#building a motherless family

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

I can't think of any wips other than Bex so I'll go with that.

💯🎶🎨🖋️

🥰 thank you! bex verse, my beloved. bursting into life is the main fic

💯 [100] How many words does your WIP currently have? How many words do you hope it'll have when it's done?

35,925, current chapter at 2,190. uhhhhhh let me think of what more we need to get through. this fic will end at Bex's third birthday (summer) and it's currently December... let's say 50k and see what happens

🎶 [Notes] Do you have any other WIP related things, like moodboards, character portraits, playlists or similar?

OH! okay i don't have a formal playlist but I think I need to make one. I've made a "moodboard" (idk if it counts but I wanted a visual for it and I like fucking around in canva) that's the header on my series post. AND THEN I HAVE FAN ART! Moodboard by you and Bex art by @narcissusbrokenmirror :D (go check them out if you've missed them! so so so so so lovely and thoughtful and i love them so incredibly much)

‍🎨 [Palette] If your WIP was a color, which color would it be?

Green. I don't remember why. But I decided that a long time ago.

🖋️ [Pen] Describe your WIP in a single, terrible sentence.

An adorable toddler builds a polycule.

WIP ask game

[oroontheheels]

We are never fucking escaping the damage Donny Cates did with his Venom run, are we? 🫠

Long post because i need to vent + explain why is this triggering me so much.

CW: fictional su1cide attempt mentioned (but that’s Eddie Brock for you)

Before Donny’s dumb and offensive retcons, Eddie was such unique character with interesting and unique backstory. A motherless kid from rich family who grew up with neglectful father. Suffering from guilt and loneliness. Seemingly healthy and successful man with something severely broken inside. Something that made him do immoral things (whole Sin Eater situation), abandoned by everyone even his wife (I’m not blaming her tho). Coming to church to pray before ending his life. Coming to church so he won’t die COMPLETELY alone.

That’s when Eddie met his Other. The symbiote. A kindered spirit, a broken soul who was also ready to die.

They bonded. Because they both were lonely and scared and abandoned and desperate. And both believed it was others who did them wrong, without realising their own misdeeds.

Worst case scerario. Absolute enabling of worst manic ideas any of them could have, settled on revenge to Spider Man.

But at the same time Eddie got what he wanted. What he should’ve gotten long ago from his father - unconditional love.

And more that this he got romantic love from a creature who was inside every cell of his body, constantly. Focused only on Eddie.

Such unhealthy relationships, without any healthy boundaries. It’s twisted and toxic, but for them it was salvation. It what kept them from su1cide. What made them fit together so perfectly.

There’s been good days and bad days. And terrible days. Even before Cates retcon. They broke up and reunited in 2016 but this time with a goal to build a healthier romantic partnership. Because even though both of them realised errors of their ways and had a chance to be a heroes, met better people, they still wanted to be together. They choose each other.

And most importantly when Eddie was with his Other no matter if it was back in the day or in 2016 run HE NEVER FELT ALONE. The symbiote gave Eddie that feeing of belonging, that constant company and support, that Eddie always craved.

Donny ruined everything. Added dumbass retcon where Carl Brock was severely abusive to Eddie and saying “see? That’s why Eddie was a bad guy!”.

And also Donny looooved to emphasise that Eddie had this “DARKNESS™️” and that all his life was DARK and LONELY. And only when he met his son Dylan Brock, Eddie finally got something to live for. His only “LIGHT”. (Not a direct quote but the idea was repeated multiple times trough Cates run).

The symbyiote? That’s just some accessory. A pet. A talking tool to have cool powers 😎. It couldn’t possibly qualify as an equal. As a partner. It could never have filled the void in Eddie’s soul. Could only make it worse.

That’s Donny vision. And only when fans started shitting on his run he begrudgingly changed his ways and made the symbiote somewhat~ redeemable. Without ever giving it real spotlight or allowing the alien to reflect on its own feelings and motivations.

And now a lot of people enter Venom fandom, using Cates run as entry point. A lot of authors use his work as guidelines I’m sure of it. Because it sold well.

(No wonder it appeal to wider audiences by making Eddie Brock the most neurotypical straight dude possible)

And we have and will have bullshit like this. Eddie Brock was lonely with symbiote. He felt “singular”? Venom?? Singular? Two beings in one body constantly exchanging mental images with each other??? That Venom?? The one who always uses “we” in dialogue?

Yeah. I’m sure Eddie was very lonely when he was Venom. Good thing he’s not ALONE anymore. Wow. I’m so glad.

[linnorabeifong]

Symbolism

Thinking about writing Lin’s death and just… like there are two ways I’m fixated on.

1.Childbirth- Tragic and symbolic because of her own struggles with her family. Toph wasn’t around much and her father was absent so Lin spent her childhood competing with her moms job and her sister for attention. The cycle of neglect continues because now the child is motherless and the father is presumably absent. Su who was practically raised by Lin and never fully took accountability for her actions now has to step up and raise this baby and try to break the cycle of Beifong Family trauma. Unrealistic for her character though because Lin is child free. But ugh in an au.

Or imagine her dying giving Tenzin the airbenders he wanted and then haunting the island and then it would represent-

2.Collapsed Building

She’s selfless, she would rush in to a building collapsing to save everyone and use her bending to get them out of the rubble. She collapses afterwards; to weak to save herself and is crushed by earth(her own element). Symbolically this echoes how she spent her entire life being crushed by the expectations of her mother’s legacy as the world’s greatest Earthbender-

I have more thoughts but this is already so sad.

[curiousb]

The Bingley Family Album: Volume XIII

It's time for a birthday!

Mum Isabella takes charge.

Little Emma definitely takes after her mum in looks - and OTH - but has a rather more studious nature.

~ Aries 9 / 5 / 6 / 5 / 8

~ Bookworm / Perfectionist

~ OTH: Cuisine

There's no time to waste on building those toddler skills...

...especially as Isabella is delighted to discover that she's expecting again!

Grandpa Charles is on bedtime-story duty - but actually, he loves it.

Jane is starting to think of Isabella as the daughter she never had. While, after losing her mum at such a young age, and failing to build a relationship with her step-mother Mary, Isabella is enjoying having a motherly figure in her life at last.

With a growing toddler, and a new baby on the way, Samuel needs to get some more Simoleans rolling in.

Now that Bingley's Supermarket is gaining some popularity, dad Charles joins him at the shop, to help out.

Being Friendly and outgoing, he proves to be a natural - of course - at salesmanship.

Guess what Samuel's topic of conversation is again today...or maybe there's just a special offer on crab sticks this week?

They're doing a roaring trade today!

Thanks, dad!

They arrive home just in time to find that Isabella has gone into labour, in the bathroom of course.

You could pay a bit more attention, Samuel, to the proceedings in hand, rather than your own reflection!

It's another daughter! She is named Georgia, in honour of her maternal grandfather, and has her dad's blonde hair, with her mum's rich brown eyes.

But then the unthinkable happens, and with no warning, Isabella leaves her two young daughters motherless, just as she was herself, all those years ago.

I'm definitely sensing Grim's disapproval here, of my inability to keep my Sims alive.

Samuel is devastated by the loss of his wife, just as their life together was beginning!

Not even the fact that his two children need their father is enough to give him the will to live... (It was utter chaos in the household at this point, and he had keeled over before I had the chance to notice how low his Motives were!)

...and he leaves his orphaned daughters to be raised by their grandparents.

[lol-jackles]

Branding wise, I always thought about J2 as good guys, hard working, someone to have a beer with. Fathers. Family men, even when they filmed apart from wives & kids. JP's activities and socials still make him the nice boy next door all grown up into a hunk. However, JA's recent choices seem to mess with this. Big Sky was still the same honest, good guy. Nuanced with a few shades of gray. OTOH The Boys and Gen V? Geez. Nasty. There is "stretching" your range and then there's shredding your image

Every actor has said at least once, “I hate all that branding and marketing stuff – I just want to ACT!'

But if the actor doesn't have brand that tells a clear, concise, and consistent message, then they're going to book less roles.

Actors ideally have a "sweet spot" in their acting range to convey the message of their brand.  That sweet spot contains a whole bunch of different characters that gets seen by casting directors and producers.  This way they can get more offers for interesting roles because producers are going, "I wonder what else he can do."

For example, Tom Hank's brand is a genuinely nice, down-to-earth guy.  He leveraged this brand into a wide variety of heroic everyman roles that have increased his fame and garnered the trust and respect of his fans, and twice earned him an Oscar.

Bruce Willis was initially known as a romantic comedy guy, so he seemed mismatched for the action movie Die Hard.    During the 80s the action heroes looked like Greek Gods and producers were so worried that audiences wouldn't buy Willis as an action hero that he wasn't in the initial movie posters.  To make the movie work, they leaned into Willis' romantic comedy persona as an ordinary cop (hence the lack of Greek God body) who is trying to woo back his estranged wife and then struggled to rescue her when her office building is taken over by bank robbers disguised as terrorists.  The movie was a massive success that spawned a franchise and Bruce was able to leverage his loyal everyman brand into variety of roles from comedy (Death Become Her) to action (The Last Boy Scout) to Sci Fi (The 5th Element) to drama (The 6th Sense and Motherless Brooklyn).

Jensen is going too broad so it gives out mixed messages.  A branded message has to apply to everything in visual marketing i.e. headshots and social media seen by casting director and producers.  They click and if they don't instantly understand your message and see a match, then they move on to the next actor. When I look at Jensen's social media, I don't know what he is broadcasting.

Ideally the broadcasting would tell a short story that is one sentence long, so that people can remember it and share it with others.  For example, Angelina Jolie’s one-sentence story is, “I am an Oscar winning actress who is committed to philanthropy by providing resources and aid to refugees and immigrant children in war-torn countries.”  And to make sure it sticks; she portrayed that character in one of her movies.

Always be consistent in what you decide you want others to see.

[musingsofmonica]

Fall 2024 Diverse Reads

Fall 2024 Diverse Reads:   

•”Heir” by Sabaa Tahir, October 01, G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers, Fantasy/Action & Adventure/Epic/Romance

•”The City and Its Uncertain Walls” by Haruki Murakami, translated by Philip Gabriel, November 19, Knopf Publishing Group, Literary/Fantasy/Magical Realism/Science fiction/Gothic/Mystery/Horror

•”Masquerade” by Mike Fu, October 29, Tin House Books, Literary/Coming of Age/World Literature/China/21st Century/LGBTQ

•”The Mighty Red” by Louise Erdrich, October 01, Harper, Literary/Contemporary/Coming of Age/Thriller/Suspense/Romance/Cultural Heritage

Native American & Aboriginal

•”Society of Lies” by Lauren Ling Brown, October 01, Bantam, Dark Academia/Thriller/Suspense/Mystery & Detective/Women Sleuth/Cultural Heritage/African American & Black/Asian American/Women

•”The City in Glass” by Nghi Vo, October 01, Tordotcom, Fantasy/Epic/Fairy Tale/Folk Tale/Legends & Mythology

•”A Song to Drown Rivers” by Ann Liang, October 01, St. Martin's Press, Historical/Ancient/Fantasy/Fairy Tales/Folk Tale/Legends & Mythology/Romance/Women

•”The Witches of El Paso” by Luis Jaramillo, October 08, Atria/Primero Sueno Press, Historical/Fantasy/Magical Realism/Family/Saga/Cultural Heritage/Hispanic & Latino

•”Blood of the Old Kings” by Sung-Il Kim, translated by Anton Hur, October 08, Tor Books, Fantasy/Epic/World Literature/Korea

•”This Motherless Land” by Nikki May, October 29, Mariner Books, Literary/Family Life/Adaptations & Pastiche/Diversity & Multicultural/Cultural Heritage/African American & Black/Women/World Literature/Nigeria/England 

•”The Most Wonderful Time” by Jayne Allen, October 08, Harper, /Contemporary/Romance/Romantic Comedy/Multicultural & Interracial/Diversity & Multicultural/Cultural Heritage/African American & Black/Holiday/Friendship/Women/Own Voice

.”Twenty-Four Seconds from Now” by Jason Reynolds, October 08, Atheneum Books, YA/Contemporary/Romance/Boys & Men/Social Themes/Emotions & Feelings/Cultural Heritage/African American & Black

•”Something Close to Nothing” by Tom Pyun, November 12, Bywater Books, Literary/Family Life/Adoption/Identity/Multicultural & Interracial/Diversity & Multicultural/Cultural Heritage/Asian American/LGBTQ

•”The Burrow” by Melanie Cheng, November 12, Tin House Books, Literary/Family Life/Animal/World Literature/Australia

•”Sand-Catcher” by Omar Khalifah, translated by Barbara Romaine, December 03, By Coffee House Press, Literary/Political/Absurdist/Cultural Heritage/Arab/Palestinian/World Literature/Middle East/Israel/Jordan

•”City of Night Birds” by Juhea Kim, November 26, Ecco Press, Literary/Coming of Age/Performing Arts/Dance, Theater & Musicals

•”The Anti-Ableist Manifesto: Smashing Stereotypes, Forging Change, and Building a Disability-Inclusive World” by Tiffany Yu, October 08, Hachette Go, People with Disabilities/Disabilities/Disability Studies/Interpersonal Relations/Discrimination & Race/Social/Political 

•”The Message” by Ta-Nehisi Coates, October 01, One World, Essays/Current Events/American Government/Discrimination & Race Relations/Violence in Society/Writing/World Travels

•”Brown Women Have Everything: Essays on (Dis)comfort and Delight” by Sayantani Dasgupta, October 01, University of North Carolina Press, Essays/Women's Studies/Feminist/Cultural, Ethnic & Regional/Ethnic Studies/Asian Studies

•”Taiwan Travelogue” by Shuang-Zi Yang, November 12, Graywolf Press, Literary/Historical/World Literature/Japan/Taiwan/LGBTQ

[horizon-verizon]

If anything TG and Sara Hess defense for Aegon II applies even more so to Viserys and Daemon. A product of their environment. They both grew up motherless (Viserys and Daemon were 7 and 3 respectively when Alyssa died) with no one in their lives telling them misogyny was wrong, and according to TG/Targs haters, their father groomed their mother. Viserys was wed to his 11-year-old cousin at the age of 15/16, by his grandfather, the king. Literally, the highest authority in his existence told him this was what he had to do. Daemon didn’t even consummate his marriage with his 1st wife because he didn’t love her.

Well...

Viserys was wed to his 11-year-old cousin at the age of 15/16, by his grandfather, the king. Literally, the highest authority in his existence told him this was what he had to do. Daemon didn’t even consummate his marriage with his 1st wife because he didn’t love her.

I'd keep it to this part instead of saying that these two didn't know what misogyny was...bc most men in Westeros do not think of misogyny as misogyny, so these two really shouldn't be hailed or made less accountable for whatever sexism they display. Motherlessness also shouldn't keep you/doesn't keep you unable to understand your own prejudices and biases. Women and mothers yes raise their kids on values or teach them how to regard others--as we see w/Alicent--but just as Aegon is accountable for his own awareness of others' needs or feelings, these two men are as well. Women aren't the default ones with the heaviest responsibility for their kids' moral upbringing; the offspring still can and have to develop their own moral compasses or even to just observe peoples reactions to any personal-sexual-boundary crossing action.

Plus, they had their father Baelon, who seemed the least woman-hating and most "respectful" example of a man...so yeah. IF Daemon or Viserys are the most sexist men of the time or at least cared nothing about the women on their lives, it's either Baelon wasn't 100% emotionally there to ingrain in his kids to at least be conscious of their advantage OR these two just decided--unconsciously and consciously, to act towards women as they did and live in their own privileges. Daemon still takes advantage of the fact that he can sleep with anyone other woman while married, even insult her home and house after all. Yeah it's understandable that he wants to be a part of his family's legacy building as most other noble men do, but it's not a good or totally justified thing. It's not uniquely evil, nor is it a good thing, basically. And Viserys continues to impregnate Aemma, leading to her death AND forces his daughters to marry to people they didn't want or when they (Helaena) was far too young despite what happens with Aemma.

But I think it is a complicated mix and pendulum of both, bc yeah Baelon was forever aggrieved of Alyssa's death, men are not typically child rearers and we don't have any details of how he spent time with his sons (no I do not think he was a deadbeat, I still think he put in time & attention more often than you typical Westerosi father but just not perfect or ideally present! Not always able to address the stuff his sons had difficulty understanding or feeling...ex, Viserys becomes too much of a people pleaser).

[xfulminare]

( lannisport lannister a / matteo martari / cis man + he/him ) hear ye hear ye — king garlan tyrell welcomes ruling lord tybolt lannister of lannisport! his great majesty is glad that the thirty - seven year old noble appears to be observant while overlooking that it’s said they are also competitive, as long as they are glad to celebrate peace in the seven kingdoms. fortunately for them, garlan remains oblivious that they aren't happy with his reign and that their true allegiance lies with the westerlands + themselves. 

Name: Tybolt Lannister Age: thirty-seven Orientation: demisexual, demiromantic Loyalties: House Lannister but overall it's to The Westerlands and ensuring security for the future. Religious affiliation: Faith of the Seven Appearance: dark haired and green eyes, high cheekbones are perhaps his most notable features. Tall at 6'1, though his more slender build can sometimes make him look taller. Gait: in general his steps are sure and smooth, the confidence he feels in himself echoed in his walk. There are times though when an old injury causes the slightest limp if he's been particularly active. Aesthetic: the scratching of a quill over parchment, the speed of his writing not spoiling the neatness of his letters; keen eyes that miss nothing; soft, knowing smiles curling onto lips in sweet satisfaction as a well laid plan comes to fruition.

Family: -

Father: Lorent Lannister Mother: Sybell Lannister nee tbd Siblings: a younger sister + younger brother (wcs!!) Extended family: house hightower ( in laws ) Marital status: married to Nerissa Lannister neé Hightower Children: Lorent Lannister & Leo Lannister

Personality: -

Traits: quick-witted, versatile, thorough, strategic, precise, generous, open-minded, meticulous, confident, knowledgable, just, hard-working, gracious. Values: while he tends to keep his true opinions somewhat close to his chest ( easier to not make enemies of people that way ) Tybolts's ideals are relatively high. He thinks that nobles have a duty to the smallfolk that are on their lands and by strengthening Houses they can provide better for all. His morals, however, are less restrictive as he will always be someone who believes that the bigger picture is far more important and that the ends can almost always justify the means. Fears: he fears failure but not because of how it would reflect on him but because his lofty goals mean that if he had truly failed then so has his House and perhaps many more. The more vain part of him might fear being forgotten but if he had a choice between being remembered and making the difference he wants to see, then he'd happily slip from memory. Moral Alignment: true neutral Temperament: choleric Zodiac: aries sun, capricorn moon, virgo rising Inspiration: odysseus (the iliad), danny ocean (ocean's eleven), henry vii (history), lorenzo de' medici (history) and a sprinkling of tyrion lannister too

Biography: -

tl;dr - as the heir he always felt a heavy responsibility to his house and the people that depended on them so his time was spent learning and honing his skills. Intelligent and observant, he's been able to make countless plans and deals to better his house. More recently he has been considering an advantageous betrothal to help give his house more influence and stability. Eyes are always open for his next ally, never betraying those who he has already sworn to but also not letting emotions blind him when it comes to alliances and connections.

The eldest of Lorent Lannister's boys he title of heir of Lannisport fell to him and along with it he took up the mantle of bringing more greatness to their name. As he grew older it seemed as though he would have little trouble in doing this, excelling at everything that was placed in front of him. His father had ensured that although his sons would grow up motherless for the most part they would have a wealth of resources at their fingertips which made it all too easy for Tybolt’s quick, eager mind to pick up whatever he turned his attention to next.

At nineteen the golden boy of the family went off to fight in the Greyjoy rebellion keen to add more glory to his house and prove that the Lannister of Lannisport had teeth and claws as sharp as those of Casterly Rock.

The injury that he had received to his side and it’s implications hardly seemed to matter when he had always considered his mind to be of far more value than whatever strength his body had.

Pride was taken in his city and how it continued to flourish as his father slowly loosened his grip on the reins so that he could take over. ( the city watch a particular jewel in his crown when some had told him his men were far better trained than those in King's Landing ) His desire to see Lannisport and its people remain strong meant that he was never shy of forming alliances and forming friendships to increase trade and stability.

Years passed with continuing to hone his skills, putting into practise those years of shadowing his father as well as branching out on his own when it came to politics and relations. But what he was almost unprepared for was the death of his father when he was thirty-one. Almost but not quite. Grief didn't cripple him when he knew the best way to honour his father was by continuing and expanding his legacy.

For all they were his 'cousins' the lions of the rock had never had his unwavering loyalty. The Westerlands itself lays claims to that and while he is happy to side with those who share his name as long as it suits his goals, nothing would stop him looking elsewhere if needed.

Headcanons: -

He has never been drawn to music when all of his attention in his youth was directed to other pursuits he deemed more useful. He spent his time focusing on history and politics, strategy and sparring - he had little time for the more art-like endeavours. Of course he knows how to pick only the best music for any feasts his family hold but his own attention to them is rather fleeting when he sees it as nothing more but another tool for charming those around him.

Ravens are something he sends frequently, constantly in touch with those that he deems important to his plans. That being said, for all his notes are sometimes written in haste his penmanship is just as meticulous as everything else he does. They are always more than legible and the hours that he had spent on his careful script in his youth are plainly evident to whoever receives a note from him.

Connections: -

Political alliances:

Friends:

[unreadpoppy]

What's in a name - Siren

a character study fic

Read on AO3

A/N: I've had this idea for some time about Siren's name, and I waited until I finished the game (and had a better grasp at her character and the durge character as a whole) to write this. It ended up turning into more a 'exploration' of who she was/is and why she did what she did in the game. Also, it delves a bit into the durge's canon backstory, so beware of a brief mention of vivisection and necrophilia (there aren't details but it's still important to warn).

Word count: 2951

Calloused hands hold her own, as they walk through the park. After a long winter, spring has come, and the sun shines gently on her face. Her mother decided it was the perfect time for a picnic. 

They lived in the poor part of the city, in a two-bedroom cottage. The walk to Bloomridge Park was long but when they got there, they found a perfect spot underneath a tree. 

Her mother smiled, setting down a blanket, as the young girl walked around, following a small butterfly to a bush of flowers. She looked at it, enchanted by the different colors. 

“Oh, look!” She heard her mother behind her. “Do you know what these are?” She crouched down next to the girl, who only shook her head. The woman took one of the flowers and showed it to her. “It’s a dahlia.” 

“Dahlia?” The girl asked. “Like me?” 

“Yes, my love, like you.” Her mother said, placing the flower behind the girl’s pointy ear. 

“They’re pretty!” She exclaimed.

The woman smiled. “Just like you.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. “It’s why I named you after them. They’re my favorite.” 

They spend the rest of the day like that. Eating sweets, looking at the flowers and the animals and insects found in the park. They laugh, and play, chasing butterflies, and when they go back home, Dahlia is the happiest little girl in the world. 

Years from now, that memory will feel like a dream, of a time before the Urge. But she knows the truth now. She knows what happens after. 

A week after the picnic, a hunger will strike the girl. A hunger for blood, for violence - for murder. And in the wake of that hunger, her mother will find herself as one of Dahlia’s first victims, alongside her siblings. 

As she sits there, in the pile of mangled corpses she had created, a voice echoes in her head. 

‘Young master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.’ 

Dahlia looks at the kitchen knife in her hand and at her blood soaked dress. For now, the child is satisfied, but it will soon fade, and the need to kill will come back again, and again and again. 

. 

Motherless, she wondered and wondered, until she found herself in a brothel, and her killing spree continued. Night after night, men would come to her bed, lured by her song, only to meet their grisly end. 

Of course, she did not stop there. Ever so often, she’d slip out of the dodgy building, and murder anyone unlucky enough to cross paths with her. 

She couldn’t help it. The Urge to kill was an itch, a pain that was only alleviated by a bloody dagger. But it never stopped. She was always aching, forever hungry for a slaughter, and in her recklessness, she made a mistake.  

Dahlia’s victims were usually the poorer members of Baldur’s Gate. People who would not be missed. But one night, when a patriar came to her room, she couldn’t help herself. The lord laid a single finger on her before her dagger slashed his neck, the blood spilling on her. 

He was a man who would be missed. And when they found the culprit, Dahlia would never kill again. 

No. It couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let it happen. But how would she get rid of the corpse without calling attention, especially when the room downstairs was filled with people. Unlike the others, he hadn’t gone down quietly. The walls of the brothel were thin and soon, her boss would come check in, and that would be her end. 

Dahlia was only sixteen when the voice she heard as a child, after her first murder, materialized in front of her, like an angel in disguise. 

“Ah, my lady, the time for your home coming has come at last.” The goblin-like creature said, excited. “I awaited long for this most blessedly bloody day.” 

The young tiefling frowned, unsure of who the creature was. But his voice…his voice was familiar. 

“Who are you?” She asked. 

“Sceleritas Fel, my lady.” He tipped his hat and bowed his head. “Your Butler, forever at your service, for as long as you need me.” 

“Butler?” She shook her head. How did a poor girl from a brothel have a mystical butler? “I do not understand. Why are you here?” 

“I am here to help, young Master.” She opened her mouth again, but he raised a hand before she could say something “I understand you must have many questions, and they shall be answered in due time. But first” he looked to the cadaver next to her, a gleam in his eye “we must clean this mess.” 

She nodded but then hesitated, when she heard the sound of the stairs creaking. 

“We don’t have time.” She whispered to her butler. “The boss is coming, and there’s too many people downstairs to sneak out. What do I do?”

“Do not fret, my lady. Listen to your heart. What does it tell you to do?” 

She closed her eyes, the pounding of her heart mixing with the sound of footsteps. She wanted to leave, to run, but with some many on the way, how could -

Dahlia’s thoughts seemed to stop, as the smell of blood once again filled her nostrils. Killing the patriar hadn’t been enough to satisfy her Urge, but a new opportunity was presenting itself. 

She looked at the butler. “It tells me to kill him. To make a blood bath of all of those downstairs.” 

“Good, good.” Sceleritas said, smiling. “But that small thing you call a dagger won’t help you.” He pointed towards the weapon embedded in the dead man’s chest. “Here, use this. A gift from your Father.” 

The butler produced a blood red, asymmetrical, curved blade, with a golden handle. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and when she held it, she could feel the blade sing, begging for blood. 

The blade didn’t wait long, as her boss soon opened the door, the orchestra of screams from Dahlia’s victims soon filling the silence of the night. 

By the time she was done, Dahlia was soaked from head to toe in blood. Her pitch black hair now had the same shade of red as her dagger. 

“Ah, young Master, what a beautiful display.” The butler said, guiding her outside. As the night’s air kissed Dahlia’s face, she looked down at her dagger. With the blood, she could see her reflection in it, and for a moment, she did not recognize herself. This bloodthirst killer, was that who she truly was? Who she always had been? 

The sound of fire made her turn around, and she gasped as she saw the brothel burning. 

“There, there, no evidence to be found now.” Sceleritas said, wiping his hands, pleased with himself. “Now, what would my lady like to do?” 

Once again, she looked at her reflection in the bloodied dagger, and she knew then, that Dahlia had also died. Not in the brothel, but long ago, along the rest of her family. 

She looked to Sceleritas. “I would like to meet my father.” 

. 

The Dark Urge was the name Bhaal, her Father, had chosen for her. That was the name that His followers called her, as she stalked the halls of the Temple. 

In the years to come, she and her butler ended hundreds of lives. She finessed her methods, and the twisted creativity of her murders only pleased her Father. When not on the streets, hunting, the Dark Urge fills her time with other activities. 

She takes some of her victims back to the Temple, drawing out their death for as long as she can, so that she might study them. It is not unusual to find her and the butler deep into someone’s entrails, while they beg for sweet mercy, for the agony to end and the Dark Urge revels in it. 

She takes everything from them. Their lives, their voice, their bodies - sometimes she even takes her own pleasure from them. But mostly, she gives them pain. As much pain as she feels. 

If she must feel the pain of the urge, so will her victims. 

But killing is not the only thing that calms the Dark Urge. In her time, she has found that music is the only way to still her restless thoughts. 

She chooses the violin as her instrument of choice. As the sound of the strings fill her ears, her mind quietens. There is nothing and no one but her and her music. And with it, the Dark Urge finds her own voice, singing along to the melancholic sound her violin makes. 

It is in these moments of quiet solitude that she wonders if part of Dahlia still lives. 

. 

The partnership with the Banite proved fruitful, their assault on Mephistopheles vault being a success. Their plans are slowly becoming a reality. 

He intrigues her. He treats her with the due deference that someone of her position is owed, but he also challenges her. When everyone else had either treated her as small,or as the Chosen of Bhaal, a being above their station, Enver Gortash treated her as an equal, as partners. 

She entertained him, of course. One day, he and everyone else would all be dead, as her Father intended, but until then, the Dark Urge saw no problem in indulging. 

She was in his stronghold, at a balcony, playing the violin, singing along with it. The moon hang in the sky, and she closed her eyes, feeling the breeze on her face. 

She did not hear when he entered, only realizing his presence when he said “I did not know you could play.” 

The Chosen of Bane stood a few meters away from her, a smirk on his face. She put her violin down as she spoke with him. “You’ll find that killing is just one of my many talents.” 

His smirk grew. “Really? And pray tell, what are the others?”

It was her turn to smirk as she beckoned him to follow her, as they entered his close quarters. 

That was not the first time they had fucked, but it had been different than the others. When the two lay together, it was hard and painful, and usually ended with the both of them aching, adorned with new scratches, marks and scars. 

This time, however, something was different. Maybe they had both been in good moods, as their plans were coming to fruition. Maybe it was a special day that both had forgotten, but not their bodies. Or maybe, it was just what they were needing. Instead of the rough fucking they were used to doing, Gortash and the Dark Urge’s sex that night had been…tender. Caring. They caressed each other's bodies, and instead of scars, she littered her partner’s body with kisses, as he touched her in a way that made her melt. 

If the two of them had been different people, she could almost say it was loving. But he was the Chosen of Bane and she was the Chosen of Bhaal, and the two were a plethora of things, but loving was not one of them. Maybe in another life….but not this one. 

Still, once they were both satisfied, they laid in bed, holding the other close. 

“Dark Urge, they call you.” Gortash scoffed. “The siren, I would say, is more fitting, with how you lured me with your song.” 

She raised her head from his chest, supporting herself with her elbows as she looked at his face. “You should consider yourself lucky, little Banite.” She said. “You’re the only one who my urge doesn’t want to kill.” The Dark Urge moved closer to him, her breath in his face. “But call me that again, and that will soon change.” 

He looked into her eyes. “Is that a threat?” 

“No.” She whispered, a smirking appearing on her lips. “It’s a promise.” 

He laughed, entangling his hand on her hair. “Then come, my siren, and take me.” He said, as he brought her close and kissed her.

. 

Then come, my siren, and take me. 

Then come, my siren.

My siren. 

Siren. 

The word echoed in her brain like a forgotten song. The voice, the voice of someone calling her siren, ringed in her ear for days, and she did not know what it meant. 

But when the cleric asked her name, ‘Siren’ was what she responded. 

. 

Moonrise Towers. 

The name alone gave her shudders and deep down, Siren had a feeling she would learn more about her past there. 

Once inside, her suspicions had been confirmed. Upon looking at Ketheric, her mind began to clear. She had been to Moonrise before, long ago. She had stalked these halls before, not as some lowly True Soul, but as something else. Gods, who had she been?

Now, as led her party through the tower, eyes would turn to her, sparkling in recognition. Many remembered her ad with them, small pieces of information were gathered. 

The skeleton dog wagged its tail when he recognized her. The cat Steelcalw hated her, claiming to have once been kicked by Siren. The gnolls called her a ‘lord’ and revered her. And the blasted Warden of the prison spoke how once she came there but never left.

‘Your name, your place was kept from us last time, but you were to be shown the utmost respect.’

.

It was when they arrived in Baldur’s Gate that part of her memories returned and the truth had been uncovered. 

Siren was the Child of Murder, created by Bhaal himself. She, alongside the Chosen of Bane, Gortash, had developed the plot of the Absolute, and on the day that her tyranny was to begin, her blood-kin, Orin, attacked her. She left her for death, if it wasn’t for Kressa Bonedaughter’s cruel experiments that brought Siren back to half life. 

Her desire for revenge grew ten times more. Everything had been stolen for her: her name, her power, her heritage. Orin would die, and Siren would…

Well, she was unsure of what she would do as Siren had no wish of becoming Bhaal’s chosen again. 

In her time traveling with her companions, the Urge to kill had continued, and kill she did, the poor tieflings and the druids never standing a chance against her blade. But once again, Siren had faced the same problem. The ache she felt was only momentarily satisfied, and no matter how many enemies they slaughtered, she was never full. 

That was until Siren noticed a strange development. 

After the massacre of the grove, Withers said something that stayed with Siren. He said that “Thy wheel turns ever to the dark.” 

She didn’t understand why that resonated within her but it had. His words spoke to a part of her that she believed long lost, and with it, it drove her into attempting to do good. 

Siren began resisting her urge and instead of killing, she tried to help.

And in helping others, she found a comfort in her soul. Every ‘thank you’, every ‘you’re a kind soul’ dulled the ache of the Urge even more than the smell of blood had. 

So as she thought of the next steps, she wondered: could she make a path for herself? One where she didn’t obey her Father’s orders, one where she would live? 

.

It was in Bloomridge Park that she came to a conclusion. 

Passing by a bush of flowers, the smell of it caught Siren’s attention. She stopped, and knelt beside it, plucking a flower in her hand. 

“I see you also have a favorite.” Shadowheart said. “What are those?” 

Siren looked at it, and closed her eyes, a memory sparking in her brain. 

‘“It’s a dahlia.” 

“Dahlia?” The girl asked. “Like me?” 

“Yes, my love, like you.” Her mother said, placing the flower behind the girl’s pointy ear. 

“They’re pretty!” She exclaimed.

The woman smiled. “Just like you.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. “It’s why I named you after them. They’re my favorite.” ‘ 

Siren looked to Shadowheart. “They were my mother’s favorites. Dahlias.” She stood up. “Dahlia. It’s my name”

The cleric frowned. “I thought your name was Siren.” 

“My mother…she named me Dahlia after her favorite flowers.” Siren shook her head. “I had forgotten about it.” She looked at the flower again, a flood of images from a long forgotten past returning to her at once. “I forgot so much…”

Shadowheart placed a hand on her shoulder in support. “But you also took back so much. And you’ll get even more after we defeat Orin.” 

“Yes.” Siren whispered. “I know what I have to do now.” 

. 

Dahlia. The Dark Urge. Siren. 

A child, a murderer and a savior. All three, so incredibly different and yet, they were all one and the same. 

By denying her father, Siren had lost her life and in doing so, she gained a second chance. A chance to carve a different path for herself, one of which, instead of enslaving the world, she saved it. 

She could never be the girl she once was, but she would also never be the bloodthirsty assassin again. She could now truly be who she wanted to be. 

Siren.

And as a new dawn came, with her lover by her side, she awoke, not as a conqueror, but as the Savior of Baldur’s Gate. 

For the first time in a long, long time, Siren smiled as she wondered what adventure she would get in next, now that she had a world of possibility and freedom at her feet. 

The End.

[xastrainclinant]

( lannisport lannister a / matteo martari / cis man + he/him ) hear ye hear ye — king garlan tyrell welcomes ruling lord tybolt lannister of lannisport! his great majesty is glad that the thirty - seven year old noble appears to be observant while overlooking that it’s said they are also competitive, as long as they are glad to celebrate peace in the seven kingdoms. fortunately for them, garlan remains oblivious that they aren’t happy with his reign and that their true allegiance lies with the westerlands + themselves. 

Name: Tybolt Lannister Age: thirty-seven Orientation: demisexual, demiromantic Loyalties: House Lannister but overall it’s to The Westerlands and ensuring security for the future. Religious affiliation: Faith of the Seven Appearance: dark haired and green eyes, high cheekbones are perhaps his most notable features. Tall at 6'1, though his more slender build can sometimes make him look taller. Gait: in general his steps are sure and smooth, the confidence he feels in himself echoed in his walk. Aesthetic: the scratching of a quill over parchment, the speed of his writing not spoiling the neatness of his letters; keen eyes that miss nothing; soft, knowing smiles curling onto lips in sweet satisfaction as a well laid plan comes to fruition.

FAMILY: -

Father: Lorent Lannister Mother: Sybell Lannister nee tbd Siblings: a younger sister + younger brother (wcs!!) Extended family: house hightower ( in laws ) Marital status: married to Nerissa Lannister neé Hightower Children: Lorent Lannister & Leo Lannister

PERSONALITY: -

Traits: quick-witted, versatile, thorough, strategic, precise, generous, open-minded, meticulous, confident, knowledgable, just, hard-working, gracious. Values: while he tends to keep his true opinions somewhat close to his chest ( easier to not make enemies of people that way ) Tybolts’s ideals are relatively high. He thinks that nobles have a duty to the smallfolk that are on their lands and by strengthening Houses they can provide better for all. His morals, however, are less restrictive as he will always be someone who believes that the bigger picture is far more important and that the ends can almost always justify the means. Fears: he fears failure but not because of how it would reflect on him but because his lofty goals mean that if he had truly failed then so has his House and perhaps many more. The more vain part of him might fear being forgotten but if he had a choice between being remembered and making the difference he wants to see, then he’d happily slip from memory. Moral Alignment: true neutral Temperament: choleric Zodiac:aries sun, capricorn moon, virgo rising Inspiration: odysseus (the iliad), danny ocean (ocean’s eleven), henry vii (history), lorenzo de’ medici (history) and a sprinkling of tyrion lannister too

BIOGRAPHY: -

tl;dr - as the heir he always felt a heavy responsibility to his house and the people that depended on them so his time was spent learning and honing his skills. Intelligent and observant, he’s been able to make countless plans and deals to better his house. Eyes are always open for his next ally, never betraying those who he has already sworn to but also not letting emotions blind him when it comes to alliances and connections. He is keen to see the Westerlands profit and rise - after all they should be benefitting from their close relationship with the new royal family.

The eldest of Lorent Lannister’s boys he title of heir of Lannisport fell to him and along with it he took up the mantle of bringing more greatness to their name. As he grew older it seemed as though he would have little trouble in doing this, excelling at everything that was placed in front of him. His father had ensured that although his children would grow up motherless for the most part they would have a wealth of resources at their fingertips which made it all too easy for Tybolt’s quick, eager mind to pick up whatever he turned his attention to next.

He travelled for a few years but only to continue to make deals for his family, any friendships he made ones that he could consider an unwavering bond. There were acquaintances too, slowly building a network that could one day be called upon should the need arise.

Pride was taken in his city and how it continued to flourish as his father slowly loosened his grip on the reins so that he could take over. ( the city watch a particular jewel in his crown when some had told him his men were far better trained than those in King’s Landing ) His desire to see Lannisport and its people remain strong meant that he was never shy of forming alliances and forming friendships to increase trade and stability.

Years passed with continuing to hone his skills, putting into practise those years of shadowing his father as well as branching out on his own when it came to politics and relations. But what he was almost unprepared for was the death of his father when he was thirty-one. Almost but not quite. Grief didn’t cripple him when he knew the best way to honour his father was by continuing and expanding his legacy.

The responsibility felt for securing his house meant that he wasted little time in acquiring a betrothal for himself, turning to a long trust trade partner and taking a bride from one of his family's closest connections. Nerissa Hightower turned out to be something of a perfect fit and as they welcomed their two sons at reasonable intervals pride in his family grew.

Lannisport continued to flourish, its riches always shared among the people as much as he added to his house's coffers. Support was given to his small folk and constant opportunities for them to improve their craft and trade.

For all they were his ‘cousins’ the lions of the rock had never had his unwavering loyalty. The Westerlands itself lays claims to that and while he is happy to side with those who share his name as long as it suits his goals, nothing would stop him looking elsewhere if needed.

HEADCANONS: -

He has never been drawn to music when all of his attention in his youth was directed to other pursuits he deemed more useful. He spent his time focusing on history and politics, strategy and sparring - he had little time for the more art-like endeavours. Of course he knows how to pick only the best music for any feasts his family hold but his own attention to them is rather fleeting when he sees it as nothing more but another tool for charming those around him.

Ravens are something he sends frequently, constantly in touch with those that he deems important to his plans. That being said, for all his notes are sometimes written in haste his penmanship is just as meticulous as everything else he does. They are always more than legible and the hours that he had spent on his careful script in his youth are plainly evident to whoever receives a note from him.

Lannisport library is among one of the finest in Westeros ( though he is rather biased when he makes such a claim ) its walls filled with tomes he had inherited from generations before him as well as carefully selected on his travels in his youth.

Connections: -

Political alliances: whether they simply share similar views or their houses can offer something to each other, Tybolt has collected a range of the dynamics over the years. If his word has been given he tends to keep it. Open to newer/older connections!

Trading alliances: with Lannisport being a large trading city it's important for him to make sure things still run smoothly

Friends: over the years he has fostered a number of dynamics that he feels stray more into the realm of friendship than just a simple alliance. The bonds will be valued deeply and his loyalty almost unwavering. (also a wc for a specific dynamic!!)

Potential allies: whether it comes off or not can be written out!!

Anything else you can think of xoxox

[ts-wicked-wonders]

Surviving Childhood Without a Mother Who Wasn’t Around: Finding Healing, Strength, and Self-Love

Growing up without a mother who wasn’t present—whether physically absent or emotionally unavailable—can leave a deep imprint on a child’s heart. A mother is often seen as a source of love, nurture, and guidance, and when that presence is missing, it can create feelings of abandonment, unworthiness, and longing.

But just because you started life without a present mother doesn’t mean you are doomed to a life of emptiness. Healing is possible. Strength is already within you. And you are not defined by who was not there, but by how you choose to move forward.

This blog is about navigating the wounds of a mother’s absence, reclaiming your self-worth, and building a life of love, healing, and resilience.

The Impact of an Absent Mother

A mother’s absence can manifest in many ways—struggles with self-worth, difficulty forming secure relationships, an internalized sense of rejection, or even a deep-rooted fear of abandonment. Some people become fiercely independent to protect themselves from further hurt, while others search for that missing love in unhealthy relationships or external validation.

It’s easy to ask, Why wasn’t I enough? Why couldn’t she stay? But let’s be clear: Her absence was never about you. Whether she left due to circumstances, struggles, or personal choices, her actions were not a reflection of your worth.

How to Heal and Thrive

Healing from a mother’s absence is a journey of self-discovery and self-love. It’s about understanding the past but not allowing it to define your future. Here’s how to begin that process:

1. Allow Yourself to Grieve Without Shame

The absence of a mother creates a loss—of love, guidance, and belonging. Give yourself permission to grieve what you didn’t receive. Journaling, therapy, or talking with trusted loved ones can help you process those emotions.

2. Redefine What ‘Mother’ Means to You

A mother doesn’t always have to be the one who gave birth to you. Sometimes, we find maternal love in grandmothers, aunts, teachers, mentors, or even within ourselves. Look around at the people who have shown you care, and embrace those nurturing energies.

3. Break the Cycle of Self-Blame

It’s common for children of absent mothers to believe they were unlovable or not good enough. Challenge those thoughts. You were always worthy of love. Her absence was about her, not about your value.

4. Seek Out Healthy Role Models

A mother’s absence doesn’t mean you have to navigate life alone. Surround yourself with people who uplift and guide you—whether it’s strong women, supportive friends, or spiritual mentors.

5. Learn to Mother Yourself

Even if no one mothered you the way you deserved, you can learn to mother yourself. This means:

• Self-care: Treat yourself with kindness, nourishment, and rest.

• Self-compassion: Forgive yourself for mistakes and comfort yourself in difficult moments.

• Self-love: Speak to yourself the way a loving mother would. Remind yourself daily: I am loved. I am enough. I am worthy.

6. Heal Through Therapy or Support Groups

Healing childhood wounds is not something you have to do alone. Therapy, spiritual counseling, or support groups for those with parental abandonment issues can help you work through emotions in a safe space.

7. Forgive—Only When You’re Ready

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting or excusing. It means freeing yourself from resentment so that it no longer holds power over you. Forgive on your own terms, in your own time, if and when it feels right.

8. Create the Life You Deserve

You have the power to build a life of love, security, and happiness—one where absence no longer defines you. Whether through friendships, chosen family, or self-growth, you can create the kind of nurturing and love you once longed for.

You Are Enough

Motherlessness can leave scars, but it does not define your future. You are not broken. You are whole. You are capable of healing, of loving, and of thriving.

You are proof that even without a mother’s presence, love can still bloom.

What has helped you heal from an absent mother? Share your experiences in the comments—let’s support each other on this journey.

[lapseinrecs]

Salvage the Bones

By Jesmyn Ward

Hook: A hurricane is building over the Gulf of Mexico, threatening the coastal town of Bois Sauvage, Mississippi, and Esch's father is growing concerned. A hard drinker, largely absent, he doesn't show concern for much else. Esch and her three brothers are stocking food, but there isn't much to save. Lately, Esch can't keep down what food she gets; she's fourteen and pregnant. Her brother Skeetah is sneaking scraps for his prized pitbull's new litter, dying one by one in the dirt, while brothers Randall and Junior try to stake their claim in a family long on child's play and short on parenting. As the twelve days that comprise the novel's framework yield to the final day and Hurricane Katrina, the unforgettable family at the novel's heart—motherless children sacrificing for each other as they can, protecting and nurturing where love is scarce—pulls itself up to struggle for another day. A wrenching look at the lonesome, brutal, and restrictive realities of rural poverty, "Salvage the Bones" is muscled with poetry, revelatory, and real.

My thoughts: I read this in my senior year of high school, and its so good. The allusions to media, the visceral imagery, the relationships between the siblings: Ward's writing is just so good. I also think a lot about what she's said about her book and writing in general, about the Western literary canon is super interesting. This interview is really interesting if you've read the book or if you don't mind a few spoilers/references/allusions of what happens in the book. I will, however, take the liberty to share this one quote from that interview that I found particularly interesting/important:

"It infuriates me that the work of white American writers can be universal and lay claim to classic texts, while black and female authors are ghetto-ized as “other.” I wanted to align Esch with that classic text, with the universal figure of Medea, the antihero, to claim that tradition as part of my Western literary heritage. The stories I write are particular to my community and my people, which means the details are particular to our circumstances, but the larger story of the survivor, the savage, is essentially a universal, human one." - Jesmyn Ward

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. Emre Demir AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30 & February 28th, 2994 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cis Male & He/Him NATIONALITY. Lysaran SPECIES. Cambion FACTION. Warrior's Guild OCCUPATION. Gladiator FACE CLAIM. Burak Celik

biography

( tw death, blood, alcohol )

i. INFANCY

Bright, inquisitive, and dutiful. Emre was born under the watchful gaze of his father; Ayaz, a Guildmaster of the Warrior’s Guild in Ardentgate, Southreach. His mother, Ceren, was little more than a traveler passing through. A devil met at the crossroads made a deal and then chose to hang around for a spell. While Emre would never know who she’d come to the city for, her intentions landed on the Guildmaster long enough to give him a child. The truth of her infernal origins was evident in the way misfortune bloomed outside her doorstep, how nothing would grow where Ceren lived, and the monstrous form that her son took when Emre came raging into this world. 

Ceren was a demon, exorcising her was the right thing to do. Ayaz would repeat that to Emre so many times in the years that followed that Emre became convinced that Ayaz truly believed it. 

ii. CHILDHOOD

Motherless but never wanting for parenting, Emre grew up in the training yard of the Warrior’s Guild, in the kitchens scouring pans, on all fours scrubbing the floors, and in the Hall of Virtus making the statues of former Blademasters gleam like they were holding the sun itself. The splinters, broken knuckles, and raw skin were all meant to build character, that was what Ayaz said time after time. Emre listened, did as he was told, and believed he was ‘paying his dues.’

Their life wasn’t charmed, the Ayaz was a Blademaster but the bulk of his glory was already behind him as he made the regrettable mistake of accepting the title of Guildmaster. It allowed for a life of very little adventure and far more bureaucratic nonsense that saw the lines about his face crease deeper and deeper. The hairs at the top of his steadily flecked from deep chestnut to streaks of silver as he seemed to age a decade after only a single year. Where he could not go, Ayaz expected his son to someday take his place. To train, to be perfect, and to be the standard for what a member of the Warrior’s Guild, and someday Blademaster, ought to be. 

iii. ADOLESCENCE

Emre drank in his father’s expectations and his criticisms, all the while watching as the Guildmaster pinched together the coins he could out of those seeking the aid of the noble guild. Warriors weren’t in the guild for money, it was about the honor and the privilege of doing the right thing - but the right thing didn’t buy fine foods or expensive ales, and the older he got the more envious he became of all the things Emre had grown up without. The chores didn’t end, the character building never stopped, and the criticism was never-ending- Emre grew tired of it, but he endured for the sake of the only family he’d ever known. 

In that hall, he had mentors and friends, more than one took a shine to him, but one roguish figure mentioned offhandedly one day that Ayaz never took the big paying contracts. That requests for blood went unanswered, Emre wasn’t a killer, but he discovered how easy killing was. A quick turn of the blade, the push of a knife, or the throttle of a hefty rock did the job easily enough. When Ayaz found out that Emre had been taking contracts around Ardentgate as a glorified thug - shaking people down money for debts and intimidating neighborhoods at the behest of criminals seeking extortion - he kicked him out. There was no discussion or offering for absolution, it was as if Emre was his son one day and then a stranger the next. 

It was easy to remember then how often Ayaz had told him that exorcizing Ceren was the best course of action, all that character building couldn’t fix what had been born broken. 

iv. EARLY YEARS

Emre moved on quickly enough and found work using the only skillset his father had ever taught him. With a pair of swords in either hand and a wineskin at his waist, he worked for slum lords and as a highwayman, terrorizing the Lysaran and Astorian countrysides as he took on just about any job that needed his swords so long as the money was right. In time Emre got picked up by The Crimson Reavers, a mercenary band that did every dirty job that members of The Warrior’s Guild would not. They had a reputation for doing whatever it took to get the job done, and for doing whatever it took to produce the circumstances that necessitated their help. 

Brutes. thugs, killing, and intimidation were Emre’s easiest kinds of currency. The death toll didn’t matter so much as the warm welcome that a fine ale brought, or the feeling of a full coin purse - or the deflation of it after a night in the brothel. Raids with The Reavers were glorious and Emre, being a simple man, raked in the coins just as the leader of their band raked in the contracts. Hated, feared, and reviled, these days of infamy were doomed to end eventually. But being young and stupid, Emre believed it was possible that this could last a lifetime. 

Busted and imprisoned on a minor offense, he’d spend the night in prison and face the consequences on the day that followed, but fortunately for him, he shared a cell with a thief cunning enough to let them both escape. Unfortunately, Emre failed to learn his lesson and returned to The Reaver while his crimes continued to trail behind him. 

v. TODAY

Word of what Emre had done bubbled infamously, his crimes and the crimes of The Reavers stacked on top of one another. The band of mercenaries were hunted and laid to rest, brought to heel by Ayaz and those who had united to put an end to their reign. There was too much blood on Emre’s hand to be forgiven, and even as he pleaded for his father’s forgiveness - to spare him and let him go - Ayaz condemned him to the ruling of the magistrates. The Tower decreed that Emre had two options, give his life to the arena, or give his life to the noose. 

For a man who only cared for fighting, gold, and wine, the decision was obvious. Because, as his father would say, he couldn’t even atone for his crimes with dignity. 

personality

+ fearless, resilient, loyal – reckless, unpredictable, overconfident

played by shane. est. he/him.

[blorbologist]

Its stupid stupid stupid STUPID how emotional im getting over these fictional characters having a baby

After all she went through - unwanted daughter unproven ally - bastard daughter. lost her mother. lost her brother. frosty with her father. her sister is far away. flirting and friendly smiles to keep people at a distance to keep her safe to use as tools - selfish and cruel - labeled greedy and mean for using the only means she can to find security. Greedy greedy greedy to keep it all close, except her heart was not her own and it was terrifying and she could not speak truth to the terrifying weakness until he was dead and almost gone and somehow he came back. Always half of a pair - did not go far from him - always together and now broken in half for his loss, his loss because he saved her, because he loved her. How she is secure in her achievements and busy because she wants to be because shes skilled because she loves it because she has the luxury of freedom, did I mention she can fly? She can fly! How family was her mother (gone) was her twin (gone) and now she gets to build a new one and they're safe and loved and her child is not a bastard not a scorned halfbreed not *not enough* like she was, her child is not, her child is not motherless like she was, her child will have a host of siblings and her child will have that family, whole and at ease, or so help her.

After all he went through - smoke and fire and iron and bullets and bullets and bullets - orphan coward a lit fuse looking only to take them down with me signed his own death certificate and that of thousands more and being *fine with it* so long as he worked down his list and checked off vengeance for each. How it mattered but did not but did because it all was a dream. How he achieved it and was saved and had to live with what he had done and nearly not, nearly not - he was ready to go he was fine with going but lo and behold, behold, against all expectations her heart was his?! - and build a new legacy. How in the end he tried, tried, tried to sign this new future away for a friend, a brother, a man who deserved better - last words indignant and irritated - and he could not. He could not fix it. Faced with the loss and the death and the mourning and finally, finally, finally finding time to grieve and heal and grow. And he can put away his weapons and make clocks to tell time and watch it advance and not worry for what it brings. How his family tree was so neatly pruned - so many names - but two. And three when she said yes. And now four, then six, seven, eight, nine, perhaps?

And.

Her.

she's his sister and her mother and only one middle name, starting off simple, her daughter is super cute, his daughter is adorable, their daughter is the future that almost slipped through their fingers or bled out or was left unsaid a hundred times over. And she was carried (because morning sickness was after the end of the world and an adventure and not much time at all) through death and through the Feywild and through the belly of a dragon and a bird in her father's pocket and she survived, against the odds she survived and she thrived and she's loved so completely by hearts that never thought they could. Selfish and cruel, tal'doreis terrible tinkerer, and they made this, and there has to be more good to them than they thought. They have to have made it out (when he didnt when he didn't at his expense even) for a reason.

(And somehow the vampires did not find her, the last de rolos they said, saying nothing of his sister of their baby and she Knew and she kept quiet and she died hoping he would get help and their baby would be safe and perhaps seeing her mother, her mother, gone too soon, and knowing she could not do that to her daughter)

Yes im listening to dalens closet and had to pause and tear up 5 minutes in why you ask

[strelles-universe]

The Forest Clans - The Grand Spirits

The Souls have a vast amount of children - either elevated mortals, mortals they lay with in their hidden forms or sole spawned - and the clans worship them proudly. While there are more spirits than even ShadowClan can keep up with, the Grand Spirits are the most popular tales and represent some of the most important minor aspects of clan life.

It's generally accepted that these minor gods are more promiscuous than their parents and that most demigods of the clans and gifted cats in history are children of these spirits.

---

Haseni | Silverfoot - The Breeze

---

As a mortal, Silverfoot was a member of old WindClan with their lanky builds and long, winding tails. As his name implied, he was a very pretty tom with a silvery coat and deep black spots across his fur - he was the fastest runner to ever grace the moor. The legend goes that Silverfoot was approached by a series of cats who egged him into a race, wanting to see how fast he can go. The race was around the entirety of WindClan territory and when Silverfoot took off, he was so fast he outraced his own shadow - he flew across the moor like a bird in the thermals, springing over the smallest dips with barely a twinge of muscle. 

When he reached the starting place panting the cat who’d challenged him laughed heartily and his formed shifted until Moonsoul himself stood before him. 

“You are faster than even my fastest servants,” the god boomed joyously. “I have a deal for you dear Silverfoot - become my messenger. I will grant you the ability to run tirelessly across any terrain, the freedom to climb over trees and race across waves - and in return you ferry messages between me and my cohorts.”

SIlverfoot thought about the offer, “I will if I am allowed to remain with my family first.”

And so it was - when Silverfoot died, he became the wind the buffets the moor. It’s said that during the few times the air is still on the plain, that Silverfoot is visiting his family on the edges of StarClan.

Divine Parent: Moonsoul

Domains: Wind, Freedom, Messengers, Patron of WindClan

---

Huyewa | Whitespirit - The Dreamer

---

A leucistic fishing cat with glowing eye sockets. The motherless child of Riversoul, it’s said that Whitespirit was a ghostly figure in his dreams that he grew to love and care about; then one day when he opened his eyes, Huyewa was standing before him and called him father. With a chuckle, he accepted his accepted her as his daughter. Being born in the realm of dreams, Whitespirit is still capable of entering the dreams of mortals everywhere. Often she does so with the purpose of looking in on dreams with her father and changing them if she so pleases.

When angered or trying to give someone a warning, Huyewa is known to dredge up nightmares in the cat’s mind as fear would make them focus on all little details. It’s said that Huyewa is actually very good friends with Haanuki and so when someone is sick, their dreams become distorted and frightening in the prense of the two minor gods. 

Divine Parent: Riversoul

Domains: Dreams, Nightmares, Hallucinations

---

Haanuki | Greenspirit - The Harbinger

---

Haanuki isn’t exactly a cat in the normal sense, not an organic being with organs inside of her. When the creatures of the world had begun to injure themselves, some of them begged to heal and help those who were harmed. Treesoul took pity upon them and scraped together a large pawful of earth and leaves - both poison and herbal - and with Riversoul’s help, molded it. She has a small puff of a tail, juniper berries growing around her throat and yew berries around the base of her tail. When the shaping was done, she seemed to be a cat with wings made of herbs and stalks in her head in the form of antenna to allow her to travel fast.

With that, Treesoul sent Haanuki off to teach and nurture the wanting tutors of the world. They were eager to work with her, listening with intense ears and following along with careful paws. For a while this was fine and Haanuki was content with her purpose. Then she came across the smog-hearted creatures that used their talents to heal and took advantage of those in pain - those who threatened wanderers with the safety of their loved ones with the herbs in their paws.

Furious she levied a curse upon them, a curse that has steadily begun to destroy their bodies and began jumping from cat to cat. Sickness was cursed upon the creatures of the world for the first time and Haanuki turned away from them, choosing not to teach them anything and not to save them.

Many seasons later, a cat now known as Moth Flight the First Prophet followed the green moth sent out by Haanuki. Moth Flight traveled into the Moontunnels following the moth as it led her through a series of scenarios created by Haanuki from her memories of the cruel cats she came to know. Moth Flight responded to each situation with mild panic but a heart overflowing with kindness and empathy. When she entered the mooncavern, standing upon the glittering stone was Haanuki deeply proud and pleased with what she’s seen.

The creatures of the world were ready for healers again.

She touched noses with Moth Flight and in that single instant, transferred all of the knowledge she had of healing, herbs and poisons to the molly. The information was so voluminous that her mind seemed to fracture and for the rest of her life, she was always faintly distracted by things other cats couldn’t see - for the cracking of her mind opened her spirit to the omens of the world. Moth Flight became the first prophet, always able to see and sense the presence of Haanuki’s Moth and so could all her kin from then on.

Divine Parent: Treesoul

Domains: Disease, Curses, Misfortune,

---

Siyeyim | Fleetfoot - The Planner

---

Siyeyim - more commonly known as Fleetfoot - was a proud and courageous warrior of Ancient RiverClan said to rival even the lions of Ancient ThunderClan in reckless bravery. A with a proper pelt of gold and the sleekest of pelts, she was the purest of RiverClan blood that you could get. The granddaughter of the Ancient leader Swiftstar, it was long expected that Siyeyim would do something great one day - and something great she certainly did.

It was during a Gathering that Goldenstar of Ancient ThunderClan confessed to the deaths of two apprentices and a young queen at the sharp hooves of Rage, the gigantic boar and one of the Great Beasts. Shadestar of ShadowClan and Flickerstar of WindClan both admitted to suffering casualties of their own from the great boar as he rampaged throughout their territories.

Fleetfoot was young and arrogant, laughing when that was said and proudly boasting that if it were a RiverClan problem, they would face the beast effortlessly, outsmarting and outspeeding it. Rightfully angry by such a flagrant dismissal of their grief of their clans; Goldenstar angrily challenged Fleetfoot to do just that. Fleetfoot was confident and self-assured, even when Shadestar and Flickerstar both agreed that she was barred the assistance her clanmates. It was only when she stood face to face with the napping Rage, father of all boars that she realizes she may have bitten off more than she could chew as the beast was easily larger than even the grandest of bucks that roamed the forest. Instead of her previous plan spawned of bravado and arrogance where she’d charge in and face the beast in direct combat, she wisely chose to outwit it instead.

She fooled the boar into fighting her in the thick brush of ThunderClan territory - for in the ancient days, there was bracken high as a cat was tall and not even the might of Rage would break free. It seemed like an endless assault when Fleetfoot clawed, bit and scratched at the thick, secure pelt of the vengefully squealing boar. Finally the boar died with an agitated wail and Fleetfoot had been prepared to stalk home, head held high with pleasure and success when she was rammed from behind amd flung all the way into Fourtrees.

Rage had a made by the name of Fury and she was so large, so terrifying, so menacing that she could’ve uprooted Fourtrees with a few angry changes into the massive trunks. Fleetfoot fled, suddenly understanding why the three clans couldn’t face the boar - with the RiverClan camp surrounded by water, Fury and Rage would never feel the need to chase them. Still she did not give up; she plotted and tricked and planned - her battle against Fury lasted three long days and three long nights of endless doging, swiping and baiting until she was on the edge of the gorge. Crossing the river , Fleetfoot watched with relief as the sharp hooves of the boar, not meant for smooth, slippery rocks lost their grip and sent her toppling into the river.

When Fleetfoot followed the river down to the slowing stream, she discovered Fury’s drowned body and took one of her tusks in triumph. She lugged both it and a tusk from Rage all the way back to Fourtrees where the leaders had gathered together at the whispers from Slysoul in their ears. She deposited the tusks in front of all five four leaders and bowed her head.

“I apologize for my arrogance,” she said, for Fleetfoot’s usually gorgeously cared for coat was now strewn with mud and lanced with scrapes and blood from the times she couldn’t dodge the tusks of her opponents. “Your dead deserved not the disrespect I showed them.”

“And you deserved not to be surprised,” Goldenstar murmured guiltily.

And then Goldenstar announced that he was granting RiverClan the river and all the fish that inhabited it, a stance echoed by both Shadestar and Flickerstar. Swiftstar proudly accepted their offerings pleased to see that his granddaughter had not only learned a bit of humility but has also displayed the true strength that all of RiverClan possessed to the other clans. 

When she died, Fleetfoot looked shocked into the eyes of Slysoul herself who warmly welcomed her.

“Stay with your kin in the stars,” Slysoul said. “Or become a servant of mine and encourage the cats of the clans to always be as clever, determined and strategic as you were.”

“But I leave my kin?”

“Never for long little one - for RiverClan will immortalize your deeds and the Stars will welcome you.”

And so Fleetfoot accepted, venturing back into the land of the leaving as the burst of pride and assurance you feel whenever you’re defending your clan from a threat. The pride of a warrior on a night’s vigil - Siyeyim is by your side. 

Divine Parent: Slysoul

Domains: Strategy, creativity, determination, pursuit, confidence

---

Sukahur | Redtalon - The Harvester

---

Suhakur is a brilliant russet tiger/hawk opinicus the soars through the air determinedly. When he was still mortal, he lived his life in fear; having been an apprentice during the age of the Scarlet Leader. During those times, the Scarlet Leader truly despised ShadowClan and the principals that they upheld and claimed linked them tighter to the Souls than any other clan. Redpaw watched as raid after raid of WindClan warriors assaulted their camp, chasing off prey and destroying vital herbs to force ShadowClan into a weakened state. Then they were too tired to fight back, Duststar had any cat he found wandering the moor slaughtered even if they claimed to be heading to StarClan. 

It was long after Redpaw had earned his name as Redtalon that he was approached in the night by haggard looking WindClan warriors, He attacked but they fended him off easily in his weakened and starved state. He expected them to kill him but instead the lead warrior dropped a large rabbit beforehim.

“We’ve seen you fight,” said the warrior. “Like a crimson wave. We want your help.”

“I will not slaughter my clanmates,” Redtalon spat.

“We’re not asking you to - we’re asking you to kill our leader.”

Redralon had been shocked - like everyone he’d assumed that WindClan all supported and agreed with their leader’s actions. They certainly never seemed to have a shortage of warriors on the warpath. That, the small patrol explained is because Duststar kept all dissenters under lock and key, separating kits from their mothers to indoctrinate them in the story he was spinning and culling any that doubted him. The tactics he used to weaken and ruin ShadowClan were first tested on those who spoke against them, leaving the resistance weak and frail. This small trio of warriors were the only ones who escaped and at the cost of their kin’s lives, they sought out a warrior who could be made strong enough to fight.

Redtalon had been wary but eventually he accepted the deal.

For one full moon, the three warriors fed him well while Redtalon sharpened his claws. He felt immense guilt that as he got stronger, his clan got weaker but he understood why they couldn’t share the prey - the strength of one warrior would have to be enough. Nerves danced along his pelt but Redtalon had long stopped jumping at shadows - he embraced the prickling sensation in his toes at the thought of his final battle against Duststar and longed for the taste of the tyrant’s blood on his tongue.

Then one day the squad didn’t come back. One day turned to two and on the third, the leader staggered into their clearing dripping blood and mangled.

“Run,” they rasped. “He knows of you.”

And as the lead warrior died, Redtalon considers that he probably meant for him to leave. But instead, Redtalon had gotten outraged. Without even thinking he sprinted from ShadowClan territory, his paws carrying him across the marsh and then across the moor like he was winged. He saw the shadow of a hawk above him and knew at once that Slysoul was with him - he blended into the shadows, staying hidden as he ventured deeper and deeper into WindClan and abandoned stealth altogether when he reached the wall defending the camp.

With a roar of outrage, he sprung from the edge and landed in the clearing. The warriors of WindClan surged up and despite the waves of claws upon him, Redtalon never felt anything but pity for the those crazed cats who’d been fooled by the captivating words of their leader. Redtalon carved a sea of blood through the WindClan camp and his stalked towards Duststar who snarled and raced to meet him. Though Duststar has the lighter, leaner frame of a WindClan warrior, Redtalon only had one moon of decent food after several seasons of starvation. The battle was hard fought and seemed endless - in all his time as the Scarlet Leader, Duststar had only lost two lives since his ceremony.

Redtalon slashed blindly at the warriors who attacked him, desperate to defend their leader as Redtalon slowly bled out from the number of wounds. A shriek filled the air and the warriors were suddenly pulled off of him as three hawks descended upon the battlefield, targeting any warriors who got near him. Redtalon roared for he knew that these were the warriors who helped him - whose kin sacrificed themselves so that Redtalon may be given a chance. He sank his claws into Duststar’s throat even as the leader slashed his own. Redtalon ripped and Duststar finally fell, the Scarlet Leader’s brown pelt as crimson as his title.

Redtalon collapsed there and then, panting as blood soaked into his pelt unable to stand through his exhaustion. As he stared through half-lidded eyes, he saw the ghostly figures of his three helpers standing around Slysoul who was grinning down at him.

“You’ve done well for yourself Redtalon.”

“I did well for my clan,” he corrected tiredly. “Now no kit will grow up under this bloody reign.”

“Others will come,” said Slysoul dismisively. “Other cats that hunger for power and are willing to sink their claws into anyone to get it.”

“So was my life wasted then? What was the point of my death when other tyrants will rise?”

Slysoul grinned an eerie grin, “Would you like to stop them? Continue to ensure that no tyrant will remain in rule for long?”

Redtalon’s clws sank into the ground as his vision began to blacken, “Yes. Let no further Scarlet Leaders live long and prosperous.”

“So be it.”

And when Redtalon reawoke, he awoke as Suhakur the spirit of rebellion, anticipation, nerves, deadly focus and sacrifice. In his new form, he soars across the world collecting the souls of the deceased and delivering them to StarClan while he sends out his hawks to monitor the creatures of the world.

Divine Parent: Slysoul

Domains: Death, anticipation, nerves, rebellion, focus and sacrifice

---

Hanimu | Littlespirit - The Orphan

---

Little spirit was a small cheetah cub said to be from Ancient WindClan during one of the hardest dodahiim that the clans had ever seen and the brunt of it raked across the moor. A powerful, deadly wind filled their camp with snow that reached the chests of even their tallest warriors and the ground froze so hard that even the strongest of tunnelers couldn’t break through the permafrost. They struggled day in and day out seeking food. Littlekit saw his clanmates starving and refused to eat the food he was given, secretly feeding it to his den mates. He warmed the smallest kits while the warriors searched desperately for food and did his best to reassure the kits when the queens were busy

 One day on the hardest snow, one of his siblings - Flakekit - went missing. Flakekit was deeply ill and constantly seeing visions from Haanuki - such visions confused him, leading him to wander out and away from the camp. While the clan mourned, unwilling to risk more lives in the intense blizzard, Littlekit snuck out on a quest to find his brother. He eventually found him, trembling in a hollow with a Reaper circling above him. Littlekit didn’t hesitate, carrying his brother through the snow, keeping his head high as his ears, tail and nose froze. When he made it back to camp, the clan was in uproar. Looking at his brother from his nest, he realized that he was too late and his brother’s breathing was slowing - when he spotted Suhakur creeping in, he begged for a chance only to be denied. Littlekit stood in front of his brother and instead offered a trade - his life and warmth to be given to his brother. Surprised by the bravery of the young kit, Suhakur consulted the Souls to reach a decision.

In the end it was Sweetsoul who put down her paw, awed by the loyalty and dedication shown by this small kit to his clan. She offered him a choice - die in place of his brother and ascend to the stars, or to die and become a spirit; looking out for other lost kits and those who need help. Littlekit accepted the offer of becoming a spirit, taking on the domains of orphans, lost children, young travelers, generosity and of course; sacrifice. Young kits who wander too far from camp often remark they saw a little brown kit with strange spots like WindClan and a white mantle down his back, his tail and nose coated in ice that led them back home. 

Within ThunderClan, Littlespirit is viewed as a Soul rather than a spirit and is worshipped accordingly. 

Divine Parent: Sweetsoul

Domains: Orphans, lost children, young travelers, generosity, sacrifice

---

Temekur | Silenttalon - The Merciful

---

The most unusual of the spirits, Temekur is another spirit who was brought to immortality for their actions. Unlike the other spirits however, Temekur was a mere ghost owl that lurked in the canopy of ThunderClan’s forest. Long-lived enough that many cats claim the owl had somehow obtained and stored the energy of the spirits to enhance its lifespan, this owl had the opportunity to watch the cats of the woods wander about freely. The owl of course was also witness to the first Great Famine of ThunderClan that happened during the reign of Owlstar.

The creature watched as the cats’ bellies grew thin, their ribs stick out and their kits die slowly. It watched in muted sort of fascination as one cat finally collapsed before its tree. The owl was aware enough to understand that this cat was a leader - understood that the presence of this cat could even bring more cats. It made a decision that set it apart from the mindless creatures of the world - it took off and hunted in the dead of night, capturing two decent sized rats outside of clan territory and dropped them before the body of Owlstar. 

To say the ThunderClan leader was astonished was an understatement but he grabbed both mice and sprinted back to camp, unaware that the ghost owl followed him from above. This trip was what led the owl to the camp; led to it witnessing the companionship and prioritizing of the clan over a single cat’s life. No one is quite sure what did it, but the owl waited until dusk and drew the attention of a frightened patrol. It never swooped just fluttered over them - for two more nights the owl did this before Owlstar joined a night patrol. Remembering what this owl had done, he followed his instincts and when the owl flew off he followed.

The owl seemed pleased eventually flew ahead, circling a clearing very slowly. When Owlstar and his patrol emerged on the edge of the clearing, they encountered a deeply injured boar that appeared to be alone. They couldn’t believe their luck - they attacked the boar and brought it down. Following another hunch, he ripped a large mouthful of boar flesh free and tossed it as high as he could. The owl swooped, accepting the freed meet and flew onward.

From then on, Owlstar ordered hunting patrols to follow the owl and somehow, there was always prey available when the owl sought them out. ThunderClan always shared these catches with the owl making sure that the owl knew of the deep gratitude. The cats of ThunderClan even granted it a warrior name - the name Silenttalon, to honor its large part in their survival. Before long, ThunderClan had mostly recovered from the famine and the owl was on the last feathers of its life. As it lay dying in the leaf litter, one of its chicks chirping desperately; the owl watched as a ThunderClan catch clambered up to its nest and grabbed its chick. Instead of eating or killing it, the cat fed it.

The Owl died that day, but its heart was that of a warrior’s so when Bravesoul explained to her fellow Souls that she wanted to ascend it, there was no argument to have. Slysoul created a harvester-like form, leaving it its owl head and wings but offering it the Ancient Form of a ThunderClan cat as its body. Temekur collects the souls of those who died of starvation or dehydration, making sure to frequently visit its favored clan in ThunderClan and to check on its descendants. It’s said that all boreals in ThunderClan were talon picked by Temekur himself.

Divine Parent: Bravesoul and Slysoul

Domains: Sanity, wilderness, mercy, famine, surplus

---

Husakhmek | Amberspirit - The Fear Bringer

---

Husakhmek is less of a cat and more of a terrifying entity - born of the more horrifying and ignoble side of the warrior life, The Fear Bringer is said to have been born of the Scarlet Leader ‘s actions. When the moors of WindClan were filled with the splayed and mangled bodes of cats of all clans, the kingdoms shied away, and the canines fled from the sea of red that drowned all that roamed, Husakhmek crawled from the carnage. A lopsided face due to the left side of their skull being caved in, split like massive teeth had crushed it and blood leaking from the remaining golden socket is the first thing most think of when Husakhmek comes up. His body is covered in deep scars and drips of blood with overgrown claws that scrape the ground with every step. Husakhmek speaks with the voices of thousands - a raspy and pained throated sound borne of the spirits who perished to create them

Husakhmek is regarded with terror by the clans and is one of the few spirits deliberately referred to by their connection tongue name of Amberspirit for fear that speaking their name aloud would draw their attention. It’s said that if you forsake Bravesoul and shatter the code senselessly, then Husakhek will begin to lurk on your peripherals and stalk your dreams. The worst part of it all is that Husakhmek is very clever - made of the millions of corpses and the innocent blood spilled on the moor, he changes form to hide himself from those who’d be frightened away from him.

Amberspirit is known as the spirit of fear, trauma, despair, horror and slaughter. Though terrifying, it’s necessary to accept that Amberspirit is the lesser acknowledged side of warriorhood - that a cat left to stray could easily fall into his talons. Many cats believe that the Canyons were created by Husakhmek so that they can be surrounded by like-minded individuals - murderers, serial killers, abusers and the spillers of innocent blood. Some cats insist that if you commit deeds atrocious enough, Husakhmek would greet you upon your death and scar you with his sibling.

All of the clans have carved wooden dolls of Husakhmek that are cautiously given offerings and gifts to appease the spirit. 

Divine Parent: Bravesoul

Domains: Fear, trauma, despair, horror, pain, slaughter, night terrors

[i-mybrunettelady]

Vladimira Jardottir, a biography

It is a marvel to me how this woman hasn’t been promoted yet. An excellent connection - a friendship with Commander Ainsaph, no less - followed by en even more admirable skill with a blade and a frenzy on the battlefield are all conditions to be made a Commander, yet Vladimira seems content with her position. A strange sentiment, for a norn. - notes sent to the Whispers by Commander Sulver, dated 1326 AE

Born in the far Shiverpeaks, in a settlement of nearby homesteads that dominate the norn culture, Vladimira grew up motherless, but not without a family; raised under the watchful eye of her father, Jar, whose name she proudly dons, her aunt, she and her cousin grew up like brother and sister and lacked for nothing. They were raised on norn legends of glory, told to them in words shaped more by the rough winds around them than trade and exchange of goods, thus it was expected that the children would one day leave home in search of it themselves.

Vladimira, or Mirka as she is often called, was the only one in her bloodline (that she knows of) to be born without any obvious affinity for magic. Her father is a necromancer, her aunt a mesmer and her cousin a guardian, and to make up for her lack of magic, she was quick to take to weapons. But what she couldn’t make up for was her lack of a guiding Spirit of the Wild. No Spirit spoke to her and it was this, combined with a search for a legend (as she felt was expected of her), that made her leave home at the age of 18 and become a hunter.

For years she wandered around the Shiverpeaks, earning a reputation as a brawler. When she was 23 she met a human who would become her good friend, fuck buddy for a month or so, and the Dragonslayer. Though she parted ways with her once their common paths were gone, she kept Nyra in good memory and had a short-lived, yet passionate relationship with a fellow hunter, but for all the reputation and friends she made along the way, she still felt purposeless and aimless.

Her life changed when she realised she was pregnant. She was in the middle of nowhere, trying to survive the way to her childhood home herself, and asked the Spirits to make the decision whether to keep the child or not for her. If it makes it out alive to there, she said, she’d keep it. If not, it simply wasn’t meant to be.

She made it, as did the child. The boy she had mere two months later was born in the warmth of home. But she didn’t have the time to properly enjoy motherhood before news of Risen reached their home. Mirka rushed to join the Pact, guided not by the ideal of glory that had guided her so far but felt empty, but by the urge to save the world so her son would have a life to live. It was in the middle of that journey that Wolf spoke to her and granted her the wolf transformation.

Her work with the Pact afterwards wasn’t an entirely continuous effort, due to her desire to raise her son. But she build a reputation as someone deadly with dual axes, a renewed (or maybe found) purpose in life and as one of the Commander’s good friends.