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Jacobite, Jax, J: an ageless eldritch abomination contained only by bars of glam rock.

I'm here to roleplay, I suppose. My genres of choice are science-fiction and slice-of-life, which might involve a unique, hand-crafted setting or a preset fandom. I'm willing to play both canon and original characters. I'm not very picky.

When it comes to writing-level, I probably fall somewhere between Free and Advanced.

My DMs are always open. Will mostly use this site for 1x1s.






Star Trek: Voyager
Travelers
Sense8
Into the Badlands
Being Human
Game of Thrones










Most Recent Posts

@Vicier

Finished. Did my best to work with the timeline, though I think there's some bits that are just a bit hand-wavey and nonsensical about her age vs. her kids ages, especially depending on the age of the younger ones (but its necessary for her to be 60 if Farrah's 30-ish). It's not like she cares about them anyway...


(Side-note: I'm super salty I couldn't find a suitable Egyptian FC, but Iranian is close enough I guess.)
I'm half done with Ana Amari at present - would just like to know how many kids @Vicier@Caits want her to have so I can write around it.
@Dead Cruiser

isn't that kind of OP
@Vicier I'm not sure Genji+Hanzo would be friends with a nineteen year old girl, given they're in their thirties and in completely different states of life :D

Obviously I can't speak for @Sodomite, but it seems as if they're playing Hanzo as a bit of a grump too (so, canon, basically) so it's unlikely.

I've finished the biography, so everything should be squared away.

also is that Mila Kunis as a Chinese character lmao
Caerwyn was exactly where he needed to be, in the right position to purposefully raise his wand and line up a stinging hex at Rowle’s hand––enough to cause him to drop the goblet of pumpkin juice he was holding. Even the sight of uneven odds, six Slytherins against him, didn’t do anything to lessen his resolve. He held an unblinking gaze evenly upon them, and it centred on the ringleader.

“Care to repeat yourself, Rowle?” he demanded, aspen wand itching for a fight. “I could have sworn I heard some amount of filth coming from around here.”

His attention was momentarily distracted by a call from the other side of a large group of students, from which a Hufflepuff emerged, pushing his way through. “Frost! Don’t do anything––it’s not going to end well for you!” Casimir looked ready enough for a fight if he wanted to join in, Caerwyn mused, but then again the Muggleborn had what appeared to be a grimace on his face as he approached.

Casimir had drawn a Five of Swords from his Tarot Deck that morning, which he was in the habit of using now for each of his new acquaintances (friends) to make sure nothing grim loomed in their futures. He was certain now that humiliation was the only thing Caerwyn had to look forward to. If he could do anything to stop this it required making enough of a commotion to attract Clara over, given that she was the only one who could talk him out of it.

“Yeah, I’ll say it again,” Caelum leered at the Gryffindor, pleased to have gotten the reaction that he wanted. He stepped forward confidently, with his lackeys right behind him. “The world’s better off without blood traitors with bleeding hearts like Pierce, or you Frost. You were attacked too, weren’t you? Wish we were having a memorial for you too today.”

As if answering Casimir’s prayers, Clara stepped out of her group of Ravenclaws despite several of her classmates trying to stop her. She ghosted behind Caerwyn, grabbing onto his wand arm. “Caerwyn, it’s not worth it,” She hissed, tugging on his sleeve. Her gaze was flickering between the members of the three other houses: Rowle didn’t even seem to notice her yet, too busy taunting Caerwyn into a fight. “Please, the last thing we all need right now is a fight; you’re not honoring Pierce in any way by doing this. You’re better than this.

“It’s not about honouring the dead,” Caerwyn told her, rolling up the sleeves of his robes, and offering a quick, ghost of a smile to Clara. If nothing else, the Gryffindor had always been determined. “Staying silent would make me just as bad as them. If nobody calls them out on the awful things they’re saying, then maybe people will start to think that the Death Eaters are right, that it’s okay to be a bigoted weasel like Rowle here.”

The last bit was spat at the Slytherin. “But you know all about Death Eaters, don’t you. Maybe it was your dear uncle on the train––I hear they didn’t catch all of them.” Caerwyn knew the Rowles before he even came to Hogwarts and knew that there were students who shared a surname with Thorfinn Rowle. It appeared that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He spared a glance at Casimir, and a raised eyebrow. Where’s your Slytherin friend now? he tried to say without as many words.

It gave the Hufflepuff enough time to repeat the same old droll warning, “There’s going to be consequences. Ones that aren’t good for you.”

Caerwyn huffed and turned back to Caelum. “Tell me, do you have the Dark Mark yet, or are you going to get it this summer? Because you certainly sound like a miniature Death Eater already.”

Before Caelum could answer, Clara swiftly stepped out in front of Caerwyn, blocking his way. “Caerwyn, stop.” She repeated firmly, holding her hands out to him. “Not here, not now. There’s too many people around — who knows what spells will ‘accidentally’ hit someone else?” It took every fiber of her being to stop from cursing Rowle herself, but it was obvious that the crowd of bystanders weren’t going to be of any help. They all looked on with varying degrees of horror, anticipation, and amusement. If the offending party really were practitioners of the dark arts, Caerwyn could end up killed.

“You stand down too, Rowle.” Clara called over her shoulder. “Have a shred of decency for at least one day. A student’s died for Merlin’s sake.”

“Stay out of this, you filthy half-blood.” Caelum hissed, glaring at the Ravenclaw standing between him and Caerwyn. Turning his attention back to Caerwyn, he yelled, “What’s wrong, Frost? Can’t even have a duel without your girlfriend backing you up?”

Caerwyn saw red, bright enough that Gryffindor himself would have been proud. “How dare you call her that,” he seethed, stepping around Clara. “Just because your blood’s purer doesn’t mean you’re any better a wizard! I’ll duel you right here, right now.”

He bent at the waist into a neat bow worthy of any Pureblood, and was immediately vindicated when he saw the sixth year reluctantly lower himself into a matching one. Finally, he thought, fingers tightening in a clammy grip around his wand, this prat will get what he deserves. He didn’t take his eyes off Caelum Rowle, which was a mistake.

Victor Parkinson was the one who sent the curse at him. It was nothing special––just a Silencio––but it was enough so that Caerwyn could only side-step Caelum’s initial spell. A Diffindo sliced across his cheek, just under his eye. “Problem, Frost?” Parkinson said. “You seemed so eager to cast your spells before.”

Casimir moved forward as fast as he could to drag Clara out of harm’s way. “That’s cheating. That’s just awful,” he said. “That’s not a fair fight! Is that how they do it in Slytherin?” Maybe not all Slytherins were bad, but some of them, Callisto’s brother definitely included, were undoubtedly the worst.

“I can’t believe you were expecting them to play fair.” Clara rolled her eyes as she drew her own wand. “They’re cunning, and honor means little to them. They’ll do anything it takes to win. Don’t be so naive, Lipinski, not everyone’s a Hufflepuff.”

Clara had raised her wand to even the playing field a bit — Parkinson most certainly deserved a curse or two — but before she could send any flying towards his way, a familiar voice cried out Impedimenta! The entire group of Slytherins froze in place at the impediment jinx as the ‘Slytherin Friend’ in question stepped out from the wall of people in front of her. Just for good measure, Callisto pointed her wand at Caerwyn and muttered Rictusempra, to keep him from attacking the immobilized Slytherins.

“Stop being so childish — all of you!” The younger Rowle stalked forward, glaring at everyone in the near vicinity. “You all ought to know better than to start a fight at a memorial.”

Moving quickly to round up the rowdy Slytherins while the jinx was still in place, Callisto roughly grabbed her brother’s arm to drag him off. All of his friends trailed after him awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do without their ringleader. Right before she left, Callisto turned on her heel to address all the bystanders angrily. “There’s nothing to see here, go back to doing whatever it is all of you spineless people do.” And with that, the troublemakers disappeared from the reception.

Caerwyn slashed the air with his wand, wordlessly mouthing the counter to the Silencing Charm on him. He looked towards Callisto as she shepherded the Slytherins away, and a ‘thank you’ caught in his throat, nothing to do with the spell. Still, he supposed it was that good old self-preservation kicking in again, something he didn’t have one iota of in his body. Housemates causing a scene? Get them to shut up.

No reason for a ‘thanks’.

“Good, they left,” Caerwyn said nonchalantly, reaching up to touch the deeper-than-expected cut on his cheek. The blood pooling there smeared across the back of his hand. It shook, and he twirled his wand once as if he’d accomplished anything with it before stowing it in his back pockets. Then, to Clara––as if he had to convince himself of it––he explained, “That’s all I wanted.”

“You idiot!” Clara lifted her hands as if to strike him, but only gently pressed her fist against Caerwyn’s chest. It couldn’t even pass as a weak punch. “Why do you have to be so… So you?” The volume and anger in her voice faded as she spoke, until the end of the sentence was diminished into a soft quaver.

After a long moment or so of Clara just standing there like that, she finally sighed and cupped his cheek to gently smooth her thumb underneath the cut. Thankfully it was only a severing charm, Clara was expecting Caelum to use spells that were far more sinister. After a simple episkey charm, there was no trace left of the botched duel beside the blood smeared across his hand.

“Don’t make me worry so much, okay?”

“No promises.” Caerwyn’s smile had returned, however shaky and inauthentic it was, and after a few moments he decided on ruffling Clara’s hair. Comforting wasn’t his strong point. Neither was he good at being comforted, hence why he stood as still as was physically possible and pretended that his ears weren’t burning red from being the centre of negative attention. “One day I’m going to duel him, or someone like him, when there’s not wards preventing every dark spell under the sun restricting––him. Standing up to prats like him is worth the risk.”

He peered around. The Gryffindors were congregating nearby, and Fleming gave him an appreciative glance, mouthing, Thanks for doing what Pierce never could. Caerwyn felt the dirty looks of several other Slytherins, and decided it was time to take his leave. “Now, I think we should go back to the castle. At least you don’t have to carry me this time––”

It was just as he turned around that the suspicion of his being watched by someone that meant him ill was confirmed. “Oh, Merlin, why me?” Caerwyn muttered under his breath, stepping away from Clara with his posture straightening out as if he expected a dressing down.

“Mr. Frost,” Umbridge said. “I believe I saw you maliciously cast a jinx at Mr. Rowle earlier, in the crowd. Violence will not be tolerated in Hogwarts. I think this warrants a detention, with me. Monday night in the High Inquisitor’s office, if you please. You know where it is.”
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