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jc-martin-og · 5 months

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Take a Deep Breath

Another morning awakening, another daymare begins. In an instant, I wake up to confront the intense cold and inhale the stifling air, courtesy of the misty cloth shrouding the mud, moss, and wooden planks that have been my home for the past two years.

I wrap myself in the only clothing I've known during this time and swear by the rifle in my hands for protection against those on the other side of the front, looming above our necks. In these brief moments of standing, I sense an uncommon harmony within my own context, unsure whether to feel concern or gratitude. It's at times like these that my mind drifts to memories of home, seeking distraction from thoughts of the potential changes the day might bring in the event of a stand-off—not to escape my reality, but to fortify myself for more than I can endure.

Truth be told, I can no longer recall if I entered this hell of my own accord or if the call came to me, along with thousands of other young men who have become my brothers in pain. But at this point, it hardly matters. The only reward surpassing any medal or promotion is making it through another night alive in these trenches, praying the next day won't plunge us into engagement.

As I make my way to the nearest command post of the trench, a roar from the other side startles us all, akin to the awakening of an enraged beast rumbling through earth and noise.

In response, my mind instinctively seeks shelter at any gap or steep corner between the dirt floor and the earthen ramparts, praying that none of those projectiles will land on me. But when the shells finally drop, the shock of their fall brings only horror, not just for the destruction they cause but for the malevolent aftermath they unleash.

Soon, with no escape, a suffocating chemical cloud envelops us, a man-made enforcer hunting for our indiscriminate extermination within the walls that were meant to shield us. The poison advancing towards us compels me to stand up and search for the one salvation we were all anxiously prepared for—the gas mask, which I've safeguarded since the day it was issued to me. Frantically, I scramble to my pit, accelerating my steps before more cannon fire shatters the air.

Desperation drives everyone to run in search of escape from this menace, either seeking their own masks or attempting to flee the trenches in desperation, falling under fire the moment they become visible to our tormentors at the front.

I turn corners as fast as I can when, right before my eyes, another bomb falls, obstructing my path to the short trench route. I turn around, risking myself by taking the longer route, covering my face to prevent the gas from reaching me.

In my path, I watch as comrades fall, their slim hope of life extinguished once fully exposed to the gas. Others fight over the few masks left loose, stealing the chance of life from their peers after months of shared struggle. All to survive one more day in these troubled times.

After enduring all this hell, I manage to reach my belongings and rummage through the bag for my precious mask. As the somber silhouette of smoke surrounds the area, my hope fades away when I am unsuccessful.

Desperation leads me to tear at my bag like a brute, throwing everything to the ground, rummaging through the mud in a futile attempt to find it. Clinging to the only thing that could keep me alive and reunite me with my family, I tear one of my clothes lying on the floor and quickly urinate on it.

Disgusting as it is, we were instructed that this would be nothing more than a last resort against the chlorine, having faith that it will work against the gas as I place it against my face and pray that this makeshift solution will save me.

In my waiting, I lean against the mud, hoping this makeshift method will be enough to stop the chemicals. Simultaneously, I lean into the absolute darkness flooding my mind with fear. At that moment, something clings to my leg, and I'm pulled back into the awareness of the situation I must endure.

Suddenly, the hand of a young boy, not much younger than my eldest son, weakly clutches mine as his life fades from the gas on his unshielded face. Out of the depths of my consciousness, and with nothing more I can do once the toxic fumes invade his body, I hold his hand in his last moments, offering a pulse of relief on his journey to the heavens.

The look in his eyes, full of fear and misery, disturbs my heart as I contemplate the horror of my own children enduring situations like this and not returning after such a dreadful demise. Regardless of how perfect my life was before this, just by stepping into this strife, I've failed in my commitment to spend the rest of my days, anticipating that this conflict would be something easily overcome once it concluded, as my consciousness falls asleep in memories of peace.

As the hours pass, the gas gradually dissipates, carrying the mist that began the morning with it. I release the pale hand of the young man lying on the ground, closing his eyes as a sign of respect for what he endured in his final moments.

Physically and mentally exhausted, I wander the abandoned trenches in search of anyone else, unsuccessful in every corner, with nothing but corpses on the ground and a mess created by the shelling. Unconsciously, I venture outside against all rules, finding nothing but a desolate landscape mirroring the disaster we've caused, which, for the first time in months, I contemplate in greater depth.

In a small irony, the only thing I find on the dirt floor is an abandoned gas mask, buried in the mud. I pick it up with indifference, wondering if it might still be useful for a future I'm uncertain of.

My gaze turns to the front, where the smoking trail of shelling seems to answer what I failed to notice in the struggle for survival. At this point, I don't know which path to take—whether to return to the front with my comrades for a dire end or attempt to escape this on my own, losing myself in the nothingness of this battered land.

My chances are nil, and fate remains uncertain. Regardless of the decision I make, I'll have to face it alone. No matter how weary my soul may be, I've witnessed man's ignorance toward the suffering of others so often that, at this stage, my fears of what I might encounter along the way may linger long after the war ends.

But sometimes, it's not the fear of death that men like me fear most. Sometimes, it's the long-burning fear of living another day through the horrors of men that concerns me most about the fog shrouding not only my future but the future of those I care for.

Ps: A small update of this short story I wrote around January/February of this year.

Original date of publication: 20/02/2023 Made using MediBang

#art #artist #writer #writing #artist on tumblr #digital art #indie writer #painting #painter #ww1 #ww1 writing #military history #world war 1 #world war one #short story

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queenlucythevaliant · 1 year

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The Things They Carried to Mordor (with apologies to Tim O’Brien)

When the Fellowship left Rivendell, Frodo Baggins carried an unadorned gold ring on a chain round his neck. The ring was not heavy; it weighed only three ounces, but he was always aware of it.

Frodo also carried a sword called Sting that his uncle Bilbo had given him which glowed blue when Orcs were nearby. It was not a sentimental gift, but it came with a kind of Sentiment all the same. He kept Sting it in a shabby leather scabbard which he had also gotten from Bilbo. Sting weighted nineteen ounces and the scabbard four more.

The scabbard was Sentimental to Frodo, much more so than the sword was, for it was worn in places where Frodo was certain that his uncle must have rubbed it. Bilbo did not come with him on the journey to Mount Doom, and though Frodo was glad of it, sometimes he would run his fingers over those worn places and imagine that his uncle’s fingers were there too; that their fingertips were touching through time across that piece of leather.

The things they carried were determined by necessity, but not exclusively. Frodo’s cousin Peregrin Took carried two pipes and an overstuffed pouch of pipe-weed. All of the hobbits carried pipe-weed, and so did Gandalf the wizard and Aragorn the ranger, but Peregrin Took carried the most of anyone. Each of his two pipes weighed three ounces, for a total of six, but to Pippin it was worth it if it meant that he was in no danger of being bereft of his most important luxury.

Many miles later, he would give his second pipe to Gimli the dwarf and they would smoke together on the edge of ruin. The gesture was a repayment of a debt, and it made Pippin's pack a little lighter. He had only one pipe with him when he journeyed to Minas Tirith.

Merriadoc Brandybuck carried a conspiracy, even after the whole company had embarked; it had been months since he’d explained himself to Frodo, but he couldn't put the conspiracy down. The conspiracy was Loyalty and Courage in the face of terrible Fear. It was heavy and not.

Merry carried maps and the knowledge of maps. He carried Pippin, who was still only a tweenager and could be a right danger to himself and others, who was his younger cousin and his responsibility; he carried Pippin until he couldn't anymore, until Pippin rode south with Gandalf and Merry remained in Rohan. He also bore a knife weighing thirteen ounces which he would one day use to smite the Witch King of Angmar. It didn’t seem very heavy to him until Pelennor, when Éowyn unveiled herself to Death and Merry realized that he had a sword too.

Samwise Gamgee carried the most out of anyone in proportion to the size of his small body. After they abandoned their pony at the gates of Moria, he carried all his cooking gear, which consisted of a small tinder box, two small shallow pans (the smaller fitting into the larger), a wooden spoon and a short, two-pronged fork, some skewers, and a little box of salt that he always carried and refilled when he could. Together, all of these items weighed about eighteen pounds. He also carried his own supply of pipe-weed, flint and tinder, woolen hose, linen, and various small belongings of Frodo’s that Sam had stored away on his behalf. He did not carry any rope with him at that time, a fact which frequently vexed him. He really ought to have remembered to bring some rope.

They all carried gifts from the Lady Galadriel: Boromir, Merry, and Pippin each bore a silver belt weighing between one and three pounds depending on the girth of the waist for which it was made. Boromir's was the heaviest, and it traveled with him down Rauros in the end.

Until he was killed, Boromir of Gondor carried a long sword and a shield, three and four pounds respectively, and his war horn, which he still would have carried if it had weighed a ton. He carried his father’s suspicions and his brother’s hopes and all the glories of Gondor. Boromir was trying very hard to be a good man.

Aragorn carried, in order from lightest to heaviest, the Elfstone, Arwen’s love, and his own lineage. He hauled Arwen’s love up the hills and across the plains until at last she sent him a banner to carry. He carried his lineage in the form of a sword called Andúril, which did not seem heavy to him anymore, having borne it for so long.

Legolas bore a new bow from the Lady Galadriel and Gimli three strands of hair. The hair weighed almost nothing, but Gimli carried it like he might have carried a silmaril, which everyone knows were very heavy. Gimli was the sort of person who could assign precious things their whole worth: maybe this came from being a Dwarf and from growing up surrounded by treasures, but Legolas didn’t think so. He thought Gimli could see what things were worth just by the kind of person he was.

Because the nights were cold, each member of the Fellowship wore an elven cloak, which could be used as a raincoat or a groundsheet or as camouflage or a makeshift tent. Sometimes, when they were afraid, they would all pull their cloaks tighter around their too-small-for-this shoulders and try to feel a little warmer. It would have been easy to succumb to the cold. Sometimes, the strongest thing in the world is simply to keep warm on a cold night.

Frodo bore a phial of starlight, which came from a silmaril but which he carried like a shield. Along with the phial, he carried words of Quenya that he had learned long ago from his uncle Bilbo: “Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!” The words weren’t magic, not from Frodo’s ordinary hobbit-lips; but they pushed back the dark a little when he held his silmaril-light aloft. He carried elvish prayers, stories and the hopes of stories, "They cannot conquer forever" and "I can manage it, I must." When a person is desperate, survival is 98% mantras.

After they broke with the rest of the Fellowship, Sam carried less and less. The food was finite and gradually it ran out. Eventually, even the salt ran out. He carried rope (finally) and a box of soil and seed from the Lady Galadriel. After a while, he forgot about the box of soil sitting in the bottom of his pack, but he never lost sight of what it represented. The only thing that Sam wanted really was to return home with his master and plant seeds in the ground. He was a gardener, after all.

For a short time, Sam carried the ring; he took up what Frodo could no longer bear, and he found that it was every bit as Heavy as he’d imagined. The ring weighed only three ounces, but that wasn’t true at all.

Frodo and Sam carried the Black Land itself: Mordor, the place, the ash and dry dust that clung to the soles of their feet, their hair, their nostrils. They carried it inside them after a while and they never got rid of it. They carried the world. All of Middle Earth, they carried it: Gandalf’s foolish hope, Aragorn’s destiny, Faramir’s kindness. They moved like aged pack mules, picking their way across the desolate wastes. Sometimes, they walked until they were numb to it and all they could do was walk for the sake of walking in the knowledge that someday they would get There or die in the attempt. They plodded along slowly, dumbly, one step and then the next, toiling up hills and across marshes and down ravines, up and down and up again, because they were fighting a war and war is entirely a matter of posture and carriage, a kind of inertia, a kind of emptiness, a dullness of desire. They carried their hopes in their feet.

Frodo carried Gollum’s oath and Smeagol’s soul. He carried his own soul too, slowly coming loose from his body with the growing burden of the Ring. He carried gravity. He carried the whole sky The ring was very Heavy now. It weighed more than anything he’d ever had to carry before. It weighed 216.09 pounds per square inch: weight multiplied by weight.

Sam carried music and wonderment. He carried duty to his master, the image of Rosie Cotton dancing, starlight and songs about starlight. These things were all intangible, but for Samwise Gamgee they all had their specific lengths and masses and tangible weight. They were hard to hold onto, always trying to slip off his tired back and fall by the wayside. Each time, Sam picked them back up and carried on.

Sam carried Frodo, in the end.

Frodo weighed forty-two pounds; he was heavier than all the cooking gear, but he weighed a great deal less than he had at the start of the journey. When Sam staggered to his feet, he was amazed at the lightness of his burden. His master was no heavier than a child carried piggy-back on a summer's day in the Shire.

Hope carried them all and they all carried Hope. This is not a paradox. When the Eagles carried Frodo away from Mount Doom, his hand was a little bit lighter.

#i keep seeing all these comparisons between lotr and all's quiet on the western front #which does make sense because tolkien served in ww1 #but i read The Things They Carried on a plane when i was sixteen and it's haunted me ever since #so here's this #leah stories #i will not say the day is done #tolkien legendarium #pontifications and creations

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stahlsonne · 5 months

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Andrey from No Man's Land

#digital art #art #artists on tumblr #portrait #digital portrait #oc #original story #sketch #ww1 #ww1 fiction #ww1 art #ww1 au #ww1 oc

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unfortunate-arrow · 5 months

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𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐒𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐧 | hp ww1 character profile

warnings: mentions of death and war trauma

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Linus Matthew Sullivan

Nicknames: Yank, Yankee

Name Meanings: Linus → Greek, “flax” ; Matthew → Hebrew, “gift of god” ; Sullivan → Irish, “dark eyes, hawk eyes.”

Date of Birth: November 26, 1893 (Sagittarius)

Gender: Male (he/him)

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Blood Status: Muggleborn

Nationality: American

Residence: Buffalo, New York, United States of America (birth to 21) ; TBD

✧ APPEARANCE ✧

Faceclaim: Joseph Mazzello

Height: 5’9”

Build: Lean but athletic

Hair: Sandy brown that’s short

Eye Color: Hazel

Scarring:

Childhood & Ilvermorny: None

Adulthood: A bullet scar in his left shoulder

Modifications: (glasses, piercings, tattoos, etc.) None

Other Distinguishing Marks: None

Clothing Style: Collared shirts ; suspenders ; trousers ; jeans ; boots ; sweaters ; jackets ; loafers ; ties ; flat caps ; newsboy caps

Accessories: Identification tags

What’s in His Pockets: A pencil ; small journal ; a compass ; a pocket knife ; pay-book ; his uncle’s pipe ; handkerchief

✧ SPEECH & LANGUAGE ✧

Voiceclaim: Joseph Mazzello

Accent: American

Dialect: Inland Northern American English ; General American English

Languages Spoken: English

Languages Understood: English

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: INFJ — the advocate

⤷ The INFJ personality type is Introverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, and Judging, which means they are energized by time alone, focused on understanding ideas and concepts, led by their values and intuition, and firm decision makers. This combination of personality preferences produces people who are intensely idealistic, authentic, and empathetic. Although INFJs do not tend to have a large circle of people they are close to, they value deep connections and emotional intimacy with their close friends and family. INFJs believe the world can be a better place, and they concentrate on doing their best to help it get there.

Enneagram Type: Type 6 — the loyalist

⤷ Sixes are defined by their desire for safety and security. They seek to anticipate and avoid risk, and to ally themselves with trustworthy authority figures and institutions. Sixes are alert and vigilant, always thinking several steps ahead to anticipate and prepare for what could go wrong.

Positive Traits: Creative, insightful, intelligent, principled, passionate, altruistic, responsible, compassionate, conscientious, dependable

Neutral Traits: Stubborn, private, reserved, idealistic, logical, trustworthy, courageous, loyal, tenacious, adaptable, focused

Negative Traits: Sensitive, reluctant to open up, perfectionistic, anxious, can be aggressive, very private

Common Stressors: The war, MACUSA, work, finances, life

Comforting Things: Books, comic strips, drawing, baseball, ice hockey, ice skating

Interests & Hobbies: Baseball, ice hockey, reading, ice skating, drawing, sketching

Description: Linus is a “think before you act” type of person, who rarely makes a significant decision without thinking everything through. He’s a quiet person, who usually keeps to himself and takes a while for him to open up to others. He generally holds firmly to his beliefs, principles, and ideals… which isn’t always the best thing as it leads to Linus’s consistent violations of MACUSA’s Rappaport’s Law. In addition, Linus is intelligent, stubborn, and kind. He tries to help those who need it, but often feels like he’s falling short… something exacerbated by the way his mind interprets his role during the Great War. Despite it all, though, Linus tries his hardest to be the man that his mother always believed he could be.

✧ MAGIC ✧

Wand: Linus’s wand is made of fir wood with a wampus cat hair core and is 10 ¾ inches with an unyielding flexibility.

⤷ There is no doubt that fir wood, coming as it did from the most resilient of trees, produced wands that demanded staying power and strength of purpose in their true owners, and favored owners of focused, strong-minded and, occasionally, intimidating demeanor. They were poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive. Fir wands were called 'the survivor's wand' as its owners were known to come out of mortal peril unscathed. Fir wands were particularly suited to Transfiguration.

Other Magical Abilities: None

Patronus: Lynx

Patronus Memory: The first trip to the Pan-American Exposition with his uncle in July of 1901

Boggart:

Pre-war: A shadowy iteration of President William McKinley’s assassin with a smoking gun

Post-war: Himself walking away from someone who needs help (typically a soldier)

Riddikulus:

Pre-war: The shadowy assassin is revealed to be his Uncle Frank holding a smoking loaf of bread

Post-war: Himself, kneeling by the person and singing a silly (and sometimes bawdy) song

Amortentia:

Linus smells like sandalwood, allspice, mint, and ink.

Linus smells baking bread, popcorn, and a few things related to Maritza.

Mirror of Erised: Linus would see the muggle and wizarding worlds coexisting peacefully, without Rappaport’s Law. He’d see his mother and uncle with his own family, mostly as a reflection of that.

✧ ILVERMORNY ✧

House: Wampus

Classes:

Astronomy — Exceeds Expectations

Charms — Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding

Flying — Exceeds Expectations

Herbology — Acceptable

History of Magic — Acceptable

Potions — Acceptable

Transfiguration — Outstanding

Electives:

Arithmancy — Exceeds Expectations

Extracurriculars: Quodpot

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ; the Canadian military

Professions:

Age 12 to 21 - Newsboy

Age 21 to 23 - Soldier, private

Age 23 to 24 - Soldier, lance corporal

Post-war is TBD

✧ FAMILY ✧

Father: Ephraim Cornelius Lovell [deceased, 1858-1913]

Born in late 1858, Ephraim Lovell was the eldest and only child of Cornelius and Jemima Lovell to survive to adulthood. Ephraim had a good and mostly happy early childhood, but everything changed when he went away to school at the age of thirteen. Life was tough at school, and by the time he graduated, Ephriam had become an only child. His four siblings had all contracted different illnesses and passed away. This left a deep mark on Ephraim, and while he had already begun to take after his father’s philandering ways, he fell deeper into them. Even marrying Ellen Blackmore at the age of 28 wasn’t enough to curb Ephraim’s philandering ways. His first child and only child with Ellen, Eugene Silas Lovell, was born in 1887. Ellen died three years after their son was born and Ephraim did mourn his first wife. Two years later, Ephraim married his second wife, Martha Burke. They had a daughter shortly after, whom they named Ophelia Florence Lovell. Shortly after Ophelia’s birth, Ephraim went to the United States for his merchant business. It was there that he met the young and innocent Bertha Sullivan, whom he was quickly taken with. Like many previous affairs, Ephraim hid his marriage and won Bertha’s affections. They carried on an affair for two months before Ephraim returned to London. He didn’t know that he had left Bertha pregnant or that he would have a second son. Of course, that was kinda par for the course with Ephraim. It was likely that he had fathered multiple children. Ephraim died in 1913 after suffering a fall. He only ever knew two of his children.

Linus never knew his father. In fact, he didn’t even know his father’s name until he met Eugene and Ophelia and they discovered they were half-siblings. Unfortunately, by that point, Ephraim had been dead for a few years and Linus never had the opportunity to meet the man. However, given Eugene’s and Ophelia’s summations of the man, Linus wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to know Ephraim.

Mother: Bertha Mary Sullivan [deceased, 1874-1906]

Born in January of 1874, Bertha Sullivan was the eldest child of Mary and Lewis Sullivan and the twin sister of Frank. She had a pretty good childhood, although her parents passed away when she and Frank were fifteen. They lived alone from that point, both working to make ends meet. Four years later, Bertha stumbled upon British businessman Ephraim Lovell and she began a quiet affair with the man. He gave her a lot of hope for marriage, but in April of 1893, he returned to England. Bertha was left heartbroken… and pregnant. Desperate to leave New York City and her recognition there, Bertha left the city for Buffalo, New York with Frank joining her two years later. Her son, Linus Matthew, was born on November 26, 1893 and Bertha raised her boy in Buffalo. She loved that boy and did everything that she could to make sure that he never had to work before the age of 18. Unfortunately, that ideal failed as Bertha fell ill with influenza in February of 1906 which then turned into pneumonia. She died in March of 1906, when her son was twelve.

Linus had a good relationship with his mother. They were close, especially given that a lot of the time it was just the two of them (and Uncle Frank most of the time too). He loved her a lot. Linus was heartbroken when she died and he spends a lot of time wishing that he could turn to her (or even Uncle Frank).

Uncle: Francis Michael “Frank” Sullivan [deceased, 1874-1906]

Born in January of 1874, Frank Sullivan was the youngest child of Mary and Lewis Sullivan and the twin brother of Bertha. Like his sister, Frank got his first job at the age of 15. He started as a newsie, before finding work in a factory. He wasn’t a fan of Bertha’s clandestine relationship with some older British businessman and after learning that Ephraim Lovell had abandoned and impregnated Bertha, Frank threatened to go find the man. Bertha told him that it didn’t matter and shortly after she left New York City. Frank remained in the city for two years, before following his sister (and nephew) north to Buffalo. He moved in with Bertha and Linus and did his best to help with his nephew. Frank indulged the young boy, as much as he could. He took Linus to the Pan American Exposition in 1901 and even hoped that his nephew would get to shake the hand of the President. Eventually times grew hard on Frank, and in 1905, he decided that it was time to journey out west and find a fortune. This venture failed and Frank died in the April 1906 San Francisco earthquake, only a month after his sister had died from influenza-induced pneumonia.

Linus had a good relationship with his uncle. For much of his childhood, Frank was the main male influence in his life and helped to shape Linus’s view of masculinity. He had a close relationship with Uncle Frank as well, adoring the man. Linus was heartbroken to learn of Uncle Frank’s sudden death, mixed with some of the shock of the earthquake.

Half-brother: Eugene Silas Lovell [1887-1918]

Ephraim Lovell’s son with his first wife, Ellen, Eugene was born on January 24, 1887. His mother passed away when he was three and two years later, his father remarried. Eugene was mostly raised by nannies, staff, and occasionally, his step-mother. He attended boarding school, and did not have magic. His childhood was fairly lonely and Eugene became determined to be a different, better man than his father. When war erupted in 1914, Eugene joined the army and by his death in 1918, he had achieved the rank of sergeant major. Eugene was killed in 1918 in an explosion and some exposure to mustard gas. However, he was able to meet his brother.

Linus had never expected to learn that he has siblings and was pleasantly surprised to learn that he had a brother. Eugene, on the other hand, was not impressed nor surprised to learn that his father had fathered a third child. It took a little while for the two to warm up to one another, but they exchanged letters and greetings throughout the war, up to Eugene’s 1918 death.

Faceclaim: Lachlan Nieboer

Half-sister: Ophelia Florence Lovell

Ephraim Lovell’s daughter with his second wife, Martha, Ophelia was born on December 9, 1892. She grew up alongside her brother, Eugene, and was mostly raised by her mother, nannies, and other staff. She spent very little time with her father, who was a workaholic who had multiple affairs throughout her childhood. Ophelia was accepted into Hogwarts when she was eleven and she was sorted into Slytherin, where she ended up becoming a prefect and headgirl. After Hogwarts, Ophelia began working as a journalist for the Daily Prophet. In 1914, when World War I broke out and Eugene joined the army, she decided to join a small coalition of wizarding journalists who were determined to report on the affairs of the wizarding world during the war. It was there that Ophelia discovered that she had another brother.

Linus never expected to learn that he had a sister, but he was grateful to meet Ophelia. They were never extremely close, but it was nice to know there was someone else in the world, especially after the war. Linus liked his sister, she was quite different from him, but they got along quite well.

Faceclaim: Julia Brown

Pets:

Childhood: None

Adulthood: A black Labrador retriever named Blackie

✧ ROMANCE & CHILDREN ✧

Love Interest: Maritza Krum (@potionboy3)

⤷ Linus first saw Maritza Krum when he arrived in France in 1915. A year later, he saw her once again, this time during the Battle of Somme. A few months later, while on a 10-day leave in Paris, Linus runs into Maritza. As it turns out, most of Linus’s leave is spent getting to know Maritza and possibly, kinda falling into something that could turn into love. Before he returns to the Front, Maritza gives him her necklace and makes him promise to return it to her after the war. Throughout the war, Linus and Maritza exchange letters. They share a few moments in-person here and there, throughout the war, before officially reuniting in November of 1918. They eventually married on March 4, 1919.

Son: Constantine Marinus Sullivan

Faceclaim: Omar Rudberg

Son: Malachi Francis Sullivan

Hufflepuff | b. November 26, 1935

Faceclaim: Jack Fisher

✧ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Best Friends: TBD

Close Friends: TBD

Friends:

Sydney Barlow (@gaygryffindorgal)

Kit Enfield, Alexej Kavinsky (@potionboy3)

Acquaintances:

Colm O’Shea

It’s Complicated: TBD

Ilvermorny Dormmates: TBD

Rivals: TBD

Enemies: TBD

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Place of Birth: Buffalo, New York, the United States of America

Hometown: Buffalo, New York, the United States of America

Childhood:

Linus Matthew Sullivan, born November 26, 1893, was the only child of Bertha Sullivan and Ephraim Lovell, although he never knew his father. Therefore, he was raised primarily by his unmarried mother. When he was two, his uncle Frank joined Linus and his mother in Buffalo. Uncle Frank became a permanent fixture in his life, mostly as the fun uncle which included taking his nephew to the Pan-American Exposition in 1901. Linus had a pretty good childhood before learning that he was a wizard. Sure, there were some weird things that happened, but the Sullivans mostly wrote them off.

At the age of seven, on September 6, 1901, Linus attended the Pan-American Exposition with his uncle. His uncle, Frank, took him to shake hands with then-President William McKinley. What happened then would stick with Linus for years to follow. President McKinley was shot twice in the abdomen and Linus never got to shake the president’s hand.

The rest of Linus’s childhood was fairly quiet. His mother and uncle worked a lot, mostly to ensure that Linus never had to even think about going to work himself. It worked until their deaths in 1906.

At the age of 11, Linus learned that he was a wizard, which came as a complete shock to the Sullivans.

Ilvermorny Years:

Upon starting at Ilvermorny, Linus was chosen by Wampus. It took him a while to become comfortable at Ilvermorny and he balked at some of the strictness of the American wizarding world. It seemed at odds with the values of no-maj America. Eventually he settled in, but much of his first year was disrupted by sudden changes to his life.

In March of his first year, Linus was pulled out of charms class and informed that his mother had died of pneumonia. Less than a month later, Linus learned that his Uncle Frank was a victim of the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake.

Linus generally enjoyed his time at Ilvermorny. He ended up playing quodpot, although he generally kept to himself. During the summer, Linus worked as a newsie to make money and supplement the care that he was receiving in the orphanage.

Adulthood:

After graduating from Ilvermorny, Linus continued his work as a newsie. He felt adrift, unsure of where to go or what to do. Thus, he stuck to what he was familiar with. Unfortunately, what he was familiar with led to multiple, continuous violations of Rappaport’s Law which forbade unnecessary contact between wizards and no-majs. Even after being fined, Linus continued to violate the law. His constant violations led to a hit wizard being assigned to his case in late 1914.

Feeling desperate, Linus made the decision to flee into Canada in the winter of 1915 and he made an uncharacteristically impulsive decision to join the army. He entered the war as a private and was sent a few months in boot camp. He was shipped out to the Western Front in June of the same year… which led to a first glimpse of his future wife, Maritza Krum.

During the war, Linus generally kept his head down. He met his half-brother and sister during the Battle of the Somme in 1916. In late 1917, he ended up joining the company of Kit Enfield (@potionboy3) and was exposed to the wizarding culture of the British Isles. In addition, he had a confrontation with Ralph Myers, the hit wizard after him, in October of 1918. The confrontation occurred after Linus was hospitalized for a gunshot wound to the left shoulder.

After the war, Linus marries Maritza Krum and they have two sons, Constantine and Malachi.

Old Age:

After retiring at the age of 96, Linus spends his time working on hobbies and taking some time for himself.

Death:

Linus passed away in his sleep at the age of 102 in 1996. He left behind a wide array of direct descendants.

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Food: Tomato soup ; popcorn

Favorite Drink: Coffee

Favorite Weather: Crisp and sunny

Favorite Season: Winter

Favorite Book: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by Frank Baum

Dislikes: Wet clothes ; MACUSA ; war ; broccoli ; peas ; mushy vegetables

Trivia:

Linus’s post-war trauma (PTSD) is defined by reliving his experiences in a very different way. In other words, Linus’s war memories are remembered in a way that paints himself in a fairly negative view. One example is believing that he did nothing to help a dying soldier when, in reality, he held the man’s hand until he died.

Every Christmas season, Bertha Sullivan paid for a photograph of her son. Sometimes they included her and Frank, but mostly, they were just Linus. He holds tightly to them, for his mother’s handwriting on the back.

Important Links & Tags:

tag: Linus Sullivan

More information about his sons, Constantine and Malachi

#linus sullivan #hp wwi era #hp ww1 era #hp ww1 character profile #hp wwi character profile #my character profile #my aesthetic #he is open for friendships and such!!#did also just pop him into the art company but like colm linus’s story is pretty flexible #he and colm can just pop in wherever/whenever #he’s still likely under construction… post war during war children & probably more

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