#silrp:unbroken

[vanciful]

Creature Comforts || Open Starter

Pale toes pressed into the space between the couch cushions, as fingers weaved around the sturdy china mug and Emmeline Vance tried very hard not to think about anything. Missing isn’t dead, she silently repeated for the umpteenth time that evening as her eyes stared absently at the television set in the corner of her cosy living room. The Muggle news was on. Four people injured and one found dead in Belfast that morning. Found dead. Like the passive made the blow any less painful to whoever the poor sod’s family was. She changed the channel. 

They were all working overtime at the Prophet, working overtime everywhere according to her friends in the Ministry. Just trying to keep up with the chaos that was getting its dirty fingers into the fabric of magical society and tugging, hard. People didn’t want to notice, of course they didn’t but people were going missing, had been going missing for years and the world was burying their collective head in the sand. It was infuriating.

Caradoc had been the last straw, for Emmeline, and writing up the article in yesterday’s paper had damn near killed her. She had owled HQ, said that work was going to keep her away for a couple of days but she’d be sleuthing to find some info on Dearborn. And she was, work hardly noticing that this time it was different, that it was personal. 

The knock at the door startled her, as the hairs on her arms stood on end. It wouldn’t be the first time a journalist had been accosted at home. People got nasty when they were desperate, and Emmeline for whatever reason had become one of the faces of the Prophet. Owls were coming in almost once a week, begging her to help find a missing person; mum, dad, sister. Like she was a detective and not just the person who mopped up the murder scene at the end of the day. 

The redhead looked down at herself as she got to her feet, taking in her appearance. The oversized tshirt, one of her brothers’, went down to her knees. And the worn sleeping pants were ones she had gotten in her third year at Hogwarts, the bottom of each leg scuffed and torn. Emmeline shrugged, set down her mug and moved towards the door. 

Her house, a small cottage in the Cotwolds (because who could really afford to rent in London?) was protected by several wards that she and other Order members had erected not too long ago so she was fairly certain it was friend and not foe knocking, but she grabbed her wand for good measure. “Constant vigilance,” she mumbled to herself, Moody’s voice in her head, clear as a bell. Man, that guy was paranoid.

Opening the door to the chill, crisp summer night, Emmeline found herself grinning at her unexpected guest on the stoop. “Isn’t 11pm a little late for a social visit?” She found herself asking, even as she stood aside to let the person in question in. “Tea?”

[estrela--marlene-blog]

ocean eyes | oneshot.

False-confidence was an easy dish to serve. A pinch of comfort and familiarity and one had the perfect concoction to delude themselves with; a simple sip to tell themselves that everything was going to be okay, even in the direst of times.

This was an easy mirage to follow when bundled up with bed, as if the weight of blankets and pillows and warmth protected them from the darkness which lurked beyond the protection charms. A haunting was never at a crescendo when it began, it started with soft thuds, incomprehensible- but little- occurrences that one couldn’t explain. Synonymous with a missing friend, a shady figure that made it seem almost normal not to have been in contact. Then it seemed to easy, made you feel at home and like it was all over when behind fractured glass the worst was yet to come. It was enough to call for shadows, doubts of questioning ones’ better judgement. For Marlene it’d started with a trembling of the fingers, but once the trembling turned to numbness, once the whispers became words she had to find other avenues to express the growing frustration, the growing anger.

Who would’ve been able to live themselves if they were folding clothes whilst a friend was silenced?

Soft thuds felt like strong shakes, a rumbling beneath the ground that could easily open up and swallow everything and everybody. A part of her wished that were the case, a strong tremble would only worry her for a minute before they reached sweet silence, before all worries were erased at a moment’s notice.

What had happened- what was happening- was torture. The purest of forms, aided by silence and confusion and the poisonous thoughts of the danger that was coming to a person they all cared about. Shaky fingers gripped the cigarette pulled from crimson lips. Her fingers smudged the remainder of the product where her lips had been, the deep red a panging reminder of something she didn’t want to think about. Denial was difficult, the stages of grief were bullshit. Nothing would prepare someone for something like this.

It seemed all of her troubles were nothing but selfish thoughts.

How could she have let herself worry about such miniscule thoughts when the world in front of her was transforming before her eyes?

It seemed no use to be stuck in a shop, a lifeless soldier incapable of provoking any type of change that would help the cause. Stuck in their own problems, their own petty issues that they struggled to even think of others who might’ve needed assistance. The prickling feeling made it difficult to even face the smiling façade in her mirror; a reflection of the utter lie of the life she lived.

She figured, in this foolish moment, that nobody was allowed to take her life unless it was on her own terms.

A foolish thought from a foolish soul.

[themoralthiefarchived-blog]

You Me At Six "Spell It Out" 

I'm not a savior I ain't no traitor They're the ones who lie to you Is this the end? End of an era Spent too long living in fear? My darkest days have come And pulled me under I want my moment in the sun Should I spell it out for you? No one here is bullet, no one is bulletproof

In all this mayhem, you've made me feel again But some of me won't be saved I've tried to change, I've got my ways Losing grip and sanity I know, I know, I know, I know I know it's such an awful thing, for me to do I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't I won't give up on me, if you don't too Should I spell it out for you? No one here is bulletproof And what are you to do? Then battle, battle on through, oh, battle on through

Should I spell it out for you? No one here is bulletproof And what are you to do? Then battle, battle on through Should I spell it out for you? For you, for youI'm not a savior, but I ain't no traitor They're the ones who lie to you

[pomfreyp-blog]

a spoon full of sugar || open

Today had been an especially trying day in the hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It seemed like all students were coming down with some sort of ailment. There had seemed to be some sort of outbreak of Mumblemumps that started with the sixth year Hufflepuffs. The sickness was obviously contagious but Poppy started to wonder if it wasn't being spurred on by raging hormones. It seemed lots of couples were ending up in her hospital wing. Poppy had been pushing for some sort of sex education at Hogwarts for some time now. Of course, Hogwarts was a magical school but it was still a school. They had a duty to educate their students about their own health if there parents were going to fail them in that area. Poppy had already had a few too many close calls over the years with a few girls in their sixth and seventh years. She reminded herself to have another sit-down soon with Dumbledore...surely the pearl-clutching would subside if the other faculty member knew how important the issue with.

There had also been a few cases of flu. Luckily it seemed to be sequestered between a group of third year Slytherin boys. Most likely from sharing their dorm and being in such close contact with eachother. On top of all of this, Poppy would still see the usual suspects. Some students who were the victims of practical jokes, children who had chronic illness that, while not severe enough to stop them from attending school, still required daily care. Poppy found herself growing fond of these students more and more as the years passed by. She was often quite cross with them when they forgot to come and in to receive their necessary medications. It was not unlike the young matron to contact head of houses, threaten to subtract house points (though she was never really sure she had that power), or send out a very strongly-worded owl.

By six o'clock, the matron was simply exhausted. Poppy plopped down in her office chair, reaching for the china teapot she had just filled with hot tea. The old teapot sat on top of an battered silver tray along with a few matching teacups. The teapot had been her grandmother's. A healer just like her father and Poppy, a lovely little French woman. A grandmother who had made the most delectable croissants when she was still living. Pouring herself a nice steaming cuppa, Poppy added a bit of milk. She added three heaping spoon fulls of sugar. Usually she tried to avoid it for her health’s sake but Merlin, did she need it today.

The blood...Dearborn...lycanthropy. Poppy winced. She couldn't help the concern she felt for him. It reminded her of the way she felt about Remus Lupin when he had walked into her hospital wing with the headmaster so many years ago. The condition was basically a life sentence in suffering. There was no cure.. Poppy had often searched for one while Lupin was still in school but the young matron had found nothing of worth. Wolfsbane had been concocted not too long ago but it only eased the transition, plus the ingredients were expensive and hard to come by. The stigma that occupied such a condition was probably just as worse as the transformation itself. Shaking her head, Poppy sighed...a slight tremor in her hands as memories of that night flashed through her head.

[estrela--marlene-blog]

✉️ owl | caradoc

So I guess it was true.

I’m sending this in some hope that you’ll miraculously get it and tell me it was all one big prank.

What’s happening is wrong. We can’t just stand idly by while this shit goes on.

It feels like the whole world is crumbling and I can’t even bother you about it. I’m so angry. At the world, at myself, at everything that’s happening.

Please, Doc.

Give us a sign.

- M.

[estrela--marlene-blog]

✉️ owl | caradoc

Doc,

Scarlett’s really not that serious. She’s not going to kill you. Maybe just seriously maim or injure. 

I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but everyone’s worried. You’re a bastard for doing this, you know? Is this some sick lesson on how we can’t function without you? It’s working.

If this is some sick joke then you own me a cauldron cake. And also a packet of sugar quills.

Please write back. We need to know you’re okay. Any sign’ll do.

Waiting here, Marls. 

[themoralthiefarchived-blog]

New Divide | Unbroken

I remembered black skies, the lightning all around me I remembered each flash, as time began to blur Like a startling sign, that fate had finally found me

The seconds blended to minutes that blended to hours, that blended to days. No matter how hard Dearborn tried, he could no longer track the cycles of the moon. How long had he been here? Years? It felt like it. Every session he had with Fenrir left the younger man fighting for consciousness. He often failed. Dearborn had no clue how long their special time together lasted, generally until Doc’s tether grew so taught it was about to snap. The wolf had a knack for knowing when he was on the brink, and he always managed to stop right before the free fall. 

When he woke, alone, in the cabin with nothing but the howl of the wind and the bone battering cold to keep him company, he’d take stock of his wounds... until there were so many he gave up trying. Eventually, his eyes were so swollen taking stock of anything wasn’t much of a possibility at all. The whole experience had been enlightening, to say the least...

Doc had learned so much about this week's better half. Fenrir had a softer side, one he would never admit, one he probably didn’t even realize was coming to the fore but every now and then, he’d do something small that showed the younger man he’d garnered at least an ounce of respect from the older. Not that it mattered, not really.... why should it? It wasn’t like Fenrir’s history was the stuff of legend or anything.... This wasn’t exactly a conventional relationship, the circumstances merely the byproduct of a war they were both caught in.

And your voice was all I heard, that I get what I deserve  There was nothing in sight but memories left abandoned There was nowhere to hide 

The pain didn’t truly take over until he was tossed into the cupboard. The smell of fresh dirt and stale air was suffocating. The confined space and inherent darkness, soul destroying. Closing his eyes was the only way to control the darkness, to not lose oneself in the endless void that surrounded him. It was here that his demons came out to play. That the skeletons in his closet and the ghosts in his past tormented him for all the mistakes he’d made.

It was here, in this void, that he relived the torture of the week. The pain throbbed mercilessly, unrelentingly. It took over every fibre of his being, tearing him apart in a way that the sensory deprivation he was being subjected to never could. Here, in this space, he let the pain out. The screams sounded against the walls until his voice grew hoarse and he could no longer produce a syllable more.

He was ashamed to admit his weakness, even to himself, but the fear he felt was numbing him to any other emotion. He remained huddled, hugging himself until the door creaked open and Fenrir’s large frame returned into a view that took far too long to blink into focus. His usual charm found it’s way back to the front, somehow, but inside he was hollow. He knew his clock had stopped and the Grim Reaper had come to him in the form of the fierce wolf. 

The ashes fell like snow and the ground caved in Between where we were standing  And your voice was all I heard, that I get what I deserve

Caradoc barely remembered the adrenaline that coursed through his veins as he ran through the woods. The teeth clamping down over his left shoulder was the final jolt of searing pain he felt before passing out. The days continued to pass as a blur, he had no idea how long he was out for, no clue where he was... was he dead? Is this what hell felt like? The pain never stopped, it merely served as a blanket to his subconscious mind. All he knew was that his body was ruined, that he’d never feel like a normal man ever again...

After a few more days, Alastor’s large frame shook him from his sleep... “I didn’t give you up, hoss.” the words came out before his brain reconnected to his body, like an instinct as strong as breathing to remain alive... “Shh, bud, it’s ok.” Alastor’s words were deep and low, a heavy hand stroked his cheek as a dropper was lifted to his lips. The clear, tasteless liquid hit his tongue a second later...the effects, instant. “Who took you?” the questioning started just as quickly. “Greyback.” There was gravel in his throat, it made it hard for sound to come out effectively... “Did you tell him anything?” He tried to shake his head but it was filled with lead, so heavy he couldn’t even if he wanted too ... “No, nothing.” 

The questioning lasted a while longer, basics about the sting, the ambush, where he was kept... Doc couldn’t give much, but clearly, Alastor was happy with the answers. “We’ll bring you back to HQ as soon as you’re safe to move. For now, you’re stuck here in The Three Broomsticks. Edgar has been looking after you, alone with Madame Pomfrey... You should know, she never left your side.” The Auror rose to his full height, offered one last lingering look at the broken man before walking away. 

He knew exactly who she was, that he was referring too. Edgar would have told her he was back, and man... she’d be so pissed at him. They didn’t exactly depart on the best of terms last time he saw her... The thing was, he didn’t care. In the height of the darkness, when he was convinced the end had come... she was all he saw, her voice was all he heard. 

The only thing that truly broke him? The thought that he’d never see her again...If he was home now? Nothing he had endured, mattered. If she was safe, and she was here? Everything would be alright.  Doc’s eyes fluttered closed, and a vision of his blonde beauty appeared on the back of his lids. Now? a different kind of darkness enveloped him, the kind that wrapped him in the safety of her...

[themoralthiefarchived-blog]

[OWL] Hello Caradoc, old boy, just wondering if you've found some of those muggle lampshades we talked about last time? I need them for a project, you see, so if you've got them that'd be fantastic. Oh! And hopefully they have prints of kittens on them...? Please don't tell me you've forgotten. Hope you're well, Arthur

OWL RETURNED TO SENDER

[themoralthiefarchived-blog]

OWL POST: "Midnight tonight, something's going down, you know where. - AD"

OWL POST: “On it, Boss. - CD”