#c: caradoc

[drakeheart]

caradoc, the aforementioned 'sick mordrem guy'

absolutely zero story (yet), but at least he looks cool

[ggathena]

She recognised him from Hogwarts, the two having been on the same year. Sometimes she thought he'd been misplaced by the Sorting Hat as they'd shared a few encounters over the years and she didn't particularly hate him. The witch could tell that while her presence hadn't been expected, it was now fully encouraged and ther was nothing Athena enjoyed more than having the attention of any attractive wizard. "We certainly liked to pretend things would make sense once we grew up but it appears we only realize our young selves were mostly right about it all." She replied with a calm tone to her voice, crossing her legs as she decided she would stay for a bit longer. "How have you been, Mr. Dearborn?"

He couldn't help but watch her as she walked towards the table he sat at - she cut a striking figure. That she was a well-known face and more than decent Quidditch player? Didn't help him not watch her.

"Miss Greengrass," Caradoc said, knowing full well surprise coloured his tone when she sat down next to him. "The seat's open. It's the first gala I attend after leaving Hogwarts, and I thought it was just childhood that made me think them incredibly dull." He swept a look across the entirety of the hall. "I've come to the realisation that it was far duller than I thought."

[edgarebones]

where: the order headquarters when: first of januaray who: @silenthauntings (Caradoc Dearborn)

He was asked to meet, though he had heard about a death eater mishap that had happened, and it thought he would check in with the one involved. Edgar didn't want to make any assumptions until he had a chance to speak with them.

The wizard waited in the main seating room, looking over parchments of other missions and potential ones, he glanced up when he heard footsteps.

"Come in and sit down. I thought we could debrief."

[petrificusx]

— was that caradoc dearborn passing through diagon alley? those close to them say they remind them of a hearty clap on the back and an even heartier belly-laugh, the earthy scent of freshly cut grass and undisturbed dirt, the giddy feeling in your stomach as a thrill ride drops, slow and winsome smile like sunlight breaking through leaves overhead, a perfectly curled gold-brown lock hanging over your forehead, the sound of a familiar voice finding you through a thick crowd, and the impression of having it all while having nothing and never quite feeling ‘enough’, which i suppose seems to fit that hufflepuff alumnus. they’re actually pretty winsome, passionate, and trusting for a thirty-four year old, but i wonder if it serves them well when working as a curse breaker for gringotts. rumor has it that the halfblood is aligning with the order of the phoenix… for now. i wouldn’t have guessed… but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else.

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Caradoc Rhys Dearborn NICKNAME(S): Cary, Doc, I dare you to call him CareBear (he’ll love it) AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 34, c. 1944 GENDER: Cisman PRONOUNS: He/Him HOMETOWN: Beddgelert, Wales BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood HOUSE: Hufflepuff ALIGNMENT: The Order Of The Phoenix

BIOGRAPHY

Triggers: Miscarriages, vague mentions of Family Abandonment/Disowning

The only son of sheep herders based outside of Beddgelert in Caernarfon, Caradoc was, as his name would suggest, beloved. Born to a muggle man with so little to his name, and a young witch who had struggled for years to conceive and carry to full term, it was a true miracle when, on a stormy gray night, Caradoc Rhys Dearborn had come into the world, crying as babies do but quickly mellowing out while cradled in the arms of parents who’d wanted for nothing more than someone to impart their endless love onto. The Dearborns may have had little to their name, but that wouldn’t stop them from providing a full and loving childhood to their only child. While it was hard at first, they made sure to show nothing but gratitude for all that life had given them, so even as Caradoc grew and became more mature and understanding of the world around him, he could find little beyond happiness in his every waking moment. He, like all children, wanted for things that were of course beyond his reach, but his parents had also raised him to be sensible, to find happiness in what was within their means and to practice patience that someday things would get better and easier.

And for the most part they had — eventually the farm his father inherited from muggle relatives had become somewhat profitable, and his mother’s own side endeavors after years of schooling did lead to a decent job of her own doing freelance bookkeeping for some of the shops in the small village. Eventually they lived comfortably, though a whole new unrest then wound itself within the boy’s rib cage. Adolescence gave way to major changes, ones that, unlike his stocky stature and dark hair and eyes which he’d inherited from his father, came directly from his mother’s more mysterious side of the family. Liliwen Dearborn knew her son would eventually show signs of his wixen lineage, but was none too eager to see it come to fruition. When the first signs of magic in the boy began to appear, it put a timer on their simple and carefree life. That meant sooner or later the owl would come, beckoning her son away to the moody castle in the Scottish Highlands, where he’d spend the latter years of his youth into early adulthood walking away from their muggle life and into the belly of a secret and magical world. One she had kept somewhat hidden from him after her family had shunned her choice to marry a muggle man and move away with him. Forced to confront the hurt she’d buried in her past, she spent those hard last years, as the magic brought out a bout of angst in her perfect sunshine boy, trying to prepare him for the inevitable invitation to the magical school and the culture shock of rejoining the wizarding community she’d quietly left behind.

Magic had not come easy, and early days at Hogwarts were marred by learning curves and difficulties adjusting to life away from home. Cary, as he was so affectionately called, never had difficulty making friends — he was gregarious and kind hearted to match, and as he grew older became easier on the eyes which arguably helped his case — but he didn’t do well with learning, which had been the primary focus at Hogwarts. Finding his place in Hufflepuff house, and on its quidditch team as a Keeper, had been simple, but maintaining grades was harder. If it hadn’t been for encouraging friends and even more gifted tutors, he may have jeopardized his entire academic career, but with enough persistence, and maybe one or two sugar-filled all nighters, Cary slowly began to reconfigure himself into a bit of a scholar. Just a little. He would never be the brightest student, known more for easy handsome smiles and skills on a broom before being recognized for wits, but he pulled through enough, and surprised all when his spell and wand work, as well as a surprising grasp of ancient runes and history, lead to him with an offer to train with the Cursebreakers at Gringotts, among invites for second-string positions on a few Qudditch league teams.

To think the “hardcore quaffle-head” would pass up on a professional quidditch career to instead trapeze through dusty crypts and labor over meticulously cursed objects at the behest of the goblin run financial institution seemed maddening even for those close to him, but Caradoc left Hogwarts and found himself, somewhat presentable in a hand me down suit and tie, checking in at the bank for his first day of apprenticeship almost directly after graduation. Now years later, he’s hardly ever in the UK, always away either stationed with another branch of the bank or on an assignment, putting years of dedicated training to the task on family heirlooms and high valuables secured by the bank. He doesn’t always agree with the methods and assignments he’s put on, but that taste of adventure, of traveling to new places and dismantling various curses and hexes, keeps him entranced and hungering for the next job.

The only thing that could possibly rival his adventurous professional life is that of his personal — which is perhaps as messy as his unkempt work desk always appears. As it’s been said, it’s never been hard for Cary to make friends, and it likewise hadn’t been hard for him to find lovers. He is handsome, a good listener, eager to get to know everyone he crosses paths with. With an easy going charm to him, he found himself drawn, like a bug to fervent flame, to many people over the years, but the interest was admittedly always fleeting. A flame that burned hard and bright, it could fizzle out just as easy as it started, and when your job sometimes requires you to leave at the drop of a hat, it was easy to let connections fall to the wayside. He would vehemently deny leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, but there are also reasons he avoids certain international cities now and tries to pass those assignments on. While some have been “forgiving” of Cary’s fickle heart, others didn’t take well to being spurned, though Cary tries to walk away from most romantic entanglements with amicability. After all — if someone doesn’t work out as a lover, surely there’s another way he can keep them close to him? Selfish intentions could sometimes be so pretty.

This dizzying adventure-filled life is not all he’s aspired to. Caradoc has endgame goals — going back to the farm he grew up on, perhaps raising a family of herders while giving his folks the retirement they have denied themselves. Maybe even buying land and moving them somewhere more private, where he can raise a family of strapping quidditch players alongside someone he truly loves, giving his children the same warm and simple childhood he had with some of the magic his was devoid of. A wholesome and easy tomorrow. That’s what he wants, but the world seems to have other plans. As things begin to develop, that golden future seems to quietly slip from his vision. Not that he sees it no longer attainable — simply that plans must be put off for now as another duty tugs at him. Always a brave hearted young man, it’s of little surprise that as things develop he will choose to side with the Order. With a muggle father, and a wixen family that refuses to acknowledge him, his side in the conflict was already decided for him. If a fight is coming, Cary wants to be on the good side of it. The side that doesn’t abhor his lineage or the blood status of anyone. Spending his life straddling the line between both the muggle and magical worlds, he sees no point in prejudice against anyone and would willingly lay down his wand for what he deems right. But talking about it isn’t enough, and Cary has yet to put his wand where his mouth is. He knows a true test is coming, feels it in the pit of his stomach.

He can only hope to measure up when the time comes.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single and always out to Mingle FAMILY: Rhys Dearborn (father, muggle), Liliwen Dearborn née Wellnelly (mother, witch), Wellnelly family — Wixen relatives through mother’s side (purebloods, estranged) FACE CLAIM: Jonathan Bailey HEIGHT: 5’11” OCCUPATION: Cursebreaker for Gringotts WAND: 12 3/4” Cypress wood, Unicorn hair core, Unbending flexibility PATRONUS: Irish Wolfhound BOGGART: Death / The Grim Reaper LANGUAGES: English, Welsh, Gobbledegook PINTEREST: (x) ASTROLOGICAL SIGN:

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS

melis marangoz - the object of all my desires, the other half of me i didn’t know i was missing

rodolphus lestrange - come haunt my narrative

amity walker - dear pen pal, dear friend

BONUS

[gretascatchlove]

Greta laughed at his reaction. "I have some left over from the last batch I made, I'll be sure to save you some." She was curious to see if someone who's never had it would say, if he would like the flavor or hate it.

"Sorry, I tend to just start talking without introducing myself first. My name's Greta Catchlove. Nice to officially meet you." She grinned, extending her hand towaards him. "Well sometimes people just want a good simple cheese, nothing wrong with that."

"I think it sounds absolutely disgusting," Caradoc replied, the sheer thought of dragon milk cheese almost making his stomach turn. "I'd love to try it!"

Honestly, when would he ever have the chance to try dragon milk cheese again?

"I regret to inform you - I'm sorry, did I catch your name? - I regret to inform you that I am incredibly boring, and vastly prefer my grilled cheeses plain and incredibly non-profile."

[lifblogs]

Home is Behind

AI-less Whumptober 2023 Day 3: Alternate Prompt - Abandoned @ailesswhumptober, @samatedeansbroccoli

Fandom: Original Work Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 1302 Summary: After Tiernay supposedly murders her father, she is given to their enemy for marriage as her punishment, and as a trade to get her brother back. Tiernay is leaving home. A/N: This is part of an original story that's been stuck in my head since 2014.

Pronunciations (in order of appearance)

Tiernay - Tear-nee

Dúgáel - Dew-gell

Nordrith - Nore (pronounced liked "more")-drith

Lothian - L-ah-th-ee-an

Imlir - Im-l-ear

Podge - Pod-je (pronounced like the "ge" in "adage")

Mor Yriann - More Ear-ri-an

Achranah - A-krah (pronounced like the "a" in "bat")-nah

Caradoc - C-a (pronounced like the "a" in "bat")r-a-dock

Saoirse - Sur-sha (though it is pronounced a bit differently than this, but as I am not Irish I can't seem to figure out an equivalent with sound that would make this easier to pronounce)

Podge is Tiernay's domesticated bear. The domesticated bears are smaller than wild bears, their fur is fluffier/softer, they have smaller teeth, and their teeth are more blunt. Smaller and more blunt claws as well. Tiernay is 16, and Caradoc is 32. Kayne is 15, and was held captive for a year. WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, Age Gap, Murder, Gore READ ON AO3

Tiernay couldn’t help it—she looked back through the curtain as the carriage began to move. Behind here were row after row of lightly-armored soldiers on horses, a man in front flying a blue banner featuring a wolf’s head. This wasn’t her banner, Dúgáel’s banner. This was their enemies’, the Nordrith. This blue signaled danger, and in the past had called her forces to fight. 

She eyed the stocky horses, and even they were strange to her—they possessed thicker fur than the ones she was used to, a trait indicative of the colder weather that lay ahead of her.

She looked past them, to her silver city of Lothian, towers rising against the green mountains of Imlir. Angling her head, almost till her neck hurt, she thought she could see the castle, her home. And was that a sparkle of the blue waters it lay upon?

Face crumpling, she wondered if Podge was being held somewhere, waiting for her return. Had he been fed while she had spent weeks in a dungeon? Had anyone decided to care for him? Did he think she had abandoned him?

Oh gods. No. Was he even alive?

That thought alone had her muscles tensing, and she told them to still, to not try to run. She wouldn’t even make it out of the carriage.

Still a whimpering grew in her head. Podge.

The waters disappeared, and she felt what was somehow left of her chip away.

Her new home would still have a view of those waters, of the Mor Yriann Sea, but what would they be like? They were on the edge of the Achranah—vast waters that went beyond lands she knew. Her home would be near dark cliff sides, unescapable, the sea surely angry and foamy below, whereas she knew it as gentle, most times.

Her stomach churned thinking of what awaited her, of the marriage she was forced into. The family who betrayed her.

An ache grew in her throat, and her eyes pricked and nearly flooded over with tears. Her home now blurry behind her, she let the curtain fall back, and she resumed her seat. Besides, was it really her home anymore? Home was where you were wanted, where you were safe, where you were fought for.

Instead, her own mother had called her a murderer.

Oh, her father!

Dead. Dead. Just like her sister. At least she hadn’t raised a hand against her sister.

No, that wasn’t me who killed my father! It couldn’t be.

Yet images flashed in her head of blood splattering on her, of her father looking at her, confused, hurt, as he brought his hands up to his now-bloody throat. He fell, and he couldn’t stop his blood from leaving his body.

He struggled to speak, maybe to say her name, maybe to ask why, why, how could you do this to me?

And Tiernay wasn’t in control of her body. She tried to move, to cry, even, and she just stood there, someone else’s dagger in hand, covered in her father’s blood, watching as it coated the stone floor, the puddle growing larger and larger. How could that much blood truly be in someone’s body?

She couldn’t breathe.

A slight pain made itself known to her, and through the ringing she just noticed was in her ears she thought someone was calling her name.

There was only one other person in that damned carriage with her.

A man’s hand was on her knee.

Tiernay pulled back, realizing where she was: in a carriage with her soon-to-be husband.

She had gotten one hand under her sleeve, nails digging into the skin of her forearm. She pulled it away, clenching her fist instead.

A tear fell, and she tried to dry her eyes before any more did so.

Her knee burned where that large hand was still on her. She wasn’t sure if she could ask him to remove it.

“Are you all right?”

Caradoc, King of Nordrith, gave her a gentle smile. Yet his lips weren’t lifted all the way, most of his face not adding itself to that smile. His blue eyes seemed dark, somehow—dark with intentions she could only guess at. This was her enemy, her family’s enemy. They’d been fighting for over a hundred years, and here she was in a carriage with him because her family had abandoned her. He was tall, and slim—slimmer than the men of Dúgáel tended to be—and with long hair of gold, a shaven face (yet another oddity to her), she supposed he could be attractive. He probably was to his own people, but she knew she would never feel that. At all. Not just because he had held her brother captive, even taken one of his fingers with his signet ring and sent it to them in an oaken box, not just because of how many of their soldiers he’d killed in battle, or how many of her own men he’d ordered to die, how many families he left without fathers, brothers, and sons, but because of one simple thing: he was a man.

Tiernay stared down at the hand on her knee, unable to swallow. Saliva built up in her mouth.

This was to be her husband. This cruel man.

And she was alone. So alone.

With a pang in her chest, Tiernay thought of Saoirse—with her brown curls, and blue eyes, eyes that were much sweeter than Caradoc’s. Tiernay had once wished she could count every freckle on her face, perhaps every freckle hidden beneath her dresses too, strewn like stars across her creamy skin. Would she have laughed at the touch of her lips as they tickled her?

How long would it take Saoirse to laugh again now that Tiernay was gone? Would it have the same wild abandon that so often got her in trouble during her lessons? Would she still look for Tiernay through the bakery window as she helped her father’s customers up front?

No, she thought with a bitterness in her heart. Kayne would be there for her now.

They hadn’t even let Tiernay see her brother before she left. He’d been returned to them, and now what would he think of her? Tiernay, the murderer. Would he try to assassinate her now that he could take his rightful place on the throne? Would he curse her name with every breath? Tiernay wished she could tell Caradoc to stop touching her, but perhaps she deserved it. She was bitter and broken inside. Her older sister was dead of a strange, prolonged illness. Her father was dead by her hands… somehow, and Kayne would be king, and she’d never see him again; maybe at court functions, but she could imagine his accusatory glare.

She was alone, abandoned to this awful man, a man twice her age.

Tiernay held in her tears, willing all of her to dry up, to hide.

It didn’t quite work, but perhaps someday soon it would. She hoped so. The pain, the loneliness, was just too much.

As she sat there she wanted to die. How could someone hurt so much and yet their heart kept pumping? How could that hurt not seep into all of her and kill her? How was she screaming and beating against herself inside and her outside barely moved? How was this her world, her life?

With everything a confusing blur in her head, she forced a smile with trembling cheeks, and lied to her future husband, “I’m fine.”

The road stayed smooth for now, but by nightfall it’d become more of a wide, dirt track. By nightfall her city would be behind her, and so would her family who didn’t want her.

Home was behind, and she didn’t want to know what lay ahead.

[goalhofer]

2024-25 Iowa Wild roster

Wingers

#13 Ryan Sandelin (Hermantown, Minnesota)*

#27 Luke Toporowski (Bettendorf, Iowa)

#28 Liam Öhgren (Stockholm, Sweden)**

#50 Michael Milne (Abbotsford, British Columbia) A

#74 Adam Raška (Kopřivnice, Czech Republic)

#92 Graeme Clarke (Ottawa, Ontario)*

Centers

#10 Brad Marek (Big Rapids, Michigan)*

#14 Gavin Hain (Grand Rapids, Minnesota)

#17 Reese Johnson (Saskatoon, Saskatchewan)*

#19 Caeden Bankier (White Rock, British Columbia)

#25 Sammy Walker (Edina, Minnesota)

#43 Hunter Haight (Strathroy-Caradoc, Ontario)**

#72 Travis Boyd (Minnetonka, Minnesota) A*

Defensemen

#3 Jack Peart (Grand Rapids, Minnesota)**

#5 Cam Crotty (Ottawa, Ontario) C*

#11 David Jiříček (Plzeň, Czech Republic)*

#21 David Špaček (Plzeň, Czech Republic)

#22 Ryan O'Rourke (Pickering, Ontario)

#49 Kyle Masters (Edmonton, Alberta)**

#55 Joseph Cecconi (Porter, New York)*

Goalies

#30 Jesper Wallstedt (Västerås Stad, Sweden)

#31 Samuel Hlavaj (Martin, Slovakia)**

#35 Dylan Ferguson (Nanaimo District, British Columbia)*

[drakeheart]

knifeplant.png

[aurorasinistrax]

Her eyes lit up glancing over at Caradoc. A fit of giggles leaving when he laughed at her joke. Tension rolling off her shoulders. At least there were some she could have fun with.

"Thank you," she gives a little curtsy.

At his joke, she can't help but giggle once more, leaning into his side. "Oh, I like that one. Can I use it?" She was not one to steal another's joke.

Caradoc saw her across the hall, and he's really not trying to resist the urge to go up and say hi.

Of course, the pun does catch him off-guard, but maybe that's why he's so charmed - and can't help but burst out laughing.

"That's a good one!" he chortles, and can't resist to return the favour. "I read a story about Hungarian Horntails the other night - but it just seemed to dragon and on."

[skaruresonic]

The Winter King also did that pet-peevy thing of mine where they pronounced the name "Cerdic" as "SER-dic"

imo it should probably be "KER-dic" because other Anglo-Saxon names follow a general pattern of hard Cs: cyne- = royal, ruler cyning = KIN-ing, "king" Cynric = KIN-ric, "kin-ruler" Cynewulf = KIN-wulf Creoda = kree-OH-da Cealwin = kay-AL-win

in addition, if we are to assume Cerdic is actually a Bri'ish Caradoc Vriechvras, his name would take a hard C sound anyway

[cecils-dragons]

Finally it’s time for his full art, it’s Caradoc time! He’s a selkie who spends most of his time chilling around on land, mainly near beaches. Caradoc mainly chose to come on land for companionship, he’s quick to chat and try and make friends with anyone. He’s just a chill guy :) hopefully more to come soon.

[merrickwilder]

WHEN: Friday, 10 December, 1980; evening  WHERE: Suite 51 of the Copse, London WHO: Gideon Prewett & Caradoc Dearborn ( @dickdowndearborn​ )

“In your professional opinion,” Gideon took a hit from the bong, “And be honest, mate. I can take it.” He couldn’t, but that was beside the point. “Do you think I can make it in the porn industry with this one?” Gideon was, of course, without trousers and had one foot resting on an end table. To give an optimal viewing of his dick, naturally.

[aurorasinistrax]

She hated that he was so hard on himself. He was a great wizard who deserved all the happiness in the world. Without thought she wraps her arms around him. "You could always continue to be you, Car, don't ever change." She smiles at him. "You should come by and we can read what the stars have in store. Your lucky witch might be out there waiting for you."

Caradoc looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

"I'm just me, 'Rora - nothing grand enough for the stars to worry about, am I?" He shrugged, not worried about how open he was with her - he trusted Aurora, had no reason not to.

[vampyrekatwrites]

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) + Caradoc/Aurora

send me ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) + a character or ship & i’ll reply with a meme moodboard

I kinda regret posting this on my real-art blog.

[dedalusdigg]

Memorial at Potter estate | Dedalus Diggle & Caradoc Dearborn

February 27th, 1982

Closed starter for @dearborncaradoc

Dedalus had never been someone who could hold his alcohol and while that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he did think it was in bad taste to get drunk at a memorial -- and what do you know, perhaps some of those etiquette lessons had stuck. But he’d been pacing himself throughout the whole... thing and that had to count for something. Now, usually, he fancied himself much more eloquent than that, but calling the memorial an event or a gathering felt wrong, somehow, and so ‘thing’ it was. However, that was hardly the point. Then again, did he even have a point at all? He wasn’t sure.

Goodness. He glanced down at the glass in his hand and after some deliberation put it right back down. He was hardly paying attention to any of the discussions around the room, but suddenly, he felt the overwhelming need to be a part of them anyway. He stood up and then immediately paused as a sudden wave of nausea hit him; it passed quickly enough, though, and by the time he’d headed towards a familiar face, he’d almost forgotten about the whole ordeal.

“What a surprise to see you here,“ he said, not particularly caring or even noticing if he was interrupting something. He waved a hand dismissively and clarified, “It’s not really a surprise, of course, but isn't that what people say? ‘Hello’ feels a bit underwhelming, given the circumstances. I’m sorry for your loss, maybe? Dear Merlin, please keep me away from Lily and the Potters for the foreseeable future; I reckon I’d offend them as soon as I open my mouth.“

“But I digress.“ He tried to dispel some of the haze in his mind and focus on Caradoc. “How have you been? Still intend to pester me about that little club of yours?“

[trustingpotter]

A POSSIBLE BETRAYAL | JAMES, CARADOC, & EDGAR

Date: December 22, 1981 Location: The Potter Estate, Inner Circle planning room @dearborncaradoc & @spellnbone

James wasn’t thrilled with how the meeting turned out, but it wasn’t the worst thing that might’ve happened with a decision on Lily. At the end of the day, she might’ve been kicked out - her memory erased, leaving her and James to dance this tango of him still working with the Order without her knowledge. He knew she wouldn’t be happy about the decision - he wasn’t either - but it was alright, all things considered.

Truthfully, he just wanted to leave the meeting as quickly as possible. Go find Sirius and blow off some steam with a pint or something. But he had a duty - he always had a duty - and the Order came first. So he lingered behind as some of the members left, eyeing him warily.

When the room was nearly cleared, he quickly approached Edgar and Caradoc (they were together, as they often were - and the last ones to stay after a meeting, as per usual). James leaned in close, spoke softly. He didn’t want Alice to overhear - this was about her husband, after all. “Can you two stick around a bit? There’s something I need to talk to you about. Something that came to my attention last night at the party... it’s not good.”