#Achaier

[coffeenewstom]

Kretisches Kaffeetagebuch: Palast von Phaistos

Die Götter sind uns wohl gewogen. So interpretierten wir jedenfalls den Halo rund um die Sonne – eine Art Regenbogen bei strahlendblauem Himmel – den wir bemerkten, als wir am Parkplatz vor dem Palast ausstiegen. Wir waren sehr neugierig, gilt doch Phaistos, auch Phaestos und neugriechisch Festos, als als Gegenentwurf zu Arthur Evans Rekonstruktionen in Knossos. Hier wurde nicht rekonstruiert.…

[yadavjii]

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[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

on the way to building a better botnet

It looks like the research people who built Achaier and Ophion were also using some code from this repo – they built a library on top of the code from that repo which seems to provide a natural way to integrate GPT2 into some kind of inference framework. That, and the use of neural net models themselves instead of symbolic models like the PCFG I used, seem like they might explain why their code works so well. (The code in the repo has a much more detailed description of how it works and what it's good for, which includes examples with real problems where you might want to use this kind of "neural net" instead of a PCFG/SRL/etc.)

The repo doesn't include a lot of theory of why this works, which isn't surprising: it's hard to explain how a GPT-2 based framework will be better than a PCFG-based one in situations where the domain knowledge is sufficiently good. (When one of them works, it works because the domain knowledge is bad!) But it does include some things that may be interesting or interesting to think about, e.g.:

A lot of the model architecture is meant to support the idea that the neural net should have access to all of the code it's modeling. In particular, it should be able to "learn" from the output of the code model.

The "code model" is a model based on a recurrent architecture with attention. That architecture is very popular in AI research, but it doesn't make much sense to my understanding of what these models are really doing, because the "code model" actually doesn't model anything, it just provides the same basic information about the input as any model that does so explicitly. So for this work, they added an "attention" model on top that did a kind of "soft attention" (like the kind that you get in PCFGs) in the direction of "let's learn everything about the data that can be learned from this particular model."

One common use of attention in these kinds of networks is for modeling multiple "readers," each of which (1) will have a different kind of "code model" that models its input but (2) may also be able to model the output of some of the other readers. This creates an architecture where the readers are always getting some "soft input" from the same set of models, even if the readers aren't seeing everything. (The "neural net" is then expected to produce the output of the "model" that it sees.) For example, Achaier can "read" the output of many code readers at once, so it will have a much more detailed idea of what is going on in any individual component in a larger system.

The original GPT2, and this library, both do some kind of "attention" over the context of the "code model" – that is, a certain amount of context from the code is "visible" to the neural net in some way, and the neural net will sometimes "read" it, which will provide additional context to the "code model" and feed back into the reading/writing process. It's a bit unclear whether this is a special case of what was done above, or it's a different conceptually important thing that's also done in a few GPT2 models.

The code models here also have different levels of "granularity" and represent "objects" at different levels of "resolution," so that the neural net has different "visualizations" (i.e. different things about what it sees) of each model.

Each "level" of "granularity" in the code models is represented by a "code reader," which represents itself by an LSTM or the like. This has the result that (1) it's like a "reader" inside an "attention" loop, with the attention loop looking at different levels of "granularity" in the code models, and (2) each "reader" "reads" its own code model. It may be that the "readers" may be doing some kind of "local reading" – not modeling the output of the whole thing but rather a smaller component – while "writing" the output to its own code model.

[astriefer]

Just Let Me Breath With You

Pairing: Thomastair

Word count: 3033

Warning: CHAIN OF IRON SPOILERS, injury, blood, mentions of trauma

It all happened in a swift blink of an eye. The demon attack, the fighting, it all passed in a great swipe of Thomas's boleadoras.

The attack was surprising - not because it was an attack, but because it was close to the stronghold of London's enclave- the London institute. Demons lurked in the road, near Fleet street. A get-together at the institute was held that gray, hazy day in London. What precisely they celebrated was beyond Thomas; what mattered was that old and young Shadowhunters as one joined the battle against the horde of Achaieral demons. Their numbers were the larger he has seen ever since the Mandikhor. It didn't pass smoothly - some injured, although Thomas hadn't registered who. During the fight, Henry or Christopher threw at the demons one of their newest innovation. He noticed only a blur, a small grenade-like object, thrown close to where he was fighting one of the demons. He tried to stop the nasty-looking Achaieral demon from flying - with Thomas himself- when smoke swirled from the thrown grenade. There was a hollow thud of metal hitting something, an explosion followed afterward, and the demon disappeared.  Maybe it was better not to inhale, but he was surrendered by the weird, thick smoke. He wasn't blown up from his inside out, so he considered it safe enough. As for now, the gates of the institute were behind him, hanging open to carry wounded and hurtling carriages. 

Thomas's hands were sore and calloused as he rubbed them against his neck. He swayed slightly, an expression of a fool sprawled over his face. He surveyed his surroundings in bewilderment. Soon enough, worried and relieved faces gathered around him. His friends and family crowded him, mumbling altogether to make no sense at all. It felt utmost importance to note to himself not all of his friends and family truly were there. Matthew wasn't, and so was Cordelia. He heard the word "overwhelmed" in all the havoc. He didn't understand what they were talking about - surely they had been fine if they were running around the way they did.

He kept his eyes on them, trying his best to decipher what they were saying, but his gaze inevitably slipped away from them. He caught a brown blur of torn red jacket, grey pants, and tousled dark hair. That instant, the world turned down, and all left was him and this man in another corner of the institute. Even the voices surrounding him ceased to exist.

On the spur of the moment, he briskly departed from his family and friends and walked to him, barely restraining himself from storming toward him. A hand rested on his forearm -  an attempt to stop him - but he shook it off without glancing at whomever it was. Sensing his intensive look, Alastair stared at him with a puzzled countenance. The short man was sitting against a wall, letting another Shadowhunter draw an iratze on his left arm. Thomas remembered Alastair charging to battle, now and in other battles they fought side by side, and relief I've washed him because he didn't seem to be wounded. By the time he reached them, It didn't matter who the other person was. The moment he captured Alastair's forearm, he broke into a run, not bothering to look at anyone as they hastily evaporated from the forecourt. Bad-mannered indeed, but Thomas was sure whoever that was would've understood urgent matter to talk with Alastair if he had known.

The tall man led the other through hurrying servants and leery eyes. Thomas almost knocked over a few people, but he did not find himself to care much more than mumble a half-hearted 'sorry'. He hadn't let go of Alastair, just loosened his grip slightly so he could slip his hand into Alastair's. His hold was firm nonetheless.

"Thomas!'" Alastair called out and caused him to turn his head over his shoulder. By the look of annoyance on his face, Thomas assumed the other man called his name a few times. Or perhaps, it was a result of being publicly dragged by Thomas for no apparent reason. Then he understood. Alastair had to run in order to follow him at this pace. For the first in entirety, Thomas cursed Alastair's shorter legs; but he quickly took it back because Alastair was, of course, the most beautiful the way he is. e slowed down his pace enough for Alastair to walk beside him, still dragging him after him. He felt a jolt of surprise Alastair didn't fight him about that, that he just let him take him to wherever he had in mind. Perhaps he was too stunned to really do anything else but stare at Thomas.

Thomas hadn't stopped to ponder over his good luck and no fuss from Alastair's side. He navigated through the maze of rooms and corridors, guiding Alastair to a casual unused guest room. He thrust the door open, let Alastair and himself enter before releasing his hand and shutting it close. He couldn't quite catch his breath.

He spun around to confront Alastair. Beautiful, he thought. The man in front of him was beautiful. Alastair - with torn clothes and dirt on his face - looked as charming as ever. In the last rays of the London sun, Alastair's eyelashes cast shadows upon his face. His cheeks seemed a bit red - was it because of Thomas or because of the previous fight? - and he chewed his lower lip. Thomas had the sudden urge to raise his hand and separate his lip from his teeth, pass his thumb on the soft mouth of Alastair Carstairs. The older man clearly tried to look expressionless, but he could see he studied him with concerned eyes. Thomas saw the question in them as well. Out of self-awareness, he looked down at his own clothes; they were rumpled and he lost his waistcoat in the fight, leaving him with trousers, a jacket, and a white shirt. All stained Ichor. He peered at Alastair, his clothes, and Alastair again. He must have looked like a corpse. Alastair, however, kept his captivating eyes on him, endearing-looking with his normal composed facade slightly off. 

Alastair's stopped biting his lip and opened his mouth to talk, yet before he could voice a word, Thomas stepped closer and buried his face in the soft hair of Alastair Carstairs. He relished the feeling of Alastair close to him, of his smell and heartbeat and warmth. "You're here. You're fine."

His voice was just above a whisper, but it filled the quiet room. "I wanted to talk with you for days now." Alastair's breath hitched. He hadn't pulled away. He hadn't tried to push Thomas aside. It was Thomas who backed away from their position. Alastair tilted his head up to look at his face and gasped loudly when Thomas crushed him in a hug. He groaned in pain, and it struck him Alastair had been injured.

"You are hurt." Thomas's voice was almost offended. He loosened his grip on Alastair, whose hand came to rest protectively on his side, where his bruise must have been. Thomas recalled all of sudden he had been given an iratze. Was his wound worse than just a bruise?

"It's nothing," Alastair wheezed and took a careful breath.

Their gazes met for a long moment. Alastair didn't squirm. Thomas leaned forward leisurely, testing his boundaries. When his lips collided with Alastair's forehead, he let out a sigh against the soft skin. Alastair stood strained at first, then slowly relaxed. it had not even been a week since the sanctuary, since Belial and his schemes, since Cordelia and Matthew disappeared to Paris. Alastair was avoiding him like the plague, and Thomas couldn't blame him much. He wished he could. It hurt seeing Alastair and knowing he could not be with him the way he craved to be. He suspected Alastair would back away soon, leave him alone in this room, disappear without a second glance. Come and leave like in a dream. Like in their time in Paris. 

Then, "I am glad you are okay as well."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat. Or a few. He abruptly ducked his head into Alastair's neck, close to his pulse. His body lost its tense as he devoted all his heed to the marvelous sound of Alastair's heart, beating strong and fast, addicting to Thomas's mind. Not a minute later he felt small palms pushing against him gently. He drew away begrudgingly.

His eyes were unclear, while Alastair's were shining brightly. Too brightly. He lifted his arm to touch the side of the fair hair on Thomas's head. When he lightly caressed it, Thomas winced. Letting his arm fall to his side, Alastair said, "You are hurt too. You need treatment."

Alastair dismissed his injury because he didn't want to worry Thomas and make it about him; Thomas dismissed it because he didn't want to be away from Alastair. His head was throbbing; it didn't matter. "It's nothing." he tried to enfold the small figure in his arms once again, but Alastair didn't let him. Thomas didn't try again, just silently observed Alastair. The dark man's eyes were conflicted as to if debating over himself what to do now. He sighed. "We can't, Tom. Please."

It was like a heated knife to his heart. He swallowed tightly. "I know," he forced himself to speak. "I am - I keep remembering all you are. All I love about you. Your hair," he counted and planted a kiss on his damp hair.  Alastair looked at him, surprise written over all his face. "Your haughty smile, your dark colors, your eyes-"  sparks of gray in a pool of black that reminded him of a starry sky. "Your lips," He closed his eyes. "your heart, so wide and loving, despite how much you try to conceal it. Your stubbornness, kindness, and selflessness. Your love for mundane movies and history and art. All of it. The feeling I can twirl around you for hours without getting a tad bit tired."

"Thomas," Alastair whispered.

"You deserve to be happy. I wish you would let me show you some of it," he continued tentatively. The man in front of him stood rigid, and it made sprouts of doubt rise in Thomas's chest. 

"Thomas. No. No. We cannot. Don't act like we- as we could ever happen. Don't say those things to try and convince me we can be more than heartbreak for each other."

The knife twisted. Thomas blinked. "I am not telling this to try and win you over, Alastair," he said slowly. "I am telling you this because you deserve to know. Because I want you to know how much you mean to me," he inhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded, and went on. "With my friends, I always hide this part of me. The part you take in my life, in my heart. I can be all I am with you. You understand me so easily, that it takes my breath away. I- I am not as good at words as James is. I am not as wild or charming as Matthew. I am not as talented as Kit. I am me, and with you, I feel it's enough."    

"Tom, it always has been enough."

Thomas sucked in a breath. How could he say this and expect Thomas to keep his face straight and his heart in control? He tried to push Thomas away but didn't let him think less of himself. He didn't let himself what he deserved, what they both did, because he believed they would both end up hurt. "I know so many things are - complicated," Alastair snorted at that. "But right now, everything is lucid, with you here."

He gazed deeply into those dark eyes. They held depths inside them he wanted to learn off by heart. Depths he wished to explore but could not reach.

Alastair shook his head and stubbornly kept his gaze at his dusted shoes. "You think we have reason by our side, but all we have is the burning yearning and stolen time." He knew if he let himself fall this time, he could not stand back. He would lose himself those kind hazel eyes, his deep voice, his brave heart, in everything that is Thomas Lightwood.

"We have more than this," Thomas declared. "I trust you."

Alastair piped his head up, "What?"

"I trust you," he repeated."And I want you, Alastair. I know you do too. But I want you to trust me as well. Trust me when I say I will never say those things just to make you give in and be with me. I am saying them because they are the mere truth and because I care for you."

Alastair glanced away hastily, eluding his eyes. "You are in no condition to make this decision. You- We can't -"

"But do you want us to be? Do you wish us to be together? "

Electricity filled the room, and both couldn't take their eyes off the other. Thomas knew it wasn't fair of Alastair to ask such a question. He knew on his flesh what it is to admit- even simply to oneself - you want something and believe you would never have it. That is how Alastair seemed to perceive them - a false fantasy, a feverish dream that would never come true. Thomas knew as well that Alastair had made it clear he didn't think they had a future, and making him fumble with those pieces of broken fantasy could hurt worse than words could. Yet, a part of Thomas couldn't help but wonder what the other had been through to be so hesitant to let himself be happy.

Do not say it's not possible on my behalf, he wanted to shout. If you wish to break my heart, do it because what you want is not a future with me in it.

"Yes."

Relief came so fast he felt abashed. His heart pounded ear-piercingly through his body. "Tell me," he asked gingerly. " Will you allow me to kiss you?"

Alastair drew in a sharp breath. Color flooded his cheeks. "Thomas..."

Thomas searched his face, which for so long was emotionless when he saw him the past week. He saw the hurt -  how much it must be for Alastair?  he pondered - and the fear. The dark-eyed gentleman wouldn't believe Thomas's words. He wasn't sure he could trust him with his heart. For now, he shall have the certitude for both of them. There was a voice telling him he wouldn't have come to Alastair after the fight if he could think clearly. He pushed that part away, locked it in a cage, and threw away the key. 

He swallowed down the odd, stinging feeling of being rejected. "Will you allow me to embrace you, then? " Just let me breathe with you. Let me hold you in my arms, to reassure us both, to know you are here. "You don't have to. I swear to it." He took a step back to prove his statement.

The judicious decision was to ignore the offer. To turn away from Thomas and all the comfort he had to give. Alastair was on the verge of tears. Thomas hated those tears were because of him. Because of them. Alastair opened his eyes and hummed acquiescently, soft and low.

The shreds of resistance left Alastair's body as Thomas swooped him into a hug. His big hand passed his head on Alastair's back, between his shoulder blades, and to his lumbar. He absentmindedly caressed Alastairs's side, touching Alastair's wound lightly. The smaller man shied away from the contact but immediately calmed back into the hug. He stifled a whine, and in the back of Thomas's mind, he knew they both had to get checked on. Thomas put his cheek on the other man's forehead. He closed his eyes and let out a pleased noise. Alastair's arms slowly cloaked Thomas's waist, holding him close. 

"We should return," Alastair whispered. A few minutes had passed. They were alone, far away from anyone who might hear, but the moment was so dreamlike and tender both were afraid to break the air around them. That alternate reality they formed in this godforsaken room, for a glimpse of a moment.

"I find it so tremendously difficult to do," his breath felt heavy; so did his heart. "Because I don't want to ever let go of you."

He heard Alastair gasp, and Thomas's own breath was quivering. The pulse beating deep in Alastair's chest raced, and Thomas was sure he could listen to it forevermore. The hug felt more private than a kiss, more overwhelming and welcoming and warm and protecting and trusting. "I missed you."

"Tom," Alastair's voice was suffocated, and thick from emotion, as if he was a boat that slowly sank because it's full of water. Thomas tried to retreat, suddenly fearing he passed the line. He must have passed it long ago, and yet Alastair let him, despite his own warnings. Thomas was about to apologize when he felt Alastair's hands tightening around him, and then the blazing understanding hit Thomas that It was Alastair's way of telling it was fine. Haltingly, he returned to their previous position.    

They were hugging, nothing more. But the proximity made Thomas feel a sense of internal peace, like a calm wave hitting the sand lightly. It made his lungs protest because he was out of breath. How could he ever let go? It was better than nothing at all, better than air and staring long at the wall of his room. It was Alastair, and he was ready to take every drop given to him. Yet, because it was Alastair, he could never get enough. It was hard to capture it - the soft looks, the thumping hearts, the yearning and the hurt. Thomas's cheek was still pressed against Alastair's forehead. He shifted to hide his face in his strands, dark like the night, soft as a feather. Alastair's smell was intoxicating. The words slipped his tongue before he knew it. "I am glad I am here with you."

There was a beat of silence. The voice of the man he loved - Thomas almost startled himself by the heedless use of the word love - barely reached his ears.

"I am, too."

[kellmareshgf]

i lived /// a thomastair oneshot

Thomas Lightwood was still in the ballroom when he heard the screams. Seconds later, snaking his way through the vast swarm of panicking shadowhunters, he found their source. Descending from the slate rooftops of the London Institute, with their leathery wings outstretched, the Achaieral demons began to attack.

They were upon him in seconds. He barely had time to react. Gripping his bolas, Thomas dove for the ground as a gargoyle launched itself itself towards him with a screech. The cold asphalt clawed at his tailored suit, ripping the fabric as if it were silk. 'By the Angel', he thought, 'mother's going to kill me'

Turning on his back, he launched his weapon towards the beast with an accuracy only obtained through years of smashed glass and broken vases. Bullseye. The rope entangled itself around the demon's hind legs, trapping it just in time for a golden spear to run the creature through.

Thomas barely acknowledged the burst of dust that the statuesque beast left behind. He knew that spear.

And, sure enough, in the dust of the demon's demise, stood Alastair Carstairs.

Thomas forgot how to breathe. Bathed in the ivory light of the moon, with his ebony hair blending effortlessly into the pitch black of the night sky behind him, Alastair had never looked more like an angel's descendant. For a moment, time stood still and Thomas let himself be baptized by the beauty of the figure before him; for surely this was what the poet's had meant when they had described divine beings.

"Lightwood!"

The urgency in Alastair's voice was possibly the only thing that could've propelled Thomas out of his stupour and he briefly mused if it was normal for one person to have that much power over another's sub-conscience.

Rising quickly from his position on the floor, Thomas turned just in time to see a demon close in on him. There was nowhere to go; Thomas stayed stagnant as a stony talon surged forward.

Alastair's face went slack as the monster ran him through.

There was so much blood. Too much. How could a person so small even have this much blood? Thomas' hands shook as he put pressure on he wound - the archaieral gargoyle long gone; a victim of the kind one's bout of white-hot rage.

"It's going to be ok - everything's going to be, yeah? The Silent Brothers'll be here any minute now, just hold on. Hold on-"

"Lightwood- Lightwood stop," choked Alastair from below him.

"You're going to be fine, it's all going to be fine the Silent Brothers'll be here soon, they'll fix you!"

"Thomas."

Thomas' shaking hands stopped at the mention of his first name. Hazel eyes met black ones.

"I can't just let you die" he whispered, hating how small his voice sounded. It reminded him too much of his younger self, his weaker self.

Alastair smiled feebly.

"Oh, Thomas. You were the very reason I lived."

The shadowhunters were outside the manor when they heard the sobs.

special thanks to @cecilyfightwood and @dianawrayburnstan for putting up with me throughout this process. also this is my first time posting a fic so feedback would be really nice 💕

[auxiliarydetective]

Asphodeliengrund

Es hebt der Pelide sein ehernes Schwert,

Den Feinde er richtet zugrunde.

Es fällt der im Hochmut den Rücken ihm kehrt-

Das Blut sich ergießt aus dem Munde.

Bedenke, Achilles, die Quell deiner Kraft,

Bedenke die Fers deiner Schwäche,

Das Leid wenn der Hades wohl vor dir klafft,

Dein Blut wie die stygischen Bäche.

Bald steiget die Mutter aus dunklem Meer

Und sinket zum tiefroten Boden.

Die Asche sie steiget, das Herz wird ihr schwer.

Sie klaget zum Himmelreich droben.

Oh Zeus, Göttervater, oh Trias der Moiren,

Was nahmet Ihr mir meinen lauteren Sohn?

Was trüber Ihr, Ares, sein Herz mit dem Euren

Und gebet für Tugend den Tode zum Lohn?

Indessen am Ufer der Styx steht Achill

Und zahlt dem Charon den Sold.

Dort oben ist Klagen, der Tote bleibt still,

Dem Patroklos trauernd gefolgt.

Das Schiff stößt sich ab von der finsteren Küste,

Dem Anfang das Ende wir gleich.

Gedenkt nicht dem Ruhm, der perlweißen Büstem

Zieht ein in das tiefere Reich.

Der Kerberos senkt alle Köpfe ihm nieder,

Es singen die Seelen zur Ehr.

Trojaner, Achaier, vereinigt nun wieder,

Der Kampf währt im Tief nimmer mehr.

Es schenkt nur Achilleus ein dankendes Nicken.

Der Tod gereicht ihm als Lohn.

Er bittet, man möge nach Patroklos schicken,

Erreicht gar des Schattenreichs Thron.

Achilleus, spricht Pluton, halt ein dein Gesuch,

Bedenke die eiserne Stunde,

Aus der dich die Troer verfluchen.

Nun höre die Kunde.

Aus finsteren Schatten tritt Hektor hervor,

In tiefblauer Seide gekleidet.

Spricht: Peleussohn, kamst du durchs stygische Tor,

Wirst dennoch von allen beneidet.

Wer war es, der Tapfre, der dich wohl besiegt?

Aléxandros, Priamos’ Sohn,

Er war es - zu Oinones Füßen bald liegt.

Sag, lügt er, so bald doch nicht schon?

Fragt Hektor, doch wieder Achilleus bleibt still.

Er sieht in die Augen des Troer.

Der Tod kommt, wann das Schicksal es will.

Er greift auch den Prinzen der Troer.

Es jauchzt eine Stimme und her von dem Feld

Kommt Patroklos rennend zum Throne.

Achilles, Achilles, er ruft seinen Held,

Gibt ihm einen Kuss vor der Krone.

Achilles, Achilles, erklingt nun das Reich

Dem König gefallener Seelen.

Elysium, Tartaros, flammender Teich,

In Mitten blühn weiß Asphodelen,

Dort herrscht der Pelide mit milder Hand,

Das Blut schon lange verflossen.

Aus grünen Zweigen ein goldenes Band

Hat er in den Tiefen geschlossen.

Und trägt doch Achilles die Krone von Gold,

Bleibt Patroklos sanft von Blüten umkränzt.

[affcgato-archived]

Fighting skills, & the lasting influence of her family’s legacy on her combat practices & headspace.

this headcanon was written in response to a personal challenge in the rpcDev server. trigger warning for mentions & descriptions of abuse & manipulative behavior.  611 words, not counting title & descriptor.

Despite her quiet & shy demeanor, & her seeming lack of confidence in her abilities, Céline is above-average in terms of fighting abilities. She was raised to fight from a very young age - even younger than Nephilim traditionally start training, & held to impossible standards by her parents under the guise they wanted her to be stronger because they loved her. Their abusive behavior laid a very rocky foundation for her, & their techniques led to her developing skills at an impossibly younger age at significant cost to her overall mental health. 

Her shortcomings were met with BRUTAL consequences - from being locked in the basement by her mother to being lashed with a whip by her father. at one point as a child, she had a Dragonidae demon - a dragon demon typically taking multiple Nephilim to disperse - set on her, another, she was left in the woods at age eight, weaponless, & vulnerable to local werewolves. she was also whipped numerous times for running away. Part of this treatment stemmed from her parents’ being exposed to a belief held by previous generations of Shadowhunters that had been coded into law 150 years prior - that cowardice was a crime punishable by death. Their daughter would NOT be a coward. 

it’s interesting to note the stark difference in parental views. Maryse Lightwood (née Trueblood) is only 3 years older than Céline, but she was raised by parents who followed the older practice of keeping female Shadowhunters home to learn more domestic arts as most women were not trained as warriors before her generation. 

Because of these incidences, she grew up pushing herself harder & harder to be this ridiculous standard of perfect as set out by her parents. This has led to her working her way to holding an intermediate designation for hand to hand combat as set out by the Shadowhunter’s Codex, meaning she has competence in three to five mundane fighting traditions, giving her the ability to reliably fend off five to eight simultaneous attackers. Because of the significant disparity between intermediate & expert (10+ fighting traditions), this isn’t a good measure of her abilities given she’s competent in eight traditions - two of which include kalarippayattu & savate/boxe française. She is also familiar with several other styles of French martial arts, specifically Kinomichi/氣之道.

She is proficient with blades, always carrying a misericorde tucked in one of her boots or on her belt, & prefers the shorter variations of seraph blades. Her skill levels are high enough that she’s taken down an Achaieral demon with help of only one person, as well as the Dragonidae demon she encountered during her childhood. She can hold her own in a fight, even if she questions her own abilities outside of the event, & her lack of a sense of self worth is perhaps the most significant in the legacy left on her by her parents, as well as the thing that held her back the most for the longest time. She also displays masochistic tendencies well into adulthood.

After losing her son & husband at Valentine’s hands, & spending time with the Shadowhunters at the remote Institute in Tromsø, Céline pushed herself to overcome that last gap in her abilities, & as of the events of the Mortal War she can be classified as an expert in hand to hand combat. She’s also started addressing her masochistic tendencies & her relationship with pain. The fighting styles she knows in total, are:

Kalarippayattu

Savate/Boxe Française

Kinomichi/氣之道

Gōjū-ryū/剛柔流

Boxing

Muay Thai

Kali

a fusion of Kenjutsu & Okinawan kobudo unique to Shadowhunters

Krav Maga**

LINE** (Linear Infighting Neural Override Engagement)

[wandlores]

Forever Yours

Pairing: Cecily Herondale x Gabriel Lightwood Words: 1,248 You can also read this on AO3. This is for the @shadowhunternet: mission 1 :) This is also dedicated to my soul-twin @graysons​!

Fifty-six days. That's how long it had been since she had heard from Gabriel Lightwood. It was not unusual for him to go out on missions that lasted for weeks, but it was not common to hear nothing from him the entire time. Cecily at least received a weekly letter in the past.

Rumors had circulated that he was attacked alongside his brother by Achaieral demons. They were swarmed; darkness was assumed to have consumed them. Sophie was beside herself with despair, pregnant with their first unborn child. Cecily felt as though she had no claim for despair, because Gabriel still wasn't hers by law. Cecily thought the law was stupid, but it was the law. You had to follow it in order to survive the never-ending political schemes. As she tried to dig up information herself on Gabriel's mission from the Clave, they gave her no answers. They told her it was top-secret, and she had no claim. They had even denied Sophie access on Gideon's potential whereabouts, and they were married. Maybe the law wasn't so sacred, after-all. Maybe their relationship with Charlotte could no longer give them an advantage.

It was like any other night had been at the institute since Gabriel had been gone. It was quiet, and all Cecily could hear was the ghost of Jem's violin and Will stroking Tessa's hair in silence down the hall. Sophie's sobs would sometimes break through the walls. It was then that Cecily felt truly alone.

Cecily had written to Gabriel many times over the weeks, but she had no idea where to address the letters. She wasn't even sure at this point that Gabriel could receive them. For all she knew, he was dead. But that didn't stop her from writing to him. Her heart was reaching out to him, and she hoped he could feel it wherever he was.  

That night, she wrote to him again. For the first time since he had been gone, tears started streaming down her cheeks. She had promised herself the nights before she wouldn't cry, and she had somehow managed. But now it seemed that all hope was lost.

Gabriel,

I do not know where you are located, nor do I know if you will ever return. Just know that if you do return, I will never let you leave me alone again. I am strong, but I am not strong enough to bear your loss. Not again. Not ever.

Forever yours,

Cecily

The letter was short and sweet. It was to the point. Just like Cecily liked things, but somehow, she felt it did not say enough. It did not fully grasp everything her heart was saying.

Frustrated, she crinkled up the parchment and tossed it into her bedroom's fire. She could sit still no longer. She grabbed her cloak and left her room as she headed for the gardens.

As she walked outside of the institute, she watched as her breath formed into mist. Winter was on its way, and she pulled her cloak closer to her chest. She sat down on Gabriel's favorite bench and crossed her legs. She played with the pendant around her neck. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away. It was time to let them free. She had to free herself of this pain, if she was ever hoping to move on in a world where Gabriel no longer existed.

Cecily shut her eyes for a moment and took deep breaths. The cool air was calming, but she was alarmed when she heard footsteps. Her hand instantly went for her serpah blade tucked under her cloak, and she looked ahead at the shadowy figure.

"Who goes there?" She asked, "I can tell you I am not one to be trifled with."

It was then she heard his chuckle. It was familiar. It was as familiar as Will's eyes had been when she saw him again for the first time. A feeling of warmth spread through her. For the first time in a long time, she felt the presence of home once again.

"Yes," his voice said, "I have learned that the hard way."

Gabriel appeared from the shadows in tattered gear with a long gash across his cheek. A light turned on upstairs in the institute. It was then she realized it was Sophie and Gideon's room. They must have been reuniting right then and there.

Before Gabriel could say another word, Cecily stood up and ran towards him. His arms engulfed her, and she sighed from relief. She pulled away quickly to look into his eyes. She lightly touched the gash across his cheek, and he winced. It was then she pulled out her stele.

"You need an iratze," she said softly.

He nodded as she added to his runes. She watched his face scrunch up slightly in pain until the gash was no longer visible.

"Where were you?" she questioned, "Why did you not reach out to me?"

She felt anger rush through her once again. She had felt a lot of anger within herself over the weeks, but she knew it was coming from fear. Cecily just didn't like admitting to that kind of vulnerability.

"I couldn't," Gabriel told her, "It wasn't safe."

"It was not safe for me to think you had died," she interrupted him, "The whole time all I could think about was-"

"Was what?"

It was that moment that the truth had settled in. The law was political, the law was stupid, but marriage was more than just politics. She had seen it with Sophie and Gideon and even Tessa and Will. It was a sacred bond. She wanted to make that decision for the right reasons. She no longer wanted to wait for Gabriel to make the decision. She had made it a long time ago. He was hers, and she was his.

Without another word, Cecily got down on one knee and took his hand. Gabriel raised his brows, but he did not say anything.

"Marry me, Gabriel," she said, "Marry me so I never have to completely lose you. Marry me so even if your body leaves this earth, your soul is still with me. Marry me so I never have to feel alone without you again."

Gabriel still didn't say anything, but he also got on his knees so they were close to eye-level. He cupped her cheek with his hand and brought their foreheads together. Snow started to fall lightly around them, and Cecily closed her eyes. It was then she felt the light touch of Gabriel's lips against hers. She missed him, she had missed him desperately. The feel of his lips, the warmth of his hands, his joking words. She could not control herself any longer as she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. He kissed her back, and it was as though those fifty-six days never existed.

Once Gabriel pulled away, Cecily studied his face again. She knew his answer without him having to say anything, but as she stroked his cheek, a grin broke out upon his face. He pulled her in for a hug, and she buried her face into his neck. She didn't care that her knees would have bruises in the morning. That was what an iratze was for.

"Of course I will marry you, my dear Cecily," he whispered in her ear, "I was only waiting for you to ask."

Cecily smiled.

[blog-aventin-de]

Das hölzerne Pferd

Das hölzerne Pferd

Das hölzerne Pferd ~ Trojanischer Krieg ~ Griechische Sage ~ Odyssee

Seit Achilleus gefallen war, schwand den Griechen fast alle Hoffnung, die feindliche Stadt jemals zu bezwingen. Auch den lanzengewaltigen Ajax mussten sie betrauern, der sich, von Pallas Athene mit Wahnsinn geschlagen, selber das Leben nahm. In den Reihen der Troer hatte Paris im Kampf den Tod gefunden, doch neue Kämpfer erstanden: An Achilleus Stelle trat sein junger Sohn Neoptolemos, und auf Seiten der Verteidiger tat sich der göttliche Äneas immer strahlender durch seine Heldentaten hervor. Noch war kein Ende des Krieges abzusehen. Tapfer schlugen die Troer von ihren hohen Mauern aus jeden Angriff zurück. Da gab Kalchas, der Seher, den Griechen den Rat, klug zu sein wie der Sperber, der die Taube fängt, und so folgten sie dem Plan, den Odysseus, der listenreiche Sohn des Laërtes, ersonnen hatte: sie erbauten ein kunstvolles, riesiges Pferd aus Fichtenholz und ließen die tapfersten Helden sich darin verbergen. Die anderen Krieger brachen die Zelte ab, als ob sie zur Heimfahrt rüsteten, und segelten davon. Zurück blieb nur das hölzerne Pferd, das groß und einsam vor der Mauer Trojas stand. Doch als die Flotte außer Sicht der Trojaner war, wandten die Griechen den Bug nach Süden und gingen im Schutz der kleinen Insel Tenedos vor Anker. Von der Höhe ihrer Zinnen waren die Troer mit ungläubigem Staunen dem Aufbruch der Feinde gefolgt. Bedeutete er wirklich das Ende des unseligen Krieges? Voll Freuden strömten sie zur Stadt hinaus. Kein Grieche zeigte sich mehr ringsum. Sie schritten über den Platz, wo das Schiffslager der Feinde gestanden hatte, das zu erobern ihnen nie vergönnt gewesen war. Doch was bedeutete das riesige Pferd, das sich schreckenerregend auf dem Platze erhob? »Schafft es in die Stadt und stellt es als Siegesdenkmal auf der Burg auf!« riefen die einen. »Wagt euch nicht an das unheimliche Geschenk der Achaier!« warnten die anderen. Sie hielten es für das beste, das hölzerne Pferd zu verbrennen oder ins Meer zu werfen. Während man unschlüssig hin und her stritt, trat Laokoon, der Priester Apollons, mitten unter das gaffende Volk. »Welcher Wahnsinn treibt euch, Mitbürger?« rief er laut. »Glaubt ihr denn wirklich, die Griechen seien auf und davon und ihre Gabe sei ehrlich gemeint? Kennt ihr den listenreichen Odysseus nicht besser? Was es auch sein mag, traut den Griechen nicht und nicht dem trügerischen Geschenk!« Damit entriss er einem Krieger die Lanze und schleuderte sie wuchtig gegen den Bauch des Tieres. Zitternd blieb der Speer im Holz haften, und aus der Tiefe ertönte ein Widerhall - wie von Waffengeklirr! Aber die Trojaner beachteten die deutliche Warnung nicht! In diesem Augenblick brachten Hirten einen Griechen herbei, den sie im Schilf des Skamandros aufgestöbert hatten, und schleppten ihn vor König Priamos. Flehend und unter Schluchzen streckte der Jüngling, der sich Sinon nannte, die Hände zum Himmel: »Weh mir, wohin soll ich Unglücklicher mich wenden? Die Griechen haben mich ausgestoßen, und die Trojaner werden mich erschlagen!« Teilnehmend fragte man ihn nach seinem Schicksal und hörte aus seinem Mund, dass die Griechen beschlossen hätten, ihn zu opfern, um sich eine glückliche Heimkehr zu sichern; doch es sei ihm gelungen, sich aus den Fesseln zu lösen und zu entfliehen. »In mein Vaterland und zu meinen Landsleuten kann ich nicht zurück«, schloss Sinon, »und von eurer Großmut hängt es ab, ob ich mein Leben verwirkt habe!« Priamos sprach dem Griechen Trost zu. »Wir werden dir Gastfreundschaft und Asyl gewähren« sagte er milde, »wenn du uns das Geheimnis des hölzernen Pferdes offenbarst.« Niemand ahnte, dass Sinons Erzählungen und Beteuerungen ein feingesponnenes Lügengewebe waren, mit dem er die Troer zu ihrem Verderben zu umstricken gedachte. Er scheute sich nicht, die Götter zu Zeugen anzurufen, dass es sich um ein Weihgeschenk für die Göttin Athene handele, mit dem die Griechen den Zorn ihrer Schutzgöttin versöhnen wollten. »Seht die gewaltige Höhe des Tieres«, sagte Sinon, »sie soll euch Troer hindern, es durch die Tore in die Stadt zu schaffen, weil euch die Göttin alsdann ihren Schutz zuteil werden ließe. Doch wenn ihr dem Pferd Gewalt antut, so wird die Rache der Göttin eurer Stadt schreckliches Verderben bringen!« So glaubhaft wusste der schlaue Grieche seine Worte zu setzen, dass niemand zögerte, ihm Vertrauen zu schenken. Am Ende nahmen die Götter, die Trojas Untergang beschlossen hatten, auch dem letzten Ungläubigen allen Zweifel mit folgendem Ereignis. Von der Insel Tenedos her kamen in gewaltigen Windungen zwei Schlangen, die pfeilschnell dem Ufer zustrebten. Ihr Ziel war der Uferaltar des Poseidon, wo Laokoon mit seinen beiden Söhnen beim Opfer beschäftigt war. Die Schlangen schossen auf die Knaben zu, wickelten sich um ihre Glieder und schlugen die Giftzähne in ihr Fleisch. Als der Vater, das Schwert in der Hand, den Söhnen zu Hilfe eilte, ergriffen die Schlangen auch ihn und ringelten sich um seinen Leib, so dass er wehrlos ersticken musste. Schreckensbleich sahen die Trojaner die Schlangen in Pallas Athenes Tempel verschwinden. Jetzt bestand für sie kein Zweifel mehr, wie sie mit dem Pferd zu verfahren hätten. Sie rissen die Stadtmauer ein, setzten das mächtige Tier auf Rollen und zogen es im Triumph in die Stadt. Da gab es ein Freudenfest, wie noch niemand es erlebt hatte. Überall gaben sich die Einwohner bei Schmaus und Gelage dem Jubel hin, überall erklangen Gesang und Saitenspiel, und als es auf Mitternacht ging, waren die Trojaner, von der unendlichen Freude und vom Wein berauscht, in tiefen Schlaf gesunken. Nur die Seherin Kassandra, des Priamos Tochter, hatte an dem Jubel nicht Anteil. Ruhelos irrte sie durch die Gassen und verkündete drohendes Verderben. Vergeblich, niemand hörte und achtete im Freudentaumel auf ihre warnende Stimme! Das hölzerne Pferd ~ Trojanischer Krieg ~ Griechische Sage ~ Odyssee Read the full article

[sereixndo]

It’s where my demons hide .: ariel & gaerlan

Ariel decidiu, a meio caminho da entrada de manutenção de esgoto, que fazer  aquilo era estúpido. Se meter em problemas de Shadowhunters era estúpido, demônios Achaieral eram estúpidos e, o mais importante, ele era estúpido por voltar aos esgotos do inferno para dar uma mão à estúpidos mundanos. Duas vezes. Ele iria descer as dinastias por uma segunda vez. Se tivesse sido o resto dessas pessoas esperando que ele fosse um herói, ele teria facilmente explodido para lidar com isso, porque eles estavam tão ansiosos para resolver problemas. Ariel percorreu acendeu o fogo vermelho em cima de suas mãos, flutuantes iluminando abaixo do chão. Não que qualquer um de seus sentimentos sobre o assunto significasse algo agora vendo como aqui estava, novamente, colocando-se no meio de algo que ele francamente não tinha vontade de estar no meio. Por tudo o que sabia, poderia haver gigantescos demônios em todos os lados e nunca saberia até que estivessem apertando suas mandíbulas sobre ele. Então, talvez a tentativa de matar o que quer que fosse que estivesse lá embaixo fosse um pouco necessária para o bem-estar da população de toda a cidade. Ainda assim, estúpido.

@huntergael

[treesofleipzigland]

Der Mai gehört den Bäumen. Der zweithäufigste Baum in Leipzig ist der Ahorn. Hier ein 120jähriger Berg-Ahorn. Der Blick von unten in die Krone ist deshalb so typisch, da seit hunderten von Jahren unter den gewaltigen Kronen alter Ahorne öffentliche Beratungen abgehalten werden. Er trägt auch den Namen Salatbaum, weil man in schlechten Zeiten gern mal sein Laub verspeiste. Dieses Mal aber schlechte Nachrichten für die Hippophilen unter euch: Pferde sterben bei Verzehr. Umso absurder, dass das Trojanische Pferd der Achaier aus Ahorn gezimmert war. Neben Pferden macht man aus Ahorn gern noch Lauten, Zithern, Panflöten, Fagotte und Schwyzerörgeli. Zum Schluss: Die Flügelnüsse sind typische Schraubenflieger mit 16 Umdrehungen pro Sekunde – probierts aus! #Acerpseudoplatanus  #treesofleipzig

[dustandshadows-rp-blog1]

Aqui estão os plots sugeridos e que seriam importantes serem desenvolvidos, os interessados devem entrar em contato com a central para atualização e disponibilização dos plots pois alguns necessitam de esclarecimentos para serem executados com perfeição. Os plots riscados estão totalmente com os muses ocupados.

Aumento de agressão animal ( voltado para lobisomens em especial ou shadowhunters) Lobisomens estarão mais propensos  a mudanças de humor, apresentando agressividade acima do normal, influenciados pela lua cheia e pela presença de Lilith na terra. Caso esse plot seja escolhido por um shadowhunter ele terá a responsabilidade de ajudar a conter a matilha espalhada pela cidade. Caso escolhido por um lobisomem ele devera desenvolver juntamente com outro char seu estado e sua agressividade contendo seus atos impulsivos ou deixando-os transparecerem. ( Alejandra & Elaena  ) 

Há uma menina em algum ponto da cidade ( definido pelos players que escolherem o plot ) a mesma está escrevendo no chão com um giz, numa linguagem ate então estranha aos presentes ( a não ser que seu char seja  warlock ai ele conheceria a escrita de cara) . A menina na verdade é um demônio Eidolon, e corpos estão pendurados dentro do beco onde ela está sentada. as paredes reproduzem os mesmos caracteres do chão desta vez escritos com sangue. Os players que escolherem este plot deverão entrar em contato com a central para mais detalhes. ( Kira & muse 2)

Enfrentando um demônio maior - Agramon é um demônio maior também conhecido como demônio do medo, ele  se manisfesta na forma daquilo que quem o está enfrentando mais teme, no sentido verdadeiro do medo, fobia. Podendo literalmente assusta-lo até a morte. Não é um plot fácil, os players que o escolherem terão que ter em mente que o desenvolvimento será trabalhoso, ainda mais por Agramon ser um demônio maior e mais difícil de ser derrotado. ( Anya & Violeta)

Quando as coisas apertam alguns preferem se proteger e fazem de tudo para proteger aqueles que lhe são caros ou desejam proteção, em modo de sobrevivência não importa o que vier pela frente a regra é mantenham-se seguros nem  que para isso seja necessário ferir quem estiver em seu caminho. ( aberto)

Combatendo demônios Achaieral. Os demônios se encontraram no lugar de escolha dos players, para saber mais sobre este demônio aqui tem um resumo. ( kaspar & gaerlan)

No meio de tanta correria ninguém reparou mais eis que uma arvore cresceu na entrada da cidade, a mesma que é ligada ao bosque dos lobos. Dizem que algo está crescendo embaixo da arvore, boatos dizem que há  demônios Amphisbaena lá.  Juntamente desse plot será esclarecido o desaparecimento do líder da matilha dos lobos HECTOR pedimos que pelos menos um dos personagens desse plot seja licantrope.  Os interessados por este plot receberam um post explicativo da central para o desenvolvimento do mesmo. (  Aylla & kaspar)

Red Moon Rising -  A lua ficou vermelha, e  a atração da luz vermelho pálida é forte; forte o suficiente para forçar os fantasmas a se esconder e mudar o fluxo das marés. Todas as coisas estranhas podem acontecer. Se manter de portas fechadas e se esconder do seu brilho não o protegerão. Cada especie é afetada de um jeito pela lua. ( Aberto)

Ataques de vampiros na estação de ônibus. - Dispensa comentários, deixando claro que os vampiros responsáveis por este ataque é um clã recém formado que nada tem haver com guilhermo ou qualquer char já existente no rp, a exceção é que se você quiser fazer seu char vampiro mudar de lado e atacar pessoas pode chegar na central que a gente encaixa. ( Antonella, Nikolaj & Hemera)

Moment of Thuth - Na boate algo de valor estava acontecendo e disso dependia quase todas as coisas do rp, esse plot está ligado ao plot central então se você não vai termina-lo não pegue o plot, é aberto a todas as especies e necessitamos de pelo menos três pessoas para desenvolvê-los. ( Morrigan, Guilhermo & Leonid)

Bem-vindo ao lago do parque. Fique para um encontro com sereias ou corra dos tentáculos que suavemente se prendem em torno de seu tornozelo. Só cuidado as fadas das águas tem dentes afiados. ( Feyre & Roman)

E assim vem o mal. - Um ataque imprudente, algumas palavras mal formuladas, e uma escuridão mítica surgiu para reivindicar suas vidas. Uma história, uma lenda urbana, se espalhou por sussurros silenciosos ao longo dos séculos. Um Dullahan , um cavaleiro sem cabeça, todo o jeito preto e sorriso desencarnado, chicote feito de espinha, matando mortais com cada parada que ele faz. Foi dito que ele troveja nas sombras da noite, jogando sangue em suas futuras vítimas. ( Katrine & Andrey)

é tempo de seelies - Os anéis se elevariam do chão, os cogumelos circundando as bocas do que parecem ser pequenas crateras, para atuar como seu campo de jogos. Segundo a lenda, esses anéis eram uma vez onde seelies dançavam e brincavam. Para qualquer criatura que não é Seelie, entrar no circulo das fadas enquanto um país das fadas está aberto é punível por ser mantido apto e forçado a fazer o que eles dizem, enquanto o anel estiver lá. Por isso, queremos dizer que é do melhor interesse de todos evitar que você chegue perto de um anel de fadas, a menos que a ideia de casamento forçado, servidão e / ou brincadeiras atraia você. ( Rhysand & Natalyia)

[neumannstb]

228

(4) Assur und Troja:

In der Ilias bedient sich Homer des alten Trojastoffes,

Rápida, Galapagos

um vom Kampf der zeitgenössischen freien Griechen gegen die assyrischen Großkönige zu erzählen.

  Er ent­wirft das Gemälde des heroischen Kampfes der freien Achaier und Danaer gegen eine dem Untergang geweihte despotische Macht.

(more…)

[wolfypuppypiles]

Holà ! Great your fanfictions ! I would like to see a fanfiction with Isabelle and clary arguing over something even if they are best friends and alec decide to interviene only when jace is being mean to Isabelle and taking clary's side please !

Gracias! I’m so glad you like them! 

Here you go I hope you like it!

Isabelle shook her head, winding her whip up and hookingthe coils onto her belt as she argued with Clary.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into. This isn’t someregular demon hunt, Clary.”

“I know that, and it’s not like you and the others won’tbe there.”

Izzy sighed and turned to her best friend. She was tryingto explain why she couldn’t come battle an Achaieral demon untrained but theyoung shadowhunter wouldn’t have it.

“You haven’t been trained for this! Do you even know whatthey are? They cover the night in darkness, taking away any light that thestars and moon provide, they’re huge and fast and very dangerous.”

Clary was being as stubborn as ever, crossing her armsand planting her feet in the armoury.

“We’ve handled big demons before.”

Izzy spun to her, groaning. She and Clary may have beenclose but this was infuriating.

“Not like this one! The last time they attacked it tookan army of shadowhunters working with downworlders to take them down. Simon,Meliorn, Mangus and Luke are coming with us so you can stay here where it’ssafe.”

Clary still didn’t want to listen, adamant that she couldhandle herself in the battlefield.

“Simon is going? He doesn’t know anything about demons?Why is he going?”

Isabelle refused to look at Clary now, too mad at her arguingto properly focus on her task of drawing runes. Her voice was hard andimpatient.

“Because he’s fast and strong and he won’t get killed ifhe’s thrown around a couple of times.”

“I can handle myself!”

“No, you can’t! You aren’t going! You have no idea whatto do against this demon! You don’t even know whether to avoid the teeth or thetalons! Or the wings which IT HAS BY THE WAY.”

“So, I’ll read up on them or just tell me what to expect,I can-“

“I learnt about these demons when I was twelve, Clary.You don’t know anything, you’ve been a shadowhunter for three months, come backwhen you’ve been doing it more than a year.”

Jace came in then and quickly put his hands between thetwo, now shouting girls. Alec was behind him but kept quiet, uninterested insorting out their bickering.

“Hey, what’s going on? What’s with all the yelling?”

Clary pointed an accusing finger at Isabelle.

“Izzy doesn’t want me going on the mission.”

The brunette laughed without humour and shook her head,giving Clary a hard look.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you to go. I said you couldn’t.You’re staying here.”

Jace frowned and started picking weapons off the rack,handing one to Clary with a shrug.

“Why not? We could always use more fighters; these demonsare known to be tricky.”

Izzy looked at him incredulously, swiping the seraphblade from Clary’s hand before she could protest.

“That’s why we’re bringing the downworlders. It’s toodangerous for her.”

“Who says?”

Izzy threw her hands up, eyebrows furrowing in anger.

“I did! She’s my best friend, I’m not having her go runningin blind because she can’t listen to someone who knows better than her.”

Jace crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Izzy.

“Are you sure you don’t just want the credit of the huntfor yourself?”

“What?”

“Come on, I know you want mom to be proud of you andsure, this is one way to do it but you can’t stop Clary from going just becauseyou want to be the hero.”

Izzy shook her head, shocked that her brother wouldaccuse her of such a thing. Alec came towards them now, no longer interested instaying out of it if Jace was going to be so cruel.

“I can’t believe you’d say that. This isn’t about me thisis about keeping Clary safe.”

Jace shook his head and pursed his lips, obviously not believingher.

“Okay, so that’s why you want her to stay away? Becauseyou think you matter more than her?”

Alec stepped between his siblings and placed a hand onJace’s chest.

“That’s enough. Izzy’s right; Clary is untrained andwould only be a liability to this mission. This is about Clary’s safety as muchas it is about the safety of the rest of the team and the mundane’s that willget hurt if the demon escapes. Clary stays here, that’s an order. You can workon your rune studies.”

Clary stormed off, clearly upset and Izzy turned back toher runes. Alec grabbed Jace’s arm as he turned to follow her. He spoke softlybut his tone was hard with disappointment and anger.

“Apologize to Izzy. You were out of line.”

Jace looked behind Alec, over to their sister, and shookhis head.

“I don’t agree with either of you. How is Clary going tolearn to be a shadowhunter if we don’t let her fight?”

“The same way we did. Through training in controlled environments.She can read up on the classifications of demons and other downworlders andkeep learning about runes. Knowledge is just as important to being shadowhunteras fighting is.”

Jace shook his hand off and walked away.

“Whatever.”

Alec rolled his eyes at his brothers behavior and turnedto Izzy where she was angrily pulling at the straps of her armor.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for taking my side.”

Alec just shrugged and helped her tighten a piece on herside where she couldn’t reach.

“You’re right, they’re being reckless and trigger-happy.We need to be smart about this hunt. That’s why you’re coming after all.” Hesmiled at her and her anger melted away. She smiled too and helped him with hisown armor.

The hunt was difficult, the demon being far stronger thanfirst anticipated, and it would have failed completely if everyone hadn’t done their jobs so perfectly.

Alec had been working on injuring the thing from afarwhile keeping an eye on everyone and covering them when they got knocked down.The downworlder’s did their best to weaken the beast with constant, hardattacks as Jace and Izzy went in for the kill.

But Jace got knocked down when he got too close and waspushed back enough that he would lose his window of opportunity if the demon flewup out of their reach again.

Izzy had always been good at distractions, so she leaptin front of the demon and flicked her whip towards it, wrapping the leatheraround its wings to keep it grounded. The demon was so strong it took both herhands to keep hold of it and although she knew this would leave her vulnerable,she held fast anyway so that Jace could kill it.

Jace did kill the demon, with a scream of rage he swunghis seraph blade, slicing through the meat of its neck, and cutting off itshead before stabbing it through the heart.

It fell to the ground, raining ash as it disintegrated,leaving the smell of brunt rot in the air.

The demon was deadbut not without a fight. Jace cleaned the ichor off his blade, unaware of Izzy’sinjury until he heard Alec screaming her name.

She was on the ground, groaning as she clutched her side.The demon hadn’t liked having its wings tied and picked her up, throwing herinto a wall before it died.

Alec rushed over with Jace hot on his heels, kneelingbeside his sister and running his hands over her, checking for injuries.

“Izzy, where does it hurt?”

Her breath was strained through her clenched teeth andremoved her hand from her chest so that Alec could press careful fingers to herribs.

“Four of them are broken and I think your shoulder’s dislocated.”

He started drawing runes, calling Magnus over to help herwith the pain before gently taking her arm.

“I’m sorry, Iz, this is going to hurt.” He winced in sympathyas he pulled the joint back into place, the bone snapping back audibly in the quietnight. She groaned but refrained from screaming as her body protested the harshtreatment.

Alec turned his furious expression on Jace.

“Does this look like she wanted the attention to you? Whowas the hero in this scenario, Jace? The one that killed the demon or the onethat was willing to die so that you could do it.”

Jace didn’t know what to say. So, he said nothing,watching as Magnus helped Alec get Izzy through a portal back to the institute.

Once Izzy had been mostly healed and placed in a bed inthe infirmary, Jace and Clary came to see her. Both had their heads hung low inshame and Clary took her best friends hand in hers.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you, Izzy. I just want to belike you guys so bad and I felt like I knew enough to help. I shouldn’t havesaid those things, I’m sorry.”

Jace nodded and looked at her, guilt growing heavier witheach bruise he saw on her skin.

“I shouldn’t have said those things either. I don’t haveany other excuse except that I’m a dick and I was being selfish. I’m reallysorry, Iz.”

Isabelle was too tired for any arguing and just looked atthe two with a frown.

“I forgive you. But if either of you pull that crap againI’ll kick both your asses and you guys can stay in the infirmary while I dealwith the demons on my own. Agreed?”

Jace and Clary nodded. Izzy sighed and closed her eyes asshe lent back in her pillows.

“Good, cause I love you guys and I hate fighting. Now, goget me some food please, this selfless hero is hungry.”

 (Thanks for the prompt! I hope this is what you wanted. I will post this on ao3 and fanfiction.net as “Picking sides.” and you can find my accounts by using the same author name as my url on here. Keep the prompts coming I love them!)