#mockingbird ministries

[philipkindreddickhead]

100 Fiction Books to Read Before You Die

The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

The Book of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Sparks

The Girl by Meridel Le Sueur

The Kitchen God's Wife by Amy Tan

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Veronica by Mary Gaitskill

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Kindred by Octavia Butler

Middlemarch by George Eliot

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Passing by Nella Larson

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather

Play it as it Lays by Joan Didion

The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende

Wuthering Heights Emily Bronte

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

White Teeth by Zadie Smith

The Power by Naomi Alderman

The Street by Ann Petry

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskill

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones

Small Island by Andrea Levy

The Idiot by Elif Batuman

The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton

The Price of Salt/Carol by Patricia Highsmith

Room by Emma Donoghue

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch

Garden of Earthly Delights by Joyce Carol Oates

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

Wise Blood by Flannery O Conner

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsey

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall

House of Incest by Anaïs Nin

The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

Corregidora by Gayl Jones

Whose Names are Unknown by Sanora Babb

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

See Now Then by Jamaica Kincaid

The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri

Beloved by Toni Morrison

The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

The Ministry of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati Roy

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

My Antonia by Willa Cather

Democracy by Joan Didion

Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates

The Violent Bear it Away by Flannery O Connor

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand

I Must Betray You be Ruta Sepetys

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

The Mare by Mary Gaitskill

City of Beasts by Isabel Allende

Fledgling by Octavia Butler

A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula Le Guin

The First Bad Man by Miranda July

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Hurston

Disobedience by Naomi Alderman

Quicksand by Nella Larsen

The Narrows by Ann Petry

The Blood of Others by Simone de Beauvoir

Under the Sea by Rachel Carson

Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee

Under the Net by Iris Murdoch

The Birdcatcher by Gayl Jones

Desert of the Heart by Jane Rule

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez

The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa

@gaydalf @kishipurrun @unsentimentaltranslator @algolagniaa @stariduks @hippodamoi

[sniperjade]

Every Turn a Surprise

Hermione hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Malfoy all weekend. Thankfully, she and Ginny had offered to help Luna with her trip to Africa. It was Erumpent mating season and they were tasked with preventing the rather volatile creatures from blowing up during sex.

Hermione’s part in the process was to monitor arousal levels and if any of the beasts got close to the predetermined rate, she was to signal Ginny or Luna who would petrify them until their heart rates calmed down. It was intense work, as she was monitoring several beasts at a time, but between the three of them, they had minimal casualties. According to the overseer, it was one of the most successful seasons of all time.

Of course, coupled with the thoughts of Malfoy, and Ginny’s never-ending stream of innuendo, it meant that by the time Monday came around she was a little on edge. She’d also been avoiding Varek who had been lounging around her house giving her smug looks. Whilst her libido was roaring at her to call for the mockingbird again, her conscious was treating her to a stream of disappointment and guilt. She needed to find a way to get more information out of Varek without losing her mind, and to do that she needed to stop listening to the throbbing in her nether regions for ten seconds. Something that did not feel particularly likely.

When Malfoy exited the lifts, she could instantly tell that something was different. Instead of his usual bluster, he seemed subdued, almost pensive. As always, his robes were pristine and his hair perfectly coiffed, but there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Good morning, Malfoy,” she said, trying to make her voice sound far less nervous than she felt.

He looked up and scanned her from head to toe before purring, “Good morning, Granger.”

Oh God. That was not good. Her libido suddenly went into overdrive, and she let out a rather insane-sounding laugh. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

His face fell and he looked away. “I suppose. I was staying with a friend as he helped me out with some things.”

“Astoria was okay with you disappearing for a weekend?” she asked with a frown.

He clenched his teeth as he walked past, his hands balling at his sides. “Yep,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “She was totally fine with it,” he sighed, “like always.”

Hermione examined him as they walked in silence. He was comfortable now in the haphazard ministry corridors, with their constant changing and shifting. The trick really was just knowledge of the room you wanted and confidence. It really only decided to mess with you if you showed fear.

Malfoy wasn’t acting like himself today, and it was making her confused.

“Are you okay with that?”

He stopped stock still, his head whipping around to face her. She held her breath. The last time she’d seen him look like this was before Harry had cut him to pieces with the Sectumsempra. Desperate, tired, and fearful, but of what she had no idea.

He gulped and then laughed nervously. “Why wouldn’t I be? She’s the sweetest person alive.”

Hermione bit her tongue for the rest of the journey to the lab. When they got there, he took off his robe and hung it on the hook before readying his wand to cast. She couldn’t help but let her eyes drag down over that long form. It was sinful how attractive this man looked in a suit. And out of one.

Fuck. She had to keep it together. She was a modern woman, and she wasn’t about to let her raging hormones control her.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?” she asked brusquely, recasting the diagnostic charms.

He turned to her with a sly smile and one raised eyebrow. “What? When we were bent over the table together?”

She spluttered as she responded with a voice several octaves higher than normal. “Malfoy!”

He didn’t respond and simply pushed his hands into his pockets and continued to stare. It was unsettling, almost like he was seducing her, but that couldn’t possibly be right. He was married and furthermore he hated the very ground she walked on. Doesn’t he?

She couldn’t shake the feeling she was suddenly in the presence of a predator. A hungry predator that was bruised and broken and looking to feed.

Clearing her throat, she gestured to the bowl. “Let's get started.”

Read the rest on Ao3

[dixiedrudge]

Criminals Associated with Antifa and Jane's Revenge Reach Settlement with Miami Pregnancy Center

Help Spread Mockingbird Non-Compliant News! Like, Share, Re-Post, and Subscribe! There’s a lot more to see at our main page, Dixie Drudge! A pregnancy resource center in Miami has reached a “favorable” settlement with vandals who attacked its facility in 2022. (Live Action) – Heartbeat of Miami is described as “a faith-based ministry that provides life-affirming services and support to women and…

[xtruss]

FilePhoto. © AFP/Mark Schiefelbein

Beijing Brands Hegemonic, Liar and War Criminal US ‘True Empire of Lies’

China has slammed a State Department report that claims the country has been spending billions to manipulate information worldwide

Beijing has labeled Washington the “true empire of lies” as it dismissed allegations contained in a new report by the US State Department, which accused China of “global information manipulation.”

“Some in the US may think that they can prevail in the information war as long as they produce enough lies. But the people of the world are not blind,” China’s Foreign Ministry said in a statement on Saturday. It added that “more and more people in the world” are seeing through America’s “ugly attempt to perpetuate its supremacy” with lies.

The US has a long history of manipulation and disinformation campaigns, the ministry continued, citing a number of examples spanning from the early Cold War period to the present day.

“From Operation Mockingbird, which bribed and manipulated news media for propaganda purposes in the Cold War era, to a vial of white powder and a staged video of the ‘White Helmets’ cited as evidence to wage wars of aggression in Iraq and Syria earlier this century, and then to the enormous lie made up to smear China’s Xinjiang policy, facts have proven time and again that the US is an ‘empire of lies’ through and through,” it stated.

“The US Department of State Report is in Itself Disinformation, As It Misrepresents Facts and Truth.”

The report in question was released by the State Department’s Global Engagement Center on Thursday. It alleged that Beijing has been spending billions each year to wage an elaborate misinformation campaign worldwide, while using “deceptive and coercive methods” to shape the global information agenda.

“Beijing uses false or biased information to promote positive views of the PRC and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). At the same time, the PRC suppresses critical information that contradicts its desired narratives on issues such as Taiwan, its human rights practices, the South China Sea, its domestic economy, and international economic engagement,” according to the report.

However, Beijing’s alleged efforts have had only a limited impact worldwide, and China has experienced “major setbacks” while trying to target “democratic” countries, it claims. It attributed the purported failure of the alleged misinformation efforts to civil society and local media, which it said were well-developed in the “democratic” countries that were targeted.

— RT | Saturday 30 September, 2023

[bonewoodandstone]

Other times, I’ll have a family that’s been told, “Just stay in hope. Just stay in the joy of the Lord.” But they’re noticing in themselves that they’re really distressed. They’re anything but joyful or hopeful, and they’re not feeling faithful, and they’re worried that maybe their feelings are going to be taken as a lack of faith. And if they’re thinking in these terms, they’re also thinking they could be responsible for their child’s death. And that’s where bad theology can do genuine harm.

I’ll ask them, “Do you remember when Jesus was on the cross?” They know the story, and I’ll remind them of the thief who said, “Don’t you know who you’re talking to?” And what did Jesus say to him? Jesus said, “Today you’ll be with me in paradise.” From the cross—death was going to happen—Jesus spoke a word of comfort and hope that is reliable. “Today you’ll be with me in paradise.”

But from that same cross, the same Jesus cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus gives us permission, by his example, to simultaneously hope—to hope in the kingdom, to hope that he has overcome death, to hope that death is not the end of the story—and to lament, to say, “I feel so alone. I do not know where you are. I feel so abandoned. Where are you?” If Jesus can do that on the cross, surely that gives us permission to feel what we need to feel and to not think that that’s somehow going to disrupt the goodness of God.

- Ray Barfield. Mockingbird Interview.

[kramlabs]

The first prime-time Presidential Address from the Oval Office not broadcast since Harry Truman in 1947?

If you can find the full 13:52 speech on FOX, CBS, NBC, CNN, CSPAN, send me link.

https://rumble.com/vc603b-full-statement-by-donald-j.-trump-the-president-of-the-united-states-122220.html

[amphxtrite]

2 • Hideaway.

chapter summary: Cedric finally catches the chance to talk to you, hidden away in the shelves of the library. What starts as an innocent attempt to befriend you ends in your walls crashing down, but Cedric is willing to change and listen.

series summary: alone almost everyday from the moment you were born, thrown to the side by everyone in society because of who your parents were and who you were said to be, a death eater. Your parents were to of the most powerful dark wizards ever known and because of that you were shunned everywhere you went. When the hufflepuff golden boy sees you for the first time and falls, but is he willing to be judged, feared, and hated, and how far will he go, To Be At Her Side.

warnings: swearing, flashback, breakdown, mentions of wanting to be dead.

taglist: @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @hoe4cedricdiggory @queenl04 @persephone-archives @0niko-san @annasdani @joalinbenefits @awritingtree

word count: 2.2k

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

Hideaway.

a place used as a retreat or a hiding place.

The Hogwarts library was a grand room, filled top to bottom with books of all kinds; Fantasy, romance, science fiction, history, anything you could imagine, could be found in the pages of a thick leather bound journal or thin paperback with a cracked spine.

Most students took the library for granted, preferring to spend their time at Hogsmeade or around the lake, but for you, anywhere with too many students was a disaster waiting to happen.

The library was your hide away, a retreat from the prying eyes of the student body. A place you could smile, read and do whatever you pleased without judgement. Madam Pince had practically left this place for you to roam, she was far enough away where you could be at peace from her constant shushing, and because of the lack of students most days, it was usually just you.

The past few months, you’d been slipping into the deep bookshelves to hide yourself, immersing yourself in the text of the wise witches and wizards who had come before you, reading their stories and spells and learning all they knew.

Your safe space became the closed shelves, home smelt like old books and wood, tranquility came in the form of muggle stories and old journals.

While you sat stowed away in a far corner of your hideaway, eyes scanning over the stories of old Greek heroes, Cedric sat in the great hall, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

He had barely seen you since the incident in potions all those months ago, winter had arrived, and he felt strange saying it, but he missed you.

He missed the girl whom he’d never even spoken to.

He missed your eyes filled with strength, holding yourself with pride despite what people believed.

He missed your hair that frames your face so perfectly.

He missed you although he barely knew who you were, and he wanted to see you more than just a quick glance in class before you disappeared through the door.

Cedric wasn’t proud of it, but he began following you after your last class with him, to see where you snuck away to.

The first couple tries resulted in him losing you through the crowd, but he’d managed to catch you slipping into the library on a Saturday morning during breakfast.

His hand hovers over the door knob, mentally debating if he should enter, try his luck at talking to you.

It was Saturday, Hogsmeade weekend. No one was going to be in the library today, he should be alright.

Pushing open the large door, Cedric readjusts his eyes to the dim lighting of the library paired with the bright white light streaming through the windows.

He made sure to be quiet, closing the door and slowly walking through the room, using his lightest steps in hopes not to be noticed.

Pince must’ve been at breakfast because besides the small ruffle of pages being turned in the distance. The library was completely silent.

A small yellow light flickered in the corner of Cedric’s eye, guiding him as you lay unaware, nose stuck in a book.

He follows the sound of paper being turned, and light breathing.

He begins his ascend up a stairway to the second story of the library and through the shelves where he saw the flicker of light.

His heart began to rush as your breathing grew closer. His hands were clenched into fists and his face was flushed. This was it, he was finally going to talk to you.

You sigh in content as you set down the muggle classic ‘To Kill A Mockingbird.’ You lay for a couple moments just staring at the ceiling as you shook your head, maybe you didn’t have it as bad as what others dealt with in the muggle world.

You sit up and pick up the small novel, slipping it back into place on the shelf.

“Harper Lee. I’ll have to read up on her.” You mumble to yourself as you skim the old spines.

Your thoughts are cut short when a shiver runs down your spine and you sense a presence behind you. Swiveling your body, only the sight of rows upon rows of books make themselves present, but you knew better than to believe you were alone.

“Who’s there?” You ask no one in particular.

You’re about to open your mouth again, when a mess of brown hair, pokes out from behind the science fiction shelf.

“H-Hello.” The boy spoke, finally revealing himself from the shelf.

You recognized the boy as the one from your classes. The one you gave the note too.

He doesn’t give up does he?

“If you’re here to make a snide remark, please leave me alone.” You sigh, pulling a random novel from the shelf as you turn and retreat back to your spot.

“I-I would do no such thing.” the boy states, beginning to follow you. “I’m Cedric, Cedric Diggory. We have potions and transfigurations together!”

“I’m aware.” You nod, trying to ignore him.

You almost felt bad for the boy, Cedric. He obviously hadn’t planned this far and his mind was frantically searching for words.

“Look I’m sorry for coming around like this I just-.”

“I don’t need your pity Diggory, now please just leave me be.” You remark, sitting on your blanket laid neatly on the floor.

“No please, y/n right?” Cedric smiles extending his hand.

“I know you know my name Cedric. Everyone at this bloody school does.” You hiss, voice laced with venom, surprising Cedric and causing him to step back.

You don’t mean to be cold, but you were not in the mood to make friends. This was bound to end in disaster, and you didn’t need to add another person to the long list of failed attempts.

“I-I understand, I was just-.”

“Oh that’s rich.” You scoff.

Cedric can see your attempt at being rude, but for some reason, he isn’t hurt by it.

Your eyes are jumping around him, refusing to meet him. Your leg is shaking up and down anxiously. Your hand is massaging the area on your chest your locket should be.

You were nervous.

Cedric takes a deep breath, refocusing himself.

“Look y/n, I just wanted to talk to you, try and become your friend.”

Your eyes flicker down, doubt and fear swim through them as you shuffle away from Cedric, trying to make yourself as small as possible, hoping he’d grow bored and leave.

“W-Where’s that locket you always wear?” He attempts, only causing you to flinch back further and drop your hand from your neck.

“None of your business Diggory.

Cedric wasn’t about to give up, and he took a seat on a chair at a desk not too far from you.

“I-I’m not interested in making friends.” You murmur, cursing yourself for your voice, cursing yourself for being weak.

“There’s no need to be afraid, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“There’s no need to be afraid, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Your mind is thrown into a distant memory that haunted you, and your head begins to spin.

The horrid day the aurors surrounded your house.

Your parents clutched you close to them as the wizards holding wands to their throats ripped you from their grasp.

“Take the child for a moment.”

Unfamiliar arms encased you before placing you on the carpet, leaving you as you bawled for your parents. You could only see them being disapparated away as your mother's locket appeared in your hand. Your last piece of her and your father.

The large boots of ministry workers and auror’s stood before you, discussing amongst themselves what to do with you.

“There’s no need to be afraid, I’m not here to hurt you.” One remarks, lifting you up, but holding you an arm lengths away.

“There’s no way people will be safe around her.”

“Her parents have probably already brainwashed her.”

“Can someone shut her up?!”

That was the last thing you heard before the sleeping charm was cast on you.

Your vision goes red, your fists clench and without thinking you pull your wand from your pocket and stomp forwards.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, but you ruined my life! You’ll never know what I fucking went through because of your ignorance. I was a child you asshole, I was three and you fucking took my parents from me and left me to die at that god forsaken orphanage!” You scream, eyes clouding with tears as you press your wand closer to someone’s neck, but it slips your mind, who.

“They may have been evil, but they were all I ever had! You should’ve just killed me there, it would’ve been better than living this life!” You rage, bringing your wand to meet their neck.

Cedric stands with his hands beside his face in surrender, his breathing heavy as he watches your grip on your wand tighten and your tears stream down your face.

“Y/n, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. P-Please don’t hurt me.”

Cedric’s eyes squeeze shut and after a couple moments of silence the sound of wood cluttering on the floor signals him to open them again.

Your hands fly to your face as your legs fail you, dropping you to the ground as you back yourself into the nearest wall, tucking yourself into a ball.

“I-I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.” You sob, pulling your hair and using your palms to wipe the tears.

“Y/n!”

“No! Stay away from me! I’ll only make it worse.” You sniffle, trying to escape Cedric’s gaze.

“Please just leave me, I’m a monster Cedric, leave before I do hurt you.” You sob, hiding your face again.

Cedric ignores this and slides to the floor next to you, pulling a handkerchief from his book bag and holding it to you.

“No, y/n it’s not your fault. I made you remember something. Didn’t I?” Cedric sighs, sitting in front of you.

“Does it matter? I could have killed you! I’m just like them.” You shout, turning away from the hufflepuff as he turns with you.

“Y/n, look at me. Please look at me.” Cedric pleas.

“You’re afraid of me, admit it.”

“Y/n, I-”

“Admit it Cedric.” You cry, pushing yourself farther away.

“It's not your fault I made you cry y/n. I’m sorry.” Cedric apologizes, gently pulling your hands away from your tear stained cheeks.

“D-don’t touch me. I could have hurt you Cedric. I can’t forgive myself for that.” You whimper, turning your head to avoid his kind grey eyes.

“I’m fine y/n, look at me. You didn’t hurt me, just scared me is all.” Cedric smiles, attempting to reassure you.

“What have I done?”

Cedric’s smile drops at your comment.

“Y/n.” Cedric lifts his hand to wipe the tears from your face.

“No, please don’t.”

Cedric sighs and drops his hand, opting to take your hand into his instead.

“You could never hurt me y/n, please don’t do this to yourself.”

“Oh it’s too late for that Diggory. I’ve been doing this my whole life.” You smile incredulously.

“I’ll always be the daughter of the l/n’s. I’ll never be able to change that. And you saw what I did. I’m just like them.”

Cedric opens his mouth to deny your claim, but you cut him off.

“You know what's funny too? I still miss them, I still wish they’d come to hold me, but I guess that’s just the childhood loneliness talking.”

“Y/n.”

“How could they bring a child into this world after everything they did and expect it to be okay? How could they leave me here?” You whimper as a fresh wave of sadness hits you.

“I’ve been alone everyday of my life Cedric, treated like an animal, a threat, a monster.”

You take a deep breath and allow the tears to flow freely.

“I feel like I’m just payment of a debt my parents owe, l-like I’m nothing.”

Cedric listens intently, slowly stroking the back of your hand and offering the handkerchief to you again.

You shake your head.

“I-I’d like you to go now.” You mumble, retracting your hand from Cedric’s warm grasp.

“Please don’t push me away y/n. If you don’t want my pity I understand, but I really do want to be your friend.” Cedric smiles gently and extends his hand out to you.

Your eyes flash in fear and doubt again, but you accept his outstretched hand.

“You understand how hard it’s gonna be for me to trust you?” You state.

Cedric nods his head.

“You’re not going to be afraid to be seen with me in public?” You push, remembering the first day he saw you.

Cedric freezes for a moment, knowing what you’re referring to, his head fights with his heart, but he knows his answer. He pushes his own fear aside and smiles.

“Why would I? You’re my friend now right?” He chuckles, earning himself a small grin from you.

“You have a beautiful smile you know.”

Your eyes lift from their spot on the floor into Cedric’s bright grey ones.

“T-Thank you.”

Cedric nods, sitting in peaceful silence beside you as you slowly catch your breath.

“Any chance you’d like to meet here tomorrow?” Cedric suggests, scratching the back of his neck.

“I-I’d like that.” You smile, sniffling into your sleeve.

[p-and-p-admin]

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group.  (sharing here Admin approved)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello Emma Ficready and welcome to Behind the Quill, it’s wonderful to finally have the chance to chat with you.

Many readers will know you already from works like “Chimaera” and “Sins of the father” for those that don’t,  a Trigger Warning from Emma that  their works contain graphic violence and abuse and may cause distress to some readers. 

Okay, let’s jump right in. What's the story behind your pen name? It's actually my previous name! Although very apt for a fiction writer. Though it's pronounced more like Thick - Reedy, I use it over my new name because my partner does not know I'm a fiction writer, and I  don't think they'd react well if they found out, it's something they'd struggle with. I'm a long term partial carer for them and they have some mental health issues, so I try to avoid any situations that could be a potential trigger. Plus I like having something all to myself. Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most? I think I would say I probably relate to Severus Snape the most. I can relate to how 'damaged' he is, and how much the bullying he endured as a child, affected the adult he became. Do you have a favourite genre to read? (not in fic, just in general) I think I like to read angst the most, as to me that's more real, I don't generally read stories that are entirely fluffy all the way through. I love a happy ending, but  I can't cope with total fluff because I find it unrelatable, life isn't sunshine and daisies all the time. Do you have a favourite "classic" novel? I don't know if it's old enough to be classed as a classic, but I'd have to say 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee. At what age did you start writing? Very young. I had my first poem published by aged 10. How did you get into writing fanfiction? After being heartbroken at the end of Harry Potter series , I just wanted more and I had been reading fanfiction stories for years. I was constantly looking for stories, I'd get this thought in my head and it was like 'I wonder if I can find a story about this' and when I couldn't I just thought... well why don't I write it? I also find the writing very cathartic. What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works? I love hurt / comfort fics. I'm a sucker for it. It is something that I represent quite a lot in my fictions, because I can see both Hermione and Severus in that role in their own individual way. Hermione who is constantly a champion and a voice for others, and Severus who is there quietly and thanklessly fighting for others the entire time, I can see both of them naturally falling into those roles of 'saving' someone , without it being out of character. What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter? I'm not particularly active in any other fandoms, I have always been a Buffy Fan and I love the Inheritance cycle books by Christopher Paolini , though short of reading other fanfictions I am not active in the community like I am with Harry Potter. If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? The epilogue, probably the  most common answer you get  and I know everyone is going to expect me to say because she never should've married Ron, but I can see her marrying him and subsequently divorcing him as being true to Character but I'd change the epilogue because I don't think Hermione would or should ever have settled for being a ministry worker, she deserved so much more. Do you have a favourite piece of fanon? I don't know if this counts but... Severus's Patronus changing after he survives the war. I see the doe as symbolic to the debt he felt he owed her, and I like the thought of the visual change of patronus, representing the emotional change he goes through in accepting the past and moving on now he feels that he's fulfilled his promises. Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet? Quiet! I love music, the heavier the better actually, but I have to be in the right frame of mind for it. Otherwise I can sometimes get sensory overload. I hate white noise and things like asmr, I often wear hats or headbands, or have my hood up to block out some noise. What are your favourite fanfictions of all time? How long have you got? Honestly that's not an easy question to answer, and it doesn't have one answer. But I could say that some of the stories I find myself reading over and over again are 'Sin & Vice' , 'Another Dream' and 'Lay me low'. There's no way I could write all my favourites down here, but they're the ones I re-read most often. My favourite WIP is probably ' Inkstains' Are you a plotter or a pantser? 90% Panster. I will literally have one small idea, it could  be one small interaction, one conversation or one event that pops into my head and I will end up writing a story around that one small thing. My story signs entirely stemmed from the one interaction of Severus handing Hermione the note. I knew I wanted that, and then it was by the pants from then on How does that affect your writing process? It means that I do update my stories in a regular order, so no one story is left too long without an update. I literally sit down, crack my knuckles and go 'right, I'm writing the next chapter of this story now. I write it and post it as soon as it's finished. I write from my phone too, so I apologise for any grammatical or spelling errors, auto-correct is the bane of my life at times What is your writing genre of choice? Have you read my fictions!? Interviewer: Well yeah, but I’m asking because you’ll be new to at least  some of the audience. (chuckles) Ha. Sorry. Angst, all the way. I write angst and hurt/comfort, very dark stories as I pull a lot of my ideas from the real life experiences of myself and friends I met in therapy. Writing about trauma is very cathartic for me and helps me process my own feelings about my own history. Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why? Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it? How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write? That's a tough one, as there are elements to all of them that are important to me. None of the stories I write quite unfold like I imagined they would, they just sort of take off and I'm along for the ride. I'd be remiss not to talk about Not the Same girl at this point, as that story has probably had the biggest impact for me, the responses it's had and the people reaching out to me, both positively and negatively. I've had some outright hate over that fic, and abusive messages to the point that I almost gave in altogether and I think because of that people will expect me to say Not the Same girl is the fiction I relate to most, and while I do draw a lot from personal experience it's actually Father Mine as that resonates with me on a more personal level, that and an as yet unpublished WIP I have in the works, I think the huge dichotomy of feedback I've had for stories like Not the Same girl though, have both given me a thicker skin to the hate and encouraged me through the sheer overwhelming amount of people who’ve reached out, that find the stories cathartic in dealing with their own trauma, which is gratifying as an author to do that for people, when I myself am looking for that same release in writing it. It's great to have this mutual satisfaction and it's really rewarding. What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing? I think probably going to refer back to Harper Lee and to kill a mockingbird. The whole premise of telling a story that no one wants to hear or acknowledge, the things that are widely known but rarely spoken about. In “To kill a mockingbird” it's sexism, racism and prejudice against others based on their mental health or intelligence but we still see this so much in daily life, about how much hate and horror and suffering is seen in day to day life, the trauma that so many people have suffered is widely known but swept under the rug because it's easier. No. Hell No. Fuck that. Hiding doesn't change any of it, it may be under the rug but it's still there. People rape other people, people hurt other people, people discriminate based on gender, sexual preferences, skin colour, occupation, people have suffered in life and are damaged by it. Acknowledge it. Don't  brush it under the rug, don't ignore it because it's more comfortable for most people, shine the light on it and say. "This is real. This happens. We need to acknowledge it and we need to do something about it"  And I think that's shown in my writing , I don't glorify  anything, I'm not writing snuff but I don't hide anything either. I make people see this is something that I won't gloss over. Does it make you uncomfortable? Good , it should. If people are uncomfortable , at least they are acknowledging the realness of that situation and not ignoring it. Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction? How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"? Nobody knows I write fanfiction,  I use a previous name and I very much write for my own cathartic relief. I chose not to share that I write fiction because I'm a carer for my partner, I don't know how they'd react, it could honestly go either way where they'd be absolutely fine or it would trigger them and I'd have to stop, that's the reason I keep it to myself, I'd hate to do something that would mean I'd have to stop writing, not when so many people are so emotionally invested in the stories that I write. How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media? Reviews man. Reviews are the nectar of life, I read every single one and though I don't have time  to reply to most, trust me when I say that I treasure each one and appreciate them immensely. I have my social media which I find the easiest way to speak to people , I have my own Page on Facebook and I'm on a number of SS/HG groups. It's hugely important to me to speak to my audience and I really encourage them to get in touch with me, I'm always happy to talk about my work and people have been in touch just to talk about their feelings or emotions that have been triggered by my work and I welcome it all.  I mean, I've got people translating my stories them into French, into Russian...it's crazy, I never expected it to be so popular and I am always happy to hear from people. Though I apologise if I don't respond straight away,  I have to write on the sly and sometimes real life takes over, so I can't log in for a week or more at a time.   What is the best advice you've received about writing? First and Foremost, write for yourself. The rest is just gravy. What do you do when you hit writer's block? I move on to another story. I always have more than one WIP at any one time, If I can't find inspiration for one, I'll update another, or start a jumble of notes for others. There's always something that needs to be written down, even if it wasn't what I had planned on. Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing? Very much so. Almost all the trauma and hurt and situations that appear in my stories are either translated from my own experiences or those of people I know. Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser? I had a number of stories in the works! When A Cure For Magic is completed, I will most likely post the next one up. I can't give too much away , but the next story is called "Catching Fire" and will be an incredibly dark story, with a lot of morally grey characters. Any words of encouragement to other writers? Just do it.  If you want to write it,. write it. First and foremost write for yourself. Don't listen to anyone who's negative ,or unsupportive. I get so many people message me saying things like 'I want to be a writer', but don't know where to start' and to which my answer is you already are a writer. Writing is 99% mental, you have the words, they're there in your head, you just haven't put them down yet. Thanks so much for giving us your time.   Any time , it's been great and I'm happy to answer questions any time , thank you for inviting me.

[xaxtonx]

“A numinous feeling took hold of his soul as words spoken by that of a thousand tongues formulates in his ears. His heart pounds, expertly performing a melody like no other as ministry lights cross his vision.”

- Axton Mockingbird Lee Miller, Sorry

[warenerd]

100 Days of Graphic Novels

Subtitle: “Working 70 Hour Weeks and Commuting Means Reading But Not Writing.”

I am trying for more accountability, but, when my idiotic work schedule gets even more idiotic, sometimes it’s just my judgmental calendar of doom that’s keeping me on track. Also my cat. He judges me - harshly.

Look on my missing leg, ye Mighty, and despair!

Ahem. Anyway. So many books:

Day 1: The Umbrella Academy vol 1: The Apocalypse Suite Day 2: CatStronauts: Mission Mars Day 3: Apannine War Diary Day 4: Alex + Ada vol 1 Day 5: Alex + Ada vol 2 Day 6: Visitations Day 7: Another Day of Life Day 8: Daredevil Visionaries: Frank Miller vol 1 Day 9: Punisher: Welcome Back, Frank Day 10: Scarlet Witch vol 1: Witches’ Road Day 11: Jessica Jones vol 1: Uncaged Day 12: Infidel Day 13: The Deep Blue Good-by Day 14: City of Illusions Day 15: Mockingbird vol 1: I Can Explain Day 16: Ms. Marvel vol 1: Best of the Best Day 17: X-Men Gold vol 1: Back to the Basics Day 18: Kaptara vol 1: Fear Not, Tiny Alien Day 19: Eclipse vol 1 Day 20: Defenders vol 1: Diamonds are Forever Day 21: Hellcat vol 1: Hooked on a Feline Day 22: Chosin Day 23: Elektra vol 1: Bloodlines Day 24: They’re Not Like Us Day 25: Multiple Man vol 1: It All Makes Sense in the End Day 26: Captain America: Sam Wilson: Not My Captain America Day 27: A Russian Journal Day 28: Iron Patriot vol 1: Unbreakable Day 29: Divinity Day 30: Jessica Jones: Alias vol 1 Day 31: Tales of Suspense: Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier Day 32: The Fuse vol 1: The Russian Shift Day 33: Jessica Jones: Alias vol 2 Day 34: Into the Tunnel Day 34: Jessica Jones: Alias vol 3 Day 35: A-Force vol 1 Day 36: Edge of the Spider-Verse Day 37: Descender vol 1 Day 38: Descender vol 2 Day 39: Black Panther: World of Wakanda Day 40: A Farewell to Arms Day 41: I’m Not Leaving Day 42: Green Arrow: Year One Day 43: Daniel’s Story Day 44: Aurora’s Motive Day 45: Jessica Jones vol 4 Day 46: Symmetry Day 47: Afar Day 48: Morning Glories vol 1

Day 49: One Way Ticket

           A math professor at a nearby university related her escape from WWII to England. Interesting not just for the political trials and hoops through which she had to jump to get herself and her family out of Europe, but also for the way that retelling, rather than primary recording, has influenced the main thrust of the story. Also: illustrated. Adorably.

Day 50: The life of Captain Marvel

            I’m not saying I hated this book – I’m just saying that I’m opposed to it on a cellular level.

Day 51: Captain Marvel vol 1: In Pursuit of Flight

            Did I need a mind-bleach of what I’d read the day before? Yes. Yes, I did.

Day 52: The Boy Who Reversed Himself             True story: William Sleator was my favorite author for about a year in middle school. I read every one of his books that our libraries had, and then I read them all again. Six or seven times each (to the shock of absolutely no one who knows me). This book has forever changed the way I consider catsup. And it wasn’t nearly as racist as I’d expected, flipping back through. Hooray?

Day 53: To Fight Alongside Friends

            My best friend roped me into doing an online werewolf game based in WWI. I role-played as Charlie May, the author of this diary, and refused to respond with anything but direct quotes from his book. If nothing else, I entertain myself.

Day 54: Operation: Broken Wings

Day 55: My War Diary

            This one is by Dov Yermiya and is about Lebanon from June 5 – July 1, 1982. I have about six books within easy reach called “My War Diary.” This could prove problematic later. (Also, despite writing about Waltz With Bashir in grad school and for my dissertation, I still don’t know enough about this conflict)

Day 56: Descender vol 3 Day 57: Morning Glories vol 2 Day 58: The Drowned and the Saved Day 59: Jessica Jones: Pulse

Day 60: Zlata’s Diary

            I read this when sitting in the jail on a Friday night. There’s nothing quite so jarring as reading a firsthand account of the absolute disruption of life (and childhood, in a lot of ways), while listening to drunk sorority girls sob on their phones to their mothers and then scream about their Uber.

Day 61: Captain Marvel vol 2: Down Day 62: Avengers: The Enemy Within Day 63: Captain Marvel: Higher, Further, Faster, More Day 64: Captain Marvel: Stay Fly Day 65: Captain Marvel: Alis Volat Propiis Day 66: Carol Danvers vol 1: The Ms Marvel Years

Day 67: One Week in the Library

            Please give me more weeks, Image Comics. Please.

Day 68: The Troop

            Noel Clarke, I love you, but this feels like well-trod ground at this point.

Day 69: Bitch Planet

            I legitimately squealed, out loud, when Kelly Sue DeConnick was on screen during Captain Marvel. High pitched. And then, because I have no game, I whacked my BFF on the arm and whispered (er, “whispered”?) “THAT WAS KELLY SUE!!” No one else was impressed by my mad comic knowledge, but, eh.

Day 70: Jessica Jones vol 3: Return of the Purple Man

           Guess which superstar never read volume 2? That’s right - THIS superstar.

Day 71: Mr. & Mrs. X

            Basically, I love Gambit. I’m okay with Rogue, but I’ve lived in the Deep South for too long to be completely okay with the extremes of character. And I also don’t really like Deadpool. At all. Despite all of that, I still enjoyed this.

Day 72: Secret Avengers vol 1: Reverie

            Unlike this, which did NOT get better with age. Ooooof.

Day 73: Avengers AI vol 1: Human After All

Did I buy this simply for this picture of Vision holding a kitten? Yes. Do I regret that? No.

Day 74: Tet Day 75: Iron Fist: Rage Day 76: Zero vol 1: An Emergency Day 77: Faster than Light

Day 78: Descender vol 4: Orbital Mechanics

            I sent my BFF a copy of Descender because it’s gorgeous. Because she has even worse impulse control than me, she bought all of the other volumes and has already finished the series. I can’t even be mad.

Day 79: Lost Dossiers: Super Spy

            AKA: This would have made way more sense had I realized that this was a supplement to another work… which I don’t yet own. Womp womp womp. Maybe tomorrow I’ll read the From Hell companion, just for kicks.

Day 80: Carnet de Voyage Day 81: Hype Day 82: Dancer Day 83-85: Day 86: Wonderful World of Oz

Day 87: Port of Earth

            Know what I love about Zack Kaplan? He creates immersive worlds that aren’t just one thing – there’s not just one neat storyline wrapped up by the end of the trade, and there isn’t just one type of story at work.

Day 88: Material Day 89: Captain America: the 1940s Newspaper Strip Day 90: Peter Panzerfaust vol 1: The Great Escape Day 91: Cowl vol 1

Day 92: Ministry of Space

            That ending, though.

Day 93: X-Men Gold vol 2 Day 94: The Winter Soldier vol 1: The Longest Winter Day 95: The Winter Soldier vol 2: Broken Arrow

Day 96: Graphic Classics vol 22: African American Classics

            I yelped when I saw that Afua Richardson, Personal Hero, had worked on this. I have a panel from her illustration of Langston Hughes’ “Rivers” (done for NPR), and it is one of my very favorite things.

Day 97: New York: The Big City

Day 98: A Wexford Childhood

            You would think that a memoir covering 1915-1930 might touch on some rumbling of war. You’d be wrong. But, it was an interesting view of the changing world, nonetheless.

Day 99: Winter Soldier vol 3: Black Widow Hunt

            Brubaker, why must you hurt me so?

Day 100: X-Men Rarities

            There are few things that bring me such joy as the stiff pages of a 90s era Marvel trade – and, when those trades include comics with Chamber? I am so in. Now, someone explain to me how they always smell like cigarettes and wet dog, regardless of origin, and I’ll be all set.

[sjecblogarchive]

EPISCOPAL CHURCH WOMEN

09/08/2020

BY ANNA GALINA PETTY

EPISCOPAL CHURCH WOMEN

While many of our ministries take the summer off, Episcopal Church Women has continued to meet via Zoom throughout the summer. Our conversations have covered everything from school, travel, Netflix, and books to the work of our friends at Mockingbird Ministries.

ECW is for women of all ages to be in fellowship with each other. ECW plans to take the month of September “off” and hopes to gather (even if only virtually) again in October.

For more information, or to join our contact list, please email Margy Thomas mweastham@gmail.com or Jen Taylor Jennifer.taylor@saintjameswarrenton.org.

[petyrbaealish]

Chapter 3: Jealousy

Fandoms: Game of Thrones, Harry Potter

Ships: Petyr x Sansa

Fic Summary: Part 2 of The Wolf Who Lived series. A re-imagining of Harry Potter with Sansa Stark as The Wolf Who Lived, and Petyr Baelish as the Potions Master she fell in love with in her sixth year at Hogwarts. The Wolf Who Played chronicles her seventh year at Hogwarts, where the Triwizard Tournament and Petyr’s plans to introduce Muggle technology to the wizarding world give Sansa and her friends (and Petyr) more than enough to deal with.

Through it all, Sansa and Petyr work together to play the game, and win it.

Chapter Summary: A little afternoon delight ;). Sansa and Petyr talk about the disappearances and what they must mean.

Excerpt: Sansa stiffened as Ros made her way into the lift, but the other woman barely glanced Sansa’s way, too focused on talking with Petyr. His shoulder gently brushed against Sansa’s as he followed Ros into the lift, and Sansa felt the pulse quicken of the mockingbird above her heart, as her own pulse quickened in turn. It had been so steady before, calm and sure, but one touch and she’d sent his heart skittering.

Her jealousy waned, ever so slightly.

“Tywin’s really been up my ass lately,” Ros was saying, voice lowered. “What with the Cup, and the tournament, and now those disappearances. He’s getting anxious about the lack of improvement with the Ministry budget. ‘We can’t have our visiting dignitaries knowing how fragile things are,’ he says. Keeps insisting we need to put up a strong front.” She snorted. “Don’t know what he’s so worried about. It’s not like any of them will want to take over. They’ve got their own magical communities to worry about.”

Read more of Chapter 3 here.

Start from the beginning here.

Read The Wolf Who Lived here.

Edit by my dear friend Lyra, who probably won’t see this as she doesn’t have a tumblr anymore, but is amazing and so supportive and I love her to bits.

[beepbeepfeelings]

Book Questionnaire - Reagan Kittrick

Pride and Prejudice: What’s your OC’s dream job?

For a long time, Cherry had no idea what she was doing. She had no clue what she was doing to do with the rest of her life. Honestly, her choosing the job that she wants now was due to a posting at the Ministry that caught her attention.

War and Peace: What’s your OC’s favourite colour?

Cherry’s favorite color is green.

As I Lay Dying: What does your OC put on their pizza?

Pepperoni, Onions, and Bell Pepper.

The Great Gatsby: What is your OC’s favourite type of weather?

Cherry loves the winter time despite how she’s almost constantly cold. She loves the ground being covered in a blanket of snow, snuggled up with her man with a fire in fireplace as they watch TV.

Tom Sawyer: Who’s your OC’s best friend?

Sophie Beckett

Wuthering Heights: Does your OC have any nicknames? How did they get them?

The only nickname that Cherry has is, in fact, Cherry. She was nicknamed it due to her red hair and it just stuck.

Diary of Anne Frank: Is your OC a morning person or a night owl?

Cherry is definitely more of a morning person than a night owl .The latest she ever stayed up was Bonfire Night in to Michael Sutherland’s birthday.

Lord of the Flies: What’s the easiest way to annoy your OC?

Doubt any of her loved ones in their dedication and love for their loved ones.

Great Expectations: Is your OC a fighter or a flighter?

It depends on the situation. Cherry isn’t much of a physical fighter. She’s not horribly imposing and without her wand she can’t really defend herself. Now when it comes to her relationships, whether with her boyfriend, friends, or family, she will fight tooth and nail for them.

To Kill a Mockingbird: Does your OC have any triggers? What?

Cherry doesn't have any triggers.

East of Eden: What is the state of your OCs bedroom?

Clean. Pristine. Dusted. Honestly Cherry keeps her room very clean.

The Bell Jar: What’s the worst injury your OC has ever had?

A scraped knee that Madame Pomfrey fixed up in her Third Year after she fell rushing to class.

Moby-Dick: Is your OC right-handed or left-handed?

Cherry is left-handed.

1984: Does your OC like themselves?

Cherry does like herself. She’s pretty confident in herself.

Frankenstein: How does your OC sleep at night?

Pretty well, despite being constantly cold it seems.

[alliswell21]

The Christmas Box (part 3)

A few weeks later, Mrs. Mags, Peeta’s Sunday school teacher, apologized to him for not having found the picture that came with the letter. She told him that she did find out there was a video of the children opening the boxes one of the missionaries in Manila made. She warned him, he may not be able to tell anyway who got his box, but it was something. They were going to play the video during Wednesday night service, when the missionaries were set to speak at church.

Wednesday came at snail pace, and he almost missed church because he was so tired. He had shoveled off snow from the sidewalk in front of the bakery that morning, since it was an unseasonably late snow fall they had no salt for the concrete, then, he had to wash some pans, which made him late for school in turn missing a test, which landed him in a heap of trouble with Mr. Heavensbee, the history teacher.

After groveling with his charm dialed up to the maximum, Mr. Heavensbee acquiesced to let him take the test after school and before wrestling practice, this had a domino effect on the rest of his day. He got late to practice as well. He had to run laps for what felt like an eternity as punishment. By the time he got home, his missed supper. His whole body was sore and his legs felt like jello, but he manned up, and marched on, on foot, to church. He was really very curious about the Pinay girl who wrote to him.

He had learned the term Pinay from a book in the library, it referred to a female person from the Philippines. That’s where Katniss Everdeen was from, an island far away in Asia, some where out in the Pacific Ocean. He learned that being so closed to the equator, the island was prone to hurricanes and earthquakes. That at some point in history, the USA had control over it, but they finally recognized it as its own nation, and to add greatness to them, the Philippines became one of the first founders of the United Nations.

Philippines sounded like a pretty awesome place, and he figured he’d learn more about it at church, from the missionaries that had been working there the past year.

When time came to see the movie, he was disappointed the segment on Christmas boxes only lasted a whooping 2 minute long montage, out of the whole 18 minute video of the whole year.

The footage was so fast he couldn’t tell if there were any characteristics that would pinpoint at his own box. He watched with the utmost interest the rest of the video, and listen closely to the anecdotes and testimonies of the group of missionaries, consisting of a family -mom, dad and two teenaged daughters- because that was the polite thing to do.

At times, they would pause the images to explain something, or to share a back story for what they we’re watching, it was mostly interesting, but Peeta was tired, and his eyes started to droop.

Suddenly, a young voice crooned Amazing Grace through the speakers, wiping away all of Peeta’s fatigue.

It was the most wonderful thing! A little girl, who couldn’t be older than 10, judging by how skinny and short she was, sang with all the feelings of her soul.

She had a heart shaped face, with the darkest, shiniest hair he’d ever seen gathered at each side of her head in twin braids, a series of stills took over the video, but her voice still sang as backdrop. Pictures of a children’s assembly where the singer girl lifted her hand above the crowd, the next picture showed somebody picking her up and placing her on a stool in front of the congregation, the stills pictures faded back to the movie. The girl’s red checkered dress looked a little ill fitted on her tiny frame, but Peeta thought the color suited her olive skin just right.

He was mesmerized with the girl’s talent, but it was more than her musical prowess, it was her bravery, her passion as she sang... her voice! And when he thought nothing would ever top the way she captivated him with her voice, the camera closed up on her face. His heart stopped for just a second, then beated so hard and fast, he had to place his hand on his chest to make sure it wasn’t about to break free and crash against the canvas the movie was being projected into.

It was just a clip of it though, only long enough to see the unique shade of gray her eyes were... not quite blue, but toeing the line. The song lasted to the end of the first stanza, but he was completely fascinated with the girl and her sweet, clear voice. The little girl exuded confidence, something he had just started to dabble on since joining the wrestling team at school.

When the service was over, the pastor said that everyone was welcome to come speak to the missionaries for a bit. They were scheduled to go back to the Philippines in a month or so, but that was their only night at that particular church, they were visiting all the churches that had had a hand in supporting their ministry abroad.

Peeta stood at the back of a short queue, and waited patiently for his turn, trying to ignore the heaviness of his limbs. In the few seconds in which the girl sang, he had completely forgotten about his exhaustion, the lingering sadness of losing Granny, and the frustration with his mother’s unkind words to him as he was leaving to church that afternoon.

She had mocked him for getting in trouble at school for being late all day, asking him if he knew how to tell time on that fancy hand watch he’d gotten for Christmas, or if he should go back to his kiddie Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles one that was up in his bedroom, without batteries. The worst part of all, was it had been her, the one who made him late, by demanding he cleared the bakery’s sink before going to school. He had done it without protest knowing full well he was overstaying.

He was so lost in his dark cloud of unhappy thoughts, that he got startled when the young lady in front of him cleared her throat loudly to get his attention.

He looked up, realizing he now was first in line.

“Hi! I’m Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you ma’am.” He shook the teen’s hand enthusiastically, the girl smiled.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bonnie, that’s my sister Twill. Mom and Dad,” she pointed at each of her relatives and then smiled at him.

“Yeah, I remember the pastor said y’all were related, earlier.” He smiled. “So… h-how do you like Manila? I’ve been reading on it.” He didn’t mention he sent one of the boxes, because the Bible said not to brag about that kind of stuff, his grandmother made sure he knew that.

They spoke for a while about Manila and the Philippines. Then he asked other mundane questions about weather and food and the such. He saw more people had come to queued behind him, so he inhaled a long breath, hoping to pick up some bravery from the oxygen filling his lungs, and asked his question, “So, that girl that sang Amazing Grace, was she a regular? Do you remember her name?”

Bonnie smiled widely. “Why, yes! That’s little miss Mockingjay.” She beamed, “She and her baby sister were regulars. Sweetest girls ever.”

”Mocking... what?” He asked furrowing his brow. He was confused.

“Oh!” Bonnie laughed. “Mockingjay,” she repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable. “It’s a nickname we made up for her. Her real name was Catnip or something like that.”

”Gotcha,” he responded somewhat relieved there was a reason he couldn’t place the name in any recognizable language.

“Yeah, little lady could sing sweeter than a mockingbird, but was as feisty and protective of her sister as a mother Jay.”

“I see. Well, she sang beautifully. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone sing like that before.”

Bonnie smile at him, and he felt his cheeks burn up with embarrassment, that he couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you for your time, miss Bonnie. I really enjoyed watching y’all’s video.”

“I’m glad! Hope the Lord will lead you to pray for all the people we serve in the Philippines.”

“For sure.” Peeta smiled, his heart a little fuller and less sad, now that the little girl had a name and some personal traits to go with.

That night, while brushing his teeth before bed, the thought came to him like lightning in a storm. “Maaaaan!” He cried out, spitting toothpaste all over the mirror. “I’m an idiot!” He shook his head at his reflection. Penetrating blue eyes under frowning dark blonde brows, staring at him reproachfully. “I could’ve had written a note for Katniss and another one for Mockingjay, and given them to miss Bonnie to bring back to Manila.” He exhale a disappointed sigh. “I’ll never get another chance.”

He finished washing up, turned off the light and shuffle to the bedroom he shared with his middle brother, “Stupid. I’m the biggest idiot ever!” He said to himself under his breath, and pulled the covers over himself.

”Been saying that for ages, Peet. Now shut up and go to bed, we have school tomorrow.” Called his brother from under his own comforter.

Peeta just glared.

[lxcxndatlkalct]

The flash of cameras was nothing new to her. The flickering of lights that might have blinded someone less certain of where they’d come from. Lucinda had long since understood it best to look above them, than directly at them. So often before, she’d been on the other side of the lens, with the lingering familiarity of a camera in her hand, she found it near impossible to ignore a sliver of envy flicker at the tips of her fingers. She’d given Kingsley and the myriad of aurors time, as he’d asked, but the facts remained that the people of their world deserved to know the truth; not the half arsed attempt at it that the ministry could so often offer them before now.

Their world built on secrets, founded on lies that were warped and twisted to suit those in power, and while she wasn’t completely against that for the greater good and the magical legacy of their world, she was neither opposed to the truth. Especially if it would further satisfy the belief she shared with so many. The ministry was as corrupt as it claimed their enemy to be.

True, that she’d bent the will of those that came before the shatter in their hierarchy that he’d left in his wake, twisted words to suit her her own goal, one entwined so deeply with that of the Dark Lord that it was often difficult to decipher where one thought began and another ended. As she neared the dias, the makings of a certain manic happiness burst within her chest while the stoic features of Lucinda Talkalot showed everything but to the public as she had many times since her appointment in public relations. While the Ministry spared the face of the minister himself unless the time truly called for it, she’d become a waypoint, a public figure over night despite her timely discomfort. Like the second skin she wore with the mask and hood adorned by those deemed the enemy, she slipped all too easily into a facade that she’d upheld for far too long and that perfectly placed veil had rendered Lucinda as Tom’s first choice in infiltrating with so much risk.

Right beneath the nose of all those who might have known better, she’d been on the receiving end of every detail, every slip of information that would never reach the public and while she’d been sworn to secrecy on all things that would never move beyond the walls of the ministry’s most private spaces, there were now far more people that knew than those she’d sworn herself to, were aware of.

This, however, wasn’t a ply for more information. The cracks had shattered the earth beneath them, the death of the minister at the hand of her Lord were just a stepping stone in ripping the ministry apart from the inside out. He’d been clear. Crystal. She was not to leave a single detail out. And so, with the blinding flash of cameras, a blur of voices that soon dulled to nothing but white noise as the protective detail she’d been given quietened the growing plethora of media vultures. A momentary pause, a memory that wasn’t her own, placing Rodolphus Lestrange right where she stood, moments before he was executed. While she certainly had no intentions of setting a grenade off at her own feet the way he had just to open the eyes of those too scared to look willingly, she certainly wasn’t shielding any single person willing to listen. Her poison was much less blinding, a subtle sting that would reverberate slowly through the veins of the wizarding community and with any luck and favor on her side, she’d play her part in tearing the foundations of this world down to start anew.

“Three days ago, we released a general statement alerting you all to the untimely, tragic death of our beloved minister, Harold Minchum. The passing of our leader, ---” She paused, the corner of painted lips drawing in a near impeccable smile filled with a sadness that didn’t belong in her heart, “-- and to some, our friend, --- has without doubt shocked us all.” Like a wave, the somber reminder that the fact they were there at all stemmed from a tragedy that those too naive to see was without a doubt a necessary evil in the minds eye of those willing to fight for the betterment of their world. One that didn’t allow the lessening of power through the continued allowance for those muggle born to share in any of it. A disservice to themselves, to their ancestors. “Perhaps it’s now that we need to remember that it is in times of great sorrow and change that we must consider our choices more than ever. Some believe that you do not need to understand what happened, just that it has. That the Ministry has it under control, that we’re mending out defenses, that we’re working to find a way to give you the government that you so greatly deserve. That is what Minister Minchum would have wanted you to know and believe in his stead. In a strong front, unwilling to break or bend to loss and confusion, a community that begs for the betterment and development of those that need it the most and perhaps that is what you will believe, regardless of what you’re told.”

She cast hues that echoed the sentiment of every word she spoke out across the growing mass of people. For years she’d remained silent, in the background of all that she could. Once an observer more than one to take action, however, the long continuous study of the people around her gave her more leeway to bend her own features, to replicate those she’d seen, the sounds she’d heard in the depths of voices she knew all too well. A mockingbird with wings clipped as her orders to speak slivers of the truth embedded themselves in fingertips that traced the wooden dias with a slow tenderness that might have been one detail too perfect for one such grievance as reporting the death of one they’d thought so mighty, now only temporarily replaced by an even mightier coward. “Barely a week has passed, and it is already becoming alarmingly clear..--” Hues traversed the crowd, some barely listening while others clung to every word she spoke as if it were already law. “That for so long now, you have all been fooled by the blinded trust you held in those deemed to protect our very real right for justice, for the truth, and I have been no better informed than you. Beaten into submission by a government that would not have you hold the ability to question us in return. For so long you have been made to believe that our democracy was just that; while slowly but surely they took your ability to live well from you, in any which way they could. Your right to the truth was torn from your very fingertips as Rodolphus Lestrange was murdered before your very eyes without an offer of explanation like so many before him --- and like so many that came after, dusting every truthful word he spoke under the rug even when it screamed to high heavens the depths of corruption behind closed doors. Your very right to your own truth, to justice and your own health and well-being has been unknowingly compromised by a government that refuses to accept that you’re owed as much.”

Luce wasn’t a fool, the shock that would come with even the mention of one so many deemed a traitor would ripple through the crowd and likely paint a target on her back that none knew she already held. She wasn’t here to start an uprising, she wasn’t here to erupt chaos amongst them; but the seeds of doubt could run deeper than most imagined, rooted miles below the surface and near impossible to later remove. All she needed was this moment to plant them. “I will not keep the truth from you.” But she would twist and manipulate it in a way not unlike the ministry at all; though her hand would turn the tables and place every misconception their society might have had about the stability of their own government, foundations must be broken to rebuild.

“Three days ago,” The breath in her lungs seemed to catch with the facade of breaking such an oath to the now fallen minister, darkened lips pursed and after a few long passing moments of near silence, she lifted her shoulders and caught the reflective effects of every camera head on. “The Dark Lord walked past our every defense, slipped right in through those doors,” emphasized only be her willingness to gesture to the grand Ministry building, “Attacked dozens of people and murdered your minister without anyone knowing what how how it was happening, much less who it was, until it was much too late to do what we promised we would. He was not forced to claw his way in, we did not fight to stop him. Our confidence became our greatest weakness, our pride in a world that couldn’t possibly be so threatened became a gaping vulnerability that he was able to manipulate to an advantage that we will feel the weight of for longer than we will ever realize. The safety that we were so sure of failed because we were too blinded to see the faults that etched cracks in our system by our inability to see what was really going on.” The unsettled shift of the crowd before her was more than enough indication that Lucinda had already hit her own target, the smallest seeds of doubt already burying themselves in the ground. “This happened, because we have spent far too long clinging to the idea that this was as good as we were ever going to get. We cannot be fooled into thinking that we will never be more that we are through the timeless act of refusing to hear the truth when it is right there in front of us, hidden and manipulated into more lies by those who have deemed you, our public, our community, unworthy of hearing it simply because it paints us in a less than flattering light. If we want to be better, if we want to protect what is ours, what we love the most, the truth is the only way we will ever be able to do this. As your government, how can we expect you to protect one another without knowing every detail we know too? We are only as strong and as knowledgeable as you allow us to be.” It was near impossible not to feel the weight of those clinging to her every word, a somber speech turned to something build of revolution and yet brought to them in the confidence that she willed no uprising, just another chance. One chance, it was all they needed to rot the system from the inside out. “We failed you, but it will not happen again. This will not happen again. The Dark Lord will not succeed in flooding fear into our veins, neither will he tear us apart so easily without a fight.” The heaviness in such a statement brought her to a pause, a long trying moment for it to sink in, to stick with those teetering the edge of loyalties. It mattered little to her in which way they showed their favor, but failure did not deem favorable with Voldemort himself, and she’d yet to truly fail at all. “The minister is gone, and though he may now be at rest, we have a chance to change how we fight a war most of you didn’t know was here purely out of the cowardice of those now perished. You deserve the opportunity to make your mind up for yourselves, to fight and protect our world with everything we have, of which you can only do through knowing everything. You all deserve the truth.” Each word enunciated to near perfection as she lifted her head a little higher, dark tresses shifting to fall down her back as the every intense hue with an ever familiar regality to it that only few could truly manage. “And I will make sure you get it.”