#or hell she could even be his sister! if she had married The black chess piece king and therefore becoming his queen

[byeclownguy]

ok im done

[thatspookyagent]

Starting a family with Kit Walker and marrying him (Black!Male!Reader) would include...

Requested: Nope!

Warnings: AHS asylum spoilers, depressing af ending

A/N: Decided to go ahead and finally write Kit Walker with a Black!Reader, and a male one at that! While writing this up, it was probably the first time I've ever like damn near made myself cry with my own writing skskks Btw this takes place after Sister Jude dies, therefore after Alma and Grace's deaths as well! Also (Y/L/N) is Your Last Name and (Y/C/N) is Your Child's Name!

Tags: @sojournmichael @darlingkitt @xavierplympton

(If you want to be added to my permanent tag list, just shoot me an ask or message!) :))

Important: Whatever the reader says is in italics!

After escaping the hell that is Briarcliff Manor, you knew that Kit wanted to get married which was something he had promised the two of you would do as soon as he found a way to sneak you out

Admittedly you never thought in a million years that you would ever escape, but you agreed to it anyway because you absolutely loved him to death and wanted his promise of marriage to be the last happy event in your life if you were to never make it out

His promise to you was something that kept you going even after staying as long as you did, which you were only doing in order to give Lana the inside details on Braircliff as she exposed its horrors to the world

Kit constantly kept you company within the asylum, always making sure to play at least one game of chess with you (which you hated it but it kept your mind off things), and slip you kisses whenever people weren't looking

One day he came to the asylum with a large shawl, wrapping you up tightly with it, and sneaking past the sleeping guards at the front door and right out of that hellhole

He immediately drove you home which he claimed was also yours now, but you were just relieved that you could feel the sunlight once again

When entering his house, you were immediately greeted by two children, one named Thomas and the other named Julia

"Daddy, who's that?" The two of them stared up at you with blank expressions as Kit lowered himself to his knees so that he was about their height, and softly hugged his two kids

"Well, that's your new dad!" He said, gently rubbing the two of their backs as they now gave you a warm smile which you returned

"Okay!" The both of them bounced over to your legs and squeezed them tightly, tears swelling in your eyes as you realized it was the one of the first times in your life that someone had accepted you without judgement

The first of which had been with Kit of course, you could tell his kids had their daddy's heart because soon enough the rascals were asking you if you wanted any pancakes which despite not being able to cook themselves, they were more than willing to try in order to cheer you up

"Why don't you go make breakfast with them?" Kit whispered to you, still on his one knee and carrying that heartfelt smile of his that you feel in love with

Nodding slowly, you placed the shawl down on the kitchen table, and began to search with the kids for the items you needed

Soon you, Kit, and both of the toddlers were throwing pancake mix at each other and the sounds of a happy family were ringing throughout the house that morning

After most of the day had passed, Kit put the kids to bed and was now slipping into bed with you as you yawned tenderly, eyes glossed over with heavy sleep

Turning to him so you were now face to face and looking into his eyes, you couldn't help but feel another set of tears daring to escape

"Is it Braircliff?" Kit asked as he placed his lukewarm hand onto your cheek, catching a lone drop as it rolled down

You sniffled with a shaky breath but carried a genuine smirk on your face, a look of content starting to take over your facial expressions

"No Kit...just that...I'm finally apart of something meaningful again. It feels so unreal, like at any moment someone will just waltz in here and...take it all away."

Kit grazed his thumb over your rounded nose, his face showing nothing but pure affection and his dark brown eyes twinkling like lanterns

"You never have to worry about that ever again (Y/N), trust me. I'd never let someone else take away the other half of my heart."

For the next few months, both you and Kit spent time at home with Juila and Thomas, which you found yourself doing more than him because you considered yourself a stay at home father due to Kit's working hours

One day you got news that one of your relatives was expecting a baby and wouldn't be able to take care of it so they asked if you had any room within your family for the infant

You decided to sit down with Kit on the weekend and discuss having another child within the house in which you personally couldn't wait to raise a child with him but you restrained yourself because you believed you were asking too much of him

"I'm just asking because, I mean I know we've already got Julia and Thomas, but this is the very first time that my family has really reached out to me after...well you know-"

You had attempted to contact your family after you escaped the asylum but they shunned you heavily, after all they were the reason you were in there in the first place

He softly places his hands onto yours and smiles "Please, I'd love to have another family member! Besides...I always imagined raising a child with you, I know you'd be a wonderful father. You already are."

Rubbing your hand across your full lips, you pulled Kit into a tight and jubilated hug, uncontrollably sobbing from the sheer amount of euphoria that filled your chest

When the new baby came, Kit gladly guided you through the areas of parenthood that you were unsure about, and the both of you treated the child like your own

Due to being incredibly nervous about leaving the newborn alone, whenever you and Kit went to go to sleep, you'd lay a small blanket in between the both of you so that the baby would be comfortable as they slept between their two dads

One night Kit came home from work and sent Julia and Thomas to their rooms, he had something behind his back and he gestured for you to come over to him

Leaving the baby on the bed (but not without hesitation), you made your way over to Kit and he greeted you with a soft kiss against the lips

"Whatcha got?" You leaned to the side in order to peek behind his back but the brown haired male kept whatever he had in his hands hidden

Kit visibly sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before dropping to one knee, revealing a small black box within his pale hands

Mr. (Y/L/N), would you do me the honor of becoming Mr. Walka'?"

Breathless, you laughed softly, not because anything was funny but because you couldn't believe it was actually happening and you could see the other male's face light up at the tears started welling within your eyes

The very promise that kept you alive during your time at the asylum had arrived, you honestly had to admit that you had put it all behind you but the fact that Kit didn't and had delivered was more than enough

"Yes. Yes. Oh my God...yes!!!" The two of you embrace, planting plenty of kisses on each other's lips before you pulled back slightly as a wave of melancholy struck you

"But how are we going to get married? Kit, it's the seventies... there's no way in hell any priest will officiate this marriage..." The smile you previously wore was now a deep frown and a large crease formed across your brow

"It's okay! No really, I don't mind! I mean, I know some folks who can get us married and it'll be private. You can even invite some of your own family to come! It's going to be okay. Even if we don't have a right and proper wedding, we'll know that we're official. Just me and you. Would you like that?"

Having a private and discreet wedding actually resurrected a smirk back onto your face, not having to deal with large crowds and the possiblity of some bigot crashing it was ideal to you

It only took a couple of months for the wedding to arrive, you made matching flower crowns with the kids for them along with some for you and Kit, by now (Y/C/N) was several months hold and was held by your husband during the wedding vows and you could have sworn that you saw Lana but nobody else seemed to have recalled seeing her arrive

You and Kit lived out the rest of your days together, even taking care of him when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer despite his protests about how he should be taking care of you if you ever got ill

When he disappeared you didn't cry nor despair, you only claimed that he was always with you no matter what and instead you chose to be their for your kids and to see (Y/C/N) grow up to be successful, you always kept the shawl that Kit had wrapped around you when he first took you home from Braircliff and when you first met Julia and Thomas, stating that it still smelled like him despite his lengthy absence

You never stopped wearing the ring he gave you when he proposed and often found yourself fiddling with it from time to time, and when people would ask you why you still wore it, you'd go on to talk about Kit like he was right next to you, alive and well

You continuously slept on your side of the bed while having the covers pulled down by Kit's side, so that when he came back he'd immediately know that he was still always welcome to join his husband's side in bed like he used to

Some nights you'd feel a soft weight near you as you slept as if Kit was laying in his spot and whenever you'd open your eyes to check, he wasn't there yet you would hear his voice calling for you "(Y/N)..."

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 43 - Meant To Be

Title: Irreverent Pt. 43 - Meant To Be Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 22,571

A/N: I’m very nervous about this chapter, but I think it’s important nonetheless and I’m asking you to bear with me on it. I am very aware that this is an Aaron Hotchner story at its core, but I’d be remiss if I ignored the back story for a Reader I’ve come to really love and treasure. If it helps anyone, I picture John to look like Steve Rogers circa Winter Soldier. 

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Your mother was being impossible. Julian was escorting Elizabeth Abbott to her cotillion and everyone in the family was going except for you, which was completely unfair! You'd begged and begged the entire month, any chance you had with her, and she had yet to relent. You'd been on your absolute best behavior, you'd maintained your spot at the top of your class, and you'd even landed the lead role in the Nutcracker. Yet, your mother was of the opinion that little girls didn't belong at formal events.

Dom was back for his winter holidays and everyone was under the same roof again after nearly six months. Your Papa had been away on business for the past five weeks and there was a chance he hadn't yet spoken to your mother about the cotillion, so taking a risk, you asked him if you could attend.

He fixed you with his thinking look as you waited nervously, peeking over at your mother who seemed completely irritated with you going over her head.

"Have you kept up with what I taught you last time for your chess game?" he asks finally.

You nod. "Of course Papa.

"Good, then pick one of your brothers to play. If you win, then you may attend."

This was better than you could have hoped for. You quickly exchange a look with Julian who winks at you, bypassing your mother's glare.

"I'll play Julian," you say, standing to set up the board by the fireplace.

Dom, who had till that point been absorbed in his own business, chooses then to tune in to the rest of the family. "Oh come on! Julian's just going to let her win."

"No he's not!" you insisted, looking at your Papa. Dominic was being annoying for no reason and he would try his best to beat you on purpose. Why did he even care if you attended or not?

Your Papa looks between you and Dominic, and it must have been the fact that Julian avoided his eyes altogether that convinced him to listen to Dom.

"It should be a real victory, don't you think?" he asks you, fixing you with his stern face that always made you feel like he knew everything you were trying to hide from him.

"Yes Papa," you responded glumly, as you continued to set up. Dom and his smug face got up to take the seat opposite yours.

However, you needn't have worried. You hadn't lied when you told your father that you'd kept up with the chess lessons. You'd been practicing nearly every day, on your own and with Julian and his friends. Dominic lost far too quickly for being nineteen years old, playing his nine year old baby sister.

He stared at the board after you said checkmate for a few minutes, as if he couldn't believe that had just happened. As though you'd tricked him. Before you could really gloat in your victory, he roared and flipped the board over. You quickly scrambled to get away from him as he came at you with his arm raised.

"Hey, man, she's nine! What the hell!" Julian had ran to get between the two of you and Dominic shoved him, throwing him off balance, before he swung at his face.

You'd run to hide behind your father's chair as Dominic continued on towards you, having punched Julian in the face and knocked him backwards. It took your father standing up and being absolutely furious, for Dom to back off. He threw you a nasty look and strode out of the study, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Julian stood up, and you gasped loudly when you saw his face.

Your mother turns to you, absolutely furious. "You see! Now look what you've done. Your brother is supposed to be an escort - how is he meant to do that with a black eye?"

You turned to look at your father who only shook his head before walking out after Dom, leaving you to deal with your mother's wrath on your own.

How on earth was this your fault?

However, it had all been worth it, because here you sat at your very first ball. You'd had your dress picked out for weeks in the vain hope that you'd be allowed to go and it had paid off. Your legs dangled from the chair as you sat between your parents, your mother constantly fussing with your dress and chastising you to sit up straight. As the music swelled, you watched all of the girls walk down the steps in their white gowns, their fathers handing them off to their dates. Julian met Mr. Abbott at the foot of the steps and accepted Elizabeth from him. Your mother had managed to hide the black eye with some concealer and your father had knocked some sense into Dom, who was sulking at the bar in the back with some of his buddies.

Then there he was. Escorting beautiful Cecelia Rhodes, Johnathan Hawthorne walked past your table with her on his arm and as he caught your eye, he threw you a wink and a grin. You sighed to yourself, smiling wide as you watched him. John Hawthorne with his all-American good looks, amazing hair, and a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. He was, by every definition of the word, perfect.

John led Cecelia to stand near Julian and Elizabeth - you knew that the two of them had practiced the dance all week with one other. You'd supervised. They better not mess it up and make you look like a bad teacher. However, you needn't have worried. Both Lizzie and Cece should thank you that they had the best dates there. All of the other boys messed up. A lot.

Your mother had given you a ten o'clock curfew and it was already nine thirty by the time the dessert was served, so you really didn't have too much time left before Mrs. Hernandez came to pick you up. Your parents had abandoned you a while back, so you were left to entertain yourself. You looked up and saw Julian talking to some boy from his class. It looked like him and Elizabeth were done dancing for the night, because her and Cece were sitting at a different table with some other girls. The music was still playing and there were a few of the older couples on the dance floor, swaying along to the music.

"Hey Cap."

You turn and see John coming up behind you and dropping into your father's chair. You giggled as you turned to him and said hello. You always loved it when he called you that. It made you feel special. He'd told you that you reminded him of one of the best chess players of all time, Capablanca, because the two of you both finished off your opponents lightning fast. He'd started calling you Cap because of it, insisting that one day you would be better than him. He also made it a point to play you anytime he was over, and while he had yet to win, he kept trying.

"You looked really good out there," you tell him, a slight color flushing your cheeks.

"Well, I had a pretty good teacher," he replies, smiling at you with his radiant smile that never failed to take your breath away.

"That's true."

He laughs, before swiping your dessert plate and finishing off the rest of your cake while you glare at him. But you're not really all that upset. It's John. You couldn't ever be all too mad at him.

"What're you doing here? Besides eating my cake," you ask him, indicating to the rest of his classmates who were scattered between a few tables in their own groups. None of the rest of them were sitting around with the baby.

"Well, I couldn't end the night without dancing with the prettiest girl here, now could I?" He smiles and offers you his hand, which you grab excitedly. No one had asked you to dance yet and it would be a shame to not dance even once at your first ball ever.

John leads you out to the dance floor and offers to let you stand on his feet, but you were determined to do this right. You weren't given the role of Clara for nothing - you earned that! He held both of your hands in his due to the height difference, and the two of you moved along to the music in formation.

"Hey John," you said, looking up at him shyly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you love Cece?"

He's quiet for a second as he thinks over your question. "Well, she is my girlfriend," he says after a few seconds, "but it's still new and we're figuring things out."

You nod. You'd expected as much - John was good at giving the right answers and he never lied to you if he could help it.

"Do you think you'll marry her one day?"

He laughs a bit at that. "Probably not. She's just a girl I'm dating in high school. Not many people end up with their high school sweetheart."

You smile at that. He's right. Most people grow up, move away, go to college and meet their wives and husbands there. Your parents had met one another in college, after all.

"Good," you tell him, allowing him to spin you around his finger.

He smiles a bit weirdly at that, his eyebrows going up a bit. "Why is that good?" he asks.

You're not sure if you should tell him. It is a little embarrassing. But then, if you didn't tell him, then he might pick some girl - Cece or otherwise - and that would cause other sorts of problems.

"Promise you won't laugh?" you ask him. You have to be sure that he wouldn't make fun of you for this. That would break your heart if he of all people laughed.

"I promise," he says, linking your pinkies with his.

You take a deep breath, before you look right at him. "Because one day, I'm going to marry you. And we'll get married by the lake where Auntie Amelia got married and I'll get to wear the biggest white dress ever. You'll wear a blue suit because blue goes well with your eyes. It'll be perfect."

You expect him to laugh even though he said he wouldn't. But then, John really isn't like that. He kneels down so he can look at you better, not caring that the music is still playing and everyone else is still dancing. He looks you right in the eye, completely seriously, and sticks out his hand for you to shake. "You got yourself a deal, Cap."

*------------*

It's Thanksgiving Break and his parents are on business in Asia so Julian had invited him to spend the holiday with his family. Dominic and his girlfriend would be there, and Julian had told him that you were dreading an entire week of playing nice with Dom so that he can show off the family and charm the pants off of the Huntingtons' daughter. John would be a welcome buffer.

He'd accepted mostly so he could avoid being the only person left on campus, and the alternative was to go home with the new girl he'd started seeing and he worried that meeting the parents so soon would send the wrong message. Caitlyn was nice and all but he didn't see much of a future there. She was bright in the way that girls tend to be when they're told they need to go to college to secure a husband. She could carry on an intellectual conversation for around five minutes, until you dug deeper and realized all she knew was the reader's digest version.

That's how he finds himself in Connecticut, sneaking out with you and Julian to the pool. He'd spent the day hunting with the men, and while your mother had thought you were going out to ride, you'd actually snuck along with them. Your father had merely shook his head before grabbing an extra rifle for you. He knew you didn't really want to hunt, you just wanted to be included. You kept conveniently missing easy shots and he'd gone to the shooting range with you too many times to believe you'd gotten that bad overnight. When he'd quietly called you out on it, you told him you didn't feel comfortable eating Bambi for dinner. He'd had to agree with you, so now your father thought he was a terrible shot as well.

It's been a while since he'd spent so much time with you, as he'd been away at college or doing internships. The last time, you'd been around thirteen and it had been his and Julian's second winter holidays when both of your families had booked a stay in Gstaad. You'd fallen ill and had spent most of the time sniffling and coughing in bed. Him and Julian would hit the slopes in the morning and then spend the rest of the day drinking hot chocolate and watching movies in your room while Julian complained about you getting your germs all over him. You talked to him about all the classes he was taking and the two of you had spent a memorable afternoon debating the merits of the death penalty. He was going to be using all of it for the paper he had due.

It's late at night and the moon is overhead. Julian had excused himself to go raid your father's liquor cabinet and in the distance you two can hear Dom and his girlfriend Katie fighting. Your mother had made some comment about her clothing and it had obviously gotten to her. She'd have to grow a thicker skin if she was going to last.

"Hundred dollars says they break up by Christmas." You look at him, your face betraying your glee at your brother's misfortune.

He laughs. "You're on." He had a feeling Katie was more resilient than most. She hadn't blown up at your mother to her face. She'd waited until it was just Dom and her. He had a feeling Dom would be making it up to her for a while, though, if he wanted it to last.

The two of you are sat at the edge of the pool, your feet dangling in the water. It's a good thing the pool is heated, because swimming in late November in Connecticut and dying as a result of freezing to death really wasn't his life plan. He looks at you, playing with the edge of the sweatshirt you'd borrowed from him when you'd first come over to Julian's room where the two of them had been hanging out. You'd persuaded them to come out with you and had asked to borrow something to throw on top since it was freezing outside. The Columbia law school hoodie enveloped you completely, nearly at your knees.

"What's going on with you lately?" he asks, turning towards the house and seeing the lights go on in your father's study, indicating that Julian had started raiding the alcohol.

"Well, high school sucks like you said it would," you reply with a bitter note to your voice. He knew that you hated going to boarding school and had thrown a fit when your parents had decided to send you. Neither Dom nor Julian had gone to boarding school, and you'd protested against it vehemently. However, your father hadn't wanted to leave you on your own in Connecticut and with him traveling so much and your mother being away as well, they wanted to give you a semblance of structure. He wasn't sure if he agreed with it either - he knew you'd be much happier going to Hopkins like the rest of them had rather than go boarding school hopping to whichever continent your father decided to have business in that year.

"Have you at least made new friends this time?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "If by friends, you mean guys named Brad who ask me out and then when I say no, they go and tell the entire school I slept with them, then sure yeah. I've made friends."

He raises his eyebrows at that. There wasn't a chance Julian knew about this, because if he did, Brad would be history.

"What'd you do about that?" he asks, wondering if he needs to go teach this Brad guy a thing or two about how to treat girls right.

"Told anyone who asked, that Brad isn't particularly well-endowed," you tell him, the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

"Good girl."

"I can handle it, it's not that I can't. It's just…I can't wait to be in college and not have to worry about this sort of crap."

He hums in agreement. College really was the great equalizer - or as much as it can be when everyone has the exact same blue blood upbringing as you do. He'd tried to make friends that weren't from his usual circles back when he'd done undergrad at Princeton and had hit it off with a few kids on scholarship. It was difficult however, when they either wanted to pay their own way or wouldn't let him help out. Made things awkward.

"Can I tell you something?" you ask. He notices that your fingers fidget with the ends of his sweatshirt - he's always found that little tell of yours endearing.

"Of course."

"I'm the last girl in my year to not have kissed anyone. Even Siena Robertson made out with Jacob Pemberley on the soccer field right before the break, so now I'm the last one left."

You look miserable admitting that and he feels for you - being a teenager and feeling like you're behind on stuff like that is its own brand of misery.

"It'll happen when the time is right," he says, hoping that's of some relief. However, even he knows how hollow his words sound. They're likely of little solace when you're a fifteen year old girl stuck feeling like there's something wrong with you for not having achieved these milestones.

He looks over at you and you had an odd look on your face, as though you're conflicted with something and struggling to really put your thoughts into words. He nudges you with his shoulder, moving his head up as if to ask, What else is going on in that head of  yours?

"I don't want my first kiss to be some guy named Brad," you admit, not looking at him, instead staring resolutely into the pool. The chilly air outside blows your hair ever so slightly, and he watches it move rather than look at you.

"Who do you want it to be?" he asks quietly.

You turn to him, your doe eyes wide with the hint of tears, biting your lip, and looking at him like you're not sure why he even bothered asking. As if he didn't know.

He feels his heart clench but he forces himself to look away from you, shaking his head as he does. "You're a kid," he says, the hair at the nape of his neck standing straight up as another chilly wind rushes over the both of you, blowing more leaves to the ground in a swirl.

He'd hoped that would be it. That you'd realize the absurdity of what you're saying.

"Please John." You plead, your hand reaching for his, sending a shiver down his spine. Your fingers are like icicles and he can't help himself from wrapping your hand in his, if only to warm it up.

"Julian would kill me," he tells you, wondering why that was the only thing he could think of to say to you. There's other reasons of course - it's wrong, so very wrong. He's a grown man and you're a kid. You deserve to have your first kiss be someone who you love - at least puppy love. Not like this.

"Julian doesn't have to know."

His jaw clenches as he looks down at you, your eyes fixed at where his hand is holding yours.

"Please," you try again, squeezing his hand to force him to meet your eyes. "Please don't let my first kiss be some guy named Brad."

He knows what you're saying. Don't let your first kiss mean nothing. Don't let it be meaningless and awful and only because you don't want to feel behind the rest of your classmates. Because he knows, that if this is how you feel already, you won't waste any time to make sure you're up to the mark, the second you get back to school. It would be rushed and sloppy and some kid named Brad would go around the school telling everyone he'd managed to snag you, and this time he wouldn't be lying.

He didn't want that for you. You deserved better.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he turns to look back at the study - the lights are still on, meaning Julian still hasn't left. The next second he's moved his hand out of your grasp, only to wrap it around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his head bent down to capture your lips with his, swallowing your surprised noise. Soft, plush, pliant, perfect. It's a quick press of lips on lips. Chaste, almost, if it weren't for the fact that he'd practically grabbed you like a rag doll, nearly to his lap. He won't take it further, though. He shouldn't. He moves away on a sigh. Your eyes are closed, your long lashes kissing your cheeks, your face illuminated by the moonlight.

"Thank you," you breathe out, your eyes still closed.

He knows he'll remember this moment forever.

There's the sound of the back door opening, and the two of you quickly move away from one another. Your eyes meet his and you smile just barely at him and he has a hard time not smiling back.

Julian returns, bottle of scotch in one hand and a bottle of Moët in the other. You refuse to drink scotch still, insisting it burns too much, so the champagne is always for you.

*------------*

It’s over a year later when he finds himself in Connecticut once again. His mother had asked him why he’d come just for cotillion season, and he tells her he'd missed her and his father and wanted to see them before buckling down for finals. He can't tell them the truth. That you'd called and asked him to.

"You know, it is quite unfair for you to have gotten to dance with me at your cotillion, but for me to be denied the same pleasure at mine," you'd said when you'd called him.

His face had split into a grin as he stood up to take your call, leaving his date sitting by herself. His mother had set him up with Arthur Cafferty's daughter who was studying fashion at NYU. Needless to say, the two of them had nothing in common and after three dates with the girl, he had really only asked her out this final time to break it off nicely.

"When is it?" he'd asked, taking his planner out of his bookbag. He hadn't even bothered to go home and change for this date. One would think the girl would take a hint and realize he wasn't interested.

You told him the date and he said he'd make it work. Your resulting squeal was so high pitched, he had to move the phone away from his ear.

"You're sure it's not too much trouble?" you ask, once your initial excitement wears off.

"Anything for my future wife," he jokes. "I am nothing if not a loving and doting husband."

Your twinkling laugh carried him through the misery of breaking up with the Cafferty girl.

He'd pushed off a couple of study groups, spoken to his Tort Law professor about making up the in-class debate he would miss, and caught the train up from the city. Julian had flown back from Europe, and the two of them had tagged along with you and your mother to your final dress fitting so that they could get their tux fittings done at the same time. The seamstress had you try on your dress and you looked like a ball of cotton, the swathes of tulle falling around you. You'd patiently stood while the lady made some last minute adjustments, both him and Julian poking fun at you while she did.

Once your mother left to go deal with the payment, you quickly moved to get out of the dress, grabbing another with you on the way into the fitting room. The seamstress dragged him and Julian up onto the fitting platforms next, tutting about them both having grown far too much since the last time. He detects movement in the mirror he's standing in, and you've emerged wearing another dress. He turns towards you, taking it in.

This dress flows down to your feet, draping against you as if it was made for you. As you take a step forward, his eye is caught by the deep slit to the side which exposes your leg with your movement. You know he's watching, so you turn for his benefit, revealing that there's no back to this dress. There's just the smooth skin of your back, fully exposed - his eyes wander down, catching the visible dimples at your lower back. He has to take a second and remind himself that Julian is there too, but you'd seen his reaction - he's sure of it. You'd taken his breath away.

"Mother will obliterate you if she sees you wearing that," Julian warns, moving towards you to help you spin around in it.

As if summoned, your mother reappears, seemingly aghast at your dress, and quickly ushers you away from view. Neither him nor Julian can make out what the two of you are saying, but its obviously an argument. When you emerge, you look entirely put out and he catches your eye, rolling his eyes in sympathy and drawing a small smile from you.

The next night, Julian and him drive you to the venue, dropping you off, before going to meet up with some old friends in the area. You were head debutante and had to coordinate everyone else along with the cotillion Chair, and thus were arriving nearly six hours prior to the event.

It's dark by the time everyone has arrived at your ball. It's decidedly your ball, that much is obvious. You'd had the venue changed from the usual ballroom at the country club to the old Haverford Mansion with its vaulted ceilings and grand staircase. He briefly wonders how you'd managed to swing that - the Chairs are usually older women who rule these events like their life depends on it. Then again, you could charm anyone if you really wanted to.

Julian and him find themselves at a table with both of your families. Dom had brought Katie, who had stuck around despite your mother. You'd handed over the cash to him from that bet happily enough. Katie was great. You didn't think Dom deserved her and you were quite vocal about your opinion.

"Julian, my boy!" John's father exclaims, sitting down across from the two of them, "When's your next show coming?"

"Oh I've only just started on the new collection, Mr. Hawthorne, so not for a while. But I'll be sure to give you first peek when it's ready" Julian tells his father. The Hawthornes made it a point to always grab a piece from any collection Julian painted, his mother fancying herself a patron of the arts.

His mother briefly asks him and Julian why neither of them could ever manage to bring dates to such events and all of their classmates are getting married around them. John of course knew the reason why Julian never brought dates - his dates tend to wear suits instead of ballgowns and it wasn't the kind of attention he wanted brought to his life. Why he never seemed to have a date, however, was a very good question. One that could be answered if anyone were to remember the time he had brought a real date. Lindsey Carlyle had left last Thanksgiving when everyone had congregated at his family's brownstone, in a huff, claiming he wanted to spend more time with a sixteen year old girl rather than her.

"Remind me to tell my sister she owes me for making me sit through another one of these functions around all these people," Julian mutters to him, tugging at his collar.

John stifles a laugh. He was sure Julian would think of some manner of having you make it up to him - likely by simply having you spend the summer with him gallivanting around Europe. Julian didn't have it in him to truly be upset with you.

"I don't know how she talked you into coming, but she's had you whipped forever, so I guess I'm just glad I'm not here alone."

He rolls his eyes, elbowing Julian. It's no secret that he lets you boss him around - always has, ever since you were little.

Everyone quiets down as the music begins and the Chair comes to announce each girl. He knew you'd be last, being the head. To the side, all of the dates are standing, awaiting the arrival of the girls. Your father is upstairs, with the other fathers to the right of the staircase. One by one the girls are called, the Chair talks about each of their accomplishments as she announces them and their fathers walk them down the steps, to be handed off to the teenage boys in tuxes.

The music changes as it's your turn prompting him and Julian to exchange a look.

"Does the head deb usually get different music?" he leans over to ask Julian.

Julian shakes his head, his lips pressed tightly together in a way that John can tell he's trying hard not to smile and incur his mother's wrath.

The Chair begins to list your litany of accomplishments as your father walks out from the right and awaits you. He sees you emerge, and a collective hush falls over the crowd. You aren't wearing one of the regulation cotillion dresses like every girl before you. You're wearing the dress that had taken his breath away yesterday. There's a smirk planted quite firmly on your face as your father takes your hand and helps you float down the stairs.

John is positive your father's grip on you had been iron tight in reaction to your dress. Your date - a boy named William who John knew only vaguely - looks elated however. He helps you onto the dance floor and the music changes once again, with all of the couples dancing. John sees Julian's fists tighten as William's hands sit a little lower on your back than they should, and your father doesn't bother coming to the table, instead making a beeline to the bar.

"She's insane," Julian whispers out of the corner of his mouth, the both of them watching you with some amount of awe. No one did this at a cotillion. No one.

"I'll buy you that brush set you've been eyeing if your mother manages to drink less than five vodka sodas tonight," he tells Julian, the two of them grinning at one another.

Your mother throws a glare at the both of them as she knocks back her drink.

"No deal," Julian whispers back. "I'm going to lose that in the next ten minutes."

Turning their attention back towards you, they both watch as you twirl around in William's arms. The first dance is endless and at some point your father made it back to the table, carrying a drink in each hand. Your mother gets up when your father returns, the two of them having a quick, quiet exchange, at which Julian rolls his eyes.

However, as the second song draws to a close, John finds himself standing and making his way towards you. It really should be your father or one of your brothers cutting in for the first time, but he figures he should spare you their reactions as long as possible. He reaches you and William, towering over the boy as he approaches, and taps him on the shoulder to cut in. William appears a little annoyed but still hands you over, turning to walk to the sidelines.

He turns to look at you - you're sporting a smirk a mile wide, your eyes twinkling. You're pleased he was the one who cut in first.

"What a surprise seeing you here, Mr. Hawthorne," you drawl, humor coloring your voice.

"Well, I had to make sure I danced with the prettiest girl at the ball, now didn't I?" he replies, reaching for your hand and placing his other to your waist. You jump ever so slightly at the touch of his warm fingers against your skin and he has to disguise his laugh as a slight cough. When you place your other hand to his shoulder, it was as though an electric current ran through him.

The music transitions seamlessly and he draws you close into a waltz. He's highly aware that the two of you have nearly a hundred eyes on you and he can tell you're loving it.

"Are all the biddies clutching their pearls in horror?" you ask him.

"Why'd you pick this dress?" he asks, instead of answering your question. You already knew the answer.

"You liked it, didn't you?"

He nods. He had liked it. However, that didn't answer his question, so he looks at you, eyebrow quirked, imploring you to explain further.

With a slight roll of your eyes, you huff delicately. "I'm tired of being the good girl, the perfect girl. I wanted to turn some heads. I think we can both agree that I have."

"Your mother is going to kill you," he murmurs next to your ear, a smirk matching yours on his face. You had indeed turned heads. Some more than others.

"Oh please. Did you know, yesterday, she told me that I was far too chubby to wear a dress like this."

He starts to disagree with that assessment - you were anything but and the dress fit you like a glove as though it were commissioned for you.

"It's okay," you reassure him. "She's just upset she can no longer pull off something like this."

He laughs at that.

He twirls and spins you out, before catching you in his arms again.

"You look beautiful," he tells you looking right into your eyes, as though compelled to.

The faintest of colors graces your cheeks and you look bashfully (for the first time that night) away from him, smiling.

"Thank you."

The music changes again and he's almost worried that someone is going to steal you away from him, yet no one does. He meets Julian's eye above your head, and his friend looks to be talking his parents down from making a scene. Julian gives him an exasperated look as though to say, You see what I put up with because of her.

He looks back at you, shaking his head. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"You love trouble," you tell him, your eyes shining, smirking up at him.

He can't help himself from smirking right back. "You're a tease," he whispers back his fingers caressing your back, before he can catch himself. You're too young, even though you may not look it anymore.

As though sensing his change in mood, you lean up to him, reaching his ear. "Don't worry. I know that we can't. That you can't."

He looks down at you, meeting your gaze, reassured that you understand. He nods, smiling his gratitude that you understand. He can't have this seem in any way improper. He's set to take the bar. He's set to clerk for McGuire. However your quiet words have their desired effect, and he can feel himself relaxing, comfortably dancing with you in his arms.

As he continues to lead you around the dance floor, he's becoming convinced of one thing - if tonight is anything to go on, he's going to want to fulfill his end of the deal.

*------------*

After your cotillion, he'd gone back and started studying for the bar - head down night after night. He couldn't afford distractions.

He got a call the day you got your Harvard acceptance letter. You received a bouquet of dahlias and a shipment from Laduree the following day, much to the collective jealousy of every one of your dormmates.

The day he passed the New York state bar, you were his first phone call.

You were graduating. You were graduating and you would be an adult in the eyes of your families and the law. The two of you had already planned an entire summer country hopping across Southeast Asia with Julian in tow. John would be lying if he said he was anything less than ecstatic.

Julian had uncharacteristically offered to pick him up from Heathrow instead of simply sending a car. Assuming he wanted to talk through the details of the trip the three of you were headed out to the following week, John threw his bag into the back cheerfully and got into the passenger seat. Europe was the only place he trusted Julian to drive. Getting in the passenger seat with Julian at the wheel in the states was the equivalent of signing a death wish.

"How was the flight?" Julian asks, merging across the lanes and pissing off some cabbies on the way.

"Fine," John replies, taking stock of his friend. He hadn't seen Julian since the cotillion early in the year and he couldn't help but notice that Jules looked thinner. His already lanky frame was positively beanstalk-like. "What's been up with you?"

Julian glances at him quickly, before turning his attention back to the front. "Anthony and I broke up," he says quickly, as if simply trying to get it out of the way.

Well, that explained the weightloss. Julian was a true artist at his core. He insisted that pain was meant to be felt. "I'm sorry man. What happened?"

"He took me to meet the parents. Then he wanted to meet mine. We fought. He issued an ultimatum. Here we are."

John nods sympathetically. Telling the parents was out of the question. Neither of your families were the kind who would be supportive and understanding. Julian stood to lose quite a bit if he chose to be honest.

"Y/N noticed too," he says, referring to his own frame.

"You should tell her at least." This was an old discussion for them. John insisted that you should know. That you wouldn't care nor tell anyone. However, Julian's fear - fear of losing you and fear of being ousted - overpowered any rationale he was able to provide.

Julian shakes his head. "Pretty sure my father has got his claws deep in there by now. I just told her I was doing an experiment on the body's reaction to starvation in order to channel it into my new piece."

John breathes out a laugh at that. "She buy it?"

"No, but our family's good at the whole Don't Ask Don't Tell thing. Pretty sure she's got secrets of her own she doesn't want anyone to know."

He nods, feeling the guilty coil of lying to Julian rouse itself once again. He'd beat himself up about it quite a bit after he'd kissed you by the pool, knowing Julian would kick the absolute shit out of him if he knew. He might not be able to take John on physically, but it wasn't as though John would be fighting back exactly.

"Speaking of," Julian begins, his voice low and quiet, yet assertive in a manner that reminds John of your father and his, "we need to talk about her."

John crosses his eyes over to look at his friend, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He couldn't possibly know anything. "What about her?" he asks, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

"Don't do that with me man. You might think you're fooling the rest of the world, but you're talking to someone whose entire life is a lie. You think I don't know pining when I see it?" Julian sounds less angry than he should, John thinks. If anything he sounds resigned. Reluctant to be having this conversation at all.

"I'm sor -"

"It doesn't matter." Julian cuts him off. "I don't care if something happened. What I need you to do is promise me that nothing ever will."

"I don't - "

"Let me make it as plain as possible," Julian says, his mouth a straight line, hands gripped tight around the steering wheel. "It's me or her. You choose to pursue this thing, take it any further, then that's it. You'll have made your choice."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Never - not when he'd first kissed you, not when he'd danced with you, not when he'd dreamed of… - had he thought that there would be a chance of him being at this point. This awful point where he's forced to choose between you and Julian. How was he supposed to choose between his best friend and you - how could he possibly be expected to make that decision. He never thought Julian of all people would ask this of him. He expected a beating, a cold shoulder for a couple of days - but at the end he expected it to work out. How could it not?

"So you're issuing an ultimatum?" he asks, swallowing the anger he can feel bubbling underneath.

Julian doesn't even turn to look at him. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Just because you're miserable, you're setting out to make everyone else around you feel the same way?" he asks, ugly malice coloring his voice as he turns to look away from Julian. He couldn't stand to look at him at this moment.

"Don't make this about something it isn't. I'm looking out for my baby sister. She deserves to have a college experience that isn't tied to some older guy that's only going to make her feel guilty about experiencing the same stuff he did, but tenfold."

"I wouldn't do that to her," John says quietly. He can't believe Julian would even think that about him. That he would in some way hold you back from having anything you wanted.

"You might not, but she'd do it to herself for you," he says quietly. John can see his hands tremble ever so slightly at the wheel.

"So that’s it?"

"Yeah." Julian breathes out a sigh and turns down the street towards your school. "That's it."

The rest of the car ride passes in tense silence.

You were valedictorian, the cord hanging down your neck signifying you as such. When you'd told him that, he'd asked if you were giving a speech but you'd told him you could care less about standing up in front of people you're unlikely to see again and talking about the wonderful experiences and memories - it rang of fakery and you hadn't wanted to end on such a false note. You'd excused yourself from consideration, so the class president gave the speech instead.

John sat with your family. Julian's words still rang in his head and he was finding it difficult to focus on much of anything. He followed everyone else's lead, clapping when appropriate, while his mind was miles away.

Once the ceremony was over, he sees you making your way through the crowd towards everyone - eyes shining, hat askew, hair flowing behind you, the largest smile he's ever seen firmly in place. You hug your parents first, then Julian.

"John!"

You approach him for a hug and he finds himself turning just barely to meet Julian's eyes. He hugs you from the side, arm loosely around your shoulders, eyes barely meeting yours - over before he knows it. Completely unlike any other hug the two of you have shared.

You let go slowly, the confusion clearly painted on your face as you look up at his face to figure out what was wrong. He sees you look from him, follow his gaze to Julian, and then back to him.

You know.

He's not sure how he gets through the celebration dinner afterwards. Words sit oddly in his mouth and he is mostly silent throughout. He can't keep himself from watching you. You're pretending everything is fine. It's your graduation and this should've been a good day. A happy day. And somehow he's pushed you into pretending.

It's late that night when there's a quiet knock at his door and the knob turns before he can say anything. He knows it’s you.

"Hey," you say, closing the door behind you. You're dressed in a little pajama set - navy blue with polka dots, the shorts covering you decently. It's cute, he finds himself thinking.

He gets up to sit at the edge of the bed, not trusting himself to say anything. He only watches as you walk and sit on the chair in the corner, instead of on the bed next to him, eyes trained on him.

"Julian said no, didn't he?" you ask, your voice smaller than he's used to.

He nods.

You're sitting so far away. He sees you swallow and look away from him.  It's quiet for a couple of minutes as you look out the window, processing what he's told you.

"Maybe it's for the best," you whisper, turning back to look at him.

How could the best be anything but you?

But it's his job to be the adult - to be the reasonable one. He can't deny that there's some merit to what Julian said even if he did do it as an ultimatum.

"You'll get to enjoy college. Live it up. Go to frat parties and get drunk and not worry about some older boyfriend waiting on you or judging you."

You laugh softly at that, rolling your eyes delicately. "Please. You and I both know that you'd just tag along."

He smiles. He would.

"You should date other people. You should experience love and heartbreak and all the stuff in between with someone who hasn't known you forever. It'll be new and exciting - you deserve to have a full college experience."

You agree. It makes sense. Especially given the completely different stages of life the two of you were about to embark on.

"Papa asked me to tag along with him this summer - he has some business in Europe and Latin America. I think I'm going to say yes. You and Julian go on the trip. It'll be good for you."

"It's your graduation trip," he protests.

You shrug. "There will be other trips. I think Julian needs you right now more than I do."

"What makes you say that?" he asks, eyebrow quirked in confusion. As far as he knew, Julian hadn't come clean to you yet.

"He said he broke up with some girl - Antoinette, I guess. He's seemed miserable lately and I think he's probably just heartbroken and miserable - he could use his best friend. His best friend who is there just for him."

He finds himself smiling in spite of himself. He's not sure he could've been this unselfish in your shoes. "Anyone ever tell you you're too mature for your age?"

You let out a soft breath of a laugh at that. "Have you met my family? Someone has to be."

He stands finally, walking to meet you at the chair. You look so incredibly small sitting there, that he finds himself kneeling down in front of you. You don't wait, simply launching yourself onto him - making up for the mediocre hug from earlier. You slip off of the chair, legs bent and splayed across his thighs as he catches you. It's all he can do to hold you tight against him, head buried in your hair, breathing you in.

You can feel his heart beating underneath as he holds you close to him. This wasn't how today was supposed to go. It should've been wonderful - the two of you, finally together after months of talking, teasing, overthinking - it should've been easy. He should've grabbed you in his arms in front of everyone and kissed you right then and there - it's how you'd imagined it would go all those nights laying in bed, listening to the sound of your dormmates snoring. That first kiss - that had been everything you'd needed then, the memory of it carrying you through the rest of the school year as you turned away boy after boy, content to live with the mere echo of that kiss reverberating through you.

High school was just something to get through. College was meant to be perfect, freedom, and John. John, who made everything else perfect by simply being there with you. John, who had been the reason you'd kept your head down and done everything asked of you - so that no one could hold anything against you when the inevitability of you and John materialized. The two of you had done everything right. You'd waited. You'd waited and waited until it could be proper, until it would be accepted. It had been torture and the only thing that had carried you through it had been the knowledge that one day very soon, you'd have him.

You can feel your eyes welling up as it really starts to sink in - this wasn't going to happen. You and John were not going to happen.

You shift slightly, moving back from where your head has been tucked into the crook of his neck while you straddle him on the floor. He looks at you, with his deep blue eyes threaded with strands of caramel, that never fail to imbue you with warmth. You reach up to touch his cheek, thumb grazing his cheekbone, feeling the little stubble that's started to appear. Your eyes leave his and roam to the pink of his lips and before you know it, you've leaned up, capturing them with yours. There is the barest of pauses, before his hold on you tightens exquisitely, pushing you up, closer to him, the barest of growls from the back of his throat as he deepens the kiss. This was entirely unlike your first kiss. John claimed your lips as though he couldn't bear to be apart from them for even a moment, his hands leaving tingles of sensation everywhere they went. You let go with a sharp gasp, and a soft moan escapes him that you can't help but want to taste, as you meet his mouth again, again, and again until you forget if the air you're breathing is even your own.

When you finally leave, it's with a quick goodbye, lips just barely pressed to his cheek. He finds himself reaching up to touch the spot on his face that you'd grazed, hoping to keep it there forever.

*------------*

Dominic had kept all the guys out late the previous night, fully invested in making the most of his final day as a bachelor. John had made it back in one piece, thankfully, but had awoken to a migraine. The water and painkillers left for him on the nightstand serving as his only solace.

He'd had the immense pleasure of meeting Matthew for the first time. He'd heard through the grapevine that you were dating some guy, but Matthew had not been what he expected at all. He was cocky, a showboat, and had an ego the size of Texas. If anything, Matthew was the exact opposite of the kind of guy he'd thought you'd ever date.

You'd come back from college for the weekend wedding, Matthew in tow. The rest of your family was busy with last minute wedding stuff, so John had been tasked with greeting everyone. The Costello family had sent Frank Costello's son to represent the family, and as he happened to go to school with you, he'd also tagged along. You'd walked in, your face scrunched up in exasperation, the two boys trailing behind with the luggage. You'd hugged him quickly before introducing both of the boys, and John had had to control the flash of anger he felt when Matthew wrapped a meaty arm around your waist, squeezing it tight, and hinted at the two of you going to take a nap. You'd seemed a little embarrassed, and tried to laugh it off, but John could tell that had made you uncomfortable.

As you all start to walk down the hallway towards the rooms he's pointed everyone to, Ricky lingers, meeting his eye briefly. "If you're wondering what she sees in him, you're not alone," he says under his breath so only John can hear.

He had a feeling him and Ricky would get along just fine.

His initial impression of Matthew was only confirmed later during the bachelor party that had gone on far too late. He'd told Dominic and Julian that he'd stay more or less sober to make sure there weren't any issues, and had found himself nursing a drink off to the side with Julian and Ricky, watching the women dancing up on the stage. Him and Julian had tried to push for a poker and steak bachelor party, but Dom had gone and rented out an entire burlesque club. The night had simply gone downhill from there, and John was convinced that if any of the wives or girlfriends knew what took place there, there would be more than a couple of broken relationships.

Julian excuses himself after a while, stating the need to grab a smoke, so John is left with Ricky who had turned out to be a good egg. Why couldn't you have dated him? That he could've understood.

Both him and Ricky had looked up as Matthew walks past them, led by some girl. Matthew sees the two of them staring at him. "You'd do it too if your girlfriend didn't put out either," he'd slurred, half drunk as the girl continued to lead him towards the private rooms in the back.

John shares a look of with Ricky. "Good for her," Ricky mutters, his jaw tight, indicating at the bartender for another drink.

Nodding to where they'd seen Matthew disappear, Johns asks, "Is that normal?"

"Couldn't tell you," Ricky replies, "We aren't exactly close. I hear things, but don't really know what to believe."

John forces himself to take a deep breath and remember that it wasn't any of his business to interfere with your relationship. You were an adult and could handle it. If this is how Matthew is, then he doubted you were entirely unaware. He really hoped you weren't. However, that begged the question - why on earth were you with this guy?

He'd gotten dressed in the grey suit that the groomsmen were wearing and gone downstairs to grab breakfast. The ceremony would be taking place in the afternoon, and the entire place was a flurry of activity. He caught a glimpse of you racing down the hallway in a robe, calling out to him to make sure that Dom and Julian were up and ready.

After he'd gone through each guy's room and made sure the entire bridal party was accounted for, he'd ended up doing a couple more last minute things that Katie's mother asked of him. With only an hour before the ceremony, John made his escape, leaving Julian in charge of Dom. He needs a breather.

He finds himself on the upstairs balcony, overlooking the large grass lawn where the chairs are assembled and guests would be arriving soon. Taking out a cigarette, he lights it and takes a drag, feeling his shoulders untense for the first time since he's woken up.

"Are you hiding?"

He turns at the sound of your voice. You're dressed in a blush pink gown that flows to the ground, hair done up - a couple of strands framing your face. You're smiling, the soft smile that graces your face and the sparkle that enters your eyes - the smile he knows that you save for him.

"Hey Cap. What're you doing here?" he asks, smiling softly at you, as you walk towards him.

"Needed a break," you admit. "Katie's great, but her sorority sisters are a bit too much energy for me right now."

He lets out a chuckle at that.

You reach him, grabbing the cigarette easily out of his hand, and bring it to your own lips as you lean against the pillar in front of him with an air of ease.

"How was last night?" you ask him, letting out a puff of smoke, before passing it back to him.

He thinks about your question. Should he warn you about Matthew? Was it his place to do that? He should, he thinks - he'd want to know if he was in your shoes. You deserved to have someone better.

He feels you nudge him, as you shift to lean over the balcony by his side. You're looking at him in question as he's been silent since you asked.

"If I say something, promise not to take it the wrong way?" he asks, hesitation layered in his voice.

Your brow furrows slightly, but you nod, prompting him to go on.

"Matthew - do you like him?"

"Why're you asking me that?"

John swallows as he looks down at you next to him with your eyes narrowed slightly. "He's not as…discreet as he should be," he manages out, doing his best to convey his concern but still keep it polite.

You barely react at that. You either know or don't care and he's willing to bet it’s the former - you would definitely care to have a partner that was considerate and tactful rather than one whose words and actions were circumspect in the public eye.

"Did he say something specific that has you concerned?" You don't meet his eyes, turning to look out at the lawn, where ushers are starting to seat some early guests.

John shifts a bit on his feet, unsure of how to phrase it. "He - um - he said something about you not putting out," he blurts out, stuttering through it like some prepubescent boy. He really shouldn't be feeling quite so awkward about this, and yet he does.

He hears you sigh - then feels you slump slightly and he turns and looks at you, relieved you aren't upset with him and worried all over again because you just look sad.

"I'm just not ready," you confess, looking up at him.

He shakes his head. "You don't owe me an explanation. I just thought you'd want to know, that's all."

You nod, eyes shifting from his, down to the ground.

It's quiet for a bit as the two of you pass the cigarette back and forth, watching more guests arrive and take their seats.

"Do you even like this guy?" he asks, unable to help himself from repeating his initial question. You hadn't answered it really.

You let out the barest of laughs, a sad smile settling on your face as you turn your head to look at him. "He's not you."

John feels his heart clench. The two of you didn't talk about it anymore, having swept it under the rug for Julian's sake and to maintain a semblance of normalcy for everyone else.

"We should go," you say before he has a chance to speak. "Katie will want us both there for pictures soon." You shake your head slightly as if to clear it, and he sees you force a larger smile to your face before you reach for his hand, leading him back inside.

Your hand feels incredibly small in his and he allows himself to be led by you.

The two of you walked down the aisle together, your hand tucked into his elbow, a bouquet held in the other.

He watched you dance late into the night. You danced with everyone - Julian, Ricky, and him, both Dom and Katie, your father and his.

He knocks back his drink as the musicians call for the final song of the night. You and Matthew sway together, your hair still perfectly in place, head rested on Matthew's shoulder, heels long ago shed off and forgotten under some table.

The music swells around him as he drinks slowly. He missed you. He didn't just miss you when he was alone. He missed you when he was surrounded by people. He missed your laugh through the din of laughter. He missed your smile amongst the sea of smiling faces. He missed the little jokes you'd make that were meant just for him. He missed the way your hand would squeeze his out of the blue, reminding him that it was your hand held tightly in his. He missed your very essence that used to bathe him in the feeling of light and air and you. Overwhelmingly you. Extensively you. You had saturated his very being with your presence.

Now, he simply felt bereft.

*------------*

Everyone had just sat down to Thanksgiving dinner at the van Dorens' place - John's parents had been invited to his mother's side of the family and John had begged off spending another holiday with the grandparents he couldn't stand. Say what you would about your families, at least they could have fun and relax when the occasion called for it. He'd instead coordinated his vacation with Julian's return and found himself tagging along to dinner at your boyfriend's parents' home.

That had not been the original plan. Him and Julian had gotten in the day before, however you'd been delayed on campus and hadn't made it back until Thanksgiving morning. You'd walked in, your skirt breezing around your legs, looking every bit as beautiful as ever. You'd greeted everyone and when you'd hugged him hello, you'd held it for a second longer than expected. "Can we talk tonight, after dinner?" you had asked, your voice low so that no one else could've heard. He'd nodded subtly, covering it up with a smile, as everyone sat down to breakfast. That was when your mother had announced that you'd all be going to the van Doren house for Thanksgiving dinner. That was news to everyone - even you, it would appear. You clearly hadn't known that dinner would be hosted at Matthew's home. You'd asked your mother when that had happened, however she'd insisted that that had always been the plan and that you and Julian must've forgotten. That was how he'd found himself seated next to Julian and across from you at the van Doren home. Had he known this would be where he'd end up tonight, he would've suffered through another retelling of his grandfather's World War II recollections about taking down the "Japs". It didn't matter how often John said you couldn't talk like that anymore - his political correctness fell on deaf ears.

The van Dorens had now been present for a few events over the past two years since Dominic and Katie's wedding, yet John hadn't warmed up to Matthew at all in that time. He would've thought he was being biased about it, but Julian didn't like him either and made no effort to be discreet with his distaste of the boy. He wasn't even a boy really. He'd swooped in on an eighteen year old while being a fifth year senior. The guy was barely a couple of years younger than him. John and Julian had both took the mickey out of you when he hadn't managed to get into any decent law school and had to bribe his way into Boston's program because he'd wanted to stay nearby. John was of the opinion that Matthew knew very well that he wouldn't last through anything long distance with you - there'd be far too many options available at your fingertips without his meatball self standing in the way.

A pregnant Katie - who was absolutely glowing - was seated next to you, the two of you chatting about her upcoming baby shower. He'd watched earlier over cocktails, as you touched Katie's stomach gingerly - as though worried you'd hurt her - with the softest of smiles and your eyes widened in awe. It appeared you and Dominic were finally getting along with one another, as you were planning on spending part of your winter holidays with him and Katie out in California.

"John, I heard from Agnes Mayweather that you and Cecelia have been seeing one another again. How is that going?"

John looks up at your mother's question and notes your look of slight surprise. He hadn't yet told you that he had started seeing Cece again - it hadn't been that long and it simply hadn't come up organically in conversation yet. Since his move from DC to New York, he'd been looking for old friends to hang out with, and him and Cece had simply fallen together again easily.

"It's good," he responds with a smile. "Her family does Thanksgiving in Europe every year, so that's where she is right now."

"Who's Cece?" Katie asks, a smile on her face, eyes curious. In her entire time with Dom, she had never seen John mention a girl with any semblance of seriousness.

"His date for cotillion," you supply, a bemused expression on your face. John's not sure what to make of it exactly - were you upset he hadn't told you he was dating someone? Or dating Cece? As far as he knew, you and Cece got along just fine, in the limited interactions you'd had together.

"You must've been like - what - eight or nine then?" Matthew asks from your other side, putting his arm around the back of your chair.

"She was nine, yeah. Only person under the age of sixteen who was even allowed to attend," John says, a small smile on his face as he remembers the sight of your nine year old self, sitting at a table all alone, eating cake and watching everyone else dance.

"You always have liked doing all the grown up things, haven't you?" Matthew comments with a short laugh as you roll your eyes, yet allow him to grab your hand that's been resting on the table.

One day, John hopes that seeing someone else have and hold you won't cause that sharp stabbing feeling in his chest. One day could not come fast enough.

The dinner continues and the drinks flow, the food transitioning from turkey and mashed potatoes, to pies and pastries. He sees the large tray of tiramisu you'd brought with you, and grabs a large square for himself. To say he was addicted would be selling it short. You and Matthew both had a slice of his mother's pumpkin pie in front of you. Funny - he thought you hated pumpkin pie.

The sudden clinking of silverware against glass catches everyone's attention, and John turns to look at Matthew, who is standing, wine glass raised as though to make a toast. Every single person turns to him as well, and John can't help but notice your slightly furrowed brow as you look up at him.

"Thank you all, for being here today," Matthew begins in a booming voice that carries across the long table. "I want to take the chance today and appreciate the woman who has been by my side these past few years, the most beautiful woman I've ever known." All eyes turn to you, and your face has colored under the attention, as Matthew continues. "The day I run for Congress, I want you to be the woman standing behind me, supporting me. Y/N, darling, will you make me the happiest man in the world, by saying yes to being my bride?" he asks, a ring in hand as he looks down at you expectantly.

A tense buzz of silence has fallen across the table at the conclusion of Matthew's speech. You appear to be in shock and he can't tell if it's a good surprise or bad. Julian won't meet his eyes, looking only down at his lap instead of across at you. And, if John isn't mistaken, he sees your father nod imperceptibly so, out of the corner of his eye.

You nod shakily, before a large smile breaks out on your face. "Yes, of course." John watches as Matthew pulls you up out of the chair, pushing the ring onto your finger, and presses a kiss to your lips in front of everyone, as the rest of the table breaks out into excited cheers or claps. John can't believe what just happened. You were only twenty one years old! He couldn't believe you'd agreed to marry Matthew of all people - the guy who had proposed by asking you to stand behind him while he ran for Congress. What the hell was wrong with you?

He turns to look at Julian while the rest of the party offers both you and Matthew their congratulations, Katie examines the giant gaudy ring on your finger, and your mother cries, patting her tears away with a handkerchief. Julian, however, has disappeared in the commotion, and John is left to sit there and take in the new state of the world before him.

It is late that night by the time everyone returns to your family home. There had been a lot of people gushing at you and Matthew, a lot of photographs, however at the end of the day you'd chosen to come home with the rest of them. Your parents weren't particularly keen on you spending the night at your fiancé's home due to the optics, even though everyone of course turned the other way and didn't ask any questions when the two of you traveled together.

Your parents had retired to bed nearly immediately, both of them hugging you and telling you how very proud and happy they were due to your engagement. The rest of you had ended up in the study, where Dom and Katie talked to you about potential wedding venues in the Napa Valley. John listened along and added in comments passively, trying to cover for how completely disengaged Julian was from the conversation. Eventually, the two of them left to go to bed as well, Dom helping his wife up and out of the study, shutting the door behind, leaving just you, John, and Julian in the room.

It's quiet for a while as you get up to fix yourself another drink, eyebrow raised in question at the both of them. John shook his head. He wanted to stick to the single drink he'd been nursing since he had sat down. Julian hadn't noticed your question, having stared straight out the window, to the pool in the backyard.

"Are you really going to marry him?" Julian asks, turning away from the window to face you, breaking the silence.

You appear taken aback as you turn from the bar cart, having poured yourself a vodka soda. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one. Tell me honestly, that if he hadn't asked you at Thanksgiving dinner in front of everyone - if he'd asked you last week at school or after the two of you got back to Boston - tell me you would've still said yes then." Julian's turned to face you, both his voice and face intensely directed at you as you're perched on the arm of the chair next to John.

He sees you falter and cover it up by taking a sip of your drink. "I don't know. Who knows what would have happened. I said yes - that's what actually happened. What matters," you reply with a definitive set to your voice, unable to look Julian in the eye for longer than a second.

John turns to you fully. That wasn't the right answer to that question - it should've been an enthusiastic, no holds barred yes. Instead it was…whatever that was.

"You know his mother flinches whenever his father walks by her, right?" Julian asks, exchanging a look with John as he does. They'd talked about that before, how Mrs. van Doren seems terrified of her husband in a manner entirely unfamiliar to the both of them. Their mothers didn't cower from their fathers that way.

You appraise them both before you speak. "I'm not her and Matthew is not his father," you state firmly. "That is my future family, and you shouldn't speak about them like that," you declare, as though trying to steer the conversation to a close. John can tell you'd been aware of that - you've always been fairly observant so he isn't entirely surprised.

Julian stands up all of a sudden, causing both of you to look at him curiously. He walks to the window, looking out at the backyard before he speaks again. "You do realize that the dinner with the van Dorens - Mother lied. That wasn't always the plan. It only became the plan yesterday because it was decided that Matthew would propose to you tonight."

"Okay…so what? My boyfriend decided to propose to me. What's the big deal?" Both you and John look at one another in confusion, and then at Julian, prompting him to speak further.

"Did you notice that Papa and Mr. van Doren went off to his study for drinks afterwards? That Dom wasn't invited?" Julian asks, head still facing the backyard.

You stand up, setting your drink down on the table, and cross your arms over your chest. "What're you getting at Julian? Just come right out and say whatever it is you're trying to say."

Julian turns away from the window finally, instead choosing to lean against it, facing you. "He made the Singapore deal with them. With the van Dorens. Matthew proposing to you was part of the exchange."

There's a tense silence and John can hear you take a sharp inhale as you process what Julian had just revealed. "The only reason he'd need the van Dorens for Singapore is if - is if you said no to the Waldorf girl," you speak hesitantly, your breathing more shallow than before. John notices your hand twist the ring around your finger.

Julian says nothing.

"You said no? Why would you do that?" You slowly walk towards Julian, where he still stands near the window. John feels like he should leave, but there really wasn't an easy way to do that now. "This is the third girl Julian," you continue softly. "Mother and Papa wouldn't set you up with someone awful. They'd find someone who would be there for you, by your side."

Julian scoffs, brushing past you and going to stand at the other side of the room, opposite you, his face contorted with disbelief. "That's what you're focused on? The fact that I said no? Not the fact that your father SOLD you?" he yells suddenly, and John worries someone in the house will wake up and overhear this conversation.

You look as though he'd slapped you. "Don't - don't say it like that." Your voice breaks pathetically, and John has the immediate urge to tell off Julian for talking to you that way. But he knows better. He should stay out of it. In truth, he really shouldn't be present at all.

"How else am I supposed to phrase it?" Julian sneers at you, throwing his arms up. "He sold you like you were property - like a whore he could pimp out to sweeten to pot. Is that better?" he spits out, fully enraged and pacing towards you.

John pushes up from his seat quickly, fully set to calm Julian down and get him away from you. This wasn't the way to do this, even if Julian was telling the truth. He's stopped however, but your hand grasping his wrist. He turns and sees you shake your head.

Julian turns to look at the both of you, his eyes focused on where your hand is wrapped around John's wrist. "What about John?" he asks, his eyes shifting down, away from you. "Thought you wanted to end up with him one day," he says, gesturing at your joined hands.

You let go of John's wrist as though it had scalded you. There's a charged silence ringing in his ears and John cannot believe Julian had brought that up. It had been four long years and you'd both tried very hard to move past it. John's suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. How had they come to this? It should have been about helping you see that maybe Matthew wasn't entirely right - how had his name gotten dragged into it?

Your jaw has dropped as you look at Julian, eyes widened in shock. You let out a breath of disbelief, shaking your head, at a complete loss for words. The three of you did not talk about that, ever. You and Julian especially had never even acknowledged it.

You open your mouth to say something, but John beats you to it. "What the hell, man." He's looking at Julian in complete shock is heart racing - the two of them had never talked about it afterwards save for that one drunken night in Barcelona when Julian had apologized for being selfish and wanting to have his friend all to himself. John had ended up reassuring him that the two of you had made the decision together, and the timing of it all, the different stages of life you had been about to embark on, all would've made things too difficult. Had things not worked out between the two of you due to the circumstances alone - neither one of you could bear to do that to the other. What Julian had done was likely for the best. Julian hadn't remembered any part of the conversation the following morning.

Julian appears slightly ashamed as he is unable to meet both of your eyes, realizing that he'd crossed a line.

You're trying very hard to maintain your composure and John can see the shimmer of tears glazing your eyes. It's quiet for a moment more as he watches you gather your wits about you, your hands shaking ever so slightly, the only sound in the room coming from both your forced controlled breathing and Julian's erratic ones.

"Let me make something perfectly clear to you," you grit out, eyes fiery and blazing at Julian. "You, of all people, do not get to throw that in my face. You made your decision four years ago, and so did we." Your voice is cold and John feels a shiver run through him at a cold fury that isn't even directed fully at him. You look from Julian, to John, who meets your eyes for barely a second, before looking away. You'd both chosen Julian over one another.

Julian looks only at the ground.

What had been the point of Julian saying no to the two of you four years ago if he was going to suddenly be alright with it in the face of you marrying Matthew? However, it seemed as though you didn't even care about that - you'd simply brushed past it already and John is left reeling, thinking through the implications of what both you and Julian had put out there. Julian didn't care. Unfortunately for him, it appeared neither did you.

"If you'd just say yes - " he hears your voice again, through the din in his head that is trying to make sense of everything,  as you carry on, still intent on talking to Julian, intent on ignoring what he'd just brought up as if it meant so little. John isn't sure how you possibly could ignore it - he hasn't been able to think of anything else since, Julian's words echoing over and over in his brain.

"To marrying someone I do not love? For some business deal? Ruin my life for that?" he roars at you snapping out of his silent shame, swiping his hand across one of the end tables and sliding the old lamp off of it. The three of you watch as it crashes to the floor and breaks, emitting a crash. You flinch when it hits the floor.

John turns to you and there are silent tears streaming down your face as you stare at Julian in utter shock. It's gone too far - this whole thing. John feels like a voyeur - like he's intruding on his parents breaking up or something.

"For the family!" you scream, your voice a whispered shout as you're still mindful of how late it is. Far more so than Julian had been. "You do it for the family Julian! I did it for you when I gave you John, because you needed him. You were asked to do something that helps the family, you should've just done it. You don't just run away and ignore all responsibility and obligation. You step up, be a man, and do what's asked of you."

Julian looks at you with disgust coloring his features. "Well excuse me if I have a little more self respect than that," he says, entirely bypassing what you'd said about John as though you had never even said it at all. It was as though he didn't even care - didn't realize - how awful and heartbreaking of a sacrifice he'd forced upon you. And yet, you'd done it - for him.

You look away from him, and John can feel the frustration and anger cascading off of you in waves, tinged by something else he can't quite discern, but he thinks it might be…fear. "How much longer do you expect Papa to let you get away with this? He isn't exactly known for being patient. Sooner or later there will be repercussions. He's been lenient long enough." Your voice is hoarse as you swallow your tears and fury.

You're all aware of your father's reputation - cold, calculating, and merciless. You all know the kind of person Julian was choosing to challenge and while his wrath towards his children had its limits, it had quite a stretch of runway before it reached its end. Julian was playing with fire by continuing on his current path.

Julian appraises you and appears to consider your words, before his eyes land on the large ring adorning your hand, reinvigorating the fight within him. "Then I suppose I'll wait till that day. Until then, I won't just lie down and spread my legs for whomever," he jeers at you.

"Enough." John's finally reached his limit with the entire argument, his jaw clenched tightly and a thunder-struck expression marring the rest of his features as he fully comprehends how far Julian has strayed. "You can't talk to her that way," he states firmly, positioning himself between the two of you.

Julian looks at him, a manic glint in his eyes. A derisive laugh escapes him, bouncing off the walls. "Didn't realize she still did it for you. Isn't twenty one a little old for your tastes?"

"FUCK OFF, Julian." You can scarcely believe him. How could he talk to John like that?

"With pleasure," he scoffs, looking from you, to John, and then turns the knob on the door and slams it shut behind him, leaving just you and John standing in the study by yourselves.

John watches as you pull yourself together. He wants to go to you and hold you and tell you that Julian was just being a dick. But part of him agrees with Julian - especially if he's telling the truth about how it all came together. Part of him also feels the sting of what Julian implied about him despite how untrue it is. So he holds himself apart as the two of you stare at one another in the wake of the deafening silence left behind by Julian's exit.

John watches as you wipe away the remaining tears and bend to gather the broken pieces of the lamp, sweeping away the evidence of Julian's rage. You walk and grab the lamp sitting in the far corner of the room, replacing the broken one. John can do nothing but watch.

"Why did you say yes?" he asks finally, unable to stop himself.

You blink, not having expected that from him and he watches as you bite your lower lip between your teeth, quietly thinking over his question, your fingers twisting the ring around your finger in earnest. Your tongue pokes out and licks the spot your teeth had worried moments earlier. He feels entirely scrutinized under your gaze. With a short exhale, you answer, "Because he asked."

Before he can say anything more, you've followed Julian's example and walked out the door, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the study.

He never did find out what it had been that you'd wanted to talk to him about after dinner. The next morning it was as though nothing had transpired at all. You and Julian weren't speaking, and John found he had very little to say himself.

*------------*

Julian had flown out to Boston the week after you'd left. John had figured the two of you would make up eventually, and he was glad he hadn't been wrong about that, though he and Julian had argued once again about him simply telling you the truth of why he kept turning away set ups with women. Julian was staunchly against it still, even more so now that you'd agreed to marry Matthew and didn't appear to be wavering in your decision at all. The two of them simply didn't address anything else Julian had said, and John decided that was likely for the best.

The holidays had passed uneventfully - he'd spent it mostly with Cece, only seeing you and Julian the day after Christmas when everyone gathered at your parents' home to exchange presents and for everyone to meet baby Amara. He watched as you sat in the large chair in the living room, holding Amara in your hands as she slept, Matthew perched on the arm of the chair. He can't help but smile - you'd be a good mother, even if yours hadn't been.

The call regarding Julian's death had come in mid-February, Dom on the other end telling him that Julian had been victim to a mugging gone wrong. The funeral had been held back in Connecticut, Julian's body shipped back. Your parents had opted for a closed casket, so John was left to remember December 26th - the last time he'd seen his best friend in person.

His eyes searched for you at the funeral, and when he saw you, it was as though you weren't even there. Your father had been the one to stand and speak - he would've thought it would be you. Julian would've preferred that, he was sure. He'd gone through the line of people offering their condolences robotically, inching along behind his father. As he approached, he sees your eyes look up - first at his father, who hugs you quickly, and then at him. He can't move. He's frozen. He sees your lower lip tremble - he hadn't yet seen you shed a single tear - you'd stood stoically by to your parents the entire prior hour and a half that he'd observed you.

It's as though he moves on autopilot, his hand reaching out for yours - it was good that he had, as you had nearly tripped forward into him, your arms wrapped tiredly around his shoulders. He's quick to usher you away, into the back room where Sunday School classes are typically held.

Your body shakes against him in silent sobs as tears cascade down. He's unsure how, but the two of you had ended up on the brightly patterned carpet of the classroom, his legs spread out in front of him and you're situated on his lap as close to his chest as possible as your body is wracked with sobs. He clutches you tightly to him, holding you close and allowing you to fall apart the way you needed to. He'd hold it together for the both of you.

When his mother peaks in to the room, he signals her away. It was likely due to her that no one else bothers the two of you again. You say nothing and neither does he. When you finally calm down, his fingers brush away the remaining tears on your face and he feels you reach up and do the same to him. He hadn't realized he'd cried as well.

He helps you up and the two of you walk out. He watches as you approach Matthew, who wraps an arm around your shoulder and looks at him with what could almost be classified as gratitude. Matthew wasn't equipped to deal with this.

*------------*

He hears you'd been in an accident only a month or so afterwards. He's in the middle of a deposition and unable to go in person. He hears from his mother that you'd gone through some surgery but were otherwise alright. There was something in her voice that gave him some pause, but he hadn't had the time to press further.

He sent a bouquet of dahlias along with a Get Well Soon card.

*------------*

You're set to graduate and he's not sure if he should go. His father had asked him over a few weeks prior and told him that Julian's death hadn't been accidental. He didn't know what to believe anymore.

He doesn't go. He's not quite ready to see you again yet.

Julian was dead. What was there really to do?

*------------*

"So eventually, the guy calms down enough after I explain that the fire alarm on the gallery wall wasn't an art piece and not for sale, but only after he made poor Lucille cry, can you believe it?"

John laughs, shaking his head. "Lucille's easy to make cry though, you have to admit." he says, handing Cece the glass of wine he'd just poured.

She laughs, and is about to launch into another story, as the doorbell rings. "I'll get it," she says, leaving him in the kitchen to finish loading the dishwasher.

A minute or so later, he hears footsteps and turns to see Cece, followed by you. He hadn't seen you since Julian's funeral, and there you stood in his kitchen, entirely soaked from the rain outside, having dripped water on the floors on your way in.

"Y/N said she needed to speak with you," Cece supplies, breaking him out of the stupor his brain had entered at the sight of you. "I think I'm going to head out, let the two of you talk."

John simply nods, not thinking to ask her to stay or even thank her. The two of you stare at one another, and he finds himself entirely uncomfortable being alone with you, for the very first time.

"Let me grab you a towel," he manages, indicating you towards the couch in the living room. He walks to the linens cabinet in the back and by the time he returns, you've shed your jacket and are facing away from him in a light tank top, revealing your shoulders and a large fading bruise off to one side.

He wordlessly hands you the towel and watches as you squeeze the water out of your hair, wet tendrils clinging to the side of your face. You still haven't spoken a single word and he finds himself at a loss to say much of anything. He knows you graduated a couple of weeks prior and he knows his father had attended, not wanting to miss his god daughter's graduation ceremony. He wonders briefly if his father had decided to enlighten you as to the true nature of Julian's death, and comes to the conclusion that he had. Why else would you be there?

"How'd that happen?" he asks, breaking the silence as you had turned away from him to slip out of your boots, indicating towards the bruise he'd seen.

You look over your shoulder at him with your eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't worry about it." you reply, turning around and holding up your hand, showing him your empty ring finger. "Waited till Singapore was a done deal, and I ended it."

John lets out a deep breath of disbelief. Matthew had hurt you so much that you had a bruise traversing the length of your upper back. What the hell had he done to you? He can feel the rage and surge of protectiveness that he typically feels around you, storming in his head, and as though you could sense his shift, you place a feather light touch to his arm. "It's alright. I'm fine. Ricky already broke his nose."

That doesn't cause him to worry any less whatsoever. Things had been so bad that Ricky had broken the bastard's nose. A rogue snort escapes him regardless, as he tries to calm himself. Now wasn't the time to get riled up about Matthew - especially if he was history. "Always did like that Ricky kid," he says instead, in an attempt to not slip back into silence. The silence had been wildly uncomfortable and now that it had been broken, he was intent on keeping it that way.

You're toweling off your wet hair as you watch him, your eyes appraising him and then turning to look around at his place. He saw his loft through your eyes - the exposed brick and open floorplan. His bed off to the other side, sheets still rumpled from when Cece had been over. It had been his attempt to tone down his lifestyle - girls got odd ideas when he'd take them back to the company owned apartment he'd stayed in the first couple of months after his internship wrapped with McGuire.

"Really bought into the whole Brooklyn hipster thing, didn't you?" you say, your tone colored with a hint of humor he hadn't expected.

John lets out a half laugh, knowing it wasn't quite your taste. Whatever had brought you to his door despite the pouring rain outside seemed far away at the moment.

"You want something to drink? Eat?" he asks, gesturing you over to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water and sets it on the counter for you.

You follow, hopping onto the island as he busies himself with putting the dishes away again, knowing you'll talk once you're ready. It's quiet for a couple of minutes - the only sounds coming from the rain outside and the movement from him working his way through the rest of the load. He looks outside, feeling a small bit of guilt for letting Cece leave in this weather. He'd have to make it up to her later.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask finally, as he puts the final plate in and shuts the dishwasher.

The question finally vocalized was far less angry than anticipated. He’d expected fury and rage raining down upon him for keeping the truth from you. He’d expected having to beg for your forgiveness. This quiet line of questioning felt alarmingly wrong to him. John turns, leaning against the opposite counter, his shoulders hunched together, arms crossed in front of his chest. You're still seated on the island, legs dangling, palms pressed into the granite, knuckles tensed around the edge. He looks up to meet your eyes and his voice catches as he does - you've dropped the veil you'd worn when you first arrived, revealing the unbridled pain underneath. Glassy eyes follow his, searching for some sort of answer - some explanation that would help make sense of your world that had been turned upside down.

"I -," he sighs deep, trying to gather his thoughts all together but they keep slipping out of his hands like sand. "I didn't think you'd - you'd believe me or what good it would do," he manages out, unable to look up at you, instead settling for fixing his gaze to where Matthew's ring used to sit. There was still a white ring there, the surrounding skin a couple of shades darker.

You're silent in the face of his confession. He hadn't wanted to be the one to turn your life upside down. He hadn't wanted to be the reason you questioned everything. He should've. He knows that. He'd been a coward, running away from it all. Unwilling to shoulder the responsibility of the fall out. He can't help but feel like he's joined the list of men who have completely let you down.

“Did you know - did you always know ab - about Julian?” you ask, eyes downcast as you struggle to put your question into words.

John can imagine the hurt you must’ve felt when you finally learned Julian’s life long secret. How that must have eaten away at you, made you question what you’d done to frighten Julian into never telling you. How many puzzle pieces must have fallen together - the fact that Julian never once brought home a girl, how he never once expressed interest in anyone openly, every refusal to marry. He knows how your fight with Julian must haunt you now - knowing the full context of his actions. Agreeing to marry a woman your parents set him up with - any woman - would have killed his spirit entirely.

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, meeting your eyes as he does.

You let out a breath and he sees your shoulders slump as you look away from him, trying to hide the tears in your eyes from him. You were never quite that good at hiding things from him, however. Your lips part as though you wish to say something or ask something, but appear to think better of it, shaking your head as you do. John’s uncertain where this hesitation in you is coming from. There should be a barrage of questions being hurled at him right now - not the two questions he’s gotten so far. Nothing about this feels right to him.

Your hair has started to curl slightly as it dries, forming waves around your face, and he's tempted to push the hair behind your ears, out of your face because he knows how that bothers you.

"What now?" he asks, unable to linger in the silence any longer.

You shake your head as you look at him, releasing a long held sigh. "I have no idea. I cashed out the trust fund and deferred law school. By now Matthew must've told them that I ended things. I haven't heard anything from anyone." The lack of response must be killing you, he knows. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He nods. Letting Singapore go through uninterrupted probably helped - it would buy you time if nothing else. He doubts your father thinks you know the truth about Julian. More than likely, it'll be chalked up to nerves or rebellion - maybe even grief.

You hop off of the island, landing right in front of him and he resists the urge to reach out and steady you on your feet. "Thank you. I should go. Tell Cece I'm sorry for interrupting," you say, throwing a half apologetic smile his way over your shoulder.

You walk back to the couch, and he follows, watching you lean down and pull your shoes back on.

His brow scrunches up in concern. You were leaving already? "Where are you going to go?" he asks, watching you apprehensively. That was it? Why even bother coming then?

"Not sure yet. I'll see you around," you reply over your shoulder, shrugging your jacket back on.

With that, you're gone as quickly as you came, and he's left feeling off kilter, staring around his apartment, wondering if you'd been some sort of hallucination. A fever dream borne of a guilty mind that hadn’t felt at peace in a very long time.

*------------*

He didn't hear from you again for a couple of months. The next he even heard of you was in the gossip magazines that Cece had brought over to his apartment to read on Sunday mornings while he cooked them both breakfast. She showed him photographs of you wearing skimpy dresses, escorted by pretty boy model types at every club in the city.

Through the grapevine - and he was guilty of using Cece to get the inside track on everything - he finds out that you'd moved into an apartment in the Upper East Side and had made it your goal to be the most notorious party girl the city's ever seen. It's in complete contrast to the low profile you typically keep and he sees it for what it is - a bizarre attempt at drawing attention to yourself. To what end, he could only guess at.

Another month in, and he gets a drunken call from you, providing him the name of some pub that is decidedly low brow - nothing like the clubs and speakeasies you're known to haunt. He arrives to find you seated at the bar, your short dress hiked up past the point of decency, nearly passed out. He finds out where you live and helps you to your place, depositing you on your couch. The guys at the front desk had him in their system already it seemed, and he'd been waved up rather quickly as he carried your limp form.

He leaves you there as he has work the following morning, and taking care of twenty two year old socialites isn't something he has the time or energy to do, even if it is you. It's as though he can feel himself being sucked into your tornado and he's digging his heels in, determined to stay away. He knows that if he gives in, that'll be it. You'll take over his life, his breath, his soul all over again and it had taken far too much out of him to escape the first time.

*------------*

Cece asks him if he's spoken to you recently. Apparently, you've been getting somewhat of a reputation. She heard from her contacts in the art world that you'd been frequenting some pill parties and it was only a matter of time before the tabloids got a hold of it.

There's a growing pit in his stomach anytime you come up, anytime he sees your face on the cover of a paper as he buys coffee, anytime something small reminds him of you. You're both in Manhattan every day. You're never more than a dozen miles away from him. Yet, what's he supposed to do really? He's not your caretaker. You're an adult. The worst thing in the world had happened and you're coping with it just as he had coped with it.

Despite that, he knows this isn't really you - not how you typically cope. You're entirely mission oriented and your way of dealing with things usually comes in the form of finding something new to conquer, something new to be good at, something new to distract yourself with. This is the first time he's seen you latch onto something destructive just to keep going on.

*------------*

"Do you think it hurt, when he died?"

John blinks, still trying to make sense of what was going on. He had been woken by the shrill ringtone he had set just for you, to make sure he'd never miss a call, and as his eyes settle on the clock on the nightstand, he realizes that it's past three in the morning. His heart is beating really fast, having been startled awake harshly and his brain struggles to close the gap between dreams and reality.

"What?"

"Julian, when he died. Do you think it was fast? Was it painless? Or do you think it was drawn out? Knowing Papa, I feel like he would've drawn it out. Don't you?"

He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand at your voice and your words. At what they're implying. There’s a nearly hauntingly playful quality to your voice that gives him chills.

"Where are you?" he asks, his heart thudding in his chest still, your words ringing in his ears, and his stomach clenching over and over doing somersaults. Something's wrong. He can feel it in his bones. Something is very wrong.

"Home."

"Stay there. I'm coming over."

It's nearly twelve miles from Brooklyn to the Upper East Side and on a normal day at three in the morning it would take twenty two minutes to get there. John makes it in twelve. He leaves his bike parked right in front, despite the doorman's protests, tossing the keys to him on his way in. If he cared so much, then he could move it.

His blood runs cold when he sees you lying on the floor, pills spilling out of the bottle that lies limp in your hand. You're cold when he reaches you, his hands trembling as he feels for a pulse, before scooping you up and taking you to the shower and placing you under the stream. He forces a couple of fingers down your throat, doing his best to force the pills up, unsure how many you'd taken by the time he arrived. He feels like he's living every nightmare come to life.

It's early morning by the time you're fully conscious, lying in the tub as he sits at the edge, watching over you. He'd had a few hours to himself to just watch you and think. Things couldn't go on the way they had been. He had to do something, or the next time he wouldn't get there in time.

He sees you stir and orders you to clean up and meet him outside, his voice unrecognizable to even himself. By the time you emerge, you'd showered and wet hair clumps around your head. You're wearing his old law school hoodie, and he feels a twinge of something, despite knowing you'd done it on purpose.

He places a plate of toast in front of you. You didn't keep much in the apartment besides bottles of chilled champagne and that really wasn't what he was going to serve at six thirty in the morning to the girl who had tried to overdose on pills the night before.

"We're going to take him down," he announced, as you munch on the toast and look at him cautiously.

Your eyes flash at him and you continue to chew, buying yourself time to respond. Finally you swallow and look up at him. "We?"

"Yes. We are not doing a repeat of last night. Ever. So get that clear in your head." His voice is firm and his jaw clenched as he remembers the sight of you lying on the floor only a few hours ago.

You're quiet, looking away from him and he can see the faintest hint of color in your cheeks and he hears you sniffle quietly.

"You scared me last night." His voice is entirely controlled, only the tremor in his hand giving away how entirely affected he is by the past few hours of terror he'd lived through.

Your voice is soft when you speak, catching in your throat when you do. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I don't want sorry. I want you to promise me that it won't happen again," he begs, reaching across and tucking the hair that had fallen into your face back behind your ear.

"I miss him." You look up at him and suddenly he's reminded of the eighteen year old who had snuck into his room after graduation - entirely vulnerable, entirely young, standing at the precipice of the unknown.

John sighs. "Me too. But that doesn't mean - it doesn't mean we give up."

You nod, standing up and walking around the counter to him, wrapping your arms tight around his waist. "So what're we going to do?" you ask, looking up at him.

*------------*

You'd just left his parents' home after having dinner with the three of them, followed by drinks in the study with his father, his mother choosing to retire to bed early.

The three of you had been working together on how to dismantle your father from the inside, and already he'd seen a big change in you. It wasn't how you'd been before, but it was better than it had been recently, and he'd take that win for now.

"You should know," his father discloses, clearing his desk of the files he'd taken out to share with the two of you, "when she turned eighteen, I asked her father about her and you - we all saw the way you look at her. I thought it would be nice to unite our families as one.”

John looks at his father with some amount of surprise. He hadn't known that - that he'd approached your father for your hand.

"Don't look so surprised son. You're not nearly as subtle as you like to think you are. Her father wasn't surprised either. I imagine he ensured it didn't happen regardless. The Hawthornes were not politically useful to him and he needed to keep her available." There's a slight bitter quality to his father's voice.

John nods, a stuttered breath escaping him. He wonders what your father had said to Julian in order to get him to interfere the way he had. He wonders if you knew.

"You need to be careful, son. Don't fall for her again," his father warns. John doesn't know how to break it to him - it was already far too late for that.

*------------*

John's woken up at eight in the morning on a Sunday with a knock on his door. Bleary eyed, he goes to open it, only to have a clipboard shoved in his face. A delivery man is standing here, urging him to sign for a package.

"It's downstairs. Can't bring it here. Won't fit."

What kind of a package was that big that it wouldn't fit in the elevator? He follows the man downstairs, who leads him to a truck, from the back of which a motorcycle is rolled off.

John stands there, blinking, unsure what to make of it all. Right as the delivery man hands him the keys, a cab pulls up, and out you step, looking far more dressed up and cheery than anyone should that early in the morning.

"Oh good it's here," you exclaim, beaming at him.

"What's going on?" he asks, taking in your appearance - the leather jacket and the combat boots. You looked like you were playing a biker chick for Halloween.

"I had Julian's bike shipped over," you explain, your eyes taking in his shirtless appearance and skimming over the grey sweatpants he had worn to bed. "You're going to teach me how to ride it."

He raises an eyebrow. "I am?"

"Yes. Now go put on a shirt. When do you even have time to do all that?" you ask, waving your hands in the general direction of his chest and abs, a flirty smile on your face that makes him blush ever so slightly. "Thought you were a lawyer."

John could feel a migraine coming on as he shivers from the cold. There really was no talking you out of this or reasoning to do this at a more humane hour. Rolling his eyes, he tosses you the keys before going upstairs to change.

*------------*

It had been a heart attack from nowhere. He'd gotten a call from his mother in the dead of night, hysterically screaming for him. Apparently you'd gotten the same call, as you'd arrived at the hospital before even he did. You held his mother together while the doctor spoke to him. It had been quick, relatively painless as far as death goes.

Everyone had come for the funeral, and from the corner of his eye he saw you greeting both of your parents as though nothing had happened. Your father's arm around your waist fills him with disgust, leaving him wondering how you could stand his touch after knowing everything that you did.

The funeral and wake afterwards seem to stretch on forever and all he wants is to be away from all the people.

It's late and most everyone had left, his mother catered to by her sisters - he'd needed a breather. He'd ended up in his childhood bedroom - surrounded by his soccer trophies, swimming medals, debate gavels - a shrine his mother had maintained to him and his achievements.

"Hey."

He turns at the sound of your softly hesitant voice as you stand at the door. You're still wearing the black dress you'd worn earlier in the day, a delicate strand of pearls wrapped tightly around your neck. He recognizes it as a piece his father had gifted you for one of your birthdays when you were younger, and he smiles at the memory of everyone surrounding you while you wore a tiara and blew out candles.

"Hey, come on in Cap."

You smile slightly at his use of the moniker, and walk in, carefully shutting the door behind you. The bed shifts as you come and sit by him, your hand reaching for his. He feels a streak of warmth go through him - the first bit of warmth he's felt since he saw his mother's crying face at the hospital.

"He's gone," he whispers, turning towards you. His father was gone. He's an adult, and this was a part of life, but he wasn't even thirty years old yet. Parents weren't supposed to die when you're that young. They're supposed to be there when you get married, when you have kids. His father would never meet his children.

You squeeze his hand, bringing his head down to your shoulder as you hold him. Tears won't come. He didn't think he was capable - not yet at least. Right now it was enough to feel something - anything.

He takes another deep breath and as he turns his head, he catches your worried look. His eyes go from yours to your lips and back again and before he knows it, he's leaned in. You let him. He pulls away, set to apologize, but when he tries to, your lips cover his again. A shuddered breath traverses through the both of you as he lowers you to the navy blue sheets that cover the bed, your light hands traveling from his face to his hair, to his arms - leaving sparks of sensation everywhere they go. He acts on pure instinct, the two of you careful to keep quiet as his hands roam, touching skin and drawing noises, whose mere imagination had maintained permanent residence in his dreams for years.

*------------*

It had been two weeks since his father's funeral before he sees you again by himself. He'd spent a large amount of that time with his mother, helping her pack up his father's things and sort through the will. You’d been there with her whenever he couldn’t be.

He kept replaying that night over and over again in his head. It shouldn't have happened like that. The two of you - finally - it should've been perfect. Instead it had been coated with grief and hurt - a desire to provide comfort and years of pent up longing that should've exploded but instead simmered into a low fizzle. It had still been what he had needed. It just hadn't been what you needed, and he couldn't help but feel guilty for that, as he remembers you giving him a half hearted smile and adjusting your clothes before heading back downstairs.

"They turned me down," you complain as he opens the door to you.

He lets you walk in and you hand him a piece of paper that he reads twice before it fully clicks. "The CIA rejected you?" he asks incredulously.

"Yeah, can you believe it?" You scoff, rolling your eyes, entitlement wafting off of you.

You seem entirely put out as you help yourself to the scotch he'd been drinking and he can't help but laugh a bit. "You've never been rejected before, have you? Princess has never not gotten what she wants." He knows you haven't - Harvard undergrad, accepted to Harvard Law School, top of your class and winning every single thing you'd ever set out for.

You shake your head at his somewhat obvious mockery and make yourself comfortable on his couch next to him, not responding as you focus instead on drinking. It was still odd seeing you drinking real liquor - like you'd actually grown up. Ruefully, you reply, "I've never really gotten what I want."

He's left to ponder that response while you drink some more.

"So I suppose I'll be going to my safety school at the FBI," you sigh after a few minutes, reaching across his lap for the remote. "I feel like I'm going to Columbia or something," you joke, trying to shake it off.

"Hey!"

You laugh as you flick on the news, settling into his side. He's glad you're still casually comfortable together. There had been a part of him that had worried that things would be different afterwards, so it was good to see that you haven't deviated from your normal treatment of him. He watches you as your eyes are trained on the TV anchor, your face scrunching up with every sip of the scotch. You're still not used to the taste or the burn, even if you like to pretend to enjoy it now.

"Let me make it up to you."

You turn up to look at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Last time,” he explains, swallowing a breath that threatens to burst out of him. “It shouldn't have been like that. You didn't - you didn't finish. Let me make it up to you."

You chuckle dismissively, patting his thigh with your hand. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" he presses. He's had a taste of you. He's not ready to just let it go. Let you go.

You're quiet for a second, before you push up from the couch. He follows.

"Because it won't be what you think it will - what you want it to be. It won't be us how it should've been,” you say, your voice low and colored with sadness, fingers fretting with the edge of your top, and eyes unable to meet his.

The two of you stand in the middle of the loft, the draft chilling the air around you. Your words linger in the air, swirling around the two of you.

"What do you mean?" he asks, reaching out for you. The two of you consciously or unconsciously moving around the space, closer and closer to the bed.

You bite your lip, as though unsure of how to say it. How to say it in a way that will resonate with him. "I am not the nine year old that said I was going to marry you one day, John," you clarify, a sad smile gracing your face as you look up at him. "I'm not the fifteen year old that begged you to be my first kiss. I'm not the eighteen year old that thought I'd have a beautiful life with you. Those girls are dead. I can't be who you want me to be."

John feels his heart sink at your declaration, despite knowing you're right. It's not the same as it once had been. The last time he was with you was proof enough of that. And yet, he doesn't want the time after his father's funeral to be it - not after everything. He couldn't quite bear it to leave it at that. Not if there was a chance.

"Be you then. Let me be whoever you need me to be."

You eye him carefully, surprised at his persistence. The two of you have managed to maneuver yourselves towards the other side of the loft, near his bed, and he watches apprehensively as you walk slowly closer to him, an odd glint in your eye. He finds himself instinctively backing up as you approach, until the back of his legs hit the bedframe.

"You sure about that?" you ask, and before he can catch a breath, your hands have come up and shoved against his chest, pushing him to the bed. He bounces on the mattress ever so slightly, his eyes widened in surprise as you quickly straddle him, your face oh so close to his. "Is this okay?" you appraise him, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders to maintain your balance.

He nods, moving forward and capturing your lips. He only manages to feel in control for a second, before it’s swept away from him, your fingers harshly pulling at his hair, drawing a groan from him as he finds himself bucking up towards you. It's all fast, hard - nothing like he'd imagined it would be like with you. However, it's only afterwards, as you get out of bed and pull your clothes on to leave, that he realizes exactly how different it is. He finds himself unable to say anything. After all, you'd warned him. He watches you get fully dressed and slip out the door with only a half smile and wave. Never before has he felt so...used.

The next morning, he sees the angry red scratch marks clawed into his back and the bruises left on the rest of him - that’s when it fully sinks in. You're not you.

It happens a couple more times before he starts giving as good as he's getting, and for a second you're surprised. Shockingly, instead of being discouraged, it only serves to spur you further.

Things continue in the same way throughout your training at the FBI. You tell him not to wait. That you aren't exclusive and he should date. After all, you're only back in the city around once a month and he never comes to DC. You always arrive on Julian's old motorcycle. You never spend the night. He tries dating but it's hard to want to become exclusive with other women, knowing that you'll be back again in a couple of weeks. His father’s words loom in his head constantly on the nights he lies awake wondering how you’re doing, if you’re alright, if you’re thinking of him too.

He knows he has to wait. He has to wait to tell you until everything is done and the dust settles. There’s a ring with your name on it sitting in his mother’s jewelry box. He just has to ride this out, until you’re you again.

*------------*

You'd accepted a spot on the BAU. He'd thought you'd take the offer in White Collar or something else that was based out of the New York field office at least. However, you said you liked DC and that you liked this one team in particular, and John found himself confused. The plan was really just to get access via the FBI - who cares which team it was on.

You don't see him the first few months you're on this new team. It seems you're always traveling and your phone calls are few and far in between. He starts taking on more than his fair share of the billing hours, working sixteen hour days every day. It won’t be long until he’s made partner - youngest partner in the firm’s history.

He gets far too happy when you tell him you're coming back to New York for the holidays, and ask to spend them with him. He's nearly giddy with excitement. He gets the babka from the Jewish deli you like and he grabs a couple of bottles of champagne to ring in the new year with.

You arrive, a large smile on your face, your nose red from the chill and a cute little beanie on top of your head. You laugh and leap into his arms immediately and you kiss him and he forgets how to breathe. You're in his arms and you're smiling and you're kissing him without it leading to sex and for the first time in two years he feels a surge of hope flowing through him. That's my baby.

You tell him about the team and how much you've been learning, as the two of you settle into eating dinner together. It's so nice to hear you excited about something - it reminds him of when you first started at Harvard and the two of you were still maintaining a strong friendship despite putting your relationship on the back burner. All the late night phone calls where he'd fall asleep to the sound of you talking about your history and art classes, everything you were learning in criminology and psychology and he'd just hum and listen, taking it all in. At the time, he'd been worried that you were going to work yourself to the bone doing a triple major and a minor, but you hadn't been able to decide what you wanted to do and you were intent on doing it all. It’s that similar charged passion now as you tell him about the latest case. You deal with serial killers every day and it isn’t something he’d have ever thought you’d do. You tell him about your team and that you’ve made friends, you talk about some kid’s birthday party and ask his advice on a gift, and there is this light in your eyes, this hopeful softness to your smile and he can see every possibility with you.

After dinner, the two of you sit on the couch as he fills you in on his most recent trial that he's been working, glasses of scotch in hand. He's a little surprised again when you kiss him softly, completely unlike the past year or so that you two have been intimate. He can't help but escalate it, pulling you into his lap. This was it. This was how it was always meant to be. You let him carry you to the bed and slowly lower you, going down and down as he works his way down your body. Every touch inciting a soft moan from you, every moan in turn bolstering him onward. He's not sure what changed, but you let him be with you the way he's wanted to be with you forever. Your fingers wrap around his neck, pulling him close after you both finish, leaving him buried within you. He feels your lips ghost over his forehead, fingers running through his hair. You make no move to leave.

The sun streams in through the windows, waking him the next morning. He doesn't feel you next to him, and for a second he panics and thinks you'd snuck out in the middle of the night, having realized your mistake. You don’t stay the night. Ever. You barely even linger afterwards. But then he sees you standing by the window at the kitchen, wearing his shirt and some socks to protect from the chill, a mug of coffee in your hand. His heart flutters at the sight.

He gets up, slipping on a pair of pajama pants, before joining you at the window, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and tucking his head onto your shoulder. It's only when he tries to kiss you that he notices your glossy eyes holding unshed tears.

"Hey Cap," he says softly to you, turning your face towards him gently. "What's wrong?"

You're worrying your bottom lip between your teeth and your hand, the one that isn't clutching the mug tightly is bunched into the shirt you're wearing, wrinkling the material. "I'm sorry," you manage to breathe out. "I am so sorry for all of this."

John feels his breath start to swell in concern, and he rubs his hands up and down your arms soothingly. "What're you sorry about?" Everything was finally good. What could there possibly be to be sorry about?

You swallow back a sob. "Doing this job, I see all these people every day who have been messed up by their fathers. Day in and day out, that's all I see. People trying to make sense of the world in one way or another because of how much their parents screwed them up. And you know what? A lot of these people hurt other people because of how much they've been hurt. It sickens me to relate to them - these sickos, pedophiles, and murderers and I think to myself, wow, that could easily be me if I let my father continue to get to me. If I keep going down this path where all I'm doing is basing everything around revenge and taking him down. My life is all consumingly him and I want it to not be."

John nods understandingly, as you continue to let him hold you. The pain in your voice causes his heart to clench.

"I don't like those people and I don't want to be them. I have a chance to stop them. Do something good. Feel clean for once in my life."

"If that's what you want, then alright,” he reassures you. Of course you’d do whatever was best for you - you should know that he would always do what was best for you. “But why are you apologizing to me?"

"Because - because I don't think I can do this, if I'm reminded of Julian everyday,” you sob. “I don't want to forget him, but - but I'm also not strong enough to think about him every single day and be reminded of what happened to him all the time. I want a chance to get out.”

He looks at you, trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, and the realization dawns on him. The softness, the apologies - the way you’d let him hold you and have you wholly for the first time. The fact that you’d stayed. You were trying to say goodbye.

He can feel the mounting panic that he tries to quell. You’ve obviously thought this through, that much is clear. You’re trying to do good, to be good, to shed the shadow of your father and he can’t fault you for that in any way. It’s the right thing to do, and he knows it. He’d thrown you a life raft the day he’d found you passed out on your living room floor, and he’d started to help you paddle towards shore. He hadn’t cared what land the two of you would arrive at - the only goal being arriving on solid ground at all.

You look at him mournfully and take in a shuddered breath that he can feel rush through you as you’re still pressed against him. You stand in the cage of his arms, never once making an attempt to move away. “John, if you ask me to stay, I will,” you whisper nervously, your eyes meeting his, letting him see everything. “But, I am begging you, please don't. Don't ask me to stay. I have a shot at doing something good - something that has nothing to do with my father. Doing this job makes me feel like I'm making amends and undoing some of the bad that exists in the world. I'm starting to feel clean again. But I don't think I can do that if I have one foot in this world and - "

"And you can't do that if I'm around. Because I'm part of it. I'm part of this world."

You nod, taking another deep breath as the tears continue to fall. Down your face and his.  

"I love you." He can't help but say it. He needs to. He needs you to know, if only once.

You smile despite the tears, reaching up to cup his cheek and he leans into it and he leans into you. "I know. But I don't think that's good for either one of us anymore. I used to. But I think the two of us are too broken in the same ways. We've both been on the outskirts of the same life and we're scarred by the same darkness. All of our jagged pieces, they fit so well together. But I'm starting to think that kind of love isn't the good kind. I don't really want jagged pieces anymore. I don't want to have to have someone fit me in order to round out my edges. I want to be whole all on my own. I feel like we both need that. We both deserve that - and I can’t give it to you.”

When you said it like that, how could he even attempt to disagree.

He releases the breath he’s been holding for the past while. Your arms are still wrapped around his waist, and he lets you - he lets you be his solace. He wraps his arms tightly around your back, pulling you into him, as close as he possibly can, head bent and resting on your shoulder.

“What if I never love anyone like this again?” he asks, his words a mumble against your skin. You’re the person he talks to about things like this.

You shift, moving your head back to rest against the brick walls, bringing both arms up, holding his face gently with both hands. “You won’t,” you tell him tenderly, tilting your head ever so slightly as your eyes meet his. “You’ll love them differently. But that doesn't mean that it won't be real or deep or any less meaningful - just different. Hopefully, with any luck, it’ll be better. Because you deserve the world, John.”

You rest your forehead to his and he lets himself bask in the feeling of you - you all around him, you everywhere, you in his arms.

He prays with all his might, that you find what you’re looking for.

*------------*

The tattoos had been his idea. He wanted something to always remember Julian by. But he was also a selfish man - he needed a tether - something to tie you to him forever.

You part ways outside the tattoo parlor, one of the bottles of champagne that he'd bought in your bag. He goes home alone.

You ride the bike back to DC and pop open the bottle of champagne on New Year's Eve all by yourself, drinking to a fresh start.

[ladyloveandjustice]

The Westing Game Chapter 21

The Fourth Bomb

In a wacky misunderstanding, Theo thinks Alice is the bomber and tries to blackmail her with the info so he can borrow her bike (Yes, really. Go big or go home is Theo’s motto) but of course Alice thinks he means he knows ANGELA is the bomber.

And in what might be the most touching moment in the book so far, Alice responds to this by setting off a bomb and writing a thing indicating that she is the bomber in order to throw all suspicion off Angela. She eve loses her trademark braid in the process.

It really is incredibly sweet. Alice is very caustic toward her sister, but this isn’t the first time she’s indicated she’s ride-or-die when it comes down to it (she got rid of the evidence for Angela and warned her not to say anything to the lawyer), and it’s also a very lovely response to Angela’s early sacrifice- where she took the bomb she made to her face rather than have it explode to her sisters. But while Angela’s sacrifice was spur-of-the-moment motivated by guilt and panic as well as love (not that it makes it less meaningful), Alice’s is one she planned out and considered. She had time to consider the consequences. She knew that Angela willingly put herself in this position. But she still chose to take the fall anyway, and set off a bomb after seeing what the same thing did to her sister’s face.

She already feels meaningless to her family in general, and maybe on the surface she feels her standing (with her mother in particular) can’t get any lower. “I’m already the troublemaker, I’m already the unwanted one, I have nothing to lose, but Angela would lose everything” was how she convinced herself. (in addition to being aware as a minor she wouldn’t be punished as harshly, smart girl that she is).

But it’s also clear that Alice DOES long for her mother’s love and approval, and I think she also had to contend with a deep fear that after this action, there’d be no going back for them, that she’d doomed herself to be the ‘bad one’ forever. Yet she still did it.

And the loss of her braid is of course, incredibly significant. Angela said earlier that the braid is her “crutch”- she bases a lot of her personality around it. It was her excuse to spend time with her mother and now her excuse to spend time with Flora, it’s the trademark thing people can pull on and she can then she gets excuse to kick them and get in fights and form connections, it’s how she gets attention and relationships for herself without exposing her own vulnerability. But she sacrificed what little that makes her stand out, what little social currency she has to protect the same sister who she envies for being in the spotlight- because that bond is more important than her jealousy and her need for attention. Just like her sister sacrificed one of the things that bring her adulation- her looks- to protect her. Love is more important than those petty things.

Alice is forced to talk to Judge Ford afterwards and, sharp as ever, Ford guesses that she’s protecting Angela.  This quote especially gets me:

The judge was astounded (…). Angela could not be the bomber, that sweet, pretty thing. Thing? Is that how she regarded the young woman, as a thing? And what had she ever said to her except “I hear you’re getting married, Angela” or “You’re so pretty, Angela”. Had anyone ever asked about her ideas, her hopes, her plans? If I had been treated like that, I’d have used dynamite, not fireworks; no, I would have just walked and kept on going. But Angela was different.

There’s a fascinating theme in this book about being marginalized, and the different ways these marginalized people both are pitted against each other and can overlook even each other while also finding connections and comradery with each other… I think I’ll have to wait until the end to fully get my thesis on the whole thing together, but I really find it interesting and appreciate it. Ford’s struggles as a black woman, Alice being overlooked for not performing femininity (thus envious of Angela despite knowing how shitty she has it), Angela being boxed because everyone wants to mold her as the perfect feminine ideal (thus feeling envious of Alice despite knowing how shitty she has it), Sun feeling out of place as a Chinese immigrant, Hoo knowing he’s looked down upon as a Chinese-American (yet still not considering the pain of his own wife), Chris struggling as a disabled kid, many people who are financially disadvantaged and/or feeling limited to the role of caretaker, Sydelle feeling overlooked in general and appropriating others’ struggles in her bizarre quest to get noticed- it’s all very interesting and pretty deftly handled, especially considering the time period the book was written in. 

And our antagonist is quintessential exploitative Rich White Man (obsessed with American Exceptionalism to boot), though it’s casually mentioned he’s the son of immigrants, an identity he seems to have actively shed, going so far as to change his name (if that’s why he changed it), so there’s even complexity there.

But the thing with Ford here is an interesting demonstration of that. Despite being smart and socially aware and having an even more fraught history of being dismissed and belittled, she didn’t give much thought to Angela and subconsciously went along with the same objectification everyone else does, putting her on a pedestal. (There’s a lot to be said about how Angela’s veneration and perceived “purity” by the others might interact with her whiteness, and how Ford realizing she bought into that narrative subconsciously might feel to her as a black woman, but I’m not really the person to discuss that. Anyway!)

The other important development here is that Alice also finally confesses that she saw Westing the night of his murder but mentions that the Westing she saw didn’t look dead, but asleep and like a wax dummy. This sets off alarm bells for both me and Ford.

So, I think its safe to say my earlier theory Sam Westing isn’t dead is probably true. What of the corpse that was present at the will-reading? I think people would have noticed it was a wax dummy, but a disguised corpse from his coroner friend still makes some sense. So where is Westing now? Considering Barney Northup doesn’t exist, could he be Barney?

But speaking of Westing, if we need further confirmation the man is the scum of the earth, he’s a union buster and he fired Sandy for trying to organize one in the paper plant.

We also learn Ford’s backstory with Westing at last: Her parents were household staff at Westing’s mansion and she grew up there as a result. She played chess with Westing frequently as a child, but not only would he brag and take pride in beating a goddamn pre-teen, he mocked her with racialized insults. She never won, but Westing ended up financing her education (that’s the ‘debt’ she owes him). She believes he did this to get a judge he could control, but has refused to play along, removing herself from any case involving him.

I can’t help but think Westing would have known Ford wouldn’t play ball, though. So he may have had another motive for sending her to school. It could be something even more sinister. Or… in his own twisted way, did he actually like her? He obviously realized she was incredibly intelligent during those matches, even if he sadistically enjoyed mocking her, enough to know she’d do well with an education. Did he play chess with her so much not just because he enjoyed tormenting her, but enjoyed her as a person as well? It obviously does not excuse what a racist sadistic shithead he is, and I’m not saying he’s secretly nice- just that it could be he was incapable of relating to anyone in a healthy way. I actually think sending Ford to school could have just been an extension of his desire to torment her AND the only way he knew that would guarantee he remained important in her life. He didn’t ever plan to cash in on her debt, but knew it would kill her just to BE in his debt, and got pleasure out of that alone. He probably just thought it was funny and it was also a way to guarantee he’d live in her head rent free- and because deep down he knew she was a cool kid, he also wanted that. He didn’t want her to forget him, maybe, which is sick! But much more interesting than simply “he wanted a judge he could manipulate”.

But it’s also worth noting this is Ford’s (perhaps) final chance to win against Westing in the ultimate chess match. And I can’t help but think he is well aware how smart she is, so he invited her here specifically because he knew she could be his undoing, the one who unravels everything. So- if we go with the ‘Westing is seeking atonement’ theory- did he invite her to give her that satisfaction of finally beating him, like he always knew deep down she could? Because he WANTS to be beaten, to be found out and knows she deserves to be the one after all the hell he put her through? Or in the ‘Westing is still a complete monster’ theory- is his intention to torment her one last time, to show her she can’t win against him? (if it is, I think he may well find he’s gravely mistaken there).

I don’t think Westing can truly achieve “redemption” with this “game”, nor am I one to easily believe the Ultimate Shitty Capitalist can change easily, but if one thing can shake someone’s worldview and make them reevaluate how they live their life, the death of their child WOULD be a big one. So “this will actually be Westing’s weird twisted attempt at atonement” is a possibility I just can’t stop thinking about. If it is, it’s kind of funny and incredible he can’t stop being manipulative and traumatizing even when he decides he wants to do something good.

On top of all that, Angela and Sydelle get more clues and finally figure out the ‘America the Beautiful’ connection. God, so much to chew on this chapter! I really fear for these last nine chapters. I might end up writing a novel longer than the actual novel analyzing and recapping them if I’m not careful. But that’s how you know it’s a compelling story, so hats off to Ellen Raskin!

[amarantine-amirite]

It's Not Up To You

I never once had any peace or rest. There was a persistent threat that resources and places would vanish without a trace. Even though I never got my ass handed to me daily, I could never anticipate when I would be able to catch my breath.  

I had to adapt. I had to be able to alter my expectations faster than the circumstances would change. It forced me to abandon having a set image of what I want in my mind. It took away my ability to visualize. I had to anticipate resources disappearing in the future, so I had a hard time with long-term planning.  

Going into the week, I had it all figured out. I had found an iron-clad way for me to have my cake and eat it too. It may not have been ideal, but at least I still had the resources available.

My mother planned to drive me to my piano concert. Because she had a stressful day at work yesterday, she went to the bar. She neither came home nor returned any of my calls, so I assumed she was either crazy hungover or still passed out. I now had to hitch a ride with Jackie and her sister, Henrietta.  

Henrietta drove like she had lead feet. “Uh, Ettie,” Jackie asked, “you just blew through a traffic light at” 

“Don’t tell me how fast I’m going; I need to know where I am!” she snapped. 

“Can we at least stop and get lunch?” I asked. I last ate at 7:00 AM. Bad things happen when I try to function on an empty stomach. My temper gets worse. My impulse control goes to Hell. I bounce off the walls.  

“Hell, no!” Henrietta snarled, “If we stop to eat, we’ll get stuck in a traffic snarl!”

“OK, what’s your problem?” I whined. I had no idea why Henrietta got so upset. 

Henrietta sighed angrily. “Do you wanna know why I’m so fucking pissed off?" she barked, "Those fuckers moved up my fucking interview by a fucking week. I was supposed to get married today! All that money I spent on the venue, the photographer, the catering; that’s money I’m never going to see again!” 

I don’t know how Henrietta could say that without bursting into tears. “And what about Jasper? He’s going to think I broke off the wedding because I don’t have feelings for him anymore. I’m worried. He doesn’t handle rejection well. What if he tries to kill himself again?” 

What happened next felt like being in the desert and coming upon an oasis, only to discover it’s a mirage. When we arrived at our destination, everything went up in smoke. Before we left, Henrietta told me that she would drop us off first, then head to the interview. She looked at us and said, “Nobody's leaving until I finish my interview. Understand?” 

I nodded. Inside, I wanted to smack her. Hard.

Today has been nothing but hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. I fucking hate being jerked around like this. The constant stop-and-start made me feel like someone drained of my life force. I can’t deal with it anymore. 

Jackie and I came up with a plan. The plan was simple, like Henrietta’s would-be husband, Jasper. Unlike Jasper, the plan stood a chance of working. When they let her in to do the interview, Jackie and I would duck out and go to my piano concert. We’d come back when I finished my set, and that’d be that.

Problem. We made a huge tactical error. 

It’s a long story. At the beginning of the school year, the cheerleaders thought it would be funny to nominate Anna Rose, the head of the chess club, for prom queen as a joke. Anna didn’t know about this, but the principal did. On Halloween night, we got something really scary in our inboxes: an official email with the school's letterhead saying that due to “bullying", prom would be permanently cancelled until measurable snowfall in July. A lot of the anxieties that kids channel into what they’re going to do at their prom got redirected elsewhere. 

The kids at school got offended. By everything. Like, a lot.

Remember how I said that school has been so hard for me because I have no idea what to expect? Well, this piano concert thing was a perfect example. I had to make a list of not just one song, but for possible songs that I could play at this concert. I need to be ready to switch out songs in case the band teacher changed his mind. He always did stuff like that. One day, you could pick whatever song you wanted for school concerts, and the next, they would say that it had to come from a pre-approved list. So that meant I had no idea what song I was going to play. When people asked me, the best I could say was, "I’ve got a lineup." Lineup was not a good choice of words; a better choice of words would have been revolving door .

This brings us to our mistake: the same reason that I had to keep a revolving door of songs in my mind for the concert was also the same reason why we should have called the hotel where the concert was to be held ahead of time to double-check to see if the school had not cancelled it. We did not do that.

That brings us to right now. We are smack dab in the middle of what appears to be a campus recruitment event. Everyone in the room except for us is wearing cheap suits that fit somebody else, nobody looks familiar, and the atmosphere consists of a general air of anxiety and lack of preparedness.

Five minutes after we arrived, a woman wearing a pantsuit that made her look like a pool table, pineapple earrings, and a name tag that read “Megan Mulroney“ approached us. “Excuse me, ladies," she said, “are you students at The Fletcher School?”

“No, we go to Arthur Vandelay high school," Jackie said, “I’m here with Margaret because she’s got a piano concert to go to.” 

I stood up and looked at Megan. “So is that in the Gold room, because I got a copy of the flyer here and it says Hall B, and I don’t know where that is, and…”

Megan cut us off. “I don't know what you’re talking about,” she said.

I handed Megan the flyer. “I’m talking about this.”

She didn’t look at the flyer. She gave it right back to me. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but that’s a piece of blank paper." 

“It’s not blank!” I chirped. 

“Yes, it is; and I don’t appreciate you wasting my time like this.“

“We’re not wasting your time.”

“Well then, why am I dealing with two overdressed high school idiots when I have new grads to check in for a networking event?” she said, doing her best impression of a bratty 12-year-old.

“Why are you so stubborn?”

Megan shrugged at us and rolled her eyes in a cocky fashion. “I'm not stubborn all the time. I'm only stubborn when I’m right.” 

Big red flag. If someone says I'm only stubborn when I'm right , it means they're putting up a front, either because they don't want to but they're wrong or they're trying to bullshit you. 

She continued to puff herself out. “Listen, you’re not special. What happens to you happens to other people, too.”

“Not helpful,” I said as I rolled my eyes.  

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, sorry you feel that way.”

“What does that even mean?” I blurted.  

She ignored us. Rather than explain what was going on, she instead attempted to have phone sex with Idris Elba and got the wrong number.

It didn’t stop there. One look out the window told me we’d have to get someone else to pick us up, as Henrietta got arrested. I’m guessing she found out that the job she applied for was posted as an April Fool’s Day joke and she either trashed the office or beat the crap out of the hiring manager. Based on the black eye, I think it was the second thing. 

Terrific. Now we have no plan, no ride home, and no idea what the fuck is supposed to happen next. 

I’m devastated. I feel gutted. But beyond that, I'm spooked.

This isn't something you'd consider typically scary. It felt like that last photo taken before a disaster. This looming sense that something catastrophic is coming down the pike continues to hang over me.

@writers-are-writers

[foxydivaxx]

The Mystery of The Black Rose Chapter 1

After this, I don't think I can write any stories or anything anymore. I should just quit.

The Davis family at a glance seem to have it all. A seemingly perfect, well rounded and God-fearing family. The late Chief Gboyega Davis passed away about 18 years ago and many expected the matriarch of the family to falter over her husband's death. Yet this woman somehow managed to bounce back via her clothing line Violet Life which is reportedly worth a billion dollars.

Naturally with such success, there would be a lot of pressure on each of her three children to succeed in whatever chosen field that they set their sights on. So far, the oldest two children are doing well in their careers. Temitope, the oldest child and the only son of the family, is now a successful and highly respected doctor. Bisola who is currently married is an accountant for Savannah Bank.

All that remained at the moment is the youngest child Wuraola who is still in University studying Journalism in the hopes that she makes it as journalist someday. The girl comes across as a shy yet sweet and friendly person to be around. However, there lies a great pain in her heart. Said pain emerged one fateful day during a phone conversation with her sister Bisola.

"Wura, you are overreacting again. Mother isn't like that."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!! I AM NOT CRAZY!! MUMMY HAS THAT TENDENCY TO NOT ONLY INSULT THE HOUSEGIRL AND TELL HER TO HER FACE THAT SHE IS ONLY A HOUSEGIRL BECAUSE SHE LACKS INTELLIGENCE!! THIS SAME OLD HAG ALSO INSULTED ME FOR TRIPPING OVER THE STUPID CARPET AS I HELPED HER BRING SOME COOKIES!! THIS WOMAN HAS BEEN BULLYING ME AND THE STAFF FOR YEARS FOR FUCK'S SAKE!! YOU WERE THERE WHE THAT WOMAN CUT MY HAIR OFF FOR NOT DOING THE HAIRSTYLE SHE WANTED ME TO DO AND YOU BLOODY DID NOTHING!! YOU AND TOPE!!"

Thank goodness their mother had gone out otherwise had the woman listened in on Wura's rant, the child's situation could have gotten worse.

"Seriously Wura calm down. Also, yelling like that will not help matters. Plus mum had every right to yell at both you and Yemisi since both of you do not know what you are doing half the time!!"

Wura just sighs. Why did she even bother herself with reporting her mother to her sister who is obviously so blind and refuses to look at anyone's point of view? It is almost as though Bisola cares more about herself than anyone else and it shows.

"So you mean to tell me that I should take whatever beatings and insults that woman throws at me?" Wura asks in a cold tone.

"Wura she is your mother...."

The last born immediately hangs up on her sister and lies down on her bed. For the past couple years, she had been questioning her role in the family. As far as she is concerned, they are all chess pieces in whatever evil game their mother intends to play.

I can't believe people find that woman's behavior to be cute. That is not cute. That is pure borderline abuse. How come no one has seen through her bullshit yet?

That was about five years ago.

Five years later, the entire family had gathered at the main Davis family home to have a family dinner to celebrate the 18th anniversary of Chief Davis' passing. As per tradition, the family and their friends and various well known celebrities that they happen to know would show up at the Church for a special Thanksgiving service. The family then heads to the family home to eat together and send some time before heading off to their various homes.

"Wait, where is Wura?" The kids' aunt, Aunty Yewande asked. The rest of the family exchanged looks.

Temitope snorts. "Hmmph that girl. She is probably watching that her favorite Korean show." he says with a mocking tone and shrugs. If there was one thing the family often mocks Wura for, it is her obsession with Korean dramas and Kpop which they often found childish.

"Or she could be sleeping. At times, Wura gets tired after church services and just doses off. She did not head downstairs for lunch." Says Violeta their mother.

"I will go fetch her." Says Bisola as she raises up from her seat. She takes slow yet tentative steps as she walks up the steep stairs.

"Wura come downstairs!! Dinner is ready!!" she calls out to her sister.

No response.

No do not panic. The girl is fine. She is fine. Nothing bad had happened to her. She is perfectly fine. Bisola kept on reassuring herself as she keeps on walking until she arrives at her youngest sister's room.

Of all the Davis children, Wura has the largest room with cute pink colored walls and white furniture at the girl's request. At the corner of the room lay a collection of CDS and books messily stacked up on the shelves above Wura's study desk. It seemed that the girl hadn't cleaned up at all. Bisola sighs. Their mother is strict on cleanliness and Wura always bore the brunt of abuse for being disorganized and having poor hygiene. This naturally affected Wura at school because how can someone so disorganized and scatterbrained like her even do well at all?

Bisola pauses as she hears notices a sea of water coming out of underneath the door of Wura's bathroom.

"Jesus wept." Could Wura have left the tap open to overflow like that?

Is she in there?

She slowly walks over towards the door and opens it. The sight that greets her forces her to scream her lungs out. Right inside the bathtub was none other than a naked Wura who seemed to be completely knocked out. There were heavy cuts and bruises all over her body and beside her were tubes of prescription pills. The rest of the family get alerted by the scream and rush upstairs to see what the fuss was about.

"Bisola wh-" Temitope freezes once he sees it. His wife Amelia gasps. When Violeta joins them, she immediately passes out with Yetunde holding on to her. "Mama Tope!! Please wake up!!"

Tope immediately springs into action and gets into the bathtub and picks up his little sister's unconscious body whilst Bisola's husband Timothy pulls out his mobile phone and immediately calls the nearest hospital.

"Hello!! Y-Yes!! We have an emergency here!! Our youngest family member drowned in the bathtub!! Please send paramedics down here!!"

Meanwhile, Tope performs emergency CPR on his sister, hoping and praying that the girl wakes up. Unfortunately for him, it seemed all his efforts were in vain. He then checks her pulse and his heart sinks.

"S-She is gone guys."

"No.." Bisola muttered in total disbelief. Tope simply sighs, trying not to appear emotional as he stares down at her body, his hands shaking in rage.

"Breaking news!! The youngest daughter of the Davis family, Wuraola was found dead in the bathtub of her bedroom at around 7.30pm today. Official cause of death is still unknown." says a news reporter who had just arrived at the scene.

Paremedics soon arrive and place Wura's body onto a stretcher and head outside. "NO!! Give me back my baby!!" Violeta screams as she chases after the paramedics. "Mummy calm down." Says Bisola.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN CALM DOWN?!! MY DAUGHTER IS GONE!! MY BELOVED WURA IS GONE!!"

The woman slumps onto the floor and begins to weep bitterly. Tope has tears in his eyes as his brother-in law comforts him. Amelia on the other hand, just stares up at the ceiling above them, not a single tear in sight. Thank goodness the only grandson of the family was with her parents. Lord knows how they would explain about what had just happened to his favorite aunt.

The Chief Inspector of Police arrives flanked by a group of police officers.

"Ah, good evening Mr Kasali." Says Bisola.

He simply replies her with a curt nod. "Please lead us to the crime scene."

Tope wipes his tears and takes it upon himself to lead them up to the room. "This was where we found her." he says, pointing at the bathtub which was still filled with water. There were still some blood stains on the tub.

The Inspector nods to one of his men who pulls out his phone and takes a photograph of the crime scene. Another set of police officers begin to investigate the area.

"Did anyone else come into the room with her?"

"No sir. It was just her. We hadn't seen her since afternoon. I remember her saying something about wanting to take a nap because she was tired and did not even join us for lunch."

He was not saying the complete truth, that he already knows. Nevertheless, Kasali chose not to press him even further.

"Did she have a fight with anyone?"

Tope begins to think. "She did have an argument with mummy but that was over where she wanted to go for her Masters."

Pure utter lies. It hurts that he has to cover up their family's tracks here.

Kasali nods as he notes all this down. "Alright. We shall leave no stone unturned in this case. You have my word on that."

"Inspector!!"

He turns around and walks over to a police officer who holds up a blood-stained razor blade and knife.

Tope's eyes widened in shock. "Holy shit!!"

His mind then flashes back to one particular day where he had just returned home after his graduation. He remembers seeing Wura holding a knife and him immediately confiscating it from her.

Wura please don't tell me you still harmed yourself.

"Very well. Pack that up. We will have to talk to others that know her in order to understand what led her death." With that, he and the other police officers leave.

Once everyone else was gone, Tope immediately walks over to his mother and grabs her by the hand.

"What the hell did you tell Wura that led to her death mother?! Tell me huh!! What did you do to her?!!"

"Ah hah!! Tope leave our mother!! Can't you see she is still upset?!"

"Shut up Bisola!! You do not help matters at all with your nonchalant attitude!!"

Bisola immediately keeps silent. He then stares at their mother who was cowering in fear. "I will not repeat myself again mum. What did you tell Wura?"

The woman gulps, fear gripping her as she meets her son's angered glance.

"W-Well.....you know that Wura is a messy person who is also a scatterbrain. She always forgets things. Today she forgot to give a special package I had wrapped for Mama Kanyin."

The boy's death glare intensifies. "So because of a stupid package, you sent her to her death."

The woman looks away.

"See? That proves my point. You and Bisola should be proud of yourselves because you have murdered my little sister!!" With that, he walks away, leaving a stunned mother and sister behind.

The boy stomps all the way down and sighs to himself as he walks towards his car and slams the door shut. Amelia had already left the vicinity to go pick up things from the supermarket. He could have done better and saved Wura from that place. From all those horrible people. But he himself was way too consumed with his own darkness, his own madness to even save his little sister.

He would not necessarily call himself the closet sibling to Wura but he still tried his best to be a big brother.

He just sits down in the driver's seat, his mind a total mess as different conflicting voices start to fight for control over him. Almost as though he were possessed. Maybe he was.

He then hears his phone buzzing which distracts him for a brief second. Reaching for his iPhone, he sees a notification about a message from an unknown number. Suspecting that it could be one of his crazy girlfriends, he checks the phone and is met by the following message:

Shine your eyes Mister man,

Your problems are not yet over,

No matter how saintly you try to be now,

Your sins are about to come crashing down on you.

Tope simply laughs it off. "Sins. What sins?" Truth be told, he is aware of what this mysterious person was talking about. However, he thinks little of such.

"Must be one of Danielle's tricks to try and get into my pants again. Stupid bitch does not know when to quit." He mutters as he starts the engine and begins to drive off to his home.

Bisola sighs as she sits down in her old bedroom. Unlike Wura's, hers was a lot more subtle with plain neutral colors. Her mother was fast asleep haven given her some medication to calm her nerves down and try to force her to sleep. So far her plan worked.

Her husband has gone off to go check on their son whilst she stays with her mother to keep watch over her. Before she could do anything else, her phone vibrates next to her on the bedside table. Fearing for the worst, she picks up the phone and checks her messages and gasps upon reading a rather vague yet scathing text.

You try to see the good in others,

Yet you refuse to acknowledge your inner darkness,

Your careless tongue and bitchy attitude caused the death of someone,

Someone that ought to be close to you,

Your other brother has problems no doubt,

But at least deep down he has a heart unlike you and that wretched witch

You call a mother,

"Who sent this?" Bisola asks. No. Wura is dead. There is no way she could have sent this even though the tone used her sounds exactly like her. Must be some friend of hers.

"Friend? Wura and friends? Pfft. Yeah right." As far as she and the rest of the family knew, Wura had little to no friends. Or so she thinks.

Meanwhile, Tope arrives at his house on Banana Island. Compared to Alakada, Banana is more of a surburban area filled to the brim with extremely wealthy individuals, mostly politicians and famous musical and movie superstars and a couple wealthy billionaires.

He packs the car and walks off to his penthouse suite that he recently bought with the new paycheck given to him by his boss Dr Roberts. Perks of being a in-demand doctor.

Once he reaches his suite, he heads straight to the living room and throws his blazer onto the couch and takes a seat on one of the chairs.

"You are back."

He looks up to see his beautiful wife who was wearing a purple silk dressing gown over her night gown. He nods. "This day has been a horrible day for me." He mutters. His wife takes a seat beside him.

"Poor Wura."

He simply nods and remains silent. Lord knows how they would fix this mess.

[watusichris]

Betty Davis: They Say She’s Different

It appears that everything anyone has written for the old Music Aficionado site has now disappeared from the web. A random Facebook post has prompted me to re-purpose this story, written in 2016, about my favorite funketress. **********

To this day, the name Betty Davis – Betty with a “y,” that is – remains best known to connoisseurs of Miles Davis minutiae and ‘70s funk obsessives. While it’s true that Betty played an important off-stage role in the career of the jazz trumpeter, to whom she was married for just a year, and she undoubtedly made some of the best hardcore funk records of her era, she deserves to be recognized beyond the relatively narrow provinces of the jazzbo and the crate-digger.

Uncompromising, intelligent, brazen, aggressive, and not incidentally gorgeous, sexually provocative, and a fashion plate always ahead of the curve, Betty was a prophetic figure. Spawned by the explosion of music, fashion, and alternative culture of the late ‘60s, and by concurrent leaps in black consciousness and feminism, she was a take-no-prisoners singer and writer who presented herself as something new, rich, and strange with her self-titled debut album in 1973.

There were some badass contemporaries working the soul and funk trenches– gutter-tongued diva Millie Jackson and one-time James Brown paramour Yvonne Fair leap to mind immediately – but they seemed to be adapting tropes previously worked by male singers in the genres. Betty still sounds like something new: a tough, smart, demanding woman who reveled in pleasure and insisted on satisfaction, unafraid to claim what she wanted.

Despite the fact that she was associated with some high-profile male musician friends and lovers – beyond Davis, the roll call included Hugh Masekela, Jimi Hendrix, Sly Stone, Mike Carabello, Eric Clapton, and Robert Palmer – she was no groupie or bed-hopping climber. Possessed of her own self-defining vision, she was producing her own records and leading a tight, flexible little band by the end of her brief run.

In 1976, after completing four splendid albums (only three of which were released at the time), she disappeared, not only from the music business but from the public eye entirely. What happened? It’s an old story that many women in the industry will recognize: Her record company didn’t know what to do with her, and wanted her to tone down her act. Betty Davis wasn’t having any of that, thank you, and she hit the damn road.

She was born Betty Mabry in Durham, NC, in 1945. She grew up country, and was exposed to down-home, get-down music early. On the title track of her second album, They Say I’m Different, she runs down the artists who served as inspirations: Big Mama Thornton, John Lee Hooker, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Howlin’ Wolf, Albert King, Chuck Berry. The blues, in one form or another, is the backbone of her style.

Her family relocated to Pittsburgh when she was young, but at 16 she left home for the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. There she was hurtled into the roiling cultural vortex of the Village. She took up modeling, working for the toney Wilhelmina agency, and began running with a posse of similarly disposed, equally beautiful women who called themselves the “Electric Ladies.” Sound familiar? One of her closest cohorts was Devon Wilson, for many years a notorious consort of Jimi Hendrix known for her freewheeling, outré sex- and drug-saturated lifestyle.

Mabry began to try her hand at singing, and cut a few self-penned singles. They were in an old-school mold in terms of structure, but her very first 45 hints at things to come. “Get Ready For Betty,” a 1964 track released by Don Costa (discoverer of Paul Anka and Trini Lopez and a key arranger for Frank Sinatra), is stodgy early-‘60s NYC R&B to its core, but its message is pointed: “Get out my way, girl, ‘cause I’m comin’ to take your man.”

She also made a stolid romantic duet ballad with singer Roy Arlington and, produced by cult soul man Lou Courtney, a homage to the Cellar, the New York club where she DJed. But she didn’t start reaching the upper echelon of the music biz until one of her songs, a hymn to Harlem called “Uptown,” was cut by the Chambers Brothers for their smash 1968 album The Time Has Come, which also included the psychedelic soul workout “Time Has Come Today.”

The Chambers association probably secured a singles deal for her at Columbia Records, and her first session for the major label was produced by her former live-in boyfriend, South African trumpeter Masekela, in October 1968. By that time, she had split with him: A month earlier, she had married a far more famous horn player, Miles Davis, whom she had met in 1967. Davis and his regular producer Teo Macero would head her second session for Columbia in May 1969.

Those two dates were released for the first time as The Columbia Years 1968-1969 earlier this month by Light in the Attic, the independent label that has restored Betty’s entire catalog to print over the last decade. While devoted fans can be grateful that the work is finally seeing the light of day, it does not make for easy listening, for it was clearly made by people groping in the dark.

Betty’s artistic persona was at that point completely unformed, and so her male Svengalis did their best to mold the clay in their hands, with feeble results. Masekela evidently completed just three tracks, two of which, “It’s My Life” and “Live, Love, Learn,” were issued as a flop single. The homiletic song titles give the game away; the music, straight-up commercial soul backed by a large group (which included Wilton Felder and Wayne Henderson of the Jazz Crusaders and Masekela), has nothing original to say.

The date with Miles is a bigger waste, if a more spectacular one. The personnel couldn’t have been more glittering: Hendrix sidemen Billy Cox and Mitch Mitchell; ex-Detroit Wheels guitarist Jim McCarty; bassist Harvey Brooks, studio familiar of Bob Dylan and former member of the Electric Flag; and Davis’ then-current or future band mates Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, John McLaughlin, and Larry Young.

But nothing jells. The material is either weak (Betty’s directionless original “Hangin’ Out” is the best of a bad lot) or incongruous (lumbering covers of Cream’s “Politician” and Creedence’s “Born On the Bayou”). Worse, the jazzers are unable to lay down anything resembling a solid soul-rock foundation, and even reliable timekeeper Mitchell blows the groove on more than one occasion. Miles gets impatient with his spouse at one point, rasping over the talk-back, “Sing it just like that, with the gum in your mouth and all, bitch.”

Apparently intended as demos, the failed tracks were consigned to the tape library. By late ’69, Miles and Betty’s marriage was history. She left her mark on his music: She appeared on the cover of his cover of his 1968 album Filles de Kilimanjaro and inspired its extended track “Mademoiselle Mabry” (based on the chords that opens Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary”) and “Back Seat Betty” from his 1981 comeback album The Man With the Horn.

Moreover, she moved him toward the flash style that would dominate his music through the mid-‘70s, by exposing him to the slamming music of Hendrix and Sly and exchanging his continental suits for psychedelic pimp togs. Would we know Bitches Brew, On the Corner, and Agharta without Betty Davis? Maybe, maybe not.

For her part, Betty remained in the wings for a while. She collaborated on demos for the Commodores; in London, she modeled, worked on songs for Marc Bolan of T. Rex, and declined a production offer from her then-paramour Clapton. Drifting back to New York, she met Santana percussionist Carabello. They became involved romantically, and in 1972 she relocated to the San Francisco Bay area, where Carabello’s local connections led to the formation of a stellar band to back her on a debut album.

One reads the credits for Betty Davis in awe. The rhythm section was the Family Stone’s dissident, puissant rhythm section, bassist Larry Graham and drummer Greg Errico (who also produced). Original Santana guitarist Neal Schon, future Mandrill axe man Doug Rodrigues, founding Graham Central Station organist Hershall Kennedy, and keyboardist and ace Jerry Garcia collaborator Merl Saunders filled out the instrumentation. The Pointer Sisters, Sylvester, and Kathi McDonald were among a large platoon of backup vocalists.

Issued in 1973 by Just Sunshine Records, an independent label owned by Woodstock Festival promoter Michael Lang (who also released a set by another unique woman, folk singer-guitarist Karen Dalton), Betty Davis was one hell of a coming-out party. Since her abortive Columbia dates, she had developed a unique vocal attack that could leap from a velvety croon to a Tina Turner-like shriek in a nanosecond. The stomping funk of the studio band backed her up to the hilt.

Like Turner, she was one Bold Soul Sister. The lust-filled opening invitation “If I’m in Luck I Might Get Picked Up” announces that a new game was afoot. The statement of romantic/sexual independence “Anti Love Song,” the lovers’ chess match “Your Man My Man,” and the self-explanatory “Game is My Middle Name” offer up a startling, hard-edged new model of a hard-funking female vocalist.

The album’s most affecting track may be “Steppin in Her I. Miller Shoes,” Davis’ level-headed elegy for her sybaritic friend Devon Wilson, who sailed out a window at the Chelsea Hotel in 1971. “She coulda been anything that she wanted…Instead she chose to be nothing,” Davis sings, implying that route wouldn’t be one she would take herself.

“If I’m in Luck” grazed the lower reaches of the R&B singles chart and the album failed to reach the LP rolls at all, but Davis was undaunted. For 1974’s They Say I’m Different, she took the producer’s reins, which she would hold for the rest of her career. While the backup lineup is less glitzy (though Saunders, Pete Escovedo, and Buddy Miles, on guitar no less, appear), the support is still sizzling; crackling drums and burbling clavinet put over a set of songs that may have been even stronger than those heard on her debut.

No one who hears “He Was a Big Freak” is likely to ever forget it; it’s a startling dissection of a masochistic relationship -- inspired by Jimi Hendrix, and not, as many have assumed, by Miles Davis (“Everyone knows that Miles is a sadist,” Betty remarked later). Almost as notable are “Don’t Call Her No Tramp,” a prescient condemnation of what we now call slut-shaming, and the autobiographical title track, with slicing slide guitar work by Cordell Dudley.

Different and its attendant singles tanked, but Betty managed to maintain her profile with live gigs noteworthy for their uninhibited bawdiness, on-stage abandon, and the star’s Egyptian-princess-from-outer-space wardrobe sense. By early 1974 she had assembled a hot, lean road band that included her cousins Nickey Neal and Larry Johnson on drums and bass, respectively, plus keyboardist Fred Mills and guitarist Carlos Morales. This lineup would back her on her last two albums.

The end of Just Sunshine’s distribution deal liberated Davis, who, at the suggestion of then-boyfriend Robert Palmer, inked with Palmer’s label Island Records. The company released Nasty Gal in 1975, and it may be Davis’ best-executed work. The pared-down backing lets the songs shine, and there are good ones here: The shameless title song, the vituperative blast at the critics “Dedicated to the Press,” and the out-front ultimatum for sexual satisfaction “Feelins” get right up in the listener’s face. The most surprising track is the ballad “You and I,” an unexpected songwriting reunion with Miles, orchestrated by the trumpeter’s famed arranger Gil Evans.

It’s a tremendous album, and Betty supported it with live shows that ate the funk competition alive. A bootleg of an especially out-there set recorded at a festival on the French Riviera in 1976 literally climaxes with Nasty Gal’s “The Lone Ranger,” an in-the-saddle heavy breather that Davis wraps up by feigning a loud orgasm.

One should remember that at this particular juncture, Madonna was studying dance at the University of Michigan.

But Nasty Gal faded with hardly a trace, and Davis’ relationship with Island swiftly became fractious. It’s easy to see why the label declined to issue her final album, originally called Crashin’ From Passion and ultimately released, after years as a bootleg, by Light in the Attic in 2009 as Is It Love or Desire. The collection, which leans heavily on songs about sex, doping, and heavy drinking, includes “Stars Starve, You Know,” an outright condemnation of the games record companies play:

They said if I wanted to make some money

I’d have to change my style

Put a paper bag over my face

Sing soft and wear tight fitting gowns

 They don’t like the way I’m lookin’

So it’s hard for my agent to get me bookin’s

Unless I cover up my legs and drop my pen

And commit one of those commercial sins…

 Oh hey hey Island

And that was all she wrote. Until writers began to seek her out in the new millennium as her records became available again, Betty Davis was an invisible woman, one who had blazed a trail that other talents, such as Prince and Madonna, would blaze more profitably after her. She was definitively ahead of her time.

Asked by one writer what she had done since leaving music, Davis, who turns 71 on July 26, responded with the most tragic thing one can imagine any artist saying: “Nothing really.”

[anubislover]

A Heart to Be Used as Needed (a dark Corazon!LawxBaby 5 fic)

“Joker killed another one, huh?”

Sniffling and tearfully nodding her head, Baby 5 skulked into Trafalgar Law’s lab, the young Corazon’s afternoon coffee carefully balanced on a silver tray. “The bastard didn’t even give me enough time to set a wedding date.” The Buki Buki no Mi user was a mess; mascara blended with tears down her cheeks, her eyes were red and puffy, jet black hair tangled, and there were thin rips throughout her maid uniform. She’d clearly just come from another failed attempt at killing Doflamingo, her rage at once more being denied her dream of marital bliss no match for the shichibukai and his Ito Ito no Mi powers.

Law scoffed as he continued to dissect the man on his table. His victim was barely conscious, chest cavity wide open, any resistance he might make suppressed by restraints, a cocktail of opioids, and the fact that his limbs were in a bin on the other side of the operatory. Doflamingo had caught the guy snooping around the castle, so he’d been generously donated to the lab for the Surgeon of Death’s amusement. He’d started off using his powers, but after a while decided to practice more traditional surgery—minus the anesthesia, of course. The result was a rather bloody operating table, organs lined up in little trays encased in their own Rooms to keep his subject alive as long as possible.

Holding the man’s liver up to the light, Law tsked at the cirrhosis that had formed. “You know, they say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”

Grimacing at her superior’s handywork, the maid replied haughtily, “I’m pretty sure it’s also finding pleasure in playing around with a man’s organs while he watches.”

“No, that’s sadism. Completely different.” Turning around, he pulled off the bloody latex gloves and surgical mask, switching them with the coffee mug, warm viscera dripping onto the polished silver. Despite being red with tears, Baby 5’s eyes rolled heavenwards in annoyance; with his abilities, he could have easily thrown those in the trash, but he always left it to her to clean up instead. Frowning at the red stains on his dress shirt and white lab coat, she knew she’d also be spending a good hour on his laundry. Oh, well. At least it made her feel useful.

Taking a sip of the bitter beverage as he leaned against the operating table, Law quickly scanned her for injuries. Apart from a few bruises and some thin cuts, she seemed relatively unharmed, but it was still worse than Joker’s usual retaliation. Either he’d been in a bad mood, or Baby 5 had really gone all out this time. “Need me to bandage those up?” the surgeon asked, indicating the long, thin slash at her waist.

She waved of his concern as she dumped the contaminated gloves into the trash. “Oh, don’t trouble yourself; I’ll take care of them later.”

It was an expected response; heaven forbid the maid allow anyone to do something for her. Half the time he had to drug her just to fix her up after a mission, as she’d insist on not being a burden even while bleeding out. So, knowing it was a lost cause, he pointed to the sink. “Then at least wash your face; I don’t need you dripping snot and makeup all over my nice, clean lab.” It wasn’t clean, and Baby 5 would inevitably be the one to mop up the blood later, but she was smart enough not to comment.

As she dutifully bent over the sink, scrubbing away tears and reapplying her lipstick, Law diverted his gaze from her injuries to instead appreciate the way her short dress and high heels made her legs look impossibly long. He couldn’t help it; as a doctor, he enjoyed studying anatomy, and as an admitted hedonist, he loved a sexy pair of legs on anyone. The way she leaned over, arching her back and presenting her pert ass, filled his head with impure thoughts of burying his stiff cock inside her, fucking her hard and slow while she made helpless little sounds of pleasure.

Joker really was a sadist, parading a beautiful, biddable woman around in such a tempting outfit, then basically forbidding anyone from touching her. It was easier on everyone else, as most saw her as a sister or niece if they regarded her at all, but as Law’d never bought into the family crap, he lacked that barrier. Instead, his main reason for not going after the sexy little maid boiled down to the knowledge that if he did, she’d cling to him for life, and Doflamingo would be pissed.

Even the best fuck in the world wasn’t worth upending his ultimate plans.

Downing half the mug of coffee in one go to quell his urges, he said, “Not that I approve of any of the worthless peons you’re stupid enough to fall for, but if you want to get married so badly, quit telling Joker and just elope. Why ask permission when you know you’ll never get it?” Despite his harsh words, he was vaguely impressed—foolish as it was, he’d give her props for persistence. Her intense desire to get married was almost comparable to his drive to bring the Heavenly Demon’s world crashing down around him before finally crushing his heart in his bare hands.

The fact was, despite being Corazon, Law had spent the past decade plotting to destroy Joker and his sick criminal empire. It was hardly for altruistic reasons; he’d set the whole world on fire so long as Doflamingo burned with it. All that mattered was avenging Cora-san, and there was no line he wouldn’t cross. A man in his position couldn’t afford to have scruples; his job generally revolved around torture, unethical experimentation, helping enforce Joker’s rule, keeping his twisted subordinates alive and in line, and more. How could he ever hope to take down the former Celestial Dragon if he wasn’t willing to do the same for his plans?

Besides his lack of limits, Law’s greatest strength was his patience. Much as he wanted to simply rip out his still-beating heart, Doflamingo was too strong to fight directly. At least, too strong for the Surgeon of Death. At first, Law’d planned on simply earning his trust and killing him on the operating table under the guise of performing the Perennial Youth Surgery, but after seeing how monstrously powerful and resilient he was, the young doctor had been forced to figure out a new plan. Then, two years ago, he’d had an epiphany; to take out a Warlord, you needed an Emperor, and he was in the perfect position to sabotage Joker and Kaido’s partnership. He would break one of the gears that kept the New World running, then sit back and relish the beautiful storm he’d ushered in.

It wouldn’t be easy, and at the moment, his greatest challenge was gathering the right allies to help him enact his brilliant scheme. Violet used her powers and sexual relationship with Joker to keep him informed of their boss’ plans and divert any suspicions of betrayal. Law had amassed a small but devoted crew eager to follow him into Hell. Last year, he’d secretly saved the Straw Hat boy at Marineford, healing and handing him over to Silvers Rayleigh to train with the intention of calling in the life debt once he and his crew were strong enough for the New World. The young upstart’s brand of chaos would be useful for destroying Joker’s SMILE factory and invoking Kaido’s wrath.

Slowly Trafalgar D. Water Law moved the pieces into place, playing a quiet game of chess with the unwitting shichibukai while acting as his sadistic but loyal Corazon.

Perhaps it was that devotion to subtlety and meticulous planning that made him so annoyed at Baby 5’s foolishness. “Seriously, you do this every time; flounce into his office crowing about how you’re getting married, and the next day the guy’s entire town has been razed to the ground.”

“But I want the Young Master’s approval!” she declared. She simply could not understand why everyone was so against her getting married. Ever since she was a child, she’d longed to belong somewhere, to be useful and needed by someone. To be a man’s wife meant that there was someone who truly valued her, who saw how useful she was and was happy to let her tend to his every need. To be useful was to be needed, to be needed was to be loved, and a loved person would never be abandoned in the mountains, determined a burden, or forgotten.

Once more presentable, her cheeks flushed as she basked in a romantic fantasy, imagining her hypothetical wedding day. “I know he’s just being protective and doing what he feels is best, but he’s never even met my boyfriends! Once he sees how truly in love we are, he’ll walk me down the aisle and give me away to my beloved—”

“That’s just it—he doesn’t want to give you away,” the Dark Doctor interrupted sourly, running a tattooed hand through his messy hair in irritation. Really, how was he the only one who saw through their boss’ illusion of “family” for the brainwashed cult that it was? Was it because he’d witnessed first-hand what he’d done to his own brother? The volatile maid was one of the few he cut any slack; he’d spent the past twelve years watching Doflamingo cultivate her psychological need to be needed into something fanatical and horribly unhealthy, whereas the rest were just plain cruel, stupid, or greedy. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t gleefully tear into her I delusion like a pinned-down frog, though. “You’re most useful when you’re solely devoted to him. If you marry outside the Family, your loyalties will be divided.”

“No, they won’t,” she argued, clasping her hands over her heart, eyes sparkling dramatically under the cold, florescent lights. “I’ll always be loyal to the Family!”

“But what if your husband wants you to choose between us and him?” Law pressed, setting down his mug. Normally, he didn’t bother trying to reason with her, but he was feeling particularly sadistic at the moment. Such utter devotion to that monster disgusted him, and something urged him to pick at the fresh scab over the maid’s damaged psyche and watch it bleed as she was forced to face painful reality. “Your taste in men is generally atrocious, so who’s to say you wouldn’t end up falling for the enemy? Let’s say your husband needs you to shoot Joker, but Doflamingo needs you to kill your husband. Who would you obey?”

“I—I would…” she trailed off, eyes dropping to the floor and hands wringing her apron as her mind struggled. Cheeks flushed red with strain, white teeth bit into her plump, cherry red lip, and sweat started to form across her brow. The butt of her cigarette fell to the floor, slowly burning out on the white linoleum. Law didn’t need to check her pulse to know her heart was racing, and her bountiful chest heaved as panicked adrenaline raced through her veins. It was like a computer attempting to process a paradox, slowly frying its own circuits trying to figure out the unsolvable answer.

A wide, cold smirk stretched his lips, gold eyes greedily taking in her mental anguish. Really, it was quite an attractive look on her. Control freak that he was, he got a special, sick thrill from the knowledge that he could play with her emotions so easily, his words as precise and sharp as his scalpel. “Exactly. That’s why he’ll always kill your pitiful fiancés. He doesn’t trust you to make good decisions on your own, so he guards you like a dragon would a princess, incinerating any would-be knights in shining armor trying to rescue you.”

“But I don’t need to be rescued,” she insisted weakly.

“Well, that’s good, because none of those idiots cared about you enough to want to rescue you. They wanted to take advantage of your weakness, just like everyone else.”

“You’re wrong; they loved me!”

“Then tell me all about your latest ‘romantic’ proposal,” he said sarcastically, slowly circling her like a leopard sizing up a wounded doe, deciding what part of her soft, defenseless flesh he should sink his teeth into first. “Did he get down on one knee and declare his undying devotion? Whisper sweet nothings as you gazed at the stars? Give you a sparkling diamond ring and a bouquet of red roses?” he rasped in her ear as his hand teasingly stroked along her shoulders.

“He…he gave me a daisy,” she muttered, hopelessly staring at the floor.

“Ooo, a daisy! I’m sure it was the prettiest weed freshly picked from a crack in the sidewalk a woman could ask for.”

Spinning around, she struck him, the deafening slap of her open palm against his cheek echoing throughout the operatory. “Why are you such an asshole?!” she shouted, tears once again welling up in her big, dark eyes.

Even though he’d been expecting it, Law glared at her like a basilisk for her insubordination, smirk returning as she instantly cowered before him. Toying with her was so amusing, her reactions volatile yet comically predictable. Really, it was something he’d grown to enjoy over the years—seeing just how far he could push her before she snapped, only to watch her immediately regret it from nothing more than a cold look.

Relishing the power trip he got from her fear, the Corazon stalked back to the table. His victim’s eyes were becoming a bit clearer and his struggles had renewed, strained noises bubbling up in his throat as the drugs wore off. It seemed his body had processed the opioids more quickly than expected; too bad for the unlucky fool, but that just meant more fun for the Surgeon of Death.

Chuckling, Law glanced over his shoulder at Baby 5. With no one to cling to like she normally would, she’d remained frozen in place, trembling as she fearfully awaited his response. Dismemberment was his go-to punishment for her if her were in a particularly bad mood, though he always put her back together, and by the next morning she’d be back to scolding him for not showing the young master enough respect or stealing her last cigarette.

Lucky for her, this was one of his better days, so instead of having her join the man on the table, Law threw her a bone. “I need you to fetch me that gag on the counter. I don’t trust my patient not to start screaming again, and it would be rude of him to cause a racket when we’re trying to have a conversation.”

The second the word “need” had left his mouth, Baby 5 ceased her cowering, dashing over to the counter and grabbing the leather gag, nearly tripping over herself in her eagerness to be useful.

Despite himself, the Dark Doctor gave the barest hint of a smile. Much as the woman annoyed him with her fanatical devotion to Doflamingo, her desire to help was just so pure it was, at times, endearing. If he were honest, Baby 5 was probably the one he hated the least in the organization; besides being the nicest to look at, her wants and needs were simple, and she could be surprisingly compassionate in little ways. She was one of the few who, despite considering him a traitor, had acknowledged just how much Cora-san had meant to Law. Held his hand while he’d mourned for his savior after he’d been dragged kicking and screaming back to the Family. Been genuinely thrilled that his Amber Lead Disease was cured. Taken up smoking with him as a small tribute to the former Corazon, huddling behind a tree as they retched at their first taste of tobacco.

If nothing else, he always enjoyed watching her attack their boss when he murdered her fiancés. Even when she failed, Law found it to be catharsis-by-proxy, as he spent most of his days plotting how to horribly and painfully murder the shichibukai. A hell of a turn-on, too; who wouldn’t have the occasional sexual fantasy about a hot maid trying to assassinate the man you hated most?

Sparing a nod of thanks, the surgeon shoved the gag into his patient’s mouth before tightening the restraints. He prided himself on his steady hands, and he wouldn’t have his work ruined because the worthless fool couldn’t keep still. “You may call me an asshole, but I’m the only one who cares about you enough to give the cold, hard truth. Everyone else sugar-coats their words so they can keep you compliant and unwilling to think for yourself. So, you’re welcome.”

Hands fisting on her hips, Baby 5 scowled. It was remarkable how she could go from trembling before him to arguing like they were still children. “Oh, so people who are awful to me care, and yet the men you claim give such horrible proposals don’t? You’re so full of shit, Law!”

He shrugged, taking another sip of his now-lukewarm coffee. “Am I? Even when I was officially promoted to Corazon, you still treated me the same as when we were kids—slapping me when I got mouthy and refusing to kiss my ass like all the other sycophants in this shithole. Are you saying you don’t care about me?”

Her beautiful face twisted in genuine confusion. “I…well, of course I do, but…”

“I let you get away with so much more than anyone else. You hit me, insult me, order me about, and the most I’ve ever done is cut off your limbs for a few hours, and I always fix you back up good as new. Because, even though you’re a foolish, emotional pain in the ass, our little spats are the only thing that feel genuine some days. To you, I’m just Law, and I actually appreciate that.” It surprised him how honest he was being, but he supposed it was as he said; he cared enough not to bullshit her, at least compared to the others.

“You do?”

“Yeah. So that’s why I’m telling you to stop accepting every ‘proposal’ a guy throws your way. You’re famous for your eagerness to please, and men are always looking to take advantage of that. And even if you did manage to find the one decent soul in this world who genuinely loved you, Joker will never let you go. He’ll kill anyone who might take you from the Family.”

Something sparked in her eyes at his words, as if he’d given her the greatest epiphany of her life. “Maybe…maybe I could marry someone in the Family, then! Trebol nearly offered just this afternoon!”

Law gagged on his coffee at the very thought. A man like him needed a strong stomach, but perhaps he did have some limits, after all; not even he would inflict marriage to the snot-dripping freak on someone. “Please tell me you had to good sense not to accept.” He facepalmed at her embarrassed blush. How could anyone’s standards be so low? Was marriage really such an enticing concept that she’d bed that? And the risk of death aside, shouldn’t a woman as sexy and submissive as her attract better suitors?

A sudden, cruel idea popped into his head. What if he married Baby 5? A dangerous assassin and obedient maid could certainly be useful in his scheme. Doflamingo wouldn’t dare kill him for proposing; not if he wanted that Perennial Youth Surgery. He wouldn’t even have a good excuse to refuse the match, considering how it would both keep Baby in the Family and—so he’d believe—further secure his Corazon’s loyalty. After all, what better reward could Law ask for after years of faithful service than a gorgeous trophy wife?

And on the day he finally enacted his revenge against the Heavenly Demon, he’d either have a powerful, completely devoted ally in Baby 5, or she’d be too crippled by indecision to pick between them, keeping her from interfering. Either way, Joker would have lost a piece on the chessboard and not even know until it was too late.

A little voice that sounded disturbingly like Cora-san’s whispered in his ear that using Baby 5 like that made him no better than the Doflamingo, but Law brushed it away. If anything, he was being kind to the silly maid; hadn’t Rosinante wanted to keep him, Baby 5, and Buffalo out of Joker’s clutches? The Marine’s own methods of doing so hadn’t been gentle or entirely ethical, either—throwing kids out of a window wasn’t exactly a safe way to deter them from a life of piracy. Besides, even with his not-so-noble intentions towards her, Law was still a far better suitor than anyone she’d pick on her own. In fact, he was making her dream of becoming a wife a reality, and wasn’t that generous of him?

Putting his mug down, the surgeon reached out to gently rest his fingertips under her chin. Startled at the unexpected contact, Baby 5 nearly stumbled back, but he stepped closer, wrapping his arm securely around her waist to steady her. “It astounds me that a woman as beautiful as you would even consider settling for a disgusting thing such as Trebol,” he said lowly, looking deeply into her obsidian eyes. It would be easy to simply say he needed her or demand she marry him, but he wanted to be sure her loyalty fully shifted to him, otherwise, she could become a liability.

Besides, seduction was just so much more fun; since he’d hit adulthood, Law’d indulged in all manner of sexual vices with hundreds of partners, men and women alike. After all, he hadn’t expected to live past thirteen, and even with his Amber Lead Disease gone, he was on a ticking clock. Death loomed on his horizon, whether it he be killed in battle, forced to fulfill his purpose and conducting the Perennial Youth Surgery, or Joker uncovering his betrayal. So, in between plotting and research, why not make the most out of the time he had? And for all her annoying quirks, Baby 5 was a gorgeous, obedient woman, and he’d be lying if he didn’t like it when she showed her feisty side. She’d starred in many a wet dream over the years, and now he could finally justify making them a reality.

Hot, coffee-scented breath made the wispy strands of hair that framed her face flutter delicately. “You’d see you’ve got far better options if you simply opened your eyes.”

For her part, Baby 5 was utterly shocked. First, Law admitting that he cared about her, and now he was implying there was someone out there who might be interested in proposing? Was he serious, or just making fun of her like Trebol?

Slowly, the tattooed fingers at her chin journeyed south, brushing lightly down her pale throat, over her trembling heart, between her voluptuous breasts, across her trim waist, until they reached the pocket of her apron. Her eyes were fixated on his hand as he fished out a cigarette and her lighter, her breath quickening as he raised the former to her mouth. Instinctively, she opened up to take it, but with a playful smirk, he teasingly ran the filter over her bright red lips, amused at the way the cherry gloss stained the white paper.

Finally, he pushed the cigarette between her lips, murmuring, “Have you ever been kissed before, Baby-ya?”

The way her cheeks went pink was so uncharacteristically demure he had to chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, sending strange but thrilling tingles between her legs. “N-no,” she stammered bashfully.

With a soft click, Law flicked the sparkwheel with his thumb, carefully bringing the dancing flame to light the tip of the cigarette. He could tell he was making her nervous by the way she hurriedly took several steadying puffs, embers flaring with every inhalation.

“Such a shame. I imagine there are women who would kill for lips like yours. And the way you practically suck on that cigarette,” he growled, gold eyes fixating on her mouth, “it gives a man ideas.”

“What kind of ideas?” she asked, breathless and full of wide-eyed, eager curiosity.

Unconsciously, his arm tightened around her waist at her innocence, forcing her to arch against him, soft curves molding against hard muscle. God, she didn’t even know how tempting that question made her. If he were a man with less control, she’d be on her knees learning first-hand what a mouth like hers was made for.

Plucking the cigarette from her unresisting lips, Law took a long drag before blowing the smoke out his nose as he looked down at her with hooded eyes. Licking his lips, he could taste the lingering hints of cherry gloss, sharp and sweet and delicious. “The kind a sweet little thing like you wouldn’t ever dream of.”

“Are they,” she swallowed harshly, pupils dilating as she instinctively gripped his lab coat, “the kind husbands and wives have?”

“Husbands and wives, lovers, bedmates, bored, horny teenagers; basically, anyone who likes to fuck,” he replied before taking another drag. As he leaned back his head to release the stream of smoke into the air, he smirked devilishly at her rapt expression. Oh, he was going to ruin her.

Gently tucking a strand of raven hair behind her ear, he murmured, “Let me talk to Joker. Maybe I can pick his brain, figure out if there’s anyone he would consider a worthy husband for you.”

He forced himself not to laugh at the shadow of disappointment that crossed her face. Dropping her gaze, she pushed against his chest, trying to break away. “Ah…thank you, Law, but you don’t have to. I’d hate to be a burden, and you’re so busy—”

“Nonsense. A loyal, caring woman like you deserves a husband who appreciates everything you have to offer.” Deftly, he maneuvered them so her backside was pressed against the operating table, caging her in and thwarting her escape. Their legs entangled, Baby 5 had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze as he absently flicked the cigarette’s ashes onto a small puddle of blood by her hand. “I may not always agree with him, but he was right to kill the worthless bastards you were so infatuated with. Hell, my only complaint is that he always got to them before I did.”

“What?”

“I mean, if killing every man on the planet is what it takes for you to notice me…”

Baby 5 blinked blankly, mind desperately trying to process what he’d just let slip. “Law, are you…?”

“Am I what, Baby-ya?” he teased, leaning forward as he took another drag, his hot breath mingling with the sweet smoke as it fanned over her lovely face.

“Are you…proposing?”

“What if I were? Would you blindly accept like you did Trebol’s?” Putting the cigarette down, he ran the very tips of his fingers over her exposed collarbone before resting his palm over her thundering heart. He was positive if he removed it, it would jump right out of his hand. “Are you so desperate that you’d accept the proposal of a man who’s cut you apart for fun?” Roughly, his other hand buried itself in her thick, jet black hair, yanking her head back and pulling her even closer until their lips lingered barely an inch apart. “So desperate you’d give yourself over to a man covered in blood, pressed against an operating table occupied by a half-dissected idiot?”

“Yes,” she replied with bated breath, hopeful eyes sparkling.

God, she was weak. Law could pin her down and fuck her on that table, do any number of depraved things to that luscious, untouched body and she wouldn’t even complain so long as he said he needed her. The thought was tempting, but he couldn’t risk Joker refusing their union because he couldn’t control his libido. The Heavenly Demon had to feel like the surgeon genuinely desired his approval—that he wasn’t trying to go behind his back and destroy his wretched “Family.”

“Then no, I’m not.” Despair crumpled her face, tears once more welling up at how easily he’d played with her emotions. Before they could fully fall, Law released her hair to cup her chin. “Mainly because my pride would never let me give such a half-assed proposal. When I ask you to marry me, I’ll have Doflamingo’s blessing, a ring, and it’ll be somewhere far more romantic than my laboratory.”

Jaw dropping, she stared at him in disbelief. “Y-you mean that?”

“Absolutely. I can’t stand the sight of your tears; if marriage is what it takes to make you happy, I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“Thank you, Law!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck. “You really do care about me!”

He had to chuckle as he returned her embrace; he knew she’d readily agree, but her pure joy at just the prospect of marrying him stroked his inflated ego.

“I promise I’ll be the best wife you could ask for! I’ll clean your surgical equipment twice a day, launder your lab coats by hand, give you back rubs, make onigiri for dinner every night—whatever you need!”

A tiny smile pulled at his lips. All such sweet, innocent promises from a woman who was far more sheltered than one would ever imagine from an assassin for a family of criminals. Though, he’d definitely take her up on that last one.

“Just promise me you’ll be a loyal, dutiful wife, Baby-ya, and I’ll give you a marriage unlike anything you’ve ever imagined,” he whispered intimately, cradling her cheek. His hand was so big he could fit the whole side of her face in his palm. She turned her face to nuzzle it blissfully, causing his calloused thumb to brush over her plump bottom lip.

Gold eyes darkened at the sight of her red lips against the tattooed appendage. Unconsciously, he stroked it against the seam of her mouth, gently coaxing her to open up and let it slip into her soft, hot mouth. He gave a faint moan at the sensation of her silken lips wrapping around him, molten tongue curiously stroking the rough pad. Experimentally, he gave it a few shallow thrusts, and he nearly lost his damn mind when she responded with an instinctive suck.

“Good girl,” he whispered without thinking, and the way her pupils dilated with desire at his words forced him to pull away, lest he jump the gun and the eager maid before him.

“Is…is that the kind of idea my mouth gives you?” she asked, panting faintly, her pale cheeks flushed as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

“That’s one of the tamer ideas,” he rasped, retrieving the forgotten cigarette. It had almost burnt down to the filter, but there was just enough left for a few steadying puffs. “Once we’re married, you’ll get to experience every dirty thought I’ve ever had about you. Would you like that?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Her harsh swallow was audible in the taut silence of the lab. “Yes.”

The pleasant throb between his legs urged him to start the wedding night early, but besides the logical part of his brain telling him he needed to set things in motion with Doflamingo, it was coaxing him to wait; this wasn’t the time or place to indulge in such a delicious morsel. Baby 5 needed to be savored, like a gourmet meal he’d spent hours preparing, not swallowed down in one bite. Once she was officially his, he’d have plenty of time to mold her into his perfect concubine, subordinate, secret weapon, and tool.

Desire under control, he took her hand, pressing a chaste, gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll meet with Joker tonight; I’m sure I can convince him we’re a match made in heaven. But I need you to not to tell anyone about us until I formally propose, alright? I want everything to be perfect, and we can’t risk Joker finding out too early and thinking we didn’t value his approval.”

Black eyes sparkled as his careful choice of words. “I promise, darling!”

“Such a good girl,” he chuckled, admiring the way her cheeks instantly flushed at his praise. How…interesting.

As Baby 5 giddily skipped out the door, the click of her heels silenced by the door slamming shut behind her, Law turned to the man bound to his table staring at him with wide-eyed shock. He’d nearly forgotten they’d had an audience, and he’d have to make sure he was properly disposed of before meeting with Joker; he couldn’t let anyone spoil his plans before he even got to the good part, after all.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said as he pressed the smoldering embers of the dying cigarette against his patient’s cheek, smirking as the accusing eyes watered in pain. A fresh pair of surgical gloves stretched over his long fingers, and as he selected his scalpel, he added, “Trust me—I’m still a better option than that fucking creep Trebol.”

[heartfeltheart]

Alchemy: Tiny Steps

Chapters: 22/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series.  Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

"One week. One week. Truth is punishing me. He is testing me." Alphonse kept muttering under his breath, as he watched Tuesday's class walked through the door of his brother's Alchemy class. Well, his class too next year. The main problem Alphonse had been that he wasn't prepared to fully take over his brother and his teaching style. He must continue on with Edward style of teaching and not his own, this is his year not his own. The reason for taking over for the week, Edward is still under guard of Madam Pomfrey's care for the semi-mild concussion to a severer one due to an unfortunate encounter with the school's poltergeist. Peeves had caused his brother to fall down some flights of stairs. There is no telling how long Edward will be decommissioned for the injury and recovery.

Edward will be okay, just needs to rest and the potions and magical remedies are helping the healing process to go faster. Here's hoping that he has a fast recovery.

With sigh, Alphonse pushed himself away from the desk he was leaning on when he heard the familiar ring of the bell. The classroom is filled to the brim with students, from first to seventh years. From the looks of it, he could already sense who has to leave and who could possibly stay. Picking up a clipboard from the desk and looked down to see that today's class focused on teaching the students the non-magical aspect in alchemy. He let out a mental sigh of relief at seeing Edward's side notes, showing that four students from the original class are in today's class, peer teaching by the looks of it.

Fred Weasley: He along with his brother, George Weasley, show a great aptitude in Alchemy. Remember who is who, they may be the same, but they are not. This Weasley still needs to have a deeper understanding the laws but still is miles ahead of his peers. It is noted that when he and his brother are together, their minds seemed to be linked together and are able to reach no bounds in their research. Warning: Chronic Pranksters.

Timothy Jerkins: Needs a huge dose of reality that not everyone is a stepping stone to supposed success. Appears to selfish and narcissistic, give him a hawk's eye and he'll be a replica to Mustang. The only difference… he makes Mustang look like a saint in terms of personality. Shows aptitude in the laws and understanding of the laws but does not understand how it fits in with the human side of it all. Warning: Unlike Mustang, he actually sees people as true chess pieces.

Kasey State: Where do I start? She grew up in an orphanage, said place made no stance that they even cared for her in her physical, mental, emotional and… there's no end on how much they fucked her up. She shows great critical thinking skills but shows little to no skills in non-magical subjects but is more than willing to over pile her work to get ahead. Talk to the house-elves to have food 'randomly' appear by her whenever she looks hungry and ensure it's easy on the stomach. If you suspect anything, inform her Head of House, she'll take care of it.

Elfrida Hopkirk: Very studious but always leaves everything for the last minute. It's that Ravenclaw side of her, having the brains and smarts gives them the excuse of doing things last minute with the assumption they fully understand the subject. She get's it but her heads is stuck in the clouds with that mindset. Needs to understand non-magical concepts and perhaps move her to Wednesday class. (If you are reading this Al, at least I know when to ask questions until I fully understand what the hell I'm doing before I slack off. She doesn't.)Kasey State: Grew up in an orphanage that sees her nothing more than a paycheck they are paid to supposedly to take care of her. Gave her a shitty education before coming here to this place. I swear, when I first saw her, she looked like she was starved. Have the house-elves set out extra meals for her. Needs a huge refresher in her studies but is very eager to learn. Warning: Don't visit the orphanage. Have Madam Sprout do it.

Alphonse couldn't help but smile softly at his brother's notes on his students, noticing the finer details in them. Details that need to be seen. Fred will be no problem, give him advanced work and have him help out the others. Timothy would help him, but needs to understand the human concepts of life. He'll have to break Elfrida out of that habit if hers. Kasey… Edward had once previously mentioned a student that grew up in an orphanage. Seeing said student in front of him, he could see how desperately she is trying to herself in her clothing, and failing desperately. After traveling for so long as he did and seeing the consequences of war, starvation is one of the many atrocities in humanity.

"Welcome to Alchemy, my name is Professor Elric, Mr. Elric your slated teacher is currently indisposed. Yes, we are related. No, we are not related in that way. He is my older brother. I am engaged. I am very happy with her." Alphonse couldn't help but show his utter disappointment how more than half the class visibly deflate. Seems like a lot of his fans are in class and now has to find a way to weed out the fans from the actual students.

-.-

Severus sat beside Edward's bed, a book in hand and a cup of black tea in the other. It was his turn to take care of Edward when Alphonse isn't around to make him stay in bed. Fortunately he was put into a magic induced sleep and it appears it is doing wonders for his healing process. Even so, here's hoping there won't be any long term effects. On the night table besides the bed is a package of stone cakes sent by Hagrid, one of the many forms of apologies from the half-giant.

There was no need to apologize, Edward in his medical induced haze that it wasn't anyone's fault. Animal's just have a tendency on harming him for the hell of it. This only caused Hagrid to burst into tears once more.

"What are we going to do with you…" Severus sighed, placing the now empty cup of tea on the night table and putting the book on the bed. He continued on talking as if Edward was actually listening and responding instead of being unconscious. "Not even a month in, and you already got yourself in this condition… don't give me that look. You have a tendency to get hurt, lost, maimed, insulting the wrong person, or a combination, which results with you in his sort of outcome… What did I say? Don't give me that look… Ugh… you are impossible."

-.-

"Should we accept this proposal?"

"If we do, it would allow us to put more heirs up front to become the next emperor or empress."

"He still has to pick…"

"Instead of possibly only have one choice from ever respective clan, there would be more. Everyone has an equal opportunity, from the smallest to the largest of clans."

"The only prerequisite he has is that they must attend the new school the Emperor is currently creating with the help of Amestris and Magical Great Britain."

"I like this proposal… providing an equal opportunity and dealing with that bothersome marriage law."

"Don't get me started… The Emperor's father keep taking our daughters, sisters, nieces and granddaughters without much of a care."

"Let's not forget… even the ones that were married or promised to someone were not off limits for him…"

"What if he does the same as his father?"

"Don't make me laugh. I've seen that Amestrian threaten him that if he ever does anything to offend that woman's honor, then he will be the one to beat him senseless."

"Can he do that?"

"From what I've heard, he could... He's not the only one who threatened Emperor Ling."

-.-

Mustang mentally grumbled to himself as he left Grumman's office, he was just kicked out of his leader's office while his Captain stayed behind. It was suspicious to say the least. Maybe there is something going on without his knowledge? There are constant whispers behind his and Hawkeye's back, all of them revolving around this upcoming law that will permanently change the military. Whatever it is… it has to be big…

-.-

"I had made a list of all possibly candidates for once the Anti-Fraternization laws are abolished, so that you know who I approve from greatest to least." Grumman handed his granddaughter a long list of possible candidates for supposed marriage.

Riza's hand were shaking at what her grandfather had just told her, the answers to all those whispers, innuendos, and so on. Her grandfather, the Fuhrer of Amestris, is removing one of the biggest laws the Military has for who knows how long. The only problem is that… why is he giving her a list of candidates for marriage?

"I am going to be officially announcing everyone you are my granddaughter, to avoid having issues of my own."

Riza gave the old man a deadpanned expression, she swore that Roy took a lot after Grumman than she cares to admit. "The list?"

"What? I am giving you my approval to anyone you choose from the list as a possible partner in the future and not worry about me. Plus, once word get's out who you are to me, there would be marriage proposals just for your connection to myself. I want to make sure you know who would be a good possible candidate for yourself."

"Why did you have General Mustang leave the room? Shouldn't he hear the news?"

"I'll leave that for you, I'll be making everything official at the end of the month."

"Thank you?"

-.-

"I'm the twelfth person on this list?!" Roy didn't bother to hide his look of utter disbelief and dismay at the list Riza just presented him with. "How in Truth's name did Havoc get to be number four while I'm twelve! And both Armstrong's are the first two on the list! ugh!"

Jean, for his own part, slowly hid underneath his desk to avoid his head officer's wrath.

"Sir… you're missing the point." Vato called out from his spot in the office, he was scanning through the paperwork that was required to officially abolished the anti-fraternization law.

"How are you above me by one!" Roy called out to Vato, pointing accusingly at him. "How are all of you above me!"

"You could see his pride being demolished bit by bit…" Heymans whispered out to his comrades with a chuckle but stopped with Riza glared at all of them.

"They should just make it official now…" Kain sighed.

"I'm just waiting until Hawkeye slap some sense into him." Jean whispered out from his spot from underneath his desk.

Roy snapped his fingers and ignited the list up in flames. He promptly ran his hands through his hair in frustration. So, this was what was being hidden from Riza and himself, Truth… he already had plans to get rid of that law down the line. This puts a wrench into his plans. His plans involve… it involves Riza helping him bring it down under Maes's name.

Who was their main supporter…

"…I wanted to romantically propose to you…"

"Sir, the law hasn't been abolished yet."

"Is that a yes or no?"

"You haven't asked me anything yet."

[come-with-me-and-imagine]

The True Wife of Ragnar Lothbrok

His breathe was stolen from him the moment he laid eyes upon her. He met her upon his travels. Her lush dark hair, as black as a raven’s wings. With eyes equally as dark which stood out against her sun kissed skin. Her father, the king, invited them into their court during their duration there. Her father was no fool. He willingly gave the vikings gold and treasure. But Ragnar, the only treasure he desired was her.

One day he could no longer stay away. He met her in the garden. Her long black hair blew in the breeze. Standing there she raised her hand to his eyes. There at the curve of her palm just below her thumb…was a mark. He gasped as a tear fell down his cheek as he raised his own palm. He bore the same mark. A mark he had since he could remember. Their hands joined and the marks touched sending waves of warmth through them. Ragnar’s heart never felt so full. Locking his eyes with her he stepped closer his other hand cupped her face. He knew she possibly wouldn’t understand a word he said, but, they didn’t need to. She took his hand and placed it at her chest so he could feel her heart. Her smile was warm and loving as another tear fell down his cheek. His forehead found hers as they stood there just listening to the beating of their hearts.

For weeks Ragnar and his men lived in luxury in the court of his love. Until this time, Ragnar never believed in the whole Soulmate idea. Even when Floki had proclaimed that he had found his in his beloved Helga. Only when he had looked upon his love, did he finally believe. When he saw the matching mark it only further solidified she was in fact his soulmate. However it would not last. Her father, no matter how much he liked Ragnar, would not allow him to marry his daughter. Not yet at least. This gave Ragnar a sense of hope yet his heart was filled with grief when he had to return home.

“Don’t forget me..” he begged to her in her native tongue. He had quickly learned so he could understand her words.

“I will never…” She said before he felt her put something around his wrist. Glancing down he saw a braided band of hair. Hair as black as a ravens wing. His eyes snapped back up to hers as he found the lock from which the hair was cut. “To remember me by. When you are sad…” Her voice was soft and gentle as she touched his cheek. Ragnar held it to his fave as he kissed the mark upon her palm.

“I, will never forget you. I will come back…and I will marry you. We will have a family…” he vowed before he kissed her. His hands wrapped around her waist holding her tight.

“Ragnar!” He heard his men call to him.

RAGNAR!

Ragnar’s eye fluttered open as he looked up and saw the wooden door opening. The snakes hissing around him as he saw the shadowy figures of men in armor surrounding the opening in the ground. “We found him!!” His body was being raised from the pit and as he lost consciousness he felt as if he were ascending into Valhalla.

However, when he was to awaken, he found himself in a tent. A damp cloth being pressed to his face and head. “Rest my love…” That voice…his sweet love was with him. His hand tried to grasp her but was laid back down. “Rest my love…” her voice echoed before allowing him to fall asleep once more. He did not know how long he had slept. He could hear voices all around him. He heard the names of his family…his sons. Ubbe…Sigurd…Hvitserk…Ivar and Bjorn. Were they all here?

“You have been very stupid Ragnar…” he heard that voice and haunting cackle. Floki…were they all in Valhalla with him?

Finally his eyes opened and he looked about the tent in which he lay. “So, the king lives.” Ragnar turned and looked only to see his dear friend Floki.

“I must be dead if I am seeing your ass here.” Floki cackled as he walked closer. “You missed a hell of a battle Ragnar. Your son’s fought to avenge you. King Aelle is dead. They performed the Blood Eagle and we are victorious.”

“Then I have done something right for once in my life…” He chuckled as he tried to sit up. “God I feel older than I am.” He looked about the tent. “Where is she?”

“You’re raven beauty?” Floki chuckled “She is outside. Ever the royal she is. She is playing chess with Ivar.” He cackled again as he saw Ragnar’s eyes widen in shock. Ivar was the hottest temper. Yet the idea of them playing chess…it was something Ivar loved. With Floki’s help he stood and walked out. Standing at the entrance of the tent he saw his love with his youngest son. They were in the heat of conversation. Ivar asked her anything and everything about her country. He walked up behind her letting his fingers cross along the back of her neck.

Ivar watched the interaction. His eyes catching sight of the matching marks on their left hands. Ivar knew that Floki believed in soulmates and now, Ivar believed to. Looking across the way, he saw the hatred in Lagertha’s eyes. This made Ivar smirk. He liked the foreigner lady. She was kind, she played chess with him and talked with him as if he was a normal man. He chuckled as he sipped his ale as he watched his father and his love.

The two then went on a walk together. “My first wife has taken over Kattegat.” Ragnar told her from what he had heard. “I am no longer King and I have no wish to return.” They walked together hand in hand…arm in arm. “I can not be away from you a moment longer. I will let her have it. My place is with you.”

She smiled and caressed his face. “You my love, took the words from my lips. Come back with me. Come home…” she whispered before Ragnar captured her lips in a long awaited passionate kiss. Their arms wrapped around one another holding tight.

“I want to go home…” He begged before kissing her again and again. And so, Ragnar returned to the court of his love. There, in the presence of his closest friends and his sons, Ragnar married his soulmate. Months later, his love gave birth to their first child. A son.

Over the years Ragnar’s life became one of utter peace and happiness. He had five more sons, and three daughters. His life in Kattegat a far gone memory. His four five eldest sons visited often. Ivar having particularly taken a protective eye over his little sisters. 

When Ragnar Lothbrok finally died he was buried in a beautiful grave surrounded by lush greenery. His love joined him in death. Upon their joined graves flowers grew which lived as long as his bloodline. Ragnar Lothbrok had lived and had finally found his true happiness. 

@hildeerpdottir @lovelynerdytraveler @titty-teetee @crazyandanonymous4u @cutiepiepotatoes @thinemineours @filippazm @nistaposebno @britt-janssens @readsalot73 @kirah34 @pandainfinitely @peachykenn @angel-852 @whorriblemindset

[hisromanisms-blog]

◤ don't you ever forget why you get up and you put one foot in front of the next ◢

roman ran a hand through his hair as he sat indian style on the floor of his room. his eyes watched as the reporter struggled to find a seat. seeing as roman had given his desk chair to the frat common room it was either the bed or the floor. “why don’t you come sit down across from me?” he reaches onto his bed and grabs a stray pillow and plops it down across from him, gesturing for the girl to take a seat. unsure, she sits, clearing her throat. “comfy, huh? oh oh!” roman reaches behind him and opens the mini fridge, “would you like a juice box? maybe a go-gourt?” she shakes her head as roman grabs a cookie from his desk and pops it in his mouth.

a small tape recorder was stationed in between them as the reporter flipped a page in her notebook. "ready when you are, muchacha.” roman says with a wide grin, cookie crumbs falling from his lips. she giggles slightly, but reasserts herself and begins.

“how about you introduce yourself name, age, grade, role you play in the greek system and what house you are in and why you decided on that house.”

“no problem. i’m roman niram, 20, sophomore and i’m a member of psi delta. and, ya know, i dunno why i chose psi. i mean the guys here are wickedly cool and our sister house [ kappa gamma kappa ] is filled with righteous ladies who got a lot goin’ for ‘em. i guess... i guess i dug the vibe about it all.”

the reporter nods, “are you a New York native? If not where are you from and what brought you to NYU? Do you like the city life?”

roman shakes his head, “i’m from australia, man, filled with awesome waves and righteous digs.” he beams, “you ever been? it’s all kinds of calming. there’s nothin’ like the flow of the ocean to make you feel alive, comrade. i almost didn’t wanna leave, but i’m all about dreams and fantasy. i gotta go where the wind takes me & it brought me here. i dig the city life. it’s a new world, a new body, i like it.”

"what’s your major and why did you pick it?”

“philosophy.” roman changes his position so that his feet are touching, he places his hands on top of them, “i’ve always liked to ask the questions that are far out and shizz, ya know? how do we know this earth is the only earth? what truly becomes of us when we die? is it based in religion or science? shizz that makes ya think that doesn’t have a definite answer. that’s my grind. that’s life too, friend. not everythin’ is black and white, yes or no. it’s yellow and orange and green and maybe and who knows?”

“so, if you had to choose another major?”

“psychology. how does the mind work? why does it work? that’s my niche, that’s my vibe.”

"so, you seem like a down-to-earth guy...”

“aw, thanks.”

“you probably don’t have any crazy stories you can share with us regarding your time in a fraternity? Were you hazed as a pledge?”

roman takes a moment, pulling his body forward to stretch out his arms and work his shoulders, “you hear all those hazin’ stories online and shizz where this frat did this and that sorority did that and you’re like ‘how can anyone stand that shizz? what the fuck are they gaining?’ a league of brothers for one. that’s what it’s about in the end. do all this shizz to get a family you chose. hazin’ wasn’t as intense as movies wanna make it. we got our asses handed to us with these paddles they made - hard as fuck to meditate when ya ass on fire. we had to do a bunch of shots in under a minute and whoever pukes or passes out loses. i lost around round 4. vonte, he transferred last year, was so wasted he thought he had bugs crawling on him so he started taking off his clothes and ended up butt naked outside the gamma house with a flower up his ass. that’s life, i guess.”

"that sounds like a lot to endure, surely your relationship with the higher ups in your house must be one of a kind? do you think they could be nicer? Meaner? What about your fellow members and the pledges?”

“i love all my boys. xavi, simon, axel, bruno -- this my family. our rep is for bein’ the sweetheart house and i like that flow we got. we all lay low and get shizz done. i mean our prez is fucking married! that’s some wholesome shizz, my friend. i think if we were meaner or stricter then that bond we’ve built crumbles. not everybody gotta yell or kick you in the dick to make you do something. you can go a long way by just bein’ kind to people. so i think we’re all just tryna make each other proud.”

"back to the topic of school, as a philosophy major you must take every class and soak in that material, right? What’s your favorite and least favorite class so far? Are you on any teams or in any clubs? If so how is that?”

roman laughs, stretching his body back, “philosophy or nah, school is laughable a lot of time. i dig learning new things, but i could do without exams and tests. i wanna grow not be conformed to a gpa. my favorite class is psychology though. i love all of the reasons the world is as is and why it’s also not why it is. i don’t think i have a least favorite. i picked these classes for a reason. everyday i learn something new -- who could hate that?” he shrugs with a smile, “i’m president of habitat for humanity and i love it. you’re helping people get their dream homes, what could be better than that?”

"so, what have you gained throughout this school year? Is there any event you wish you attended; maybe the first game of the year, or the first debate?”

roman takes a moment to stop stretching to think. “a sense of self. i wasn’t always happy this year. some wild shizz went down, but i think i came back from it better than before. i’m happy and sure of myself and that’s what matters, right? i wanted to see the first chess match. i think chess club goes unnoticed sometimes, so i wanted to support them and show ‘em they got a crowd of people rootin’ for ‘em.”

"If you were asked to put your current most important item into a time capsule what would it be and why? Do you think ten, twenty years from now that item will still hold an importance in your life?”

“aw man... i don’t think i have an important item. my phone, laptop, clothes, it’s all just stuff. it doesn’t have any real attachment. the thing most important to me though is my faith. i’m a buddhist, so i try to live my days right in the eyes of buddha. so, i guess that would be in my capsule. a small buddha statue. and yeah, i think it’ll definitely still hold importance. faith is everything, my faith is everything to me.”

"What are your thoughts on the other fraternity/sororities apart of Greek row? Is there one house you dislike, is there one you are envious of, is there maybe one you are scared of?”

“all of us, even if we wear different letters or colors, are apart of a system. under the eyes of every non-greek row student we’re the same. that gamma? that’s my sister. that eplison? that’s my brother. i have no ill will towards anyone. we’re all just lookin’ to belong and love.”

"that was really beautiful. flowing from that if you had to give three pieces of advice to an upcoming freshman in terms of rushing or being apart of a sorority/fraternity what would you tell them?”

“don’t go into it for the wrong reasons. bein’ on greek row is hard shizz, friend. it’s not all about the parties and the sex. you gotta work at it, do shizz you may not wanna do, pay things you may not wanna pay. you gotta really want it. second, keep your values close. life can really fuck you up, but if you stay humble and true then you’ll be fine. lastly, have fun. it’s always a righteous time on greek row.”

"Do you actually feel like you are apart of a brotherhood? Is that the most important thing of Greek Life? Why did you choose to go Greek?”

“hell yeah to both questions. my brother is on greek row. he’s theta. so, i know i said do it for the right reasons, but at first i started out wantin’ to be like him. then the longer i stayed around it’s like, ‘whoa these are my friends. we got our asses slapped and cried together, we’re bonded for life now.’”

"thank you so much, roman, would you like to end this with a quote you believe describes your time so far this year?”

“no, thank you and sure. uh..” roman snaps his fingers, “’do not pursue the past, do not lose yourself in the future.”

“thank you once again, roman.”

“no problem.”

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Lost Part 6

Harry Potter Marauders Era 

Link to Part 5 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: T 

_______

The next morning Regulus sat across from his mother as she stirred her tea for the thirteenth time. It didn’t matter that Regulus had arrived home at 4:30 am. His parents expected him down for Christmas breakfast at 8:00 am. As usual, no one was saying a word to each other. It made Regulus wonder why they had to “keep up appearances” and dine together. Clearly, no one liked it.

Regulus glanced at his father. Orion was bored as he read over the Daily Prophet. If Orion had his way, all the members of the household could eat at their own schedules in their own way. No one would be locked at the formal dining room table scowling at each other. Orion, like Regulus, only did it to appease Walburga. Neither man really wanted to listen to her nagging. This was a silent agreement that both Orion and Regulus had agreed to years beforehand. If Walburga wanted something then they would just go along with whatever it was. It was best to be reserved and compliant unless they wanted to deal with her hair-trigger temper.

Christmas morning had been a silent affair since Sirius left home years before. There were no longer loud screaming matches on whether or not Sirius was going to eat the Christmas pudding or wear a certain suit to the Christmas dinner with the “cult.” Regulus and Orion simply did as Walburga wished and no one had a thing to bitch about.

“You look tired, Regulus.”

Walburga commented as she studied her youngest and favorite son’s face. His eyes rolled up to meet her face.

“It was a late night last night.”

“You’re doing things for the right reasons. The family should be here around seven. Bella is bringing a nice girl that I think you should get to know better.”

Walburga commented, smiling proudly. Regulus fought the urge to scowl as his father looked up from the newspaper. Orion had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want Regulus to feel rushed to settle down with some girl.

“Mother…”

Walburga shook her head.

“I would like for you to get to know her, Regulus.”

Regulus put his fork down. This was not the way that he wanted to spend the morning. He had a woman...you. The last thing Regulus wanted was some ugly pureblood girl that he was probably related to in some way. He wanted to put an end to the madness!

“Who is she?”

Walburga put down her teacup.

“Marigold Parkinson.”

Regulus, forgetting himself, groaned.

“Mother, please...no.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Walburga asked, getting angry. Regulus put his palms on the table.

“For one, she looks like a walrus. Second, I dated Ambrosia...her sister. That family is crazy. I mean look at how they named their children.”

Orion was silently chuckling at Regulus’ comment.

“A walrus?”

He questioned, fighting back a laugh. Regulus nodded. He was relieved that his father appeared to be on his side.

“Yes, father. Just get her some tusks and boom...National Geographic magazine cover shot.”

Orion was laughing hard at that. He didn’t care if Walburga was scowling at him. Regulus’ out of character humor was enough to send the older man into hysterical giggles. Orion couldn’t say it but that was the one thing that he missed about Sirius being home. There was always something funny happening.

“Orion, Regulus...that isn’t nice. Telling a girl that she looks like a walrus is a horrible way to get a second date.

Walburga grumbled. Regulus shrugged.

“But I don’t want the first one so...put her in a ballgown and she’ll just be a fancy walrus.”

Walburga's dark eyes were glaring at her son with disapproval.

“Well, who would you rather see then, smart mouth?”

Regulus shrugged.

“No one really. I don’t have the time at the moment.”

It was a big ass lie and Regulus knew it. He wanted nothing more than to be with you and he would go to whatever length to make sure that happened. Glancing down at his left arm, he decided to put his master plan into high gear. Regulus had no intention of spending more time than he had to with mummy and daddy. He wanted to spend his day with you and that was just where he was going.

Regulus snapped his right hand over the dark mark with a groan before standing up.

“I have to go.”

Walburga looked a bit annoyed but understood.

“Try not to be late for Christmas dinner.”

(meanwhile)

You stood helping Sirius dry dishes from breakfast. He had been unusually quiet since arriving with James.

“So are you going to tell me about the ring?”

He finally asked. You looked up, trying to fake innocence.

“I’m sorry?”

Sirius motioned down to the ring on your finger.

“I know that particular ring from anywhere. I also happened to know that my grandmother gave it to Regulus. Did you two run off and get married?”

You didn’t reply at first which made Sirius even antsier. How were you supposed to tell Sirius that he had just figured out the little plan that Regulus had suggested? Regulus was all for the two of you sneaking onto a train to a nearby village (where no one knew either of you) lying about your ages and getting married. You thought that the plan was crazy at first. The two of you were children. Neither of you was emotionally ready for a step that BIG. Besides, your relationship was still rocky getting married would make it worse. Regulus’ comment on the idea made more sense…

“If you marry me, my parents won’t have anything to stand on to pull us apart. Once we are married we are each other. My mother may be a lot of things but she won’t be able to change what’s already legal. If they annul it, then when we are 17 we’ll run off and do it but they won’t hear from us anymore. At least, with allowing things to happen this way...they can still have contact. I know that you don’t believe me but my mum and dad are still extremely sore about losing Sirius. They won’t want to lose their other son too.”

“Y/n!”

Sirius said your name a little more urgently before you reached up and tugged him into your father’s office.

“Sirius! I need you to keep your trap shut especially to James and my sister.”

“What did you two do? Y/n this is crazy. Regulus is a death eater...he’s doing bad things with bad people....and...you’ll get caught in the crossfire eventually…”

Sirius questioned. He felt his face beginning to burn. How the hell was Sirius supposed to keep something this huge from James. Sirius was not a good person to tell secrets to. James would probably say hey to Sirius and Sirius would start blabbing.

You quickly shushed Sirius.

“We aren’t married. That hasn’t happened...not yet. Sirius, I am going to need some time before he and I do that. I have to fully trust him again. Regulus did give me the ring last night. Sirius, I understand your concern but Regulus...he has something up his sleeve that he won’t even tell me. There’s something going on with Voldemort that Regulus is working on. Regulus won’t let anything happen to me. Evan, Barty, Severus...all of those lot know that I am off-limits.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair.

“But there are other death eaters….Evan’s father, Dolohov, Mulciber...those guys won’t be so thrilled with a fellow death eater dating a muggle-born. Love, they’ll kill you. Y/n, I know what you’re thinking. You think that you are going to be getting some happiness ever after where you won’t have to want for anything in life but you aren’t going to get it, sweetheart. You’re signing up for a lifetime of sadness and heartbreak. I am not trying to sound like a dick but I’m worried. In case you haven’t forgotten that day back in the forest at school...you weren’t handling the news of Regulus’ secret life too well.”

Sirius was right. You remembered that afternoon all too well.

“Sirius, I just need you to trust me on this...please.”

Sirius didn’t look too convinced. He was more than ready to go find James and Remus to talk some sense into you.

“Okay but I don’t like this.”

You quickly stood on your tiptoes and hugged him.

“It’s going to be okay.”

The rest of the morning and into the early afternoon was peaceful. Sirius’ mood had quickly repaired itself and he was back to making Remus want to choke him. You were sitting beside Remus playing chess when the doorbell rang. Glancing down at your watch, you couldn’t help but smile. Regulus had kept his promise. He did find a way to get to you.

You quickly stood and walked to the door, ignoring James asking Lily who it was. In all of the Christmas chaos you “forgot” to tell your other friends that Regulus would be coming too. They would figure it out soon enough.

Sirius quickly started improvising some weird Christmas carol to keep the rest of his friend’s minds away from what you were doing. Why he decided that he was going to be the one that came to your and Regulus’ rescue was beyond him but here he was doing it...

Opening the door, you smiled seeing Regulus on the other side. He didn’t smile at first but gave you that raised eyebrow that said, “come here, little girl.” You quickly stepped outside and shut the door. Your parents were so busy in the kitchen that they wouldn’t notice you were gone.

As soon as the door was closed you threw your arms around Regulus’ shoulders.

“You haven’t kissed me.”

He stated calmly. Regulus was trying so hard to keep up his dom-like behavior but seeing your face was exactly what he wanted. The two of you shared a smile before he pulled you into a kiss.

“I missed you.”

You happily said against his lips.

“It's only been a few hours.”

Regulus pointed out. Yes, it had only been a few hours and they felt like an eternity for both of you. You knew that Regulus wouldn’t admit it but you could tell that he missed you as much as you missed him.

“Are you coming to me again tonight?”

You asked with a sly smile.

“Yes, I have a surprise for you but you’ll have to keep it down.”

The door opening stopped any further comment. You turned to see Lily and James standing with their mouths wide open. Sheepishly smiling, you intertwined your hand with Regulus’.

“So... we are a couple again.”

James crossed his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t know that you were a couple, to begin with. I didn’t think boyfriends typically made their girlfriends cry and question their sanity but maybe I am missing something.”

You gently stood in front of Regulus. The last thing that you wanted was for him and James to start fighting.

“James, please.”

You said trying to keep your voice as calm as possible. James ran a hand through his hair before turning and meeting Sirius’ gaze as if asking his best friend for advice. When Sirius shrugged, James turned.

“Fine...Regulus, as god as my witness, if you hurt here again...I am going to break your face.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

“Reggie.”

You hissed his name making Regulus’ tense frame ease. He wrapped an arm around your waist as James turned and walked back into the house.

Lily, meanwhile, wondered if any of her little speech on respect had sunk in at all with Regulus. She had a bad feeling that the answer was no but time would have to tell on that one. Lily wanted nothing more than to protect you and at the moment, she felt like she was failing miserably.

As a big sister, Lily wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. Your happiness was always important but so was your safety. Lily felt even more inclined to try to protect you as Petunia didn’t want a thing to do with either of you now.

You felt a little better when Lily gave you a small smile. That small smile simply said, “I’m trying.” Turning your attention back to Regulus, you gently tugged on his hand.

“Come on love.”

Both James and Lily exchanged matching scowls when you called Regulus “love.” James wanted to make a comment about there not being anything “lovely” about Regulus. He would have been happier if you decided to form some weird love triangle with Sirius and Remus. At least, you would be treated properly.

You were relieved when the tension between Lily, James, and Regulus seemed to ease off. James and Lily were busy looking at “future dream homes” while you sat snuggled against Regulus’ side. The two of you were off in your own little world.

“What’s with Petunia? She hasn’t stopped glaring at me from the moment that I walked in?”

Regulus questioned. You turned your attention to Petunia who was whispering to her new boyfriend Vernon. The two looked as if they were disgusted to even be in a room with the lot of you. Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention back to Regulus.

“She’s a muggle and very jealous of what Lily and I are. Petunia has barely talked to either Lily or me since the day that we received our Hogwarts letters.”

Regulus looked at Petunia a moment longer.

“Her boyfriend looks like a male walrus.”

He internally giggled at the thought of Vernon and Marigold Parkinson making a lovely “walrus couple.” It would be a great joke to make but he didn’t want you to know about his mother wanting him to be with the Parkinson girl.

Regulus instead leaned closer to you, letting his lips tease your ear.

“She’s no beauty that’s for sure. You are a million times more lovely...everything about you, darling.”

You shivered as the desperate attraction began to build again. Since that morning, you had been craving any kind of physical affection that Regulus would be able to give you. Of course, it wasn’t possible to just lift your skirt to climb on his lap for a good fucking but a little caress wouldn’t be bad. Regulus whispering erotically in your ear was equally welcomed.

“Reggie.”

You whispered his name. Regulus smiled and nuzzled his face closer to your ear. He kept his voice even and reserved which made his teasing all the more exciting.

“No one is as beautiful as you, Y/n. I love it when you blush like you are now. Tell me, darling, what kind of knickers do you have on under this skirt?”

You swallowed, mentally begging Regulus to raise his hand up your thigh but he wasn’t budging. Regulus’ hand stayed stagnant on your knee.

“Black lace.”

You finally whispered back. Regulus smiled, feeling the beginning of an erection coming on. He fought the urge to lift a finger to trace over your nipples. From where he was sitting, Regulus could see them through your dress. Touching you, like that, would be a horrible idea at the moment. All that Regulus could do was sit and think about you dressed in only lace knickers.

“Only be wearing those when I come back to you later.”

“What’s my surprise?”

You asked. Regulus laughed lightly.

“You’ll find out...if you’re a good girl.”

For the rest of the night, Regulus was a perfect gentleman. You were convinced that he had your parents in the palm of his hand within five minutes. James really had to work to get your father to like him how here was smooth-talking Regulus Black winning him over in one evening.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Regulus said in a low voice as he leaned down and kissed you. You knew that he was going to “leave” to hide out in your bedroom until you were able to be free but you wanted him now.

“Yes, I’ll see you at school.”

You waited for another fifteen minutes before politely bidding your parents a good evening. James had just left with Sirius and Remus. Lily was clearly as exhausted as you were.

“Aren’t you two going to stay up and watch the Christmas specials with us?”

Your mother questioned. Lily shook her head before heading toward the stairs.

“We are both exhausted, mum. Good night, Y/n.”

“Good night, Lily.”

You replied before walking down the hallway to your bedroom. Stepping in front of the door, you knew what was waiting for you on the other side and you couldn’t wait any longer.

“Time to be a good girl…”

______

@amelie-black

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[toomanysurveys9]

It’s Thursday at noon. Where are you usually?: home. as usual. lol. until i find a job. this time i’m only taking it if i’ll like it. Which shampoo is in your bathroom right now?: sauve. cheap stuff. Honestly, if you could have anyone in the world, who would it be?: i’m happy i have jacob.. most of the time. ha. What are you listening to right now?: girls are watching trolls. Do you watch MTV anymore?: not really, no.

How do you feel about your hair?: i wish i could change it. maybe i will at some point.

What time do you wake up for school?: i don’t have school anymore. wyatt usually wakes me up no later than 9:30 to get up for the day. What DVD is in your player right now? don’t have a dvd player but the land before time is in the playstation. Last two numbers in your phone number?: 42. What side of the bed do you sleep on?: the right side closest to the window so i can have wyatt sleep by the wall so he doesn’t fall off the bed. Do you like roller coasters?: i do. What do your parents look like?: honestly, i’m not in the mood to do a lot of descriptions of people right now.. What are your plans for Friday?: as far as i know, i don’t have any. What do you usually order at Taco Bell?: cheesy gordita crunch. sometimes i randomly really want one.. usually when it’s “that time of month”. Have you ever sat all the way through Gone with the Wind?: i don’t think i’ve ever even seen a little bit of it. Do you ever type ‘kik’ instead of 'lol’?: i have done that before. Do you know how to play chess?: i know the basics, but i’m not very good at it. What’s on your mind right now?: that i wish we had our own place. or was able to get our own place. Do you want to take something back that happened in the last week?: well, my brother hates me right now for god knows what and told me to delete his number... evidently i pretend all the time when it comes to jacob. and i’m not jacob’s favorite person either. Do you eat a lot of fast food?: more than i’d like to right now. we don’t have room for much food here... when we move, that is going to change. wyatt will not live off of fast food. How many people have you kissed in this year?: romantically, one. i’ve kissed more people than that though in a non-romantic way. Were you happy when you woke up today?: i was in an okay mood, although i was pretty exhausted. wyatt got a little confused a couple times last night about the time it was and thought it was time to play. How about now?: i’m in an okay mood. wyatt is making me happy, however, i wish i could shut my brain off a bit. Have you ever streaked?: no, i haven’t. Are you an understanding person?: for the most part, i think so. What was the last movie you saw in theaters?: i don’t remember but i’m being dragged to watch pitch perfect 3 by my mom and sisters tomorrow.. Do you eat candy on a daily basis?: definitely not. Does it make you happy to get letters?: it used to. i don’t remember the last time i got a letter though. Who was the last person to text you?: vanessa (jake’s mom).

What are you looking forward to this summer?: adventures with wyatt. he’s going to be older this summer and might enjoy things more. Do raisins belong in cookies?: i don’t really care. but they’re not my favorite. Walking into a party, what’s the first thing you notice?: i look for familiar faces i can stick with. Are you currently taking a science class in school?: not in school.

Kiss on the first date?: it’d depend how the date went i would imagine. Would you rather have chicken or steak?: hmm. probably steak, although i enjoy chicken quite a bit too depending how it’s cooked. What’s one thing you’ve learned from a good friendship gone bad?: sometimes people just drift apart as you get older, no matter how hard you try to keep it going. sometimes friendships just aren’t meant to be a forever thing. Who was the last person you took a picture of?: wyatt. as usual since he’s been born. lol. Would you ever donate blood?: i have several times but it makes me almost pass out, so jacob and my mom don’t let me anymore. Have you ever felt replaced?: story of my life. Have you ever been asked out?: yeah. jake asked me out. Are you good at telling jokes?: not even a little. i tend to be more funny when i don’t mean to than when i try to be. Have you ever driven without a license?: in parking lots. Do you wish you had smaller feet?: kind of, yeah. i feel like my feet are kinda big.. but that’s just like every other aspect of my body though. Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex?: yeah. kinda regret it. When ordering sushi, what do you get?: i don’t eat sushi. Do you write in cursive or in print?: i primarily write in print because my cursive looks like a child is writing and i don’t like it. lol. Who was the last person you sat next to?: erin is on the other side of the couch... What were you doing at 10am?: starting to wake up. don’t judge. wyatt went to bed late and got up a couple times to play. lol. Are you different now than you were six months ago?: probably. What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?: that i spilled on myself.... i don’t remember. that was spilled on me.. soda when we went to texas roadhouse.. wy got my cup and spilled it all over. lol. How old will you be in ten months?: i don’t want to think about that. i’ll be 25... Do you think you’ll be married by then?: i am married already. i’ll probably still be married then. Was yesterday better than today?: not really. both days have been a little blah. What does your last text message say?: the last text i sent was telling jake i couldn’t find his snow boots but we could look in the other storage together when he gets off work if he wanted. last received text was vanessa thanking me for getting storage paid (it’s in her name). What month is your birthday in?: september. Can you live a day without TV?: easily. When was the last time you saw your dad?: last night. How many pets do you have?: two. although cocoa is getting a new home in early spring because she has been trying to start fights with phe and my mom’s dog, and she did attack my mom’s dog when we first got in this trailer and that resulted in a lot of money to the emergency vet.. How many houses have you lived in?: too many. i am determined that wyatt will not be raised that way.. How many city/towns have you lived in?: three. Do you prefer shoes, socks, or bare feet?: socks or bare feet. Relationship status?: married. What is your favorite color?: black, blue, or gray probably. What are you doing for your next birthday?: i don’t know. i still have quite awhile. Do you like coffee?: occasionally but not often. Do you like iced tea?: no. tea hurts my stomach. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?: most of my personality. Do you know how to play poker?: i’ve played before but i don’t really remember. What were you doing at twelve last night?: trying to get a little boy to go to sleep. Do you smile a lot?: i guess so. Have you ever had a life-threatening injury?: i’ve had life-threatening medical things, but not necessarily injuries.. What do you want to be when you grow up?: i still don’t know. ha. Do you like flying or driving?: driving. flying scares the hell out of me. Do you know how to drive a stick shift?: i do not. What is your favorite thing to spend money on?: wyatt! Do you wear any jewelry daily?: not really right now. Who got you the jewelry you are currently wearing?: i’m not wearing any jewelry right now. i’m always afraid of my engagement ring scratching wyatt. Who is the funniest person you know?: jacob i guess. How often do you remember your dreams?: pretty often i suppose. What is your ringtone?: same one dean winchester has. Skim, 1%, 2%, or whole milk?: 2% or whole because that’s what everyone else here drinks. Are you mad about anything?: i’m frustrated. not really mad. about life. What time did you go to sleep last night?: too late. lol. i don’t know what time it was exactly. Where did you last sleep besides your own bed?: i don’t remember. i mostly sleep in my own bed..

[poundfooolish]

I’ve been thinking more about Addy’s parents lately, and extended family. 

Addy’s mother was a devout Scottish Catholic, as her maternal grandfather was a pretty fierce Catholic priest. I think he came to the clergy late in life, hence the wife and children, but still a fierce Servant of the Lord, the kind of guy that Southwarke prolly would have really got along with, even with the Anglican/Catholic clashing. Addy’s mother was smart, really a genius in her own right, but she was quiet, stern, and traditional, unlike her sister Agatha, who was and still is a fucking hellion, even into her middling age, so she never really went anywhere notable with it. She probably would have made a stellar mathematician, or a scientist, had time or courage allowed.

Her father was an immigrant from southern italy, who came up to Scotland to dodge a vendetta. Another devoted Catholic, I imagine he met Addy’s mother through the church. In contrast to her mother, I see her father as being much more vivacious, not a flirt, exactly, but charming and friendly and full of energy. Also stubborn and determined, like- I strongly associate Addy with rhinos. Find your path, find your objective, let nothing stop you until it’s achieved, and she absolutely got that from her father. Both of them are rhino people.

I think her mother was more inclined toward Christian Charity than her father, but her father was absolutely and fiercely devoted to his family, both attributes that Addy took on as well. I like to imagine they had a fairly happy marriage- not without its arguments, mind you, there’s always clash of personalities and cultures, but happy enough. 

Rudy I think was similar in that he was a jumble of characteristics from his parents. Unlike Addy, he got his father’s vivaciousness and charm, definitely made friends easier than she did, but he didn’t get his tenacity, or dogged endurance. When things he wanted didn’t look like they were going to pan out, he’d drop them, he stuck to his perceived strengths- people and music. He wasn’t the kind of person to force possibilities into an seemingly impossible world, he was more like their mother in that way, more willing to be carried along by circumstance than to actively fight against it. He was an artist, like his father, he was nowhere near his mother or his sister’s level of intellect, but I don’t think that’s something he really understood until much later. However, like Addy he did inherit the devotion to God and vicious dedication to family. 

Still, I think so much of Addy would have turned out differently if she hadn’t lost her parents so young in life. Some things would stay the same, she would still be dedicated to helping others, she would still stubbornly forge ahead against social law and convention where she saw fit, but she wouldn’t be Addy as Addy. The long trek to Edinburgh taught her a lot about misfortune in chance and human suffering, it gave her a firsthand, if brief, understanding of life without, and it absolutely left its mark. 

But also, for the later part of her life, her aunt and grandfather would have had such a hand in her development, especially her aunt.

Her grandfather was also a stubborn man, and also probably fucking terrifying on the pulpit. Not a big man, but a broad one, and the kind of person who was like... coldly terrifying? Didn’t need to scream and shout to make his point known, just had to look at you the wrong way, the kind of person who’d lecture Satan himself if given the opportunity. Just completely and utterly fearless and resolute in his faith. But also absolutely not a disciplinarian, more an academic than a fighter, and had no fucking clue what to do about his eldest. Absolutely heartbroken to lose his favorite daughter, but also genuinely thrilled to have his grandkids close at hand (Plus like... Addy took hard after her mother. Close his eyes could almost pretend it was twenty years ago.). He definitely reinforced her religious devotion, taught her how to play chess, how to read, how to sing hymns and quote scripture. His death would have been hard on her.

Aunt Aggie though. Aunt Aggie did not want to get married, Aunt Aggie wanted to smoke cigars and flirt with all the sailor boys. She gambled, she drank, probably the only reason she never killed anyone was because no one was brave enough to give her a gun. She and her father probably had some knock-down drag-out screaming matches about piety and decorum that never went anywhere. Basically the kind of woman who believed in living life to the fullest, and definitely the kind who would support Addy going into a man’s field with a pat on the head and instructions to ‘give ‘em hell.’ Absolutely the black sheep of the family.

Now all these people need are... names.