#frustrated with myself but also proud that I’ve been seeking peace off of it also??

[gaynasa]

keep trying to convince myself im ready to be social on the internet again but it never seems to be true

[alyss01]

Studying for finals headcanons:

Corpse x GN!reader, Sykkuno x GN!reader, Toast x GN!reader

Word count: 1.5K

Requested: no

Synopsis: How Toast, Sykkuno and Corpse would be with a S/O studying for finals. Headcannons and fluff.

Warnings: none

A/n: Do I have more than enough requests? Yup! Should I probably work on those? Most likely. Basically wrote this during / after the most intense two to three weeks of studying I’ve experienced in at least a year. I needed some comfort so i provided myself with it, hope it can do the same for others even though most people have most likely already finished all their exams, tests, finals and all that already. Enjoy! (This was also mostly written at like 2AM the day of my last final, but it is proofread)

Masterlist

Corpse:

Let's be honest, he would have no idea what exactly it is you're studying

He knows some basics that are common sense and bits and pieces that he's collected while you were rambling about the topics to him

Generally though, he has no clue what's going on and certainly will not be able to help you do the actual studying

However if it helps for you to explain the topics to him instead of reading the books for a hundred times with seemingly no pay off, he'll gladly listen

Allows you to rant of about the intricate details as he fakes an understanding and nods his head along

Don't get him wrong, he loves to hear you talk and is genuinely interested in what you're saying, but you might as well be speaking a different language cause he cannot understand a singular word that passes your lips

If you're a night owl, that's great! He'll love to bring you midnight study snacks and bring a glass of water every so often

He definitely stays up with you and likes to just hang around the room where you study in the background and vibe to some music

Every so often he will walk up to you for head pats

The screen in front of you shone brightly, lighting up the room. The only thing telling you the time and date was your laptop. With the curtains permanently shut and having lost any sense of time you did possess over the past days, you wouldn't have a single clue how much time had passed otherwise.

Music comes through your headphones in attempt to keep you focussed on the matter at hand, a word document that is much longer than you would've liked containing all the summaries you had made over the past days.

The music however also deafened you from the sound of the door opening and closing, as Corpse stepped into your room with a white plastic bag containing some snacks and a cup of your favorite drink in his other hand.

As he set the objects on the desk beside you, you realized he had come in and pulled one side of your headset off your ear.

Corpse's arms wrap around you from behind, his chin resting on your head as you nuzzle yourself closer in his embrace. His eyes lazily trail over the text on the screen for a moment before they narrow and turn away.

Tilting your head back, you look at him from underneath, chuckling as you catch his confused look at the screen.

"when did you have this exam again?" The question escapes his lips almost with a hint of pity within.

Sykkuno:

Honestly I think it really depends on what you're studying if he will understand it or not

No matter what it is however, he is proud

When he has a chance in any conversation he'll casually bring you up and proudly explain what kind of complicated things you have been studying and how smart you are

He is so encouraging, no matter if he quite understand what it is you study or not

He probably would leave you interrupted while studying, but if you come out of your room to seek his attention out first he'll be so happy

If something bothers you or frustrates you about the material he's waiting with open arms to take your mind off it

If you're studying for long times he'll come to crave some affection so he'll either be glued to your side when you do finish or he will come and seek you out first

Will provide you with snacks, your favorite food, smoothies, coffee, tea, whatever you prefer while studying, he'll get it for you

Will want to spent time together once the stressful period is over, catching up to affection he may have missed during it

I think he'd definitely keep quite a careful watch over you in terms of rest

He will drag you off to bed at 2AM if you're still studying demanding you get some proper rest

"you know staying up this late is bad for your health, right?" The worry was evident in his voice as he leant against your desk as he stood beside you. His back was turned to the furniture and his eyes were glued to your tired face.

"it'll be worth it once summer vacation hits." You shoot Sykkuno a tired smile, making him turn his head to where your mug dutifully stood, as it had been for the past three days, half filled with your favorite study drink which had turned room temperature by now.

He raised his eyebrow in question, watching as you turn back to the screen that lights up your face with white light, the page's reflection in your eyes, "rest is important if you want to do well on the exam."

"so is knowledge and caffeine," though your words may be harsh, the tone with which they leave your lips easily tell him it was a joke, "besides, I'll just need to finish this last part."

His hand finds your hair, and you lean into his warm touch as you shut your eyes for a moment, taking in the moment. A small smile formed on his lips at the sight, his fingers threading through your hair.

"promise this is the last part?" He speaks up as you open your eyes once more, looking up at him as you give him a small smile.

The bags under your eyes paired with the exhausted look on your face had noy been as clear in the past days as they were currently. He admired you for your willpower to study these amounts, but you worried him sometimes with your behavior.

Your voice pulled him back to the small smile that played on your lips, "I promise."

Toast:

He's knowledgeable, not on all topics and subjects, but he's definitely knowledgeable

Start ranting to him about topics and he'll genuinely become interested and follow along, asking some questions here and there

If you ever need to write some sort of paper or essay, he'll gladly read it over for you for any mistakes or things to change

He won't admit it, but if you start explaining some of the things you're studying to him, he'll love it

Especially if it's something you're passionate about, he'd love to watch you explain stuff to him

The way your eyes shimmer, and how excited you look to talk to him about it all, he loves it

Forehead kisses while studying and will order food for you and bring drinks

Probably won't hang around too much in the room you're studying in to give you privacy and peace, but will come in and ruffle your hair before placing his lips on your head momentarily and wish you luck when he passes your door

In these moments often likes to sneak a peek at your papers or computer screen, just to see a glimpse of the topic you're working on

He doesn't mind if you stay up longer than him to study but will definitely drag you to bed for rest when he's decided you didn't give yourself enough rest

"I'm ordering take out, what do you want for dinner?" Toast is quick to poke his head around the corner of your door, phone in hand as he walks in and leans against the doorframe.

Pulling your headset off, you rotate your chair to the side, facing him as you question where he is planning to order.

He walks over to your desk to hand you his phone so you can scroll through the online menu, his hand quick to brush your hair back. Instead of pulling his hand away, he lets it stay in your hair, brushing through it a few times with his fingers.

While you were invested with the online menu, his eyes scan the screen, where you were working on the introduction to a paper.

He recognized the material, the day before you had trailed off on a small explanation that ended up much longer than intended when he asked what you were currently working on.

When you finish looking through the menu and having filled in your order, you catch his gaze glued to your screen.

Before he leaves your room he gives you some slight advice, offering to replace some words with others before wishing you good luck and leaving your room for the time being. At least until the food arrives.

[helliontherapscallion]

Unexpected Encounters (Adrenaline Junkie Part 8)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: minor swearing

Word count: 2,775

You walked down the now worn cobblestone path towards the main plaza of the village by Philza’s house. Whistling the first verse of the L’manberg national anthem, you wove slightly at the crowd of people gathered at the stands that littered the sides of the street. 

The village was much larger than the entire L’manberg nation. It had several different precincts with a large, diverse group of people and a few hybrids living there. It also had more amenities like shops, a library (which, to your delight, grew expansively to include more books on inventions, some being exclusively about yours. They were proud people that embraced whatever fame comes out of the area), and multiple towering office buildings.

Everything’s changed since you’ve last been here a year ago. What was now more modern used to be traditional. What was loosely populated was now bustling with people. What used to be barren was now chock full of shops and apartment complexes. It was kind of jarring to see this much change in a little over a year.

In retrospect, it was jarring how much you changed in a little over a year. The hallucinations have finally almost completely stopped along with the nightmares. They only came about once a week now. You were slowly reincorporating green back into your wardrobe. Your phantom pain has retreated into your subconscious. It was always going to be with you, so you got used to the constant pain and tingling feeling. You learned to appreciate the small things in life and just live in the moment so you would have something positive to look back on in the future.

You invented several different gadgets to help your brothers win the L’manberg War of Independence such as a portable TNT launcher, handheld long-distance communication devices (which you affectionately dubbed walkie talkies since you could walk and talk! Wilbur and Tommy were not as enthusiastic of the name as you were), and a redstone powered crossbow that continuously fired arrows until you released the trigger. Though all of your inventions were practically your babies, they did not come anywhere close to trumping your magnum opus: your metal fully functioning wing. 

After several mishaps and failed attempts, you finally made your wing correspond to the electrical impulses in your muscles so that it copied the movements of your flesh wing. It’s built out of a lightweight hollow iron and has feather shaped metal pieces protruding off from it to emulate your other wing. It was a sleek silver color that always caught a ray of sunshine and reflected it to another place. It was basically permanently attached to your body by now due to it being a pain to take on and off. It was just easier and more efficient to keep it on constantly. 

People around you stared, some in awe and some in admiration. A stark difference from when you first lost your wing. Sometimes, you resented them for treating you differently just because your name became more widely known, but you were always a firm believer that everyone deserves a second chance. Even attention seeking, unscrupulous assholes looking for cheap brownie points from their peers because ‘I knew them before they were discovered! I knew them personally, we were, like, really close!’ So for now, you tried to ignore the ugly indignation bubbling in your gut and threatening to spew out in a string of hurtful words. You were sick of being angry, especially now that L’manberg is at peace. 

You passed several people who pointed at you and whispered amongst themselves. Ignoring them, you continued onward with your head held high and your wings folded in tightly to avoid children grabbing and pulling them with their grubby little hands. It always took you a while to clean and preen them after people touched them. You hated cleaning off fingerprints and grime from the smooth metal.

Walking with a sense of purpose, you continued onwards passing multiple shops and stands until you finally reached the butcher. Opening the decorated glass door, a little bell chimed alerting the burly man behind the counter of your presence. Like the others, he stared wide-eyed at you with his lips slightly parted in shock. Great, another exhausting encounter. 

Putting on a polite smile, you broke the silence of the meat shop. “Hello, I’m here to buy half a pound of fresh ground beef. Would you by chance have any in stock?” That seemed to snap him out of his stupor.

“O-of course, I’ll get that for you right away.”

He disappeared into the backroom where frosty fog rolled out in tiny clouds. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe he wouldn’t ask any questions or try to get to know you on a personal level.

He returned in a hurry, slapping the wrapped beef onto the counter and giving you a price. Reaching into your wallet for the cash, you paid him generously. “Keep the change.”

“I-thank you, Mx. Minecraft.”

Putting the beef into your satchel, you gave him a more genuine smile. “Don’t mention it.”

Briskly walking out, you made a beeline for the village’s main entrance. You couldn’t stand the feeling of constantly being watched and talked about anymore. Why couldn’t they treat you like a normal person? In your opinion, you were, well, you. Nothing was special about you.

As you were about to cross the threshold of the village, you heard footsteps behind you.

“HEY! MX. MINECRAFT I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, you closed your eyes and took a few steadying breaths so that you wouldn’t lash out at this person. You just wanted to go to your childhood home and have a nice, peaceful dinner with your dad. Was that too much to ask? 

Opening your eyes and plastering on a fake smile, you turned around and greeted him. He was a young boy, probably around eleven or twelve years old. His clothes and shaggy auburn hair were disheveled and he had dirt smeared on his face. “Hello, to whom may I owe the pleasure?”

He put his hands on his knees and tried to talk between gasping breaths. “Mx, my name’s Arthur Fox, i-it’s truly an honor to meet you. I’ve admired your work since before the war in L’manberg. You’re an amazing inventor and I wanna be just like you when I grow up. I- oooh I’m sorry, I’m rambling aren’t I?” He kind of reminded you of Tubbo in a strange way.

“No, you’re fine Arthur. Thank you for being a fan of my work, but I must get going. I have an important meeting to attend to.” You weren’t exactly lying to the young boy. Turning on your heel, you started to walk off only to feel a hand on your arm.

“Mx, I need to talk to you.”

“I really have to get going, Arthur. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“No, it’s important.”

You struggled to keep the smile on your face as you shrugged his arm off as politely as you could. This kid is determined. Too determined. “So’s my meeting. I have to go.” You started to walk off into the beaten forest path.

“Do you know about The Warden?”

You halted abruptly and sharply turned around. You let your smile and polite stature drop into pursed lips and sharp eyes.

“...Of course I do. Everyone does.”

Flinching slightly, he quickly recovered his confident facade. “No, that’s not what I meant. Do you know about The Warden?”

“Like I said,” you played stupid, “everybody does. Who doesn’t?”

He puffed his cheeks out in frustration. “Ugh, how could someone so smart be so stupid at the same time? I mean you met it didn’t you? It took your wing.”

You took a step forward and narrowed your eyes, fully facing him now. “How do you know about that? Who told you?” 

He stepped back. “I-I heard rumors a couple of years back that it got someone. I heard your name thrown around here and there.”

You gave him enough of a warning that you didn’t want to talk, but he ignored it and now he has to reap the consequences. At this point, you were so tired and drained from everyone trying to be buddy-buddy with you that you finally snapped. The only thing you wanted was to go home, you did not need this right now. 

“Well, Arthur, you shouldn’t pry into other people’s business. I’ve told you time and time again that I have to leave, yet you persist to stop me. Why? And where are your parents, didn’t they teach you any manners?”

He looked downwards and fiddled with his fingers. “They’re dead. T-The Warden took someone important to me. I… I thought you might be able to help me.”

Shit, you just yelled at a grieving orphan. You were a massive asshole weren’t you? Your eyes softened slightly and you frowned. “...I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anything I could do to make it up to you? Dinner perhaps? We can talk about how I could help you afterwards.”

He glanced up at you. “But-but what about your meeting.”

You winced. “Uh, I’m moving it forward, we have more pressing matters.” You paused awkwardly. “Do… Do you have anybody to ask permission? Any siblings?”

His shoulders drooped. “...No. I’m all by myself.”

Shit, you yelled at a grieving homeless orphan? God what kind of role model were you? 

“C’mon, kid. We’re going to my house.” 

His wordlessly followed you and avoided looking into your eyes. The walk to your childhood home was very awkward, neither of you attempted starting conversation. You sighed.

“Look, Arthur I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. That was really uncalled for, I shouldn’t have yelled or gotten mad. It’s just that- The Warden’s a… touchy subject for me.”

“It’s alright, Mx. Minecraft. You can make it up to me by… making me dinner and showing me some of your blueprints?”

He looked up to you with hope filled, sparkling eyes. You snorted. “It’s a deal, kid. We’re almost there.” 

You could see the silhouette of the house in the nearly setting sun. It was still the same as when you left a year ago. 

“Ya know,” you sighed out, “this is actually my Dad’s house. I’m just visiting him for a couple of weeks.”

“Where do you live then?”

“I live in the heart of L’manberg with my brothers.”

“That’s cool…” He trailed off. You frowned, it seems that he was nervous to meet your Dad. You probably should’ve mentioned that Philza was there to him before taking him here.

You stopped, grabbing Arthur’s shoulders. “Kid, you don’t have to worry about meeting my dad. He’s probably the kindest, most genuine man I’ve ever met. He’ll welcome you with open arms, that’s what he did with me and my three brothers. He adopted us all.”

He gave you a small smile. “Alright, Mx. Minecraft, I trust you.”

“Oh, please don’t call me ‘Mx. Minecraft’, it makes me feel ancient,” you lolled your head back and dramatically groaned out, making him giggle. “I just turned twenty, buddy. Feel free to call me (y/n).”

 Putting your hand on his shoulder, you led him to the front door. You twisted the old door knob and pushed the wooden door open.

“Dad, I’m home and I brought the beef!”

He popped his head out from the kitchen, his messy blond hair flopping onto his face. He gave you a joking smile. “Took you long enough, any longer and I would’ve locked ya out.” 

You watched as his eyes wandered over to Arthur. He frowned, revealing his frilly pink apron that Wilbur got him as a joke. Oh, you could just hear the gears in his head churning.

“...(Y/n), who’s this?”

Grinning sheepishly, you replied. “Dad, this is Arthur Fox. Arthur, this is my dad Philza Minecraft. I promised him dinner and somewhere to stay for the night. Do you have some of Tommy’s old clothes Artie could borrow for the night?”

He sighed, shooting you a we’ll-talk-about-this-later look. “Yes, they’re in the attic. I’ll grab them after dinner so he could shower before going to bed.”

Arthur timidly spoke up. “Thank you, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad softened and gave him a gentle smile. “It’s no problem, Arthur. And please, call me Philza. Mr. Minecraft makes me feel old.”

Arthur let out a loud laugh. Despite everything he went through, his laugh still sounds like an innocent child’s laugh. You chuckled, kids always had a silly little laugh. Philza grinned at him, a child’s laughter was something that he missed.

Arthur wiped at his eyes as his laughter died down. “I’m sorry, (y/n) said the same outside.”

“I did,” you smiled lightly at Arthur before looking back at Philza with mischief, standing up straight and putting your hands on your hips. “But I was funnier.”

“Pft, you wish. I was saying that before you were even born. So, I win because I’ve been saying it longer.”

“Whatever ya say, old man. Funniness over age.”

He playfully glared at you, placing an offended hand over his heart. “I’m not that old.”

“Ya kinda are, Dad. You’re practically turning to dust!”

He gasped. “I am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Are too!”

“Am no- wait Dad, that’s cheating!”

“You still said it though!” He sang out, grinning at you cheekily.

“No, that doesn’t count!”

Arthur’s amused brown eyes bounced between you and Philza like he was watching a tennis match. Every so often, he would giggle at something one of you said. You both took your banter to the kitchen where you and Philza started to cook. Dinner was done and the table was set in no time. There was pleasant small talk as dinner neared an end

Your dad swallowed his last bite of beef and turned his attention towards Arthur. “So Arthur, how old are you?”

Arthur gave a small grin. “I’m ten.”

“Do your paren-”

You loudly coughed, throwing a discreet glare at Philza. Mouthing ‘don’t’ from behind your hand, you took a big sip of your water and stood up. “I’ll wash all the dishes. Arthur, would you like to look at some of my blueprints while we wait for my Dad to get you some clothes?”

His eyes shined with excitement. “Yes please!”

You chuckled, putting the plates in the sink and walking down to your old workshop to grab one of the blueprints you left in a filing cabinet. You grabbed the first draft for your prosthetic and the final draft for the automatic farm.

Upstairs, you situated the blueprints in front of Arthur at the dinner table. “Okay buddy, learn to your heart’s content. I’m gonna do the dishes. If you need something just give me a shout.”

Walking into the kitchen, you filled the sink with warm soapy water and got started scrubbing. You moved your wings around subconsciously as you wiped the pots and plates clean of grease. Humming in satisfaction when you were done, you dried your hands and sat next to Arthur who was looking at your designs with complete awe. 

“You like them?”

He nodded his head so fast you thought it might fall off and started to fling questions at you. You smiled fondly at him, it was nice to see someone so interested in how your inventions were made and not just how they worked. 

You two were mid conversation when Philza walked into the room with a bundle of clothes in his arms. You grabbed Arthur’s hand and led him up to the bathroom. You bent down and rested your hands on your knees, looking at him.

“Alright buddy, everything you need is in there, clean towels are in the closet. When you’re done, I’ll be in my room just over there,” you pointed to your door. “Last door on the left. I can show you where you’ll be sleeping for the night when you’re done. Does that sound okay?”

He gave you a gap-toothed smile. “Yes, thank you (y/n)! You’re the best!”

He closed the bathroom door and you stood there. You felt… oddly fond for the boy you just met only hours before. 

Philza cleared his throat and pinned you to the wall with a stern look. “(Y/n), explain now.”

“I will, but let’s talk in my room so Arthur can shower in peace. Poor boy needs it.”

He sighed and walked into your room. You had a long talk ahead of you.

(A/N): so, how do you guys like Arthur?

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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@bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @jayistrash4  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @appetiteofapeoplepleaser  @lestrangenymph  @kinismanditory  @dragons-lurk-here  @rinzyx05  @the-wandering-pan-ace  @sparkling-gayyyy  @angelic-scent  @shinipii  @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander  @izzydimensional  @used-avocado  @laura--444

[littlefreya]

The Baker of Blavikan

Summary: Waking up in the morning to find Henry gone from bed and some obscure situation happening in the kitchen.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: Fluff, slight teasing, mention of sexual situations and umm really slight food play. 

A/N: So I might have gotten too excited over the fact that Henry baked loaf and I ended up getting inspired and wrote a fluff about it. Gosh, I hope you guys find it readable :| Am I proud of myself? I am not sure!

Title: The Baker of Blavikan

I open my eyes to find myself huddled beneath a sea of delicate white blankets. Still drowsy from going to sleep too late I groan gently and flex on the mattress, stretching my arm to seek for the sleeping giant who is probably still venturing through his insane dreams. 

I could really use for some smooth and slow morning sex after all that intense all-night-sex.

My hand falls flat on the surface, surprised and a tad saddened to find the spot next to me abandoned. I pull the covers away from my head and stare with a pout. Usually, when he wakes up first, I’m “assaulted” by his huge arm, beastlike he wraps it around me and pulls to press against his hard morning desire.

Sighing with disappointment, I climb out of the bed and grab his t-shirt from last night. Standing in nothing but my underwear in the middle of the bedroom I hold the shirt to my face, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his musk before pulling the shirt over my head and letting it fall down until it reaches my thighs. 

There is some muffled music coming from downstairs and the undoubtful sound of action occurring in the kitchen. I follow the sounds, climbing down the stairs quietly. 

Something smells amazing, rich and delicious and fresh for me to gnaw my hungry teeth at. It makes my mouth water, reminding me I’ve had a ferocious cardio session last night and that my gurgling stomach is very much empty. 

Henry is in the kitchen, looking rather cheerful in his plain white t-shirt, a pair of grey sweats and oven mittens on his large hands. He is humming with the music, moving around while organizing things on the large wooden island. 

Something is certainly baking and guessing by the aroma that fills the entire house, I’d say it’s just about ready. 

Sneaking carefully behind the corner, I watch the big man crouching down and opening the oven. The fumes surround him, snaking high and hot into the air and spreading appetizing joy into the room. 

He baked, he bloody baked; a piece of a plump, good looking, golden loaf. 

Famished, I tiptoe behind him and wrap my arms tightly around his hard torso. My hands hardly manage to close around the width of his body as I engulf him in my loving embrace. I can feel him smirk as I press my head to the wing of his back. A gentle huff releases from his nose while he places the loaf on the wooden surface and rids himself from the mittens.

“You know I could see you sneaking at the corner, pet?” he chuckles, grabbing one of my hands in his and then spinning me around to face him. He has flour smeared on his cheek, grazed on his stubbles, as well as on his forehead and even some of it dusting his growing curls.

I cover my mouth, snorting at the sight of him. “You’ve got flour all over you, you made a mess!” I say looking around the kitchen that looks a little bit like a war zone. Empty eggshells and used utensils are laid over the counter and the flour is everywhere even on the tip of Kal’s nose, who obediently lies next to the fridge.

Henry shrugs and places his hand on the remnants of flour that are on the kitchen island. He paints his hand in the white powder and then slaps it against my ass, leaving a white powdery handprint on my skin. I yelp with surprise, trying to dust it off but he grabs my waist and sits me on the counter right in front of him. Leaning toward me he pecks me on the nose and then walks toward the utensils drawer to grab a knife.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I ask, watching him move toward the loaf which is neatly placed on a thick wooden cutting board. 

“You looked so beautiful and peaceful and I wanted to surprise you” he answers while slowly spreading the fresh loaf with the bread knife. Never in my life, I thought I’d live to see the day when cutting into bread will appear so erotic. This man, it’s everything he does, even switching a damn light bulb.

“Hmm” Henry hums with pure delight, proud of his little piece of artisan good. 

Licking my lips like a hungry cat I lean my head to the side to catch a glimpse at the fluffiness of the bread. A small moan of anticipation escapes my lips. Henry catches me glaring from the corner of his eye and smirks. He grabs a generous slice and paces to stand between my knees.

I tilt my head up mischievously, hypnotized by the delicious scent, my eyes follow every gesture as he holds the slice in front of me and places it in his own mouth, biting and rolling his eyes to the back of his head with a deep prolonged moan. 

“Mmmm tastes good…” he teases, slowly chewing in front of me and opening his dreamy blue eyes to look at how frustrated I am. I sulk playfully, desperately wanting to reach my hands and steal it from him but knowing Henry, I’d be punished for my typical impatience.  

“Have you been a good girl?” he provokes me, holding the remaining slice in front of my face.

“Yes, Henry, I am your good girl” I answer. Henry grants me a slanted sultry smirk, emphasising the lines at the corner of his mouth. He takes the slice and presses it into my lips, feeding it to me carefully and sensually. I open my lips around it the succulent bit but also take in his thumb along with the slice, sucking onto his finger sinfully while he gazes at me with eyes all widen and dumbfounded with astonishment. 

I let his thumb out, leaving it coated with my saliva while I focus on chewing the baked goods. My eyes shut and I moan as I swallow.

“Mmmm, delicious”

When I open my eyes again, his glare is fixed on my face, his lower lip sucked into his mouth, and his sea-blue eyes are heavy with lust. Without even saying another word he grabs my thighs and lifts me around his torso, quickly carrying me up the stairs and toward the bedroom while kissing my neck.

“Henry, what about breakfast?” I whine and giggle at once. My hands immediately grab onto his shoulders so I won’t lose balance and fall backwards.

“I’m going to start with dessert first” he declares and before I can even vocal any protest I’m sunken onto the bed with Henry hovering on top of me. 

I think I’m enjoying this isolation way too much than I should.

[keanureevesisbae]

Coach Cavill - Chapter 2

Summary: Benji really likes his new coach and Amelia can only agree. 

Coach!Henry Cavill x Amelia Jung (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: None

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

‘Annabelle did not pee her pants today,’ I tell Greg, when I place the shopping basket on the counter. ‘She actually managed to reach the toilets in time, so no clothes in a plastic bag today.’

When I walked out of school today, I got a text from Eve, saying that if Benji, Isabella and I wanted to have dinner at her place, I should bring some ingredients back with me and I really want to have dinner at her place. She is a much better cook than I am. Or even will be for that matter.

‘I’m proud of her,’ Greg chuckles, as he scans the articles. ‘By the way, I heard coach Cavill is a success.’

I agree to that a bit too quickly, but Greg is clueless (bless his heart) and doesn’t hear the desperation in my voice. Two practices have passed since the first one on Monday and usually I would bring some work with me, but now I’m enjoying every second of it. It’s something about how Henry handles the kids. I mean, when men are good with kids, it’s always a plus (I mean, have you seen Chris Evans with kids?), but it was different with Henry. The way he would grab the back of Benji’s brown belt, hoisting him up, it was something fatherly.

I remember when Benji was younger, Dean would bring him to practice. Since Benji had this thing about not changing in the locker rooms when he was younger (he finally outgrew that, thankfully), he’d get dressed back at home and Dean would carry him into the practice centre, as if Benji was a sports bag.

What has changed between Benji and Dean?

Henry’s deep voice fills the judo hall, with compliments to each kid. Some of them prefer the yelling type of coaching, while Benji prefers an one on one moments, where the coach would softly and privately tell him how he is doing.

No one hears the things he says to my son and I can’t believe this man knows how to handle my son within one week.

However, I’m not the only one who is enjoying the training, since the crowd of drooling moms is expanding with the minute. ‘Benji really likes him.’

Greg nods. ‘Good, good. Henry is already a well liked customer here. He buys a lot of groceries,’ he says. ‘I heard he lived in the old house miss Bonny used to live.’

‘He lives in that dump?’ I ask. That house has been empty for at least five years since her passing and kids are often told that the spirit of miss Bonny is circling around. Now my kids never believed in that, since I told them that was untrue. It’s just… The place scares me a bit, so I never walk passed that place when it was already dim outside. ‘Why?’

‘Has too much time on his hands?’ He shrugs. ‘I have no idea, never really asked about that, but what is a Brit doing here anyway?’

‘Trying to disrupt the peace here and breaking up marriages. You should see the bleachers during practice,’ I chuckle. ‘There are more women than there are kids. I saw Lotte Gambles even sitting there.’

‘Lotte Gambles doesn’t have any kids nor is interested in judo or any sport for that matter,’ Greg notes.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ I laugh. ‘I mean, how obvious do you want to make it that you are thirty seven, single and desperate?’

‘I bet you’re glad you got pregnant when you were in college, so you’d have a kid, thus an excuse to ogle the handsome coach.’

‘Greg,’ I tell him in my stern teacher voice, ‘I know what tooth broke off. My fist can do that again.’

He holds up his hands in defense. ‘I’ll shut u— Oh no.’

‘What oh no?’ I look over my shoulder and let out a frustrated sigh. Why is Dean here? With Mindy of all people? Is she incapable of doing something herself? Whenever I see her, it’s always with Dean. I don’t think I’ve ever run into her without my ex by her side.

Dean notices me and holds up his hand. I simply turn around again and say to Greg: ‘I’ll give you an extra twenty bucks if you can speed it up a bit.’

‘Amelia,’ I hear Dean say behind me and I clench my jaw out of frustration. I hate the way he says my name. I just hate him anyways. I can’t believe I was married to someone, who had the capability of hurting me so bad. ‘I still haven’t heard if I have Isabella over this weekend.’

I might’ve “forgotten” to text him. ‘She didn’t want to go,’ I simply tell him, ‘but she will think about going for the rest of the weekend, when she sees you tomorrow at the match.’

‘And Benji is still sure that he only wants me there?’ Dean wraps his arm around Mindy’ waist and I’m ready to stab my car keys or anything really in his eye. Why is he rubbing in that he has someone new, a younger model that he exchanged me for?

‘Benji is more than sure.’ I pay for my groceries and Greg hands me the plastic bag. ‘Thank you, Greg.’

‘Wish Benji good luck from me, will you?’ Greg says. ‘I’m not going to be able to make it tomorrow.’

‘So no snacks for us?’ I ask him, pushing my wallet back in my purse.

‘Sorry, Amelia, but I’ll put something behind the registry. When you guys come over, I’ll give you something to make up for it.’

‘You are amazing, Greg. Thank you.’ I look at Dean and say: ‘I’m serious, don’t go and bring,’—don’t say the toddler, Amelia, you have to be more mature than that and you are—‘her with you. Your son specifically asked for you and that means only you.’

I don’t even want to hear what he has to say about that, but I have known Dean for quite some time now: he has plenty to say. I walk to the lot and as I try and find my keys, when I hear a: ‘Hello Amelia.’

I look up so quickly, I nearly break my neck. ‘Coach Cavill,’ I say with a smile.

‘Henry, please.’

‘Excuse me, Henry. What are you doing here?’

‘Just going to get some snacks at the store,’ he explains.

Why going to get some snacks, when you are the only snack around? Thankfully I have the ability to shut my mouth, but I need to tell Eve this as soon as I get to her house. I bite my lip as I look at his outfit. I mean, he is a delicious looking man in his judogi. Normally men don’t wear shirts underneath it, but I do think he is aware that if he were to grace us with a glimpse of his bare chest, all the women would be dead in a heartbeat, me included.

But now, he is wearing jeans and a thick sweater and it looks so homey. I’m just going to put it out there: it’s an outfit that I have dreamed about, in a setting where he is sitting on our couch.

I simply nod. ‘Well, Benji really looks forward for tomorrow,’ I say. ‘He has been talking non stop about how great of a coach you are.’ It warmed my heart to hear Benji speaking so highly about his new coach, he barely does that. ‘He really doesn’t want to let you down.’

Benji always says that he doesn’t want to let me down. Not his dad, not Eve, not Johnny, not his grandparents, not even his sister, but only me. Hearing how there is someone else that he doesn’t want to let down, someone he met just this week, it makes me all sorts of happy. It’s all I ever wanted for my son, to have someone who shares his love for judo on a much deeper level.

I mean, sure, he and Johnny are close, he and my dad are close, but that is different. They don’t share his love for judo with him. Just like Dean and Benji never shared his love for judo. Their bond was never optimal.

Dean is loud, sometimes a bit crude and that was a bit too much for Benji from time to time. A real dad might tone it down a bit, however Dean is not a real dad, from my perspective of course.

‘Really?’ Henry smiles brightly, as he buries his hands in his pockets. ‘That’s always good to hear. I mean, whatever happens tomorrow, I’m proud of him anyways. Your son is an amazing judoka, Amelia. I’ve been training judoka’s for quite some time now, but Benji is on another level. I swear, the way that kid prepares before the throws, it’s quite something. Very unpredictable.’

Hearing other people gush about my children, is something that I always love, but hearing it from a coach who is new, but also seems like the type of man that really, really knows what he is doing, makes it extra special.

‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Wait, now it sounds like I’m actually surprised that he is good, while I know that Benji is amazing, but… His other coaches never gushed about him like you just did. And how long have you known him? A week?’

‘It comes with being a good coach, I guess,’ he says, with an even wider smile on his face. ‘When you see someone talented, you recognize it right away. I’m serious.’

‘Thank you for believing in him.’

‘That’s fairly easy when someone is that good,’ he tells me. ‘I’m not trying to infiltrate in yours and Benji’s life, but… I just have to ask. The divorce, it’s really hard on him, isn’t it?’

I sigh. ‘It is. I mean, it’s hard on both of my kids, but Isabella is really different. She understands that we are never getting back together, that her father is starting a new life and that I’m trying to do that too, but she never blames herself for it. Not one second. Benji on the other hand, keeps assuming it’s his fault. He keeps thinking if he was a better kid, a different kid, Dean wouldn’t have left.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Henry says. ‘It must be tough on the three of you.’

‘It is. I mean, Benji is so sweet, but he takes a lot too personal, while this whole divorce had nothing to do with him.’ I sigh deeply and add: ‘It’s good for him that he has another male role model in his life that he shares something so important with.’

Henry smiles and is that a little blush on his cheeks? ‘Happy to be that for him.’

I realize that what I’m saying now, belongs in a therapy session, not on a parking lot with my son’s hot judo coach ‘I’m so sorry, that’s too much information about a messy divorce you don’t want to hear about.’

‘No, I brought it up myself. It’s just that… I can see it with Benji, how much he is seeking for approval. Just let him know that I’m never going to be disappointed in him. No matter how he performs tomorrow and all the trainings and competitions after that.’

I blink my eyes, as I try to not cry. ‘I’ll let him know. Thanks, Henry, for everything.’

‘No problem, Amelia.’ He motions towards the store and says: ‘I’ve got to go, I’m terribly sorry.’

‘No, no, I understand,’ I quickly say. ‘Please, don’t let me stall you. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Isabella, Benji and I finally managed to sneak out of Eve’s house. Normally I’m not too strict with bed time, especially when it’s weekend, but we have to wake up pretty early tomorrow and I want Benji to feel fresh and fit for his match. I already gave Isabella a kiss, before I walk over to Benji’s room. He is scrolling through his phone and looks up with a smile.

‘Hi sweetheart, what are you doing?’

‘Just checking the opponents.’

‘Can I come in?’ I ask.

‘Of course, mom.’ Benji places his phone to the side, as I sit on the edge of his bed.

‘Benji, we have to talk.’

‘Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?’ His voice is dripping with worry. I should’ve worded it differently.

‘Oh, no, of course not. It’s just that… I ran into coach Cavill today at the grocery store and he wanted me to let you know that he is not going to be disappointed in you, no matter how you perform.’

Benji nods, as he leans with his back against the headboard of his bed. ‘I just don’t want to let him down, mom.’

‘And you’ll never will,’ I say to him, running my fingers through his hair.

‘Dad said that too,’ he mumbles.

I nod. ‘But he always was disappointed when you didn’t win gold,’ I fill in for him. ‘I know, but remember, your dad was overly competitive and was a failure in every single sport out there, thanks to his selfish personality. But you should remember, that not every man in your life is like him. Uncle Johnny and grandpa and even Greg from the store, they are all incredibly proud of you and those men don’t even understand judo. Imagine how proud coach Cavill is going to be, since you both share a love for judo.’

‘But, mom, what if he thinks that I’m not good enough?’

‘You are good enough, honey,’ I say with a smile. ‘And you always will be, for everyone around here and that means for coach too. He will always think that you are good enough, He even said that you were on another level today and he knows his stuff about judo. Remember again, he is not your dad.’

He sighs. ‘I’m scared for tomorrow.’

My sweet and worried Benji. ‘You want me to call coach for you? I think I have his number somewhere in my email. Maybe he can calm you down a bit, prepare you for tomorrow.’

He wants to appear a little tougher than he is, so he shakes his head, but his puppy eyes say something completely different. Thankfully my mom instincts have barely proved me wrong, because I grab my phone from my back pocket and scroll through my mail, trying to find the introduction email from Henry. I click on his phone number and bring the phone to my ear, while holding Benji’s hand even tighter in mine than before. ‘Henry,’ he says when he picks up.

‘Hi, this is Amelia.’

‘Oh, hi Amelia, what a nice surprise. Are you okay?’

This man is quite something else, asking if I’m okay. When was the last time that Dean asked me something like that? I think it was at least six months before I found out he was banging his intern Mindy Simpleton, so that makes it more than a year.

‘Yeah, I’m okay, but I have very a nervous young boy here, who doesn’t believe that he is good enough.’

‘That can’t be good.’ Henry says. ‘You want me to talk to him?’

‘If you want.’

‘Of course I want that. You can put Benji on.’

I hold out my phone for Benji and he hesitantly takes it out of my hand. ‘Hi, coach,’ he says and I stand up, as I clean up his room for a bit, making sure his sports bag is all packed and ready to go.  I know he should do that himself and he does, but it never hurts anyone to double check. ‘Yeah … No, I’m just worried … My mom said that too … Yeah, she is indeed … I’m sorry … No, I really am … I’ll see you tomorrow … Will do … Thank you … Of course.’ Benji holds out the phone for me and says: ‘Coach wants to say something to you.’

I take the phone and say: ‘Hi, it’s me again.’

‘I hope that worked.’

‘That was quick,’ I whisper, as I see Benji getting ready for bed, with a smile on his face. ‘How did you do that?’

‘I’m that amazing,’ he says. ‘No, just kidding. I recognize myself in him, so I know how he feels.’

There is so much I want to ask him. He recognizes himself in my son? Why doesn’t that match up in my head?

‘Anyway, just wanted to tell you that he is a great kid, he’ll do fine and that tomorrow I’ll be his coach and his coach only for that block.’

‘Could you wait for a second?’ I ask him. ‘Just real quick.’

‘Of course.’

I hold the phone away and ask Benji: ‘Are you okay, honey?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says.

‘Well, good night and I’ll see you tomorrow. Rise and shine at six.’

He groans. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’s quite the drive.’ I give him a kiss on his forehead. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, mom.’

I smile at my handsome boy, before I walk out of his room, flicking off the light and closing the door. ‘I’m sorry you had to wait.’

‘You need to find better and more appropriate moments to apologize,’ he says. ‘You’re always apologizing, even when you shouldn’t.’

‘Yeah, it’s an annoying trait.’

‘Not annoying, little bit unnecessary.’

I walk downstairs and sit on a stool at the kitchen island. ‘It’s amazing, really,’ I say, ‘what you managed to do to him. I barely recognize him.’

‘What I said, I see a lot of him in me. It’s hard being that age and… Well, having to deal with a divorce.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What did I say about apologizing, Amelia?’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘This wasn’t an apology,’ I defend myself. ‘This was empathy, very nice of me. You should appreciate that.’

‘You’re right,’ he chuckles.

I sigh. ‘But it is hard on him. This town barely has experience with a divorce, especially if all parties stay in town. We’re all figuring out how to deal with it really.’

‘Yeah, I heard. After you and I saw each other at the lot, Greg told me who you ran into in the store.’

‘Greg, what a big fat blabbermouth. He was never like this back in high school, but the store changed him.’

‘He means well,’ Henry laughs. ‘I haven’t been here too long,’ he continues, ‘but I’ve heard quite some things going around about you and Dean and the kids. I just want you to know that you are doing an amazing job and that Dean is the one who lost out.’

I can’t help but blush and I’m so grateful that he can’t actually see me now. I bite my lip. ‘I just can’t believe that you arrive here when I’m in the spotlight of the town gossip.’

‘Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not interested in town gossip,’ he says. ‘I can tell you that I trust my own judgement a lot more than rumors.’

This shouldn’t make me tear up and I blink away my tears, before clearing my throat. ‘That means a lot.’

‘Of course.’ Henry’s voice is soft and I wonder what he is doing right now. Is he also in his kitchen, is he relaxing on his couch or was he doing work and have I interrupted him?

‘I have to hang up,’ I say. ‘There is a lot that I still need to do. Preparations for tomorrow and such. You want me to bring something for you? I’ve heard that I make great sandwiches.’

‘What a mom move,’ he laughs and a chuckle escapes from my lips. ‘But I’m never saying no to a great sandwich. I love everything, so surprise me.’

‘Will do. See you tomorrow, Henry.’

‘Yeah, see you tomorrow, Amelia.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Taglist: @diegos-butt​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @thelastsock​ // @onlyhenrys​ // @agniavateira​ // @needmorereading​ // @summersong69​ // @coldmuffinbanditshoe // @chamomilebottom // @toomanystoriessolittletime // @shadesofarrogance​ // @crazybutconfidentaf​ // @oddsnendsfanfics​ // @gearhead66​ // @star017​ // @iloveyouyen​ // @thereisa8ella​ // @thethirstyarchive // @nina-skyee // @rn7rocks // @hollytehmoomin // @star017 // @abschaffer2​ //

[jensengirl83]

Regret and Redemption Chapter 7

Dean x reader

Mechanic!AU

Word Count-2264

Warnings-Angst, language, heartbreak

Summary- Reader has left Dean and is trying to move on with her life. Can Dean prove himself and convince her to come back home?

A/N- Thank you to my beta @emoryhemsworth​​​ and all my girls and guy for the encouragement to keep going with this series. I love you all!

Amazing series cover and text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89​ 

To say Dean had a bad week was an understatement. Sam had told him that Stacy had filed a lawsuit against him and his business, he still missed his wife, and now he needed to sign his divorce papers. He had been putting off signing them since Sam had been there earlier that week. Signing them meant his marriage was over, that Y/N would no longer be his wife, and he would be alone for good. Alone. That was one of his biggest fears.

Dean always had the tough guy exterior but was actually a very complex man. He never liked to show his emotions, but they were there, and when Dean felt something, he felt it deeply. His Dad had been a hardass man, and Dean had always felt that was how he needed to be. He learned early on to just push down his feelings and be a man, or what people thought a man should be. It wasn’t just his emotions that Dean kept hidden, he also hid what an intelligent man he was. He never felt the need to broadcast it to everyone. He knew what he could do and that was enough.

He also had his fears that he kept to himself. That was one of the reasons he was in the mess he was in now. Dean had never thought highly of himself despite the cocky front he put on. He always thought that he was never good enough. He wasn’t a good enough son, brother, husband, etc. His insecurities fueled his need for the booze and women, seeking gratification any way he could find it. If he could have only curbed his self-loathing and been what Y/N needed and deserved, she would still be there, a fact that made him hate himself more and more every day.

Dean sat on his couch, whiskey in hand, as was his usual routine now. His eyes were drawn to the unsigned papers laying on the coffee table where they had been since he received them. He glared down at them as he clenched his jaw in anger and frustration, thinking on what he should do when his phone broke his train of thought. The face on the screen had made his mind up for him.

“I signed the damn papers Y/N! Your lawyer will have them in the morning!” Dean yelled and hung up the phone. He knew that was the reason why she had called in the first place.

Dean stood and threw his whiskey glass against the wall as he looked around for a pen. If a divorce was what she wanted, then that was what she was going to fucking get. Dean was at the end of his rope and just wanted everything to be over so he could mourn for what he lost in peace. He grabbed the papers from the coffee table and slammed them against the wall, signing his name furiously before throwing them and the pen to the couch. Dean grabbed his jacket and keys before storming out the door. He needed to let his frustration and anger out on someone, and he knew exactly where to go.

Y/N stared at her phone like it had burned her. She called to ask about the papers, but was his reaction really necessary? Her eyes had begun to glisten with unshed tears, her heart aching at the news he had signed the papers. Of course, she wanted him to sign them and get the divorce over with, but it was still painful to think that it was all over now. Her relationship with the man she had loved for so long was now going to be just a memory. Y/N began to pour herself a drink when her phone started to ring. She rushed over to answer and saw it was her editor.

“Hello Steven,” Y/N answered as she went back to pouring her drink.

“Hi Y/N. Are you free for lunch one day this week so we can discuss where you are in your latest novel?” he asked.

“Uh, sure. What day would be good for you?” she asked as she bit down on her bottom lip. She hoped to get a little more time to get caught up with her writing.

“How about tomorrow? I’m in town and could meet you at Harvelle’s,” Steven said, and Y/N could hear something in his voice.

“That’s fine. I can meet you there at one o’clock. Will that be ok?” Y/N asked.

“That’s fine! See you tomorrow Y/N,” he said, hanging up the phone.

Y/N hung her head and groaned. She was so far behind on her writing since all of this happened and she wasn’t looking forward to being bitched at. Everyone at her publishing company knew what had happened thanks to Dean’s stunt at her launch party, but she had been letting it get to her and interfere with her career. She wasn’t on a time limit to finish, but she knew they wouldn’t be happy to know that she had fallen behind.

Y/N made her way back into the kitchen and filled her glass with brandy. She had never been much of a drinker, but she had always appreciated a good strong liquor, especially these last few months. She never imagined this would be her life. If someone had told her two years ago that she and Dean would be in the middle of a divorce, she would’ve laughed at them. She wasn’t laughing now; nothing about her life funny at all. When they got married, she thought she would be a mother by now. Funny how life has a way of flushing your hopes and dreams down the toilet. Y/N threw back her drink, finishing it in one gulp, and decided to go to bed and end this shitty day.

Dean pulled up to the curb and slammed the door to the Impala. He never would’ve done this, but he was too pissed to think about it. He felt the grass give under the weight of his boots as he made his way to his destination. He didn’t come here often, but today he had things to say to the man that helped to make him the way he was. John’s tombstone came into sight and Dean’s legs felt like they were going to buckle beneath him, the weight of the emotion and unsaid words between him and his dead father bearing down on him. Dean collapsed to his knees in front of the stone marker. The words he had always wanted to say began to spill out of him like the tears that were spilling down his cheeks.

“How dare you! How could you do this to me Dad?!” Dean yelled at the tombstone in front of him.

“You always told me to act like a man. No one wants to hear a cry baby. Well, guess what I’ve learned Dad? MEN CAN SHOW EMOTIONS TOO!” he screamed as he furiously wiped the tears from his face.

“I’ve lost the only person who will ever truly love me for who I am because I let you get in my fucking head! I was always your little soldier huh? Always did what dad said, followed orders without question. Look at where that got me!” Dean couldn’t hold anything back as he continued to yell at his dead father.

“Why Dad? Why was I never good enough for you? Mom would love to know some of the things you said to me when I was young, raising me to be a man’s man. Well, that worked out great for you! Your reputation as John Winchester, the great mechanic, husband, and father is still intact while my life and marriage are falling apart!” Dean hung his head and sobbed but continued to speak.

“I can’t blame you for everything, now can I? You didn’t make me fuck those women. I did that on my own, but I can blame you for my low self-esteem and self-worth, and I do! It’s obvious now the only thing I did right that you thought was a good idea was to watch out for Sammy and ask Y/N to marry me,” Dean said as he looked back up to the name engraved on the granite in front of him.

“You’ll never know how much I wish that I would have been the son you wanted, Dad. Maybe you could’ve just been proud of me instead of screwing me up for life! I’ll always love you Dad, but you were a horrible fucking father!” Dean growled as he stood to walk away.

“I will never forgive you for how you made me feel about myself, but I guess I’m partially to blame for that. See you on the other side,” Dean said as he turned his back and walked away.

Dean had been so caught up in his emotions that he hadn’t noticed that someone had walked up during his screaming. Mary had been coming to place new flowers on her husband’s grave when she heard the yelling. Dean’s words had her speechless and she had hidden behind a tree to listen to the rest of what he had to say. She had never known that Dean felt that way about himself and it broke her heart. As she watched her oldest son get in his car and drive away, she knew what she needed to do.

Dean made it back home and took off his jacket when something fell out onto the floor. He looked down to see a piece of paper with something taped to it. He bent down to pick it up and his heart stopped when he realized what it was. Y/N had a charm made for him when they got married to add to the necklace that Sam had given him when they were younger. The charm had gotten lost and he never thought he would see it again. He pulled the perfect replica of the Impala from the paper and opened the letter.

Dean,

I’m not sure when you will see this, but I wanted to surprise you. I know you thought that you would never see this again, but I had it remade for you. I hope you love it! You deserve the world, but I hope this will be enough to show you how much you mean to me! Now that you had the clasp on the necklace fixed, you shouldn’t have to worry about losing it again. I know you love Baby almost as much as you love me, so I wanted her to be close to your heart again where she belongs. I love you, Dean Winchester! Forever and always yours my love.

                                                                                                                   Y/N

Dean held the charm in his hand as the note ripped his heart to shreds. Y/N always dated every note she had written to him, and this one had been dated almost seven months ago. He was so wrapped up in himself and feeding his need for reassurance that he hadn’t even checked his pockets. That was something she always did, left sweet notes in his jacket pockets. If Dean felt like shit about everything before, now it was tenfold. She had replaced something that meant the world to him and he had never even noticed. Dean unclasped his necklace and slid the small silver car where she had once been. Dean made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a big glass of whiskey. He had no intention of even pretending that he was ok.

Y/N woke up the next morning to pour herself her first cup of coffee when her phone vibrated on the counter, getting her attention. She turned to see that she had a text from her uncle. She opened her phone to read it and felt her heart begin to ache with the words on the screen.

Uncle Johnnie: Dean’s brother sent the divorce papers over this morning. They are signed and we have a court date two weeks from now to have it finalized. I pulled some strings and had it pushed up so you can get this over with. I love you, honey.

Y/N felt the tears trying to form in her eyes. This was it,  everything was going to be over in two weeks. It was a bittersweet moment. She was happy that everything would be done so she could move on, but she was sad to see the end of the marriage she thought would last forever. Y/N let herself shed the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She closed her eyes and let the emotions overtake her. She would always grieve for the man and the marriage she had, but now she had to move on and live her own life. Her phone buzzed with another text, and she looked to see what her uncle was saying now. She was shocked to see that it wasn’t her uncle that had texted her this time.

Mary: Y/N, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, and I understand, but Dean is not doing so well, and I hoped we could talk about what exactly happened. He has me very worried and I can’t get him to tell me much of anything. I will always think of you as my daughter, Y/N. I truly hope you will message me back and let me say what I need to tell you.

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[raendown]

Pairing: None Word count: 4419 Chapter: 2/4  Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don’t get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama’s obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 2

“But why do I need to be in charge of it?” In spite of the usual efforts to sound more mature than his actual age, at the moment Hikaku treads dangerously close to a childish whine. Izuna is far from impressed.

“We need someone there to make sure people actually stay on task,” he says. “And we all know there’s no one better at killing a buzz than you. It’s a work site, people are gonna get rowdy, idiots are gonna want to show off. You’re basically acting as supervisor to make sure that no one gets out of hand or uses any chakra outside of strict working necessity.”

Scratching at the back of his head, Hikaku steps aside to let a man pass between them and then falls in to step beside Izuna again. His face takes on a dour expression for several minutes as they walk. By the time he orders his thoughts for whatever he wants to say they’ve already passed by several shops and turned down another street.

“I’m not exactly…the strongest guy around,” he says at last. The words sound as though they pain him to admit. Pride is a terrible affliction to them all.

“That’s fine. No one’s asking you to actually fight people. If they step out of line you tell them where to shove it. And if they try to start something you don’t think you can win then dodge like hell and report them. You know I’m always willing to crack a head for you if you need it.” Izuna grins as he claps his cousin on the back, shamelessly enjoying the bleak grimace he gets in return.

When the other falls in to a sulk Izuna lets him, too cheerful to be put off his own good mood. Plans to build the wall are progressing a lot faster than anyone expected after the council of elders had somehow all managed to agree on a single proposal in the first meeting. As a celebration of the workers going out to survey the initial measurements Izuna had invited Madara out for lunch. Unfortunately his brother is an absolute stick in the mud and had opted to stay home with some paperwork he apparently needed to get done so when Izuna passed Hikaku on his way in to the shopping district he cheerfully invited his cousin instead.

And even more cheerfully dropped the news that he is nominating Hikaku as one of the foremen for this upcoming worksite. Their lunch out has been a petty man’s delight as he enjoyed both the food and the look of exhausted irritation staring back at him.

“Come on, if we cut through here I think it leads out near the tailor’s and I need to put in an order for a new cloak.” With how the streets twist here and there Izuna is actually fairly proud of himself for remembering that. He pulls at his cousin’s shoulder until Hikaku follows along behind him with a tortured sigh.

“I thought we were going home now?”

“Oh stop whining or I’ll sit on you until you admit that you’re secretly an old man in an adolescent body.”

Even without looking he can practically hear the other pouting. “I’m nineteen!”

Izuna intends to shoot back with some quip about making his point for him. He’s interrupted before he can by the sudden appearance of two stocky figures in front of them, blocking the path in an unmistakably deliberate manner. One arm swings out instinctively to stop Hikaku and encourage the younger man behind him. His cousin might not be exactly weak but he is also enough of a level-headed realistic to step behind the stronger fighter without complaint.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Izuna asks in a calm voice.

“Already done enough, haven’t you?” one of the men drawls. His accent is distinctly northern where the villages have all intermarried enough that none of the people living there can be said to carry even as few as three bloodlines.

“If I’ve already helped then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind stepping aside for us to pass.” Humor is, perhaps, not the best way to respond in this situation but unfortunately his mouth always works a little faster than his brain. Sometimes the words just sort of fall out of their own.

“Think you’re funny?”

Clearly these strangers do not appreciate his humor.

“Yeah I sort of think I am.” Izuna grins even as he curses himself for a trouble-seeking fool.

“Right.” One of the men turns his head to spit before cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been waiting years to get you alone. Then some people came ‘round our little hamlet talking about peace and a village where we can all be happy and sunshine together and I thought to myself ‘well now, isn’t that just an opportunity?’ And here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“My sister never took another step after you left her for dead. Now she spends every day with this look on her face like she wishes you would have just finished the job.”

A wash of sad understanding turns over in Izuna’s belly. Not guilt because he’s sure he had a reason for whatever he did, he’s never been the type for unnecessary slaughter, but the aftermath of their duties as shinobi is never pleasant to think about. One of the first lessons he’d ever been taught was how to put it all out of his mind lest it drive him to madness thinking about the things he’s done. It doesn’t take a genius to understand the sort of revenge this man is after; obviously he’s never been able to put what happened to his sister out of mind.

For perhaps a sliver of an instant Izuna considers trying to talk his way out of this but even as the idea enters his mind he cast it aside. The anger staring back at him is not the sort of anger that can be talked aside. Unfortunate, that. There goes his good mood.

“Hikaku,” he murmurs quietly, “I want you to stay out of this.”

“But-!”

“Just watch the street and make sure no one else gets involved, alright?” Keeping both eyes on the man already reaching for a poorly sharpened kunai, he waits until his cousin assents with a low grunt. Then he nods and put his trust in the other to keep out of the way.

Eyes narrowed, body language more aggressive by the moment, the stranger doing all the talking gives a harsh snort. “You must be proud of the pain you’ve caused. I’ve always enjoyed taking the pride out of men who don’t deserve it. Hurting you the way you hurt her is going to be fun, I’ll make sure to mark this day on my calendar and celebrate it every damn year.”

Izuna is already imagining the lecture Madara will give him later on setting an example for others, how they are supposed to be the pinnacles of peaceful behavior towards their new allies. He spares a moment to scowl mentally for the one who has seen most of his violence over the years. What use is having a stalker if Tobirama mysteriously disappears the only time it might be useful to have him around?

Of course, the moment he finishes that thought the two men move towards him and then every body present freezes as another appears between them. Exasperation and relief flood Izuna’s veins in equal measures. Tobirama says nothing in either greeting or explanation, merely stands like a statue with his back to the one he’s spent most of his life trying to kill. Leaning to the side puts Izuna at just the right angle to see his rival’s face and wonders at the look of sheer ice in those deep red eyes, narrowed in to a cold glare that would have frozen the blood of bigger men than the ones he has turned it on now. Nice as it is of him to give these idiots pause in whatever stupidity they had been about to commit it’s still baffling for Izuna to find himself standing behind a wall of pale flesh like some damsel that needs rescuing.

And all in utter silence.

Now faced with twice the skill as they had been a moment before, the would-be attackers seem to rethink their options, eyes darting between Tobirama’s immovable stance and Izuna’s raised eyebrows. The one who has so far done all the talking keeps his eyes forward when he cranes his neck to whisper behind himself. Wariness has already filled the second man, frustration clear on his face even as he shakes his head with obvious regret.

“Let us have five minutes with him,” the first one says finally, attempting to bargain with Tobirama. “Rumor says you follow him around like a shadow; obviously you don’t trust him. You wouldn’t shed any tears if something happened, yeah? No one has to know you were even here.”

They wait but Tobirama makes no move to reply, only continues staring the pair of them down. It’s difficult to decide whether his ability to remain so completely still is more impressive or eerie but Izuna supposes it doesn’t matter much when it is clearly serving its purpose. All confidence drains away to leave both of the strange men looking increasingly nervous as the minutes ticked by. Eventually the one in front grunts and scuffs one foot against the dusty ground.

“Whatever. Pair of goody-two-shoes softies now that you’ve got a pretty little treaty to hide behind and all. Just you wait, Uchiha. There won’t always be a Senju bodyguard around to protect you.” With a sharp gesture he motions for his companion to follow and backs away slowly until he can lose himself in the crowds just beyond the alley.

“Hn, won’t I?” Izuna murmurs unhappily under his breath.

Although he’s sure the words do not carry across the space between them, Tobirama turns and meets his eyes with the anger in his face draining away to leave him blank once more. For some reason the sight of him is unutterably irritating.

“Thanks oh so much for the help but you know I could have taken those two with both eyes closed, right? I don’t you to rescue me.” Snorting quietly as he hears his cousin splutter behind him, Izuna shakes his head. “Seriously, is this what you were following me around for? I don’t know if you were hoping for a life debt or something but no way am I declaring some bullshit like that when I could have taken care of this on my own.”

“Izuna!” Hikaku whines and pulls at his sleeve but he shakes the man off without looking.

“Go on then. Was that what you wanted? For the love of chakra just say something!”

Tobirama tilts his head slowly to one side. “Your brother was looking for you,” is all he says, leaving them to wonder if he intends that as a convenient excuse for his presence or this is a paltry attempt at moving the focus away from himself. It’s a lie either way. His brother knows exactly where he is.

With no further words Tobirama turns and walks away in a plain declaration that he considers this nonexistent conversation over. Not even when Izuna hollers after him loud enough to attract attention from both ends of the alley does he look back, leaping up on to the rooftops where, even more annoyingly, his chakra doesn’t go farther than a couple of roads away. Considering how close he tends to stay lately it’s sort of a miracle he goes even that far.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I murdered him in his sleep?” Izuna grumbles.

“Yes,” Hikaku answers in a flat voice. “Many people. Not the least of whom would be his own sibling.”

“Just a little bit?”

“No.”

It proves difficult but he manages to resist the urge to cross his arms. “Ugh, fine. Come on. I can stop by the tailor’s another day, let’s just head back home. Madara’s gonna love this.”

One glance is all it takes to see that Hikaku understands his sarcasm. At least the familiarity of rolling eyes lifts his spirits a bit. He is still frowning as they turn for home, however, working though everything that’s just happened in the span of about five minutes. For all that he hadn’t believed in peace himself for many years, apparently he’s allowed himself to grow complacent in just a few short months of it. Getting jumped is surprising enough already considering how few people would dare to challenge his reputation but having someone go to all the trouble of joining their settlement just to challenge him specifically is a dedication to hatred beyond even his own ability to carry grudges. Then to have Tobirama of all people step in like some volunteer policeman? He feels almost tempted to check himself for signs of whiplash.

Hikaku stays with him until they are well within the boundaries of the Uchiha compound, probably worrying that he might wander off and get up to no good. Which, he can admit, sounds fairly relaxing at the moment. Nothing helps him let off a bit off steam more than pulling a good prank or two on his fellow clan members. Unfortunately he’s had to rein himself in a lot more often to make a good image for anyone watching the Uchiha a little too closely, putting their best foot forward until the gathered clans are all on more solid footing with each other. It’s a shame, really. Behaving is boring.

Left alone only a few streets away from his home, Izuna spends the last few minutes’ walk trying to figure out how to describe what has just transpired without making it sound like some weird over exaggeration. He wanders up their walkway with an absent thought that it looks like the grass seeds they planted are finally sprouting, green shoots rising from bare dirt to stand proud with no help from the mokuton they still deny needing, and scowls to know that it is now perhaps a little late in the season. They will die before they have a chance to live. Perhaps to take advantage of the help Hashirama offers will be necessary after all next year. Madara looks up as Izuna enters their home and matches his frown as though by instinct.

“What’s your problem?” he demands.

“Grass is finally growing,” Izuna mumbles as he kicks off his shoes. “And I got jumped in an alley. Sort of.”

Madara's paperwork drifts slowly down to his lap, eyes narrowing behind the reading glasses he so shamefully hides away from most people, fingers already tapping random patterns against his thigh with rapid thought.

“You look remarkably unruffled for someone who just got jumped.”

“Didn’t exactly turn in to a fight. Almost, there were two of them and one was saying something about me hurting his sister, but we got interrupted.”

“By?” his brother prompts him when he doesn’t go on.

Shuffling in to the room, Izuna flops down in the closest armchair and rolls his eyes. “Who do you think? My biggest fan showed up and just stood there like a ghostly statue, stared the two idiots down until I guess they decided they didn’t want to fight me and him at the same time.”

He feels almost flattered to see Madara set his paperwork entirely aside. As the years go by his brother has grown to be more and more of a workaholic, always needing to be productive and taking less time to simply relax, almost as though he were trying to fill some kind of hole in himself. Izuna wonders sometimes if the man is lonely but he never asks. Romance is generally one of the topics they try not to talk about beyond warning each other to go sleep somewhere else for a night on rare occasions.

“Just like that?” Madara asks eventually. “He showed up out of nowhere to just…stand there?”

“Pretty much. It was weird. When I tried to tell him I had the situation handled all he said was that you were looking for me and then he disappeared like he does except he didn’t go far. Do you think he even realizes that I’m a trained fucking shinobi and I can track chakra like everyone else if I put some effort in to it?”

Several minutes pass without answer but he knows his sibling well enough to know that Madara is only mulling the situation over in his head. Much to the contrary of what most people think, he does have the ability to think before he speaks; it’s just that he loses that ability when his emotions are high and that tends to happen a little too easily. Especially around the two Senju brothers. Both of their one-time enemies have their own way of evoking emotion fairly easily from those around them.

“I can’t say I know what’s in his mind but from what you’ve told me I don’t think he cares whether you know he’s there or not.” Madara hums as though considering his own statement.

“That’s just weird,” Izuna grumbles. “This whole thing is weird. People are actually starting to talk about it, do you realize that? And some of the rumors going around are wild! I’m pretty sure the man isn’t following me around because he’s secretly in love with me.”

“You never know,” Madara points out with the careful thought on his face morphing in to sly teasing.

“Oh don’t even suggest it,” Izuna shoots back, nose wrinkling with distaste.

It isn’t that Tobirama is particularly unattractive. Quite the opposite, actually; he’s been unfairly attractive since the rest of them were all gangly teenagers hating him a little more for having never suffered the indignation of a pimple at the end of his nose. Rather it’s the idea of trying to make a relationship work with someone he would constantly be comparing himself to that balks him. Being competitive is simply in his nature and Izuna is self-aware enough to admit that being so close in power to his partner would leave him feeling childishly not good enough.

His eyes close as he realizes that now he is worrying about this ridiculous possibility he hadn’t even given credence to until he was teased about it. Madara, the bastard, snickers at him from across the room.

“Maybe I can shake him if I volunteer to take a few missions,” Izuna muses aloud. “He’s really not harming me in any way but it’d be nice to not feel eyes following me around all the time. That plays havoc with all the years I spent training myself to be hyper aware of anyone watching me. I keep thinking he’s about to attack.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” His brother pretends to nod in sage agreement, to which he lifts his middle finger.

“Don’t project your own insecurities on to me, old man.”

The wave of profanity that crashes over him in response flows in one ear and out the other as Izuna tunes it all out with the ease of practice. He is already trying to remember the mission list that got posted this morning and whether there had been anything on it which might keep him away for a few days just to relax, to breathe without having to wonder if red eyes might be watching his every movement.

Getting out of the village will be good for him anyway. It will be interesting to see how the climates have changed in the area with the forming of Konoha and all the other lands following their example. When the only thing he needed to call himself was an Uchiha there had been certain cities and towns that welcomed him with the relief of knowing he would protect them if need be while others had watched him pass through their lands from behind closed blinds, reporting every movement to the other clans they were allied with. Now that he carries with him the weight of Konohagakure on his shoulders he wonders how those same eyes will watch him. Friendly, the ally of his allies? Or will suspicion and prejudice linger as they all pretend that it doesn’t here in the village itself?

It feels strange to hope that lingering prejudice is the only reason Tobirama keeps following him around but Izuna finds his thoughts wandering back to the rumors of a strange romantic obsession and shudders, pushing the idea away as quickly as it returns to him. Some time away will hopefully clear his mind and allow him to come back to this odd situation with fresh eyes. Maybe then he will be able to see past the things he is afraid of finding to spot the real reason.

Like any good plan, however, it is subject to unexpected changes. Namely the innocent smile on Hashirama's face the next morning as he stands in the man’s office and stares with abject horror.

“You want me to what?”

“Accompany Tobirama on his mission! It’s a simple delivery but our intelligence says that Iwa shinobi have been spotted in the area and they’ve been doing everything they can to sabotage our efforts in reaching out to new allies.” His eyes turn soft in the way that says he is slipping away in to dreamy thoughts. “Normally I would send Touka with him, they’ve always worked well together, but then something Maddy said made me realize that it would be really good to make a show of unity, you know?”

“Unity.” Izuna parrots the word faintly, hardly able to believe his ears. He is going to kill his brother for this.

With an oblivious nod Hashirama goes on. “Yes! The biggest concern we see from the clans we’re reaching out to is their doubt that this peace is real. What better way to convince them of our sincerity than to see you and Tobi working together?”

“That’s very sound logic,” he has to admit. “Terrible, awful, and disgustingly sound logic.”

“Isn’t it? When I told Tobi my idea all he did was stare at me without saying anything. I would have thought he’d be proud of me for coming up with such a clever idea.”

Doing his best to ignore the most powerful man in the nation pouting at him like a child asking for sympathy, Izuna draws in a deep breath and lets it back out slowly. Of course his old rival had only stared. The man is probably leaping for maniacal joy on the inside to be handed such a perfect excuse to continue stalking him from even closer than usual. So much for getting some time away.

“Looks like I don’t have much of a choice but to accept,” Izuna mumbles more to himself than to Hashirama. After making a point to seek out a mission for himself it will only make him look like a dissenter if he refuses to work this one simply because of who he’s been asked to work with.

“Excellent! Right, I have a copy of the mission details here if you’d like to take the scroll and look it over. You’ll be leaving in two days so don’t worry about rushing, there’s plenty of time to get things together or find someone to cover your work. I know Tobi hates to come home and find his paperwork has piled up.”

“Does he now?”

The other man beams at his rhetorical question, clearly mistaking it for interest, and continues to blather on long past the point when Izuna stops listening. Now that he’s been enjoying the benefits of it for months he will be the last person to declare this peace a mistake but Izuna will freely and eagerly state for anyone who asks that he regrets the effects it seems to be having on Tobirama. Or more accurately he regrets that it has given the man chances such as the one he finds himself falling in to now.

Quietly planning revenge on his own brother for having any part in saddling him with this doom, Izuna allows Hashirama's voice to wash over him like a constant stream as he unrolls the scroll to peruse its contents. The mission itself doesn’t seem too complicated, typical first contact stuff, a good show of cooperation and goodwill before they saunter on home again. It’s ironically just the sort of thing he’s been hoping for. Of course, he’s been hoping to go alone or perhaps to drag Hikaku along with him. Now he is to be saddled with an extra shadow to follow along behind.

A little piece of home to come with him, he thinks wryly.

“Much as I appreciate your stellar conversation”-Izuna interrupts the flow of words without guilt the moment he is finished reading-“I do believe I should go set my paperwork in order now rather than leaving it until the last minute. Whoever takes up my duties while I’m gone won’t appreciate a messy filing system.”

“Yeah, Tobi’s always on my back to be less messy. I won’t keep you then!”

Izuna nods and turns away. He makes it all the way to the door and twists the handle when his attention is called back to see Hashirama’s face take on a hesitant, almost pensive expression.

“Thank you for accepting this mission. I know the two of you aren’t close the way Maddy and I are but I think…this will be good for him.” He says nothing more than that, no explanation for such cryptic words, and once again Izuna finds himself wondering whether this man knows what sort of behavior his sibling gets up to at every opportunity.

Rather than ask he simply nods and turns back to the door again. Tobirama tends to stay farther away whenever he keeps within the boundaries of the Uchiha compound. If he is to be denied the space he’s been trying to create for himself then Izuna very much intends to spend as much time as possible on his own before several days of having to walk side by side with his own unexplained stalker. Maybe – and it’s a big maybe – he might be able to force some sort of clue out of the man while they’re alone in the wilderness for days on end.

A man can dream, even if he dreams of nothing more than an answer to his questions.

[raywritesthings]

One Simple Act

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Barty Crouch Jr., Cornelius Fudge Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (Pre-Relationship) Summary: When the third years are subjected to Moody’s lessons on the Unforgivables, Ginny and Harry together stumble on a secret plot that has a ripple effect. *Can also be read on my AO3*

The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw third years sat nervous and excited at their desks, waiting for the start of class. Their latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had told them today was to be a practical lesson unlike any they’d ever had before.

“It’s no good just knowing what the Unforgivables are,” the grizzled ex-Auror had stated, pacing the aisles with a wooden thump to every step. “You need to be ready for what you’ll be up against. You need to feel just how hard of a fight it will be. And no curse is harder to fight than the Imperius.”

The electric blue eye had stopped swiveling for a moment as a dark look crossed the marred features. Every last student had held their breath.

“The older students have all completed this exercise. Some might say third years are too young to be expected to do the same. I say age doesn’t matter to a dark wizard who’s intent on bending you to his will.”

At her desk, Ginny Weasley shifted uncomfortably at the memory. No, age didn’t matter to dark wizards. Not even first years were too young.

Fortunately no one else seemed to notice her discomfort. The bell had rung, their teacher had arrived, and they were all too busy following the barked instructions from Moody to get out of their seats and form a line. Ginny found herself shuffling near to the end of it.

“I will perform the Imperius Curse on each of you one at a time. Your job is to try and break it. It won’t be easy, and truthfully I don’t expect any of you to do it. Not on the first try, anyway. Even the slightest sign of resistance to what I ask you to do while under it is something to be proud of.”

The students exchanged a few looks up and down the line, some more scared than others. Ginny didn’t know how she looked.

Moody motioned with one hand. “Creevey, you first.”

Ginny did her best to remain calm as the distance between herself and the front of the line grew shorter and shorter. It was just Professor Moody. Her dad had always called him a great man, respected him for everything he’d done in the war. Ginny knew Hogwarts wasn’t always safe, but this was.

“Is it wrackspurts?” Said Luna, light and airy in her ear. Ginny tried not to jump; she hadn’t realized her Ravenclaw friend had gotten in line behind her.

“What?”

“You keep shifting about on your feet. I thought it was a particularly persistent swarm of wrackspurts giving you trouble.”

A shaky chuckle escaped her, relieving some of the tension in her shoulders. “Er, maybe, Luna.”

Up ahead, Demelza was doing a series of pirouettes. She looked pretty and graceful. It didn’t seem so bad. Nobody had fought it off yet, and Moody didn’t look frustrated.

“Weasley,” he said, and with a gulp she stepped forward. The professor raised his wand. “Imperio.”

A fog seemed to settle over her eyes and in her mind. Ginny forgot all about Professor Moody and the other students standing and watching her. She felt calm, totally at peace, and couldn’t remember why she’d been so nervous.

Skip in a circle, said a voice in her head, one Ginny did not recognize. It was soothing, persuasive.

Just like Tom had been.

The calm that had washed over her vanished in an instant, replaced by a blinding panic.

This can’t be happening, not here, not now.

Skip in a circle, the voice repeated with insistence. A perfectly reasonable request. Not like before, not like the times she’d been made to do the other things.

Tom’s requests had started off reasonable, too, though. Write to me, Ginny, I’ve been so lonely. Tell me about Hogwarts, I’ve missed it. Who is this Harry Potter?

The voice said skip in a circle, but all Ginny heard was come to die.

“No!”

Her arms were thrown out in front of her as the classroom slammed abruptly back into place just in time for her to watch a wave of something burst from the wand that she didn’t remember putting in her hand and hit Moody square in the chest. He flew back into his own blackboard and slid down the wall.

There was a horrible beat of silence, pierced only by a few murmurs and one whispered, “Bloody hell.”

Their professor’s magical eye swiveled about before fixing unerringly on her. A hoarse noise escaped him that it took a moment to identify as a laugh.

“Wicked, Ginny!” Colin was practically vibrating with excitement and looked ready to dive for the camera he still kept in his bag. The other students were all staring at her in a mixture of shock and what seemed to her fear.

“I think the wrackspurts have gone,” Luna remarked brightly. “That was quite clever of you.”

Ginny ran past Luna, down the aisle, and out the door. She kept running down corridors and up stairs, trying to put as much distance between herself and that room as possible. Her thighs started to burn with the effort, and at last she pushed past a tapestry Fred and George had shown her hid a secret passage between the fifth and sixth floors.

Once in the secluded space, her steps slowed and Ginny leaned against a wall before sliding down it as her legs gave out. The frenzied escape over, her actions started to catch up with her. Ginny stifled a sob with one hand, then squeezed her eyes shut as tears sprang to them.

She just had to still let Tom get to her, didn’t she? When everyone else had long put it behind them and hopefully forgotten. Now there was bound to be more of that talk. And Merlin, Professor Moody had to think she was bloody mental! She didn’t have the first clue how she was going to explain herself, much less show herself in that class again. Maybe it was lucky she’d knocked him down; with that eye of his, he’d have been able to follow her straight here, and Ginny needed the space to breathe.

She was not alone for long, however. A pair of footsteps coming from the opposite direction echoed towards her before stopping.

“Ginny?”

Oh no. “H-harry?” Of course one of the few other people who was privy to knowing of this secret passage was one of the last people she would want to find her like this.

Harry appeared, tucking what looked like an old bit of parchment away in his robes. His eyes were wide and still brilliantly green in the dim light afforded to them. “What’s wrong?”

Ginny hurriedly wiped at her eyes. She knew crying tended to make Harry uncomfortable. “Nothing. I just, um, sort of ran out of Moody’s class right in the middle of it.”

“Moody’s class? What for?” He took a couple steps closer, lips quirked in bemusement. “I mean, he’s a bit mad, but brilliant.”

She hung her head. “It was stupid. He was training us to resist the Imperius Curse, and I threw it off.”

“Really? That’s amazing, Ginny!”

He sounded impressed, and Ginny wanted to be happy about that, but she couldn’t. “No, but my magic sort of — I hit him with it. I didn’t mean to, I just panicked. I know it was just a lesson, but all I could think of was first year.”

Harry had gone very quiet. “Oh.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s probably stupid, but after- after that year, I promised myself no one was gonna force me to do anything I didn’t want to do again. And I know Moody wasn’t going to make me do horrible things, but I...I’m not sorry I forced him out. But I didn’t want everyone else thinking about it and talking about it all over again.”

The sound of him moving caused her eyes to open again, and Ginny could only watch as Harry sat beside her on the floor.

“They might not,” he tried to reassure her. “Loads of people have had bad reactions to Moody’s lessons. You should have seen Neville when he went over the Cruciatus Curse.”

Ginny sent him a withering look. They both knew being compared to Neville wasn’t usually considered a compliment. Not that that was Neville’s fault.

Harry grimaced. “Well, at least you did throw it off. I didn’t even manage that on the first try. I sort of half-stopped myself and banged my chin on the desk.”

She couldn’t help a small snort of laughter, which Harry laughed at.

“I don’t really know what I did. I guess it was accidental magic. I haven’t had an outburst like that since before Hogwarts.”

“At least you didn’t blow up your aunt,” Harry offered sagely. He was quiet another moment or two, his eyes studying her. “Do you want to go back to class?”

Ginny frowned at her shoes. “Not really.”

“I think you should see Madam Pomfrey.”

Ginny turned bright red. “I’m not ill—”

“No, but you’re pretty shaken. Ginny, I — I knew you were unhappy, but I didn’t think it was my business two years ago, and I let it happen to you. I don’t want to make that mistake again, not with a friend.”

She stared at him, not knowing what to say, or maybe how to say it. Why did she still have to get so tongue-tied around him?

Harry drew back and seemed to falter for the first time since finding her. “That is if you want to be friends.”

“Of course I do,” Ginny blurted. “I mean, we are, aren’t we? Why wouldn’t — oh.”

The dismal look on his face clued her in.

“Harry, you know I’d never believe those things people are saying.” How could she think for even one second that the boy who had rescued her from the Chamber, comforted her through her tears and shielded her from those who might have accused her, be the attention-seeking brat Rita Skeeter was painting him as? Even the nice boy who stayed at their home over the summers and seemed perpetually surprised by her mother’s hugs didn’t fit that image.

“I never thought Ron would believe them,” he muttered to his trainers.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Just because he’s my brother doesn’t mean I’m a prat, too.” Harry’s lips twitched, though he said nothing. “He’ll come round. Can’t force it or he’ll get more stubborn about it.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

They both stood, each accidentally reaching for the other’s hand to help them up. Ginny stepped back first, desperately fighting the blush that wanted to transform her whole face into a tomato.

Harry didn’t comment as ever and began leading them back the way he’d come.

“Haven’t you got a class next?” Ginny asked. “That must have been where you were headed.”

He shrugged. “It’s History of Magic. I doubt Binns will even notice.”

Ginny smirked. He was probably right about that. “Why were you in a rush to get there so early, then?”

“I’m trying to avoid crowds,” Harry answered bluntly.

As it was, the bell rung just as they’d reached the sixth floor, and the two of them had to fight against the flow of foot traffic as everyone else streamed out of classrooms and towards the main staircase. A couple of nasty looks were sent their way, and she caught the flash of a Potter Stinks badge here and there.

“Potter!” Called a particularly nasal voice, and Ginny glanced to see Harry’s expression instantly sour. She couldn’t much blame him; she’d done the same. “Got a new Weasel to be your best friend?”

Ginny looked round at Malfoy’s smug face. “Haven’t you got arts and crafts to get to? Got to be too early for nap time, but you are getting a bit whiny.”

She kept walking, not even bothering to check what impact those words might have had. Malfoy was already being buffeted in the other direction by the crowd anyway.

Harry quickly fell in beside her as they finally cleared the crowd. “Ginny, that was brilliant. I don’t think Malfoy knew what hit him.”

She gave a shrug. “He’s a prat. Him and his whole family. He’s lucky I don’t hex him.”

He cast another glance at her. “Do you know a lot of hexes?”

She dared to flash him a grin. “Comes in handy when you want Fred and George out of your hair.”

They pushed open the doors of the Hospital Wing and entered the empty ward. Madam Pomfrey was near the other end of the room, refilling various jars and bottles. She looked up at their approach.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. I was hoping not to see you until the first task, at least.”

“Er, no Madam. Actually I was just bringing Ginny here,” Harry explained, taking a slight step backwards.

The mediwitch hummed and turned her eyes on her. “What seems to be the problem, Miss Weasley?”

“It’s really not much. I was just a bit shaken, and Harry thought I should see you about it,” Ginny said, unable to help downplaying it. “I sort of did a bit of accidental magic in Professor Moody’s class when we were practicing the Imperius Curse.”

Madam Pomfrey dropped the jar of ointment she was holding but didn’t seem to notice it shatter. “Practicing the what?”

Ginny shared a look with Harry. “The Imperius Curse, Madam.”

“Practicing it on what? The students?” When they could only nod back at her, the mediwitch lost all color. “In beds, both of you.”

“Er, I had that class a couple weeks ago—”

“No excuses, Mr. Potter! Stay in those beds until I have summoned the Headmaster!” She swept from the room and slammed the door behind her. They both heard the sound of it locking on the other side.

Ginny turned to Harry with a single eyebrow raised. “Still think this was a good idea?”

“I didn’t think she’d go mad,” he replied, frowning at the door. Knowing they were stuck for at least some time, the two of them found a pair of beds next to each other and sat on the sides to continue talking. It was actually quite easy to talk to Harry once they got going, she was beginning to realize. “What’s she getting Dumbledore for? He would have told Madam Pomfrey about the lessons if she needed to know, wouldn’t he have?”

Ginny thought for a moment. “Moody said he got special permission to show us the Unforgivables. You reckon he was lying?”

“I don’t know.” Harry’s brows had practically knit themselves together, and a deep frown had set on his face. Part of her wanted to ask what he was thinking, but another part told her it was better to give him the silence.

They both looked up when the doors opened again and Madam Pomfrey swept through with the Headmaster close behind. They stopped in front of the space between both beds.

“Good morning,” Professor Dumbledore greeted them pleasantly. “I’m glad to see you both appear in good health. Madam Pomfrey seems to believe the situation rather urgent.”

“Miss Weasley, if you’d tell the Headmaster exactly what you told me,” the mediwitch prompted. At the same time, she started waving her wand over the pair of them, and Ginny could only assume she was checking for damage.

Ginny couldn’t quite find her voice for a moment. The last time she’d had this much of Albus Dumbledore’s attention, she’d only just been rescued from the Chamber and been convinced he was going to expel her. Her eyes landed on Harry, who gave an encouraging nod.

She drew in a breath and said, “Well, I came to see Madam Pomfrey because Harry thought I was a bit shaken up. You see, he’d found me after I ran out of Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

The Headmaster’s head tilted in a mild sort of curiosity. “And why did you do that?”

“I was embarrassed and a bit scared, I suppose. I’d done some accidental magic when Professor Moody used the Imperius Curse on me.”

A stillness seemed to settle over the room. Professor Dumbledore hadn’t moved, but even so his demeanor seemed to change entirely.

“Mr. Potter says his class has undergone it as well,” Madam Pomfrey added, twisting her wand between her fingers as her eyes darted between them and Professor Dumbledore. “What is he thinking, Headmaster?”

“I believe that is something only Alastor can answer. Poppy, if you would fetch Minerva and Severus and ask them to meet me at Professor Moody’s classroom, I’d be most grateful.” His gaze remained calm, but he wasn’t even able to muster a smile as he added to them, “It is best that you both remain here under Madam Pomfrey’s care for the moment.”

“Is something going on, sir?” Harry asked.

“I’m afraid that is yet to be determined,” the Headmaster answered. He left the Hospital Wing before either of them could ask anything else.

“I expect to find you resting when I get back,” Madam Pomfrey warned them as she, too, made for the door. “Especially you, Miss Weasley. The Imperius Curse, what next?”

The door slammed behind her, and they were left in silence.

“You don’t have to stay,” said Ginny.

“Pretty sure I do,” he replied. “Anyway, something’s happening and this seems like the best place to hear more.”

Ginny felt herself smile even as she shook her head. “Should’ve known.”

“What?”

“Always the mysteries with you.” She leaned back against the pillow she’d propped up against the headboard. “Moody’s mad, everyone knows that. He already turned Malfoy into a ferret without asking. Dumbledore’s probably taking McGonagall and Snape with him to give him a lecture.”

“Maybe,” Harry grudgingly admitted. He leaned over the side of his cot and rifled through his bag. “Might as well start on Divination. Not like I need the book for that, anyway.”

Ginny hummed in agreement.

Harry placed an inkwell on the nightstand and looked up. “Which classes did you pick? I never asked.”

She shrugged. “Never mentioned. I’m in Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes. That one’s not much of a blow-off, but I hear it beats Trelawney most times.”

Harry grimaced. “Wish someone had told me that.”

“What can I say? Perks of being the youngest.” 

She’d put on a false airy voice, which caused Harry to snort. He then started outright laughing at her bemused look.

“Calm down, that’s nowhere near my best stuff,” she found herself saying, a little worried for him. She had always felt Harry had a more refined sense of humor, considering it tended to match her own.

“Sorry,” he said, still grinning. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately. Especially with Ron not...well. Not that Hermione isn’t brilliant,” he rushed to say. “But she’s, er, not exactly—”

“Gifted with a funny bone?” She guessed.

Harry nodded. “Exactly.” He frowned a moment later. “Which probably makes me sound like an ungrateful git.”

“It’s okay to need more than one friend in your life, Harry,” Ginny said. “You can’t expect Hermione to be everything you need, but it’s not wrong to feel a lack.”

He stared at her for a long time, so long that it was very hard for Ginny not to turn away. It occurred to her that this was perhaps the longest conversation she’d ever had with Harry, and that she’d been rather carefree with her words. What if he didn’t appreciate that?

When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. “I want to be angry, but I just miss him.” His untouched Divination homework was shoved to the side, and Harry drew his knees up to his chest. “I just don’t know how to fix it.”

Something in her ached, watching him like this, so small and vulnerable and desperately lonely.

But before she could speak, the Hospital Wing door was thrown open, and Madam Pomfrey strode through with a stretcher floating behind her. Ginny and Harry both exclaimed in shock at the occupant.

“Professor Moody!”

Ginny felt nearly overwhelmed with terror. What had she done? Moody had still been conscious when she’d fled the classroom and — hang on, what had happened to his leg?

Madam Pomfrey did not acknowledge either of them. Instead, she transferred their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor onto a bed of his own and drew curtains around it, only to emerge moments later and head straight into her office.

“What’s happened to him?” Harry asked when she returned carrying a number of bottles and jars.

“The Headmaster will explain as much as he sees fit,” she snapped, though her voice shook badly. Ginny and Harry exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Neither one of them could see beyond the curtain, and Professor Dumbledore’s explanation didn’t seem to be coming any time soon as the minutes dragged on and he did not return.

When the large double doors finally did open, they were both surprised at who came in.

“Ron?” Said Harry.

Her brother blinked at them a moment. “Oh. You two are alright, then.”

“Course we’re alright,” said Ginny. “How’d you two even know where to find us?”

For Hermione was right behind Ron. She gave him a little nudge to go on.

“Malfoy. He was telling all his friends you and Harry were at the Hospital Wing.”

“So you wanted to see for yourself?” Harry asked. His chin was raised in clear defiance.

“No, of course not, Harry!” Hermione said. “The way Malfoy was talking, he made it sound as if something awful had happened to you and Ginny.”

“Should’ve realized the git was lying,” Ron added, scuffing his shoe on the floor. “He kept looking over to see if we were listening.”

Ginny could feel a smile starting to form. “You were worried about us.”

Ron’s face was turning a splotchy red in places. “Well, yeah.” He chanced a glance at Harry, who looked considerably more relaxed. “It’s not like I want something happening to my little sister. Or, well…” Her brother trailed off, clearly at a loss.

“A friend,” Harry offered cautiously.

Ron nodded stiffly. “Yeah. My- my best friend, really.” Then he didn’t need another push from Hermione because he was starting towards their two beds, Harry’s in particular. “Look, mate, I really didn’t mean all those things—”

“Me neither,” Harry spoke right over her brother from sheer eagerness. He got off the bed and they met on a sort of awkward handshake that morphed into a hug midway through.

Ginny and Hermione exchanged smiles tinged with a silent boys.

Then the other girl walked over to join them. “What are you two doing in the Hospital Wing, then?”

“Sort of a long story. Moody’s way worse off though,” said Harry, nodding to the curtain Madam Pomfrey or her patient still had yet to emerge from.

“Moody? What happened to him?” Ron asked.

But the doors to the Wing opened yet again and in strode an ashen-faced Professor McGonagall. She drew up short at the sight of all them.

“Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. Well, I don’t suppose it would make any difference to ask you to leave. The whole school will have to be told soon enough.”

Hermione spoke up for the four of them. “What do you mean, Professor?”

“The Headmaster had tasked me with informing Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley of the results of our meeting with Professor Moody on the subject of his lessons.” The normally unflappable Transfiguration professor drew in a breath and released it. “It transpired that the man we questioned was not, in fact, Professor Moody at all.”

“But Harry said he’s right over there!” Said Ron with a wide sweeping gesture towards the curtain.

“Yes, we rescued him from his captor. I don’t suppose any of you are familiar with Polyjuice Potion?”

Ginny watched Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchange a look that seemed rather significant. “No, Professor,” she decided to answer for them.

“It is a potion which allows the drinker to take on the physical appearance of another person for a certain period of time,” McGonagall explained.

Hermione gasped. “Professor, you don’t mean to say someone has been impersonating Professor Moody?”

“I’m afraid I do, Miss Granger. And a very dangerous individual at that. I don’t mean to exaggerate the situation, but had Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley not brought their concerns to Madam Pomfrey, serious harm could have been done.” She took a couple steps forward. “As it is, Potter, we have discovered how you were entered into the Triwizard Tournament.”

Ginny felt her mouth drop open. She couldn’t believe the turn the day had taken. And all because she’d ran out of class and bumped into Harry!

—-

Just because Harry often had shocking news presented to him didn’t mean he’d gotten any more used to processing it. His heart was pounding in his chest all the while his mind had gone curiously blank. Yet something in him managed to voice the demand, “I want to see him.”

McGonagall’s lips almost immediately pursed. “Potter, I don’t believe that to be wise.”

“But Harry’s got more right to than anyone else!” Ron protested, and Harry felt a surge of warmth. Having Ron back as his best friend was easily the best thing to happen all day. Ginny had been right; it had just needed time.

“He’s not still dangerous, is he, Professor?” Hermione questioned.

McGonagall frowned, which meant Hermione was right. Before she could answer, however, Madam Pomfrey drew back the curtains around the cot.

“Bloody Hell!” Cried Ron.

Hermione’s hands had flown to her mouth. “He looks awful!”

“That’s the real Moody,” said Ginny. 

This Moody was much thinner and paler than the one they’d thought they knew as well as missing both his magical eye and wooden leg.

“The Headmaster wished for me to tell Mr. Potter to come to the Defense Against the Darks Arts classroom when he was ready.” It was clear by her tone that the hospital matron did not approve.

Professor McGonagall sighed through her nose. “Very well. Potter, with me.”

None of his friends tried to argue with her to come along, too, not that it mattered. Harry knew he would end up telling Ron and Hermione all about whatever happened. He added Ginny to that list, seeing as it was only due to her that they’d found all of this out.

Harry followed McGonagall all the way to the Defense classroom and up the stairs to Moody’s office — or not-Moody’s office, rather. The atmosphere of the room was tense, the only sound being the buzzing of an insect by the window.

“Has the Minister been called, Albus?” McGonagall asked.

“He is on his way. Thank you for bringing Mr. Potter, Minerva. Harry, I would like to introduce you to Bartemius Crouch Jr., though I believe you have met before.”

“Crouch?” Harry repeated.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “Yes, Harry. The son of one of our Triwizard organizers, though Mr. Crouch Sr. is apparently unaware of this particular development.”

Harry stared down at the young man, for he was fairly young, with sandy blonde hair and vacant eyes. That apparently had more to do with the Veritaserum, or truth potion, that Snape had given him. Snape himself stood against one wall, his dark eyes boring into Crouch Jr. with the intensity he usually reserved for a particularly hated student.

“He was just explaining to us how it was he who stole your wand at the Quidditch World Cup to cast the Dark Mark into the sky,” Professor Dumbledore continued.

“Then it wasn’t Mr. Crouch’s House Elf?”

“Apparently not.” The Headmaster turned back to their captive. “How did the Elf come to be framed, Barty?”

“I was stunned by the Aurors while wearing the invisibility cloak,” Crouch Jr. answered in a dull, even tone. “My father searched the bushes and found me with Winky. He knew what I had done but he couldn’t admit it, so he fired her.”

Dumbledore continued to ask questions of the Death Eater, as he bluntly stated himself to be. The longer Harry listened, the more a cold dread began to overtake him. This whole time, one of Voldemort’s servants had been among them, pretending to help him, secretly plotting Harry’s demise at his master’s hands. He shivered at the thought. Then, faintly, a woman started to scream...

Harry jolted with shock as his brain finally caught up with that cold, creeping feeling. “Professor Dumbledore, I think a Dementor’s here!”

Dumbledore looked up sharply. “Minerva.”

Professor McGonagall strode to Moody’s open office door and gasped. “Minister Fudge, what on Earth—”

The helpless feeling of the Dementor was nearly upon him. Harry screwed up his courage and searched for something happy — his parents, smiling and waving from Hagrid’s photo album; Sirius asking him to live with him instead of with the Dursleys; Ron, his friend again; the sweeping relief that had filled him when Ginny woke up in the Chamber — and cried out, “Expecto Patronum!”

Prongs burst from his wand and charged out of the office, causing the Dementor to flee down the corridor.

“Merlin’s beard! Dawlish, go and wrangle it!”

The man the Minister had brought with him nodded and ran off.

Fudge marched inside. “Albus what is the meaning of all this? You said there was a Death Eater in the castle!”

“And there is. A Dementor was hardly necessary, however.”

“But safety! And how could a Death Eater have gotten into Hogwarts?”

“You may ask him yourself, Cornelius. He has been disarmed and dosed with Veritaserum and is therefore quite harmless.”

Fudge approached slowly, his bowler hat turning rapidly in his hands.

“What is your name?”

“Bartemius Crouch Jr.”

“And how are you alive?”

“My parents smuggled me out of Azkaban with my mother taking my place. I was a prisoner in my father’s home under the Imperius Curse until my master sent for me.”

“And who is your master?”

“The Dark Lord. He sent his servant Wormtail to free me, then tasked me with infiltrating Hogwarts and delivering Potter to him at the end of the Tournament.”

Wormtail. The half-remembered dream he’d had this past summer was real. And if it was...

Fudge didn’t seem to know what to say to any of that for the moment. He looked to Harry once, then collected himself.

“Who is this Wormtail? What is his real name?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

Harry’s heart soared.

“But Pettigrew’s dead!” Fudge snapped. “Black killed him!”

“Pettigrew escaped Black,” Crouch Jr. droned on. “He framed Black for the whole thing. Betraying the Potters, killing the Muggles. It was all Pettigrew. Then he hid as a rat when his information nearly destroyed my master and Black came after him. He returned to my master out of fear, but his efforts allowed my master to find me.”

A confession from a trusted servant of Voldemort’s. Harry could hardly believe the sudden upturn in his luck. Sirius would have to be declared innocent!

Fudge asked a few more questions, mostly going over the same things that Dumbledore had. By that time, Dawlish had returned with the Dememtor, though it seemed subdued somehow. Harry still kept his wand in his hand and one eye on it.

“He’ll have to be taken back to Azkaban. Maybe even Kissed,” Fudge said to Dumbledore.

“And as to his information concerning Sirius Black?” The Headmaster asked in the same sort of tone that one might use to inquire about the weather.

Fudge pulled a face. “Well, he’s mad, isn’t he? Azkaban must have done it.”

“Ah, but you forget, Cornelius, that young Mr. Crouch here hardly spent time in Azkaban.”

“Well then there’s something wrong with the potion!”

“My Veritaserum does not produce false results, Minister,” said Snape, though it looked as though it pained him a great deal to confirm a story that proclaimed Sirius’ innocence. “If Crouch says Pettigrew was the traitor and still alive, he is.”

“Then it appears there has been an error in the justice system, Cornelius,” said Professor Dumbledore. “With this new information, it seems Sirius Black ought not to be hunted, but asked to come in for a proper trial.”

Harry stared at the Headmaster in shock. Sirius had never had a trial?

“Information from a Death Eater who’s been harbored by one of my Department Heads?” Fudge emitted a short laugh, though it hardly sounded amused. “Albus, just think. We’re in the middle of hosting an international tournament here!” Fudge looked around at them all. “If this got out, it would put the magical community at large into a panic! Not to mention how it would look to the other schools or governments. It cannot get out!”

“But Sirius!” Said Harry.

“Black seems in little danger of the Ministry at the moment. He’s evaded us for over a year,” Fudge said with an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. “After the tournament, after the other schools have gone, then perhaps the matter can be looked into.”

“Very well, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore before Harry could protest again. He turned to the Headmaster in disbelief, but was ignored. “What of the matter of Lord Voldemort?”

Fudge wasn’t alone in wincing but was definitely the worst of the lot. “He’s dead, isn’t he? What’s he to do with it?”

“Crouch just told you he’s still alive,” Harry said before Dumbledore could even open his mouth. “Why not ask him where he is? Send a Dementor there?”

Fudge shook his head. “It’s preposterous, that’s all. Probably Crouch managed to break free of the Imperius on his own, convinced himself You-Know-Who was still out there. No, he’ll have to be Kissed.”

Harry couldn’t believe the events happening now, but for a much worse reason. Fudge was just going to ignore Voldemort and his plans? There was proof right in front of his eyes!

“Cornelius, I implore you—”

“I’ve an escaped prisoner to return to Azkaban, Dumbledore. My schedule is full enough without discussing wild theories. Dawlish, bring Crouch Jr.”

The Minister and the man called Dawlish left with Crouch and the Dementor.

Professor McGonagall’s lips were thinner than Harry had ever seen as they passed her, and she turned to Professor Dumbledore scarcely after they had departed the room.

“Albus, what’s to be done?”

“I’ll have to reach out to some contacts. Lord Voldemort cannot be allowed to escape again.”

“Headmaster,” Harry spoke up, stepping forward. “What about Sirius?”

“Sirius will have to wait, I’m afraid.”

“But—”

“In case you don’t realize, Potter, the Headmaster has far more important matters to attend to,” Snape cut across him with a vicious sneer. Harry glared back.

“Severus,” Dumbledore intoned with some authority. His voice turned more pleasant as he continued to Harry, “For now it would be wise for you to return to your common room. I am sure Poppy will have her hands full seeing to all the students who have been affected.” A frown deepened the lines in his face. “It is a troubling day to learn that the Unforgivables have been performed inside Hogwarts’ walls.”

Harry was sent on his way by the professors, angrier than he could ever remember being at all three of them, especially Dumbledore. How could they all stand aside and let the Minister do as he pleased? How could they expect him or Sirius to sit around and wait? This was his godfather’s freedom on the line!

He was still fuming as he entered the portrait hole and would have missed his friends if not for them calling his name. Harry turned and headed over to where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were seated near the fireplace.

“Pomfrey let you all out, then?”

“Yeah. She’s got a line out the door of the third through seventh years, though,” Ron told him. “Reckon that will take all night.”

“Well, I feel better knowing the teachers are taking this all seriously,” Hermione stated. “It should have been obvious Moody wasn’t who he claimed to be when he used an Unforgivable. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

“It’s hard to see someone for who they are when they approach you from a position of trust. Or friendship,” Ginny pointed out quietly. Harry nodded; Ginny had more experience with that sort of thing than most, maybe even more than him. She pulled herself out of her own withdrawn mood, lifting her chin as she regarded him. “Go on, Harry. Who was he, really?”

“It’s gonna sounds mad, but he was Mr. Crouch’s son,” Harry stated.

“What?” Ron exclaimed.

At the same time, Hermione began, “You don’t mean Mr. Crouch—?”

“I don’t think he was in on it. This was Voldemort’s plan.” Harry went on to explain everything Crouch Jr. had told them under the Veritaserum. By the time he had gotten to the part about him being taken to be killed by Voldemort in the third task, Hermione’s eyes were brimming with tears while both Ron and Ginny were almost deathly pale.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “It’s horrible. And Moody even said — or not Moody, but he- he said someone might be using the tournament to kill you. And he knew the whole time!”

“Yeah, well that’s not the worst part,” Harry said. “It’s Sirius.”

Hermione and Ron both sat up a little straighter, but Ginny tilted her head in confusion. “Sirius Black?”

Harry winced. He’d forgotten — but then, perhaps the more people who knew and believed now, the better. “Yeah. He’s my godfather and he’s innocent — we met him last term.”

Ginny’s eyebrows both shot up. “I mean, people were talking about you and a run-in with Black, but...hang on, why’d he attack your bed, then?”

She was looking at her brother now, who explained, “He wanted Scabbers, cos Scabbers was an animagus the whole time. He was the bloke that really killed all the muggles and betrayed Harry’s parents, not Sirius.”

“Scabbers was a person the whole time?” Ginny’s face wrinkled up in disgust. “Ron, he slept in your bed some nights.”

Ron’s face turned very red. “It’s not as if I knew!”

“I know, but — are you alright? Do mum and dad know? You should- you should talk to someone.”

Ron was turning a bit green now as he considered his sister’s words, while Harry did the same. He hadn’t put much thought into how Wormtail’s disguise affected Ron. He never considered much how things affected anybody after the fact. Not when Hermione had been petrified, or Ginny possessed. A part of him always assumed they’d get on with it the way he did, but maybe that wasn’t quite right judging by Ginny’s current concern for her brother.

“Harry, what does Crouch Jr. have to do with Sirius?” Hermione asked, no doubt trying to keep him on track.

He nodded. “Crouch said he’d had help from Wormtail and told the Minister that Wormtail was Peter Pettigrew, that he’s alive, and that Sirius was innocent — but Fudge won’t call the search off for him.”

“What?” The cry of outrage had come from multiple of his friends. Even Ginny looked angry on Sirius’ behalf, and she’d never met him.

Harry scowled. “He’s worried it’ll cause a scandal and about how it’ll look to the other schools. He didn’t even really promise they’d look into it after the tournament. Just said something vague. It’s just like when they sent Hagrid off in second year.” He was about fed up with the Ministry of Magic these days.

Hermione looked just as troubled. “I can’t believe how much injustice is being done. I mean, it turns out poor Winky was innocent, too!”

Harry turned towards her sharply, about to snap a retort that Winky’s fate of being fired was far less severe than Sirius’ twelve years in Azkaban or even Hagrid’s short stint, but a hand reached out and touched his arm lightly. He looked and found it had been Ginny, who let go almost as quickly as she’d reached out. But it had done the trick in keeping his temper from boiling over.

“Um, Harry, what did they say they would do about- about You-Know-Who?”

He frowned, but replied, “Dumbledore said something about contacting people after Fudge left, but I don’t really know.” He sunk down in his armchair as he reflected on how little he really had learned.

“Well, at least the tournament should be safer now, right?” Ron asked, clearly trying to lift Harry’s spirits. “Apart from the tasks.”

“Yeah. Apart from them.” He still didn’t know what he was supposed to be facing in the first task, and it would be upon him before he knew it he was sure. Still, Harry’s mind was on Sirius and his situation. How could he help?

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung inward to allow some of their housemates through, effectively ending the conversation. Harry decided to head up to an early bed, not wanting to face whatever inquires other students might have.

Despite his attempt to catch up on sleep, Harry tossed and turned all that night, waking up in a sour mood the next day. His two best friends and Ginny accompanied him down to breakfast regardless, which he was somewhat grateful for as the stares and murmurs from the students of all three schools was even worse than usual. No doubt at least some of the story about the fake Moody had leaked out. At least they all knew now he hadn’t entered his own name into the Goblet.

Some of the third years were not as keen on him, he realized after a few moments. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in particular were staring at Ginny. She kept her gaze fixed resolutely forward as she took a seat on the bench next to him, asking Ron to pass the kippers as if it were merely just another day. How much had she had to put up with rumors and other people’s eyes over the years? It probably didn’t help she was easy to pick out in a crowd. Her hair was a mane of fiery red and her eyes a bright brown.

Perhaps, a small voice in the back of his head pointed out, Harry had been doing his own fair amount of watching Ginny Weasley since meeting her at Kings Cross.

The morning mail arrived and with it a copy of the Daily Prophet for Hermione. Harry hardly paid any attention to it, at least not until Hermione let out a shriek.

“What?” He snapped.

“Oh, Harry, look! That Skeeter woman’s article — it’s about Sirius!”

Harry dropped his fork and nearly ripped the paper from her hands to read the headline.

DEATH EATER AT HOGWARTS

DISAVOWS SIRIUS BLACK AS MEMBER AMIDST MINISTRY COVER-UP

“Bloody hell! Skeeter’s actually helping you out for once, Harry!”

“But how could she know all this?” Hermione seemed too stunned to even remember to admonish Ron for language. “She wasn’t there. She couldn’t have been!”

Harry shrugged. “Who knows? But now the Wizarding World knows there’s not something right with what happened to Sirius.”

“You should talk to her,” Ginny said.

He stared at her in disbelief. “Skeeter?”

“She’s the only reporter that’s been hanging around Hogwarts with any regularity,” Ginny pointed out with a shrug. “Plus she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Ginny’s right,” Hermione admitted grudgingly. “It’s going to be important to keep this story in the news.”

“Skeeter put you in a good light, too,” Ron added. He was scanning through the article. “Says here that ‘the young boy stood his ground against the Minister’s call for censorship’. Powerful stuff.”

He rolled his eyes at Ron’s teasing grin.

“Have you got any photos of Sirius?”

He blinked up at Ginny. “What?”

“Any good ones. You know, not the Azkaban one. We could ask Colin to make a copy and you could send that to Ed to run with another story. Change the public perception of him.”

Harry thought of the photo of Sirius from his parent’s wedding, handsome and smiling broadly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got something. You think Colin would help?”

“Course he would,” Ron answered before his sister could. “Him and his brother only run your fan club.”

A few more owls were still arriving to drop off deliveries. One landed in front of Ginny with a note that she took. “It’s from Charlie.”

“What’s it say?” Ron asked.

“Hold on. He’s in the country, near Hogwarts. He wants to meet by Hagrid’s Hut to show me something. Says you can come, too, Ron, as long as you promise not to tell Harry.” She looked up with a cheeky grin at him. “Oops.”

Hermione suddenly clutched at his arm. “Harry, if you can’t know about it, it has to be about the tournament.”

That made a perfect amount of sense, though the follow up realization filled him with dread. “And if Charlie’s involved…”

All four of them paled.

“Don’t worry, mate. Ginny and I will go check it out. See what you’re up against.”

“It might not be a full-sized dragon,” Ginny offered.

“Yeah, could be Norbert-sized before he got too big for Hagrid’s.”

“He still bit you,” Harry pointed out. Ron grimaced but had no reply. “I don’t know what I can do against a dragon.”

“Borrow the sword of Gryffindor?” Ginny suggested, only half-joking he thought. Maybe if he said some real nice things about Dumbledore, Fawkes might take pity on him?

“Sirius might have advice,” Hermione pointed out. “Anyway, you should get in touch with him to see what can be done about all this in the Prophet now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that,” Harry decided.

“Whatever happens, we’ll all help you, Harry,” Ginny promised. Ron gave an affirming nod, and even those small assurances made him feel better.

Ginny’s belief in him in particular was an unexpected boon. Though she’d never been one of his naysayers, they’d not often gotten to talk like this. It made him glad he hadn’t turned around and gone a different way that afternoon when he’d spotted her dot on the Marauders’ Map. But the sound of her soft crying, rather than repelling him, had tugged at something in his chest and he’d had to see what he could do. He wasn’t sure why.

Whatever the reason, he thought he might just be making yet another good friend. And he’d have to think of some way to thank her. If not for actions against a disguised Death Eater and their subsequent journey to the Hospital Wing, who knew what might have happened?

—-

Sirius nearly didn’t believe it at first and was glad to have a copy of the Prophet Harry had sent along to verify his claims. People were speculating as to his innocence?

He wasn’t sure what he remembered if anything about this Skeeter woman, but if she was raising the alarm surely others would pick up the story. And that left him with a decision to make. Did he come forward? Seek a trial after all these years? Without Pettigrew in hand, did it truly matter?

He left the cave he’d scoped out in the mountains overlooking Hogsmeade in order to go to Remus’ for some advice. When he reached his old friend’s house, the other man reached to pull him up to standing, hardly seeming to realize he was still a dog.

“They’ve got him, they’ve got him, Sirius—”

“Who?” He asked once he’d transformed.

“Peter!” Remus declared with an almost unhinged glee. “Caught in a raid! An Auror named Shacklebolt brought him in. Amelia Bones in the DMLE says if you surrender yourself in forty-eight hours you can have your trial. She’s gone completely over Fudge’s head!”

“It- but how? What raid? What were they raiding?” He asked hoarsely.

“I don’t know. I suspect Dumbledore had something to do with it, but he only owled me to ask if I’d been in touch with you or not. He’s promised to meet you in the Ministry atrium himself to make sure it’s all above board.”

Sirius could hardly believe his own ears. They wanted to give him a chance to prove he wasn’t guilty of those crimes. After all these years, after ordering him to be Kissed on sight.

“Give me some parchment. A quill. I need a barrister.”

The next several days were a blur of legal jargon and papers. He was seen by an extremely limited Wizengamot. Mostly only the pureblood families, though for once that was in his favor. Regardless of their personal feelings for him, they were all no doubt offended by the implication the firstborn son of an Ancient and Noble — or ignoble, by his reckoning — House could have received such shoddy treatment by the law until now. With a living rat in custody and even a severely weakened Mad Eye Moody himself testifying that Pettigrew was one of his attackers this past summer, his innocence was secured. He was a free man.

The first thing he’d done was write to Harry. The letter was hardly legible, his hands had been shaking so much. Then some Aurors had escorted him to St. Mungo’s for treatment on the Ministry’s sickle. Remus had met him there; he hadn’t been allowed to sit in on the trial or even wait outside, much to both their anger. 

He’d been pleasantly surprised to discover that one of his escort was also his own cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. They’d had an awkward catching up session, but she’d promised to pass on his love to Andy. Maybe they could see about repairing that old bridge.

Harry’s reply came back while he was still in hospital. He was overjoyed but frustrated because the professors wouldn’t excuse him to see Sirius. He also asked if Sirius’ offer to come live with him still stood. He wanted to give a definitive yes, but one moment in his trial stood out to him.

“As Mr. Black has been cleared of all charges, his official guardianship of the minor Harry James Potter will be reinstated,” Madam Bones had declared.

“I should add that Sirius will share that guardianship role with Harry Potter’s Muggle relatives,” Dumbledore had spoken up, as was his right as Chief Warlock. “They are the boy’s primary caretakers over the summers, and it would be far too disruptive to change that.”

Surely the Headmaster wasn’t trying to dictate where Harry lived anymore? He’d understood it before, but now?

Instead, he focused on the other part of Harry’s letter dealing with the tournament and the dragon he was going to have to face. Harry would need all the help he could get in coming up with a strategy. Sadly, Sirius wasn’t deemed well enough by the Healers to attend the first task, but he sent Moony in his stead. He reported back that Harry’s flying had been spectacular.

Once released from St. Mungo’s, he grudgingly returned to the old Black family home. Not because he particularly wanted to use it — the memories were unpleasant and the company was worse. But since the Headmaster was acting stubborn in the letters he’d sent about having Harry stay with him over the summers and holidays, Sirius was bound and determined to prove he was just as concerned about his godson’s safety. Grimmauld Place was already Unplottable, and he and Remus had been cooking up other protections as well.

The first thing implemented was releasing Kreacher from his service the minute he’d realized the old Elf was still kicking around in the filth and grime. Apparently that had been too much for his heart, though Sirius would be lying if he said he’d miss him.

They had some time to make all other arrangements, as Harry wouldn’t be leaving the castle for the Christmas holidays. There was an event for the tournament he was still being forced to compete in. And perhaps to try and save face, Sirius had received a curious invitation from the Ministry itself in the leadup to Christmas Eve. He decided to keep it a surprise to his godson.

With a new shave and haircut and the cleanest and finest set of robes he’d worn in over a decade — complete with a Hippogriff feather in his lapel courtesy of Buckbeak — Sirius returned to Hogwarts on a chilly December evening. Dumbledore greeted him pleasantly enough at the door, and he was directed to wait inside the decorated Great Hall with the rest of the staff and other adult guests. The youngest there was a man with red hair and glasses who could be guessed to be a Weasley of some kind. He shook the kid’s hand but otherwise kept his attention on the double doors.

They finally opened and students began filing in. As Sirius caught sight of a familiar mop of messy black hair, he decided to extend the ruse a little further. He left his seat for a few moments, taking his name placard with him, and pretended to examine one of the ice sculptures with his back to the room.

As one of the champions, Harry soon arrived at the table with his date on his arm, another redhead though this time a girl. Possibly a Weasley? It’d be a first for generations.

“Harry, Ginny, very good to see you both,” the young man from before stated with a very grandiose air.

“Sure, Perce,” the girl named Ginny said. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Percy, who’s this empty chair beside us?” Harry asked, always one with a keen eye. Had to be the Seeker in him.

“Well, that place is for a very special guest, the Minister arranged it all personally or so I hear.”

“Oh yeah? Spill then, who is it?” Ginny prodded who had to be her brother. As Sirius turned around, however, Harry finally caught sight of him and rushed forward.

“Sirius!”

He couldn’t help a laugh as his arms went around his godson. Laughing was coming easier since he’d seen those Healers, truthfully. “How’s that for a Christmas surprise? How are you, Harry?”

“Fine. You- you look great,” Harry said, stepping back a little. He seemed to remember he’d left behind his date to get to him and backed up a couple of steps. “Ginny, er, this is Sirius. My godfather.”

“I could guess,” the girl said, though her dry tone didn’t match the warm smile she wore watching the pair of them. “Harry’s had so much to say about you the last few weeks.”

“Well he’s been positively reticent about you,” Sirius replied, reaching out to shake her hand. “Ginny- Weasley, I’m guessing?” She nodded, and his eyes darted to puffed up Percy in the background. Proud older brother, then. “That’s good. Harry’s lucky to have gotten in with all of you. And finding a girl to boot!”

Ginny’s face turned a bit red, and Harry hastened to say, “Ginny and I are here as friends. I mean, we’re not dating.” He looked at his date, a smile rising on his lips. “I sort of owed her a favor.”

“That’s how he asked me, too,” Ginny told him, and she gave an exasperated shake of the head. Harry had the grace to look sheepish. “But it was a favor, in a way. I wouldn’t be allowed to attend otherwise. I’m a third year.”

Ah, bit young then to be thinking of anything beyond friendships then, the both of them. Sirius had never quite grown out of that stage, it seemed. Still, they seemed to like the other’s company well enough.

Hermione came over to their end of the table as well, as she seemed to be the date of the Durmstrang champion. Then they all had to be seated quickly in order to begin the meal.

Sirius enjoyed talking to both Harry and Ginny. The three of them kept up a steady chatter that drowned her brother out; too bad it wasn’t Ron with them instead. He thought he spotted the other boy down at one of the tables with another kid he could swear had Alice Longbottom’s round cheekbones.

He had an altogether enjoyable night. Harry hardly wanted to leave his side, though he did nudge his godson into taking Ginny out onto the dance floor for a couple of songs even after the obligatory champions dance. Neither of them were pros, but they seemed to get on well enough. He did get in a conversation with Ron, though he didn’t meet the boy’s date; she seemed to have gone off on her own. Such was life. He let Harry’s friend know dating wasn’t all it was cracked up to be sometimes and not to worry too much if the right person hadn’t come along, yet or ever. That only marginally helped. Sirius suspected the right person might actually be dancing with the Bulgarian Seeker at the same moment.

He bid Harry and his date a goodnight and happy holidays in the Entrance Hall before returning to Grimmauld Place, humming carols under his breath. It was hard to remember ever being so happy in a long time.

Harry continued to write over the months, and Sirius was amused to note Ginny’s name was cropping up far more often in the letters, along with Ron and Hermione’s of course. Perhaps his godson was slowly coming round to the point. He wouldn’t push him.

The second task was one he could attend, though he almost wished he couldn’t. It was bitterly cold down by the lake in February. Luckily, a few warming charms took care of that for himself, Remus and Harry’s friends.

Neither Ginny nor Hermione were among them, though the reason for that became clear as the challenge was announced. He and Remus both exchanged surprised looks at the idea of putting actual children at the bottom of the lake — sure, when they’d banished all the Slytherins’ beds out there in third year it was against school rules, but actual children — and watched closely to see what Harry would do.

When Harry eventually returned after all the others with not one but two hostages, Sirius felt his heart swell a little with pride. The poor boy had sacrificed a possible lead in the competition to ensure everyone’s safety. Whether it was needed or not, he was glad to see the moral character of his godson shining through. And the judges saw fit to award him a fair few points for it as well.

They hadn’t discussed whether or not Harry ought to be trying to win this thing anymore. Crouch Jr.’s plan beforehand had called for it, but now that all of that was out of the way, it wasn’t as if winning came with extra consequences. Sirius was of the mind that if Harry was being forced to compete he ought to make them all feel sorry they’d forced it, and whether or not that involved taking the Triwizard cup for himself was up to Harry. He wouldn’t tell him what to do either way.

The next time he saw his godson was the day of the third task, just as he had finalized the changes to Grimmauld Place. Family had been invited to spend a day with their champion at Hogwarts, and Sirius curiously found himself accompanied by Molly and Bill Weasley. He knew from everything Harry said that the Weasleys had been a big part of his life since joining the Wizarding World, and the matriarch in particular seemed wary of him. A thirteen-year reputation did that sometimes.

“Molly, it’s good to finally meet you. Fabian and Gideon were some of the best of the best I ever met,” he decided to begin with.

She blinked in some surprise, caught off guard. “Oh. Yes, they- they were both excellent wizards.”

“Ron might be giving them a run for their money, though. And I’ve met Ginny as well. Harry seems fond of her in his letters.”

She latched onto that detail eagerly, and he thought he caught her eldest trying to hide a laugh. Harry joined them soon enough, so they stopped their idle gossip in favor of sharing stories about the castle through the generations. Over the afternoon, he met the final two of the Weasley bunch who were still in school, a pair of twins whose humor ran towards the ostentatious end of the scale. They carried it well with their double act. Yes, Sirius could see why Harry enjoyed himself so much around the whole group.

Together, he went with the Weasleys and Hermione to the Quidditch pitch which now looked a sight with all the hedges growing up out of the grass. James would never have stood for it; that was sacred ground. He smiled to himself at the thought.

They cheered for Harry as he entered at the same time as the Diggory boy, the other two following after certain intervals, then they all sat and waited.

“Who planned this tournament?” Sirius asked after fifteen minutes of staring at hedges. This was the second time he was sitting in some stands watching a bit of scenery. “Can’t believe Remus got to see the only good one—”

“Sirius, look!” Hermione cried.

Harry had reappeared with the Diggory boy, each holding one handle of the trophy and grinning broadly. They all rushed down to the grounds to meet them. Ginny got to Harry first, her small form managing to slip through the crowds quickest, and enveloped him in a hug. Young Mr. Diggory was receiving the same treatment from a girl he thought the boy had been dancing with at the Yule Ball if he remembered correctly.

Ginny pulled back from Harry and the two grinned at each other with full blushes staining their cheeks. Then Ron was clapping Harry on the shoulder and Molly Weasley was going in for a hug that looked painful. Harry’s eyes searched out the crowd for his.

Sirius took his turn and gave him a hug of his own. “Well, I’d say you showed old Voldemort, Harry.”

Harry grinned up at him. “Yeah. Apart from the fake teacher and the plot to kill me, it’s not been a bad year after all.”

Sirius threw his head back and barked a laugh.

—-

Albus entered the Ministry and quickly headed down to the lower floors rather than to the Minister’s office. Cornelius had been voted out shortly after the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament, and thus his days of advisement seemed to be at an end. Rufus Scrimgeour was a far more guarded man.

Nevertheless, Albus was here on a different errand entirely. It was nothing urgent. Rather, he took this trip to reassure himself, as he had once a month since the middle of last fall.

He was admitted into the Department of Mysteries and taken to the little room by a guide, as they were expecting him. There he viewed the small wraith suspended in its case, the same as all the times before.

Lord Voldemort himself.

They hadn’t known what to do with him upon arriving at the old Riddle House and incapacitating both Peter Pettigrew and the snake Nagini. The latter had proved interesting, as there had been great difficulty in killing her. His old suspicions were gaining new life, it seemed. There were likely other things he needed to see to in Little Hangleton yet.

Though the pitiable creature had been able to raise a wand, he was no match for Albus’ power, and a quick disarming spell had taken care of any threat. Now, the Unspeakables told him, he grew weaker even in the stasis they held him in.

It was not foolproof. Albus did not doubt that someday some servant perhaps even more deranged than Barty Jr. might arrive to release their master from imprisonment. Sybil’s prophecy, after all…

But for now, they were at an impasse. Harry was not yet ready to complete his destiny. Only a select few knew that what remained of Tom Riddle — consciously, at least — was here. Sirius suspected, perhaps, and was pushing for answers to give to Harry, but for now he would have to ask both their patience. Harry was young, after all, and deserved a childhood with all the usual things like schoolwork and friends and even, perhaps, a blooming crush on the youngest Weasley.

Sirius had pushed for one more staple of childhood; spending time with family, and not the Dursleys. He’d been loathe to agree but also loathe to get into the details of why Harry needed the blood protection from his aunt at this time, so he had conceded. He know only knew of where the boy was because Sirius had deigned to share the location with him. He had learned from past mistakes and made himself Secret Keeper of his home.

Things were on a far different path to what Albus had started to expect, he reflected on the lift back up to the Ministry atrium, particularly when he had received that letter from Harry about the dream he’d had over the summer with Tom and the old Muggle. But perhaps it wasn’t for ill; an indirect blow had been dealt to Lord Voldemort by Harry Potter, and all through a simple act of care towards a friend.

Love sometimes wasn’t grand nor was it always mysterious. And he knew few who had the intuitive grasp on it that Harry Potter did.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Nicky!

You have been accepted for the role of DORCAS MEADOWES! Your application was amazing! I really enjoyed seeing how well thought out this version of Dorcas was in your mind. I can clearly see where she’ll fit in and can’t wait for her to start blowing shit up! The Order needs someone to rock the boat and you’ve brought that through in your application!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Nicky

AGE: 30+

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Medium, sporadic; I work retail hours which means that my schedule is not consistent between days. I expect to be able to make several replies each week, however, and am available to check-in or chat often. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only time I’m really out-of-touch for considerable periods on a regular basis although in general I have more free time in the latter half of the week than I do at the beginning – and of course when Winter Holiday Shopping Season rolls around I will be more absent than usual!

ANYTHING ELSE: For experience, I have played in and adminned several roleplays, 90% of them Harry Potter-based, with a little time doing indie rp as well. I mostly only rp on tumblr (I like the visuals!) but I’ve been around for several years now. I tend to be long-winded but value content over quality, and don’t care about “length matching” on replies. I will also basically always post images with my replies because it’s an integral part of the “acting” experience for me, but I have no objection if my interaction partners prefer to go straight-prose in their posts. No triggers, although I would appreciate it if any posts involving the deaths of cats (or kneazles) could be tagged so I can brace myself or skim over them!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Dorcas Dembe Meadowes 

(her parents named her Dorcas for grace–it means “gazelle”–and because her father just liked the way it sounded, and Dembe for peace to honor their hopes for the world and her future; while she is hardly clumsy, aside from that there seems to be little of Dorcas’s names in her attitude or personality…especially not of her middle name! So much for the wizarding superstition that a child’s names can be prophetic…)

AGE: 18

GENDER & SEXUALITY: Dorcas is a cis-gender witch who uses she/her pronouns. I haven’t settled 100% on her sexuality (given the time period, I expect she hasn’t either) but I’m leaning heavily toward her being either a lesbian or a bisexual. I plan to start the game with her being somewhat aware of her preferences, but not having sorted it all out yet. While romance is not a priority in terms of plots I’m seeking, I am definitely interested in Dorcas exploring and discovering more about herself and her identity throughout the game. I think she’s definitely someone who would throw herself into the idea of being Out (and damn the consequences – as usual) which may be especially interesting if it serves as a stumbling block for friends or fellow Order members (or potential/current romance partners) who come from a more conservative (muggle?) background and aren’t keen on her flaunting that.

BLOOD STATUS: half-blood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Hufflepuff (certainly never a prefect, although she did fly Reserve on the Quidditch team as a Beater for two years, playing in a total of one match)

ANY CHANGES: None!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: 

“Brash enough to be a Gryffindor,” is something people say about Dorcas a lot – but only because they’re missing the point of Hufflepuff House, Dorcas insists. Hufflepuffs aren’t dull, mild stick-in-the-muds any more than any other House; they just have that reputation because they have more follow-through. Gryffindors are useless after the initial rush of bravada and adrenaline has worn-off; Ravenclaws are too easily distracted overall; and Slytherins are too quick to jump for the new advantage to see things through. Hufflepuffs, though, Hufflepuffs know how to focus. And while Dorcas might be quick to jump into a fray, she is no quitter. She’ll never admit a cause is lost (even when she should), never give up on anyone or anything…unless they betray her. Dorcas is an open-hearted, amiable, outgoing soul who is quick to offer friendship to others, but she is unforgiving and unshakable in the grudges she holds against those who let her down. Small things she can forgive, of course – she’s no monster and no one is perfect! But true, genuine betrayal? Of person or principle? That, she will not tolerate.

Dorcas herself is not always easy to tolerate either. Stubborn and blunt, she speaks her mind (even when perhaps she ought to keep it to herself) and her skill in tact and tempering is stunted from disuse. She redeems herself somewhat with those who can bear-up under her brusque honesty by being a loyal and helpful friend, but even that is sometimes negated by her devotion to whatever plan or purpose currently dictates her motivation. It’s not that she’s unkind – just something of a bulldozer. When Dorcas Meadowes decides to do something, she sees it through and damn the consequences – whether that be the numerous detentions she served in school, the bruised feelings of friends and foes alike, or the bridges she has (mostly metaphorically) burned behind her, she will not balk or hesitate even if it kills her (and everyone around her). And with the higher stakes at which the Order of the Phoenix operates, it just well might.  

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

The only child of Olive Blott and Thewton Meadowes, Dorcas grew-up in a comfortable, secure, sedate, middle-class magical home. Her parents doted without spoiling her and while she never wanted for anything much, she wasn’t the kind of child who was showered with expensive brooms or designer robes – which was just as well, as Dorcas wouldn’t have cared much for those sorts of over-priced trinkets anyway. Like Dorcas, her parents were solid, hard-working Hufflepuffs (they had met in school; although they hadn’t been in the same year to share classes, they shared plenty of time in the common room and cheering for their friends together on the Quidditch pitch) but unlike them, her work-ethic was rather flexible about where it was applied. Maybe that was an innate aspect of Dorcas’s personality, or something she learned from her non-Hufflepuff friends at school…or maybe, something she picked up from her grandmother. Zawedde Meadowes was a firebrand, an iconoclast, and a fighter. She taught her granddaughter not only how to fight, but when to fight. (Dorcas may have learned that lesson a little too well, with none of the accompanying “and when not to fight” counterpart.) It was Grandma Zawe who broke the erstwhile “purity” of the old Meadowes family line when she married into it – but after seven years as a muggle-born student in Slytherin, some disapproving family glares (and hexes) weren’t enough to make her break a sweat. Despite her more conservative son and daughter-in-law’s efforts to temper Zawe’s outspoken attitude and boundless confidence, Dorcas learned a lot from the grandmother who often served as babysitter while mum and dad were working in the bookshop. Olive and Thewton would have much rather their little girl were a little bit meeker and milder. More willing to go with the flow, like they do; to not cause a fuss. But “fuss” is what Dorcas excels at. The older she got, the more she has come to look on her parents with bemused and at times almost condescending affection. How could they be so content with a world that was so unfair? Keeping their heads down might have kept the shop free of controversy, sure, and that kept them profitable and free of the sort of attempted censorship that louder opinions often garnered, but it didn’t do anything to change things. While Zawe doesn’t know the full extent of Dorcas’s activities with the Order of the Phoenix – nor, indeed, does she know for sure exactly what the Order is nor that Dorcas is a member of an illegal vigilante group – she knows that her granddaughter is up to something dangerous and illicit, something that mirrors her own not-so-long-ago-as-all-that battles against Grindewald. Having personal experience with war makes Zawe aware of just how much danger her granddaughter may be in, but it also makes her proud. When she entertained little Dorcas with stories of her wartime activities, she never thought she might be preparing the girl for her own battles – but if that is where the world is now, so be it. Zawe continues to encourage Dorcas just as she always has, whether that be with playing alibi for mum and dad or by offering words of advice and encouragement after a particularly difficult battle or frustrating conversation with the Order’s more stick-in-the-mud members. Dorcas may have learned the value of hard-work from her parents, but she learned the importance of standing her ground from her gran. With those two elements combined, she’s proven herself a true force to be reckoned with – at least when she’s doing something she thinks matters. (Otherwise…well, “lackluster” would be a generous way to describe her effort.)

OCCUPATION:

Dorcas works as a part-time assistant at the family business, Flourish & Blotts, the main bookseller in Diagon Alley. Her parents would be a lot happier about the fact that she’s showing an interest in the family business if she would actually show an interest – but half the time she cuts out of her shifts early, or sprints in late, or calls-off altogether. If she weren’t family, she’d have long ago been fired, but how do you fire the woman who’s going to inherit the place one day? Scolding her doesn’t seem to help; she either shrugs it off or stomps off, claiming she has more important things to do. What can she be up to that’s keeping her so preoccupied?

ROLE WITHIN ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

As one of the newest – and also one of the most openly passionate – members of the Order, Dorcas ought to be sitting back and following the lead of her elders and proving where she can be most useful. Instead, she’s causing something of a stir with her big mouth, blunt criticism, and insistence on doing things differently. Dorcas wants the Order to be more proactive, even if that means being more violent. She’s not afraid of collateral damage; this is a war, after all! People get hurt in war, and letting things drag-out because you don’t have the conviction to do what needs to be done is only going to get more people hurt in the long run. So far, she hasn’t swayed anyone who matters to her side – not Kingsely, not Moody, not [Alice] Longbottom, and certainly not Dumbledore. But she is riling-up the younger members, which can be both good and bad: it’s hard to make proper plans when a quarter of the room won’t stop shouting, but it’s also hard to sink into morose despair when there’s a wild-haired girl barely out of her Hogwarts robes shouting in your ear about “taking the fight to Voldemort directly, what are we waiting for?” She has become something of a pivot point within the group – not yet carrying enough weight to tip the balance of power or force any major confrontation or schism, but enough to make people think. Enough to make people argue. Enough to stir things up – which is exactly what she wants. Dorcas has no time for complacency; that’s her parents’ stock in trade, not hers. She is so adamant about not waiting around in fact that she has branched-out on her own private “missions” outside Order edict, support, or sanction – which isn’t quite crossing the line, because it’s not as though they’re an army with orders to follow. They’re a group of desperate vigilantes all pitching-in together to stop a great evil…but Dorcas is pitching a little harder than what some people are comfortable being associated with. So far Dumbledore hasn’t said much about Dorcas and her methods one way or the other – but with how preoccupied he’s been with his own secretive efforts, one has to wonder if he’s had time to notice? Worse (or better, depending on your point of view), she’s convinced other junior members to go along with her on her mad, reckless crusades – acts that the Daily Prophet more often than not labels terrorism. They’re too skittish and scared to understand the difference between what she does and what the Death Eaters do, that’s all – them, and all the complacent fools sitting huddled in their houses, waiting for someone else to come and save them. Dorcas thinks that the Order has been coddling these people too much, letting too many wix get away with sitting on the sidelines by not forcing them to take sides – by letting them bury their heads in the sands and pretend that if they ignore the strife all around them, it will go away. She knows better, and she thinks she can force those layabouts to pick up wands and pick a side if she just rubs their noses in it a bit more. If she brings the war to them, they won’t be able to sit back and marinate in their timid apathy; they’ll have to join the fight, because when she’s through there won’t be any sidelines left in which to hide. Voldemort won’t stand a chance then, not once the rest of the magical community finally gets off their arses and admits that some wars need fought. She has no time to wait for the Ministry, they’re a lost cause – and she’s running out of time (or maybe just patience) to wait for the Order either. Dorcas is going to save the world – and if she has to burn down half of it in the process, so be it.

SURVIVAL: Dorcas’s safety net is her family; it always has been. They may not be enough to protect her from herself this time, though – but she hasn’t been involved in the war for long. She’s still living at home but spends more than a few nights each month crashing at the Potter estate, her room at her grandma’s flat, or with someone else in the Order after a mission or a meeting that runs late – or while she’s waiting for her wounds to heal enough to be able to go home without causing too much outcry. Her parents just think she’s “staying with friends,” as youngsters do – and that’s not technically a lie. Even the people in the Order with whom she doesn’t get along are companions in arms, and that’s almost the same thing as friends surely. Whether she’ll be able to maintain her parents’ ignorance for much longer may be a moot point; someone like Dorcas burns so brightly she may well burn out before there’s time for suspicions to raise.

RELATIONSHIPS: 

NOTE: this is all very much first impressions based on bios etc and subject to change when characters are actually claimed and backgrounds plotted; ergo if you see anything in here about your character that doesn’t feel like it “fits” or you have a better idea for or just aren’t in the mood etc – splendid! Any and all of this can be changed, and is just a basis for what I’m going to springboard off to start with until other options can be discussed or developed! In general, Dorcas’s relationships with the rest of the Order are…okay. She’s new, so some of them don’t trust her yet; she’s reckless, so some of them never will. On the other hand, she’s enthusiastic in her commitment, and that’s something of a breath of fresh air amidst a war that’s starting to seem to some to be unwinnable. Definitely she’s a divisive figure – you can’t easily ignore or turn a blind-eye to Dorcas Meadowes, she’s too loud. Too demanding. Too sure that she’s got the right idea to win this war. That doesn’t mean everyone (or even a majority) agree with her methods, and that can make her easy to dislike – or resent. If she’s so willing to accept collateral damage, then how could the Order continue to hold its head up in moral superiority to their opponents? But what if she is right, and only more extreme methods will win the day? Doesn’t that mean the rest of the Order are failures…or cowards? For some people in the Order, it’s easy to say that Dorcas is wrong (or right), requiring only a simple gut-check to know. For others, the question she forces is much more uncomfortable to confront. For many, that makes Dorcas an uncomfortable person to be around – or someone who causes their temper to snap faster than even she maybe deserves, lashing-out at her rather than facing their uncertainty about themselves. She’s a catalyst, and those are not always well-liked by the people thus catalyzed. As for Dorcas’s feeling about some fellow Order members in specific… James Potter. Everything she knew about James before she joined the Order was that he was a bold, reckless, slightly-wild wizard who never passed-up the opportunity for a prank or a laugh or a spot of danger. He was supposed to be some kind of “golden boy” idol for fun-loving troublemakers. So she expected something…more. What she found was someone far too meek, far too reliable, far too tame. What happened? Was his reputation always a bunch of hot air, or has he just lost the will to fight? Regardless, Dorcas is disappointed – but maybe he’s salvageable. Sometimes she thinks she can see a spark in his eye when she’s outlining a scheme; sometimes she thinks if she can push his temper far enough over the edge maybe he’ll snap out of this funk and get back to the person he should be. Maybe he’ll stop letting Moody and Kingsley and Lily Evans hold him back and he’ll actually get off his butt and do something! Caradoc Dearborn. The man’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, sure, but he’s a reliable stick-in-the-mud. (If they had more Hufflepuffs in the Order, they wouldn’t all be sitting on their hands like this!) And no coward either – just too cautious for Dorcas’s tastes. She thinks she can fix that, though. He just needs more of her influence and less of Moody’s and Shacklebolt’s sense of caution. Needs to push himself out of their shadow and back into the proper fight. Dorcas is convinced that’s where he wants to be, too – she just needs to show him how to get there. Shouldn’t be too hard. (If some Death Eater had murdered her mother…!) And once he does, he won’t suffer from the sort of second thoughts and backtracking that plague so many of their fellows and keep the Order locked in this endless cycle of act-regret-act-retreat; Hufflepuffs get things done. She won’t deny that it’s nice to have a “familiar” face in the Order too – even if he’s too old to have actually shared time at Hogwarts with Dorcas, they both come from the cozy Hufflepuff cellars and the dedicated Hufflepuff work ethic and that’s pleasantly familiar; just talking to Caradoc for a little can be a balm to her otherwise jangling nerves or anxious energy. Emma Vanity. If Dorcas has a best friend in the Order, it’s got to be Emma. Which is odd, maybe, because Emma Vanity is not the sort of person one would expect someone like Dorcas to be friends with (or the other way around!) but here they are! They came into the Order together, and so far Emma’s seemed happy to stick at her side through thick-and-thin (and through older, more cautious Order members lecturing them both into behaving more – as if anyone ought to “behave” during a war!) and Dorcas is both glad and grateful. She acts like she doesn’t care if no one likes her – but it’s nice having a friend who always does. Emma’s refined and delicate high-society manners don’t even get on Dorcas’s nerves the way such things do with most people…maybe because with Emma they seem natural rather than forced, or maybe it’s because Emma is always so quick to follow Dorcas’s lead without acting like she’s lowering herself. Maybe it’s just because Emma’s pretty manners remind Dorcas of her late great-aunt – the one “old school” Meadowes who actually got along with Dorcas’s muggle-born grandmother, and who was always the nicest part of family gatherings for Dorcas. Emma has more gumption than people give her credit for, too – even if she does have to pushed into it, most of the time. Good thing Dorcas doesn’t mind doing a little bit of pushing. Benjy Fenwick. Him losing his Quidditch career like that was a waste – Dorcas saw him on the pitch enough in school to know that – but the sport’s loss was the Order’s (and her) gain, so she can’t be too sad about it (even though she tries to make sure she acts like she is, if the subject ever comes up; her focus might be a little narrow but she’s not mean!). She feels a little protective – no, a little proprietary toward him, too. After all, she was the one who knew he’d be a great fit for the Order; she was the one who knew he’d be of great use to the Order. (It’s not all running into battle and sprinting away from arrest; there are so many other skills that matter just as much!) The one who knew he was looking for somewhere to belong and was clever enough to offer that. That means he’s “on her side” – regardless of his thoughts on the matter, maybe! It’s not like she’s taking advantage of him, either; she’s just doing what’s best. For everyone. Including Benjy! He’s happier now than he was when he was just sitting around moping, right? So well done, Dorcas! And if that means she has access to a semi-professional Healer who won’t ask questions or go tattling to Moody or Kingsley or Dumbledore if she and a few mates come in all banged-up right after someone’s set-off an explosion in Knockturn Alley or started a fire at some pure-blood estate…well, that’s just a nice side benefit, really. Sirius Black. Dorcas doesn’t trust him. He can be a lot of fun, and can even be a lot of use – but if there’s a candidate for “most likely traitor” it’s Sirius Orion Black. Something about him just rubs Dorcas the wrong way (maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t like the parts of him she does like; maybe it’s just knowing how his relatives treated her relatives once upon a time – but Dorcas doesn’t believe in inherited guilt any more than she believes in inherited purity so it can’t be that!) so even though he’s one of the few in the Order who really seems to get what she’s pushing for, who really seems to be on board…there’s a little nugget of suspicion. He just seems to be trying too hard all the time – as though his rebellion against his family were pure performance. The fact that he “broke it off” with the Blacks too early to be able to give the Order any real information about his family’s (very very likely) support of Voldemort is awfully convenient. The fact that his “disreputable best friends” are two half-bloods and a pure-blood rather than, say, any muggle-borns or anything really objectionable is awfully convenient too. Almost like the sort of friends someone who believed in blood-purity but wanted to pretend they didn’t would acquire. (He seems to respect James – the pure-blood – the most, too. How convenient.) He even inherited a nice convenient little chunk of money from some uncle, didn’t he? Almost like his family wanted to make sure that he had enough to live on while he was “cut off” from their fortunes… Oh yes, there are a lot of things about Sirius Black’s story that are just a little bit too convenient for Dorcas to easily swallow. A lot of things that would make him the perfect spy for the people who share his surname…and the person a lot of them are almost certainly working for. The fact that there’s never been any proof just shows that Sirius is more subtle than he lets on, that’s all – unless he isn’t the spy. (But if not, who is?) Dorcas isn’t sure – and she isn’t one to turn down a gift horse just because she thinks it might bite her fingers off. As long as Sirius wants to help her plot some mayhem, she’ll take that help and even enjoy herself along the way – and she certainly isn’t going to say anything to undercut the support he sometimes offers her when a big argument gets going about how proactive (or not) the Order should be. But she’s going to keep an eye on him, anyway…someone should.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: 

I have no ships in mind for Dorcas. Speaking generally, I think she is likely to be the kind of person who tumbles passionately into and out of love, and for the most part the “cause” comes first and “happily ever after” is for quitters – or at least, that’s the outlook on which she will insist both to herself and to others; her heart may disagree however, and Dorcas is not one to be ruled by common sense or cold logic, which could potentially place her in interesting circumstances. For individual characters, I’m keen to bounce Dorcas off of both those who agree and disagree with her – and regardless of whether they end up sporting romantic inclinations toward one another or not, I’m particularly interested to explore her relationship with Emma Vanity. Also her relationship with James Potter, but I’m definitely not seeing any potential for romance there! XD

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE? 

One might think that having a Muggle-born grandmother she so adores and looks up to would leave Dorcas free of any traces of blood-prejudice – but one would be wrong, because Dorcas did still grow-up in the magical world and it is far, far too easy to internalize the prevailing attitudes of one’s society even when one ought to know better. Oh, she’s no blood-supremacist – but has she ever looked at a talented Muggle-born with shock at their skills because she expected less of someone with Muggle parents? Of course she has. Part of that comes from her own grandmother’s stories, even: knowing how hard Zawe had to work to keep up with housemates who knew so much more than she did about everything when she started at Hogwarts, Dorcas knows that Muggle-borns are starting-out a little behind the rest of the class…and when you “know” that and grow-up surrounded by a society that’s all-too-quick to assume anyone of Muggle origins is “less than” everybody else? It’s all-too-easy to fall into the same lower expectations…even when you tell yourself it’s just “more impressive” coming from someone like that. The fact that Dorcas doesn’t believe herself to have any sort of anti-Muggle-born prejudice really only makes it worse, because if confronted about it she’d only get defensive and argue the point – she isn’t, she can’t be. Don’t be silly. She’d never! She also shares most of the same other base prejudices common to magical society: werewolves are unclean and dangerous, giants are stupid and violent, goblins are greedy and unstrustworthy… All the “classic” prejudices that become so ingrained in society that it can be hard to even notice them until you know they’re there. Being a half-blood with such close Muggle-roots means thar Dorcas herself falls on the middling-low end of the privilege/prejudice ladder, which gives her just enough social stigma that she can sit back and blithely convince herself that she isn’t prejudiced while still giving her enough of a privileged position to make her life comfortable. No, she’s not some pure-blooded toff with connections stretching back halfway to Merlin who can wink-and-nod their way out of an altercation with the law…but she does fall well within the borders of Ordinary Citizen, nothing too fishy or objectionable about her to make somebody look twice or doubt her word. Plus she’s got the convenience of a recognizable and respected family to fall back on when she trouble comes calling – particularly in the form of the M.L.E.P., who are usually inclined to cut her some extra slack. (“Her parents run Flourish & Blotts, after all, my kids got their schoolbooks there! Go ahead and let the lass off with a warning there John, she’s just blowing-off steam, you know how kids are! No harm done…”) Her time with the Order is just enough for Dorcas to begin noticing this – which is both uncomfortable for her to have to own-up to in her own mind, and convenient for a woman with an agenda like hers. Knowing she can get away with a little bit more than she ought to is going to come very much in handy for dear Dorcas…even if the concept sticks in her craw.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 

I am honestly just so excited to get to explore the imperfections and prejudices within the Order; too often fandom makes 99% of the characters in HP so black-and-white in terms of good-vs-evil when most of them aren’t. Sure, there are extreme end-of-the-spectrum characters like Voldemort and Bella and Umbridge who are pretty much Pure Evil (and the occasional opposite end like the hardly-flawless-but-wholly-good-hearted Luna Lovegood) but for the most part, the people in this story are just people. (All that “both light and dark inside us” blah blah blah stuff.) But when you only focus on the Good Guys vs Bad Guys – particularly when the cause the bad guys are fighting for is so bad – it’s easy to gloss-over the flaws in the people fighting against them; easy to forget that they aren’t always great too. Easy to forget that just because you’re fighting against a group of people trying to enshrine prejudice as near-holy writ in their society doesn’t mean that you’re automatically free of prejudice yourself. (Maybe some of the people in the Order are there because they oppose blood-supremacy, but does that mean they like werewolves? Doubt it! Or what about the ones who come from Muggle roots who thus have Muggle prejudices that the wizarding world has little of – racism, for starters! What about queerness? Is it more tolerated in a magical society where people can change genders as easily as they transfigure themselves into rabbits and armchairs, and where marriage has always been about preserving the family line more than romance so who cares what the gender of your “bit on the side” is as long as you produce a proper heir? Etc. What about religion? I doubt too many wix go in for Muggle religions, when so many of those belief systems take the tactic of “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!” so how does that conflict play-out between those who grew-up with one foot in the magical world and one in the Muggle? So many options for turmoil!) Just because someone is paying enough attention to know that Voldemort is evil doesn’t even mean that they don’t share some of the same ideals being spouted by the Death Eaters – maybe unconsciously, maybe to a lesser degree, etc…but still there, in their head. Internalized. Needing to be unpacked, confronted – but fandom does so little of that. Good Guys are Good, End of Story. The Order were all friends who got along, la la la! Nope. Don’t think so. The Order was made up of a bunch of scared, desperate, angry, beleaguered people (several of them outcasts in their own way) fighting life-and-death battles against an enemy they couldn’t always even find, opposing their own government in many ways in order to “do the right thing” – fighting a war that half the populace would rather just went away. Even if they had all started as buddies, that would have been enough strain to crumble half their friendships by the end – and conversely, to forge people who otherwise have nothing in common into lifelong mates. The interpersonal relationships and inevitable clashes and arguments and confrontations – those are going to be awesome. I’m so excited.

ROULETTE IDEAS (OPTIONAL): 

Firstly let me just say that I am happy to offer Dorcas up for any plotting purposes needed – whether that be her little group doing something destructive or illegal, a line that shouldn’t have been crossed, an injury or death that can be blamed on her directly or indirectly, kidnapping (with temporary hostage-plotting of Dorcas; I can sit out a bit no worries!) and rescue mission, whatever! Even if it’s not a plot drop about her, feel free to make use of Dorcas in any sort of inciting incident required; I’m not possessive! As for specific ideas… -Epidemic: because disease doesn’t seem to be something the magical community has to really deal with much (got a cold? Take a Pepper-Up Potion and it’ll go away in an hour!), not the way Muggles do, so I think it would be interesting to have a sudden outbreak of something (something Muggle or something magical?) run rampant through Wizarding England, particularly right now mid-war. (Perhaps rumors will fly that it’s deliberate – but from which side? And engaging in biological warfare in magical war, really??? Are we Muggle barbarians now??) Something strange and uncommon for them to deal with…something that will drive people in to St. Mungo’s in larger-than-usual droves and leave the potioneers and herbologists working overtime and meanwhile there’s a bloody war on we’re busy enough already do you mind? -Someone Gets Bit: either there’s a second werewolf in the Order now (has Remus been exposed yet? Guess it’s his responsibility to play Lycanthropic Yoda – or if he’s still closeted, time for a Guilt Waterfall deciding whether or not to out himself and help out! uh-oh!) or it’s a Bill Weasley/Lavender Brown situation where the offending werewolf wasn’t transformed but oh no lycanthropic taint now what? and general panicking with a heavy side-helping of bigotry whoops! Maybe the Death Eaters get wind of the fact that the Order has a Pet Werewolf, so they sic their own (not so) tame puppy on them with an ambush by Fenrir Greyback and his buddies…or they could decide to fuck with the Order by using Transfiguration to fake a werewolf pack attack, and everyone panics over the bites that are actually harmless but too late to take back anything they said or did when they figure it out whoops – basically just the Death Eaters pulling a nasty prank (because the Marauders aren’t the only immature asshole wix out there lol) but also has the potential “side benefit” of the Order risking exposure by going to St. Mungo’s to get treatment etc….idk this one sounded better in my head before I started detailing it, but I’m sharing it anyway in case it triggers a better idea with someone else! XD -Fake Defection: probably making use of a temporary secondary character, or as a potential idea for someone who wants to join the game only for a few weeks (due to scheduling issues or attention span or whatever) and then write their character out: a Death Eater makes contact with someone in the Order and wants to defect! Everyone is equal parts excited/suspicious! They are brought-in for debriefing and discussion! Things seem to be on the up-and-up…but they aren’t, it’s all a ploy by Voldemort and not a real defection at all but an attempt to worm a spy into the Order or at least sow distrust oh no! They make leading comments and sly little observations that has the Order distrusting each other as much as the supposed defector (who is the spy within the Order???) and eventually blows their cover either with a fight or by ratting-out some of their plans to the Death Eaters leading to an ambush etc etc…but in the meantime? At least one or two Order members thought they’d made a friend (and maybe they really had! but the Death Eater’s loyalty trumps their affection!) and that hurts. (Alt: if the player ends up falling in love with the character and wants to keep them, throw in a twist where the DE in question initially came in as a double-agent for Voldemort but then ends up falling for their new friends and even questioning their own prejudices as a result of direct exposure to the people they used to think weren’t people and now they have to work-out how to really switch sides without burning their bridges with the people who thought they’d already switched sides, whoops!) -Burning the Books: trouble at Flourish & Blotts! Maybe something nasty follows Dorcas home one day; maybe someone in the Death Eaters just gets offended at some of the product being stocked and Dorcas’s parents ignored the threatening letters and hints (because who would actually do any of those things? They’re just selling books! This is a civilized society!) so the Death Eaters decided to make a bigger gesture. Maybe it wasn’t even the Death Eaters themselves, but someone who was inspired by the current social strife and decided to act on their own agenda of hate for from arson-style censorship. How unsettled would Dorcas be to discover her safe-haven was a target now? Would it hit home hard enough to make her question her own policy of “collateral damage is inevitable, stop fussing!” that she’s been pushing? Would it inspire her dial-back her more extreme efforts – or only make her embrace them harder, because if even home isn’t safe anymore than all bets are off! Maybe it’s even all out of her hands by then; maybe it would be a wake-up-call to respect the rules of engagement more but it’s too late, her agenda has a life of its own and she can’t stop it now…so better run and keep up before you get run over? Or plant your feet and try to make a stand, even if you’re standing against what you used to advocate?

ANYTHING ELSE? nothing!

[rikakowrites]

OC Interview - Kerith

Tagged by @fortificationhill! And I’m gonna tag anyone who hasn’t been tagged yet, since anyone I’d tag was already tagged.

(Under the cut for length.)

1. What is your name? "Courier Kerith Slicer, at your service. Just 'Courier' is fine, of course."

2. How old are you? "Twenty eight, as of recently."

3. What do you look like? "Tall? Moderately so, at least. Pale, brown hair--usually braided--and greenish-gold eyes? Formally categorized as 'hazel', but that's awfully vague."

4. Where are you from? Where do you live now? "I was born in New Arroyo and raised there. My formal home is currently the Lucky 38, specifically the penthouse, where I have a lovely view of the entire desert."

5. What was your childhood like? "I like to think it was relatively normal. I was raised by my mother and my uncle Goris, and spent a lot of time in the library or learning how to fight."

6. What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? "The Followers and I are on very good terms, I supply most of their funding out of my own pocket. The Kings like that I got the NCR out of the area, as do a large number of the local factions. The Brotherhood of Steel and the Boomers are formally allied with me, but there isn't much communication between us outside of business."

7. Tell me about your best friend. "I um... yeah." She glances away and fidgets with her glasses.

8. Do you have a family? Tell me about them! "Just my mother. But being the village elder, she was always busy when she wasn't trying to get me to take up kick boxing. Goris was usually in the library, and I frequently slipped away to visit him." She does not elaborate on this "uncle".

9. What about a partner or partners? "I don't believe I can apply that term to him. Not yet, at least."

10. Who are your enemies, and why? "I don't think there's very many that I haven't killed yet. Elliot (Institute-aligned Sole Survivor) has tried to have me killed after I poked my nose in too many places out East, so I'd say he counts."

11. Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? "They're... hm." She crosses her arms and puts her hand on her chin. "They're better off hiding in their bunkers."

12. What about The Enclave? "I, uh, who wants to know? The Remnants helped me take Hoover Dam, but I haven't heard from them since."

13. How do you feel about Super Mutants? "I have to wonder just how poorly the FEV experiments must have gone on the East Coast for the majority of them to have come out as brutish and bloodthirsty as they are in comparison to those that served the Master."

14. What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? "I'd say Hoover Dam, but honestly fighting against Elliot at Bunker Hill was insane. No one was teleporting at Hoover Dam, and there were far fewer Vertibirds. It had also been a relatively straightforward battle, two sides facing off, while Bunker Hill had people showing up uninvited from all directions. Though I'm sure the NCR and Legion--if they were still around--would say that my allies hadn't been invited, either."

15. Have you ever fought a Deathclaw? "I generally don't try to seek them out."

16. Do you like fighting? "Usually from a distance, yes."

17. What’s your weapon of choice? "I have my .45 auto pistol that I always have on me. I've taken a liking to many other guns, but I always come back to this one in the end."

18. How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) "A bit of logic, a bit of charm, and a quick hand."

19. Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? She shudders. "Horrible death traps. Even the control vaults make me dizzy and panicky."

20. How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? "I relied heavily on a good set of Power Armor out East. Thankfully there's far less here so I usually just use Rad-X, RadAway if I'm unable to avoid it. I worry about my DNA sometimes." (She doesn't mention that Arcade usually has to fight her to get her to take RadAway, due to the needle. If Arcade were listening, he'd just be staring at her with how casually she mentions it, as if she's actually capable of administering it to herself.)

21. What’s your favorite wasteland critter? "My snupp--er, night stalkers. The ones I've bred, specifically."

22. What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? "Radscorpions, their poison hurts, and they don't even have pretty wings like Cazadors. I used to think I hated Cazadors the most, but they grew on me as I studied them in the lab that created them, while out East I suffered many stings from the largest radscorpions I had ever seen."

23. How do you feel about robots? "I love them! ED-E follows me everywhere, and he gets along well with all my robo-scorpions, which I also love. I'm confident enough in my programming and Yes Man that I always feel safe when one of my Securitrons is around, though with the network, it's usually Yes Man anyway."

24. How many caps do you have on you right now? "One, two, three... I wasn't planning on going anywhere to trade, so just enough to potentially get lunch out later."

25. Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? "Sunset Sarsaparilla, hands down. I don't like all the caffeine in Nuka Cola."

26. Do you do chems? "I use them in a pinch, I barely remember the fight, but I was surrounded and took one of everything in my bag. Woke up in the Old Mormon Fort. So not usually." She takes a tin out of her pocket and pops a Mentat.

27. Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? "Surveying ruins you can't help but wonder about the people who lived there. It's all ancient history, but the culture was interesting."

28. What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? "I... blew up a lot of large things during my long trip out East. Things that contained people, non-combatants. I'm not proud, but my hand was forced."

29. What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? She gestures around her. "Winning Hoover Dam and taking New Vegas for myself, I'd say."

30. What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? "Peace? Prosperity? Eventually I want to be able to settle down, and be able to go a few days at a time without getting frustrated with something and deciding that I need to take care of it myself."

[h0nest-th0ughts]

Soooo, I have lots to say but don’t want to necessarily write it all out. So going to type it out on here.

Firstly I’m lonely, I miss seeing my friends and physical touch of other humans.

Coronavirus is shit and people are stupid.

I’m sad way too much.

But my biggest issue right now. Is my incessant need to be loved. In any possible way. I am so desperate to be wanted in any kind of capacity I make sure lots of people want me but in the ways that I want. I show them parts of me that I know they’ll like and entice them with it. I keep them at arms length. I don’t show them the real vulnerable me. Because I feel like when I do it’s never good enough, or scared people off. And so I end up giving parts of myself to people that don’t want or don’t deserve to see it and then they leave with that part and I never get it back. Then what am I left with? I want so much to be able to love someone wholey and truly and for them to do the same. I want to find someone that accepts me 100% for who I am. Even the parts I don’t like and don’t want to show. Someone who understands what I’ve been through and why I find it so hard to love. But does it anyway. Because they see me as a whole and want to still be around me.

I think the issue is that I still don’t truly love myself fully. I try to. I try so hard to. But I still carry a lot of hurt around with me. I still feel broken. And even telling people that, the way I do it. Doesn’t give them an opportunity to see it and help heal its. It just pushes them away. Without the chance to see it and be ok with it. I just show enough to say and that’s why I’m fucked up and you’re not interested.

I think the reason I struggle so much living with other people is that I constantly need to be in control of the small things in life. This is what makes me feel ok. And living with this many other people does not make that possible. And so it frustrates me.

I also just want to be someone’s first choice. I’m aware that this is ironic due to the amount of guys I’m currently talking to and sleeping with. But again it’s just an attempt to make myself feel wanted. And the irony of me turning into my mother is also not lost on me. But I want just once, to find someone and be everything they want. For there to be no ifs or buts. No girlfriends. No if the time was different. No waiting for them to get their shit together and decide they want me. Every time that conversation is had it hurts that much more. And the niggling feeling of not being hood enough comes back again.

I miss having the ability to be wholey, unapologetically in love with someone. I do this on a regular basis with lots of my friends. But to fully admit to someone that they’re the only person you want for now. I miss that.

But I’m so scared to seek that out because I simply can’t take another heartbreak. Paul broke my heart like I don’t think anyone else ever could. The feeling of betrayal is immense and I’ll never get over it. And that’s why I don’t let anyone even nearly close enough to cause that kind of hurt again.

I tell myself I don’t want the kids and the husband and the house. Maybe I do. But right now I can’t see it happening for me.

All I really want is a feeling of content happiness. A comfort in being surrounded by family that truly care for you and enjoy being around eachother. Not out of obligation. A family that’s laughs together and aren’t embarrassed to be themselves. Instead of constantly taking the piss out of, judging and comparing one another. I want to raise a child that is so comfortable to be authentically themselves that they grow into a beautiful kind human. Instead of trying to forge this path from understanding the hurt not acting like this can cause. Maybe I also want a child so that I have someone that will love me no matter what.

I just want someone to make me a priority sometimes. Just enough to make me feel wanted and important. Not for sex. Just because they enjoy being in my company. Because having me around makes them feel good. Because their life is better with me in it.

But I guess that’s the problem. I don’t see those qualities in myself. I don’t see why someone would keep me around. So I use sex as a bargaining chip. I tell myself that’s why they keep me around. But that’s ok because I’m giving it to them. So it’s a fair deal. Maybe that’s the big reason. I want to claim back the control I have over sex and who I have it with. I want to be in charge of my body and who has access to it. I want to claim back what was taken from me. So by allowing people access I’m proving to myself that a) I’m desirable b) I am in control of who can have my body and c) I am wanted in the capacity I allow. They don’t need to see any other side of me other than the one I give them.

I want so desperately to heal. To heal from the pain from my relationship with my dad, the pain of my mum never putting me first, the pain of losing my virginity to someone that simply used me for sex, the pain of Paul (Paul) always stringing me along, the pain of the relationship breakdown of me and james, the pain of losing the relationship I had with my mum, the pain of Jack never loving me back, the pain of losing my beautiful life in Australia, the pain of being betrayed by the one person you thought you’d always rely on, the pain of losing 3 sets of family members and feeling like you’re not worth keeping around or in contact with, the pain of never quite being good enough in any capacity in life, family love, romantic love, academically, in friendships, in work, just never quite being the one people want. And the pain of being raped. Of everything that came with that. The new inability to go on nights out and just enjoy myself. The pain of having someone take something so personal from you and it have no impact on their life. It a profound one on yours. The pain of feeling alone in this world. With everyone knowing little bits of you, but no one seeing the whole you. Maybe that person is Jack. But in seeing it all. He doesn’t want to be with me. And then there’s Anthony. Saying so many things but not following through on them. Again fuelling all the insecurities I have.

I need to learn to be at peace with myself again. But I can’t only do that when I cut everyone off. And that’s no way to live.

So what do I do from here?

I need to love myself more than anyone ever could and really take care of myself. I need to accept that although people may only see certain sides of me. They do love those parts. And for that I am thankful. I need to keep people around me that make me feel good about myself. I need to open myself up more and not be so guarded. Because being authentic is the most important thing. And I need to let go of all the things I cannot change.

I may hate living in this house. But right now I can’t change that. So I need to be grateful for the fact I even have a roof over my head and good in my belly because way too many people don’t even have that. This life can only be beautiful is you appreciate the simple things and work towards making it so. And therefore that is what I need to do.

I also need to remind myself that I have made it through every one of my bad days. The days I’ve wanted to cut, the days I’ve literally wanted to die. I’ve made it through every single one. And I am stronger for it. I haven’t cut in about 8 months. And I’m proud of that.

I need to be kinder to myself.

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. I)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2kw—THIS WILL BE MULTIPART; please like and most importantly REBLOG if you enjoy, babes <3

note: ignores TGC’s two-second mention of Harry having been in the army. I already had my own ideas about his backstory way before that, so whoops, I accidentally disregarded canon, imagine that

.

.

“Fall in.”

They’re the words he’s been waiting for. Hands behind his back, Harry steps into line with the fifteen other proposals. A subtle glance over his shoulder takes stock of them. Some look to have come to life from the brochures of Oxford, Cambridge, Leeds. Others look prepared for a rock-&-roll concert on a quad somewhere. He wonders which will be his future colleague.

The old man who gave the order, ruddy and silver-white haired, sporting elbow-patched tweed, comes two paces forward. He adjusts his black-rimmed glasses, folding his arms over his burdened clipboard.

“Gentlemen. My name is Arthur,” he begins. “I welcome you to the interview process; very likely the most extreme interview process in the world. Have no doubt of that.” Pausing, he lightly clears his throat. “Now, ordinarily, as per the Kingsman tradition, these trials are overseen by our resident Merlin.”

Merlin the Wizard, Harry thinks. Tech wizard. The agents’ handler. His smile is hard to repress.

“However. Circumstances being as they are, may our dear friend rest in peace, I will be testing the lot of you myself.”

In the back row, there’s the faintest snort, and fainter muttering; Harry picks up something to the effect of how this ought to be cake, then. Arthur’s caught it as well. He levels a halfheartedly-scathing gaze, but moves along.

“If you’ve taken notice of your company, which I hope to God will never again need be asked of you, you will have counted sixteen applicants in this room. On this rare occasion, we are seeking to fill two positions. The very same incident that claimed the life of our Merlin has also laid to rest our dearly missed Agent Galahad.” The old man studies them, his eyes demanding postures of stone. “If any of you are perturbed by the possibility of someday greeting the same fate, this moment will be your final chance to leave.”

Harry waits, still as a pond. Nobody moves.

One brusque nod from Arthur. “Good. In that case, I look forward to finding out which two of you, and only two of you, will become the newest members of Kingsman. I wish a great deal of luck to you all.”

Hardly necessary, Harry thinks.

“Now then.” Arthur’s pen points out the perimeter of the room in a slow circle, and the candidates’ eyes follow. Against the walls are bunks beds, four to the left, four to the right, a metre or so between each. “In a moment, you will go and find your name on an index card attached to one of these bunks. These designate your assigned sleeping arrangements. On your cot, you will find one of these.” He points his pen at the nearest lower bunk, sporting a lump of thick canvas. “Can anyone identify this item?”

Ten or so hands go up. Arthur lights on the nebbish thing to Harry’s immediate right, already sweating through his ill-fitting sport coat.

“It’s a sleeping bag, sir?”

Snickers blossom around the error. You twit, it’s a body bag.

“It’s a body bag,” says Arthur. “Lyle, isn’t it?”

Lyle gives a quivering nod, Adam’s apple plunging. Arthur makes a note. Well he’ll be gone by the week-end.

“At your station, you will write your name on the bag provided. You will also write the names of any and all next-of-kin. This represents your acknowledgement of the extraordinary risk you are about to face, as well as your very binding agreement to our incredibly strict confidentiality policy. It is your contract. Should you break this contract at any time, I regret to say, and hope you understand, that the names on your bag will henceforth, and without fail, become its inhabitants.” Like the army, then. I’ve read about this. “Have I made myself clear?”

Fifteen heads bob. The outlier is at the far end of Harry’s row. He’s a slight thing with a close haircut, wearing a coat of blue and green tartan plaid. From the look of him, he can’t possibly be out of secondary school. His arm is raised.

So is Arthur’s eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Isn’t that an army technique, sir?” The question comes in a Scot’s brogue.

“Beg pardon?”

“The army. God save the Queen.” Even with his eyes forward again, Harry can hear repressed amusement in the words, albeit not repressed very hard. “Is it not typical for army recruits to be given the same exercise as a scare tactic?”

A look passes Arthur’s face that suggests how very much done he is with all of them. The young man goes without an answer, not that he seemed to be too seriously curious in the first place. Arthur pokes the bridge of his glasses, turning away.

“Fall out.”

Harry waits until he’s gone, then sets himself upon the nearest bunks with the famished eyes of a wild man.

His name isn’t on the first frame, so he moves left. It isn’t on the second, third, fourth, or fifth, either. It’s on the sixth. Only his card is there; his bunkmate’s has already been removed, leaving behind a bent thumbtack.

“Hope you don’t mind I had my heart set on the top bunk,” comes the brogue.

Harry looks up, only to retrace his visual steps as the young man above him hops back to solid ground. A grin comes over him—Yes, this will do fine, I’m sure this will be interesting—and he proffers his hand. His fellow recruit accepts, and he shakes enthusiastically.

“Harry Hart.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The silence that follows outlasts the handshake. Harry blinks. He chalks the missed cue up to possible excitement or nerves, at least until his companion turns away with an amicable nod, retrieving his body bag like nothing else is happening.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” Harry asks.

The thought must be genuinely foreign to the lad, going by the way his brow serpentines. “Why would I do that?”

Why on earth would you ask a thing like that? “I…well, I told you mine.”

“Yes, and I appreciated that. It’s very pretty. I like alliteration.”

Harry follows him around the other side of the bunks as he goes about searching for a pen, utterly bewildered to be having this conversation. “So you aren’t going to tell me yours? That doesn’t seem very fair. How should I know what I’m meant to call you?”

“When you think about it, do you really have to call me anything at all?” He pulls the cap off a felt marker. “I’ll know it’s me you’re talking to if you’re looking at me. It’s a basic measure of respect, eye contact. Very valuable in many situations.”

“Oh, come now, don’t be ridiculous.” Harry’s tone is still brightly convivial, which he’s rather proud of, considering he’s rapidly approaching a state of active frustration. “Just tell me your name.”

“All right, fine,” the other one exhales. “You can call me Merlin, if you like.”

Merlin. “Merlin.”

“Yes.”

It’s too preposterous to abide. “But you don’t know that you’ll get the position! You’re no more Merlin at this point than anyone else in this room.”

The young man flips a shoulder, looking blasé. “It’s only a matter of time. And it’s not like the last one’s still using it. He’s dead, what does he care? Seems up for grabs to me.”

The marker squeaks across the cardstock on the body bag. Harry attempts to read over his bunkmate’s shoulder, but the stubborn little shit’s concealing it from him. “You’re certainly quite confident, aren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t like to brag.”

“Please, now, come on, I insist you give me something to call you other than Merlin. What if one of us gets a position and the other doesn’t? I’d like to think we may be friends by the end of this; how will I keep in touch with you?”

Would-Be Merlin chuckles to himself, not unkindly replying, “If one of us gets a position and the other doesn’t, something tells me there won’t be any keeping in touch. Matter of fact, the loser may be unlikely to remember any of this. Have you seen those amnesia darts yet?”

“Oh yes, they’re brilliant.” Briefly he feels the thrill of this afternoon again. Hundreds of gadgets, dozens of all manner of vehicles, all hidden below the earth while regular people go about their lives, walking dogs, pushing prams, shopping at Tesco… He shakes his head. “That’s not the point.”

“All right, all right. You can call me…M.”

M.

“M. M, as in, M from the James Bond films?”

“Yes. M as in M from the James Bond films.” He caps the marker, holding it out. “If you wanna use this, I’m all through with it.”

Harry takes it, but makes no move toward his bag. He stares at M-Not-Merlin for a few moments, standing there as unmoved as he is, squared off with him. Unblinking. Assured. Something calmly challenging in it, almost. And his body bag over his arm with the card on front obscured conveniently to the underside.

The conclusion’s a slap in the skull he should’ve picked up minutes ago. “You really can’t stand your name whatsoever, can you?”

“No. No I can’t.”

His grin returns for having won the prize. He walks around him. “If it’s all that traumatic of an embarrassment for you, why not go by something else?” His palm braces the index card for writing on. “Or have it changed entirely, for that matter. I’m sure it couldn’t be very complicated.”

“Oh, couldn’t it, then?”

“Ah. So you’ve thought of that.”

“More than once, believe you me. It’d kill my auntie.” The lad’s climbing back up the ladder now, the frame creaking after him. “Raised me from a boy, that woman did. Christ knows why she loves the hideous thing, but it’s a family name.” He parks himself at the foot of his cot, legs swaying just slightly. “So I’m a bit stuck with it, y’see.”

“Yes, I do.”

Tilting his head, Harry admires the careful scrawl of his mothers’ names. Contrary to frightening him, he almost wishes he could cut out this patch and frame it, along with perhaps mailing them a copy. Imagine how a thing like this would look next to my nursery school handprints.

“Well then.” He, too, smoothly folds his bag, cheerful as he looks up. “I suppose M is as good as anything. Lovely to meet you, M.”

“Much appreciated. And likewise.”

Harry extends the marker. “You can have this back now. Thank you very kindly.”

“Oh, no skin off mine.” M points to bunk seven. “It’s his.”

Perspiring Lyle is flitting around the bunk adjacent, upending his toiletry kit, quite plainly frantic. It’s difficult to contain a laugh as Harry taps the poor sod on the shoulder with a “Pardon me,” then slips the marker into his clammy hand. “Take this one. All finished.”

The relief from the poor thing just about rattles the woodwork. “Oh—oh good, thank you. Thanks very much.”

“Not at all. Happy to help,” M contributes.

Good God, it’s a toss-up who’s the cheekier shit between the two of us. “Come on.” It’s time to get out of here before their neighbor wonders what’s funny. “Let’s go and find out where to hand these in, shall we?”

M hops down again with a grunt. “Every time I sit down.”

The body bags go in a heap on a table in the corner. Once there, Harry watches with some mild degree of amazement as M begins to separate them, unasked, glancing only fleetingly at each card, sorting out a new pile by alphabet.

He makes a mental note to get to know M better in the coming days. Already, it seems the wisest investment in the room.

.

pt. II | pt. III | pt. IV | pt. V | pt. VI  | pt. VII  | pt. VIII  | pt. IX

[feuillesmortes]

This is a continuation to the H7xEoY ficlet I wrote after episode 2 of TWP (in which Henry secretly visits Lizzie in her confinement). It takes place a few days before episode 3. 

Some of you have asked me to write more so I decided to give it a try. Don’t mind me, have some fluff mixed with angst, I guess. Edit: be warned, it’s cheesy.

In the early hours of the day his study was always quiet. The morning dew rose from the gardens to his windows; the air was fresh, almost holy even. In the quietude of the morning Henry found the perfect time to attend to the constant letters that piled up on his desk. In routine he had found the means to dedicate himself to one of the multiple duties pertaining the King of England, no less burdensome than the one that wielded the scepter or the one that carried the sword.

The letter he had before him this time bore the seals of the Lord Mayor of London and those belonging to the aldermen that represented the merchants of the City. It could only be described as a desperate urge for a peace with Burgundy masked as a petition. Was it possible that a single letter could make him feel tired so early in the day?

A knock on the door was followed by the footsteps of his mother entering the room. He turned his head to greet her.

“Mother.” He had forgotten that she was the actual reason he was an early riser himself, though he did not lack for childhood memories of joining his mother at attending the first mass of the day. 

“Good morn, Henry. I see that you’ve started your work already.”

“Quite so, mother. What brings you here?” He turned back to his desk to tend to one of the many papers that graced it. 

From the corner of his eyes he watched her fidget with her chaplet before mustering the courage to ask him. “Are you still decided on sending your uncle Jasper to Burgundy?”

“This question again, mother.”

She was not taken aback. “You cannot be parted from him, Henry. If anything happens, he is your most trusted ally.”

“Which is why I’m sending him as my envoy.” Who exactly can’t be parted from him, mother? Me or you? “We’ve argued about this before. My mind is already settled on his going.”

“But if anything happens in England-”

“If anything happens, mother.” He turned to face her fully. “Then I shall see to it myself. As it is the duty of the King of England.”

His mother’s lips were sealed into a thin line, her expression something that he could not decide whether it was resignation or stubbornness. “I have heard the servants talking, Henry.”

He turned back to the papers in front of him and took up his quill again. “I did not know you were of a mind to listen to servant talk. Anything of my concern?”

“You have seen Elizabeth in her confinement.”

“How so?”

“You have sent her gifts.”

This time he put down his quill. “Aye, I have. Is not gift-giving a part of marriage?”

His mother vigorously shook her head. “Do not let her sweet words take a hold on you, Henry. Often the loveliest smiles hide the most dangerous intentions.”

“You can rest assured. Elizabeth is not in the habit of exchanging loving smiles with me, mother.” Because she hates me, that’s why.

Lady Margaret did not seem any less relieved by it, though. “Beware, Henry. The foulest treachery springs from love.” 

She left him at that, yet her words persisted with him all day like venom infecting a wound.

Henry was still trying to push back those words when he finally made his way to Elizabeth’s room. He tried to bury them in one of the darkest corners of his mind where insecurity and anxiety combined drove him further into paranoia. At dusk, after a full day of work he could feel his senses clouded, his mind fogged. He did not fully understood what will power drove him to his wife’s rooms, yet there he was.

Henry stopped in front of the door to her bedchamber, knocked lightly and waited. Another knock, followed quickly by a third one. When he finally pushed open the heavy door the scene he had in front of his eyes was quite picturesque. Elizabeth, heavily pregnant, had her three younger sisters laughing, all girls playing and mutually tickling each other. For a split second he saw the most adoring, genuine, gleeful smile adorning his wife’s face. It was not a coincidence he had never seen her like this, had never seen her private smiles. Something akin to jealousy bitterly rose inside him. The girls’ giggling all but came to a halt when they turned to see him. 

For a moment he felt very small, very intruding of a world he would never understand. Half of his life he had lived among men; his uncle was the only familiar presence he’d had in his formative years; his upbringing was all very martial: hunting and riding, knowing his way with a sword, lance and bow. For his mother had prophesied he was destined to be king, and a king-to-be does not rest idle. During exile he would often think of the mother he had left behind in England, would sometimes wonder if he could ever make her proud. He had known women; the French court was never lacking in opportunity for any man seeking pleasure. Yet a woman’s mind remained, at best, something he only ever had a frail grasp on.

Upon seeing Henry the York girls all instinctively gathered behind Elizabeth and it was almost comical, if not strangely sad, the sight of children hiding behind the belly of a pregnant woman. His wife tapped their arms lightly, bidding them to come forward to bow before him. It was then that her sisters all looked to their feet and spoke in unison, as if rehearsed: “Good evening, your grace.” 

He gave them a slight nod, not sure why he was the one feeling like he had just got caught at a crime scene. Elizabeth finally spoke up: “If you excuse them, your grace, they’ll be returning to their rooms now.” 

The girls curtsied, then fled like a flock of birds. He turned to see Elizabeth standing near her bed, caressing the curve of her belly. “I’m sorry, Henry. I wasn’t expecting you”, she said, whilst looking very content with herself.  “I thought you would not come today.”

His words came unbidden. “As it happens, I had errands to run. I cannot always play the peasant watching his wife’s stomach swell.”

She flinched, furrowing her brow, but acquiesced. “As you say.”

Henry did not know why he suddenly felt so angry. Her lack of protest made him even more frustrated - he needed to see her reacting, to see her wrath, see anything that might give him a glimpse of the flesh and blood human being he had married, not of this perfect doll she tried to show him.

“Could you tell me what your sisters were doing here, instead of being with your mother?”

She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, as if hardening herself. “Lady Margaret never said a word about my sisters. I don’t see a reason why they should not be allowed in my rooms.”

He could not help but see her point. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Fair enough.” Silence reigned in the room until Henry cleared his throat, trying to start again. “Have you... Have you received my gift?”

Lizzie tipped her head sideways and gave him a knowing smile. “I have. As a matter of fact, Henry, I also have a gift for you.”

He was not sure he heard her right. “You do?”

She went into one of her drawers, from which she got a piece of embroidered cloth. She went back to his side and gave him what could only be a handkerchief. He began unfolding it very carefully - It was a red dragon, proud and beaming, holding a delicate white rose beautifully woven into the cloth.

“I... I’ve tried to think of something that could be of use to you. You don’t need to like it.”

Her voice had a hesitant edge to it. Perhaps if he looked at her he’d see his wife anxious for the first time. He could not leave his eyes from the handkerchief, though. He touched the embroidery very slowly, feeling all of its stitches against the touch of his rough fingertips. “It is... Most beautiful.” he murmured. 

He eventually glanced up from the embroidery, just in time to see Elizabeth half-smile. “It’s not like I have much to do here, truly. Although I cannot speak for the quality of my stitching, I’m afraid. Candlelight is not the best companion when it comes to needlework, you see. But I can always make another one when I’m out of confinement.” 

“No, I want to keep this one.”

That must have surprised her. “... You do, Henry?”

He hummed, and she looked exceedingly proud of herself. She is stunning, he thought, dumbfounded. He tried to remember a time he thought she looked as beautiful as she was in his eyes at that moment. He had heard men complaining about their pregnant wives, had heard derogatory terms of how their pregnancy made their wives undesirable. Yet, looking at Elizabeth at that moment, he could not understand them. Her skin had an unearthly glow to it, her hair was shinier than any jewel he could think of. She just had this air of self-contentment that was utterly intriguing to him.

He folded the handkerchief into his doublet. “I’ll keep it here Lizzie, so it shall be with me at all times.”

Could it be possible that he was truly seeing his wife blush? He had not realised he had spent a long time openly staring at her till she was the one to overcome the awkwardness between them. She laced an arm with his and rested her hand on his elbow. “What did you do today, Henry?” 

Henry was caught so off guard that the day just passed felt like it had happened ages ago. “Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. Except the aldermen of London have handed me a petition to renew the trading license with Burgundy. You can see how this puts me in a difficult position.”

She furrowed her brows together and this somehow gave him assurance to go further. “I can see how the merchants of London are likely to suffer from the blockade, yet I cannot give them a trading deal while peace has not been assured. But the concerning issue is that I cannot have the whole city unsatisfied, only waiting for an excuse to plot against me.”

She nodded. “I see.”

Henry sighed. “I never thought that being king would put me in conflict with myself. Ruling a kingdom can be quite relentless at times”. Before he ascended to the throne, Henry’s vision consisted of a rather black and white world. Ruling a country was proving to be quite the opposite.

Lizzie smirked. “On the contrary, Henry. From what little I’ve seen I would say that much of being king revolves around being constantly conflicted.”

He chuckled, and she went on. “But perhaps there is a simple solution to it. You could always appease an alderman with the offer of a knighthood. Dubbing a merchant costs you nothing, yet this is something he’ll boast of until the last of his days.”

He pondered, amused. “Is that what your father would do?”

“Oh no. If my royal father ever disagreed with the aldermen he would make his opinion blatantly clear to them.”

Henry chuckled again, but decided he would not make the same mistake. A king should not be levelling his power with his subjects if he wished to make his reign absolute. “I reckon your plan could work, Lizzie. A subtle act of coaxing, that is.”

She smirked again. “You see, I like to think that I have some very good ideas.” She leaned into his ear and whispered. “But don’t tell anyone.”

A lightning thrill took over him then. He trapped her body against his, refusing to let her slip away that time. “You know, I rather think that myself too.” His thumbs drew lazy circles at her sides. Henry was certain that this was sinful, yet for all the gold in his kingdom he could not care.

From that closeness he could see her eyes dancing along his face. “You know what a good idea would be?” She caressed his chest with the back of her hands, very lightly. “Releasing my mother. ”

For Christ’s sake. She did it. She had ruined the moment again. He let go of her as if burned. “Lizzie, don’t.”

“Why? Lady Margaret is still to produce a proof that my mother was behind Francis Lovell’s plot. It is unfair to have her locked up without anything against her.”

For a second Henry could not believe his own ears. “Anything against her? Her circumstances, her connections, her privileged position to act? God almighty, Lizzie! Can you even believe in yourself saying it?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “At least send for my mother when the baby comes. I cannot do this without her, Henry. I simply cannot. I need her here.”

He sighed. He was tired, he was so, so very tired. “I’ll talk to my mother. It’s all I can promise you.”

She looked heartbroken. “You are the king.” She whispered, very quietly, looking away from his eyes.

He took a long breath. “Lizzie, listen. I promise to help your family. I’ll make sure your sisters are well married to lords who will take good care of them. Nothing bad will ever happen to your family again.”

Her hands went instinctively to her belly. Her face looked so stricken it scared him. “Lizzie, what is it? Do you feel ill?”

She turned her back to him. “I’m just tired. I need to lie down and rest.”

He should go to her, take her in his arms and tell her how much he meant his vow. He wanted to tell her that nothing would ever happen to their baby, that he would be a good father, the father he never had. That he promised that their child would never suffer any harm. Yet his promises sounded hollow even to his own ears, and his words died before they even came to life. Perhaps some small part of him knew he could not keep his promises after all. 

After a moment he mustered the courage to go to her. He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine.”

From the way her hand did not squeeze his back, she did not believe him.

[hannahmhancock]

Home Sweet Home To Me

About this time 5 years ago, I received a beautiful letter in the mail: I was accepted to the University of Tennessee. It was a dream come true. I loved Knoxville. I always had. My dad raised me to cheer for the Vols and wear the “gaudy” orange my entire life - no matter if we were winning natty’s or taking L’s.

As you know, the Lord sent me to a place that was a sea of red and black - and I’m so thankful. I love my dawgs, and my heart is for them. Not to mention all the incredible people, life experiences, and ways God moved in me during my time in Athens. Attending a university and being there during the biggest times of adversity or one of the best seasons you’ve ever seen, you can’t help but the team be your #1. I, however, still love my boys in orange (although I’ve never been able to admit that), they just took a second place spot.

Fast forward 3 years. I’m applying to graduate school. Again, I get accepted to Tennessee. And again, as you know, I went to a place, a different place, that was a sea of red and black. (but still Georgia is obviously my number 1). And again, am I so thankful the Lord sent me somewhere other than Knoxville.

I’ve prayed for an opportunity to live in the hills of Tennessee my ENTIRE life. And every chance I got, God prompted my heart and said, “no, not yet.” And every time I was disappointed. But now, with all the excitement in the world, I am proud, humbled, and honored to be moving to God’s country of Knoxville Tennessee (sorry, I like to exaggerate for effect).

About 7-8 months ago, I found out my internship in Louisville was not going to be able to hire me full time. Extremely bummed (because I LOVE my job here), I looked to Taylor and said “what do we do?” So we started praying. Praying for guidance, clarity, opportunities, etc. We prayed that the Lord would make it clear where we are called to be so we can glorify Him most. We had this crazy idea in our heads that maybe, just maybe, Knoxville could be this place. Now for those of you who don’t know both sides of the story, Taylor had also been in my shoes almost his entire life: wanting the opportunity to move to Knoxville and every time he had the chance, he felt the Lord say “no, not yet.”

As we began praying for clarity, I started reading a book called “The Circle Maker” by Mark Batterson, where he challenged readers to circle their prayers around their God given passions, desires, etc. and to fervently, boldly, and expectantly seek the Lord in this circle, all the while of not using the “well, if it’s in your will” as a cop-out. Now, this book and my circling of prayer can be taken extremely out of context if you don’t know what Mark Batterson is trying to convey in its’ entirety, so I encourage you to look further into it if you don’t understand where I’m getting at.

And so, we prayed for Knoxville. For 8 straight months. And you know what? For 7 months and 3 weeks, we heard nothing. This is not to say the Lord didn’t hear our prayers, our cries, our anticipation, but what it does say is that God allowed us to receive “no’s” from places and silence from others so he could ultimately answer this prayer we had circled. 

And let me tell you, the last 8 months have been the hardest 8 months of my life. I’ve applied to probably no joke, over 200 jobs, of which I only heard back from about 4. When we felt like Knoxville was getting us nowhere, we started to look in other areas, and still received silence. I received a heartbreaking no from a job I thought was a guarantee for both Taylor and I. I had times where I grew tired of praying and seeking the Lord and just waited in passivity, without prayer. (Let me tell you - that only makes things worse). I cried. I worried. I grew anxious. I grew frustrated. I took out my frustration on my loved ones. 

And one day, after receiving that heartbreaking no, I gave up my passivity towards the Lord and got on my knees. Taylor and I began to pray more and quite differently than we had been the last several months. In some ways, I think we just thought an opportunity would fall on our lap, but what I didn’t fully understand in my mind is that whatever job I got, was only because of the Lord.

We began to fervently pray, again. We improved our discipline in the word and in prayer. We sought God where we were. We decided to continue to serve and love on others around us, while we still had the chance (in Louisville). And the crazy thing is - the moment we got our priorities straight, opportunities began to open up everywhere. I had two interviews in Chattanooga, one in Waco, Texas, and one in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. As I went through this process, Taylor and I continued to pray for open hearts and minds to wherever the Lord sent us, but we also still prayed that if it was the right time, we could go to Knoxville. As the interviews progressed, we still were unsure. I prayed for only one opportunity so I wouldn’t doubt where God was sending us. But, that’s not what happened. I received a call last week with the opportunity to fly to Waco, Texas for a job. While open to the possibility at the beginning, Taylor and I knew Waco was not it. I was encouraged by many to travel out there anyways for the experience, interview opportunity, and so on. As I went on a 17 mile training run last Thursday, I was riddled with anxiety. While everyone around me encouraged me to go, I could not consciously waste their time, and act, in what I thought, could be disobedient to the Lord by going out there. I stopped at mile 12, called the Waco people, and told them no. 

While I was at such great peace about turning them down, I was still a nervous wreck. I had just taken a huge leap of faith and trusted that the Oak Ridge (or possibly another job) would work out. You see, a few days earlier I had interviewed in Oak Ridge for the event manager position. It was the job I had dreamed of in the place I had dreamed of. But my nerves got to me and I thought I bombed the interview. I prayed so hard to the Lord almost every hour of every day last week for the interviewers to show mercy on me and to hear by Friday at 5:00 if I had gotten the job or not. I had another job possibility in a different town, but didn’t want to pursue it unless I knew Oak Ridge wouldn’t work out.

Guys, last week was tough. I was nervous all week. I hardly slept. I Thought I would be back at ground 0. I pleaded with the Lord many times. I was extremely blunt with Him. I continually humbled myself knowing the only way I would get this job is if it’s His will, not if I’m qualified enough or if it’s what I want.

Friday morning rolled around and I was still just as anxious. Taylor and I hopped in the car to drive to Effingham for the weekend and I began to pray. The Bible App verse of the day was Galatians 6:9, “So we must not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we don’t give up.” Literally the Lord knew I needed that verse. Ironically enough, the Lord has shown me that verse in very similar life instances: applying to undergrad, grad school, summer jobs, etc. 

About an hour into the journey I got a call, and to my surprise, I was offered the job! I was extremely blown away and extremely grateful. Taylor encouraged me to take a moment to pray and be thankful to the Lord before we moved forward. So we pulled off the interstate, took a moment and gave thanks to God.

Now that I’ve written a novel and probably lost your attention, I write all this to say: Don’t. Give. Up. Many days over this season I’ve been so close to throwing in the towel and applying for a job I knew I could get, but would want to pull my hair out. 

Taylor and I fervently praying through this season doesn’t mean that God just gave us what we wanted because we asked for it. I firmly believe God is sending us to Knoxville because we can glorify Him most there. But I also think the Lord knows our hearts, our passions, and our desires (because He gave them to us), and I believe He wants to use that for His glory! 

Through this journey, I got very tired of people saying, “it’ll work out, in His time”, or “it’s not the right time”, or “The right job will happen for you”, etc. And while I knew all this to be true, that God REALLY does have me, I was tired of it. I also knew that once I got to the other side, the previous 8 months would seem to make sense and be worth it - and it is. But through the monotony and continued rejections, we persisted in trusting the Lord. 

Friend, I’m not sure where you’re at. If you’re in the same boat I’ve been, I know your pain; I know your struggle. But please cling to and remember Galatians 6:9. I’m not sure why you’re in the position you’re in, but I know there’s a reason for it - a Perfect, divine reason. Don’t give up, for you’ll reap in the right time. God honors those who faithfully pursue Him - all for His glory. He hears you. He feels you. He loves you. He knows you. He’s got you.

All the times Taylor and I heard, “no, not yet” to move to Knoxville never made sense until now. Had I moved there for undergrad, I never would’ve met some of my very best friends, nor grown the way I needed to like I did in Athens. Had I moved to Knoxville for grad school, I never would’ve met Taylor, met the most amazing friends, or even found out my dream job DOES exist. And now, here I am, 5 years after my initial attempt to move to Knoxville, beyond excited for the next journey, forever grateful for the opportunity.

[lets-change-the-world-toge-blog1]

My Post-Depression Story

YES YOU READ IT CORRECTLY! - POST DEPRESSION! IT IS POSSIBLE TO ESCAPE THE NEVER ENDING DARKNESS!  I’ve had a good fair share of depression in my 19 years on earth.  Some people like to argue with me and say “I’m too young to have experienced such intense emotions” but I disagree with them.  Looking back over my life, even when I didn’t consider myself to have depression, I think I have pretty much always felt lonely. I’ve never felt good enough and like I was always making mistakes. 

I first self-harmed at the age of 14, I remember the reason was because I had accidently spilt ink on my boyfriend of the times work. The reason for self-harming may seem small, however, this tipped an ice-burg of emotions for me. I was feeling frustrated with myself it felt as if I couldn't do anything right and like my existence was worthless. However, despite this, I only self-harmed once more in this year and managed to carry on with my life as normal.

The real butt-kick of my depression began when myself and my boyfriend of 2 and a half years split. It was a messy split and I don’t need to go into details but this affected my mental health and views of myself greatly. NB. I do not blame my ex-boyfriend for anything that happened during our break up and I also do not hate or loath him for breaking up with me.  However, at the time I took the split personally. As if I wasn’t good enough. I feel as though all the emotions of self-hatred I had suppressed over my whole entire life as much as I could burst into a spiral of deep depression. I blamed myself for everything that had happened and I couldn’t escape. At the same time as dealing with these feelings, which in the beginning i dealt with better, I fell out with someone who I considered a friend.  They lied and tried to turn my friends against me and this didn’t help my mental health.  NB. Again I do not blame this person, I forgive them for everything they did towards me, even though I would not personally like to be friends with this person again I still hope one day they can see where they went wrong and find happiness rather than blaming others.  This was another factor that kicked my depression up another notch. I cried most if not every night. I started looking at other schools to go to just to escape. My already poor attendance suffered even more because of these things. I hated myself. I blamed myself for everything that was happening to me. The lies told about me and names I was called I began to believe and I became unstable. To get to sleep at night I used to lie in bed and think about the ways I would commit suicide. It helped me to sleep. Thinking about ending my life helped me relax. Like I would finally be free of the pain I was suffering from.   This was during AS year, and yet I still managed to get AAB in my AS results, mainly because I threw myself into my work as a distraction.  However, my worst year I consider would be my final A level year.  I wanted to apply to do medicine at university but I couldn’t find any motivation to write any of my personal statement as I could not think of any good things about myself as a person. I felt defeated. My head of sixth form helped me write my statement and I sent it off on the deadline date for medicine applications.  AS to A2 in terms of content to me seemed like a much bigger jump than GCSE - AS and I found my confidence suffered even more from this. One thing I had always relied upon was my work, I could focus on it to help me feel productive and better about myself, but as the work got harder I found it harder to focus and instead I shut down and didn’t do any.  A2 was my worst year - the things that had happened the year before had affected me so much as a person it affected all my future relationships with people.  I wasn’t the kindest of people in A2 year and definitely not very nice to be around.  My depression made me needy of attention. And although I would not class it as attention-seeking, more like begging for someone to see the pain I was going through emotionally, I know some people saw my actions as attention seeking.  I clung to the people I trusted, however, I also depended on them. I feel that I unmeaningfully manipulated them to give me the reassurance I needed to stay alive. Eventually they got tired, and although they did not leave me and I knew they were still there for me, I noticed the distance and it scared me. Again I felt the feelings of worthlessness and fear and pain and so I clung as much as I could but it just ended pushing them further away as the pressure I was forcing on them was unfair.  I eventually made a massive massive mistake, out of fear of losing the person, I lied to someone I trusted and they had trusted me and as a result, when I came clean, I lost them. I do not think this was a irrational decision I believe it was the right one for them as well as the wake-up call for myself that I needed to do something about the way I was feeling.  Unfortunately, my first thought wasn't to try to improve my emotional state but instead destroy myself as a form of punishment for what I had done and lost. I  was suicidal and self-harming often. I felt like the worst human being in the world.  It took for my friends to TRICK me into seeing my GP before I got help.  When I walked into the GP surgery I couldn’t speak, my friends had to speak for me and my doctor would ask me questions I could nod or shake my head too. He was lovely and I will be forever grateful for his understanding nature.  He prescribed me fluoxetine (an anti-depressant) and suggested CBT and councilling. He also got me in touch with the crisis team who came to visit me a few days after my GP meeting. I will not say that anti-depressants are a quick or a definite cure. However, I believe in my personal experience they have helped keep me level headed. And the actual act of getting help in the first place and accepting it I believe was the first big, major step to improving my mental health.  I have still had bouts of self harm, and I still cry and I still have had suicidal thoughts whilst on anti-depressants. However, on a day I would consider to be “normal/average” - with help alongside my counsellor and help from my university- I believe together the treatments have helped me find a coping mechanism.  After coming through depression, I am actual thankful for it.  After experiencing such a low I never would have imagined I could have felt peace. 

Its been rough and tough but I got there and Im so proud of myself and I thank everyone who has ever helped me and supported me in any way. 

If depression taught me anything, it is that you don't need a reason to be depressed. I think a common misconception is there needs to be a reason, but sometimes there isn't. And it is not WHY you are depressed that matters, its just the fact thats how you are feeling and WHY you are depressed shouldnt affect the amount of sympathy felt for a person. Because if you wanna kill yourself, or harm yourself you are feeling some deep emotions - whether you feel you have a reason to feel the way you do or not.  The way I escaped the black hole eventually was learning the gift of acceptance. Of my past, of the present and of the future.  I forgave myself for my mistakes and learnt from them.  I try not to worry about tomorrow when there is nothing i can do to stop it coming, so why worry? Learning to accept and love yourself is one of the most important things you can ever learn. And one of the most facinating things you can ever do is to love and accept others and help support them through their tough times. 

[cryptocleveland-blog1]

I used to have a blog here.    

I spent hundreds of hours pouring my heart into long posts that hardly anyone read.  Some were just text, like this one.   Some were elaborate, multi-installment series laced with photos and detailed graphics.  The effort that went into these posts, and the lack of response, was both highly therapeutic and soul crushing at the same time.   It was a way for me to feel creatively stimulated, and to participate in a community at a time when I was unemployed and socially isolated, but not yet cynical about my future prospects.  

I had just finished grad school, studying urban planning, and I had also just fulfilled one of my long-term ambitions, to appear in a feature film.  As a way of promoting the movie, the director of that film had begun a blog where he talked at length about film theory, art, and contemporary culture.  One of the other actors in the film started a blog about her life as an aspiring actress so I followed suit, choosing to concentrate on that subject which I knew best, and was, at that time, most passionate about: Real Estate Development in the City of Cleveland; with the occasional post devoted to my main hobbies, acting and photography.  

I was really proud of some of those early posts,  they were written with the confidence of someone who thought that the years of hard work were behind him and that life could only get better from here on out.  But months went by, and years went by.    It became obvious that my big break was never going to happen,  the movie was never going to find distribution, it was never going to be the stepping stone to my next project.    

Eventually people stopped commenting on my posts, and I ran out of things to talk about.   My blog became less regular and more introspective.    The director and actress followed suit, refocusing their blogs onto current affairs and personal interests.   I started getting into disagreements.    I argued with the director over his political positions,  I alienated the young actress by teasing her a little too frequently about her favorite band.  

It became clear that I was beating a dead horse.   My illusions were starting to fracture.  My acting career was stagnant, the only film work available where I live was in cheesy local commercials and I was too poor and too indebted to move elsewhere, nor was I brave enough to move away from my family and support network.   In my professional career things were no better, the rejection letters were starting to add up, and the longer I’d been out of school the fewer interviews I got.  

I started using this blog to vent my frustration.   After a couple internships that led nowhere. I accepted a job I hated, that I wasn’t any good at, and that I got fired from within six months.   That didn’t help my resume.    I started working part time minimum wage jobs just to have an income.  One night on the news I saw that a local school district was paying $180 a day for temporary substitutes during a teachers strike.    I’d worked as a sub before and enjoyed it so it seemed like good opportunity to make some money.    

I had planned on being there for two weeks, but the strike lasted eight.  It was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life, but I was fired from that job too.  I had been taking night classes at a community college, and the lack of sleep caught up with me. I was sad when it was over because there was one student in particular who I became emotionally attached to and I’d never gotten a chance to say good bye.  

I wish I had, because then I might not have gone to visit her place of work a few months later,  I might not have tried to stay in touch with her, I might not have deluded myself into thinking we were friends or that she cared about me half as much as I cared about her.  I could have just tied a nice happy bow around the relationship for being what it was and moved on to the next thing.   But its hard to move on when you have nothing to move on to.  

When you wake up feeling like a failure every morning its easy to get obsessed, your thoughts naturally drift to the last thing you can remember making you feel happy and important.  I shared these sentiments in posts I made on this blog, and other darker thoughts. After the fact I felt ashamed and decided to remove them, in an attempt to clean up my online fingerprints.

Its all gone now, good and bad; I’ve long since lost access to the email address I originally signed up for a tumblr account with and so my original account was deactivated, along with all its content, when tumblr updated its TOS a few years ago.    I miss it dearly.  

I don’t miss the toxic anxiety dump it became, I miss the escapism, the potential it once had to remove me from a hopeless situation and allow me to pontificate about how things ought to be.  I miss the ability to express myself anonymously, warts and all, and not fear being held accountable or publicly shamed for feeling angry and resentful, for admitting that I wanted more than I was entitled to.

When I stopped blogging I tried to find new communities to immerse myself in. I stopped auditioning for the local agency and started training with a local stunt coordinator because the stunt guys seemed to be the only locals getting any work whatsoever.   I switched from Tumblr to Youtube and started down a rabbit hole about Historical European Martial Arts.  I grew my hair and beard out, attempting to assimilate into that subculture.   I stopped applying for jobs and started my own consulting business doing drafting and 3d printing.

I’d like to say that my efforts have improved my situation, economically or otherwise, but alas its more of the same. More auditioning for parts that were already cast long before you ever saw a breakdown.   More skeptical looks and rejection letters whenever I convince myself that I’m broke and have no choice but to find a real job. I’m still treading water, and badly.  

A couple of years ago I started having panic attacks.  I’d gone to visit the highschool girl (now in college) one too many times; panicked because I suddenly felt that I was crossing a line, and abruptly broke off contact .   Then I felt bad about it and started following her on social media, which eventually confirmed my belief that I had hurt her.   I felt guilty about that too, and had another panic attack, so I tried to contact her again and offer an apology, which obviously backfired.   Then every few months I’d have another panic attack and make another ill conceived attempt to fix the situation.

Things came to a head about a year ago.   Each time I tried to reconnect and failed to repair the relationship, my anxiety got progressively worse.  In a last act of desperation, I reached out to a mutual acquaintance who immediately outed me as a crazy person and posted the conversation online.   Nothing had happened, but being forced to confront my own inappropriate behavior and to acknowledge that Google was no longer my friend was embarrassing enough that my anxiety jumped an order of magnitude overnight.   I went from merely not being able to sleep, to not being able to breath or speak.   I wasn’t just depressed, I was  physically ill.  

This convinced me to seek treatment.  About six months ago I started taking medicine for insomnia, anxiety and depression, and also ADHD which I think is the root problem.   The jury is still out as to whether any of its working or whether I actually have any of those issues.  I did switch medicines a while back because the cocktail was making me feel like a listless zombie.  And I have seemed more productive in the past month, but that could be attributed to my impending birthday.

As I’ve reflected over the past few months, I’ve determined that I’d never really given myself a chance as an actor, I’ve always treated it as an embarrassing secret that I don’t like to talk about, and that was one of the things causing me anxiety and potentially caused me to self sabotage any hope of finding full time career with my degree.  

I thought I had long ago made peace with the fact that I was never going to find success as an actor because only those who were born rich, in LA, and with the right connections ever got the opportunity to make movies for a living. But then the young actress I was in a movie with once proved me wrong. She’s not the only one,  I now have a number of acquaintances who work regularly, but in the time since I originally started this blog she has made the leap from depressed, socially awkward, nobody living in their parents house in Cleveland, to something more than that; while I’m still spinning my wheels.   Its a humbling thought and rather than be jealous of her success I’d like to try and emulate it.  

I wanted to make a good faith effort to put myself out there before I turned 35, so I spent the last month filming a demo reel to submit to managers.   If I get no response, that means I suck and I should move on.   And that knowledge is infinitely better than continuing to surround myself with people who tell me what I want to hear but have no power to help me achieve my goals.

Yesterday was my birthday.   I decided it was finally time to watch the movie.    I’d put it off because I didn’t want to burst my bubble.  Originally I was holding out for the premiere,   I wanted to watch it for the first time on the big screen.   Eventually it just became a crutch,  I didn’t want to see it because its my only credit and I’m barely in it.   The reality is the film is good, but the acting isn’t going to win awards.   I can be proud of it as a good first film, an excellent learning experience, and a stepping stone to greater things; which is all it was ever meant to be.   The rest is up to me.

I’ve decided to rededicate this blog to my documenting my career as a struggling actor from Cleveland Ohio.