#they both almost... ostracise themselves before someone else can do it first

[lonelier-version-of-you]

Do you think Henrik ever tried to anglicize his name? Henrik to Henry or something? To fit in? Thought about this after realizing again that Connie & Jac both go exclusively by nicknames. I know it's not the same thing but. you get me?

I've actually always thought the opposite (though it's been a while since I last got to talk about this, so I'm glad to have the opportunity to discuss it again!).

I mean, I could see him having tried to anglicize it as a kid at boarding school. That would make sense to me (*points at what I've written before in my fic, about him being "the awkward, foreign, Jewish boy" in a school full of English Christian kids*). But in his adult life I think he's spent a lot of time using being Swedish as a sort of... shield, I guess. If that makes sense. It's all 'look at me, look at me, I'm from Sweden, we do things differently there, I'm an ~outsider~ in your country, aren't I interesting'.

Like, how he introduced himself to Roxanna at Rigden comes to mind. "Henrik Hanssen. From Sweden. Where we drink, migrate, and pickle things - in no particular order." Interestingly he really pushed the whole Swedish thing when he first turned up at Holby as well, so he seems to play it up more with new people/environments. It seems to be one of the first things he establishes.

I think that's because it's almost a sort of self-protection tactic. Get the whole "I'm foreign" thing out of the way first and then people will assume that he is the way he is because he's from a different country, rather than because of his trauma + undiagnosed autism combo.

Hence why he freaked out as hard as he did when Maja turned up at the hospital in Never Let Me Go. (He doesn't freak out nearly as much in Hanssen/Hemingway in comparison, and that's the episode where he sees her for the first time since abandoning her when she was pregnant 25 years prior!)

I mean, I also think there was an aspect of not wanting people to learn anything about his personal life, but part of it seems to be that he feels like he's being exposed. Like the rest of the staff meeting Maja and realising that she's a perfectly normal person would quickly make his "I'm weird because I'm Swedish" excuse fall apart. Like they'll realise that he's "broken".

To the point they actually have Maja say: "In Sweden, we are far less formal. Unless you're like Henrik, who always was a stickler for the rules - even as a student!" And Henrik looks extremely uncomfortable when she says it.

I think Henrik accepted pretty quickly that he doesn't fit in, so instead he more sort of tries to... not fit in, but in a socially acceptable way? Because, like, if people assume that his behaviour is a cultural thing, then that makes it seem more acceptable, or even cool. And he prefers being seen as a mysterious, fascinating outsider than a weird, broken one.

[wingsyliveblogs]

Between king and the detention trio, everything Luz says to other people keeps coming back around to bite her when she least needs it this episode. Thankfully, she’s able to turn it around in the end with her own self-criticism being used to convince Bump to give everyone a chance at seeing if mixing magic can work, if you stick with it despite the hiccups.

1. Good point! One thing Luz definitely did struggle with in this episode was choosing her words carefully, and things she'd previously said in a moment of carelessness coming up at the worst possible moments. I got the impression that her arc this time around was more or less about being true to herself, and in this case, that came with figuring out how to communicate her thoughts clearly to others.

2. That's true... basic human decency isn't exactly a common thing around the Boiling Isles, as far as we've seen. There are exceptions, of course, since Willow and Gus definitely do try to look out for their friends and the people around them respectively, but most people just don't seem to do stuff like that.

3. Oooh, I didn't make that connection before!

I feel this also serves as a great point in favour of mixing magic. I imagine a lot of people in a track like beast-keeping could really use the ability to heal, both for themselves and for their pets. Just look at how Viney was able to heal Puddles's injury after the fight - if she couldn't do that herself, she'd have to wait until she could find someone else to do it, and in a theoretical scenario where a witch's pet was injured much more severely, the witch not being able to care for their pet properly on their own could have some serious consequences.

4. I'll admit it's sometimes a bit difficult for me to tell dog traits and cat traits apart, and so I'm not always sure which one certain characters are supposed to resemble (for example, King).

But, in this case... I have to ask. Do cats bark???

5. Hmm. That's possible! The implication that people in the Boiling Isles all speak English but don't know any other human languages does seem a bit strange, but it could very well be one of those things that we're not meant to think too hard about.

I wouldn't think that Jerbo would have to worry too much about being ostracised for having an interest in a human language, though? Seeing as there's an official club for appreciation of human-related things in the school already, it doesn't seem like something that would generally be considered weird, per se.

6. That's fair! I think misunderstandings are, by their very nature, a little bit contrived, since they generally require certain levels of miscommunication that shouldn't be that hard to avoid. In this case, though, I felt like this particular misunderstanding wasn't too bad, since it naturally arose from Luz and the troublemaker trio's expectations of others.

Luz expected to mess up and have people think poorly of her, and she definitely has experience with people not listening to her when she's tried to explain herself in the past. She's very much used to making a bad first impression on others. Meanwhile, the troublemakers expected people to look down on them, and from the way they don't listen to Luz at all once they've decided she's not to be trusted, I would guess that they've probably also had experience with people pretending to like them, only to say bad things about them behind their backs.

Plus, I'll admit that I thought it was very interesting that the misunderstanding was built on the trio overhearing something that Luz actually said almost word for word herself, rather than mishearing something or having it be, like... something Luz was saying about the potions track or something else that was taken completely out of context.

It's... kind of hard to put what I'm thinking into words, but I think misunderstandings tend to go the route of taking something a character's said previously completely out of context, like the classic one where a character hears part of what another character's saying and it sounds really bad, but then later they find out about the rest of what they said, which gives their words a completely different meaning. However, in this case, it was Luz's very own words coming back to bite her, fair and square.

While Luz clearly didn't mean what she was saying in the way the trio took it, she also didn't really seem to get them at first. She was legitimately surprised to learn that they were in the same position she was, and her line about them being able to get into so much trouble in the shortcut room gave off the impression that she thought they were just rowdy kids (or even pranksters like Eda), which would mean that she was sort of separate from them. It felt like that bit back in Episode 1, where she told the Conformatorium prisoners she wasn't a criminal, only to find out that they hadn't done anything wrong either.

She did come to understand the trio once she learned their stories, but I don't think she truly understood them at first; she was just being nice. The thing was, she failed to communicate any of that. To some extent it did feel as though she didn't really try, and maybe she didn't really think there was a point to trying. It's interesting that she never really explained herself later, either - she encouraged the trio to fight the basilisk, and later she stood up for them, but she never actually got around to telling them why she said what she said. In a sense, I suppose her actions spoke louder than her words, so it wasn't much of a problem at that point, but still!

7. That could very well be the case!

[sunflowersoonyoung]

honeyed | jinho

w.c ↠ 2.5k

pairing↠ jinho x fem! reader

genre/s ↠ smut (light bondage, overstimulation, fem!oral), incubus! jinho, soft dom! jinho, supernatural au!, office au!

description ↠ falling asleep at work leads to an oddly realistic dream about your hot boss Jinho

warning/s ↠ suggestive themes, supernatural themes

a/n ↠ wow okay can you tell that jinho is my ptg bias. I seriously thirsted over him in this oneshot. this is one of my favourite smuts I've written here! I wrote it carefully and reread it three times so I'm proud of it :)

tags ↠ @prismwon

-

Anxiety washed over you from head to toe, rising with each passing second. You clasped a trembling hand to your chest to feel your heart fluttering against your ribcage.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself before pushing open the glass door to work.

The publishing office was bright with mellow, natural lighting, an open room dotted with large desks cluttered with stationary. Some of your coworkers had already arrived and had busied themselves with various tasks - bustling distractedly around the room.

“G-Good morning, everyone!”

You tried to announce your presence as boldly as you could; despite this, barely anyone bothered to even glance in your direction. You swallowed nervously and made a bee-line for your desk.

New to the workforce and fresh from University, acclimatising had been a difficult journey. No one was willing to sacrifice any precious time to help you - or even welcome you, for that matter. You felt utterly ostracised by the team. They had all apparently established their clique, and you were not invited.

The one exception had been the lead editor: Jo Jinho, your boss and the office eye candy.

“Good morning, (F/n).”

As if reading your thoughts, Jinho’s melodic voice drifted over your shoulder. You swallowed, feeling sweat prickle your armpits in response to his presence.

“You look bright today. I hope you’re making good progress on that manuscript.”

You pivoted in your chair to face him, in turn becoming stricken by his gaze. There was something unusual about Jinho, something that had successfully hypnotised many of your coworkers, including yourself.

He was impossible to resist. From his handsome exterior to his pleasant interior, he was genuinely mesmerising - like the sunrise in the morning after a cold night.

“Y-Yes, thank you,” you stammered, forcing a polite smile. Jinho’s smile in response was a thousand watts bright, his creased eyes just as radiant.

He was gone just as quickly as he had appeared, interacting with everyone else on the path to his desk. Your nerves melted from your taut muscles, and you breathed a sigh of relief, secretly thankful that Jinho had moved on. Being beneath his attention was too challenging to handle. You withdrew your laptop from your bag and made a start on work for the day.

Unfortunately, your concentration was coming through like a sputtering hose. You were not yet accustomed to working in a room with ten other people and limited silence.

Your attention drifted around the office. You observed conversations, watching as a young girl was scolded; a middle-aged man answered the phone with a frustrated visage.

You could not help but become drawn to Jinho.

He was hovering over someone’s shoulder - Seunghee, you vaguely remembered her name to be. Girls in the editing team tended to ask him for help suspiciously frequently. It was apparent they all simply longed after Jinho’s presence.

Admittedly, it was tempting. In that position, you could feel his breath against your ear.

You quickly became absorbed in observing him. It was not just his pretty features. His expressions were genuine, his explanations clear and concise. Fully believing you were free to admire him, you forgot your surroundings and lost yourself.

Abruptly, Jinho’s gaze shifted from Seunghee’s work to you. It was such a subtle shift that you almost failed to notice it. Electricity shot across your skin upon realisation, heat blossoming from your ears to your cheeks.

Though it was too late, you looked back to your computer screen. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see him grinning. That cruel image worsened your embarrassment.

As your mind buzzed with thoughts of Jinho’s grin, you struggled to return your focus to the manuscript as much as you tried. You huffed frustratedly.

“Everything okay, (F/n)?”

You wondered with horror if he intended to make things more difficult. Your humiliation should have been apparent, and yet here he was, standing directly behind you with a hand resting on the back of your chair.

“Y-Yes,” you responded, refusing to tear your eyes from your laptop. You could hear your voice quaking.

His palm settled on your desk, confining you. It was no longer possible to pretend he wasn’t there. His face was far too close for you to deal with.

“Really? Hmm,” He hummed, “There must be some other reason you were staring at me then.”

You could not even begin to imagine how crimson your face was. Was Jinho teasing you? It certainly felt like it.

He snorted faintly, withdrawing. On the edge of your vision, you could see him smiling broadly.

-

After getting very little work done for the rest of the afternoon, you opted to stay behind and work overtime. The manuscript was due tomorrow evening, after all.

The office buzz began to fade, gradually declining till the room was entirely quiet. The only thing disconnecting the silence was the sound of fingers against keyboards.

You decided to take a short break as your fatigue began to increase. Shadows from the night sky crept across the floor. Usually, you liked to be fed and warm at home by this time. Your eyelids were heavy, your thoughts sluggish and tired.

It was only you and Jinho remaining at this stage. You had managed to keep your thoughts away from him until now. He was wrapped up in his work; his face blank with concentration. Sighing, you ignored him and returned to your own business.

The words on your laptop screen began to blend with each passing second. You squinted, blinking rapidly to counter the weariness that was dousing you like warm water. You had never been so tired at work - it was as if you were being dragged down by an invisible force, and nothing you did could stop it. It was a similar sensation to having too much alcohol.

Before you knew it, your head had lulled onto the cold desk, crumpling the papers in front of you.

-

Alarm overwhelmed your thoughts as you lifted your head from your desk.

You could not believe you had fallen asleep at work. Rubbing your eyes, you looked towards Jinho’s desk in panic, hoping to apologise and then flee. Relief washed over you - his chair was empty. Perhaps he had gone home.

Strangely enough, the room was hazy. Instead of its usual white light, it was rose-tinted and clouded. It did not look familiar to you.

“You fell asleep? How cute.”

You blinked, and Jinho seemed to appear directly beside you, seated on the table with one leg crossed over the other. He was admiring you, cupping his cheek whilst wearing an affectionate smile.

It took a moment for you to react; your head was abnormally thick, so your thoughts were slow, but once you realised what was happening, you became flustered.

“Your face tells me everything - your expressions are so honest. It’s adorable.”

Jinho leapt smoothly to his feet, circling you to place his hands on the back of your swivel chair and then rotating you till you were facing him. You could do nothing, frozen with anticipation and unsure what to expect next.

He leant in closely, leaning on the armrests, and you held your breath. His nose was close enough to brush against yours, yet his expression was unchanged - still as sweet as usual.

“Why don’t you let me make you feel good?” He hummed. His gaze was direct, and you swooned inwardly when you finally met it. In contrast to his soft nature, his eyes were hard. You tried to swallow but your throat had gone dry.

“Wh-what if someone sees?” You stammered shyly.

Jinho chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement, “no one will see. I promise.”

He placed his hands on your knees, maintaining eye contact as he rubbed reassuringly. He pushed his hands up your thighs, catching the fabric of your skirt and baring your thighs to the air. You could not look away, dizzyingly mesmerised by him. Your head was getting light and hot.

Finally, Jinho kissed you. It was a shallow, chaste kiss that tasted of vanilla and made you feel as if you were melting into the chair.

You could not split your concentration between the kiss and the way his warm palms rubbed against your thighs. The combination was causing a spike of burning excitement to prickle between your legs.

He parted from you with a soft pop and offered you a hand. You were too flustered and weak-kneed to stand steadily, but it hardly mattered - Jinho did not make you stand for long.

“Let me taste you, gorgeous.”

Jinho was simultaneously gentle and firm as he guided you to his desk, carelessly sweeping it clear. You gasped when he spun you around, essentially folding you over the surface. The varnished wood was cold through the thin fabric of your shirt, momentarily sobering you to reality.

With your ass in the air, he hitched up your skirt to reveal your underpants. You were uneasy about the fact that you could not see what he was doing.

“Hands behind your back, please.”

This was Jinho’s first true order.

The way his voice dropped a few notes sent chills down your spine, goosebumps travelling across your skin. You were trembling as you obeyed, swallowing a nervous squeak when he loosely wrapped fabric around your wrists, tying them together.

“I’m not punishing you, sweet. It’s just some extra fun for you,” Jinho reassured. Admittedly you were both anxious and aroused by his decision to tie you up. It made your heart pound fast against your ribcage.

With you properly restrained, Jinho determined that it was time to begin his ministrations.

His fingers ran up and down your slit through your underwear before hooking the fabric and drawing it aside. You strained against your bonds and arched your back when he made direct contact with your pussy. It was only a subtle touch, and yet pleasure was already rippling across your body.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

Jinho’s voice was dripping with honey, and yet his fingers were cruel. He grazed your clit with his fingertip and then dragged his finger back down between your lips and teased your entrance with slight pressure, and then repeated this process.

He was not entirely giving in to you, and you were becoming so sensitive that tears of desperation were beginning to sting your eyes.

“J-Jinho .... please,” you pleaded, feeling helpless - frantic for more.

“Please, what?” He hummed in response, “Tell me what to do, sweet, and I’ll do it. Use your words.”

Despite being dazed and overwhelmed, you still managed to respond, albeit in a small voice, “I-I want your lips and your fingers.”

“Of course, sweet.”

He pressed his thumb directly to your clitoris, and you gasped, toes curling. He languidly rolled his thumb, observing you whilst cleverly allowing your pleasure to build. Your focus honed in on his touches, no longer paying attention to the noises passing through your lips.

“The more I touch you, the prettier noises you make,” Jinho commented.

Abruptly, he filled you up with his forefinger. Your breath hitched in your throat, hardly expecting him to make that leap.

You cried out when his lips sucked in your clitoris, gradually fucking you with his finger. He eased you into a swift orgasm, pressing fluttering kisses to the backs of your thighs while you trembled.

“Good girl~. One more time?”

Before you could respond, Jinho had added a second finger and was pistoning them inside of you much quicker than earlier. You were incredibly wet thanks to your orgasm, and he seemed to be using that to his advantage.

His tongue teased your swollen clit, and you sobbed, “I-I’m too sensitive!” Seemingly uncaring, Jinho dragged you into a second, far more intense orgasm that had your legs thrashing and drool spilling out onto the desk.

Your ears were ringing, but you could hear Jinho chuckling as he removed himself.

“Was that too much?” He mused, cleaning his fingers with his mouth, “Can you take any more?”

You were still an empty shell, electricity and heat clinging to your skin mingled with a sheen of sweat. His hands smoothed over your ass cheeks, a comforting action that made your heart soften. You twisted around to look at him dazedly.

Jinho was just as gorgeous as ever, though he had lost some of his neatness. The restraint around your wrist was apparently his necktie, which was missing, and he had undone his button-up shirt to reveal a sliver of his flawless chest. He combed his fingers through his hair, gleaming at you proudly.

“The look on your face tells me you want more,” he purred, rolling his hips against your backside. You mewled and rocked backwards, feeling his hard cock straining through his pants. You had never been so delirious, hungry to feel every inch of him.

“Ho~ such an insatiable girl,” Jinho unzipped his pants, sliding the tip of his cock over your slick folds. Even that simple action felt incredible.

“Oh, my God.”

Jinho filled you up, stuffing you in one lazy stroke. You were so full, your pussy throbbing delightfully around him.

“Please,” you begged, wanting nothing more than for him to fuck you, “Jinho-ah, please.” He scoffed in response before giving in to your desires.

The way he fucked you was utterly sadistic in contrast to his sweet nature. He was relentless in the way his hips slammed against yours, no longer offering you any mercy. You were defenceless to him, only able to dig your nails into your palm whilst bracing yourself.

“So tight,” he groaned, hanging his head back in bliss.

He angled his hips upwards, the head of his cock meeting a sweet spot. You started contracting around him, the pleasure in the pit of your belly peaking.

“I’m gonna-,” you managed to slur out before you came hard, so hard that stars speckled behind your clenched eyes. You practically ascended into the ceiling, losing all sense of Jinho’s thrusts and anything else around you.

Ink drowned your vision as you passed out.

-

“(F/n)?”

Your head was weighty as you lifted it, heat throbbing between your legs in response to the vivid dream you had just woken from.

Jinho was peering down at you, his hand warm on your shoulder.

“You should go home if you’re so tired,” he sighed, wearing a concerned expression. You were in shock, simply unable to process that what had just occurred had been entirely in your head. You could still feel his thickness inside you, still feel the intense climax he had given you.

“Are you okay? You look flushed,” Jinho cocked his head, the worry growing on his face. You waved your hand dismissively.

“I-I’m fine. I should go home.”

He hovered nearby as you packed away your laptop, silently observing you. You were ready to leave when he finally broke the silence.

“Let’s do that again,” Jinho suggested innocently, his smile no different from his usual one, “you’re so cute when you beg.”

[bytheangell]

Form a Connection

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Omegaverse for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Raphael/Jace/Simon  Rating: Teen – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: alpha/beta/omega dynamics, mentions of fertility issues but it isn’t the focus, true mates, happy ending Summary:   Jace, after years of taking suppressants to be able to patrol and hunt with the Alphas and Betas, finds his world turned on its head when a chance encounter with his True Mates brings everything about himself he's ever fought against rising to the surface. -------------

It’s a big mission. Most of Jace’s missions are routine missions, despite his best efforts to match up with the Alphas and Betas normally sent out on them. He knows that Alec is trying, that the orders don’t come from him, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when the best assignments are given to everyone but him, even if being the only Omega on constant active duty is a huge deal in and of itself.

Once and a while, though, Alec manages to get him on something properly exciting - and the raid on the Hotel Dumort is nothing if not exciting, just not for the reasons Jace expects.

A fledgling is causing trouble in the city, wanted for a few mundane murders, and they’re going in to extract her for questioning. No lethal force if at all necessary, which means some pretty good fights are bound to break out from anyone trying to interfere - like the vampires currently trying to block his path.

That’s when Jace smells them, and in that moment he feels his entire world stop, just for a second.

It’s the longest, most life-altering second of his entire life; because Jace isn’t being drawn to another Shadowhunter, which is expected, or even a mundane, which would be frowned upon but ultimately tolerated. No, Jace just rounded a corner to bring his seraph blade up to the throat of a vampire, with another vampire immediately lunging to pull him off. The first one, who looks rightfully terrified, smells sweet, almost like the vanilla hazelnut coffee Jace is so fond of from the place near the Institute. The angry one, done up in a suit that looks like it’s worth more than Jace has spent on every piece of clothing he’s ever worn in his entire life, smells of leather and patchouli.

They’re the most wonderful scents that Jace has ever smelled and it’s so overwhelming that he loses focus and closes his eyes, just for a moment. At first, all of his instincts seem to kick into overdrive at once: he wants more, he needs more, leaning towards the scents. Then he remembers where he is - he remembers who he is and what they are - and his eyes snap back open as he takes two fumbling steps back.

They make no move to attack Jace now that he dropped his blade, however, and seem to be staring back at him with the same surprised (and possibly a little bit horrified) look of realization as they take him in in turn.

“Raphael…?” The one Jace attacked starts, his words slow and hesitant.

“Carajo,” the vampire in the suit, Raphael, curses in a low tone.

“I-” Jace starts, still processing, before turning abruptly and leaving without another word. The other vampire must make a move to follow him because a forceful “Simon, let him go” is the last thing Jace hears behind him before he’s out of earshot, walking straight out of the Dumort and back to the Institute.

---

Jace barely sleeps that night. Alec is concerned after he vanished without checking in but Jace insists he’s fine and eventually Alec stops asking, at least for now. Not that it matters, because not talking about it doesn’t keep it from his mind.

He wants nothing more than to go back to the Dumort and feel the comfort of Raphael’s scent again. They’re meant to be mates, he knows it, and he thinks the vampire does, too. Of all the Alphas in the world… and he has a Beta already, too. Raphael’s scent was all over Simon, there’s no doubt about it.

Fuck.

He can’t do it. He’s ostracized by the Downworlders enough for who his family is… Valentine raised him, after all, and even if he isn’t around any longer his legacy sure as hell is. And even if Jace did accept this attraction there’s no way any Downwolder would be with him. Not even…

Jace doesn’t want to admit that the pull he felt was more than the average desire. He always thought all that talk of true mates was romantic nonsense but here he is practically drowning in the memory of it. Maybe Raphael didn’t notice - Jace has taken suppressants since before he was even old enough to present as an Omega and with any luck it was enough for Raphael to forget about him.

Any hopes of that being true are dashed the next day when Jace, in the Ops Center with Alec to go over some plans for the week’s missions and patrols, looks up to see Raphael being escorted inside by the two Shadowhunters on guard duty.

Jace’s anxiety spikes and Alec senses it immediately, turning to face Raphael while moving defensively in front of Jace.

“What are you doing here?” Alec snaps.

“I wanted to return this,” Raphael says, stopping where he is a few feet away from them to hold up a dagger. It’s Jace’s dagger, the one he dropped last night before he fled. Raphael looks beyond Alec to Jace who promptly averts his gaze to the papers in front of him. “And I wanted to speak to him.”

“He’s right here,” Alec says, not moving. Jace is grateful because he can smell Raphael from here and it only confirms his suspicions from the night before. He’s never had this sort of physical reaction before… he wants to hate it but he doesn’t. It feels right. What he does hate is how right it feels.

“Alright,” Raphael says, turning his gaze from Alec back to Jace. “Is that what you want? For me to discuss this here, in the middle of a room full of your colleagues?”

Jace swallows thickly. No. He hasn’t even told Alec… he can’t have the entire Institute knowing, he just can’t.

“No,” Jace says quickly. “I’ll speak to him. It’s alright, Alec.” He knows there’s no way Alec believes that, not with the spike in panic tainting everything around him, souring the air.

Alec looks at him in concern. “Jace, what is it?” Alec asks him quietly. “If this vampire’s threatening you-”

“It isn’t that,” Jace promises. “It’s-” Jace starts, but stops again, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you later. I swear it. But I need to talk to Raphael alone first. It’s okay. Really, it is.”

“I promise not to touch a hair on his perfectly styled head,” Raphael swears.

Jace is already walking off towards a side hallway, motioning for Raphael to follow him to an empty room before shutting the door behind them and placing both locking and silencing runes on the door.

Inside, the scent of Raphael is overwhelming, even more so than the night before when he rushed toward Jace to throw him off Simon. Raphael can sense Jace’s hesitation and keeps his distance.

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Raphael starts. “Jace, was it?”

Jace nods. “And you’re Raphael.”

It isn’t a question but the vampire nods in response just the same.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way-”

“Don’t,” Jace cuts him off. “I can’t- we can’t- this can’t happen. I’m sorry.”

Whatever Raphael is expecting, it isn’t that. “Sorry?”

“I can’t be with a Downworlder. You’d never be accepted here, and my father-” Jace shakes his head. “My father’s Valentine. He raised me. I can’t exist in your world.”

“So you think you can make decisions for me? You don’t even know me,” Raphael says, tone strained as he tries to control his frustration. The air in the room seems to sour at once and Jace feels nauseous. He needs to get out.

“I don’t,” Jace admits. “And I never will.”

With that he walks out of the door, telling the two guards lingering nearby to escort Raphael back outside now.

---

Alec finds Jace in the training room shortly after.

“Talk,” Alec demands, not even waiting for the punching bag Jace is hitting to swing to a stop in front of him.

“I think Raphael’s my true mate,” Jace says, not bothering to stall. He promised Alec he’d explain so there’s no point in trying to avoid it now.  “Maybe Simon, too? Can you have more than one? I dunno, I didn’t stay long enough to sort it out.” 

“That’s why you left the raid,” Alec realizes, finally able to put the pieces together.

“Yeah,” Jace admits. “I was hoping I could just ignore it. I’ve been on the suppressants for so long I figured it might block it from him, but it didn’t. He came here to talk about it.”

“And?” Alec asks, his tone gentle and patient. He knows how difficult this is for Jace.

“And I told him it isn’t going to happen,” Jace says flatly. “Can you imagine? I’ve heard what the other Shadowhunters say about the vampires, I’ve seen how they treat them and the warlocks for being unnatural. I can’t bring them into that.”

Vampires and warlocks are sterile, even the Alphas, something the Nephilim frequently look down on them for even more than the other Downworlders. For a Nephilim to tie themselves to one of them for life is no light matter.

“And with my father…” Jace frowns. “His people would hate him for even considering bringing me into their lives. They’d never trust him again. I can’t do that to him, either.”

“Jace…” Alec starts slowly, sensing Jace’s frustration and pain at what he’s denying himself. “Wouldn’t this be good for you? With your suppressants...”

Everyone knows that there’s a serious risk of infertility issues with suppressants. His father knew when he started giving them to him, and Jace was old enough to understand the risk when he decided to keep taking them. He’d do anything to keep going on missions with Alec and Isabelle, anything to not be further ostracised from the Alphas and Betas the way he saw other Omegas his age were. He’s never allowed himself to get attached enough to anyone else long enough for them to even consider him as a mate, figuring the longer he stayed detached the longer it wouldn’t be an issue for someone other than himself.

Being with a vampire would make it a non-issue. It’d make that aspect of Jace’s life easier, but for Raphael and Simon being mated to him would only bring them trouble; they had nothing to gain and everything to lose, and he’ll be damned if that drive to nurture and protect isn’t overriding everything more than usual just then, even his own well-being.

“No,” Jace repeats firmly. “I can’t do it, Alec. It’s for the best. He has Simon, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about him, Jace. I’m worried about you.” Alec pushes.

“I’ll be fine,” Jace says, knowing the words are a lie. It’s a lie he’s said so many times that he almost believes it himself now. Maybe if he says it often enough, it’ll come true. “I’m always fine.”

---

The intense heat Jace goes into that night is unexpected. His suppressants usually stop them entirely and the few he has experienced were mild. This one comes on suddenly and even now, just at the start, it’s stronger than any he’s experienced in the past… maybe stronger than all of them combined. He tells Izzy to take him off any assignments for the foreseeable future and locks himself inside his room, refusing to speak to or see anyone.

Jace takes every blanket and pillow in his possession and makes a nest in the back corner of his closet. It’s cramped and small and dark, with no scent other than his own and the slightest hint of Alec and Isabelle that always lingers around him, the only other people who occasionally spend time with him in his room. It isn’t enough to bring him comfort. He knows what will since he can’t help the instinctive desire for Raphael and Simon’s scents intruding into his thoughts no matter how desperately he pushes the urge back down, but he refuses to ask for it.

Instead, he gives a loud whine as he buries himself as deep into the corner as he can, which isn’t that much further than he already is. The stone wall around him provides little relief against the spike in his temperature leaving him overheated and uncomfortable no matter how he positions himself. He can’t focus, can’t think for more than a few seconds before the seesaw of lightheadedness and nausea flare up again.

Even Alec’s voice from the other side of his bedroom door barely reaches him, but he does catch some of it despite his best efforts to ignore him.

“Jace, please let me in. At least let me bring you something to eat, or drink.”

“It’s been hours, just let us know you’re alright.”

“Don’t make me break this door down, Jace.”

It’s an empty threat, Jace thinks. He has no idea how many hours, possibly even days, have passed, the blur of his fever haze distorting any sense of time. But even Alec wouldn’t barge in on him like this, no matter how worried he is; he wouldn’t contaminate Jace’s nest during his heat like that, not if Jace wants him out.

“Just leave me alone!” Jace shouts at some point, hoping it’s enough. He shouldn’t turn Alec away - he’s hungry and dehydrated and isn’t sure if the brief moments of respite he gets are sleep or passing out - but he struggles to power through on his own, the way he always has before… not that this is like anything he’s experienced before.

The next time he hears Alec’s voice it’s softer than before. “I know you don’t want me to come in,” Alec starts. “And please don’t be mad at me but… I brought someone else in to help. Please let them.”

And then a voice that sounds like music to his ears in his current state.

“Jace? It’s Raphael. I’m here with Simon. I’d like to come in, if you’d allow me to.”

Jace wants nothing more. It’s all he’s wanted from the start, especially considering it was likely Raphael’s scent that broke through his suppressants and brought all of this on in the first place. Just hearing Raphael’s voice eases something inside of him, and he can only imagine filling the room with his scent.

“You shouldn’t… be here…” Jace manages, but his voice is weak and he hates how fragile it sounds in his own ears. He isn’t sure they can even hear him on the other side of the door.

“Yes, I should. I think you know that as well as I do,” Raphael insists. “May I come inside?”

It’s the fact that Raphael asks again, rather than asserting authority and insisting, that finally breaks Jace.

“Yes,” he chokes out, curling around himself as a wave of lightheadedness passes over him again. “Please.”

Jace hears the door open and close again. “It’s just me,” Raphael says. “But if you want anyone else just tell me and I’ll get them. I brought water and some protein bars that Alec says you like. I can toss them into the closet for you?”

“Yes,” Jace says again, too disoriented to focus on more than that at the moment. Raphael’s small movements are enough to push his scent further into the room, into Jace’s small, safe space, and it’s so much of the comfort he’s craved since this started.

Jace manages to drink some of the water and eat one of the bars.

“I hope it’s alright that I came,” Raphael says, speaking in a soothing, comforting tone. “Alec called me. He said that he’s never seen you get this bad.”

“Did he say… why?” Jace asks, silently cursing Alec for telling Raphael anything, even if it was for his own good.

“No,” Raphael admits, and Jace relaxes with the knowledge that Alec kept his privacy. “And you don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. I know you don’t want me here-”

“I do,” Jace cuts in.

“Oh?” Raphael sounds surprised.

His head is swimming. He’s exhausted and for the first time since this began he thinks he might actually be able to fall asleep.

“I’ll tell you, just… later?” Jace knows he sounds desperate but it isn’t a conversation he wants to have here, not like this.

Raphael, thankfully, understands. “Do you want me to leave you alone again?”

Jace considers this. So far he hasn’t even seen the vampire - Raphael stayed outside of the closet, in Jace’s room. He doesn’t know him well enough to want him any closer just now, instincts or not. They’re strangers, and Jace knows he walked away from his chance to talk before, knows he has no right to ask him to stay now, but he does it anyway.

“No. Could you stay a bit? Simon can come in, too. And use the bed, or the chairs, if you want.” Jace can hear from where Raphael’s voice is coming from that he’s sitting on the floor.

There are some noises that seem lightyears away and then Simon is there, his sent mixing with Raphael’s in that perfect fusion Jace remembers from the raid. They stay there with him, sometimes talking to him, sometimes talking to each other, other times in total silence, for the next two days, leaving only to bring him food and water.

Yet Jace can’t help the nagging fear in the back of his head of what the others must think, of what they’ll be saying… the rumors and judgments…

He’s equal parts relieved and terrified when he feels well enough to come out and face them, but he can’t stay hidden away forever.

“How are you feeling?” Raphael asks him almost immediately, worry etched into his expression behind pinched brows and a slight frown.

“Better, thanks to you two.”

“Well, it seems only fair since I have a suspicion this has something to do with our encounter,” Raphael says. True mates have been known to cut through the effects of suppressants, glamours, and other spells, something Raphael must have already put together.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jace says, defaulting to sarcasm and deflecting, even though it’s true.

Simon laughs as Raphael rolls his eyes.

“The others, while you’ve been here, have they been- did they treat you alright?” Jace almost doesn’t want to ask, but he has to know. He knows Alec would, he’s the one who brought them here, but some of the others barely manage to treat Jace decently half the time, and that’s with Alec’s constant protection and threats hanging over their heads.

“Some have,” Raphael admits honestly. “Others not so much. It’s what I expected being in the heart of the Nephilim Institute.”

“You should’ve left,” Jace sighs. “I never should’ve asked you to stay.”

“Are you kidding?” Simon says. “All Raphael did after you left was talk about you and-”

“That’s enough of that,” Raphael cuts him off, but it’s too late. Jace perks up significantly at that knowledge.

“Oh yeah?” Jace manages a slight smirk.

“It wasn’t all I did,” Raphael glares at Simon. “But I was hoping we’d have another chance to at least talk. I wasn’t quite picturing this, of course.”

“Neither was I,” Jace agreed. “But I meant what I said before. It’s not worth the trouble.”

“You mean ‘you’re’ not worth the trouble?” Simon huffs. “Why don’t you let us decide that.”

Jace looks from Simon to Raphael with uncertainty. Why? Why would they want to deal with the harassment and the judgment, just for him? They don’t even know him.

Then again, he doesn’t even know them, and he was already willing to let himself suffer to do what he thought was best for them over his own needs. Is it really so impossible for him to imagine they feel the same?

“My father-”

“Is Valentine,” Raphael fills in, sounding unphased and almost bored. “And you are not your father.”

There’s another long silence.

“We’re not the only ones with something to lose, Omega.” The use of Jace’s status rather than his name is all the insinuation he needs to know what Simon is referring to.

“That isn’t a problem,” Jace says quietly. “I’ve been on suppressants since I was a kid… it was the only way I was allowed to train and go on missions with the others, and, well, even if I was with another Nephilim I don’t think children are in my future.”

Jace doesn’t even realize as he said the words how personal of an admission it is, almost forgetting he’d kept it a secret from everyone other than Alec after the doctors more or less confirmed it to be the case. Normally he’d change the subject, but Raphael and Simon? Jace wanted to tell them. He wanted to let them in, to try at least, even if it turned them away to learn the lengths he’d gone to deny who and what he is as much as possible.

Jace went so far out of his way to avoid this very scenario - one where he’s out of commission for days on end, at the whims of hormones out of his control - one where he appears as weak as everyone expects him to be. This isn’t the strong, furious Shadowhunter who attacked Simon at the Dumort, all power, skill, and control, and that comparison is made even worse by the fact that his suppressants left him unused to heats this intense. He must seem like a total disaster.

Jace wouldn’t blame them for taking one look at him and deciding he isn’t worth the hassle…. except they aren’t going anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Jace,” Simon says. Jace is surprised to see genuine sorrow on both of their faces.

“I appreciate you trusting us with that,” Raphael adds.

“You really think we can make this work?” Jace asks. He’s clearly not good at this part of things - it’s going to be difficult to get used to and he’s going to need a lot of help, they have to realize that. And still...

“I think we owe it to ourselves to try,” Raphael says, and Simon nods emphatically beside him.

“There’s plenty you don’t know about us, too. You may decide we’re not worth it in the end.”

Jace snorts. “Yeah, right,” he says, realizing just how invested he really is after the short period of time he’s known them. It should terrify him, but it doesn’t. He wants to make this work, and for the first time Jace allows himself to imagine he might have something serious in his future.

“Alright,” Jace agrees at last. “But first I need to shower for about half a day. Maybe… maybe we can get a drink tomorrow night, and talk some more?”

“Yes! I knew you’d come around. And I know the perfect place-” Simon exclaims, starting to ramble before catching himself and snapping his mouth shut, looking over to Raphael. “I mean, uh, what do you think?”

Raphael, who does his best to look exasperated before his expression softens, finally smiles.

“I think we know the perfect place.”

Jace doesn’t bother to ask where - he’s already pretty certain that the perfect place is wherever the three of them can be together, which is just fine by him.

[peepingtoad]

Because parallelism is so prevalent in Naruto, do you think it’s at all possible that Jiraiya had a similar childhood to Naruto sans being a jinchūriki?

Anonymous Fanmail // always accepting 

Thank for sending this one in anon, because this is a pretty juicy topic for me!

First off, on the subject of parallelism in Naruto in general, well… I personally think it’s a pretty tired way of connecting character archetypes (especially when it comes to the female characters being constantly compared because well duh, they’re girls! Who else would they parallel?! Even if their characters aren’t really that alike we’re telling you they are because women amirite??). 

Basically I don’t feel like generations need to constantly mirror each other in character and experience to understand and relate to each other—which in my eyes they don’t even in the canon, but they are nonetheless hammered into the audience as more similar than I find believable, when really they are simply allotted similar tropes (see Team 7 & Sannin: the goofy but heroic boy, the dark broody boy that goes astray, the headstrong girl). But consider the vastly different experiences they had—we’re talking a 38 year gap here, from a world in flux due to the earliest world wars, to a time of relative peace before all the Big Plot and Master Plans kick off. They must have vastly different experiences that shape them.

But anyway, onto Jiraiya and Naruto’s childhoods, which hopefully I’ll specifically stick to because I could talk endlessly…

One one hand, they are both depicted as the ‘fool’, the ‘non-talented’ one of their team. Yes, this is a similarity we’re given, but the reasons for this are completely different—and for me, arguably, it’s not even technically the case that they are without talent. Especially for Naruto, who was only behind because everything that technically did make him OP from the start was kept secret from him. He just didn’t have the mentorship for him to see it, not even from Iruka who (and not being salty here) took an interest in more of a familial sense. There was nobody to teach him in a way that worked, and while he paid no attention in school, there wasn’t much effort made to remedy that either; thus we have ‘the fool’ who isn’t even really a ‘fool’. Just ignored, and the product of learning styles that don’t work for him. Relatable much?

Jiraiya, on the other hand, was part of a generation who were made shinobi as young as six years old, and I honestly don’t think that there will have been much in the way of schooling before that, aside from perhaps basic literacy—just, ‘this one has decent chakra, let’s get them out there’. And I don’t believe he really was non-talented or behind for his ludicrously tender age either—he was just on a team with two naturally prodigious kids during a time where they were obviously desperate to have more ninja in their ranks, having just come out of a world war. There wasn’t time for him to be truly bad at anything because he was a damn baby, so he was thrown into the fray and simply had to get good, as opposed to Naruto being in the ‘ignored’ box as stated before.

Not only that, but Jiraiya as a child showed very little interest in becoming a skilled shinobi at all, and was more interested in girls (and probably playing in mud lbr) whereas Naruto already had big goals. And the sheer fact that Jiraiya, even with this lack of inclination to excel, had to fight and kill so young, whereas Naruto was sheltered for all the wrong reasons while having ambitions of being noticed and eventually becoming Hokage (with no clue about any of the reality behind it), automatically gives their childhood experience of being dummies a different angle in my eyes. One had, as far as this world goes, a fairly average start to life… while the other was subject to so much neglect that he wanted to be the very best like no-one ever was at like five.

But one thing I will say I like more about the ‘dunce’ trope they share as kids is the idea that both Jiraiya and Naruto seem to have similar learning styles—that being, they both learn better through doing rather than through drier methods of study, and while they are slow on the uptake they tend to end up being particularly brilliant in the skills they do manage to master. Even Jiraiya sucked at the Rasengan at first as an adult, and had that swirl tattoo on his hand as a visual learning tool to aid him in focusing his chakra, which he also drew on Naruto’s palm in ink to help him focus his. That tells me that Jiraiya definitely does relate to him in the sense of having to navigate ‘getting good’ as someone who perhaps isn’t typically sharp and skilled, which also may explain some of the tough love he exhibits in training Naruto (because he also needed that exact same tough love!). 

Of course that all kinda goes to hell anyway when the plot requires Naruto to learn new things inordinately fast, and have various skills perfected within a period that doesn’t really align with what we’re shown about him being ‘slower’, damn shadow clones or not—like nobody had ever, ever thought to do that before, considering every bugger seems able to do kagebunshin…

~But that’s a (slightly salty) digression from the childhood thing~

It’s hard to discuss other parallels in their childhood, besides their overall shared trope of being sunshine idiots, without taking into account the fact Naruto’s jinchūriki status really did touch every aspect of his life. Because of it, he was without a support network from his most vulnerable formative years, whereas Jiraiya had friends and a dedicated mentor (even if it was through being placed into a ninja unit during those formative years). 

From my personal headcanons for Jiraiya, formed because of a lack of information in canon, they were both alone in a sense—Jiraiya not knowing his father at all while his biological mother worked away almost constantly, leaving him to become self-sufficient—but Jiraiya at least knew something of where he was from, had early memories and letters and occasional instances of meeting his mother in the flesh until she passed when he was a young adult. Jiraiya also at least had obvious reasons things were this way, was surrounded by peers who were also varying degrees of orphaned (many big clans seemed to be pretty decimated by the end of the First War)… whereas aside from Sasuke, Naruto’s peers all had their families, with no idea who his own were and why it’s such a secret. 

Naruto had the targeted jinchūriki isolation for over a decade and thus a need to prove himself/be noticed—was actually pretty desperate for approval—whereas Jiraiya seemed more whimsical and carefree, had people around him who certainly didn’t ostracise him, and tbh didn’t even seem to try in earnest to compete with Orochimaru (I’m looking at you, ‘Shuriken Whatever Jutsu’) before Tsunade provoked him to. All in all, Jiraiya seemed more interested in getting tougher in order to have adventures (see the Onbaa filler episode) and be appealing to the ladies even though he was an Actual Child with abysmal game.

I will say that they both possibly felt they were without a sense of purpose, maybe until their pre-teens—Naruto through said isolation/ambitions not being taken seriously until he started to excel as a ninja, Jiraiya through simply not seeming to give many fucks about the future until the Toads gave him a new path to walk down, where he excelled—and both were perhaps disregarded overall for their tendency to be boisterous, cheerful and ‘dumb’. Which caused them to play up that aspect of themselves, but again the parallel in terms of the root causes behind that behaviour in the first place, and the particular ways it manifested in their childhood years, isn’t really one that can be drawn in my opinion.

TLDR; they share an overall trope and some character similarities, but very little in terms of actual early life experiences/upbringing.

[essayofthoughts]

13 Reasons Why

When I was in Secondary School I spent a lot of my free time at school in the library. While I was there, I read the book Thirteen Reasons Why. I was bullied a lot as a kid. I was ostracised, I had very few friends. Later on, at Sixth Form, this made me very vulnerable to manipulation, a fact which my ex used to his advantage and which has left me with issues to this day. I read this book when I was somewhere between thirteen and fifteen - I don’t know specifically when because I lost a lot of time to pure apathy while in secondary, in part because I was being ostracised from and by my peers. I had one friend, and she lived hours away.

The book resonated with me. Social ostracisation, suicidal ideation... it was painful but it was an interesting book. Because yeah - if you’re seriously contemplating suicide the book will be a hard read. If you’re not, however, I would definitely recommend it. The book is told through the perspective of a boy, Clay, who was friends with the girl who killed herself, Hannah. One day, he finds, waiting for him, a box of old cassette tapes.

The tapes are from Hannah, one side dedicated to each of the people who she believes had some part in her decision that she had no real choice but to die. Clay listens through them all, travelling to different locations in his town as Hannah-on-the-tapes directs and, tape by tape, coming closer to learning what part he had in her death. Sometimes the narration offers up his memories of events to add to or contradict or otherwise show the other ways of reading something Hannah has said. 

By and large, the message I came away from the book with was: be nice to people. Don’t be shitty. You don’t know what you’re adding to, you don’t know how close to the edge they are. And it can cost you nothing to help pull them back from that edge. 

The other message I came away from the book with was: More people care than you think, once they know - apparently though, not my peers, not until much later. Another message: People care more about what is said than you think, and it costs nothing to be nice and not nasty.

The last message I came away from it with was: Death is the end, it cannot be undone. Do everything you can before you chose it. 

To quote Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat:

LXXI The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

What’s done is done. You can’t undo it, though you can try to make amends. It costs nothing to try to help, to try to do good, to try to reach out and to reach back to those reaching out to you.

That’s what Thirteen Reasons Why taught me as a teenager.

I’m pleased to say, as an adult, that the TV series of 13 Reasons Why, based on the book, is just as good as I remember the book being. Just as painful. Just as full of these messages. And it adds some of it’s own, widening the scope beyond just Clay listening to Hannah’s tapes, but showing those who listened to them before him and how listening to the tapes has affected them as well as their own perspective of events.

A phrasing used in the show: “Hannah’s truth is not my truth”, “I only know Hannah’s truth”, “What about my truth?” 

The importance of these different perspectives - everyone having different things going on in their lives that caused them to make their decisions. The toxicity of the culture of secondary school - or more specifically, really, American High School - and how that can make a lot of things worse for those of us at the bottom of the social pecking order.

It’s still a very painful thing - reading the book or watching the show is emotionally painful and can be very draining. I’ve been watching it one or two episodes a day since it came out because I do not have the energy or the time for more. But I’m very glad I watched it all the way through.

I will say this: if you think the show will trigger you do not watch it. It almost certainly will. If you think it will trigger you but you think you can handle it, please for the love of all the gods be careful. Take the time you need. Watch it slowly, pause it, stop if you need to. 

If you don’t think it will trigger you, though?

I would heartily recommend watching it. It allows access to a thought process that may not make sense. It talks about depression and dissociation and rape and social shaming - slut-shaming by a group as well as internalised feelings regarding it. It talks about toxicity and righteousness and self-righteousness. It talks about denial and people trying desperately to save themselves and damn the consequences ... but those consequences will finally come for them.

I think, if you’re someone who’s never been suicidal, or, maybe, someone who briefly considered it at one point but who has since managed to push past that, to have a different mindset, a different life... I think it’s a worthwhile watch.

Don’t watch it if you’re not ready. Be prepared for what it’s gonna throw at you - read the episode summaries on Wikipedia if that’ll help, or if you want you can send me an ask about what’s in each episode and I can try to provide trigger warnings as accurately as I recall them and rewatching if necessary.

I saw This Post a few days ago, with the OP decrying it and I think its ... a little disingenuous. I think the TV show is definitely not something you should watch if suicidal, seriously depressed, or likely to be triggered by the subject matter.

But if you’re not? I think its. A really helpful look into that mindset, as well as carrying a bunch of important messages about the importance of being good to people. Not passing judgement on them based on rumours, not assuming you know anything about them, not assuming they can take whatever you throw at them because sure, you might be able to handle it, but you don’t know about their life, about what stresses they’re going through, nor if they themselves are able to deal with things as you do - not everyone is as resilient as everyone else and it shouldn’t be their burden to be careful to avoid nastiness. The burden should be on everyone to not be horrible in the first place.

Also, the cast is actually... pretty diverse. If you want a show that has characters of different races and sexualities and shows things complexly... I’d say give it a try, if you think it won’t trigger you or that you can handle it if you might be triggered.

Thirteen Reasons Why the book was a very important read to teenage me. It’s one of a very few books from that period I remember reading and that stuck with me and that, despite the pain of the story and how it interacted with stuff in my head at that point... I genuinely enjoyed. 

13 Reasons Why the TV show is as good, and adds to the material as well. It manages to merge the largely internal storytelling of the book into a TV format in a way that... really works and it covers the topics well, as well as adding to the narrative in a way the book couldn’t.

I’d recommend both, but I’d provide these warnings too. Because it can trigger and it can be awful if you’re not prepared. I think it’s a worthwhile read and a worthwhile watch. But please be careful.

[dunmerofskyrim]

7

A long line straggled across Stonefalls.

Before noon we’d crossed our final river. Hoped that, after, a high and headlong sun would help us dry and find warmth again. But the sky scowled full of clouds. Pale and powerless light; not a single shadow cast and no heat to heal the cold. We lit fires – those of us who could – but had nothing but magicka to burn. Soon they sputtered out.

We lost two from that crossing. Not immediate, but as we carried on. As the riverland valley warped beneath our feet and turned to waterlogged marsh. The cold sapped their strength and gave nothing back. Our long line grew shorter.

One collapsed while we travelled. Heavy working veins on their brow and temples. Sunken neck and hollowed chest and a half-drowned sound to their breathing. They couldn’t catch their breath. We stopped til it stopped, then we started again.

The other was scarce out of childhood. Night took him. Morning found him stiff, with eyes half-open, lashes glazed with frost.

His father was a Colovian Dunmer. A trapper and trader in furs. And his son’s death lit a fuse in him. Nothing at first. A shock that could pass almost for stoicism. And then each morning, for mornings after, we found him shaking, speaking to his son.

“I should’ve kept you warm. We should’ve never come. I’d’ve burnt all I had if I knew. A strong lad, though. You were always strong. I’d’ve burnt them all…”

He turned pilgrim two days later. His faith before had been in hope, and profit, and new beginnings. The belief that with new places will come new prospects. Those are the little gods to which all willing migrants give their prayers. Now he sold it all for the chance to feel his fate had been taken from his hands. A reinvestment.

That was the way with the pilgrims among us. At least the ones from settled Dunmer stock.

The settlers trudged, weighed down by more than they could carry. Packs, sacks, rolled shelters, furled up bundles of wares or goods. Like dragon-cards they held close to their chests, to change their fate in the game’s last round. Or else the dried-up seeds by which they hoped, in the end, to plant a new home. They tore their clothes and the clothes of the dead to have more between them and the cold — for rag-ribbons to bind shut the openings of their sleeves and collars against the frosts that came at night.

But the pilgrims carried almost nothing. Wore thin rags. Whited their brows and eye-sockets with ash and blacked their hands with cinders. Braved the cold both day and night, shrinking like wolves from the fires we lit against the dark. Desperation made them devout. Through clattering teeth they chattered prayers, to saints and spirits and the cast-out-come-again gods of the Dunmer. Prayers for all of us — anyone but themselves.

I spoke to the former fur-trader soon after he had changed. A conversation coloured in shades of charcoal, out in the evening, past our fires.

I’m not sure why. Those were days when religion made me uneasy. Not its existence in the world, but being around it, up close, not knowing the pushes and catches it’s planted in a faithful person’s mind. But I suppose I felt I owed him that much.

In going pilgrim he’d wanted to burn all but all he had. “Mephala, wrap me in cinders. Azura, by smoke, hide me from myself. Boethiah, from the flames let me be reformed.”

But I persuaded him to give me his pelts. Told him that my mother had been a priestess to Blackhands Mephala in Blacklight, counting that he, as a heartlander, would reckon any foreign accent to sound foreign as any other. I told him that the gods felt cheated, being given skins in place of blood and meat and bones. This was before I learnt that Mephala will accept secrets as sacrifice, just as Boethiah will accept well-turned lies. Still, he believed me. Whether because of my story, or my closeness to Tammunei, I’ll never know.

More than that, I was curious. I wanted to know if it had brought him peace. Beyond the death of his son, I wanted to know his reasons.

“My suffering is holy,” he told me. “That’s clear to me now. It must be. A test to turn me onto true faith. To make sure that I deserve a place on Vvardenfell. What other reason could there be?”

The Vereansu pilgrims were different. It was shame that made them strive. Driven supplicant by their defeat at the hands of the dead in Bodram – dismounted, bow-legged, footsore – they cut lines in their cheeks for the kin they’d lost, and asked their ghosts and gods to forgive them. They gave up their yurts and slept beneath the stars to be always exposed to the sky. They made chimes from shards of shell and metal and hung them in their clothes and hair — belled themselves like lepers so they could neither hunt beasts nor hide from spirits as our journey went on, and on.

They were sacred pariahs, I suppose. Cut from their old warbands, the other Vereansu ostracised and respected them in equal degree. Those who once were kin to them brought them knotweed to dye blue their ears and foreheads, clothes and fingers. Those who once were bound to them brought herbs to lend them trances, black pastes to bring numbness. Otherwise, they shunned them like victims of a plague, or a catching lunacy.

Each in our own way, by then, we were all of us partway mad. So runs my reckoning. Or else why did we not turn back? What feels like stupidity now, and vanity, felt then like a mindless need. The world was where we were, and the world was where we were headed. Outside that, nothing but night. Formless, featureless, pointless.

There were times I thought Bodram had driven Tammunei mad. Madder than most among us. But time went on. More likely, I came to think, that Bodram had taken from them much of what would help anyone pass for sane. Speech and sense and feeling, inside and out. No nerves would tell Tammunei when they were thirsty, or when their limbs would give up.

The ashlanders saw it as strength. The settlers as inspiration. The pilgrims took it as piety. All were examples to follow.

For me it was a bond. Tammunei needed me, and that was my madness. Not borne of what I’d lost, but what I still feared losing. A snare drawn tight around me, and tighter it felt each day. Tammunei walked the head of our column, and each day I walked alongside them. First to cross each river and first each night to call the halt. First to see Old Ebonheart unfade from off the horizon.

Shattered domes and fallen spires. The long-keeled cave-ins of tiled hall roofs. A slow decline on either side — the city crawling into the sea, as we crawled into the sea, as the sea crawled always closer.

That night we found an enclosure. A break from the wind that grew worse the nearer we came to the sea. I think it had been a lumber yard. The long bodies of trees lay about us on three sides. Huge trunks like fallen columns, piled up into barricades. Someone had cut them for timber, and something had brought them here.

In the damp and down the years the great trunks had gone to rot. Bark to black slime; heartwood to homes for burrowing things. Tammunei told me they could hear them, living countless inside. New life in the dead wood, thriving and teeming.

I had grown better at reading Tammunei’s silence by then. The tilts of their head and angles of their eyes. The makings and shapings of their silent mouth. I didn’t know what Bodram took would ever be returned. Or that what I’d learnt to do for Tammunei would ever be unneeded.

The pack of Vereansu that had joined with us at Bodram could not ride in the brack-soft ground of the Balda estuary — neither guar nor ponies, for on the mainland one can rear both. It shamed them to go on foot, and to make burden-beasts of their mounts, but under omens of defeat they’d sworn to follow. It would shame them worse to turn back. Unable to ride, they turned to hunting, for meat to feed our long-travelling line, and scraps to feed their pride.

When we made camp there, among the heaps of timber, we had fires for warmth and meat for roasting. Beasts that lived in the delta and that the Vereansu called ‘guriguti’. With their skin on they looked like an odd marring of a marmot and an enormous toad, with bony beaks in place of teeth. Skin off and flesh seared by flame, they tasted a little like rabbit, though with more meat on their bird-thin bones, and a gamier vegetal musk to their flavour.

Tammunei pitched their yurt. Together we squatted outside it, eating gurigut, talking as best we could with the tools that each we had.

“Nords did this,” I said. “Must have been. Trees like this — I’ve never seen them growing anywhere in Morrowind. Never heard of them growing anywhere in Morrowind.”

My Dunmeris by then was a workable thing, fit to any earnest task but too clumsy still for eloquence. I had to invent words. Stitch them from scratch out of what I knew. Speaking for someone to read my lips made me speak slower, more clear than I was used to. And perhaps in its way, that helped.

“Only in Skyrim,” Tammunei told me. “Parts of Cyrodiil, near to the border.”

I nodded, frowning. “The Eastmarch. I used to see barges full of Eastmarch timber, going downriver, out to sea. Never understood how they stayed overwater. Wood floats, I suppose…” Stupid. I rushed to move on. “That was in Windhelm, when I worked on the docks. When I worked with my hands I saw them up close. Then less close, farther and farther as they broke the horizon. But when I worked with my mind – with pen and ink and counting-beads – I saw the numbers they stood for. Sailed for. I used to write the prices attached to them. Prices for if they arrived safe and sold what they carried. Prices for if they sunk. All more than I’d earn in a year. Often far more. And now they’re here. Rotting. Wasted…”

Tammunei waited, wearing a listening face. Nodded when I tailed off. “I know,” they mouthed. The word that followed was difficult. When they split it into syllables, I found I already knew it. “Morayat,” Tammunei said. “I remember from the Morayat.”

A foreign word where it belongs, but one not belonging here. Worlds away from the world we’d walked into. A word from home. The Morayat was the riverward section of Windhelm, carved out between Grey Quarter and the White River’s water. A dry-dock once, hewn from the stone, and filled for as long as I remember with ashlanders still too Velothi for the Quarter itself. A tangle of yurts and moor-ropes. Firelight, drumming, song by night.

“How do you know the Morayat?” I said.

Tammunei’s face shifted. A kind of crestfall and confusion. I think I wore it too. “I was a child in the Morayat. Harrowed in Skyrim. Two of my mothers live there still, I think.”

It was easier to smile than spell out my feelings. I smiled. “My mother too. Not in the Morayat. In stone. Under stone. In the Quarter…” I paused. Spoke before I could stop. “Morrowind fits you. I’d thought you were born here.”

“I was.”

I asked a wordless question with my face.

“Quite near here. A little west, a little south. Between mountains. Between Morrowind and Cyrodiil. Between places. Blacklight came after.”

“And then Windhelm? How?”

Tammunei’s shoulders moved. A shrug or a sign of discomfort. “We were moved.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

I’d spent so long with Tammunei asking about Morrowind that I’d never thought to ask about anywhere else. Now a past stretched out behind them. Looking like mine and unlike mine. Feeling from them like a small betrayal. From me like a misstep — callous. But it birthed a brittle hope: Tammunei had been like me once. And for all the Quarter had left its mark on them, and for all Skyrim had raised them from child to grown mer, Morrowind had taken them in. Made Tammunei its own, as they had made it theirs.

[foxcroft-rpg-blog]

Congratulations, Grace! I think what I enjoyed most about your application was how you talked about Summer wanting to help the investigation, but not wanting to involve herself. She’s helpful, but she knows what would happen if she got involved. “A girl from the swamp? Has to be involved in how it all went down right?” That’s what would happen, and I think you captured that perfectly. 

Thanks again for applying! Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the masterlist as soon as you can. Welcome to Foxcroft!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Grace

Age: 19

Preferred pronouns: She/Her

Time zone: GMT+1

Activity: I have uni several times during the week, and work weekend days, but I have more than enough time to keep consistent and passionate about this group.

Anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.)

IN CHARACTER

Fullname: Summer Anabel Hartley

Date of birth: April 3rd 1993 – Aries (A strong, ironically fire, sign with an immense need to be there for, and protect others. There isn’t anything Summer wouldn’t do for the little family she has left, and the family she’s made for herself)

How long have they been in Foxcroft:

Her entire life. Always on the outside looking in, Summer never particularly felt tied to the town itself. The edges of town, the swamplands, were always more of a comfort to her than her well-worn route around Foxcroft ever could be. Though that never stopped her from trying to involve herself in the town as much as she felt she needed to. The need to shed the thin film the swamp left on her skin, to expel the murky water floating in her lungs, was immense. There’s no strong desire to stay in Foxcroft at first, yet with so many ties it seems impossible to her that she’ll ever be anywhere but here. Its been an uphill climb to come to terms with the fact she might not be in as much of a rush to leave as she once thought. With her job at the bakery being steady enough to support herself, and the fact she was finally a member of the community that wasnt disregard because of her upbringing at first meeting…its a sense of belonging that she struggles to keep her tied down.

Sexuality: Lesbian. Soft hands and even softer lips, painted nails and beautiful long hair between her fingers. Growing up around people who were so unashamedly themselves, it was impossible to ever see something as important to her as this as anything other than something to be loved. Her grandmother was always so supportive, even when the church wasn’t as so. It was hard enough to be ‘that swamp girl’ to have another brand on her skin in the whispers and glances at her hurt, but it didnt damage her faith, nor did it damper how important this part of herself was to Summer. Although she tries to keep a reign on it, Her heart is spread across the state; with the girl on the journey into the city, with her red lips and loud music, the blonde in the park who was like sunshine personified, laughing so carefree and lovely.

FC change: N/A

MORE

      How do you interpret this character’s personality? How will you portray them? Include two weaknesses and two strengths. (2+ paragraphs)

With a childhood a bright as the sun on the murky water during the summer, and a love that kept her warm on the less bright days. Summer struggles with her contrasting opinions on how she grew up. On one hand it was perfect, a grandmother who adored her, a routine that she was comfortable in, and a best friend who knew exactly how it felt to be an outsider like her. Alternatively, the swamps were the barrier between her and being more accepted now. The tree roots and branches like cages, and the water the measure of distance between her life and what could have been. She grew up swimming in the deep water, playing childish games with someone who she thought would be there forever. There were days were it felt like a summer holiday that never ended, and other times she would wonder what would have came of her life if only a few aspects changed. She may have grown in that environment but she’s the person she is today through visits into the town and the city, finding herself more FREE when she had space to extend her arms and breathe in deep without worrying about accidentally inhaling a bug.

Summer is a polarising presence in Foxcroft. With her wide smile and gentle voice, to some she is more than the titles the rest brand on her. She’s HELPFUL to a fault, always going out of her way to help anyone in need from the smallest of actions to being there to listen if anyone needs it. More than once she’s been sat on the front step of the bakery listening to peoples stories and giving her strong if a bit unconfident advice for their situation. The rest in town have a strong opinion against her, these are usually the church folk that held her up bringing or her feelings against her. To them she is HESITANT and NAIVE, her desire to blend in with the rest of the community and distance herself from the swamp an ill thought through attempt on ridding a part of herself that will never go away.

Living out of the Swamp she feels both so far from home and more comfortable than she ever thought. Her days are spent in varied locations, most often in places where the sun will gaze down on her while she writes, a passion she has never truly acted on but a comforting one none the less. Her nights are just as calming, the customers few and far between at work provide her with a chance to use that blinding smile as she hands over their order, charm that little bit strained if the customer was one of the mix of other townsfolk that rejected everything she was and everything she was trying to get away from. The radio is a comforting presence when the shop is quiet, rarely ever turned off her favourite channel.

Its rare for this carefully crafted routine to ever hit a bump in the road but when it does the emotions she tries to keep deeper emerge. ANGER winds around her veins tight and constricting  when she catches glimpses of the bruises littering Cassidy’s body, her nails dig present moons into her palms as her hands clench into fists when the other girl defends a boyfriend that Summer would rather see gone. She may be as CHILL as an easy breezy /summers/ day but there are a few members of town, Jack included, that feel the heat when she turns her TEMPER on them. A tempter borne of frustration at not being able to do more. More. Something she’s always wanted.

           How did this character react to the death of Hazel Abrams? Adam Foxcroft? (1+ paragraphs)

They were just names to Summer before their deaths, she couldn’t even describe what they looked like never mind who they were as people. This all changed when Adam’s death occurred and Summer put the pieces together in her mind. Willa Porter was no angel, not in Summers mind, but could she be a killer like that? She wouldn’t have said yes, she wouldn’t say that anyone in this town could be a killer like that.However the memory of Willa, as angry as she was that day would replay through her mind, stuttering and jumping like a broken record. Her silence about what she had seen wasn’t helping any aspect of this situation, but she couldn’t ostracise herself by entering her name in the equation…The anonymous email seemed like the best course of action, even if it was bit vague, it would start events and investigations…but she was out of it and safe..she hoped

           How do they see the town and its people? Think about the different groups of people and prejudices the town holds about them. (1+ paragraphs)

She has no false ideals about this town. She knows that she is both liked by some and aggressively ignored or wished to be ignored by others. It was never going to be simple for a girl who walked out of Swamps with her head held high even if her hands did shake. She would love to see the good in people, have her faith as a guide like Cassidy, but her faith has been steady but never entirely the strongest part of herself. She knows that people have far too much dark in them for that anyway. She would love to see herself not treated like an outcast anymore but to those who have never experienced what it was like to be on the outside looking in, she knows that will never happen. To those who do understand how that feels, she feels some kind of kinship with.

           For non-human characters: What does this character know about what they’ve become? Have they had any experiences that made them aware that weren’t exactly human? Elaborate. (2+ paragraphs)

Theres a comfort in the water. Its temperature surrounding her, the feeling of it always moving around her, how weightless she feels when submerged that has always been there since childhood. As of lately, however, that comfort, the sense of at home, she feels in the water has seemed stronger. But she’s written this off as that she doesn’t go there as much anymore, and that the distance has somehow made the whole experience that bit fonder. Its not something she’s thought in depth about, nor a topic that comes up day to day, so it’s been shoved under the carpet of other thoughts for the most part. The sense of strength in and around herself that she’s been feeling lately, has been chalked up to life steadily falling into place with her.

For someone so interested in figuring out details she has been blind to the fact that this strength has only came around since the murders. That ever since those events shook Foxcroft and its residents she’s felt the pull of the water so much harder than before. To everyone else she seems like she’s almost glowing, big smile that much brighter, and attitude that much more positive.

           Please include 1-2 possible plots your see for this character (1 paragraph brief explanation for each)

Plots entering around her life as it is right now, i think would be important to focus on. Resolving the tensions and struggles in her otherwise semi-content life. Issues such as her ever growing feelings for Cassidy and the point on stress that is Jack. I want her to really let her feelings known, that every day its getting harder and harder to watch her best friend act so in love over a man who summer feels is just causing her harm over and over again. She has so few people she holds this dear that it breaks her heart to see Cassidy hurt.

Since she’s tied to the main plot but only behind an anonymous email i think it will be interesting to see how she watches and learns about the investigation, about suspects and what not while still remaining anonymous and trying to keep herself out of the situations. I think she would struggle with a bit of guilt that she didnt elaborate on what she meant in her email, and that she knows information that might possibly help everything out, but she would also worry that perhaps what she saw wasnt the truth and that she could have made all of this more complicated and worse for everyone involved. The murders themselves are something she’s taken an interest in since witnessing Willa, her interest in it might push her further involved,the last place she wants to be.

WRITING SAMPLE

There are two options here, and you only need to complete one.

           Option #1: stormtorn.tumblr.com/samplesyo

EXTRA [THIS SECTION WILL NOT INFLUENCE ACCEPTANCE]

How would you feel about this character dying?: I understand that plots can change and evolve and grow and as such certain characters must change with it. I love Summer already but I would understand if she had to die to further plots.

Why did you choose this character?: I usually go for the more bad boy character, the boy whos always in the spotlight for all wrong reaons. So the misunderstood loner is a trope I’ve had experience with before but Summer is so much more than misunderstood and she tries so hard to be surrounded by love that by no stretch of the imagination is she a loner. I would love to get the chance to play through her struggle to understand what she wants out of life, and see if she gets the girl so to speak.

Extras: http://ferrumspinae.tumblr.com

How did you find us?: (Someone reblogged an ad and I thought this place looked really interesting so I investigated and fell in love.