Between the tension of a looming divorce (one he had never wanted) and the sensation of electricity between bodies, Remus had been prepared to say anything she wanted to hear, do anything she had asked, an intentional vulnerability he’d always held for his wife – ex-wife.

Open mouth to spout more apologies, more excuses, possibly to beg – but then she kisses him, and it’s a moment of homecoming. Despite the numbness brought forth from excessive amounts of whiskey, Remus’ face feels as if it’s been set aflame. Grazing neck and back and waist as their lips part for each other, there is a second of scrambling, even, as drinks fall forgotten to the floor, hands too busy rediscovering once familiar bodies. The familiar taste of wine on tongue prompts a gradation of intensity, a hunger to feel bare skin against bare skin, the friction of reconnecting lovers – a soft, low groan escapes from Remus, as the two, still intertwined, make a desperate attempt to get to the couch. Taught fingers tug at the zipper at the back of Rita’s dress, though in his drunkenness, Remus struggles with it.

__

Later she might blame it on the champagne, the wine, the gin. She’d blame it on anything really, the alignment of the stars, mercury in retrograde, the pressure in the air, anything other than the overwhelming feeling that she needed him to touch her again, that she needed reminding of the way his breath tickled her skin, the way his palms moved across her, re-exploring a landscape they knew so well. His groan vibrates through her, ratting her bones, and setting her nerves on fire. Her hands dip under the hem of his shirt, bunching the soft material in her hands as she tugs it upwards and off,  knuckles brushing against his abdomen, relishing in the heat of his skin. It’s a dance they know by heart, an exchange that they’d perfected over the years, but this is extemporaneous, and long overdue; an effortless improvisation that leaves her trembling in anticipation.

The pair tumble onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and sighs, and all thoughts are wiped from her mind. Rita adjusts to settle her legs around his hips, as she curves her body into Remus’, the knot in her hair has fallen into disarray, tickling her cheeks as the desperate fervor of their kiss continues. In that moment it feels as though they are the only two people alive, and that room is span of the entire world. The scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath are the smell of regret, but she pays it no mind.

His mouth stray, charting a path across her cheekbone before dipping towards her neck, exploring  the soft skin of her throat. Rita’s eyes flutter shut, as goosebumps riddle her skin and a moan escapes parted lips. The woman’s hands find the buckle of Remus’ belt, and she’s caught between working to unfasten it, and pressing herself against him. “I’ve missed you too,” she finally says Rita, though she knows in her heart of hearts that longing isn’t enough, ignores that unpleasant fact, because it’s true-- she has missed him, she’s missed this.

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21 #nsfw #(don't read this pls)

[ritaofwar]

edensadik​:

— 👼🏻 —

Eden didn’t mind the job they had been given. They never really thought they would have become an Uber driver for a gang but it was all about context — compared to the other positions within the group, they had been given an easy task; all they had to do was keep up with schedules and be okay with driving people at any hour ( of course, they chose to ignore the fact that driving around a corpse inside their car wasn’t totally out of the question ) and after getting through law school, that was something Eden knew they could manage quite well. 

Their job included knowing more than most would think. There were a lot of people, each very different from the next — some liked when they were on time, others didn’t mind if they were a bit late ( and even preferred it if Eden brought a little something for them in form of a hot or cold brew ) and the rest, like Rita, preferred when Eden was earlier than the agreed time. Only most hadn’t had their make-out session with their ex interrupted by the Angel meant to pick them up only a few days after. Hopefully, Rita had not held it against Eden.

As soon as Rita got inside the car, Eden, out of a absentminded reaction, looked at the woman through the rear view mirror only to be met with a very specific reaction, to which they couldn’t help but silently chuckle, relieved there didn’t seem to be any sort of grudge. Eden could only imagine what kind of people Rita had to deal with — but if Eden was as good at reading people as they believed, Rita could handle it and so much more. 

Without losing much time, Eden put the blinker on and started driving again, making their way to the address they had been given. Although they knew the city like the back of their hand, putting the GPS on was both a habit and a good excuse should they ever run into trouble, easily pretending to be lost and blaming the GPS instead of their less than legal affairs. 

Good night. Time zones were always a big question mark for Eden and, although they made sense, their mind would never really wrap itself around them. Unexpectedly — not because they thought Rita was rude or mean but, because it seemed like the call had been anything but good, they expected some sort of silence — Eden hears the Dominion ask them a question. Instinctively, they looked at the rear view mirror again, if only for a few heartbeats. “Mr. Bowles sounds like a handful,” Eden commented, their eyes back on the road, “I have not, no. I’ve always wanted to go, though. Especially New York and California. Very cliché, I know. Have you been? For business or otherwise?” 

__

“He’s a lazy man who expects me to fix the problems he brings upon himself,” Rita answers as she finishes with the task at hand. Looking up, she catches Eden’s eyes in the rearview mirror for a moment, before their gaze returns to the road. Whatever embarrassment Rita feels is hidden under a cool facade, deciding instead to use her energy towards something else entirely-- something that was sparked by Eden’s unfortunate happenstance. “I’ve been a few times, yes. New York and Washington D.C. for work mostly, and Florida and California for pleasure.” She uses the word purposefully, eyes still steadily fixed on the driver’s profile. “If you ever get the chance you should go-- anywhere really. Travel opens your eyes like little else.” 

The conversation seems trivial, and if one didn’t know better they might have thought Rita found discomfort in silence and preferred to fill it with idle conversation. In reality a thought had come to the woman while taking a bath on the night of the 15th. It was strange to be caught in a moment by someone you payed little attention to, someone you rarely considered. It had felt, in some ways, like the first time she was seeing Eden Sadik and now Rita was endlessly curious about them. But first it seemed appropriate to address the elephant in the room-- or car, rather.

“Eden, I’d like to think that you have some measure of respect to privacy. I entrust you with my life when I get in the back of your car, and now I’m trusting you with a sensitive piece of information. Please keep what you saw between Remus and I to yourself. Can I trust you to do that?” 

#thread. #•eden: 01• #date: 1/19/21

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

For a short moment, it seemed like Remus had won. There was a second between that first contact of skin on skin where time stood still, when he believed for a moment that maybe this shared energy between them could be enough. But he knows, even as Rita leans into his touch, even as she slides gentle hands down his chest, that he’s losing - he can see it in her eyes.

Another silence as Remus wonders what exactly Rita knows about the time they spent apart, what had she heard through the ever-blossoming grape vine that fueled gossip within War? Saint had promised he’d kept everything under wraps, that no one knew about the mess Remus had made of himself, except their closest family, of course. Truthfully, not even they knew the extent of the issue, believing Saint when they had said it was under control. It was no wonder then, why people whispered that Remus had been unfaithful to Rita - with no information to go off for the divorce or his mysterious absence, questions met with aggression anytime someone were to inquire, the rumor mill had long been burning.

In the quietness, Remus swears he can hear each of their hearts beating, though his has jumped inside his throat, making it difficult to speak without choking. “I feel reminded,” he says, voice soft with uncertainty. His hand leaves her cheek, instinct and impulse leading it to find a familiar resting place around her waist, leaving such little distance between them that anyone who saw would know exactly what was transpiring between the estranged couple. 

“I was distracted,” he begins, feeling desperate to get the words out, now that his ex-wife’s hands stopped nearly to his beltline. “That deal was the most groundbreaking partnership in the history of Bellum Nova - that was what earned my position as President, it put War on the forefront of…” Remus’ voice trails off, a tangent started but stopped, feeling Rita’s disbelief seep out of her as he attempts to do the very thing that had gotten them here. “I’m sorry.” His free hand, nervous and unsteady, strokes her hair softly.

It’s a relief to still be holding Rita, feeling the same emotions stirring inside him as he had all those years ago, during their time at Cambridge. This strangely felt like the first time all over again, with Remus’ forwardness and Rita’s consistent, strong will against him - one of the things he loved about her, even now. “Tell me what I have to do.” His voice is hoarse. “Please.” He wants to come clean, to admit to Rita just how much he is struggling without her, but there is a hesitancy, afraid of rejection. Remus settles for an equally truthful utterance of, “I miss you.”

His hand travels from her face, skimming down her side to anchor at her waist, tugging the woman a little bit closer, and Rita can’t help the sigh that escapes her lips. Deft fingers hook themselves into his belt, heart hammering as she blinks up at him, teetering on the edge of some unknown abyss. Perhaps he can see the war raging behind her eyes, the hurt, and contempt that has vilified him in the past year is under attack by the softness of Remus’ words and the earnest gleam in his eyes. He believes what he is saying, and she can’t decide whether she simply doesn’t care if it’s true, or if she too has allowed herself to be swallowed back into the comfort of their past. 

It’s a dangerous game she’s playing, a poker game that demands she go all in, beating heart pushed to the center of the table. She knows the excuses by heart, the reasoning behind his actions, the need to outshine his siblings, to take War to uncharted heights... all in exchange for love. For her. “You’re sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head at the meaningless word. “Everybody’s sorry, Remus. The whole goddamn world.” It isn’t enough, it never really is, The hand in her hair, uncertain and searching, is more of an apology than that cursed word would ever be. His grip on her hip is more an apology, they way she had felt his heart beating in his chest, his lips parted and wanting... it all says more than that wretched word. 

“You need to stop talking.” She replies, knowing that nothing he can say right then would heal her wounds. Closing what little space remained between them, Rita stretches up to press her lips to his. His mouth is warm, and familiar against her own-- its shape and taste studied and memorized. A dip in the fountain leaves her feeling like a woman starved, a woman desperate to find something she isn’t sure even exists, and Rita pulls Remus close, lips parting to invite him deeper. Her wine glass is knocked from her hand, but she hardly takes notice as her hand brushes against the stubble on his cheek, before she’s lacing her fingers in his hair, making certain to keep the seraphim from catching his breath. 

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21

[ritaofwar]

#•visage•

[ritaofwar]

sxint​:

“I’d definitely take advantage of it if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of me,” he admits happily, a grin lingering on tired lips as he daydreams up a world where Rita had entrusted him with a key to her home. As she’d presumed, it would have mainly consisted in Saint traipsing in at the crack of dawn to drunkenly pass out on her sofa. And if not that, maybe he would have sneaked in to eat the leftovers from her fridge, meals that he would never dream of preparing on his own accord when it had always been easier and more convenient to order whatever food he wanted from some fancy restaurant down the street.  

Watching observantly as the other approaches, front door swinging shut and footsteps edging closer until she’s sat next to him, he clocks something different in her. Expression noticeably more exhausted than usual and stress laced below what were usually rouged cheeks. “Really?” he tilts his head curious, more so to hear Rita’s side of the story since he had already heard of the plans from Juno herself. Or a hint of them at least, taunting her sibling into staying at the party for an additional hour to witness the present she’d brought for their poor older brother. Maybe he’d feel guilty for Remus, a stripper and then a visit from his ex-wife certainly must have been exceptionally low of the list of ideal presents. But then that would require a kind conscience, one that doesn’t spite the other man for trampling on his own heart. 

So he listens, acting neutrally oblivious and chuckles along with Rita’s comment. It is after all the reason they had got along so well. Snarky statements exchanged with no repercussions. How it had once been with Remus, he nows seeks the same solitude in the woman that removes the Warden’s wedding band from around her finger. “Yes, exactly. I’ve been saying this for years,” Saint encouraged, nose wrinkling playfully, “Tartarus, or personally assigned by Satan himself to make our lives a living hell.” He pauses, glancing over at the other. “I’m just annoyed she upstaged my gift, you know I hired him a stripper?” laughter exhales through his confession, leaning back into the sofa and followed with a faint huff, “ex-wife definitely over rules a cheap call girl. How’d it go anyway, another awkward conversation, any tears?” Saint refrains a smirk at the notion of his brother crying. 

Many relationships came out of her union with Remus, some better than others, but none quite compared to Saint. It was less a relationship of friends, or that of a younger brother, and more akin to similarly aged cousins. A strange comparison, sure, but one that held up under pressure. There was enough understanding of a shared, incongruent family, and yet enough of a distance to feel comfortable sharing more than they might with others. In personality they are almost opposite, falling into different spheres of temperament and thought processes, but it makes for a great pairing. Rita rolls her eyes at the thought of finding a drunken Saint splayed out on her couch, knowing he didn’t need a key, that she’ll let him in if he comes knocking at any hour.  

“Don’t look so surprised, or smug for that matter.” She can imagine that Saint might find it rather befitting that Remus had to face his marital disaster. And she can’t really blame him, her ex-husband had done little to help his brother in the love department, despite her warnings. Rita has long found the relationship between the three Warden children to be something of a mystery, a strange dichotomy between them, and a likeness all the same. One needn’t look far to see where their issues stem, and she often finds herself empathic and angry with each of them in turn. 

“You what?” She bursts incredulously, sitting up to properly look at him. Oh, how his name was so off base. “Are you mad? It was his birthday not his bachelor party.” Though, technically that wasn’t necessarily true. She is caught somewhere between wanting to laugh and throw up, disgusted by the though of a naked woman writhing against her hus- ex-husband, and amused that Saint had even thought a such a gift. She doesn’t want to seem overly eager to learn what transpired, nor is she sure she wants to know, but it helped her avoid his question, the answer to which Rita was still unsure she wanted to provide. 

“Did he like it, then? Your gift?” She asks, just as the kettle whistles from the kitchen. Rita shoots up, glad for the distraction, knowing Saint might weasel a confession she’d rather retain. 

#thread. #•saint: 01• #date: 1/16/21

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

There is a moment of scrambling after filling Rita’s glass of wine, Remus is silently cursing his drunken self for being stupid enough to put out his cigarette in his glass. A cabinet in his desk hides a dirty secret - an excessive amount of used glasses, no doubt once filled with whiskey, a glaring symptom of day drinking. He picks one to revisit, pouring a heavy helping of the vintage wine. Another moment of silence while he drinks, despite the heady buzz warming his head, Remus isn’t satisfied.

The announcement of Rita’s decision rings in the air. He could have never pictured this scene in his mind, each of them holding pointed knives to the other’s throat while they danced coyly around what they actually wanted to say to each other. It was all true - Remus had been an absent husband, neglecting his relationship while he obsessed over the preemptive deal with the British military. Rita had even been supportive of him in the beginning, knowing how important this was to Remus, knowing what it could mean for their future. She’d been understanding, like always, when they decided to hold off on trying to get pregnant - again - while Remus solidified his place within crafting the legislation for parliament. But he had expected too much, and it was only now that he paid the price - nearly seven years of marriage destroyed all in one evening.

Hearing Rita recall the last months of their marriage makes Remus grow heavy with shame. Guilt eats at him, as he realizes he hadn’t ever considered how all the time away had added up - he hadn’t realized it had been that long since he’d touched her. She speaks, and the distance between their bodies seems to be radiating heat, an energy exchanged between the two that warms the room. Remus would swear he could smell the perfume on her neck and the sweetness of champagne on her breath as he stood there, helpless as his eyes glance from her lips to the floor. “I’m…sorry,” Remus breathed, feeling embarrassed, as anything else behind the apology seems too much. 

A tender hand reaches out to touch Rita’s cheek, flushed pink, before Remus can stop it. His thumb grazes her soft skin, feeling all of the electricity of the moment in the small area of contact. It feels as if his whole body is breathing. “I could fuck you now, Margaret Warden,” he starts, not sure at first if he has the nerve to finish the sentence, “is that what you want?”

Her eyes follow him to the desk, noting the empty glasses, searching for any other clues to his life now. Of course she has heard the whispers, seen the eyes following the eldest Warden with pity, concern, judgement or, often times, all three. The questions are on the tip of Rita’s tongue, but her own worries are pressed down with the knowledge that her involvement might very well make things worse. Saint has it handled, or so he says. Instead the woman forces herself to focus on the moment, on her anger, on his vicinity, and the words they’re finally speaking out loud after months of silence. 

And once they have left her mouth, Rita feels an odd mixture of satisfaction and guilt. She wasn’t without blame, allowing the mounting issues to pile one on top of the other while ill equipped to handle their weight. She’s fostered the emotional handicap for a long time now, choosing to saw off limps rather than give them time to heal. It’s simpler that way, it centralizes her power, and eliminates free radicals. But it left Remus with breadcrumbs, mere hints, at the depth of her unhappiness. He was in the dark, lost in himself, and she failed to offer him a candle, a torch, or any guiding light. Then she left, leaving him in that cavernous home they shared, room after empty room, space after unused space. It had been too big for the two of them, she couldn’t imagine the loneliness of one.

“Remus...” Rita begins, but her words fade away when his hand finds her cheek. His thumb is warm, and dry against her skin, and the thrill of a simple touch, of their only contact in nearly half a year, sends an electric shock through her body. Rita leans into him, her pulse jumping, as her breath fights to keep up, before being held altogether by the words that follow. She catches his gaze, wetting her lips as the world outside this room falls away completely. Is that what you want? She wants to wash it all away, to somehow extinguish her rage and sorrow, to let go of the desire that still clings to her bones, to wipe the slate clean, but it’s an impossible feat. A mountain of shit too high to climb. What she wants is to forget, if only for a moment. 

Her hand finds his chest, and the pads of her fingers press against him as if to dip in his ribcage and wrap around his beating heart. She almost says yes, almost closes the space between them entirely, falling into the sound of her full name in his voice. But it’s not enough. The fabric of his shirt bunches in her grasp. “You’re a little too late.” Rita whispers, her hand slides down his torso, spurred on by the alcohol coursing through her. “I wore lingerie for you, walked around without any underwear, took perfectly timed showers... What I want now is to remind you what you took for granted.”

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21 #tw alcohol #nsfw #??? #(meanwhile i post and run into the ocean) #(get it remus naughty naughty)

[ritaofwar]

ofcharlottes​:

location: fundraiser event date: january 17th closed: @ritaofwar​

It’s with practiced ease in which she interacts with the other guests. There’s an inheritance with the Pinkett name, and to charm those around her is part of it. At this point in her life, she wields it with a mastery most others in her position would. She’s courteous, kind, willing to show her efforts while not handing control to those she speaks with.

And it is, as most things are, draining.

There’s comfort in the fact that she’s representing Silver Crest tonight. She can never escape her name, but tonight, she can focus on Silver Crest’s needs, and establish desired connections so when Silver Crest needs a favor, she knows who to contact.

It’s a game. That’s all it is. But when she catches sight of a familiar Warden member — well, ex-member — she excuses herself, plucking two champagne glasses from the nearest waiter.

One could say she is pushing too far. She would argue she’s testing boundaries she should have years ago.

“Rita.”

Charlotte offers a glass to the other, a small smile on her face. “I’m glad to see you here.” Not the truth, but not a lie either. She has always gravitated toward Rita in comparison to her sibling. “The night hasn’t been too insufferable for you, has it?”

Rita loves galas. While the extravagance plays a part-- gorgeous attire, expensive drinks, and Michelin approved hor d'oeuvres-- its the money being thrown around that truly interests the woman. She enjoys sniffing out the true humanitarians, the ones that want to make the world a better place, but what Rita finds most thrilling is uprooting those with hidden agendas. The dirty money that needs a squeaky clean finish, a show of philanthropy that is tied down to air and lovely little lies. Bellum Nova in other terms. 

She mingles, feigning charm through logic, and subtle calculations. It isn’t all a charade, but Rita isn’t old money, she isn’t even new money, truly. The posh laughter and banter is lost on her in any real sense, but she can read a room, and she can certainly read a person. But such efforts took their toll, no matter her curiosity of the small club she found herself in. 

Excusing herself from the company of the Viscount Daventry and his wife, Rita heads for the balcony, hoping for a moment of peace. The night air is cool, and dry, but the air promises rain, and Rita is looking up at the sky when the hum of the guests is cut with a familiar and not entirely unwelcome voice. 

She turns to find Charlotte, radiant as always, holding two chutes of bubbly. “Ms. Pinkett, what a lovely surprise.” Rita takes a drink, “Would you judge me if I told you I’m planning an escape? Repelling from the roof, perhaps?” 

#thread. #•charlotte: 01• #date: 1/17/21

[ritaofwar]

When: January 19th, 2021 Where: starting, Rita’s Flat With: @edensadik

The responsibilities of a driver were nothing to go unnoticed. Memorizing schedules, considering the habits and preferences of those you escorted, searing the map of the city into the back of your eyelids, knowing when to comment and when to stay silent. Even the seemingly insignificant jobs were seeped in kill and artful consequence. Rita gave little attention to Eden, but she recognized that they were more than likely privy to more all encompassing information than many of the more senior ranking members, or at least there was potential for them to be. As it would be Eden was on time, as usual, and for Rita on time meant early. 

Rita descended the steps in front of her flat, phone to her ear, and a black umbrella held over her head. The sky is slate grey, severe against the naked trees of the park across from her  building, and the black car idling out front feels important, and dangerous-- a passerby even glances at it warily. Closing her umbrella, Rita slides into the back, and shuts the door behind her. She glances at Eden through the rearview mirror, while rolling her eyes at the voice on the phone. “There really isn’t anything I can do about the interests rate on that account, Mr. Bowles, but we can certainly consider other options. Mhm. Well, it must be,” she glances at her watch, “two in the morning in Washington so I think we can continue this another time.” She watches Eden’s profile, “I’ll add it to my calendar, then. Right. Good night, Mr. Bowles.” 

Hanging up, Rita mumbles under her breath in Mandarin while adding a call to her calendar. “Have you ever been to The States, Eden?” She doesn’t look up from her phone as she asks. 

#thread. #•eden: 01• #date: 1/19/21

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

-

The cigarette is a welcome distraction, a boundary between the two. For a moment, the room is quiet, only the sounds of his inhale and exhale as the room grows foggy. The simple act keeps Remus’ mind from dwelling over something as trivial as how he’s feeling - if he focused too much on what he felt he wanted to do, he would be unable to stop from grabbing Rita and pinning her against the wall. Drunken, angry sex was, admittedly, nothing new to the pair.

The four walls of the office have done their job well, all thoughts of the party, their gang members outside, and the Warden children all fade into white noise. To Remus, he has all the time in the world, all his attention focused on his birthday present that had been so thoughtfully waiting in his office. He had to laugh at his sisters’ gull, only she would be able to pull something as dubious as this off. What had she expected Remus to do, make an utter fool of himself? Did she realize that dealing with the fallout of these events required a high dosage as a way to forget? His mind wandered, reminded suddenly of the half pill emergency supply that he had hid in his desk, away from Saint and his search efforts.

A laugh escapes. “I didn’t even want a party tonight. You know me, I much prefer an evening alone to all the antics. Especially in my own flat, God, I could…” Kill them? Thank them? He takes another drag, the cigarette nearly half burned and flaking ash onto the hand woven carpet. “If I had planned this party, I would have invited you,” he drops the cigarette into the empty glass of whiskey, watching the ember burn out. “But be honest, Rita - if it was me who reached out, would you have showed up? It’s not like I haven’t been calling you, trying to see you.”

He ignores the comment about plants, a new hobby he’d picked up at the request of everyone. After Saint had found him in his state of despair, there was no way his family, desperate to regain control over Remus, would let him sit alone in his flat to rot, knowing he’d fill his time with pills and booze. But the announcement of a new garden along with his containers of exotic indoor plants had quelled his mother’s nerves, naively accepting it to mean he had moved onto better coping mechanisms. 

The shift in tone is noticeable - the anger, the disbelief, the still-present sexual tension between them heating the room a few degrees. Remus takes off his suit jacket in response, a blue satin Yves Saint Laurent piece that he hangs from the back of his desk chair. “I think it’s fair of me to ask. You left me in a hurry and said a generous total of ten words before you were out the door.” Remus isn’t thinking about manners, about platitudes anymore. “Of course that’s not what I want to hear. I want to hear you say that you’re making a mistake.”

Taking notice of her empty glass, Remus reaches into a shelf on the wall, pulling down an aged wooden wine box that contained an ‘88 Cheval Blanc that was nearly as old as Remus was, something his mother had given him, no doubt. He crosses the room to Rita again, stopping at her empty glass, now less than a foot away from the woman herself. “I’m drinking more, are you?”

It had been a mistake to approve his cigarette. The smell wraps itself around her, clings to her skin, begging her to allow it in, to feel the nicotine rush to her head. She watches Remus bring it to his lips, imagines his lungs expand to accept the smoke, the acidic and wonderful taste of it in his throat, the moment of euphoria before blowing it back into the room. Her lips part, and Rita nearly asks for one, nearly caves into the desire. He won’t know it’s a failure. He won’t even think twice. But, if she does ask, then she’ll be running full speed towards that slope, slick with the memory of his lips against hers, his fingers curling into her hair, the heat of his breath on her neck. One forbidden thing leads to the next. She can’t ask. She can’t.

The seconds of silence between them is an eternity within Rita’s head. In that time she travels back to Cambridge, to the hours spent in the library sitting across a table from Remus, heads bent as they found themselves worlds away from the topics they were meant to be studying. She remembers the first time he sat next to her, their thighs brushing beneath the table, neither of them commenting on it, or the wilding thumping in their chests. Rita had been afraid then, too; afraid of the irrationality with which her emotions came where Remus was involved. She is still afraid, and he still manages to thwart any attempt at intellectualizing her feelings. Only now everything they’ve built is on the line-- it isn’t a shot in the dark, a chance at love, but a cold, hard knife in the heart. 

“Juno described it as a “small get-together”.” What Rita doesn’t say is that she had been willing to overlook the irregularities, and in the end that is what afforded Juno her little victory. She smiles softly at the sentiment, though it lasts only a moment before the his question leaves her blinking away from his gaze. She allows his question to go unanswered, partly due to the fact that she truly doesn’t know. And does it even matter? He’s seeing her now. In the pause, Rita can see his frustration grow; a twitch in his jaw, the sudden movement as he pulls off his jacket, the intensity in his gaze as blue eyes snap back toward her. It’s only when he continues that Rita feels her resentment spike, eyes narrowing as she shakes her head. “I’m not making a mistake, Remus, I’m making a decision.” 

He offers the salvation of more alcohol and, she silently accepts, holding her cup out, hoping to drown the rising emotions in luxurious spirits. But, Rita can see the details in his eyes now, the irregular specks of brown, and suddenly she is allowing her anger to spill out. “I was unsatisfied for months, so don’t give me this bullshit about me abandoning you. Do you know how long it had been since you touched me? When I left, do you know how long it had been? Six weeks. We hadn’t fucked in over a month! Not to mention meals, or any sort of date night. And if I did manage to drag you out everything was about work. Bellum Nova, War, your mother...” She pauses, bringing the refilled glass to her lips in an attempt to calm herself, but it does little to help. She glances at his lips, before blinking back up to his gaze in silent admonishment. “Did you really expect me to wait around forever?” 

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

Left to his own devices, Remus had recalled the night Rita left a million times in his head, the events unfolding like the first time all over again and yet he could never change what the Remus of the Past had done. Though, it was almost enough that they remained in this ethereal limbo: separated, spending months apart in different flats, but still no legal paperwork signed.  The longer time went on, that small bit of hope became intangible, the chance of a reconnection that Remus had hoped for now felt unrealistic. He considered that she might be here to deliver the papers tonight - it was his birthday, sure, but Remus didn’t doubt he deserved that.

“So, you weren’t aware of the surprise party?” It had been obvious from the moment he’d walked in that his little sister had undoubtedly hatched a well-crafted plan, but her true motive was yet to be revealed. “I am never letting neither Saint nor Juno ever plan a party for me again.” The effects of the whiskey bubble up anger anew within Remus, knowing Rita will certainly hear all about the nice gift Saint had gotten for Remus at the office on Monday, possibly sooner, considering how close she and his brother remained. Remus’ mind could hardly contain the fleeting thoughts and emotions, heightend by substance and hormones. Words spill out of his mouth like thick, black ink.

He knows her well enough to know that the alcohol is affecting her, too. From her perfectly flushed face to the dilated brown eyes, Remus recognizes this version of Rita. Afraid that he no longer has the self-control required to keep from grabbing Rita by the waist, reenacting the coy memories flooding his brain, Remus busies his hands by reaching into his suit jacket and selecting a cigarette. He holds one up - “do you mind?”

Ah. Of course, Remus knew she had to live somewhere else if they no longer lived together…but hearing Rita talk about creating a new home hurt nonetheless. “Next time, you can drop them off to me and I’ll save them before they die.” He waits for the familiar, curt nod before lighting the end, taking a moment to savor the cigarette, a routine craving each time he got this drunk. With an exhale of smoke, Remus gains the nerve to ask what he really wants to know - “is the place leased under Rita Zhang, or Rita Warden?”

To watch nearly seven years of marriage come crashing down is agonizing. One can hardly fathom the spectrum of emotion that take root in your bones, that seem to grow like ivy throughout your body. Despair, humiliation, lust, adoration, rage, hopelessness, desperation... They tumble over one another, vying for control, looking for logic and reasoning only to find none at all. Rita has never been as deft at untangling her emotions as she has been at unraveling solutions and equations, and she hates the inadequacy. The woman had never imagined herself here, and now she can’t quite imagine herself anywhere else. Rita blames a lot of their seemingly irrevocable issues on Remus, but she would be blind not to see her own hand tipping the scales, and forging their future. 

“Not only was I unaware, but I was lead to believe that you had personally extended the invitation.” Rita wets her lips, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “So, that’s why I’m here...” Decidedly not because he wanted to see her, though it appeared the same could not be said for her. She takes another sip of wine, saddened to see that her glass is nearing empty, though it is perhaps for the best. The sound of the party beyond the door has faded, though Rita can tell its a symptom of her blood to alcohol ratio rather than a dwindling crowd. Her cheeks are warm, her mind strays without discipline, and her tongue is far too loose. The tightness in her chest is a symptom of something entirely different, of someone she hasn’t been this close to in months. “You really shouldn’t let them plan anything 

The silence stretches out, and the sound of a wall clock ticks the seconds away. Her fingers twitch at her side, fighting the instinct to reach out and smooth her hand down the lapel of his jacket. Rita knows if she drew close enough she’d smell the whiskey on his breath, and closer still and she’d be able to taste it. He moves, and Rita glances away, knowing she should simply leave the room and rejoin the party-- perhaps leave altogether. But the woman is either unable or unwilling to do so.

Remus could hardly be aware that she’s given up cigarettes in the new year, and the sight of the perfectly rolled tobacco leaves her desperate for soothing feeling of smoke in her lungs. She could ask him not to, knowing he would oblige, but she wants the smell, the secondhand sensation. “Next time.” She echoes, “Now that I know where to bring them.” A faint smile has returned to her lips, focused at Remus for a moment before finishing off the last of her wine. 

His question finds her though a haze of smoke, and though it dulls her irritation, it does’t extinguish it altogether. “Do you really believe that’s any of your business, Remus?” Rita asks, head tilted as she looks at him. She wants to lie, to punish him for having the audacity to ask, for making her feel the bite of her own betrayal. But she doesn’t, sometimes the truth is more bitter. “If you must know it’s under Warden. All of my official documents are still filed with my married name. After we sign the papers I’ll change it back. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21

[ritaofwar]

sxint​:

LOCATION: Rita’s flat DATE: 16|01|21. CLOSED: @ritaofwar​

Anyone that knew him well had known that Saint Warden hated mornings. In fact he didn’t just hate them, he despised them with such a passion that whenever he had the opportunity to sleep his way right through to midday, it would be a chance he’d dare miss. And so that’s exactly what he had done, the day after his brother’s painfully exasperating birthday party which had been chased down with one too many shots of tequila with a friend at the club. In short, Saint felt wretched. A head heavy with a hangover and mouth still tasting of last night’s cigarettes. But it’s not long before he forces himself out of the comfort of his bed then leaves his home with a freshly shaved face and an agenda. 

Rita Zhang is his brother’s soon to be ex-wife, and still to Saint, she is one of his few close friends. Amongst the handful of individuals he were able to speak his mind to without the repercussions of another dagger stabbed eagerly between his shoulder blades. So with that in mind, he knocks twice against the woman’s door, greets her with the usual beaming grin and a friendly hug before being welcomed into her home. “What a face for sore eyes,” Saint chimes, all the charm of a Warden, only on this occasion with much more genuine intentions. A few hours away from the carnage, hidden from his siblings in a safe haven where the two could vent and watch TV until somewhat of the weight had been lifted from both their chests. 

“I didn’t see you at the party last night,” he noted, taking a seat in his usual spot on the sofa. It’s comfier than Remus’s, it’s pillows better organised and a soft throw placed lovingly at the end which had made the entirety of the living space feel much more homely. Such things the youngest Warden craved for, appreciated with a silent smile before gazing back up to Rita. “I envy you, honestly. The amount of wine I had to drink to withstand a conversation was diabolical. My head is in pieces.” 

Rita is a morning person. She prefers sunrises to sunsets, early morning yoga to evening palates, and a cup of coffee to a finger of scotch. Something about rising with the birds while the rest of the world continues to squeeze in those extra hours to sleep feel like hers alone. Dark roast and lamplight, her glasses perched on her nose as she works-- it feels like an edge, and anything that makes her feel in front of the herd . If only she could learn to sleep properly then she would really be out front, but many nights are spent tossing and turning, half conscious and restless. The morning often comes as a reprise. 

She has been up for hours by the time Saint arrives without so much as a warning. She wonders vaguely when they had found this comfortable rhythm, a quasi yang to her yin, a burning ember chasing lighter fluid somehow surviving in the cool, and dark waters of her temperament. It does no good to question it, and she is simply appreciative of his presence and unexpected kinship. “I’d consider simply giving you a key if I wasn’t so sure you’d show up drunk at three in the morning to raid my kitchen.” Rita greets, finding comfort in his familiar embrace, before ushering him inside. 

The woman is nursing a light hangover of her own, and had just put on a kettle before her brother and law had arrived. Joining him on the sofa Rita lays her head back against the cushions, and lolls it to the side to look at him. “We must have missed on another because thanks to your hellcat of a sister, I was there.” The resentment in her voice is evident, unafraid to air her displeasure to the youngest Warden. “I swear sometimes I’m quite convinced that woman sprang from the depths of Tartarus.” 

#thread. #•saint: 01• #date: 1/16/21 #(pretend she doesn't look quite so miserable)

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

-

They were nearing six months since the separation, and in that time of solitude, Remus had written mental theses on all of the things he’d been waiting to say to his soon-to-be ex-wife, if only she’d give him the chance. Despite the endless conversations he’d rehearsed in his head, his mind drew a blank on any intelligent answer to Rita’s sudden waltz into his life again. The polite conversation the two were juggling was riddled with tension, with guilt, with the unspoken words each still held, while Remus’ head spun, affected by both intoxication and adrenaline.

“And yet, you look better,” he breathed, taking the file from her hands, using the tiniest chance at contact as an excuse to brush her hand lightly. Remus was shameless - Rita possessed a quality that made him act on impulse, relying on his heart (which seemed to pound outside of his chest) instead of his mind. “I wasn’t expecting you to…” To be waiting in my office? To look like you’re doing so well? 

“…show up. Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone to show up, I suppose, that’s why they call it a surprise party…” Nervous laughter. 

Tossing the file aside to a disorganized pile of many others, Remus leans against the great mahogany desk behind him. It’s a sudden reminder of the spontaneous midday frisks the pair shared on top of it, his face flushing at the memories of undressing his wife, the thought of pressing kisses to sensitive skin…Any thought of his siblings or the antics of the evening are gone from his mind for a moment.

Remus clears his throat, if for no other reason than to get himself out of his head before he does something stupid. He finds himself wanting to talk business, since they had little else in common these days, except an ineptitude for handling these uncomfortable situations between themselves, but he restrains that urge. He settles for a slightly mumbled, “so, where are you staying these days?”, unable to tell if this is a boundary best left uncrossed.

Sometimes when there is too much to say it simply feels easier to say nothing at all. Fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of saying too much, fear of losing everything once and for all... In the days following the argument that left them each too wounded to fully recover, Rita’s trepidation prohibited her from doing the one thing that might have saved their marriage-- talking. And now the pill was too big to swallow, and she is left choking on the remnants of the happiness they had once known. She can see it in Remus’ eyes as well, a longing for... well she’s not exactly sure what exactly they’re both longing for, but it certainly wasn’t going to be found here, at this godforsaken party, in a room where contrition and pride battled for dominance. 

His compliments had always meant a little more than those of others, and though she tries to hide it with a downward glance, the almost bashful smile on her lips gives Rita away. How strange to feel like strangers again, while knowing the smallest most mundane and intimate details about one another. When he speaks again she meets his eyes, aware of the many different ways that sentence could end. File for divorce? But he catches her entirely off guard. Her eyebrows knit together, lips frowning, as she replays what he’s said in her head. 

A surprise party... Juno... Of fucking course. She is laughing before he’s finished; a humorless, liquor induced laughter that is aimed at her own gullibility. Had she really thought that Remus invited her... That he had thrown himself a party? She had wanted to believe it, had convinced herself that he wanted to see her and now she was playing the fool. Oh, the acrid taste of one’s own medicine. “Your sister really is a skilled puppet master...” Reaching for cup of wine, Rita swallows down her ire with a healthy gulp, “Someone should really snip her strings.” 

There is no point in lingering in the newfound knowledge. Juno’s perfect little plan has come to fruition, but Rita has the urge to see to it that she reaps no benefits. Remus moves to lean against the desk, and Rita finds herself looking at his hands braced against the edge; hands that have pressed into the soft skin of her hips, pushing her back against that very edge before-- He clears his throat, and Rita takes another sip of wine, finding the room suddenly too warm. 

“Oh, uh, I’ve leased a flat in Chelsea... A lovely space, really, but I’m still working on making it home. I even attempted to get a few plants but I’ve got none of your skill. Both are in the rubbish heap now.” It’s amazing how adeptly one can dance around the elephant in the room. 

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21 #cw alcohol #nsfw #(kinda i guess lol)

[ritaofwar]

remuswarden​:

The evening could only be described as eventful. The uncomfortable shuffling of people invited to a surprise party, yet not knowing Remus at all, combined with his brother’s gift that left a sour taste in the mouth was too much - even for Remus, on his seventh or eighth drink.  The alcohol alone was not enough of an escape from the joke played seemingly at his expense, but Juno had promised that her own present was going to end the night on a high note. The hesitance to trust another Warden was understandable, but admittedly, Remus was grateful for a reason to lock himself in his office for the rest of the evening, to shut the doors and pretend for a moment that he was completely alone.

Half-hoping the gift his sister promised was Saint, tied to a chair and ready for a beating, Remus expected some extravagant souvenir from one of his sister’s many trips abroad, some antique, hand-carved piece of furniture or a designer suit for next fall that had yet to grace the runway. Juno certainly had a knack for gifts, having gifted Remus half his closet, most of the furniture in the flat, and several cars. He wondered to himself what was left to give him, what Juno could have meant when she teased at the present earlier, saying, “something that’d you’d hold close to your heart.”

It was only after he opened the heavy doors into his office that he understood what his sister had been hinting at, breath hitching in his throat as he saw Rita, in this flat again, for the first time in half a year.

Despite the mess of important paperwork on the ground, it was endearing to hear his wife - no, no, ex-wife - chide him for barging into the room, knowing that being interrupted was one of her pet-peeves. Remus couldn’t stifle the uncomfortable laugh in his throat, watching Rita scramble to pick up the paperwork she’d undoubtedly been picking apart. He’d loved that about her, her ability to glance at any account on paper and run the numbers, understand the data better than the people who had supplied it. It was a testament to her intelligence, her innate financial genius had always impressed the eldest Warden and his family. Remus couldn’t blame her for being curious. 

“It’s funny - that was going to end up on your desk Monday morning anyway, so you could’ve waited until then to discuss business with me.”

He bends down to pick up the papers, the file scattered and in no doubt need of reorganizing - but the pulse in Remus’ throat makes him unable to concentrate on anything except how close their hands are, brushing past each other as they both scramble. “Um,” he starts, a surefire sign that Remus’ nerves are getting the best of him, “how long have you been here?”

A part of her had hoped Remus had somehow slipped away, hightailing it from his own party to a quieter, more private place for celebration. They had often spent their birthdays without much fuss, and the woman certainly wouldn’t be surprised if it were the case. But another, albeit more repressed, part of her hoped to see him, to even have a moment alone with him. It’s only now that he is standing before her, dark hair and dimples, that she feels unexpected relief at his sudden appearance. It only lasts a moment, and then the mess of emotions weave their sticky web once more, suffocating whatever excitement Rita might feel. 

Her eyes are on the floor, swiping papers up, and hurriedly collecting them in a disorganized heap. “Yes, well I should have waited until then.” She glances up at him, a small smile touching her lips, “But, you know me, forever impatient.” She could count on two hands how many words have passed between them since their separation, and each one that escapes her lips holds the weight of those she doesn’t dare utter. It’s apparent in the tense, rushed note in her voice, and she presses her lips together in an attempt to steady herself. 

He crosses the room, bringing with him the familiar scent Hermes Cuir d'Angeof and faint tobacco, a smell that’s come to belong to him. Rita stands, holding out the file for him to take, and has he does, Remus’ hand brushes against her own. As though shocked, she quickly pulls hers away. The silence that was once so comfortable between them is now impregnated with apprehension-- the feeling that something or someone with have to give, and soon.

“Happy birthday.” She offers, a smile touching her lips, “You look nice... As usual, I mean you look like you always do just...” Rita releases a breath of laughter, shaking her head. “You look good, Remus.” 

#thread. #•remus: 01• #date: 1/15/21