#apartment hunting got me FAWKED up

[asterdisaster06]

Always and Forever

John "Soap" MacTavish x gn!reader

summary > childhood friends to lovers, with a dash of angst. well, a little more than a dash

word count > 4.9k

cw > lyrics from Sadie Jean as dialogue, Price having to bear witness to the awkward and emotional reunion

a/n >  honestly, this story pains me even writing it. sorry in advance. just be glad i didn’t decide to make it a series about how the reader joined the shadow company and betrayed soap. although, if anyone asks i wouldn’t be opposed to writing something like that. then again, i’m writing a similar plot with konig and a 141 reader so. maybe not

ao3

You had known John “Soap” MacTavish since you were wee little kids that had playdates together due to your mother’s long standing friendship with each other. They had spent their pregnancies together through the beautiful moments of wonder that comes with the first ultrasounds to holding each other’s hair back in the morning as they expelled their guts out of their body - all because the day smelled off. Your mothers had their water break on the exact same day; a wonder pushed by the divine forces as your parents would say. You were born first and then Johnny came a mere minute later. You’ve held that fact over his head for a long time.

You were raised together in matching onesies and moments spent rarely apart. You were as much of Johnny's family as he was yours. Seasons and holidays were celebrated side by side with photo upon photos to prove it - your mother still embarrasses you by bringing them out of their dusty boxes every time you come around. Which, isn’t enough as she states. 

New years parties that ended in cupcake crumbs on each of your faces. Valentine’s day arts and crafts that culminated in your mother’s unending giggling at the glitter that stuck to their children’s hands. Easter egg hunts that you suspect Soap always let you win; although he vehemently denies even considering such a thing. Fond memories of eating home-made hot cross buns with the icing always ending up smeared on the side of your mouth. April fools days spent with you two running around causing mischief around the neighbourhood much to the chagrin of your parents. Halloween costumes always matching to some degree even as you guys got older; and the tradition of Soap always giving you your favourite candy is something you still remember. The light shows viewed on your parents’ shoulders during Guy Fawkes night always bring a smile to your face as you remember the permanent face-splitting grins you two shared those nights. Christmases that had your parents wondering why they decided to have kids whenever the pair of you ran into their room at five in the morning jumping around and screaming about presents. Of course, they could never refuse the excitement that had an effect on even them as gift wrapping was ripped open and pretty bows were discarded in favour of the gift underneath the concealment. 

Every picture of every moment of you two together - which were most of the photos given that you two never seemed to be apart except for bathroom breaks - always had a toothy grin on each of your faces. A few images over the years exhibited the matching gap in your front teeth that you shared with your MacTavish. You vaguely remember Soap celebrating the fact that his very same tooth as yours was wiggly. Although, you also recall that the reason it was loose was due to the fact he got clocked after defending your - in his words - honour from an older school boy. However it ended up missing, it was always a sweet memory that you held close to your heart. 

You remember sneaking away after primary school to get ice cream - Soap always had the weirdest combination of flavours that somehow worked, magic as he called it. Everytime you got the sugary treat, MacTavish had always let you try his with the excuse that you needed to taste how good it ended up being. After the ice cream adventure the pair of you walked over to the nearby playground and stayed there until you were the only ones left; that and your parents began getting tired of waiting there after they ended up finding you. Swings were always the thing you two gravitated towards within the park because it let you guys talk about this and that. You also always had fun attempting to get yourselves in sync enough to hold hands. When spring came around Soap taught you how to make flower crowns while he continuously made rings of dandelions to propose to you with. It was always a promise to marry each other when you grew up - much to the amusement of your respective families. 

Of course, your school life just had to be spent with paper airplanes and study sessions that really were just spent gossiping about people around the school. You two hooligans were actually banned from the library at least twice, something that your mothers like to bring up whenever they can. Despite the library prohibition, studying was something done on the regular at each other’s houses the night before tests. In spite of the giggling fits and existential questions about the meaning of life, good grades were made on a majority of tests and assignments. It was always a point of teasing when one of you got a better grade than the other when “we practised the exact same shite!” 

Secondary school came and went, with so many hijinks occurring that you’ve lost count. Soap’s cousin came to visit once or twice during the holidays and it got him absolutely hooked on the possibility of following in their footsteps. His attempt to lie about his age was seen through, but he was promised first dibs whenever he was old enough to enlist for real. It was a topic spoken about a lot during the late hours of the nights, tossing a tennis ball back and forth between each other and sharing your thoughts out loud. 

If you were being honest, it was simultaneously intriguing and terrifying to you. You certainly weren’t going to stop him from achieving his seemingly heart set career, but at the same time it sent chills down your spine at the thought of losing him to a stray bullet on the field. A wound that he couldn’t heal from. A moment of pause too many that left the life that sparkled so beautifully in his eyes drained from the bright cadet blues. In all honesty, this very thought is likely the reason you decided to enlist as a combat medic. You wanted to be able to be out there in the field alongside soldiers in order to treat them then and there. Soap promised to keep in touch whenever he was deployed, and to his credit, he did for a while. 

The once abundant amount of calls that came from the familiar MacTavish son sizzled out as he got more and more busy and so did you. The once nightly tradition of talking to each other whether over the phone or a simple goodnight text had faded as your adult lives trickled into reality. It was something that pained you, and you thought of the man every day. You would’ve followed him to the ends of the earth if you had the time and heart, but unfortunately life moved on and the planet kept revolving. 

That doesn’t mean that your feelings for him faded in the slightest - in fact, they only grew stronger as you messed around with a few men at bars. You quickly learned that none of them would ever amount to anything compared to the Scot that still was all that you wanted. You climbed the ranks with the thought of Soap in the forefront of your mind, a single call made when you were drunk the last time you had heard from him two years ago. He could be dead for all you knew, but you knew he wasn’t from his family. They claimed that his captain had been giving simple updates. It just seemed like he didn’t want to talk to you - or anyone associated with you. Or maybe he was too busy with his new task force friends - and don’t get it wrong, you were goddamn proud of your old childhood friend achieving all that he wanted and more. It’s just the fact that you wish you were there alongside him. 

You remember that call like it was yesterday, regretting it just as much as you did when it happened. You got stood up by a soldier on base that you had been getting closer to until he asked you to go out to this one bar. Of course, it appears as if he wasn’t going to show up, effectively leaving you to the wolves. You figured it out after two texts and one call to him going unanswered after fifteen minutes of embarrassment. You sent one last call to someone that you didn’t even expect to answer, John MacTavish. It rang once, and then twice, and then his voice answered and sent your heart down to your stomach. 

“What are you doing calling at this hour, Bonnie?”

Bonnie. An affectionate term that he coined sometime around highschool to make you blush. He never meant anything beyond the simple compliment beyond it, but it became tied to you nonetheless that you’d still answer to, to this day. 

“I miss you, and-” You start babbling. 

“Are you drunk, love?” He asks. You can hear shuffling and laughter in the background. There’s the unmistakable voice of a girl asking if he’ll join her on the dance floor, and you swear your heart breaks in two immediately.

“I love you, I always have. No matter where we are, you still have my heart. You were all that I wanted, you still are. You’re the one I can see me growing old with.”

“Hold on, love-”

“No, let me finish. Remember how you said you’d build me a house and plant me roses in the front yard? I want to cash that in. I’ve been looking for love around - and maybe some of them are real good guys - but they’re never gonna be like you though. You set the bar above the moon, MacTavish. I don’t want to be twenty-something and still in my head about seventeen in my bedroom talking. You swore, you said by now we’d paint the walls of our shared apartment,” You start sobbing at this point, your makeup running down your face.

“I know, Bonnie, I know,” He says, his voice a low timbre that sends shivers down your spine.

“Now that you’ve finally got the job you like. I wish I was there with you. By your side. Are you with somebody right now? Should I even care? Is it wrong that I don’t? I still care about you, Johnny. Still have your faded t-shirt that I’ve kept this long from that one festival. I think I’ve always known that I would love you. Now and forever,” You let out, realising that there was a distinct silence on the other end of the line. “Johnny?”

“Bonnie, I can’t do this.”

Your heart freezes; your frantic nerves slowing to a gentle tremor manifesting through your shaking frame. 

“What do you mean? Shit, I’m sorry, I’m drunk and I don’t know what I’m saying. Forget I said anything. I won’t remember this in the morning anyways,” You awkwardly laugh, praying that he’ll go along. You didn’t know what you would do if he didn’t. You couldn’t bear the thought. 

“We can’t forget this happened. I can’t. Shit.” You hear an audible swallow over the phone, and you imagine his hands running through that oh-so soft mohawk of his. The very same one that you cut and styled for him when he was sixteen - much to the chagrin of his family. They learned to agree it suited him after a month or two though.

“I think it’s best if we move on from each other. I need to forget about us, and I think you do too,” Soap snaps, and it would’ve rang warning bells in your head if you weren’t so drunk and distraught.

“Please, please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you Johnny,” Your knees give out and you collapse, clasping a hand over your mouth to stop the sobs from escaping. The harsh brick street would leave bruises on your knees and the cold puddle from the rain only empathised with the tears running down your cheeks. 

“Forget about me. It’s for the best, I’m sorry. . .” A click, and that was the last you ever heard from him. 

You turn that memory in your head over and over again. Every time coming up with a new theory as to why he would’ve said that - none being good enough to satisfy your depraved curiosity. Or maybe it was desperation. It didn’t really matter to you anyways; considering the fact that all you knew was that Soap wanted nothing to do with you. Wanted nothing more than to forget you even existed and to free himself from you. You’ve tried your best to honour his request even to this day. Even though it pains every single part of you from your bones to your blood cells. 

It’s the exact reason you’ve done your best to avoid anything regarding the infamous 141 Taskforce that you’ve heard so much about. The whispers across the battlefield through bated breaths tell you more than enough of what your old friend had achieved. You were proud of him, despite it all. It didn’t seem right to hold a grudge against someone just because he didn’t like you back - that and there’s always some part of you that remains stuck in the mindset of you as a teenager waving Soap off for his deployment. Letting go of that would mean disregarding all of the memories you two had shared together, and that wasn’t something you would do easily. Or willingly. 

What you could do though is actively avoid any conversations, transfers, or promotions that would be a step towards the one that broke your heart. Even though he promised he would never do that. You couldn’t move on though, not when he was never really too far gone. There were only so many times you could side step working with or towards the task force before your superiors volunteered you to be moved to their compound. Nothing you could reasonably say would sway their viewpoint, and if it could it’s already been used as an excuse in the past. The only thing you could do was take a deep breath and shield yourself as you walked past the gates. A small part of you wished there was something wrong with your ID and they wouldn’t let you in, but of course that wasn’t the case. Everything was up to date and your footfalls resounded down the long hall to Price’s office.

A renowned man that you’ve heard all too much about through both your fellow soldiers and Soap in the past. Always good, always with admiration lacing the words. Unfortunately that wasn’t what you were feeling right now - in spite of the fact that you knew you worked damn hard to be promoted to this position and deserved it. You wish you didn’t.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Seer. You’ve saved more men than I can count. Your skills are unparalleled and you hold yourself in high regard. Which is why I wonder exactly why you’ve turned down this position three times over,” Price says with his head tilted to the side. 

Seer. The callsign given to you after you had saved your entire team with simple intuition about a mission gone bad - quickly. You had gotten all of your men out and relatively unscathed with only a few singe marks from the explosion. The explosion from the bombs that you insisted had to have been rigged and live just as a trap for your squad. It was furthered by your uncanny ability to be exactly in the right place at the right time to save numerous soldiers that would’ve died without your intervention. Divine intervention as your old captain said, adding a religious spin onto your nickname. 

“I thrive on continuity and felt as if I was doing a lot of good where I was previously stationed, sir,” You reply, knowing it’s complete bullshit.

“That’s complete bullshit.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you were pissed to no end that he could read you that well. The only other person that you believed held that skill was your old crush. John “Soap” MacTavish. The real reason why you were so determined to stay away from this place. 

“Do you want to know something? I’ve looked at your file. Laswell has looked at your file. And we both noticed an interesting little tidbit about your birth place. Scotland. If that wasn’t enough, I’ve been around Soap enough to know a Scottish accent from a specific small town when I hear it - despite your best attempts to mask it. All of that might not be enough, but you had the exact same reaction to my soldier’s name as he did yours. What’s your history?” 

Damn, he was good. What you focused on in his rant the most though was the fact that Soap had physically recoiled as much as you did if you were to believe Prices’ words. And you did. There was no reason to doubt it, no reason for him to lie. 

“Childhood friends. We lost touch over the years,” You stick with, not wanting to blurt out how hurt you’ve continuously been about his abandonment of your relationship. Platonic or not. 

“And? I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want you on this team; if I didn’t care about you as a soldier. I also wouldn’t be this concerned if it didn’t seem like it would be an object of vulnerability. A liability one might say. You deserve a position on this team, which is why we’ve been persistent in offering it to you,” Price says before he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. A single knock that seemed to only be one of pure courtesy before it was slammed open.

You’re met with a sight that’s haunted you for almost half a decade. A ghost of a person that’s still alive and kicking. Someone that’s been on your mind ever since he had gotten on that chopper and left you to fend for yourself with empty promises that he’d be back. That he wouldn’t forget you. Promises fueled by letters and flowers and a promise ring that he had gotten you when you were kids. One that you couldn’t bear to wear anymore but couldn’t imagine throwing it away. One that still rings true against the metal of your dog tags sitting so close to your heart. 

“Bonnie?” Ironic as it is, Soap looks equally if not more terrified - like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sergeant,” You respond curtly, your body acting on a harsh auto-pilot immediately. 

A way of protecting yourself from ever getting your heart broken again. You bite your tongue in a feeble attempt to stop yourself from running into the arms - and screaming all of the little things you’ve kept bundled up - of your best friend. It wasn’t really him that you saw though, because he was always the first to sweep you off your feet and whisper sweet nothings after bittersweet reunions. Whether it was five minutes or five days or five months without seeing each other, he never failed to wrap you up in his arms and protect you from the idea of never seeing him again. Five years seemed to be too much to carry over for him though apparently. 

“Please don’t do that. I know I deserve all of it and more, but please hear me out. Bonnie, please,” His voice cracked alongside your heart at his words. 

You swallow harshly, speaking after a brief moment of silence. “Don’t call me that.”

Your sharp words met their mark, making the broken man in front of you wince like a kicked dog. Baby blue eyes sending a pleading look your way as he collapsed inwards, hunching over like he wanted to seem smaller. Small enough not to scare you off, as if it wasn’t too late. 

“Seer, let me explain.”

“I haven’t seen you in person in five fucking years, MacTavish. I haven’t heard from you in two. I think it’s a little late for that,” You hiss out sharply, a glare set on him. It didn’t seem to matter to you that Price was still there, watching intently. You pushed past Soap, begrudgingly brushing up against him as you did. It would be a lie to say that it didn’t satisfy you to see the look of hurt flash across Soap’s face as you all but shoved him to the side. 

“The night you called me,” Soap started.

That stopped you in your tracks, your nerves itching to run and never look back in anticipation of his next words. You were too curious to hear what he was going to say though, a small part of you hoping it was bad enough to make a dent in the walls you held so high for someone you used to open the doors to your soul for willingly. The rest of you was simply too curious and ready to argue that you couldn’t move from your spot. 

“It was the night of one last bar run before Ghost and I were sent into deep cover for a month. A month of hell and shame that still gives me nightmares to this day, but nothing compares to the pain of having to stop talking to anyone at the chance of risking not only my life, but theirs,” Soap admits, his eyes glazing over with tears threatening to fall. Real pain infiltrating his features. It’s a sight that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since his cousin - the very same that convinced him to join the army - had passed from a mission gone wrong. 

“Why didn’t you call me afterwards? Or better yet, let me know then and there?” You quietly whisper, staring down at your feet. 

“I was a dumbass. I thought it would be easier to not tell you that night. You deserved to move on with someone that was closer to you. Someone that you could talk to every night. Someone that wasn’t me. Someone who didn’t have a chance of dying every day. As for afterwards? I couldn’t drag you back if you had managed to move on, not after all I had put you through,” Soap says, his voice shaking almost as much as you were.

“I never moved on,” You say quietly.

“What?”

“I never moved on from you. I never could. They were never you, and if anyone came close; well, you still had my heart.” A single tear runs down your face at this, despite your best attempts to stop this. 

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I lost you, love. I never meant to hurt you that badly,” Is all Soap said in response. 

“Well, you did. It doesn’t matter anymore anyways. I listened to you finally and moved on, I think you need to as well,” You throw his own words back at him, taking sick pleasure in the way his face falls. 

“Obviously we need to have a talk. Privately. Both of you. This has turned into more than a liability. Letting either one of you go is not an option either. This isn’t something I want to let turn you two into loose cannons on the field. Sorting this out is happening, and then therapy,” Price intervenes. 

“Please, let me talk,” Soap starts. “I pushed you away, and no apology can fix that immediately. You trusted me with your feelings and I threw you to the wolves. Despite the situation, there were better ways to handle it - I understand that now. I loved you then. I love you now. I loved you when we were little kids on the playground and didn’t even understand what the word truly meant. What I did understand is that you deserved better than me. Better than someone like me,” He says, hanging his head low.

“Fuck, Johnny. You really fucked up,” You murmur, finally turning to face the man you had known all your life. Had grown up next to from diapers to enrolling in the army. You looked at him, truly looked at him. Truth and resignation for whatever you deemed his punishment was written all over his face - you never forgot how to read his signs, or maybe he never changed them. 

“I know, Bonnie. I know, and I’m sorry if that means anything.” 

“I love you too, if that means anything,” You reply, a bittersweet smile on your face. Something that pissed you off to no end was that you could never stay mad at Soap, whether it was for cheating off your test or ‘borrowing’ your favourite pencil. Or in this case, going MIA for two years. A hopeful expression dawns on Johnny’s face. 

“Shit, doll, I will love you till the end of time, follow you to the ends of the earth, spend the rest of my life worshipping the ground you walk on if it means I can even be in the same room as you. I know damn well I have a lot to work on making up to you, and I won’t stop until every crack is mended in your heart, I swear,” Soap blurts out, falling to his knees in front of you. 

You couldn’t help but let out a poignant laugh at the fact that this all could’ve been easily avoided. It pained your very soul at the thought that you both loved each other, but never openly said it. The nostalgic memories flooded your mind at the possibility of how your lives could’ve been so very different if you confessed at a different time and place. 

“To think, I joined the army to do the very same for you, Johnny. I wanted to be here with you, make sure you stayed safe.” You don’t know why you admitted that, but it felt like the right thing to do.

“I wish I would have told you sooner,” He says, taking your hands in his and laying a gentle kiss on your knuckles that had fought for even a chance to be where you were right now.

“I think we both wished we did things differently,” You admit, kneeling down to cradle his face in your hands.

“Sweetheart, you have a heart of gold to not only have fallen for the mess of a man I am, enough to want to risk your life for a chance of saving mine, but to continue loving me through everything that’s happened.”

“It hurt like hell, I’m not going to lie, but I also can see where you’re coming from. I can’t say I didn’t think of doing the same when I was put in the same situation.”

“But you didn’t, and that’s what makes you a better person than I am. But I swear until the day I stop breathing, I will work to make it up to you. I’ll even let you try my ice cream like when we were kids,” Soap says, offering up a hopeful smile at the nostalgic memory. 

“You’re such a dork. I don’t forgive you, not yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over this-”

“And that would be completely reasonable. I would understand if you told me to fuck off. I would leave this team and become a hermit if you wanted me to,” Soap quickly interjects.

“And, let me finish. I don’t know if I’ll get over this, ever, but I do know that I want you by my side while I try.”

“I promise I won’t ever leave you again. Not even for a mission. Not again. It would never be more important than you,” Soap swears, holding your face between his fingers just like the morning paper. 

“Now I wouldn’t say ever. . .” Price starts, but Soap sends him a glare that says enough without anything being spoken.

“But I’m sure we could figure something out if it did occur,” Price swiftly amends his statement.

“You’re something, MacTavish, definitely something,” You softly say, your heart beginning to heal. 

“But I’m your MacTavish, right?” Soap says hesitantly, almost as if he was scared you would pull what he did and run away. Not like he would blame you, never in a million years. It would be what he deserved anyways.

“But you’re my MacTavish, Johnny,” You gently say, leaning into his tentative touch.

“I think we have a lot to talk about you two, but I think it can wait until tomorrow. I still want individual therapy for the both of you, separate doctors, but I can see that you need time alone together,” Price breathes out, likely exhausted by the back and forth between his two soldiers. 

“Thank you, Price, thank you,” Soap says, meaning more than what his captain had just said. He was thanking him for dragging you here, letting him talk, allowing there to be a safe place for blame and forgiveness. 

It wasn’t going to be easy or even vaguely okay for a long, long time, but you were willing to try. Your heart was still broken. Soap would inevitably do something to bring doubts and traumas back up. But he would be there, finally, to ease your pain and reassure you that he was there to stay. That he was there to hold your heart together as the glue set up. He was there to hold you as you cried and laughed and slept and woke up and cooked. He was finally there, and he wasn’t going anywhere as long as he could help it. And that promise is what kept you by each other’s side, forever and always. 

[teacup-crow]

Sparklers

Here's my entry @zombiesmake round 1, 25/06/21! Thanks as ever to @puptart and @crownleys!

[EDIT] Based on prompt 3 - a ThoughtCo article on Chemical Elements of Fireworks (I also used the WikiHow article 3 Ways to Make Fireworks for research and got mixed up).

Gentle Tom/Steve, which is such a rarepair I didn’t know I was writing it until Tom just. Showed up. Unexpectedly. He’s here now, I guess!

Set post S7M7 with spoilers for that mission!

He’d asked her for permission like a sixteen-year-old with a prom date, sat in her office still smelling of chemicals, the hair on his arms standing up on one end. Janine had stared him down until he looked away, her eyes piercing his flesh, her knuckles white on the desk. “If you do a single thing to hurt him, Mr Sissay, have not a shadow of a doubt, I will shoot you in the head.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Steve replied, fighting the urge to salute as he squirmed in his chair.

“Please, don’t take this personally. I have had the same conversation with Miss Marsh. Now, if you must, go and get on with it.”

So, all in all, that could have gone worse.

Steve’s father was the one who taught him all about making fireworks. On icy November evenings they would sit around the bonfire, the face of the straw-stuffed Guy melting away, and he’d watch the man’s callused, animated hands gesturing, made shadowy with flame.

“Now, it’s a more precise science than you might expect. There are an awful lot of ways this can go very, very wrong if you aren’t careful.”

The sparkler they’d made in the workshop a few days earlier spit and sputtered and spat in the boy’s grip. Three hundred grams of potassium chlorate. Sixty grams of aluminium shavings. Two grams of charcoal. “Sticking to the recipe is vital, just like your mother when she’s baking. Get it wrong, and it won’t rise off the ground. Get it wrong, and there’s too much smoke. Get it wrong enough –“ and here he chuckled – “and you burn your face off like Fawkes there.”

“John, stop scaring the boy!” His mother had admonished, then, and ushered him into the kitchen to refill the guests’ wine glasses. His father, the kind of upper-middle-class man with enough free time and money on his hands to have wildly dangerous hobbies. Steve’s mother often complained that he couldn’t have picked golf or shooting or hunting. Well, before he disappeared, and left nothing but smears of coal ash in his midst, and she had plenty worse things to complain about. He can’t remember much of the man now apart from those hands, which he sees whenever he looks at his own, warming them over a campfire.

In the present, it’s only seven PM, but it’s already growing dark. Tom is lying back in the crunchy fallen leaves, wearing Steve's favourite jumper, staring at the sky and not saying a word. It’s so rare to get the man this quiet and still and happy that Steve enjoys it while it lasts. He seems so much happier and healthier now than the wild, filthy wretch he’d been years earlier, wandering through the wasteland and baying for his sister’s blood. His eyes are clear, his skin clean and healed and soft, his face clean-shaven and ruggedly handsome. Steve finds himself staring, and tears his eyes away from a de Luca for the second time that day.

He’d planned out about a thousand ways to make this romantic – grand gestures have always been his thing, even though they never worked too well on Kefilwe. But even he knew that it would be a bad idea for Tom, who had required an itemised itinerary of what they would be doing before he even agreed to going on a date. Picnic in the forest. Share a bottle of wine. Talk about... whatever this is. Home again before the gates close for the night. It’s hard to accept that these quiet, little things might possibly be enough to show the depth of his feeling. Truth is, he’d shatter the sky into shards of multicolour glitter for the man if he could.

“Kefilwe was speaking to me today,” Tom says suddenly. His eyes are closed, now. He’s almost talking to no-one. “At the trial.”

Steve winces. He wants to ask a thousand questions. What did she tell you about me? What was she whispering in your ear? Has she told you everything she knows I’ve done? He wishes they didn’t come to him, that his first thoughts weren’t riddled with fear and guilt and shame, but he can’t help it.

“Oh?” he manages, and rummages in the bag for the drink, the matchbox at the bottom, a small tupperware case which rattles in his hands.

“She… I was glad she did, actually. She… you know, I’ve done so many terrible things,” Tom says. “Even… before. Back when I was fine. I hurt so many people. Tore apart so many families. And I just keep wondering and wondering what it was for, over and over...”

“There are people – people like us – who have to do those things to make the world spin,” Steve replies lamely. He didn’t want to have this conversation, not tonight. He’d hoped that for one night he could avoid being confronted with the reality of his sin, avoid his crimes being thrust in his face. Hasn’t he gone through enough? God knows Tom has. Haven’t they both done their penance?

“Do you really believe that?”

The lack of light pollution means there are so many more stars now than there ever used to be, even if they’re shrouded with clouds tonight. Perhaps, now the war is over, there’s no more need for fireworks. Perhaps there’s no more need for someone like him.

“Here,” he nudges Tom, who opens his eyes and sees the box of sparklers. “Want to set these alight?”

Tom props himself up on one elbow, and the side of his face not too numb with scarring to move creases into a wry smile. “Commemorating gunpowder, treason and plot, eh? Haven’t we had enough of that for a lifetime?”

“Here’s to that ending. To peace, I suppose, whatever that entails for people like us.” Steve strikes a match for both of them, and watches the sparks reflecting in the other man’s soft grey eyes. “To new beginnings.”

“Now we’ll make our own stars,” Tom says, gazing at the light. “Carve our own paths. It’s about time both of us tried that.”

[alltingfinns]

Ending the year in Sherlock/TJLC style.

The Empty Hearse

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: it’s very telling that this version of events is dependent upon the removal of Moriarty’s body.

I can’t imagine putting contacts in with pliers. But hardly the least credulous thing going on.

And the closest sherlolly is ever going to get to a canon kiss. When I watched this with my brother, he was still buying the whole explanation and was just surprised that we got a kiss scene.

Heteronormativity is a helluva drug.

Had no idea the hypnotist guy was famous first time I watched.

“Bollocks!” You said it, Lestrade. Never mind the kiss or the perfect corpse dress up or the hypnotism, you can’t bungee jump discreetly.

But Anderson thinks it’s obvious because it keeps his sherlolly fic canon.

“There was a body.” A. Singular. Body. #moriartylives

I honestly wonder how many theories Anderson subjected Lestrade to.

I know the transition of the coffee cups to John’s eyes is haha funny, but it’s also drinks code funny. Blinded by heteronormativity, that one.

Also great job on turning his life around, “Mary”. 🙄

Might poke fun at the guard listening to music on the job, but it makes sense to want to drown out the beating of a prisoner who can’t very well escape a second time.

The torturer being a John mirror. (Unhappy love affair in the navy = Sholto, electricity not working in the bathroom = not good shaving and of course unfaithful wife.) Considering this is the season where Sherlock is most pained by his feelings for John, it makes sense. Ouch, but still makes sense.

The deep wounds in his back. If John only knew…

And that sweet smile about Baker Street… he smol

Boy, John does look so happy!/sarcasm

First time I learned about Guy Fawkes day was in an Enid Blyton book where the plot involved someone stealing the crime solving gang of youngings’ guy money. So I was proud of myself for being like

But like about a culture.

John really hasn’t been back since the funeral.

Kind of weird that Sherlock is okay with someone else shaving him when he’s been on the run, hunted and threatened for two years. But no one ever claimed the writers of this show actually understood ptsd.

Milieu. Or miljö, if you’re Swedish.

Ahh, sibling bickering. “I saved you” “no you sat and watched me getting beaten!” Classic.

“Field work! Ugh!” Very canon Mycroft. (Hence why he never leaves The Diogenes Club)

Passive aggressive Hudson is best Hudson!! 🤣

“Ages you.” The facial hair is a bit of a bad match there.

And again I’m sad that Una Stubbs didn’t live long enough for s5.

“Many bothans died for this info-“ “yeah yeah, where’s my Jawn?!?”

Of course Mycroft had a folder at the ready.

The facial hair must go!

Okay, so John’s grieving process is a bit much. But mrs Hudson… your income (supposedly) depends on renting out your one good apartment. Yet here you are letting it gather dust. “Not your mother” doesn’t seem quite right.

John, so stoked about his proposal, that mrs Hudson assumes he’s about to tell her he’s ill.

“I’m moving on.” What a normal heterosexual flat mate thing to say. What are you moving on from, John? The flat? You left it ages ago! Sherlock’s death? What does Sherlock being dead have to do with your relationship status? Why are you equating a proposal to your friendship (?) with Sherlock?

Hudson is way happier about John’s relationship than he is.

“So soon after Sherlock?”

Don’t you *deep breath* “well yes” at mrs Hudson, young man! You’re the one making the implications she’s inferring from.

Why is mrs Hudson shocked that it’s a woman? Bisexual erasure? Maybe she thought Sherlock was his closet key, or his exes were all beards. Well, not like any of those relationships lasted that long.

“Of course it’s a woman!” Of course. Because he’s moving on and don’t want any reminders of the “could-have-been”s. That’s why she’s short, blonde, has big eyes and is in his mind as far removed from Sherlock as possible.

“Sherlock was not my boyfriend!” No, just your “could-have-been”.

“I am not gay!” Immediate transition to Sherlock sighing.

“Jump out of a cake!” Very heterosexual flat mate of you, Sherlock.

“Baker Street?” Here I paused on Mycroft looking like he’s thinking “my dumb gay little brother really thinks he left London on pause, doesn’t he?”

“What life? I’ve been away!” At first I thought he really was just dismissive of John’s non-Sherlock life. But rewatching I can see a slacking of his face as he takes in the fact that of course John moved on. So he plasters on some false bravado to cover for his mistake of confusing the dream (returning to old life with John) with reality (missing out on his friends living their life).

“How would I know?” Trying almost desperately to save his little brother from the inevitable heartbreak.

And Sherlock feeling his upper lip. If not imagining bristly kisses, then why?

“It’s possible you won’t be welcome”. He can’t say it outright because a) Sherlock won’t believe him and b) Sherlock will just become more determined to prove Mycroft wrong.

The deerstalker = his public image. The coat = his armor.

Stop standing atop buildings!!

I love whenever he does drive by deductions.

This disguise on the go is so fun. Like I don’t care if it makes sense for him to get away with it or not, it’s just good old fun!

“Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It’s completely identical.” Fun!

And the fake accent!

All to amuse John who doesn’t even notice his dramatic reveals!

Hmm, The Quiet Man feels. John may be so used to seeing Sherlock everywhere that he doesn’t even think about seeing him in a waiter he never looks directly at.

Dear God in heaven, I’m not even twenty minutes in!!

The femme fatale entrance. It’d be only more perfect if she had her fur coat on.

“You’re the best thing that could have possibly happened to me.” “I agree. I’m the best thing that could have happened to you!”

Gaslighting girl boss.

You may not think it’s a big deal that she dropped the “possibly”. But John is always careful with his word choice. And Sherlock is the best thing that could happen to him, because he did the impossible before, and maybe he can again. He asked Sherlock not to be dead. Maybe…

Does she really have to giggle and prod him while he’s struggling with his words? Best thing my foot!

Did he steal that wine bottle from a table or even the kitchen/bar? The latter seems more likely what with it being unopened and all.

Direct look and the mood has extreme shift.

“Not dead.” Maybe not the best time to remind John of Irene.

“In my defense it was very funny.” 😠 “okay not a great defense”

“Does yours rub off too?” You know, a better title for this episode might have been “Everyone Bullying John Over His Ugly Mustache” though it would make for an awful title card. (EBJOHUM, almost sounds like a biblical name.)

“Donde estas, Yolanda?”

How Sherlock survived = what the fans/Anderson cares about

How Sherlock could do this to John = what actually matters to John/the writers.

The gag of the eating establishments getting progressively less refined as they’re thrown out for violence. 😘🤌 (Am I doing chef’s kiss right?)

Srsly, Sherlock. Why not bring in John into the secret when you already got 25 members of your homeless network involved? Is it because you’d rather he think you were dead? Because if you told John Danger Boner Watson that you’d travel the world to dismantle a criminal network, you knew he’d tag along? So instead he grieves your death. Lose-lose situation, I guess.

Wow, they sure are harping on John about his facial hair in the episode where he gets engaged to be married. No hidden meaning in that.

Even his beard doesn’t like his mustache.

John, this is how mrs Hudson felt. Don’t you see?

Tbf, John. Sherlock has seen your “acting” before. Also, anyone suspecting Sherlock faked his death would watch you more closely than any of the people Sherlock involved.

That said, he isn’t “over” reacting. Just reacting.

“Still a secret” love the extra in the background shaking his head at these terrible secret keepers.

“SWEAR TO GOD!” Angry John is very human, but also very funny.

Martin “do that with a face” Freeman acting out “can you believe this bitch?”

Love that this line that was used as an awesome epic voice over for the trailer, is just a reason for John to headbutt Sherlock in the episode itself.

“I’ll talk him around”. Gatekeeping girl boss. Putting herself in the position of mediator. At the start she was all “omg what have you done?” But now she’s on Sherlock’s side, supporting him in the face of her boyfriend’s (justified) anger.

Also could she pick a more femme fatale coat? Especially with that hairstyle.

“Can you believe his nerve?” “I like him.”

Forget supportive girlfriend, a work acquaintance would feel socially obligated to be more emotionally supportive!!

Stopping here. Apparently this episode will have to be a three part series of observation.

[judediangelo75]

Little Do You Know...

Hi everyone! So this is gonna be a bit of a songfic featuring Talith (Talbott x Judith). This is gonna be a backstory of when Judith (and her best friend Brooke) ran away from Hogwarts. As I mentioned in one of my story posts, How Talbott Dropped the Question, Judith went back to her homeland, while pregnant with Talbott’s son, Bakari. This is what happened during that time.

There was gonna be implied sexual content, just as a warning.

Without further ado, here’s “Little Do You Know...” ( and the song that https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GP4okspbfMM)

--------------------------------

(Judith Harris) (Age: 17, close to 18)

(WARNING: IMPLICATION TO SEXUAL THEMES)

I woke up just moments before my sensitive ears picked up the soft whimpers of Bakari from his nursery.

'Must be time for his late night snack...' I mused quietly as I yawned quietly. I made a move to get up, but an arm tightened around my midsection, pulling me into a warm solid chest. The young man nuzzled my neck, breathing me in before settling again. I felt my cheeks warm a bit and the feeling of guilt creep from the bottom of my heart.

'He doesn't deserve this...'

Little do you know,

How I'm breaking while you fall asleep...

Little do you know,

That I'm still haunted by the memory...

Little do you know,

I'm trying to pick myself up, piece by piece...

Little do you know,

I need a little more time...

I carefully slipped out of Talbott's hold and rolled out of bed. Slipping on a black silk robe that stopped mid-thigh, I quietly exited the room to head to our son's nursery.

Our son...

Talbott and I have been together since we 16, a little after the whole Valentine's Day fiasco. I've fell for the Ravenclaw wizard even awhile before that. What started off as an innocent "He's cute" turned into "I fancy him", which then turned into "I love him."

Crazy how feelings work.

One of things I loved about him was how passionate he was in anything he was interested in.

His studies.

Herbology.

Transfiguration.

Poetry.

Love.

I bit my lip as my thoughts linger on the last one. Although he may not look it, Talbott is actually a very passionate lover. I should know...

I mentally shook my head as I enter my baby's room, his whimpers growing a bit louder as he slowly woke up. Rushing over to the crib, I picked up the little boy.

"Shhh, it's okay my love. Mama's here," I quietly cooed. I couldn't help to admire the young babe.

He came out with a full head of hair, which surprised the hell out of me. Though he inherited my dark brown hair color, he still inherited that gradient effect from his father. The tuft of medium to light brown hair rested on his forehead. His unfocused red eyes gazed up at me with tiny tears in the corners of them. His skin color seem to lean towards Talbott's the older he gets. Though, the shape of his eyes, nose, mouth and face resembled mine. The perfect mixed of Talbott and I embodied in this little being...

Bakari's whimpers quietly died down a little when I held him to my chest, his little hand fisting the material of my robe. I quietly chuckled at the babe's impatience. I walked over the rocking chair in the room, settling in for what might be another long feeding session. I shifted my robe and bra aside, gently guiding Bakari to my nipple.

The babe latched on and began to suckle as I leaned back and closed my eyes. Even though I've been doing this since he's been born, the sensation still feels strange. But a good strange...

Although I'll never regret having this little miracle in my arms, I regret the time I had him...

Talbott and I have been intimate a few times prior to me becoming pregnant. Only difference I was actually smart about it and took a potion daily to act as a birth control. I slipped up thanks to a lot of stressors.

Merula.

Ben.

Rakepick.

R.

My brother.

My mother.

Classes and my studies.

Quidditch.

The final curse vault.

Tch, you name it.

I wasn't taking care of myself like I have been since the middle of 4th year. Talbott found out I was in the Hospital Wing after I passed out in Training Grounds with Brooke, who didn't hesitate to scold me once I woke up. Talbott spent a lot of time trying to take care of me whenever he had free time. I could help but to smile while he fussed over me, recalling the time he told me his mother was a Healer. He definitely picked up a few things from her.

When I got the okay from Madam Pomfrey, Talbott did everything he could to make sure I wasn't over stressed or overworked.

We were in his room one day, with him massaging the tension out of my shoulders from practice duels and being hunched over my books. I felt like jelly under his hands, leaning against his warm body with my eyes closed in bliss. With my hair up in a messy bun, my neck was exposed to his mouth. What started off as soft light kisses turned into gentle bites and sucking love bites into my skin. I turned around and kissed him heatedly.

Let's just say I was finally able to fully relax and rest for the first time in weeks...

But that was just the beginning...

Some time after our passionate time together in each other's embrace, I found myself face first the toilet, violently puking my guts out. At first I though it was probably a stomach bug aand visited Madam Pomfrey. I felt more than nervous when I saw the analyzing look she was giving me as I explained my alignment...

After a few questions (which spiked my nerves) and having to take a sample of my blood, Madam Pomfrey gently pulled me to the side so no one can hear us.

"You're pregnant, Miss Harris..."

My entire world just stopped at those two words. I remember shakily pressing a hand to my abdomen in disbelief. I quietly asked her how far was I. She said a few weeks, give or take. For weeks, I was pregnant with Talbott's child. I cried.

Out of fear.

Out of disbelief.

Out of happiness.

The Healer gave me a hug, calming my tears. I always was in the Hospital Wing one way or another, so I grew close to the older witch. And she was rather fond of me as well. Once I calmed down, she unfortunately had to drop a bombshell.

She had to inform my mother and the Headmaster. As a protocol.

I was okay with Dumbledore knowing.

My mother on the other hand...

I sighed, running my fingers through my son's hair.

I still remember the harsh sting and force of her slap when she visited me in Dumbledore's office. The throbbing feeling as I shakily touched my tender cheek as I gazed up at my mother from my sprawled position on the ground. The anger and disgust in her dark brown eyes. Her cutting words that sliced into me and left me to bleed.

"You bloody disgrace! You sorry excuse of witch! You were sent here to learn and keep your head down like an obedient, proper witch. Not spread your legs for the wizard population and endanger the students here! You never could do what you're told, can't you?! I should've aborted your sorry arse when I had the chance. Don't even think about coming back to my house, you whore. You're disowned and I never want to see your wretched face ever again! Do you understand me?!"

Dumbledore always seem to know I've had a very strained relationship with my mother. Especially since sightings of Brooke's and I's brothers sprang up again thanks to us freeing them. She wanted her baby boy to come home. But instead she had me. When she never wanted me...

The old wizard was shocked as he watched the woman send me one last scorching look before marching out of the office. I left curled up in a small ball, crying my eyes out and quietly whimpering for my Papa. Gods knows how long I remained on that floor. I remember the gentle hand on my shoulder and the soft coos of Fawkes as the phoenix nuzzled my hair, trying to soothe me. I didn't leave that room until I ran out of tears for the moment and I was presentable enough to leave. People talk and I don't want people trying to figure out why I looked like I was a mess.

I eventually got up and silently nodded my thanks to the Headmaster. His eyes were sad as he returned it. I petted the back of Fawkes' feathers before leaving. I kept my exterior emotionless until I reached my dorm. I placed a sound proof charm on my room before letting out a heart wrenching cry. I tore my entire room apart until I sat in the middle of the room, staring at nothing. And that's how my best friend found me.

Brooke hasn't seen me all day and heard that my mother came to visit. When she saw my unresponsive form in the mess that was now my room, she basically jumped over the rumble and held me. That's when the water works kicked in again and I cried in again in my best friend's arms. We were silent until I could compose myself. I quietly explained to her the whole situation.

My condition and my mother.

She was livid. She wanted to hunt her down so bad, I saw the rage in her eyes. But I quietly asked her to leave it be and to keep my condition a secret. She begrudgingly agreed, as long as I promised to make her the Godmother of my unborn child. I weakly chuckled and agreed. After cleaning my room, I carried on like nothing happened. No one knew about my condition but me, Brooke, and the staff at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout tend to fuss over me the most. They never want me doing anything to stress myself out, especially if I wanted to help them set up for class or clean up like I normally do. I often chuckled at them, saying I was fine, even though this pregnancy was a whole bitch and a half.

The morning sickness (thank goodness those passed after awhile).

Dizzy spells.

The sudden waves of fatigue.

The crazy intense cravings (I found myself in the Kitchens a lot for food, Pitts never complained. The old House Elf seem to care for me in a way, especially since my House founder provided the House Elves jobs at Hogwarts.)

The slight bump I had (I had to constantly wear my House robes since they were slightly bigger and hid the bump.)

The mood swings (I had to separate myself from a lot of our friends so I don't go from happy and chill to wanting to bash someone's head in or breaking out into tears in 2.5 seconds randomly.)

Talbott has his suspicions about me. We progressed rather far in our relationship. Where he was able to tell I was hiding something. Plus he noticed the slight weight I put on, though he never voiced this, I saw the curious look on his face. But he never questioned me because usually I would tell him, eventually. Though, how the hell do you tell someone that they're a father at the late age of 16 going on 17?

Lucky for me, I didn't have to.

More time passed and eventually, Brooke and I finally cracked. After she got attacked and lost her magic, and the pressure of the Curse Vaults (with Merula and Ben consisting reminding us) and the adults insisting we leave the Curse Vaults to them (especially me since I was literally carrying another human being inside me), we just couldn't take any more. We secretly made a plan to leave. Though not before leaving a goodbye to the young men we love. I spent one more night with him, getting him to go out with my on a impromptu trip to Hogsmeade and the forest. I spent as much time as I could with him because of the uncertainty of us seeing each other again. The next day, I skipped classes to prepare to leave. I silently cried as I wrote my note to Talbott, constantly having to wipe my eyes so I could see clearly. Brooke and I sneaked into their rooms when everyone was in Great Hall for dinner.

It was hard to leave the letter on his bed. Even harder to walk out of his room. The hardest of all was not even telling him about our unborn child...

But I had to. I didn't want to take him away from his life at Hogwarts. He aspired to become an Auror, to protect others from the Death Eaters, Dark Witches, and Dark Wizards. So they don't have to experience the same loss he did as a young child. He had dreams and I wanted him to be happy. I probably really was cursed. The fact that danger seems to follow me everywhere like a lost Crup puppy was ridiculous. And to tell him that he was gonna be a young teenage father? I would ruin his life before it could even begin. I can't be the girl he wants to be with...

He deserved better than a life with me...

Once we did what we needed to do, we grabbed our stuff and left Hogwarts, sparing one more glance at the grand castle before disappearing into the night.

Right away, we went into training. I tried to help Brooke hone and refine her skills as a werewolf. She was a bit worried about me since I was pregnant but I guaranteed her I was fine. I understood my body's limitations, and tried to take advantage of my lighter weight as much as possible. There were days where the babe in my womb would drain me of all my energy so I had to sit out or at least do the bare minimum of training for the day, which was instructing Brooke in archery.

Thanks to my constant drills by the time I was roughly 6 months, Brooke was an okay shot was much better at tracking and tapping into her werewolf side. I felt bad for being in such a state, especially since I feel like liability (I could still notch a bow and arrow and throw knifes, but was nowhere able to fight hand to hand if need be). I told Brooke that I wanted to go back home, where it was safe and I wouldn't be found. She agreed, especially since she wanted to find out more about her family. Taking the first Muggle flight to Barbados, I left Britain with a solemn goodbye.

I lived in my grandmother's old house, which was surprisingly since up and in fairly good condition. Some of the old neighbors from my childhood recognized me and offered to help clean up the place so I can rest for the remainder of my pregnancy. I was thankful for them and felt amazing to not have worry about anything for once.

Until Bakari decided that he wanted out. Jeez, I would never forget those contractions for shit. I was just happy when the local midwives cleaned up my baby boy and handed him to me. The love and happiness I felt as I gazed down at that chubby face and unfocused red eyes was immense and overflowing. I called Brooke not too long afterwards so she can visit her godson.

She nearly bust down my front door, eager to meet little Bakari. She would openly coo in his little face, smiling whenever she made him laugh or reveal a gummy smile. She wouldn't stop going on how she was gonna spoil him and teach him all her mischievous ways as the young babe blinked up at her innocently. I would roll my eyes in exasperation but I chuckle nonetheless.

So how did Talbott end up finding out me, our son and where I was at? Simple, he told me, Hagrid. Brooke went back to Hogwarts to scope out everything and to visit Hagrid. We both loved the gentle half giant but I warned her ass that the man can't keep a secret for shit. But she insisted it will be fine.

What was the biggest what the actual fuck of the century: Our brothers came back to Hogwarts to check in on us from trying to find Rakepick. Once they realize neither of us were at Hogwarts anymore, they went up to our friends and demanded answers. Bill and Talbott didn't take this too well, seeing how them leaving us impacted our personalities. Bill and Talbott were ready to fight them. That's when Dumbledore and Hagrid had to put a stop to it before it can get out of hand.

Jamal was rather distraught and angry, wanting to know where I was. Dumbledore tried to reason with him but he was too emotional to really listen. Hagrid meant to mumble to himself that he hoped Bakari inherited Talbott's sense of calmness over my brother's emotional behavior in stressful situations. Of course, damn near everybody heard him.

My brother fell deathly silent and stared at Hagrid, who embarrassedly mumbled how he shouldn't have said that. Dumbledore simply sighed and asked Jamal and Talbott to join him in his office. Where he explained everything.

To say that when I found Jamal and Talbott on my doorstep shook me to my very core would be an understatement. I wanted to shut the door and pretended that I was just dreaming, but I knew better. I let them in and we had a talk. Jamal wasn't pleased to find out that I got pregnant so early, especially who the father was (Jamal wasn't all that impressed with Talbott, thinking he wasn't good enough for me). I did tell him if he talked shit about me, Talbott, or our son, I would throw his ass out the window. I gave zero fucks if I gave birth three months prior and was still recovering, I would not let my "family" degrade me twice.

After proving I can do physical harm to him (clocked him right in the jaw, sent him flying into a wall) and not feel bad for it, Jamal did admit that he was just happy to know I was safe and healthy. And he seem to adore his nephew, even when he spat up milk on him (which I found HILARIOUS). As Jamal played with Bakari, Talbott pulled me aside into my bedroom.

"Why," Talbott quietly asked. I bit my lip as I look into those hurt eyes.

"It's better this way," I whispered. Talbott glared at me, not liking that answer.

"Better this way? For who," he snapped, his eyes growing misty with tears. I remained silent, looking at a nearby wall.

"Judith, look at me." I stubbornly ignored him, which he didn't like at all. A low growl escaped the back of his throat as he firmly grasped my chin so I look into those beautiful red eyes I fell in love with.

"Judith, answer me!" I clenched my eyes shut and roughly shoved him back.

"For you, okay! This is better for you," I hissed. Hot tears burned my eyes, clouding my vision of Talbott's shocked expression. I walked to the dresser, not wanting him to see me cry.

"I did this for you, Talbott. Okay? You already have so much going for you. You're one of the top students at school. You have dreams... goals... a future... I had to face the possibility of being expelled like my brother ever since I even came to Hogwarts when I wanted to keep my head down. I practically scream 'DANGER'. You were right to be weary of me from the beginning. Being around me would only bring you trouble, worry and pain... To suddenly trap you with a baby because I was stupid enough not to take my potions? That's unfair to you. You deserve better than that... than me..." I choked on a sob as my body shook from the force of my sadness. I never heard Talbott come up from behind me.

I gasped when I was swiftly grabbed and turned around by my waist. I didn't have time to breathe when a pair of lips claimed my own. I felt my heart thundering in my chest as I stared at Talbott who picked me up by the back of my thighs and placed me on the dresser. His lips were demanding and harsh as they moved against my soft, vulnerable ones, bruising them slightly. He ended the short but intense kiss, staring down at me.

"Let me decide what good for me..."

After that, Jamal stayed a few days to relish in our dad's homeland before leaving. He made a promise to visit soon and left Talbott a warning to take good care of me. Yes, Talbott ended up staying here in Barbados. He told me he had a personal talk with Dumbledore that he was leaving Hogwarts to stay here to be with me and our son.

That was over 6 months ago. And to this day, I still feel guilty.

I felt like an obligation, a responsibility that he had to take care of.

And I have a hard time forgiving myself for doing this to him...

Living together has been much harder than I think either of us expected. It was hard for me to find comfort in his arms like I used to without the guilt threatening to eat me alive. I constantly kept him at arms length, which he didn't like at all. Talbott gotten used to touching me in some way during our time at Hogwarts. In public, it would be us holding hands or and causal touch. In private, he liked to hold me a lot. His favorite way of greeting me was a hug from behind. This sudden cut off seemed to trigger him a little and become slightly clinger, especially in his sleep. And this wasn't technically easier for me either, I find it harder to stay away whenever he gets close.

Doesn't help with me being insecure about myself either. I literally gave birth roughly 9 months ago and it bloody shows. My hips ended up growing a few inches and the baby fat seem to cling onto me. Around my thighs, butt and stomach. The fact I breastfeed Bakari as made my chest full with milk and giving me all types of back issues. And let's not forget my new stretch marks around the areas I gained the most weight. I didn't care what I looked like before Talbott showed up, but with him here and knowing how he likes physical touch made me embarrassed and guilty all over again. I'm the mother of his child at 17. Not a happy reminder.

Then there were the arguments. Talbott wanted to talk about my time before Brooke and I left Hogwarts and I remained tight lipped about it. He knows talking about my feelings is one of the major things I was bad at. I find myself snapping at him to leave it be, telling him that he was a hypocrite on wanting his own privacy when he can't seem to respect my own. I knew my anger was misplaced but I found it difficult to apologize. I found myself in a neverending hole of guilt.

I want to apologize.

To talk to him.

To cry in front him.

To hold him.

To be held by him.

To kiss him.

To surrender my scarred heart to him.

To love him.

Deeply.

Dearly.

Fiercely.

To the point, it was borderline terrifying.

But I can't allow myself that form of vulnerability. I was scared. Scared that he'll finally open his eyes and realize everything. That this was all a mistake. That he should've never left Hogwarts.

That he should've never met me.

If he were to suddenly were to up and leave one day, I wouldn't be mad. I would forgive him within a heartbeat.

But forgetting him, however...

Underneath it all,

I'm held captive by the hole inside...

I've been holding back,

For the fear that you might change your mind...

I'm ready to forgive you,

But forgetting is a harder fight...

Little do you know,

I need a little more time...

I sighed after Bakari finally latched off. I checked the time and chuckled. Nearly 40 minutes...

'Hungry little tike...' I mused as I readjusted my bra and robe. Grabbing a small cloth, I throw it over my shoulder and placed Bakari on my shoulder. Patting his back so he burp up any gas lingering in his little tummy. After a few minutes, I heard a few tiny burps and a yawn. I chuckled and cradled him in arms.

"Nice and full, huh," I asked. A little gurgle was my answer. I let out another soft chuckle before softly singing the song my father taught me. Bakari seems to sleep better whenever I sing to him, which reminds me of his father. I watched his droopy eyes slowly flutter close before falling asleep. Slowly, I rose from the rocking chair and placed him back into his crib. I gently brushed some of his hair from his forehead.

"Goodnight my little prince. Mama loves you," I whispered. I quietly left the room and paused. I wasn't fully ready to go back to bed...

Instead my feet lead me to the patio.

----------------------------

(Talbott Winger)

I'll wait... I'll wait,

I love you like you've never felt the pain, I'll wait...

I promise you don't have to feel afraid,

I'll wait...

The love you see right here stays,

So lay your head on me...

I turned what felt like the umpteenth time. I open my eyes to look at the empty side next me. The spot was faint from her warmth. A warmth I missed dearly...

I've been in the weird limbo of heaven and hell ever since I found about Judith... and our son.

I can't express what kind of gift that she has brought to my life. I understood what kind of trouble I could be tangled with associating myself with her. But there was no escaping the Cursed Children of Hogwarts.

Or Cupid's arrow for that matter...

I haven't loved anyone else outside my family, who were long gone. But it wasn't until I started getting closer to the girl with mystical gold eyes that I felt a different kind of love.

Something more intimate.

Intense.

Sweet.

Terrifying.

I never thought I would have a crush, given how anti-social I am. Nor did I expect said crush to return those feelings, given the way I am. But life has a funny way of proving you wrong. I never thought I would even be in a relationship. I was so against becoming attached to anyone in fear of losing them. But the more I spend time with her, the harder I found it to stay away.

To the point I gave up trying.

Everything about her was captivating. I found myself loving every part of her, even the parts of her that she struggled to love herself. From her scars down to her cute kitten like sneeze.

I love her and wanted her to know that. Even though I was more so reserved, I still would try to express my feelings towards her. Because I know that she has her moments where she holds back from me. I wanted give her the same love she gave me.

A love where it feels like she was never left alone...

A love where it feels like she's never been in pain...

A love that tells her that I'll wait for her until she's ready...

Little do you know,

I know you're hurt while I'm sound asleep...

Little do you know,

All my mistakes are slowly drowning me,

Little do you know,

I'm trying to make it better, piece by piece...

Little do you know,

I, I love you till the sun dies...

Sighing softly, I got out of bed and slipped on some pajama shorts. Glancing over to my side of the bed, I slipped on the ring Judith gave to me on Valentine's Day before heading over to the nursery.

Quietly I opened the door and frowned to see no signs of the girl. I crept inside and made my way over to the crib. I smiled at the sleeping babe.

When Dumbledore told me that Judith was pregnant with my child, I was completely speechless.

"Professor Dumbledore, what did Hagrid mean by 'I hope her son is more like me rather than Jamal?'," I asked when we were inside the Headmaster's office. Jamal had yet to say a word ever since then, possessing a far way look in his gold eyes.

'The same eyes as Judith...' I mused quietly to myself, fiddling with the ring around my finger. I missed the girl dearly. I was hurt and heartbroken when I read the girl's letter. She's all I have, she should knew that anywhere she would go, I'll follow. No questions asked.

The old wizard sighed, bringing me back from my thoughts.

"I'm sure you already have a decent guess by what Hagrid means by that, Mr. Winger. But I'll explain. Before Miss Brown and Miss Harris disappeared, Miss Harris has been feeling ill for awhile. She went to report this to Madam Pomfrey, who had her suspicions but had to run a test to be sure. The test came out to be positive... Miss Harris was pregnant..." I felt everything stop for a few moments. Judith was pregnant...

With my baby?

"WHAT?! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT SHE NOT ONLY DISAPPEARED BUT SHE'S PREGNANT?!" I almost forgot Jamal was even here. Dumbledore let out another sigh.

"Yes, Mr. Harris. Your sister was indeed pregnant... with Mr. Winger's child." Sharp gold eyes glared at me, fury dancing in them.

"You were the one who deflowered my baby sister?! I outta-"

"Enough."  The short command from Dumbledore force the hotheaded wizard to back down.

"I understand you're deeply worried about her, Mr. Harris but hurting the father of her child is not going to bring her back," the Headmaster advised. The young man grumbled under his breath, sparing me a side eye. I resisted the urge to roll my own. Granted, this isn't the greatest first impression I wanted to give when first meeting Judith's family but from what I can understand so far, she doesn't have the greatest relationships with them. At least with the ones who are still alive.

"How come she couldn't just stay with our mother," Jamal asked. I was rather curious about that too. Judith rarely spoke of her mother. Maybe a memory with her and her brother but not much else...

"Your mother, Jamal, disowned her." We both froze. What...?

"D-d-disown?! Our mother wouldn't-"

"She would and she did," Dumbledore stated coldly. I felt my chest ache. So Judith really did have hardly anyone left...

And part of that is my fault...

"Do you know where she is," I asked. Dumbledore sighed and shook his head.

"I... I think I do..." I swiftly turned to Jamal, eager to find her.

"It's a long shot that she'll be there," he warned. I stared him dead the eye.

"I'll take whatever chance there is." Jamal seemed pleased with this answer, saying we'll leave by sunrise before exiting the room. I turned to Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore, there something I wish to talk to you about before I go..."

I pulled out of the memory thanks to my son's sneeze. I chuckled, playing with tuft of hair the resembled my own.

"Bless you, little one," I said softly. The little boy yawned before settling again. Never would I thought to have a child so soon...

But I love the boy just like I love his mother. Sparing one last glance at the sleeping babe, I left his room. If she's not in Bakari's room, then she must be in the patio out back...

With that destination in mind, I made my way start to the sliding door that led to the backyard of Judith's grandmother's old home. Sure enough, I saw her form leaning against the gate lead out into the backyard. Stepping outside, I came up behind her. I didn't hesitate to wrap my arms around the young woman, pulling her against me. I nuzzled her hair, taking in the sweet scent. Judith wriggled in my arms.

"Talbott-"

"Judith, please. Stop running from me," I whispered, tightening my hold on the young woman. I pulled her with me to the small couch that was there. I sat down, pulling her into my lap. Brushing her hair to the side, I nuzzled the soft skin of her neck while squeezing her close.

Whenever I do get the chance to hold or touch her, I couldn't help to notice her post pregnancy body. Her hips did grew a few inches and she gained more weight in the lower half of her body and in her stomach. I find that my hands tend to gravitate to those areas more, enjoying the softness of her skin and curves. The biggest give away would be the stretch marks on her belly...

"Talbott, must you really touch me there," she whined, swatting my hands again from her stomach. Part of me wanted to pout. I was deprived of her love and affection for months since she disappeared. I was robbed of one of my greatest comforts in this cold world. I'm tired of being denied.

"What's wrong with me touching you? You never complained before," I challenged with a glare. She returned it but her blush ruined any chances of her looking intimidating.

"Well I do now. Not when I look like this..." I frowned.

"Like you were pregnant?" Her blush grew worse as I leaned in and started kissing her cheek.

"Like you were pregnant with my child?" I purred in her ear. I'm not above admitting that I had a possessive streak when it came to her. She is a very lovely woman, any man would be lucky to have her and gain her affections. I was jealous of Andre at first, seeing how much time they spend together and how they went to the Celestial Ball when I chose not to go. Andre liked her more as a friend and part of me thought she saw him the same way. Hearing her admit that she never saw him that way and she only had eyes for me eased that jealousy.

She owned my heart, and always will. She was mine just as much I was hers. Knowing that she carried and delivered my child, watching her take care of him stroked the possessive side of me. She was the perfect mother for our son...

"Talbott..." the soft gasp interrupted my train of the thought. I seem to move without thinking as I found myself kissing on her neck. I pulled away to look at her. Her sweet face was flushed, her gold eyes reflecting her hesitation and uncertainty. I sighed, reigning my desire for the young woman in my lap.

"Judith... we really need to talk... I miss you so much, little bird," I whispered against her neck. I felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"You..." she trailed off. I pulled away, just enough to look into her gold eyes.

"Judith, I know you feel guilty about everything that led us to this point. But please listen and understand that I feel the same way. I ended up getting you pregnant with Bakari, which led to your own mother disowning you. When you already barely had anyone to lean on. I should've noticed something sooner, so you wouldn't have to suffer alone. Where you didn't have to feel like you were alone. I love you and want to be with you... always," I said. Tears brimmed in those pretty eyes of hers.

I'll wait, just wait,

I love you like I've never felt the pain, just wait...

I love you like I've never been afraid, just wait,

Our love we see right here stays, so lay your head on me...

"Oh Talbott... I'm so sorry," she whimpered. I hugged her tight, tucking her head underneath my chin. I quietly shushed her as she cried, running one of my hands through her long strands.

"I never wanted you to believe that this was your fault. I didn't want to trouble you further. Even when you got here. Parenthood isn't easy as I come to learn and I didn't want to burden you with a child. I love you too much to do that to you. So when you came and said you were staying, I hated myself. I felt like I made you walk away from a potential future that'll bring some good in the world. Like you had to come and be with me because of Bakari. I was scared... hell I'm still am. That'll you'll one day wake up and realize being with me is a massive mistake," Judith whispered. I felt my chest tighten as she aired out her grievances. I've learned that she doesn't like speaking about her feelings or emotions, why I can never stay mad at her when she snaps at me. I'll be frustrated, yes, but I can never stay mad.

"Darling, look at me..." I felt her flinch, but she came out of her little hiding spot. I noticed the little tear streaks on her cheeks.

"I could never look at our relationship as a mistake. Ever since I lost my parents, I thought I'll never experience another good thing in life again. I thought that for a long time...until I met you. You gave me one of the biggest blessings I've ever had in my life. Someone to love. Someone to trust. Someone to rely on. Someone to look out for and take care of. You gave me you. Everything about you is beautiful to me. And I love you despite everything that you've been through. I would never want to leave you. Anywhere you go, I would follow. We don't have to be alone anymore. Please let me back into your heart, little bird. I miss you... I miss us. You can depend on me," I pleaded with her. I wanted her to hear me, really hear me. Her eyes were still misty with tears but a small smile tugged on her lips.

"Oh Talbott... I miss us too. And... thank you... for being patient with me. I know I didn't make it easy for you... I love you," she whispered, our eyes locking. I smiled.

"I love you too, darling," I said, pecking her lips. I felt her purse her lips against my own before I pulled away. She pouted and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Talbott..." I shivered at the sound of her voice. Low with a husky edge. I squeezed her closer, leaning in again. Our lips met for another kiss and I was pleased when the young woman kissed me back. The kiss was slow but spoke of an underlying desire for each other. I felt one of her hands tangle in my hair, it's twin slipping under my white tank top. I groaned against her soft mouth. My arms snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against me. She let out a soft hum at my unspoken need to have her as close as possible. The kiss ended with a soft smack.

Her gold eyes held a seductive spark, threatening to set me ablaze from the inside out. Without another word, I picked up her bridal style and heading back inside. Reaching the bedroom, I carefully laid her down against the mattress. My hands found the curve of her hips while my lips reacquainted themselves with the sensitive skin of her neck.

"You sure you want to do this," I mumbled against her neck. Judith's body shivered as my cool breath ghosted over her warm skin.

"I'm positive, Talbott... please, make love to me..." was her soft plea. I pulled away from her neck to look into that angelic face.

"I'm right here, darling. I'll give you what you need," I said softly before capturing those sweet lips in another kiss. Judith's arms wrapped around my neck as she leaned back, pulling me on top her soft body. Her thighs cradling my hips, pulling me even closer. I shuddered when I felt her bite my lower lip, tugging on the flesh teasingly.

Fuck.

My impatient hands found the sash of her robe, undoing the knot and slipping the silk material from her body. I broke the kiss, my eyes drank in the sight of her. Every dip, every curve, every scar, every mark.

Beautiful. Every bloody inch of her. Just beautiful.

And all mine.

I took my time making good on those two claims.

I took my time to worship her. Caressing her soft skin, leaving loving kisses in places she felt the most insecure, whispering soft words of adoration and praise into her skin, tracing every mark with loving attention...

But that didn't mean I held back my desire. Sucking love bites into delicate skin of her neck, lower stomach and inner thighs, taking my time in removing what's left of her underwear, teasing her sweet spots and listening to her needy little moans for more, and my favorite: making her fall apart under my teasing mouth and tongue. Judith was a woman who prefers to keep herself and emotions in check. Watching with red hooded eyes as she wriggles and squirms against the sheets, biting her kiss swollen lip to keep her from vocalizing her evident pleasure, and finally locking eyes with me as she rocks her hips against my lips before coming undone.

Her sweet cry of my name is one of most beautiful sounds I've ever heard. I left a lingering kiss on the little gem in between her legs before pulling myself up to kiss her. Despite her slightly spent state, she tugged down my pajama pants and boxers in one go. I chuckled at her eagerness.

That didn't last long when she set out to give me the same treatment. I felt my sanity slip inch by inch with every sensation on my body. Especially when I felt her lips wrap around me. Soft grunts and moans escaped my throat as she worked me just right. I had to push her off me, not wanting to finish so soon.

She understood and allowed me to lay her back, settling in between her thighs. She whimpered as I gently pushed in. Leaving kisses on her face, I continued until I bottomed out. Gods, nothing can compare to being connected with her on this intimate level...

After a few moments, she nodded her okay for me to continue. Rocking my hips against her, I slowly moved in and out. Her mouth fell open, letting out soft gasps and little moans. Her voice was hush, as if she was whispering a prayer.

Softly she urged me to give her more, squeezing my hips with her thighs. I groaned against her shoulder and rocked harder against her, still keeping the tempo slow. She moaned her approval, moving against me. I bit my lip, eyes rolling at the feeling of her squeezing around me.

Seconds later, I found myself on my back. Judith stared down me with heated eyes as she rolled her hips in circle. I cursed beneath my breath, setting my hands on her hips to encourage her to do it again. And she didn't disappoint.

The room was filled with sounds of our moans, quiet confessions of love and the creaking of her bed. I felt a pressure slowly begin to begin more and more as she rode me.

I tried to pull her off, warning her that I was close. But Judith grabbed my hands and pinned them to the sides of my head. She lowered herself until our faces were inches apart. Her gold eyes bright with desire and love. She lowered her mouth close to my ear, whispering to fill her and mark her as mine. Pleading in my ear, begging me to let go with her. She drew a shape I couldn't remember and I lost it. With her name on my lips in a heated gasp, I gripped her hands tightly as I grind up against her. Judith moaned my name in delight, pulling me into a sweet kiss.

Coming down from our high, the young woman crawled off me to snuggle against my chest. I ran a hand up and down her back as she rested her head over my heart.

"I love you, Talbott," she whispered in the dark. I let out a chuckle.

"I love you too, Judith," I said back. I pulled her back up so I look at her face, admiring her lovely features.

"Talbott, as much as I love having you here with me, I still want you to finish your education and live out your dream," she told me with a serious expression. I frowned.

"I'm not leaving you, little bird," I grounded out, squeezing her close.

"But-" I pressed a kiss on her lips, silencing her.

"I refuse to be without you again, Judith. I'd be damned..." Judith gazed up at me with a flushed face before sighing.

"I'm not gonna like this... but I'm willing to compromise," she offered. I rose a brow at her, waiting for her to continue.

"If you agree to go back to Hogwarts, I'll come back to Britain with you. But I'm not going back to the castle," she proposed. I thought about this for a few moments. It's been a few months but I'm sure I'll be able to catch up with everyone else and still graduate on time. And Judith will be with me...

"If we go back, I'll be keeping you up to date with your studies. Just because you're not in Hogwarts, doesn't mean you can't get a form of an education," I inserted. The girl groaned.

"Ughh, fine," she relented. I chuckled and kissed her forehead.

"We can work out more details in the morning, darling," I said as she let out a little yawn.

"Mmm... alright. Goodnight, Talbott. Thank you and I love you," she mumbled.

"I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth, little bird. Goodnight, and I love you too..."

[rocketfool]

fawks - 62, 64, 52, 40, 15 | kass - 8, 16, 36, 42, 66 "rainy that's ten questions" "yes :)"

putting these behind a read more to spare people who are not interested in all of this because whoops it got long! 

FAWKS

62. Who does your character think is the most put together in the party?

THIS DEPENDS ON THE PARTY. of the main party, it’s definitely pierce. like sure he has some anxiety but he has not put goo in his mouth unprompted. so that pulls him ahead of fyn, who would be the second choice. of the surface party...probably valytra! like sure she collects souls in her necklace but she seems Polite and like she was a Pleasure to Have in Class, plus you have to have your shit together to be a spy (theoretically). kidar is...put together in that she’s extremely confident in who she is and assured of her own place in the world, but not the typical standard for “put together,” and fyn has put goo in her mouth, so. valytra wins. 

64. What is one thing they want each party member to know?

I’m going to do main party, and out of character! 

pierce: you’re so much braver and more heroic than you give yourself credit for. you deserve your place here just as much as anyone, and have personally inspired me to be a better person. but stop side eying me about scully I am WORKING on having a realization about this!! I’ll get there maybe!

jolene: we both put up such aggressive fronts to hide our vulnerabilities, but I’m discovering it is actually helpful to let people in and care for them, even if it makes you feel exposed. I hope you’re also coming to that realization and maybe one day (IN THE VERY DISTANT FUTURE) we’ll be more honest in our own friendship but for now lmao what is going on with blacksmith girl huh. I would like an update.

fyn: you’re the most optimistic and good-hearted person I know, and I hope you can see what an effect you have on the party. I’m very glad I’ve had you at my side for pursuing the black dragon wyrmspeaker, because I don’t know how I would’ve done it alone. also please stop putting goo in your mouth, we have enough money for quiche and lavender lemonade PLEASE. 

52. If your character was under quarantine, what type of quarantine person would they be? (Productive? Hobbyist? Lazy?)

oh my god fawks in quarantine is off the rails immediately, she cannot be left unsupervised. I think she starts her own youtube channel that people LEGITIMATELY think is supposed to be like a ~found footage narrative fiction channel or other creative project but...it’s never been stated to be and she just keeps appearing in videos to talk very urgently about cryptids and show everyone how she’s converted her kitchen to include a PROPER, homemade fumigation hood. so it’s very unclear. on that note, the vlog probably comes to an end bc she either 1) blows up her kitchen with her own experiments because it is NOT a lab, or 2) breaks into someplace she shouldn’t be and isn’t caught but then uploads the footage to ye olde youtube and it’s like...okay so this is you running around fantasy area 51 right? knock it off. 

40. Describe a corruption/redemption arc version of your character.

OKAY corruption arc fawks...like we all know fawks is very, very motivated by ~discovery and has a black and white way of thinking, she’s always poised on a precipice of discovering one powerful magic artifact that makes her risk it all LOL. she’s doing some character development in that area but I think there some very clear seeds of a corruption arc there--her connection to people (such as the party) is what keeps her on the...generally okay if not exactly the Right Path, so I think something awful befalling the party/people she loves where they are all killed would push her firmly into the dark side. I can see her getting lost in pursuing a way to “undo” whatever happened with time travel magic (wow like a certain tower we encountered) instead of reconciling it, and being willing to do whatever it takes to get her way. would prioritize herself and her mission above everything and everyone else, even if it threatens to rip the universe apart or results in killing people because she knows once she discovers this magic it will set things right, not just for her but its uses for the world at large...yeah it’d be bad. :/

REDEMPTION ARC is kind of what she’s on now. she’s discovering she has worth outside of what she produces for science/magic/etc! she’s figuring out she can open up to people and ask for help sometimes! she’s putting things right for her family! things are slowly coming up fawks...maybe.

15. Describe their ideal date. 

OH BOY. fawks is not really uh...into traditional expressions of romance. like she’ll make an effort for the right person but her preference is never going to be a fancy dinner and candlelight. honestly I think the ideal date would start off in the late evening (AFTER A LONG DAY OF SCIENCE), going to a museum of curiosities or for cryptids/the arcane, where she’s allowed to really go in deep with her date on the history of various items/the theories behind everything and listen eagerly to what her date has to say too (in any world where fawks is dating, that person has to have Opinions on this type of thing). they’d stay until close and then head to a food truck to grab something to go while fawks leads the date to a rooftop of an abandoned building she likely discovered cryptid hunting but realized has an amazing view. they’d sit out under the stars and eat together, chatting inevitably about how fawks found the building, maybe do some exploring of it together. and then they head to a 24 hour diner for milkshakes as dessert! 

KASS

8. What is something they cannot resist?

OOOH this is fun because there are a lot of ways to interpret the question. I think kass can never resist a bustling marketplace in whatever city he ends up in--he loves travel and finding out about the local culture, is always curious to see what’s for sale and what the gossip is about town from the merchants he meets there. he spent a lot of time in marketplaces growing up so they’re nostalgic for him--he also loves purchasing trinkets from them anytime he lands somewhere new, particularly if those trinkets are fancy scarves/boots/etc. foodwise, he’s a sucker for baklava and good red wine--he enjoys wine shops/bars over taverns because he’s bougie lmao. oh and if dancing is happening and he’s not the one playing the music, kass is involving himself as is his right as a bard. he can’t resist a good opportunity dance when he has the chance!

16. What keeps them going?

OH BOY a good question. I think kass is a realist in a lot of ways, but has held onto some amount of idealism. he keeps moving forward with the idea that he’s in a losing situation right now, but he’s patient enough to watch and see what way the winds will blow. he justifies his work with the understanding that he has a certain moral code for his behavior when he can make choices, versus when his hands are tied by the zhents. always is keeping one eye out for an opportunity to slip out of those binds completely. 

36. What makes them blush?

HMMMM I don’t think kass gets too worked up over flirting--sometimes it’s literally just part of his job, and in general he’s just confident in himself. and listen he’s been in plenty of seedy taverns and courts rifled with intrigue, so not a lot makes kass bat an eyelash at this point. the things that would make him blush would probably be genuine romantic gestures? he doesn’t have a lot of experience with them so someone doing something very sweet and thoughtful for him would catch him completely off guard. like even getting flowers from the right person, kass is just not used to that type of attention! 

42. Is there something your character isn’t very good at, but enjoys doing nonetheless?

kass would LOVE crossword puzzles I think. he’s been doing them since he was a kid and could filch a newspaper every once in a while, but he’s not super good at them. just enjoys having something to sit back and focus on while drinking his coffee in the mornings. I also don’t think he’s very good at cooking, but he enjoys trying out new recipes!

66. Outward Passion or Quiet Rebellion?

this is hard because I think kass feels pulled between the two very frequently. I think he’d much prefer outward passion, throwing himself heart first into a cause, but he definitely is more likely to commit quiet rebellion and does so frequently. like what the zhents don’t know won’t hurt...him. again, where he has the ability to, kass follows his own heart so he’s willing to work quietly to do some good. but he’d much prefer to be bolder, in the grand scheme of things. 

[25centsoda]

Flash Fiction p2

9-2-20 9:28am

To be frank

To be frank, I could not possibly begin to tell you how I got into this situation: 18, homeless, running from a big group of people in Guy Fawks masks like they’re 18th-century villagers and I’m some kind of horror story monster.

I’m, not, really, but I suppose the massive bat wings could be kind of misleading.

I’d say, “It’s a long story,” but that would be a lie. Honestly, I just managed to spill something on myself when I was visiting the science lab over the weekend. The bat wings followed shortly after, in a haze of fever and painful muscle spasms as my body reformed to add their hulking mass. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I stepped out of the apartment I’d been squatting in and set out to see a friend, see if they had any ideas. I hadn’t even gotten two blocks down when these people came around the corner and shouted “There she is!” and I started running.

They chased after, even in their masks, cloaks flapping in the air. Who even wears cloaks in the 21st century, much less as a group?! They must be some kind of cult.

I ducked into an alleyway, panting, hoping for a moment to catch my breath. These people looked so comical, hopefully they would act like it too and just run straight past without seeing me.

Alas, no such luck.

“Stop!” the one at the front shouted, pointing at me dramatically. I almost rolled my eyes. “Stop right there!”

“Dude, I’m not going anywhere!” I said, my wings slightly flaring, angrily. Dang. I didn’t know I could move them.

The Guy Fawks who had shouted gestured to one of their friends, who pulled something out of their cloak that looked suspiciously like a dart gun. Oh, hell no. I refuse to be taken down like an animal. If I can move these wings, then maybe…

I flared them on purpose, sweeping the air to test out how much range of motion I had. Moving an arm is instinctual, but these new limbs of mine needed a little more focus. The cloaked group backed up a little, giving me more space. I beat my wings again, harder this time, and managed to get a little liftoff. Straining, I managed to get into the air properly, albeit only a few feet. Not willing to wait to see if they’d let me take off like this, I used my new height to grab onto the fire escape on the side of the alleyway and pulled myself out of there on the metal, half scaling the wall and half flying. I heard their cloaks rustling beneath me but I didn’t dare look down and lose my focus.

I got to the top of the alley and heaved myself up onto the roof, peeking over just enough to see what they’d done. Immediately I had to jerk back to avoid a dart shot at me by the one with the dart gun. It just barely missed me, the force of it moving through the air rustling my hair.

“Hey, you could’ve killed me! That would’ve hit me in the face, dumbasses!” I shouted down from my safer position.

“That potion should’ve killed you!” someone shouted back up at me.

“Well, it didn’t! Can you not finish the job!” I returned.

Hushed debating floated up to me and I sighed, laying on my stomach and folding my arms, setting my head on top of them to wait.

“Hey what if we said we’d fix it?”

“Can you even do that?” I asked, not moving.

There was more hushed debate, then someone said, “Probably?” I snorted. That wasn’t reassuring, but these stupid wings would make my apartment-hunting more difficult than it already was.

“Alright, I’m coming down, but y’all gotta put that stupid dart gun away, this isn’t some sci-fi action flick.” I said, sitting up.

I peeked over the edge again, ready to spring back should they try to shoot me, but all I saw was a mass of cloaks and masks staring up at me. I jumped down, wings held out for maximum air resistance, and succeeded in not breaking a leg in the landing. One of the cloaked figures from the middle of the group, noticeably shorter than the others, silently offered me a cloak of my own. Another held out a mask. I draped the cloak over my wings, surprisingly hiding them pretty effectively, and affixed the mask to my head. Despite the fact that it was a Guy Fawks mask, I felt more like a plague doctor. 

Or just someone with wings wearing a cloak and stuffy plastic over her face.

Without another word, the whole group turned as one and started walking out of the alleyway. I followed, just another figure in the mass.

9:50am

Wordcount: 808

[birdy-rps]

The camera shifts slightly ad her face comes into view. Checking the settings one more time she smiles and waves to the camera,

"Hi! Today we are going to go through the various creatures I own and how I got them! Now, while I own an aviary, many of the birds just visit momentarily and then return home either to their owner or they are relocated to a proper habitat after rehabilitation. I own around 9 different birds, 2 different reptiles, one amphibian, one arachnid and 5 mammals."

She turns the camera around, showing her walking to a door. The door opens to reveal what appears to be a animal paradise, different glass domes showcasing brilliant fauna from different ecosystems. The first dome she walks into appears to be a north American forest, and the camera shows her sliding a thick leather glove onto her hand.

"First up, let's meet Arthur. Arthur is a Male great horned owl, who used to be a pet until his owners got tired of him. Instead of bringing him straight to a place like mine, they just let him out into the wild, leaving him defenseless and vulnerable to predators. He had no idea how to hunt for himself and hardly flew around unless he wanted to perch."

She makes a whistle noise and theres a barely there sound of flapping as a large owl swoops from the trees and lands on her gloved hand. The owl settles himself and preens lightly under the view of the camera.

"He was given to me by someone who found him practically starving to death out in the woods. I taught him how to fly and how to hunt by using treats whenever he did it well, but since he had been a pet most his life he refuses to leave and thus cannot be rehabilitated. He's very friendly and behaves well around all age groups so he is one of my best models for photographs when I go to teach kids about animals"

Raising her hand and making another whistle noise, Arthur flies off into the trees. Moving to another patch of trees, She reaches into a bag at her side and pulls out a small piece of raw cubed beef, clutching it between her thumb and index within the large glove. She makes a high pitched scree noise and a more noticable flapping noise is heard from directly in front. A gyrfalcon swoops down and lands on her hand, quickly gobbling down the beef.

"This is Fawkes, my gyrfalcon. Hes about 8 years old, and came to me about a year and a half ago, suffering from an injured foot. He was given to me by a retired falconer and very quickly got used to being pampered because of his injury and prefers to stay in the aviary where he can stretch his wings whenever he pleases but still get attention."

Raising her hand like she did with Arthur, Fawkes flies off into the trees. Taking the large glove off, she flips the camera to face her again,

"Those were my north American birds, now on to my tropical species"

There's a jump cut and now Sarah is shown standing in an area of lush fauna, two different species of macaws on her shoulders. The one on her left shoulder is a scarlet macaw, the one on the right is a hyacinth macaw. Adjusting the microphone on the small headset, she introduces the pair,

"This is Bow, the scarlet macaw, and Beck, the hyacinth macaw. Both are around the same age, about 4 years old, and I got both from a rescue program after their habitats were destroyed due to logging companies. Both are very friendly and will attempt to take any buttons you happen to have on you, hence why I'm wearing a regular T shirt without buttons on it. They hang out here in the tropical dome with each other and anyone who happens to stop by, so they're never lonely"

The camera now shows her sitting on a low branch next to a toco toucan, the bird walking back and forth along the branch.

"This is Tulio, the toco toucan. He has been with me ever since he was a hatchling, his species being a very popular pet. He was the runt and was gifted to me by a very reliable avian breeder. He's very friendly and loves to eat fruit, and I often let those who pose with Tulio feed him a berry or two as a treat for good behavior."

Another jump cut and now she is standing holding a greater bird of paradise, the bird preening his feathers as he perched on her arm.

"This is Tico, the greater bird of paradise. He is about 3 years old, and loves being in the spotlight. I got him after he was injured in his habitat by some logging crew after he refused to leave. Since being brought to me, he has recovered fully but now thinks I am his mate and consistently performs a display to hopefully get me to accept his proposal."

She visibly sweatdrops as she mentions this before the scene changes to her opening the door to another dome, this one lacking very many trees and instead having tall Savannah grass. As soon as she closes the door, a pair of wings can be heard getting closer, and the moment she turns around, a large African crowned crane is standing in front of her.

"Oh! Hello Majesty, heheh. This is Majesty, my African crowned crane. She was gifted to me by a local zoo after she got involved in a pretty bad spat between her and another of their female cranes. She enjoys attention and pretty much demands the focus be on her at all times, and there has been one or two incidents of her pecking at someone who didnt give her the attention she wanted. Because of this, I rarely have her pose for photos, although she loves having her picture taken."

The scene cuts and now she has the camera pointed to a secretary bird, standing tall with his head feathers moving in the slight breeze. He steps toward the camera and pecks at it before Sarah moves the camera away, laughing softly,

"This is Jaques, my Male secretary bird. He has a habit of pecking at anything he can get his beak on, Haha. Despite that though, hes much more behaved than Majesty and thus I have more pictures of him. He tends to stand on people's shoulders if I have them crouch next to him. He was also given to me by a zoo as they needed more space for different animals they had received and had no where to put him. He enjoys being scratched under the beak and that's usually what he's asking for if he shoves his head in your hand."

The camera cuts again to show Sarah holding a large bearded vulture on her arm. He has bright orange pigment in his feathers.

"This is Steve, my bearded vulture, or lammergeier. Their diet is primarily bones, and they put pigment in their feathers to make them more intimidating. Steve prefers to be left alone and thus keeps to himself when I'm not around. I've had him for about 3 years now, after being injured by a trap someone had set. These fierce birds are captured and poisoned in acts of illegal persecution, and seldom make it out before the person who trapped them comes back to check their traps. And that's all of my personal avians!"

The view changes to being inside a fairly spacious room with terrariums lining the walls. She walks over to the closest one, opening it to show an African fat tailed gecko, carefully reaching her hand inside for the small reptile to crawl into her hand.

"This is Kiwi, my African fat tailed gecko. She's very friendly and her favorite place to sit is on people shoulders or head so she can get a good look around. Kiwi is an oreo morph, one of the rarer ones as this morph type is recessive. She likes to lick things and it feels very ticklish when she does, heheh. I've had her for about 2 years, and I got her for my birthday."

Placing Kiwi back into her tank, she moved down to another one, opening it and carefully removing a piebald python. The snake immediately slithered itself up to rest around her neck, causing Sarah to flip the camera view.

"This is Cookie, my piebald ball python, shes about 3 years old and was probably the best Christmas present I ever received! She enjoys curling around people's necks and she's extremely photogenic, she poses in just about every picture I've ever taken of her. And given how comfortable she is around my neck right now, I think itd be best if she stays there for the rest of the video."

There's a cut and the camera focuses on a black salamander with yellow spots, leisurely resting in a small pool of water.

"This is Mino, my black and yellow spotted salamander. I got him from my college professor who told me she couldnt take care of him anymore because of her new apartment having a strict no pets policy. He prefers to stay in his tank and it's best to not handle him because the oils from human hands could hurt him very badly. So most of the photos I have of him are of him in his tank."

The scene changes to show a large tarantula crawling on her hand. Sarah whispers softly into the microphone to avoid startling the arachnid,

"This is Luna, my rose haired tarantula. She is one of my oldest pets, being 13 years old. I've had her since I was in highschool and she's been with me through pretty much everything. She's very docile and is very okay with being handled but since she's so special to me I only let her take pictures with those I know personally."

Coming up to the last few minutes of the video, the camera shows two ferrets, a cat, and two dogs, playing next to a couch. Of the two ferrets, one is a dark eyed solid white and the other has a standard sable coat, and they seem to be playfully fighting over a toilet paper tube. The cat is a ragdoll and is leisurely resting in a patch of sun coming from the window. The smallest of. the two dogs is a pomsky, the larger being a albernese mountain dog.

"To end my video, I'm going to introduce you all to my five mammalian pets, Jinx and Greg the ferrets, Maria the ragdoll, Skye the pomsky and Kiba the albernese mountain dog. Out of the five, Maria is the oldest at 10 years old, Kiba coming in second at 5 years old. Jinx and Greg came from the same litter, both being 3 years old, Greg being the runt. And Skye is the youngest at 2 years old! I got all of them from reliable breeders and I cherish all of them dearly. And that concludes all my personal pets! Thank you for tuning in, see you next time!"

The video ends with a slideshow of various pictures of the animals with various people.

[tjroewrites]

The Flywheel

           Castiel x OC!Fallon Fawkes

           A/N: So, I have no idea what I’m doing. One shots aren’t typically my thing. But god bless @cass-trash for pushing me to be a better writer.

           Fallon Fawkes is my OC: a mechanic from a small town in Oregon who is pulled to the bunker for a *specific* reason. She’s loud, proud, and don’t take shit from nobody. Talks with a bit of a drawl. She’s teaching Cas how to work on her 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle ‘cause that’s the only way she can bond with someone: over well-lubed parts and a socket wrench. And when I say “bond” I mean that in the loosest way possible. This is part of a massive fic that’s still very much in the works. If you have any questions, shoot me a message or comment.

           Prompt: Choose an object of sentimental value, then let the story run it’s course.

           Warnings: If you've got a phobia of cars and engines, should probably steer clear of this one. Actually, should probably steer clear of my OC, then. Other than that, not much.

           Word count: 757. Lol.

          After nearly three hours of labor, they had finally removed the engine from the Chevelle’s front end. It looked far more different lying on the floor of the bunker’s garage: more complex, more pieces than he ever thought possible. Dozens of small screws and bolts lay around her in a circle as she pulled the engine apart piece by piece. She kept muttering about something she called a ‘flywheel.’ Cas had been watching her work on her vehicle for a few weeks now, but this surpassed anything he had ever seen. Her hands moved through the build with the grace and care similar to a painter perfecting her artistic work; her fingers moving skillfully through each part as if she were created specifically for this purpose. It was possible that she had been. But Cas knew better.

          They sat in silence for the better part of a half an hour. Neither of them minded. It was moments like this that Cas enjoyed most. No hunts, no monsters, no impending doom on the horizon. Just the smell of grease and rubber and a simple task at hand. The old cylinder that had been giving Fallon trouble finally released from its hold when his eyes drifted to the white bandana around her right wrist. He had never seen her remove it. He was unsure if she had ever removed it. All these months of knowing her and he never thought to ask.

          “Fallon?”

          “Hmm?”

          “Why do you wear that bandana around your arm?”

          The new flywheel she was in the middle of installing clattered to the cement beneath them. A grunt left her throat. “What?”

          “The white bandana. On your wrist.” He pointed to it. Her fingers flexed around the part. “I have never seen you remove it.”

          “It comes off ‘fore I hit the sack.” She muttered.

          “Have you always worn it?”

          Fallon was quiet for a moment. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. Or maybe she did not have an answer.

          “No.” It was a weak answer. Almost a whisper. “Wasn’t always mine.”

          “Who did it belong to?”

          Another pause. “My pa.”

          Fallon’s father. A man she seldom spoke about, but cared for nonetheless.

          “I’m-“

          “Kept it in the front pouch of his coveralls. Ever since I was a kid.” Fallon snorted and let the flywheel rest on the ground. “Claimed it was his ‘good luck charm.’ Hadn’t had a car roll out unsatisfied since he first found it.”

          Cas went to voice his empathy.

          “Swear, that man never washed it himself.” She didn’t let him finish. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard her talk for this long. “Shoulda seen it ‘fore I got it. Thing was practically black. But he always said washin’ it would kill its charm. And I believed it. ‘Til I walked in our garage and saw him on the floor-” Her voice broke.

          “Fallon- “

          “It was still in his damn pocket. Hangin’ out like his guts on the floor.” Her fingers tugged at the bandana as if she were re-living the horror. “Guess it’s luck ran out, huh?”

          “I’m sorry, Fallon.” Cas sighed. “I didn’t mean to drum up dark memories.”

          Her eyebrows were knitted so closely together they appeared to be one. She sniffed. “Part of me hoped he’d still be attached to the thing. Follow my ass around and haunt me til’ the day I finally kicked it.” Her laugh was toneless. Breathless. “Now I wear it jus’ ‘cause I’d feel naked without it.”

          “You honor his memory by keeping it.” Cas said. “In a way, you are allowing him to live through you. It is a symbol of respect toward your father.”

          “Well, it’s a damn good thing he can’t see me now.” She picked the flywheel off the ground and continued her task of attaching the part. “Pa’d roll in his grave if he knew what I’ve done.”

          “Your father would be proud.” He scooted closer to her. She avoided his gaze, studying the engine with more focus than she needed. “The people you have saved? The monsters you have slain? You are doing good work, Fallon. It may not be the life your father would have wanted for you. But he would be proud to see how far you’ve come.”

           Fallon glanced toward him and nodded. It took him a moment to realize what she was motioning at. The toolbox beside him. “Hand me a washer, will ya?”

          He handed her three with a small smile. His lips threatened to speak but he held them back as best as he could.

          Not as proud as I am.

[star-nova]

The Lives of the RiffRaff: Charmain Dekker-Frankfort

Previous: 

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister Kali Muburu-Hair Tracy Kwan-Vergil Franz Fawke-Hecklers James Weaver-The Preacher Mamoru Hayagawa-Three Weddings 

Tanager's no different from any other little mountain town. If you stand from its highest point, the old unmanned fire tower that has long been taken over by the woods, you can see the Alleghenies way off in the distance. They stand tall and proud like the watchful guardians of us all, and sometimes I wonder if they see us with the eyes of fellow RiffRaff or the same critical eyes as the Others. Do those mountains see my garden, and if so, do they too see it as an “attractive nuisance?”

I catch a lot of hell for letting the neighborhood kids play in my garden. But it's the kind of garden that kids want to play in, and what kind of wicked witch would I be if I put up a fence and hollered at them? When I was a little girl, a garden like this would lead to hours of roaming and running, fairy hunting and tea-partying, and conversations with distinguished ladybugs and praying mantises. If I love to play in my garden, why shouldn't I let anyone else? It's the perfect garden for games of tag, for scrambling under rhododendrons and for climbing big old trees. To be so crotchety as to order these kids out would be an act of true cruelty that the world needs a lot less of.

The kids call me “Auntie Charmain.” Their parents call me “That Crazy Lady Down the Street.” It makes me laugh. I know real crazy ladies; they don't have tea parties with the neighborhood kids and give them fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Crazy ladies hollered “Raaaaah!” right in their faces if they so much as looked at them and slammed a metal nightstick against the fence when they passed by. Crazy ladies sat on their front porch steps sharpening their knives, smiling menacingly at anybody who walked by. Kids avoided the hell out of crazy ladies. No child would call my across-the-street neighbor “Auntie Talia.”

Talia Santiago is the boogeyman of Tanager, six feet of rage and uninhibited impulses in the shape and form of a twenty-nine-year-old Portuguese woman. She hails all the way from Frankfort, and any explanation for why she came all the way to little Tanager is left up to local legend. The most common speculation, of course, is that she's on the run from the law. The more savvy of us—myself included—know that Talia's far too well-acquainted with the law to be running from it. The law is Talia's personal plaything that she has wrapped around her little finger. She used to be a cop. She claims to be “retired,” but we all know the truth. Various speculations on just what she had done to warrant her discharge were passed around like ghost stories. Either way, she knew the law just well enough to ensure that even her most brutal antics fell just within its lines. She had never once been to jail, and it's likely her police connections had something to do with that as well.

Talia loves anything and everything that causes pain to others. Knives are her favorite, and she has quite the collection, but she appreciates the effectiveness of a gun as well. She cemented our unusual friendship by leading me into a locked broom closet and showing me her “treasure,” a Glock 19X. “Ask me where I got it,” she said as she looked upon the cold steel like a loving mother looking upon her child.

“I don't think I want to,” I told her.

“Good,” she said, slamming the case shut, “because it's none of your damned business.” From then on, whenever I laid eyes on Talia I could not unsee that Glock. Even on the rare occasions when she did normal-people things, I knew she must have had that thing concealed somewhere on her person. I wish she had never decided she liked me enough to show it to me.

Our relationship with the Others was one of mutual confusion and annoyance. They have no idea why are the way we are, and that caused the unease that typically comes to people in the presence of the unknown. Talia was the only one we knew who actually hated the Others just for being Others. Their greatest transgression, in her eyes, was that they were Others, and it was a crime worthy of any amount of hostility. “They hate us,” she justified, “so they deserve any damn thing they get. I'm gonna keep on showing them what it means to fuck with us.” What she doesn't get is that a lack of understanding does not equal hate. She's just so full of her own hate that she attributes it all to them. It's the only way that she can understand why we have to be RiffRaff.

So while the neighborhood kids leave my garden with arms full of flowers and bellies full of brownies, Talia rips the wings off butterflies and chucks the bodies at their feet. While other towns have alleged ghosts and theorized haunts and haints, Tanager has Talia Santiago. She is disconcertingly real.

Talia's thirtieth birthday came around in the middle of June. She had a party, and I went because if I didn't, only James and Arthur would be there. Even Talia deserved to have everybody she considered a friend at her milestone birthday. Besides, it would give me the chance to bake a cake, which I loved to do but never got a chance to. It would be my gift—I knew better than to get her another weapon, which is what she wanted. I also knew that if I gave her flowers from my shop, I would later find their chopped-up remains strung along her front lawn.

I had expected to see James and Arthur and nobody else, so when I found Sophia and Elsie Bolshevik along with Ellia Rambeau, I nearly dropped the cake I was holding. Talia busted up laughing at my shock. “S'matter, Charmain,” she said in her signature knife-like tone, “you thought you were my only friend?”

“Well...” I fumbled around for the right thing to say. “I just..I didn't know you were close with Ellia and the sisters.” I set my cake down in the center of the table.

“She isn't,” Elsie said flatly, and then I was spooked. I had the eerie feeling that the girls had been forced to come here by some very sharp object, or worse.

“So...what are you doing here, then?” My god, it was probably the worst thing to say, and I saw Talia looking at me out of the corner of her eye. But I needed to reassure myself.

“We're here because it's her birthday,” Sophia told me, and then it all made sense. Sophia, one of the sweetest among the RiffRaff, couldn't stand the idea of anybody being snubbed on their thirtieth birthday, especially not a fellow RiffRaff. She'd come here out of a feeling of necessity, and brought her sister and her best friend with her. In that moment, I admired the hell out of Sophia for her bravery, as she was utterly terrified of both Talia and Arthur the rest of the time.

There was a shiny new motorcycle parked in the driveway, and Talia caught me eyeing it. “Present from Uncle Sal,” she said. “He had it sent all the way over from Frankfort.”

“It's lovely,” I said.

“You wanna take a ride?” “Thank you, but I'll pass.”

“I do!” Arthur jumped up out of his seat, spilling his poker cards everywhere.

“Sure ya do,” Talia said, and gestured for him to follow her. I was grateful for the opportunity to talk to Ellia and the sisters in peace while those two tore up the town. I didn't mind having James around; he never spoke, and he was totally harmless.

“I got a very important announcement when I get back,” Talia said, “so make sure they don't walk out on me, Charmain.”

“We'll be here,” I assured her. “Is it all right if I pour them some lemonade and iced tea?” There was wine, but Sophia didn't drink and I preferred not to most of the time.

“Pour 'em whatever you want,” Talia said with a shrug. “Cut your arm and offer 'em your blood for all I care.”

When Talia returned, and after she had taken James around for a ride, she said, “I'll be going back to Frankfort.”

“You're moving?” I was surprised at just how upsetting the news was to me. As bad as she was, I couldn't imagine life in Tanager without Talia. She was one of the only things that set us apart from every other mountain-rimmed little Southern town.

But she said, “Hell no, I'm not moving. I'm just going over there to catch up with my family. I ain't seen 'em in a good, long while, and my brothers wanna see me now that I've turned thirty and all.” Talia had one older brother and three younger. She was the only girl.

“I'll take good care of your bike while you're out,” Arthur said.

“It'll be the last thing you do,” Talia assured him.

“Well, now.” I didn't quite know what to say. Things would certainly be different around here without Talia. “I hope you have a nice time,” I said finally. “Give my regards to your brothers, and if you need anybody to watch the house, I'll...”

“You ain't watching the house,” Talia said, “you're coming with me.”

“Pardon?” I'd have been less stunned if she told me we were going to Mars.

“Do I fucking stutter?” Talia asked. “I said your ass is coming with me. And so are the rest of you ladies.”

Sophia visibly paled. “Me too?” she squeaked. The poor thing looked like she was going to faint.

“Just the girls?” Arthur asked, only a little disappointed.

Talia nodded. “This is gonna be a girl thing. We don't need your dicks flopping around everywhere.”

The guys were unbothered; with Talia gone, Arthur would have to take her place as the local boogeyman.

“But why do you want us?” I asked. “I mean...don't you want a private affair with your family?”

“Hell no,” Talia said. Then, “To be honest, Charmain, I've been planning to bring you round my homeland for a long time now. Sweet little country girls like you need at least a certain amount of exposure to the city. Besides, my bros want to meet you. I told 'em about you, and they're shocked to death that I have a friend like you at all.”

I, too, was shocked to death that Talia had a friend like me at all. But it made me more than a little uneasy to know she had told her brothers about me; who else had she told about me? Nobody knew what Talia did for herself after her discharge from the force, but a network of shady connections was the stuff of rumor. Pushing my discomfort aside, I simply said, “I see.”

“So why do you want us too?” Ellia asked.

“Same reason,” Talia said, playing with the cake-cutting knife.

“You told your brothers about us?” Sophia asked.

“No,” she said, “but they're gonna learn.” She ran the knife over her fingertips a few times, and her smile was as cryptic as what she had just said. She stood up and sank the knife into my double-layer red velvet cake (the color of blood, in honor of the birthday girl), taking off the H in “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TALIA.”

“And you're gonna learn,” she went on, “that this shithole town is nothing like the real world.” She served the first slice of cake to me instead of to herself.

The more I thought about it, the better two weeks in Frankfort sounded. I had been a country girl all of my life and had never been to any city larger than Stonesville, which was more of a gentrified suburb than a true city. My best friend Anna had been to Washington a few times, but when she returned she was never in much of a hurry to go back again. Either you embraced urban life, or you stayed right here in the country among the trees, dirt roads, and the birds for which Tanager was named.

Here in Tanager, I was one of the town misfits, the “RiffRaff.” The neighbors didn't trust a woman who spent so much time with the neighborhood kids, nor did they trust one who still romped about in gardens and made little houses for fairies. Some older ladies caught me talking to Prince, one of my tallest hydrangeas, and muttered that I may not be “all right in the head.” The poor kids who were warned against visiting “Auntie Charmain” would stand on the other side of the street and watch with longing as the other kids hopped on my stepping stones and scrambled in and out of my pink rhododendrons. It made me terribly sad, both because I could see how much they wanted to come over and play and because they were made to see me as something that I'm not.

Then there were the ones who cared more about my hooked nose and my slight harelip than they did about my garden. They called me a witch and told stories about hexes and potions and children baked into cookies and pies. “If you go in there,” I heard a boy of about twelve say to his younger siblings, “she'll put you in her oven, and bake you into brownies. That stuff she feeds to the kids is made out of other kids who got lost in there.”

“Hey, kiddo,” I told him, “telling lies to scare your siblings is a very mean thing to do.” But they took off down the road, screaming the whole way, and it almost made me cry. I only hoped that one of my regular visitors would set them straight later on--”She's not a witch, she's Auntie Charmain!”

Thinking all this over cemented my decision to go to Frankfort. Would I be RiffRaff there too? Or would I transform into someone completely different when I took my first step into that capital city, like Cinderella when she stepped out of the carriage that had once been a pumpkin?

In the end, we all decided to go to Frankfort—Sophia, Elsie, Ellia, and me. “It'll be new,” Elsie told me. “Talia's right, country girls should see the city at least once in their lives.” I was incredibly grateful that I wouldn't have to be alone with Talia in a strange city, and so with all of that said and done, we prepared to leave for Frankfort on the 15th of June. We'd be riding in Talia's Subaru the whole way there.

I trusted Anna with the care of the house and garden. “Remember,” I told her as I was giving her the keys, “if any of the kids want to come by and play, go ahead and let them.” I doubted the kids would show up without me there, but it never hurt to give a heads-up. Anna did not object to allowing them in. Melinda Andrews, who had just graduated high school and had yet to find a job, was willing to cover my position at the flower shop for the next two weeks.

The day before we left, Talia went down to the park and stood up on the ledge of the central fountain. The security guards eyed her with distaste, but as she wasn't standing in the fountain, they had nothing to say. “So long, ya bastards!” Talia hollered at the top of her lungs. “I'm outta here!”

Nobody paid her any mind. It was just Talia being Talia.

[sherlocked-avenger]

House Call: A Textile Artist at Home on Hampstead Heath

I recently spent an afternoon with weaver, sculptor, and textile artist Amy Revier at her two-bedroom flat on the woodland borders of the Hampstead Heath. (Revier, a Texas native, is having something of a moment; her garments are sold at Hostem in London and she’s been profiled in T Magazine and elsewhere.)

“When we found the flat, it was very sterile and cold but with great bones,” she says of her apartment, which she shares with her partner Clayton Littlejohn, a philosophy lecturer at King’s College London. “Despite the constraints of renting, we are very pleased with the results of our attempts to add love and warmth to the space. We painted the walls in shades based on our location within the Hampstead Heath (we have resident owls and hear geese landing on the pond behind the communal gardens), so we experimented with natural colors that feel still and soft—gray-green, soft white, peony, and plum-brown.”

The flat is furnished in vintage and flea market finds: “On a sunny Saturday, if I have no obligations, I’ll drive down to the Sussex Coast to hunt for treasures,” she says, “I’ll start in Petworth and work my way through to Lewes, then back to London with a car full of gems.” Join us for a tour of the premises:

Photography by Rory Gardiner for Remodelista.

Above: Revier’s flat is on the ground floor of an Art Deco building on the Highgate side of Hampstead Heath. “I love having this flat to cook in, drink in, and to brighten the mind and spirit with all the fascinating people we have living nearby,” she says.

Above: Revier is originally from Austin, Texas, and graduated from Southern Methodist University with a BFA in sculpture and art history. A Fulbright scholarship took her to Iceland for two years and from there, she came to London. “Only when I moved to London did I begin to connect the dots of performance, the body, and ideas of cocooning and hibernation to my longtime fascination with clothing,” she says. “Approaching it from a sculptural and art historical background allowed me to think broadly about how clothing can be transformative, and to deeply attach myself to the ritual and performance of building each piece.”

Above: “The safari chair was the first piece of furniture I bought after moving to London,” Revier says. “I found it in a wonderful shop called The Peanut Vendor, which is crammed with classic pieces.” The artwork on the wall over the dining room table is by Revier’s good friend artist Jane Bustin.

Above: Revier’s bookshelves are filled with her collection of travel books. “We got the idea for wrapping Clayton’s contemporary academic logic and philosophy books—paperbacks with garishly colored covers—in kraft paper from Virginia Woolf, who wrapped the books in her Sussex house in marbled paper.”

Above: Revier’s loom occupies the second bedroom and is visible from the living area. She compares her garment designs to “shelters or cocoons—voluminous skins with minds of their own—in which you move with the world.”

Above: Revier’s loom is a Swedish Glimakra Standard, which is a large countermarch floor loom. “This is perhaps the most traditional and classic loom around,” she says. “I found this one by chance in Wales and chose it because it is an older model from the 1960s, with original wood spacers and ceramic weights. It’s wonderful to work with, your body naturally dances with it as you weave.”

Above: The communal gardens of the apartment building come right up to the windows of the ground floor flat.

Above: “I love these glazed pitchers, especially the deep blue color of this one displayed on the windowsill,” Revier says. “Everything in our house has been sourced this way. I love to treasure hunt and have been doing it since I was a kid in Texas, which is full of antique shops.”

Above: Arrayed on a bookshelf from Keith Fawkes Books: Welsh blankets from Jen Jones, a quilt and blanket collector, and a pair of terracotta bowls, “a birthday present from Clayton,” Revier says. “They’re from the Peanut Vendor and I fill them with my favorite potpourri from Santa Maria Novella.”

Above: Revier’s solution to the lack of task lighting in the kitchen? A table lamp. The kitchen walls are painted London Clay by Farrow & Ball.

Above: “Entertaining at home is more important to me as a result of living in London,” Revier says. “Meeting someone at a cafe is a different experience than to having them over to your home. I love to entertain because there is a certain kind of looseness that comes with it.”

Above: “My parents are great entertainers and cooks and I’ve followed in their footsteps,” Revier says. “We love to gather together for loud, hearty, happy meals. There are more possibilities in coming to know a person in a different way, seeing their body language relax and become more intimate. Many of my favorite memories come these meals. “

Above: For dessert, Revier favors a Brown Butter Apple Tart. “I’m an inveterate collector and my cutlery is a mix of vintage finds from Rye in East Sussex and from my grandfather’s ranch,” Revier says. “My grandfather was a hog farmer; he had an agreement with a handful of restaurants in Dallas to collect their food waste as food for his hogs. Everything, including an errant fork or spoon, would go into the slop bin, and after forty years, he amassed a nice collection of silver cutlery.”

Above: In her bedroom, Revier pulls together textiles from her favorite haunt, The Cloth House in London. “While I don’t weave the textiles for our soft furnishings, I have sourced and made most of them, including the curtains in our bedroom and the sofa cushions in our living room,” she says.

Above: “A favorite source for bed linens is LA-based Matteo, which makes beautiful quilts and duvet covers. My latest purchase is a result of a recent stay at The New Road Residence, where I discovered Once Milano bedding—absolute heaven.”

Above: Revier addresses the decor of her bathroom with the same amount of attention as the rest of her flat. “I look at the bathroom as a space to unwind. I often take soaks in the bath to ease tension from my muscles from weaving and read in the tub by candlelight.”

N.B.: Revier’s garments are available to view and purchase through Hostem.

For more textiles, see:

Material Girl: Eleanor Pritchard Has a Way with Wool

Embrace the Bright: A Textile Shop Owner at Home in Brooklyn

Hudson Valley Hues: At Home with an Inventive Textile Designer

Christine also writes Fabulous Fabsters, celebrating women who are FAB (Fifty and Beyond) and sharing their stories; head on over to read more.

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