#me. a brown girl living in britain her whole life where all she really saw and understood was an inherent hatred for immigrants.

[rainingincale]

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[swanlake1998]

Article: Julie Felix: the brilliant Black ballerina who was forced to leave Britain

Date: March 3, 2021

By: Steve Rose

(CW: racism, anti black racism, police brutality, violence, murder mention)

She was told there was no room for a ‘brown swan’ in the London Festival Ballet, so she went to the US. There she found enormous success, dancing for everyone from Michael Jackson to Prince

The turning point in Julie Felix’s career came in 1975. A student at Rambert ballet school in London, she was selected to dance in Rudolf Nureyev’s production of Sleeping Beauty with the London Festival Ballet (now the English National Ballet). Nureyev was the god of British ballet – and he lived up to his reputation on the first day of rehearsal, Felix recalls. “He was late, but everybody said he was always late. All of a sudden, the doors flew open and in he came. He was well renowned for these big boots he used to wear, and a big fur coat. He took the coat off like a matador and threw it so it slid across the dance studio floor. Everybody jumped up and stood to attention. He was there for probably about half an hour.” At the time, 17-year-old Felix was awestruck. In hindsight, half a century later, she is less impressed: “Talk about unprofessional.”

In the fairytale version of Felix’s life, having acquitted herself on stage with Nureyev, she would have joined the London Festival Ballet and become the first Black British dancer to begin her ascent through the ranks of a British ballet company. Instead, she was told she was a “lovely dancer”, but was not going to be given a contract, “because of the colour of my skin. I would mess up the line of the corps de ballet, because you can’t have a whole row of white swans and then there’s a brown one at the end.”

Felix was stunned: “It hit me like a thunderbolt.” Her mother was white British and her father African-Caribbean, from Saint Lucia. She had never thought of the refined world of ballet as being what we might now describe as institutionally racist. “It sounds ridiculous, but because I didn’t experience any racial issues or difficulties before that, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the colour of my skin. I thought that I was talented and that would be enough.”

Having grown up in Ealing, west London, in the 60s, Felix certainly knew about racial difference. She rarely saw any faces that were not white in the neighbourhood or at school, she says. After her parents had met on a bench in Hyde Park, her mother’s family disapproved. “They said: ‘If you marry that man, we’re going to disown you.’ And my mum just said: ‘Well, fair enough, I still want to marry him.’”

Her father, who worked as a foreman at the Hoover factory, was quite the charmer, says Felix. “He was the proudest man. He would paint the front door a different colour every year. He was always up the ladder washing his windows. He would grow fruits and vegetables in the back garden. But I would say my dad had a big chip on his shoulder.”

She describes how he would dress like a dandy, in 40s suits and spats, even if he was just going to do the shopping. “He would always berate the grocers and say: ‘You’re picking the bruised fruit and vegetables because I’m Black. You think I can’t see this?’” She laughs. “Why would you move somewhere if you’re going to spend your life being concerned about the way other people look at you and your colour?”

There was an incident when she was eight or nine, when her father returned from work very late, his shirt ripped and covered in blood. A colleague had attacked him outside the factory gates with a meat cleaver on a chain. “He didn’t like, one, the way my dad spoke to him and, two, because my dad was Black,” she says.

Culturally, the Felix household was “100% British”, she says. She had no connection to her Saint Lucian family, although she would see her British grandparents in Essex regularly (relations had thawed when Felix’s elder sister and she were born). Musically, her father liked American crooners such as Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole; her mother preferred classical music and had once aspired to be an opera singer. “So, when it came to my wanting to dance, there was a local ballet school around the corner in Ealing that I would go to, and Mum said: ‘Well, as long as you keep working hard and you’re enjoying it, I will fund it for you.’ She wasn’t a pushy, stereotypical ballet mother, but she knew that I loved it. And because she’d been stopped doing what she wanted to do, she was there 100% for me.” When she passed the audition for the Rambert, her parents could not afford the fees; Felix won a grant from the Inner London Education Authority, which paid 75%.

Felix says no one is “born to dance”, but, as a student, her passion for ballet was boundless. “I can remember the feeling of waking up in the morning, earlier than I needed to, getting on the underground and going into Notting Hill Gate, where the school was. I was the first one in the door. The cleaner was still there.

“I could not get enough of it. My friend and me would stretch and practise our fouettés in the lunch break. We’d be the last ones out of the building. Get back on the train, go home. My feet would be bleeding. I’d have blisters all over my toes. And I didn’t care. I just knew this was what was required. I soaked my feet in salt water, dabbed surgical spirit on them to get the skin to heal and get them dried out so that I could get up the next morning and get on that train again.”

After all her dedication, being rejected for her colour was devastating. “It didn’t last long, mind you,” she says. “Part of my personality is: sink or swim. And I thought: ‘I am not going to sink here.’ So I just flipped it around and just said: ‘Watch me. I’m going to show you I can do it.’”

She didn’t have to wait too long. The previous summer, the Dance Theatre of Harlem (DTH) had come to perform in London. This was a pioneering Black ballet company founded in 1969 by Arthur Mitchell, the first top-flight Black dancer in US ballet. While they were in town, Felix went along, auditioned for Mitchell and was immediately offered a contract. She declined. When her teacher at Rambert found out, “she absolutely hit the roof”, Felix recalls. “She said: ‘You can’t pick and choose. You’ve been offered a job!’” Fortunately, the DTH returned to London a few months after her Nureyev experience. Felix auditioned and was offered a job a second time. She did not turn it down.

This time, Felix’s skin colour was to her advantage, although working with an all-Black company in the US was a curious reversal: “I’d gone from all of my ballet training, and growing up not really being aware of anything to do with Black people, to going to New York and there’s no white people.” Before relocating to New York, Felix had never had a passport, left the UK or flown in an aeroplane.

“Within two weeks of being there, Arthur Mitchell said to me: ‘We’ve got to knock the British out of you.’ And I took umbrage, because I’m really proud of being British,” Felix says. In retrospect, she knows what he meant: “It was the wishy-washy way I approached my technique and my ballet training. But it wasn’t just about that; it was everything that Arthur Mitchell taught and portrayed and wanted us to portray within our work. He wanted to show that Black people really can do this.”

DTH’s sense of purpose aligned with Felix’s own. She stayed with the company for 10 years, earning her place as a soloist and touring the US and beyond (including a satisfying return to the Royal Opera House). Life in the US put British racism into perspective, says Felix. In her first week in New York, she witnessed a young Black man being shot dead in the street by two white police officers for shoplifting. A touring performance in Mississippi in 1978 had to be cancelled because the Ku Klux Klan staged a protest outside the theatre, in white hoods, burning cross and all. “No words can describe that feeling,” she says.

There were more good times than bad, though. Felix shared the stage with, and danced for, luminaries from Ronald Reagan to her hero, Luciano Pavarotti. She danced with Lionel Richie to All Night Long at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics closing ceremony; visitors to her shows included Michael Jackson and Prince. Jackson wanted to cast the dancers in his ill-fated Peter Pan movie, she says. He came to a matinee in Pasadena, California, supposedly incognito, but in full Jackson regalia: black sunglasses, Jheri curl and military-style outfit, with a complement of bodyguards. “I was annoyed, because I was there to deliver the performance, but you had all these girls screaming in the audience,” says Felix. “Anyway, after it finished, he came backstage and said to us, very, very quietly: ‘I really enjoyed your performance. I just think you’re fantastic.’ What a humble man.”

A year later, Prince came to a show, by coincidence at the same theatre. He was similarly “incognito”, in a sequined, hooded purple cape. He never took the hood down. “At the end of the performance, he got back in his limo and left and didn’t say thank you, hello, anything. Really quite rude.”

By 1986, aged 30, Felix was beginning to feel the physical toll of ballet life. She also missed home. She returned to the UK and became a teacher and remedial coach for Sadler’s Wells Royal Ballet, first in London, then in Birmingham, where the company relocated when it became Birmingham Royal Ballet, in 1990. She married and had three daughters (none of whom followed in their mother’s footsteps).

She then became head of dance at a local school. Now it was her turn to “knock the British out” of her students. “They don’t seem to know how to really push themselves,” she says. “Ballet is really painful. If you don’t feel that, then you’re not doing it properly.” Ballet has also always required a highly specific form of physicality, Felix points out. “It needs very arched feet, it requires good natural rotation of your hip sockets, a slender body, long, lithe muscles, long neck, small head.” Regardless of talent or musicality, she says, dancers who do not conform to this body type will struggle. Perhaps it is this inherent discrimination that has made other forms of prejudice easier to disguise.

British ballet has made some progress since the 70s, but it could do more. Birmingham Royal Ballet, for example, had a successful workshop programme with local schools, whose pupils were often from Black, Asian or minority ethnic backgrounds, but such programmes seem to have “fizzled out” as a result of local authority budget cuts, Felix says. On the other hand, there are institutions such as Ballet Black, which advocates for diversity in professional ballet. At the time of its founding in 2001, there were still no women of colour performing in any British company. The Royal Ballet recruited its first Black, British-born male dancer, Solomon Golding, only in 2013.

Felix is not convinced British ballet has turned the corner: “I still believe that we’ve got ballet companies who will take a few people of colour just to be politically correct.” However, she was heartened by the appointment of the Cuban-British dancer Carlos Acosta as director of Birmingham Royal Ballet in 2020, although the pandemic has so far curtailed its activities. While all British arts are vulnerable at the moment, ballet – with its high demands for time, labour, space and personnel – is especially so. Now based in Cornwall, Felix has made do teaching over Zoom for the past year. She is not complaining: “It really is a lovely place to be locked down.”

Felix’s skin colour began as a factor that counted against her, but it became an animating force in her career and led to a wealth of experiences and successes she might otherwise not have had. With that satisfaction, the anger she feels for her 17-year-old self being told her brownness would “mess up the line” has mellowed a little. “Their choice of not accepting me enabled me to find something within myself that I probably would never have known was there,” she says. “And then to open up this whole world for me. So I can say that hatred was turned to gratitude.”

[darthspideys]

all that glitters // 2

chapter 2 // butterflies 

Warnings: objectification of men? Is that a thing? Look I pretty much just boil these guys down to their bodies and baseline personality traits sorry if that offends you 

a/n: I feel like this is as good as time as any to say that i've never watched an episode of the bachelor or the bachelorette in my life. All the info for this fic came from wikipedia and or a slideshow of bachelor dates so do with that what you will :) also I don’t describe race right off the bat here with your bachelors but they are not all white so don’t picture them that way, that’s not how we do things here :) 

You expect them to swarm you like wasps. Judging by the warnings from the crew, and from the poor showing the night before you expected that the moment they saw you they would swallow you up in a circle and you’d have to bend down and crawl to escape. You spend the whole day being shuffled through more interviews, photoshoots, lectures, and everything in between, until it’s finally time to do an actual rose ceremony. 

Well.. almost. Before you’re able to eliminate one or two people, you have to meet them first, which you guess makes sense. Today's event is going to be a cocktail party, where you're supposed to mingle and drink with all of the guys, smile for the cameras and then savagely eliminate two of them from the competition right off the bat. You’ve been told that you only have to eliminate too, but you figure the more you kick off the sooner this will be over, and you're sure that more than one of them will do something to annoy you. 

Considering their time on this show is on the line, you thought that as soon as they even thought you were coming outside to join the party, they’d swarm you for their chance to make a good first impression. But as you exit the mansion, decked out in a golden dress that doesn’t even make it to your knees, with more gold embellishments and only straps to keep it place no one even seems to bat an eye. You’re a little more offended then you want to let on, not because you want their attention, at least you don’t think you do.  

Truthfully, as much as you would never admit it, being the star of the show isn’t such a bad thing. After being on the backburner in your own family, and even out in the world for so long, having the whole thing be about you is something you’re beginning to like. Something about being in control, having their fate in your hands is exciting as much as you want to push that feeling down and make it go away. 

You hear the sound of an unfamiliar voice, “And here she is.” 

Suddenly, all eyes are on you. All ten guys stare at you and even though you're a ways away you can feel the heat of their stare, and see the anxiousness in their bodies. You wanted them to pay attention to you, and now you have all of it. And it’s not just theirs, the cameras all turn to you, and the sound, and the lights, it shows every inch of you for the world to see. Although you know it’s not live, you can almost see the people watching from their living rooms, your mother watching from her disgustingly gaudy living room, with the moose head mounted above the wall that’s probably watching you too. 

It should scare you, it should make you want to run the other way and lock yourself in your room for the next six weeks where no one can see. You should be wilting under the intense light, drying out from the heat of it, but you don’t. You smile, and you revel in it. 

Lights, camera, action. 

Liam comes up to your first. Everyone sees that he’s staked his claim and disperses off for the moment, to nurse their drinks and or get some more camera time for themselves. If they can’t make you love them, the audience is the next best thing. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” He says, still Canadian. He rubs the back of his neck self consciously, and you make note of the camera angled right over his shoulder. Your microphone itches against your upper chest. You sip your own drink, a soda because you're going to have to be sober for this, “I just wanted to see you face to face.” 

“They didn’t show you my picture or anything before you got here?” You ask him, “You didn’t even think to know what you were getting into.” 

“It’s not the same as seeing someone in person,” He says, and he says it with a kind of meaning you don’t expect. He’s not what you expected, starting with the apology and ending with the clear honesty he is giving you in this moment. “The photos don’t really show how beautiful you are.” 

You playfully roll your eyes, “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.” Before he can argue you continue, “Apology accepted, consider the slate clean.” 

You’re gone before he can say anything else. You’re not in the mood for hollow compliments, or the kind of flirting usually reserved for the first meeting at a bar or on some app. You move on to different tables and make small talk that you loathe but you smile, maybe because your face is permanently wound into that position. 

Anthony is average. He talks a lot about what he does, and it’s good work but you’re getting a hint of something else that you don’t like. The way that he talks about himself is a little too egotistical for your liking. 

Lars is a lumberjack. Literally, that’s what he does for a living and he looks it. Even his suit has a flannel tie, just so everyone is aware of exactly what the package is. You like it, even though you know your mother would never approve of something like that (a fact which makes you want him more). 

Enzo is from Texas. He is very proud of it, and the southern accent is something that sets him apart. However, the amount that he talks about Texas and the amount that he talks about himself is concerning. He’s cute though, definitely sitting in the middle of your mental ranking.

Liam is, well he’s been previously established. 

Chris is obviously here because of good old fashion nepotism. He’s the son of the host, and clearly here to fulfill something for his parents, which is relatable but doesn’t make him any higher than a seven out of ten. 

Leo and Lucas as twins. It’s very interesting, and enough to put them above the top five just because of the curiosity of it all. They are almost the same, windswept brown hair and dark brown eyes except somehow Leo has freckles, which puts him about 0.6 higher than his brother. 

Ryan is white bread, delicious but boring. He’ll stay for a while, hang on just for kicks but he’ll always be the dead weight, hanging around in the background but the show will be a nice bump for his national profile and let’s be hornets he’ll be in the running to be the bachelor. 

Which brings you all the way down to numbers one and two on the current husband to be ranking (if that’s even what you're gonna end up calling it, because it’s too real to stick around for the whole competition). Tom is the handsome stranger from one magical three seconds on a bustling street in New York that you’re very much longing for as you shuffle through conversation with man after man and sip your drink. He is kind of short if you’re being honest, but that’s okay, with brown eyes and dark brown hair. He’s from Britain, which you can tell before he tells you he’s from South London, darling, and staring right at the camera over your shoulder. You don’t talk about your previous meeting, and you wonder if he even remembers. You don’t know whether to hope he does or doesn’t, but you do know that you remember every second of it. 

Sanjiv is the golden boy. Young, Indian American, and a favorite to win last season on the Bachelorette. Only the woman went for the bad boy at the last second, and the jury is still out on whether it’ll work. The rumor was he would be the next Bachelor, but here he is standing and smiling at you in a way that makes heat rise to your cheeks and you don’t know what his game is. That makes you nervous, that scares you, that you don’t know what his game is. After the entire afternoon, dancing in circles going from table to table and smiling your face off, you feel like you know what everyone’s game is, but not his. It scares you a bit, that you don’t know what his aim is but it’s a kind of intoxicating uncertainty. He’s the mysterious man that always gets the girl because she desperately wants to figure him out, it's the challenge, it's the chase that why he’s number one. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering where my loyalties lie,” He says. 

“Something like that,” You tell him, “If this was anywhere near normal I’d be asking you if you were over your ex, or do exes count here?”

“I’d say she’s my ex,” He shrugs, “And I’ve moved on, as much as I can.” He looks at you with an expression you can’t quite interpret. “Promise you won’t pick someone else over me at the last minute?” 

That makes you smile, and you hope that he’s joking. “I will make no such promises, but if the situation arises I will give twenty four hours notice.” 

“At the very least will you not eliminate me first?” He’s teasing you and you can tell. “It would be a little embarrassing for my image.” 

“Well anything for your image, I was going to but I guess I’ll just have to pick someone else now.” 

His laugh is natural, and you get those same butterflies in your stomach as you did in high school when you tried to impress your crush and you joke just landed. The little churn that comes with the possibility that the answer to does he like me? Might be yes. For a moment you forget your on tv, you forget that you're the girl everyone wants, the one in the gold dress and you’re just you. You're just a girl, standing in front of a boy that you see something in, something that you can’t quite describe or touch but you feel it. That’s truly why he’s number one. That feeling doesn’t come around a lot for you, the butterflies, usually you're anxious because of a work deadline or a family dinner but this is something else entirely.

You don’t know what his game is. But your dying to find out.

Tag list:

@anikinskywalkr

@living-life-underoos

@poesflygirl

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again (Collins Fic Pt 1)

Got a real bee in my bonnet to write for Collins. The events are all set after the events of the movie. There will be romance of course but mostly angst. I was writing this on the anniversary of my Dad and sisters deaths so its coming from a pretty dark place. That should be taken as fair warning. My great uncle was an RAF pilot during WW2 so some of what I’m getting is stories from his letters home. (He was shot down in July of 41)

Descriptions of battle and bombings.

Special thanks to @tomgcsglasses and @deathbylowden for talking me through such a crappy week.

This is looking to be a 4 part series.

I listened to ALOT of Vera Lynn and the Andrews Sisters while writing this. Particularly We’ll Meet Again and It Hurts to Say Goodbye.

FIC MASTERLIST

The sirens woke you, the terrifying screech and wail of them inspiring paralyzing dread. There had been drills, of course. Ever since the Dunkirk fiasco you had all be trained in what to do when the time came.

You felt cold as you jumped out of bed, pushing your feet into the shoes you kept by the bed for this very purpose. It had been strongly suggested that you sleep either clothed or in men’s pyjamas, all the women in the boarding house had been told this, but as far as you knew, very few of the shrinking violets you shared the house with could bear the thought.

More fool them, you thought as you pulled a man’s overcoat over your pyjamas and grabbed the leather case from beside the door. Everything you cared about in the world was inside it, anything else could burn.

The hallway outside your room was chaos, but much less than you had feared. A few girls cried and looked around in confusion, but most of them were simply walking toward the stairs, the fear and urgency thick in the air. You made it to the first floor quickly and out into the street. People were everywhere, the sirens screeching around you and for a brief moment you felt the panic rising in your throat.

The darkness seemed oppressive as you hurried your way to your designated air raid shelter, the barrage balloons and their almost sinister hissing mixing with the sirens and terrified voices in a cacophony of menace and terror.

But at least the streets had air.

The tube station that you descended into was hot with stale air and the press of bodies. Men and women with Red Cross insignias were busy directing people to cots and blankets, stations with bread and jam, and of course tea.

You chuckled to yourself at the sight. Never had you seen anything more british than hot tea being served in underground tunnels while bombs were being dropped on the city overhead. Only if they stopped serving tea would you know that the british Empire was truly doomed.

“Y/N!”

You heard a call from the far corner of the station and saw a group of women from the factory you worked at.

“Here, we saved you a spot.” You sat on a cot gratefully, propping your case by your feet as you sipped your tea.

The first time the walls shuddered, you almost didn’t notice it, but you did feel the sudden change in the air. The second one was certainly noticed and a few people screamed as dirt tricked from the ceiling as the whole area shuddered.

“God, they’re really doing it, aren’t they?” Dolores whispered.

“It was inevitable, after Dunkirk, the Jerrys are sure they have us on the run.” Margot pointed out.

“They came close.” you murmured. “They almost broke us.”

“But they didn’t.” Della smiled. “We got our boys home and we’ll keep fighting. Hitler will never win.”

“What does that man of yours have to say about it, Y/N?”

“He’s not ‘my man’ “ you huffed. “And he can’t say anything about it, they aren’t allowed to.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t though.” Dolores said meaningfully.

“All he said was that they were sure Britain was going to be bombarded and that we should be prepared.”

“Is this the pilot who writes to you?” This from Violet, the youngest at 17, her beau off fighting in the French trenches.

You nodded in the affirmative, noticing the dark look that Margot was sending you all.

“I told you that was a mistake Y/N. You can’t get attached to any of them.”

“I’m not attached, Margot, he just wanted a friend, that’s all.”

“I’ll bet you a quid you have all his letters in that case right there, full of the things you can’t live without.”

You flushed, knowing she was right.

“He’s only written a few letters Margot. These boys just need to know that there’s people at home rooting for them to make it.”

“And when they don’t make it? What happens then? To those letters and your heart? How are you going to survive if he doesn’t come home?”

“Margot!”

“No, Della, its ok. Margot, I understand. To me it’s worth it, he has no one else, I couldn’t let him go back to war without someone to hold onto. Besides, you didn’t see his face when he walked off that boat.”

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Margot whispered, moving off to get some tea.

“What’s her deal then?” Violet hissed.

“Her man didn’t make it home, his ship was sunk in January. She got his last letter a few days after she got the news.”

“Oh.”

There was silence as you all thought of your loved ones. Dolores’ son was High Command and safe, but the decisions he had to make were eating him alive. Della had sent her kids to her parent’s farm in Wales for safety and she missed them like crazy. Violet’s sweetheart was in constant danger and her fear for him showed on her face, no matter how much she smiled.

You’d had no one to worry for, not really. Acquaintances, the men of women you knew.

Until Dunkirk. Until Collins.

Leaning back on your cot you wrapped an arm around Vi as she whimpered, each bomb strike raining dirt down on the masses huddled in the hole. Your thoughts wandered to that night, only a few months ago when all the boats had docked, carrying the weary soldiers from that beach. You would never forget the eerie silence as they all trudged toward the waiting trains, collecting blankets and food for the rest of their journey.  All their eyes were haunted, the horrors they had witnesses something you couldn’t even comprehend.

Then you had seen him, standing on the dock beside the Moonstone, watching as a body was brought off on a stretcher. His blonde hair was shock bright against the dingy green and brown of the soldiers around him, the yellow of his life vest and blue RAF uniform marking him as different from the rest.

“Where the bloody hell were you?” a soldier yelled at him and he winced, his face that of a man who carried the weight of the world.

“They know where you were son.” A civilian, the captain of the boat gestured to the group now disembarking.

You watched the blonde man nod wearily before turning away.

He looked lost, broken and unbearably young.

The blankets your group were handing out went quickly, to soldiers, boys mostly, with blank stares walking past you in a daze. Nothing was said, it didn’t need to be. What could anyone say to them that would make any of it alright?

The RAF man still stood in the same spot, looking around without really seeing.

The lorry you had driven from London sat behind you, your friend Margot had been frantic to be here when the boats landed and the 3 hour journey had been easy enough. Your factory owner had offered the blankets and there were few men left in London who really drove anymore. The drive home was going to be a lot more difficult, exhaustion and the sheer sadness of what you were witnessing was weighing heavily on you. Perhaps you could take Margot’s parents up on their offer of a room for the night.

“Hey! Anyone got transport to London? Got a lad here needs taken to RAF Uxbridge.”

“I have a lorry!” you called out instantly, knowing that all the supplies had been unloaded.

The Captain of the Moonstone walked over to you, the young man shuffling far behind him.

“Thank you Miss, no one else here came from London or there’s nothing else available. The trains are taking the other men to the North.”

“It’s not a thing, I’m glad to help out.”

There was a blanket on the table still and you snatched it as you walked past.

“Margot, I’m taking this man to Uxbridge. Do you want to come with me now or stay with your parents?”

“I’m staying on here a few days. Be safe though, ok. Give the poor bastard some of this.” she pulled a flask from her garter. “I’m done with it for today.”

You shared a look of understanding before turning toward your truck. The man stood there, head down as he shuffled his boots in the gravel.

“Hi there.” You said gently as you approached. “I’m Y/N, I’m going to drive you back to the base.”

“Collins.” he stuck out a hand awkwardly for you to shake. “Can ye tell me…..are there any more boats?”

You remembered the way he’d stood, watching as the soldiers milled past. He was looking for someone.

“No, there’s no more.” If possible, he looked even sadder and you had to take a breath to calm the break in your voice. “There were some that landed at Southampton I heard.”

You tried to sound hopeful, but you knew the chances of him finding what he was looking for were slim.

In silence you both got in the lorry, Collins wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and taking a long swallow of the whiskey. As you drove out of Weymouth you wanted to say something, anything but Collins had fallen asleep against the window, his face boyish and astonishingly handsome at rest. He couldn’t be any more than 20, if that, same as you. To have gone through so much so young….you felt anger, anger at the war and at the countries who sacrificed boys to fight and die for them.

Dawn was breaking when Collins woke up with a start, blue eyes darting about for a few moments before reality hit. He let out a breath, looking at you.

“So it really happened?”

“Yes.” you murmured.

“Was hopin, ye know, tha maybe it was just a bad dream.” “I wish it had been.”

“I couldna help them, there was so little time. And then….” he broke off, biting his bottom lip. “I shoulda done more.”

“You did the best you could, all of you and that was enough. You made it home.”

“No all of us.”

“Your friend? The one you were looking for at the harbour?”

“Farrier. Flew wi’ me, trained me up.”

He told you the story then, of the fighting over the channel, of getting shot down, his rescue and the knowledge that Farrier saving their lives had left him unable to make it back across. You were crying by the end of it, unconcerned with the tears streaming down your cheeks. Neither of you could say what you were both thinking - that Farrier was very likely dead.

“Can ye stop fer a minute?”

You pulled the lorry off the road beside a paddock of late spring wildflowers. Collins walked behind some trees and reappeared a few minutes later standing in the center of the flowers, his combat uniform so out of place with the beauty of the sunrise. The ugliness of war juxtaposed with such a demonstration of life. You saw hope, standing in that paddock, hope and possibility, and the end of these horrors.

Your face had been wiped clean when Collins climbed back into the truck, but your eyes were red and puffy and you knew you were pale a drawn from exhaustion.

“Donnae cry lass, in this war once ye start ye’ll never stop. Let a lad fresh home from the front enjoy the smile of a pretty girl.”

He smiled at you then and you felt your heart thud into your feet. Collins’ smile was one that simply lit him up and you felt your lips spread in response.

“There ye go. There’s too much ugly in the world now, man needs some beauty from time te time.”

The base at Uxbridge was only a few kilometers away when you asked Collins about his family. Once he got to talking there was no stopping him. He was a man who loved his parents and had seen nothing outside the Scottish borders and the Highlands until he’d volunteered.

You were discovering that you genuinely liked him, and not because you felt bad for him.

“Would ye mind if I wrote to ye?” he said, as you pulled up to the gates. “I cannae burden me ma and da wi any of this, they worry so much already. Would ye maybe write me back, about everyday things so I donnae feel so out o touch?”

You didn’t even have to think about it. You took the pencil and paper from the middle seat and wrote down your address, tearing off a piece so he could do the same.

“Ye promise, right? Ye promise that ye’ll write to me.”

“I promise. I’ll start tonight.”

You watched him walk through the gates, turning to wave before he was met and escorted away.

You kept your promise.

The sound of a bomb falling close by startled you from your memories. Vi still lay beside you and Margot now sat at the foot of your cot.

“Forget what I said ok. You hold onto every moment, every memory. It’s worth it.”

Tears pricking at your eyes, you reached out and pulled Margot to you, the three of you holding one another, united in the grief and fear you felt for the men you loved.

[maraudeath]

Unexpected

an idea I had where Mary MacDonald isn't dead she decided to live on her own in the woods after the war and when Sirius is in hiding in the fourth book he pays her a visit.

Witherwings was terrible at hiding, he made too much noise and was too curious about his surroundings. It was like he was incapable of sitting still but Sirius hardly minded it as he had the same problem.

It did become an issue when they were in places Muggles could potentially find him though as there was no way to hide him magically. Trusting that Witherwings would be okay, Sirius decided to leave him in a partial cave. It wasn't very deep but it was good enough that he wouldn't be immediately visible.

Besides, Sirius would only be a little ways away and he had a clear view of the cave from where he was going. Of course if he wasn't allowed inside it would be rather difficult but he assumed that they would just need to leave if that happened.

When he first arrived he was sure he got the wrong directions, this could not be where she was. The place was more of a shack than the house that he thought he was looking for.

The entire thing seemed to be covered in moss and the roof looked to be caving in from the weight of the moss on it. The windows were so dirty you couldn't see in them and the parts of the walls that weren't covered in moss were the kind of brown that used to be white.

The only thing that made sense was the door, a bright red that completely reflected the girl that lived there. Or at least the version that he used to know, he had no idea what to expect now.

There was only one way to find out so he lifted the heavy brass knocker on her door and let it slam down. It occurred to him that he probably should have let her know he was coming but it was too late for that.

It took her an entire minute to get to the door and when she did she only opened it a crack so she could see out. One of her warm brown eyes was visible through the space but it was all he could see. She looked him over and looked confused by him, not surprising since he definitely looked different now. 

"Am I gonna have to stay out here forever MacDonald? I'm a wanted man you know," he said finally.

The door was slammed shut only to be whipped open seconds later to allow her to attack Sirius in what could technically be considered a hug. Her brown hair was longer than he'd ever seen it and she was somehow still dressed in the current fashion with a long green robe over top of her outfit. 

"Sirius oh Merlin you scared me!" She said, hugging him tighter. 

He laughed. "I thought about that just a little bit too late, can we go inside though? I wasn't kidding about being a wanted man."

She detached herself from him and smiled the bright smile he was used to associating with her, as though the world was perfect because Mary MacDonald was happy. 

"Come on in," she said, pushing the door open and leading the way dramatically. Inside was much more what he expected of her, it was obviously magically expanded and done up and Sirius began wondering why he doubted her at all. Red was the dominant colour of the place, the furniture and the walls all sporting it, while all of the accent pieces were a gold that made the whole place feel like you weren't in the middle of a forest at the bottom of Britain.

"Cozy," he remarked, looking at the wall that seemed to have red fur wallpaper on it. "A very large contrast to the outside though."

"As if I would live in a real shack," she remarked, walking into the kitchen. "I got the place and fixed it up within a couple days to make it nicer. I change the decorations every couple weeks or so, this is my favourite version though."

The longer he looked the more he realized that she had used the Gryffindor Common Room as her inspiration and a fond ache rested in his chest. 

"It would be," he mused. "Mind if I use your loo?"

She rolled her eyes but nodded. "Upstairs the first on your right."

The stairs were a black metal spiral and they led to an upstairs with more red and gold. Even the bathroom had gold towels against a red wall and a black tile floor. Everything was perfectly done and Sirius couldn't help but be amused by it all.

Once he had cleaned himself up a bit he went back downstairs to find Mary cutting something up. The kitchen followed a similar colour scheme but was also full of interesting plants with things growing off them, some of which Mary was cutting up.

"Try this," she commanded, handing him something blue he had never seen before.

"What is it?" He asked, after he had taken a bite already. It was good, very good actually, but that might have been because he hadn't had real food in ages.

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure but they're quite good."

Sirius nodded, finishing the rest of it and eating the other one she handed him as quickly as the first. He followed as she walked out into the living room, sitting down on the red cloth couch and motioning for him to do the same.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Or did you just come for food and the loo?" She asked.

"Mostly just those," he said, earning a punch to his arm. "And of course to see you, I only just found out you became a hobbit in the woods and I was just dying to know what it's like."

"Oh it's fantastic," she gushed. "I haven't seen anyone for about a year and I get to do whatever I want with no interruptions because this place is unplottable and everyone thinks I've gone insane."

"Haven't you though?"

When Remus first told Sirius that the biggest socialite from their Hogwarts experience now lived alone in the woods he had thought that maybe Remus had gone mad. That was one of the biggest reasons for this visit, to see if there was any truth to the situation.

"Not yet I don't think," she answered, leaning her head on the back of the couch. "I just needed some space."

"Thirteen years of it in a forest?" Sirius asked, moving the now empty plate to the coffee table so he could stretch out.

"Has it really been thirteen years?" Mary asked quietly, sounding a lot like the Mary MacDonald that pretended to have it all together for so long.

He nodded. "Just about, the anniversary is coming up soon, hard to believe though."

Long ago Sirius had lost track of what day it was, he sorted it out mostly by feeling and every year around this time he had a horrible ache in his chest that wouldn't loosen. It felt as if someone lodged a stone there and he couldn't get it out, like a stronger feeling of what he had all year anyway.

"That's crazy," Mary mused. "I lose track of days being by myself most of the time."

"I know that feeling," he said.

"Oh that's right, how was Azkaban?" She asked with the air of someone asking another how their recent vacation was.

Sirius laughed, he had missed her bluntness. "It was great except for the fact that they kept trying to suck my soul out."

"Merlin I hate that," she said, making him laugh again.

When he was making his way to her, Sirius had a million questions for Mary but something about actually being here made him forget everything. It was strange, as though they were still at Hogwarts but with a twist. A dark twist that shouldn't have been humerus but completely was only because they'd both been without anything pleasantly odd for so long.

"How did you end up here?" Sirius asked, matching her bluntness. "When I thought about Mary MacDonald I saw penthouse suites in London and a life full of untouchable luxury, this is neither of those things."

Mary sighed, playing with a red fur pillow. "It's quite the story, but to tell it I need something strong so give me a minute."

Sirius had never known anyone who could hold their alcohol like Mary MacDonald so when she came back with a bottle of Firewhiskey for each of them he was not surprised. They took the caps off together and toasted before taking deep sips of it.

The burning sensation reminded Sirius of days in the dorms and on the grounds, of wilder nights and happier memories. That alone was almost enough to make him not drink it, almost but not quite.

"So," Mary began when a quarter of her bottle was done. "1981, also known as Death Year or The Year My Life Fell Apart if I'm feeling particularly bitter, took quite the toll on me. In the matter of a few months I lost Marlene, Dorcas, Lily and James and of course Gid and Fabian. That alone was quite a lot but then you were gone and suddenly Peter was gone and oh look Remus is going into hiding so it's just me. Me, all alone to deal with the grief of losing all of my friends, I won't pretend I wasn't bitter about it."

Sirius remained quiet, drinking more of his bottle as she spoke. In all his years in Azkaban he had barely stopped to think of Mary. She had been engaged to Gideon Prewett and had lost him and all of her best friends in the span of a few months.

It seemed to him as though she needed to get everything out and he was more than happy to listen to her as she spoke, he would take whatever he could get in terms of company.

"And then it was over, everything was just done and that was somehow worse you know? Like at least when You Know Who was alive I had a reason to keep going, to get revenge for everything he took from me but he was gone. So one night I went back to my flat in London and I sat there for a while and without knowing what was happening I went and I stood on the edge of the roof and I couldn't feel anything anymore.

"But then something happened, I saw some trees out over all of the ugly buildings and I stared at them and realized that I wanted to be there. So I packed up all of my stuff and I took a train out of the city and camped in the forests for a while. Then one day I stumbled upon this place and I built it up and I've been living here for about 13 years I guess now."

Sirius watched as she took a big breath and chugged quite a bit more of her alcohol. He got the sense that she hadn't talked this much in a long time and for someone who loved talking that must really have gotten to her.

"Well MacDonald, we always knew you would end up on your feet," he said. "It's a little odd that it involves a place like this but, to each their own I suppose."

She raised her bottle to his as he drank some more, slowly letting it go down so he could feel the burn in his throat. Sometimes he needed to feel things slowly, to really remind himself he was still alive.

"I've gone back to London a couple times since I moved here, mostly just to do some shopping, but the last time I went I ran into Rita Skeeter remember her?" She asked.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "That annoying bird a couple years younger than us that had more gossip than you did? I remember her well."

"Yeah well she spotted me and she began talking to me and the next thing I knew there was a whole expose about me and my 'hermit life' in the Daily Profit!" Sirius laughed at her outrage. "It wasn't all bad I suppose though, it made Remus come visit me."

"He's the one that told me where to find you, honestly I thought he was taking the piss when he said you lived in a forest," Sirius said.

Mary laughed. "I don't blame you, it's not a very Mary MacDonald thing is it? Somewhere in the afterlife Marlene is extremely amused by this and I know it."

Sirius agreed and drank more of his bottle, mostly to have something to do while he waited for Mary to say something else. She was staring at him with a gleam in her eye that he didn't quite like, mostly because he associated that look with some sort of plan.

"You know what?" She asked, not waiting for an answer before continuing. "In my not so humble opinion, we were the hottest people at school."

"Were?" Sirius asked, mock anger filling his voice.

Mary nodded gravely. "Were, Sirius. Well I still am quite hot of course but you've let yourself go."

"Yeah, 12 years in prison can do that to a person."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Come on, you need a shave, a haircut and a shower not necessarily in that order."

He tried to protest but there was no use arguing with Mary once she had her mind set up so ten minutes later he found himself in her shower while she waited outside. She had magicked up some 'manly scented stuff' since she said he couldn't have the same scent as her and was talking away outside the shower door.

When he was finished he had to admit that he did feel better, even if the stuff she got him reminded him of Hogwarts. She was waiting for him with a set of scissors, shavers and an ecstatic look on her face.

"Come and sit," she directed, pushing him into the chair she had placed in front of the mirror. "It's time to return you to your former self."

He was wary of this entire plan of hers but she shoved him down into the chair before he could protest. Besides, she looked so happy to be doing something and he couldn't take that away from her, especially when so much already had been.

His hair, which was almost down past his elbows now, had been bothering him for quite some time. He liked it long but this was ridiculous and as he looked into the mirror, he found himself very grateful that she was fixing it.

"Don't get rid of all of it," he warned. "I'm not looking for baldness here."

She gave him a horrified look through the mirror. "Merlin Sirius how daft do you think I am? I was thinking the length it was in seventh year, I liked that the most I thought it suited you very well."

He gave her his approval and she cut a large portion of his hair off, letting it fall to the floor while she smiled. Already he felt lighter and he was excited for the end result.

"Remus came here after you escaped from Azkaban, I never heard from him after that though not about you at least, what happened? How did you escape anyway and where have you been for a year?" Mary asked while she snipped at his hair.

"You know that we were all Animagus right?" He asked, seeing her nod in the mirror. "Right well I turned into a dog and slipped through the bars of my cell. Then I made my way North until I reached Hogwarts, I hid in caves and stuff until the right time."

It had only been a couple of months since that night at Hogwarts so everything that happened was painfully fresh in his mind. The look Harry gave him when he thought he was the reason James and Lily had died was forever burned into his mind.

"Hogwarts? Why on earth would you go there when you're a wanted man? Did you lose all your brains in Azkaban?" Mary asked, swinging her hands wildly as she spoke.

It became abundantly clear that she hadn't been told anything, since Remus had never come back to visit she wouldn't know. No one but them, Harry and his friends and Dumbledore knew what happened.

Well Snape knew as well but he hardly counted as much as Peter did, as far as Sirius was concerned neither of them deserved to be thought of.

"I had to go back to get Peter, he was the one who sold Lily and James out in the first place and he was there so I had to go back to kill him," he answered easily. "He got away though so there was no proof that I didn't do anything. I had to leave again so I got a hippogriff and I left and I've been on the run since then with only a few people knowing I didn't do anything."

"I knew it wasn't you," Mary said quietly, snipping his hair very carefully. "When they put you in prison I never believed it was you, there was no way and I tried to think of any other possibility and well I guess it makes sense it was Peter. He always did want the glory you and James got."

"Yeah well look how that turned out, James is dead and I'm on the run," Sirius said bitterly.

Mary moved so she was in front of him, holding his chin gently so she could cut the front of his hair. "No one's defending Peter, Sirius. He idolized you guys though and it looked like we were going to lose so of course he went onto the winning side. He wasn't brave, he had the potential to be but he was never actively brave."

Sirius didn't say anything, he knew that she was right but he didn't want to see Peter like that. He wanted to see him as a traitor and that was it, Mary was really good at always seeing the best in people but in this instance he didn't want to hear it.

"What's Harry like?" She asked, examining his front before moving to the back again. "Remus wrote me when he first got to Hogwarts and said it was like watching a miniature James and I almost felt bad for the professors."

Sirius laughed. "He's the spitting image of James except he has Lily's eyes, he also isn't as cocky that's for sure. He's exactly what you'd expect from James and Lily's child, trouble making is in his blood and he owns it well not to mention that he's smart. Not genius but smart, not that he uses it very much since he's always doing something stupidly dangerous."

"Remus said Minnie told him that he fought a mountain troll in first year," Mary said laughing. "The only thing I could think of when I read that was how much James would lose his shit if he heard about that."

"He'd lose it even more if he saw Harry play Quidditch, the kids a beast. I went to one of his matches in my Animagus form and, he plays seeker, the stuff he was doing on his broom I don't think even James could have pulled off until he was in at least fifth year."

"He's that good?" Mary asked. "I guess I'm not really surprised, is he as obsessed as James was though?"

Sirius laughed. "Oh yeah, he fell like 100 feet off of his broom and he was more upset that he lost the match than that he fell."

"Oh Merlin he really is James' son." Mary laughed and put the scissors down. "There, see if you like it."

He stood up and ran his hands threw his hair, shocked when it stopped sooner than he expected. In the mirror, he saw how much better it looked and he stopped for a moment reminded of years earlier when it always looked like this.

If he didn't have a beard and wasn't so sunken in his face he would be exactly as he was in seventh year. Maybe a little bit older, but not enough for it to be extremely noticeable.

"This is a lot better," he said finally, running his hands through it again. "Thanks MacDonald."

She nodded and pulled his hands from it. "Keep doing that and you'll get it all greasy, sit down again and we'll get rid of that awful beard."

He did as he was told and listened to Mary talk about how fast she adapted to her life in the woods as she worked. She told him about Remus' visits and about how she stopped getting the Daily Prophet once they started calling him a murderer and nothing else.

It was odd being with her again, as though nothing had changed and they simply hadn't seen each other for a year or so. Despite the fact that the subject matter of their conversations was heavy and completely strange it felt normal.

Mary was still Mary and, for now at least, he was still Sirius. Not the Sirius Black the Daily Prophet had painted onto everyone's minds but the one that was known back at school and the one that he had longed to be since he left.

When he was clean shaven he was shocked with how sunken his face was, he had lost anything that was youthful in him and he couldn't look for more than a minute. Mary stood beside him, only reaching his chin, and looking at him with curiosity.

"It's not exactly the same," she said. "But if it was I don't think it would be a good thing."

He followed her back downstairs into the living room where she started a fire and was looking through a bunch of records she had. She sprawled them over the floor and he joined her, seeing that all of them were familiar and that all of them belonged to Lily.

"I have something from pretty much everyone," Mary explained. "Lily's records and some of Marls old clothes, Dorcas' old Quidditch robes are up in my room. I also have all of Gid's old jumpers in my closet, they all make the place a little more like home."

They put on each record one at a time and listened to them the whole way through while they talked or ate or just sat in silence for a while. They had gotten through seven albums when they realized how late it was.

Sirius could see the moon through the trees and he realized how tired he was, not just physically but emotionally as well. He was tired of feeling incomplete, he was tired of being angry and he was tired of running. Merlin was he tired of running.

He would give anything to stay with Mary in the woods forever but that wasn't possible, he couldn't put her in danger like that. She didn't need the stress of harbouring a fugitive in her house and besides, now that he knew where to find her he could come and see her whenever he wanted.

"Alright Black, let's go to bed I'm exhausted from all this company," Mary said, standing and holding her hand out for him.

He followed her upstairs and nodded when she pointed him towards the spare room she had set up. He was pleased to find that it followed suit with the rest of the house in terms of colours and when he sat down on the bed he thought he might be in heaven.

A bed wasn't a luxury he could have in over a decade, this was a feeling of bone deep tiredness harnessed up and he found himself almost asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was awakened shortly after though by his door opening.

"MacDonald why do you always insist on ruining my life?" He joked, not bothering to open his eyes.

She laughed. "Will you come to my room? It's a bigger bed and I didn't realize how lonely I was until you got here."

He sighed extremely dramatically before pulling his body off of the bed to follow Mary into her room. She was right, the bed was much larger and he vaguely registered that it was much comfier than the other one when he laid down.

She laid beside him without touching him."Don't get any ideas Black," she warned jokingly.

"You wound me MacDonald, jail made me a gentleman you know," he answered, fighting off sleep.

"I can't believe it took jail to tame Sirius Black," she mumbled, making him laugh.

They went quiet and Sirius felt Mary's breathing even out shortly before he fell asleep.

He didn't wake up until late afternoon the next day, Mary was gone and he could hear her doing something downstairs. As much as he didn't want to, he got up and looked out of her window to see Witherwings still in his cave, his head under his wing as he slept.

If he stood like this he could almost pretend that he was in his house, a house that he bought and that he lived in waiting for his godson to come home from school for the summer. Of course that was a ridiculous fantasy, he never should have promised Harry that he could come live with him.

At this rate he would be lucky to be cleared before he was 50. With a frustrated sigh he teared himself away from the window to look around at Mary's room.

It was the only place in the house that wasn't red and gold coloured but he wasn't surprised. The walls of her room were white but painted on with so many colours you could hardly tell. The floor was hard wood and there were paint splatters everywhere.

When you looked closer, you could see that Mary had painted certain moments at school and out of it. She had always been quite the artist and this was her way of coping with things when she didn't or couldn't use words.

Images from Hogwarts, her childhood and the war hit him from every angle and he felt like he was at a museum for Mary. Suddenly, being in the room was too much for him so he went into the bathroom.

He used her shower and savoured the feeling of the water hitting his body, knowing he wouldn't feel it again for a while. When he got out he saw that Mary had put some clothes on the counter for him.

The pants were unfamiliar to him but the shirt and sweatshirt were so familiar it was as if they were his own. Both of them belonged to James, the shirt being just a black t shirt he had worn so much it had holes and the sweatshirt an old grey hoodie he wore when he went for jogs in the morning.

He put them on as fast as he could and was shocked to find that he fit into them perfectly. James was always the slightest bit leaner than him since he was taller but Sirius had lost so much weight and muscle mass that it didn't seen to matter.

It had been ages since he had seen his best friend but this was as close as he was getting and he was thankful for it. Leaving his other clothes on the floor, he left the bathroom and made his way downstairs to find Mary in the kitchen.

"Goodmorning sunshine," she said brightly.

"It's afternoon, MacDonald," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes and continued cutting things up and stirring whatever she had on the stove. It smelled amazing and usually he would have been starving but his eating schedule had been so messed up that he rarely got hungry anymore.

"When are you heading out?" Mary asked.

He looked outside to find that it was quite dark from the clouds, it looked like a storm. "Probably soon, we'll have to make it somewhere where it isn't storming."

"You can always stay another night you know, I don't mind."

"Nah it's alright, I need to keep moving so there's no chance of them catching my trail."

She looked disappointed but nodded. "I got some stuff together you might need, if you're gonna be on the run it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

By the door she had set out a small pile of things with everything from extra clothes to a sleeping bag that she had charmed to stay warm. She had also put food and an extra blanket for Witherwings there along with a bag that she promised would fit it all in.

"You'll come visit me right?" Mary asked as she hugged him goodbye.

He nodded, holding her tight to him. "I'll come back as much as I can, if you see Remus tell him I'm alright yeah?"

"Of course." She pulled away from him, wiping under her eyes to catch the tears that were falling.

Sirius reached over and wiped her cheeks. "I never thought I'd make Mary MacDonald cry."

She laughed. "Neither did I, take care of yourself Black."

"You too MacDonald."

He walked away, hiking the backpack she had given him higher up and turning around once more to find that she was gone. He didn't visit her a lot, too scared to put her in danger, but he did see her again before he went to Grimmauld Place and she had gone there to see Remus and him a couple of times.

All the time he was on the run he thought of her often, never with worry though. Mary was strong and capable and he knew she would be alright.

Even if he wasn't sure about himself.

[sebastiansdemonlord-blog]

Creepypasta Rp? Bio and Starter below!

Reblog and tag me to start!

Name: Shi (was Shinkō, Faith in Japanese)

Age: Unknown

Birth Date: October 25 - year unknown

Race: Japanese Creepypasta

Gender: Female

Language: Japanese -Spoken and can read some, English -Spoken but doesn’t completely understand English.

Looks: Ghostly blue eyes that look as shattered glass, her hair naturally black but has been stain brown by blood, her hair is also stick straight and often matted, her skin is paler than snow, and her teeth are demonic looking. She doesn’t always wear clothes. She usually is covered from head-to-toe in blood.

Personality: Shy, keeps to herseld, and very skittish when she’s in Slendermansion. Thanatos (Male, in his 30s, and has brown hair and green eyes) is her switch personality who was Britain’s Jack The Ripper, and has never told his real name. He goes by the alias Thanatos for it is the name of the Greek God of Death. Thanatos is very outgoing and loud. He likes talking and being a douche to people who aren’t Shi.

Likes: Blood, Eating Humans, Playing with lost Humans, Slenderman (Master as she calls him), Hiding, Playing Mind Games, Ticci Tobi (Can’t remember the spelling at the moment, don’t judge me!), and Cats

Dislikes: Human men, Rapists, Child Molesters, Abusers, Human food (she can’t eat any of it), loud noises - unless she’s making them -, Whips, Belts, Chains, Guns, Knives, Smile Dog, and dogs in general.

Bio: It all started in a small Japanese community just outside of Shikoku, a little girl by the name of Shinkō was born. She was small and she had health problems - lots of health problems. She spent the first two years back and forth between Tokyo, going to the hospital for asthma. But that wasn’t the hard part. It was when her and her parents would return home that she had the worst problems, her parents frequently abused her. For her condition, and for the money they were forced to spend on her. It wasn’t until her fifth birthday that the abuse got worse. Her father raped her. She was raped by her mother too. They beat her and wouldn’t let her go to school. - They told the officials that “Because of Shinkō’s dire case of asthma that we have decided to home school her.” But that really wasn’t why they kept her home, it was so they wouldn’t get caught abusing her. - She spent the next six years of her life being continually raped and abused. She got pregnant the first time when she was 7, from being raped her body had started puberty early, and when her father found out he beat her within a inch from death, forcing her to miscarry. She cried that night as she lay in a crumpled heap. She wished for death, she craved it. She tried several times to take her own life but when her parents found out they beat her to the brink of death. But she would pull through and heal and get better. When she got pregnant again, she was 10 or 11, her mother begged her father to keep not force her to miscarry again so they could sell the baby. And that’s what they did. She was forced to have the child at home without any doctor care or pain medicine. Not even an hour after the baby was born, the child was sold. Never to be seen by her birth mother. Two years down the road, in the middle of being raped, she snapped and Thanatos -her switch personality- came out and murdered her parents. She ate them as they died, for she was very hungry and weak also she didn’t know when she would be able to eat again, her eyes cracking to look like shattered glass from all of the torture and pain. Her soul had finally broke. Soon she was on the run. She hid around town, and listen to the people of the community. They at first talked about how she was missing, they all suspected that someone had broke in the house and murdered her parents and had taken Shinkō. But as the months went on, she grew hungry. She had been thinking about stealing some food. She saw a little boy who had a hand-held food, and made the mistake of poking her head out. The boy saw her at once and began to scream, “Shi! Shi! Shi!” His mother grabbed him up, and tried to calm him as she looked for the source of his distress. She didn’t see Shinkō before it was too late. Shinkō, frightened by the boy’s shrieking, snapped and killed both mother and child eating them in no time. As a few people started to see what had just happened, mass panic broke out. Shinkō went crazy and killed many as she could. By the time she had finished, the whole community was dead. She looked around as she came to her senses, and grief and guilt struck her. Thanatos who had been watching her this whole time told her to burn the community down - to erase the evidence of what had in this community. She did as he suggested, she lit a fire that would burn for weeks. She ran to a cliff on the far side of the community, finally over taken by grief, guilt, and depression, was deciding to jump to her death. She remembered that as the mass panic broke out that everyone started to scream “Shi!” They had called her Death, and she didn’t blame them. Looking down at herself she was a living representation of death. Thanatos told her to embrace it, but she couldn’t stand it. She had killed hundreds of people over a kid screaming. She took a couple of steps back and ran to the edge jumping up and over the edge. She started to scream until she realized she wasn’t falling. She was caught by a faceless man. He introduced himself as “Slenderman” and his tentacles were the things that caught her. He held her in his tentacles and talked to her. He asked her if she would like to help him kill people and intruders that appeared around his mansion. In return she was allowed to eat, sleep, and be safe. He told her if she accepted that she would never be able to die. She accepted. She didn’t see why it would be bad seeing that’s what she could do best is kill. He asked her her name and she thought for a moment, and in honor of the people of the community, she told him “Shi”. She has been with Slenderman ever since.

Starter: Shi walked around, her hair wet with fresh blood from her latest killing spree. She had a left over arm and took it down to her secret room in the basement. She threw it in the huge water tank of her blood. It dissolved in a matter of seconds. She went over to the wall that had seating and a desk. She looked at the crude drawings she made and hung up there. Shi’s tentacles came out and started to build something out of the wood planks that Shi had stolen over the past few years. She goes over to the vat of human blood that she’s carefully and meticulously maintained, keeping the blood at 98.6°F and keeping it moving and oxygen in it. It was even give something to keep the blood cells from dying, a vegetable human, someone who she had stolen from a hospital who was in a coma. The person was no longer there in the body. But she kept the body alive and it kept the blood alive. After a few hours, the tentacles completed a bed frame - a baby’s bed frame. She took it and dipped it into the vat of her blood, allowing it to get an even coating and letting it dry. Her blood dried weirdly and looked like human blood spread out, a bright bloody red. She let it dry and did a second coat to help with the color. She let it dry and begun working on dipping her bed frame into the vat as well doing it the same way as the baby bed. She then dyed some bed sheets and covers the same way. She hung the sheets up after ringing out the extra blood. She began to carve a couple of rooms out of one of the walls that was facing the Black Mirror Lake as she called the lake. Soon she met the outside. She built the wall up with some stones she had found and put some big windows looking out at the lake. She then built a wall in between the big room and her work space after moving the beds into the alcove. She had taken a door from a house that she had eaten the people who lived there. That’s where she got most of the material. She was smart for someone who hadn’t had much schooling, and could barely write let alone speak. She attached the door and made sure it would shut. She checked on the sheets, they were almost dry. Once the sheets were dry she made the beds. She had mattresses that she had gotten from another house she had raided after she ate the family that had lived there. She had pillows from that house too. She stole the sheets from an insane asylum. She went up the stairs once satisfied with what she had done and locked the door to her secret room in the basement and pulled the thing over it that hid the door. She actually took a shower, stealing some of Jeff's clothes, and got dressed. She ran off to find a newborn baby to steal.