#bristlybranwen

[annalisefawley]

Location: Diagon Alley Date: March 21 @bristlybranwen

When news had come of the attack on Diagon Alley, offering her assistance had seemed the natural course of action. Of course she would want to help; she was dedicated to the Order, she was trustworthy, she wanted to protect the innocent. That last part was even true. While she had no objection to their methods of dealing with people who deserved it, Annalise couldn’t say that she entirely approved of the indiscriminate murder her fellow Death Eaters seemed to enjoy. Even so, it wasn’t a factor in her decision to help. That was quite entirely motivated by her need to prove herself to the Order.

Of course, she hadn’t considered some of the practicalities when she had run into battle. Such as— the people she was supposed to be shooting curses at were her allies. And the fact that she could easily end up on the end of one of their spells. Not to mention that she was fighting alongside someone she would really rather see dead. It was nothing personal, of course. In other circumstances Annalise may have quite liked Branwen Yaxley. As it was, however, she was the enemy.

Annalise aimed a stunning spell at a Death Eater— or rather, aimed it a yard to the right of him. She was rather out of practice and her aim was off, with the effect that it only missed him by a matter of inches rather than feet, which she supposed was better, really. Still, for Yaxley’s sake, she made a point of cursing under her breath at her near miss. Not that she thought the other witch would notice. Yaxley was quite the duellist— she couldn’t be paying much attention to what Annalise was doing.

[toujourslamur]

hold the line.

LOCATION : Potage’s Cauldron Shop ( Diagon Alley ) TIME : 2 March 1982 STATUS : ( Closed ) @bristlybranwen

Mum, 

It wasn’t my fault I swear but Bill dared me and -- 

IT WAS DECIDEDLY NYMPHADORA’S FAULT.     But the ache she assumed came with any distance between mother and child coaxed from Meda all the affection which should have been poured into the hand at the back of her daughter’s head.     (     It was no surprise she would burn through supplies quickly, a childhood marked by skimmed knees and bloodied grins, limbs that moved too quick for their own good. Always moving too quickly ahead to pay much attention to such pesky nuisances as edges of tables or untied shoelaces.     )     

Long, rambling, letter cut short : Dora needed a new cauldron. The specifics of how exactly she went about destroying her last one were, seemingly in her mind, up for debate. Task-oriented, Andromeda set off to find an impossibly sturdier cast. 

Her gaze stay fixed ahead as she moved through the cramped streets of Diagon Alley, flicking from her any residue floo was known to leave behind. Rather than immediately trusting whatever was left in stock adorning the outside of the building, Dromeda pushed her way inside to speak to an expert.  

If there was one to be found.

“     Hello?     ”     ever-polite, she found herself circling a particularly extravagant gold cauldron. Movement from just beyond the curtain drew her gaze back,     “     If you’re on lunch, I can certainly come back?     ”

[mckinnxn]

check in dinner // branwen+marlene

Date: Evening of February 16th, 1982

Location: Mainhouse at The McKinnon Ranch

@bristlybranwen​

The body aches seemed to have dwindled by now. It had been two days since the Rosier Estate mission, and yet, Marlene felt like she’d only been conscious a collective couple hours or so since then. Therefore, even though she had enough energy to get back on her two feet, she was still feeling pretty weak, not yet back to normal. Not much was known about the state of things with the Order. From what her brother Alaric could tell her, she knew she had fainted in midst of a fight and Emmeline had successfully managed to heal her up enough to make it back to the ranch and to her family’s company. Her parents had returned, in what felt like after a long time a close quarter reunion, beginning to last longer than a holiday visit.

Even though she wasn’t awake majority of the time, Marlene knew she had been lovingly watched over and cared for. However, it was time she had probably shown face in the Mainhouse, as the refugees probably had a million questions for her and where she’d been and how she was doing. Marlene wasn’t in the particular mood to interact with any of them just yet, as she was still trying to adjust back herself, but she figured her presence would at least put them at ease. It was until she noticed the face of Branwen Yaxley, a woman who didn’t really match the exact version of “ease” she had in mind. As their eyes locked for a second, Marlene felt nerves in the pit of her stomach, able to muster a small, polite wave with two of her fingers, before looking away.

[rylandgreen]

Polyjuiceable Bits

Date: January 19, 1982 Location: Yaxley Estate Starter: @bristlybranwen​

Ryland knew that being rescued by the Order would mean that he would be even more tied to them than he’d been previously, but he hadn’t realized it would mean they’d call him in barely a week after getting back and shove him at Branwen Yaxley of all people with a mission. To make matters worse, with orders like, “Get hair or Polyjuiceable bits from purebloods,” Ryland knew they weren’t going to go anywhere he’d consider pleasant right now.

He’d quickly denied that they could go anywhere near the Greengrass family, and thankfully Bran hadn’t pushed. But standing here on the doorstep to her family home, Ryland couldn’t help feeling like something was about to go stupendously wrong.

The plan was simple enough. They’d get in and go upstairs. Then Ryland would stand watch while Bran filched some hairs from her parents’ hairbrushes. He knew two people wasn’t exactly the yield the inner circle was hoping for, but they could always figure out another plan to get more after. It wasn’t like he trusted himself to walk up to many purebloods and just pluck out a hair most times, but especially after everything that had happened, Ryland didn’t know who to trust or who might hex him on sight. This was a bad plan just by nature of him being there, and Ryland already knew it.

Still, Ryland tried to keep those nerves to himself as he watched Bran knock and wait for the family maid to open it. If he looked like they were up to something, things would go poorly, so he took a deep breath and smiled as the door opened before them.

[emmeoutofline]

“Call Me” - Bran

Emmeline wasn’t a warrior. She didn’t go out into battle or hold the front lines. She stayed behind, ready to step in the moment something needed her. Emmeline was nearly useless in a fight. How she’d even been connected to the Order, she didn’t know, and the logical part of her brain assumed they must have a leak somewhere. Probably one of those purebloods still happily snuggled up with their traditional families. She wondered if they’d attacked her themself or let someone else do the work--someone who had left a gaping hole in her side that she knew pressing her hands down over wouldn’t magically heal it.

Emmeline couldn’t sneer that much about purebloods, though, not when she managed to stumble out of the fireplace, blinking against the dark spots filling her vision, and gasped out, “Bran. Find Bran.” 

She was distantly aware of being levitated into another room, although Emmeline didn’t necessarily see any of it happen. She was sliding toward the dark, toward the warmth that was an absence of pain. The only thing pulling her back was a hand against her face, somehow rough and gentle as the same time as it forced her to angle straight ahead. Emmeline managed to focus enough to make out Bran’s face in front of hers.

“You’re not allowed to die,” Bran said, far too matter-of-fact and demanding for Emmeline’s current state but so perfectly her.

Emmeline managed to let out a tiny chuckle that turned into a gasp for air. “Then don’t let me.”

[dearborncaradoc]

LOCATION: Knockturn Alley, London. TIME:  December 4th, 1981 STATUS: Closed | @bristlybranwen

The Order’s latest mission had turned to be a failure, one with a body count, and Caradoc was not over it yet. In the few days following that night, he had tried to piece out as much as what happened to understand where and how all of it had gone so wrong. But while his mind was focused on the war and he would’ve liked to give it all his attention and every waking moment, life kept went on without stopping for him. He still needed to show up for his“day job" at the Ministry as if he hadn’t been out committing acts of vigilantism that would land him in big trouble with the law, and then there were the little menial tasks that he postponed for as long as he could. One of these was about a cauldron.

Since the death of his wife, Meurig Dearborn had slowly retreated from public life. Nowadays, he was a recluse, rarely leaving his house, and relying on his son to take care of those chores that required to go out. His father had been in need of a new cauldron for his potion work, and Caradoc had sought to buy one a little over a week ago. Asking Branwen Yaxley for help had seemed the most expedient way to get it over with, and it had the benefit to see how she behaved outside of the Order’s meetings and missions. So, he had asked her, and it had turned out that shopping for a cauldron wasn’t a quick thing as he had imagined. With the mission ahead, already scheduled for the 1st, Branwen had told him to come back after it was done. The unsaid was, of course, if he came back from it.

He had. But the mere thought of shopping had taken a backseat to all that had happened that night. It was only because life went on regardless of Caradoc’ wishes, that he found himself walking along Knockturn Alley to Branwen’s place of work. It was a street he rarely frequented, which explained the few looks he attracted. He acted as if he did not notice them as he made his way to its branch of Potage‘s Cauldron and entered the shop. 

[starbrightblack]

[for bran] ◈

@bristlybranwen

3-5 scenarios I’ve thought about or could see our characters in

Sirius accusing Bran of not being committed to the cause

Prank war

Just bitching about anything. These two could argue about whether they’re breathing air.

Some kind of serious moment, perhaps comforting of some kind, that surprises both of them because they didn’t know they were capable

[artemthevictorious]

@bristlybranwen

Gore tw

With a shaking hand, Bran pulled her knife out of Rowle’s guts. Her cheeks were hot, her heart beating as though she’d been running for miles now. The man was dead. Dead by her hands, her mud-mean, and she’d watched it happen. Watched his eyes dim, his light snuff out. Of course she had killed before, but never with the sole purpose to kill, never from this up close. This was different. It felt different. She felt different. 

Something inside of her had shattered, and the pain the shards caused made her feel more alive.

After catching her breath, collecting herself, she looked around to find the Death Eater Marlene had stunned. He was stilled knocked out but that wouldn’t stop her. She was about to get back on her feet when someone called her name. Artem Tremblay. Looking horrified. “Since we’ve been sent out.” And because she wasn’t sure if Artem had been on Diagon Alley before the Order had heard of it or if he knew about this being an impromptu mission now, she added: “The Order’s here. I’d say half an hour.” But even time felt different now. 

Bran rose to her feet. She wasn’t sure what Artem meant by ‘did you see what happened’, so she ignored it. With her mind still catching up with what had just happened, she listened only distantly to Artem’s report of what he’d done before finding her. Even the mention of the wee Dorcas barely registered. But even if it had, she’d also trust her to do well enough. After all, she’d been trained by Bran, so what could go wrong?

“Help me with that one,” she ordered and grabbed the stunned Death Eater under the arms. Her knife was still in her fist. “Over to the shade. We need to see who he is.”

Artem had to pull it together and ignore whatever emotions tried to swell up at what he’d watch Bran do. He couldn’t handle that and stay engaged in the moment before them. The Order. Yeah. Okay. Mission. He’d been among those scattered in Diagon Alley before whatever had gone crazy had happened. He wondered which had come first: the Death Eaters or the explosions. 

With Bran’s choices, Artem hadn’t even noticed anyone else was there. He nearly stumbled forward as Bran grabbed at the other man. “Wait, hang on!” Artem put his hands up, the way they’d seen Marlene reach out before a horse. “Maybe put the knife away? It’s in our best interest if he stayed alive.” As he spoke, Artem grabbed the man’s legs to help slide him away from the center of the street. Once they had him near the wall, Artem dropped him first, reaching out for his mask ahead of Bran. 

Alcott Avery’s face wasn’t a surprise. Artem hadn’t ever really sat down and discussed who he thought was a Death Eater, but given the skeevy vibes they’d had around Alcott on some of his Ganymede’s visits, Artem would have thrown him out as an option if pressed. They’d never had to throw him out of Ganymede’s, but he’d gotten a warning a time or two. He was exactly the kind of person who would flaunt his perceived power by joining a terrorist group.

“We need to take him back to the inner circle,” Artem warned, not quite standing between Bran and Avery, but not giving her a clear route either. “They can get information from him.”

[benjyfenwiick]

Date: February 15th, 1982, Early Morning Location: Potter Estate, Healer’s Quarters @bristlybranwen​

A swift nudge right in his asscrack was how Benjy woke up the morning after the engagement party. He rolled over with a soft groan, air moving from his lips. Opening one eye just to peek at who was touching his backside showed Branwen, her foot leaving the cot. So she’d kicked him right in the butt then? He looked over and saw Emmeline, still asleep in the cot next to his, so close they were practically one giant cot, though enough room between to fall if either rolled too much to the side. 

“What are you doing?” Benjy said to Bran, whispering in order to not wake up his mentor. Emmeline had enough stress from the night before - and based on the light coming through the curtains, they’d barely gotten a few hours of sleep. It was creepy, knowing he’d fallen asleep in the same room as a dead body - eyes moving over to the only private cot where James Potter now rested, unmoving, not breathing - but he’d been too tired to care much when he’d passed out on the cot.

He shifted into a seated position, looking up at Bran. Running a hand over his face, he shook his head slightly to try and wake himself more. “Is everything okay? Someone hurt?” He glanced at his watch - he hadn’t written home the night before. His mother would be worried. At this point, he’d probably have to invent some fake girlfriend to attribute to all the nights where he didn’t come home. Because Merlin knew he wasn’t about to have the ability to impress a real girl to hop into a relationship with. 

[dearborncaradoc]

Bran's Cauldron

@bristlybranwen

She handed him the cauldron at the Christmas party, before entering the Estate, standing by the front until he arrived. Purebloods were told to be punctual, that was, 15 minutes late. So she’d been 15 minutes early. Just for him, just this once.

It wasn’t wrapped up (fuck, how do you even wrap up a cauldron?) and there wasn’t much to say.

“Yours. You paid up front. Have fun.” And as she was about to go into the Estate, when she paused again. “I hope it helps your dad.” Then she left.

It had to do more with his lack of want to go to a party and less about his pureblood upbringing that brought Caradoc late to the party. Not too late, because good manners would forbid him to do so. Thus here he was, approaching the Potter Estate, as he had promised Kingsley. 

Of all the things he expected of the night, to find Branwen Yaxley to wait for him was not one of them. Just as well as to be handed the cauldron he had commissioned here. He couldn’t even hide his surprise quickly enough—raised eyebrows, widened eyes, lips ajar—but he could turn it into a frown. Narrowing his eyes as he looked at Branwen making her way into the Estate.

“Thank you,” he said, being at a loss for other words and really not having the time for more before she disappeared inside.

Caradoc looked at the cauldron. 

‘I hope it helps your dad.’ 

He hoped so, too. 

[dearborncaradoc]

Caradoc drinks some of the punch that Fab and Branwen spiked!

There was a cup of punch in his hand, which Caradoc wasn’t sure how it had gotten there. He wasn’t exactly sure it was his hand to start with, since he could see it attached to his arm but couldn’t feel it. He tried to move it, to see if it was truly his, but everything seemed to happen at an incredibly slow speed.That’s strange, he thought, just as he would think ‘it’s raining again’ on any day of the week.

While he waited for his hand to raise the cup to his lips, his eyes looked up to the sea of people in the room. Their bodies, frozen in time, were a blur of colours yet they all faded in comparison with the vibrant colours of the flowers atop of its head. Lady’s smock, rosebay willowherb and wild daffodils. The bones underneath them were smooth and shining a pearly white, but the cloak around them was stained by dirt and where there should’ve been eyes two dark pits looked back at him instead.

Mari Lwyd.

How did it get here? Where was Edgar?

He was sitting next to him on the couch. They had been there for what was an hour or more, talking. Well, Edgar more than Caradoc. Now it would come the joke, a moment of silence and then Caradoc was laughing. He could feel it blooming inside his chest and knew that if he stayed there they would soon all be laughing until they felt the tears in the corner of their eyes.

So, he left to get some fresh air. Everything was wrong.

This wasn’t him having a picnic in the countryside. It wasn’t his arm, fair-skinned and freckled, holding a glass of red wine. The girl next to him, with the beautiful ebony skin and pink-dyed hair, wasn’t his girlfriend. But the sun was up for the first time in two weeks and they had taken the day off just to enjoy it in full. He was playing with the idea of proposing now instead to wait for their dinner Saturday night, when she asked him, “What’s that?” pointing at a red point crawling out of a hole.

Caradoc left before they would start screaming.

It was night again, and he let out a relieved sigh when he was able to sit down on the border of the fountain at the Potter Estate. Edgar was sitting next to him, again, smoking a pipe. This was the first time that Caradoc had seen him do so. The air smelled of chocolate and fire.

Except it didn’t. Just as there was no one sitting beside him. 

He looked down at the cup in his hand, the amber liquid inside. I’ve been a fool, he thought, harshly, and silently vanished both. There was nothing else he could do but wait outside, hoping that the effects of whatever it had been in the drink would soon end before his mind would slip into more and more drawers.

@bristlybranwen @a-glasshalfempty