#it would be boring if the entire family was the soul of virtue

[what-eats-owls]

I’m rereading painted devils for the 3rd time and I’ve been wondering for ages - is the Betze who works for Ozkar also the Betze that Dieter mentioned?

Sure is :) I had to cut the details from Painted Devils because it ultimately was just fun background drama, but Dieter and Betze were engaged. Specifically the “we’ve been together since we were 14, it’s gonna happen anyway” kind of engaged, and then Dieter was content being a small-town musician who didn’t take Betze’s arcane studies all too seriously.

Until his shitty warlock brother did. 😈

[astralnymphh]

born of flora and fauna | teaser I. ellie williams

knight!ellie x princess!reader

an; thought I would bestow a little excerpt from my prologue for this fic, cause the preluding alone needs its own teaser. plus, a little moodboard for it! this would count for the prologue only, as it's set in the wintertime and then progresses into spring. just a note this series is a bit more fantasy leaning than pinpoint history accurate (mainly in clothing department) but I'll still be including some realism into it. expect some.. complicated n poetic writing.

༻⋆the excerpt;

a vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. for it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. a knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. an artisan of her craft, ellie was. born to thrive in matters regarding protection of her kingdom and its nobility.

you were a daughter of the illustrious king and queen, sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, prudence. subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. down-spiraling in neglect and a corroding shame that you couldn't fulfill the duties of a courteous princess. wickedness wasn't necessarily your play of folly. rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. you purely long for a world of your own color. your self-brewn arcadia of art. in a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty.

' why don't you resemble your sister more? '

upon this midwinter day, steel clashes and clanks with the marching of castle guards en route to their designated patrol sites just beyond the barrier of the throne room. braziers birthing a cordial flame glowing with a saffron ember, balls of warmth to resign a frigid numbing along the stone pillars surrounding the epicenter. the rabble of townsfolk forked into two large columns in the palatial hall afore the platform of the royal family, gossiping amongst themselves at the event taking place.

you are aligned in royal seating adjacent to your mother and fathers throne, crossed legs pleating your tunics' billowing skirt, seemingly stoic poise contrasting your usual gestures of criticism and resentment. a flurry of knights in waiting present themselves individually before the nobility, emanations of each one's virtues and brawns scrutinized in one sweeping glance of the majesty himself, to which the mass of them were not up to par.

on comes a figure, shrouded by a leather fitting of attire compared to the other bodies of steel and chain before them, a smooth cloak of basil green silk embroidered with their respective house symbol in yellow; a moth, and a face hidden by the iron nature of a helmet. as every knight has shown oneself to the king, so do they, forcepping the helm with a gauntleted grip to reveal a face blemished by the trudging of time and battle, freckles mimicking the color of almonds, lips like a coral rose bud and hair painted of the most earthly russet you've ever bore sights to. except, there was one asset that sucked you right into her indirect gaze, circlets of green, like a willow tree's canopy of shrubbery, green, like the vernal springscape of the earlier year, an ethereal green, a hue no soul has ever seen before.

༻⋆the moodboard;

hope yall are excited as I am!!! 💗 this is the first draft of a portion of my prologue so you may see some additions or changes.

[saiakv]

[ 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 ] : receiver notices sender looking at them longingly // there's no peace for them, we know. from verona.

for you i would: accepting

SUGURU HAS LONG STOPPED THINKING ABOUT THESE THINGS. The pleasant warmth of a sunray kissing the sky goodnight or the tenderness of a loved one's form sheltering one from the passing breeze — hands that swing idly side by side before they kiss at the knuckles... romance. Romance, the fleeting glimpses of which had chased him throughout his whole life, from that first time back in Morioka, when he kissed a girl just to see what it felt like, to growing up with a handful of crysanthemums blooming in his throat. He enjoyed romance in the same way one could enjoy tea; as part of those small moments of fleeting joy that keep life worth living, having a cup but not too much, lest he grows bored of the taste of that, too. And then he was seventeen. And before he had a chance to taste it, it became a distant memory.

Suguru had long stopped thinking about these things. There were parts of him that would forever be lost in that crowded room and the resonance of a cruel applause; but worse, even, the years of monkish virtue in dedication to this greater cause had soured his soul. Taking life so casually, meant he could no longer savor it as before — so he latched onto little moments of comfort, in the company of his family members.

Moments like this, with Larue plucking his fingers from the koto one by one and repositioning them, making commentary of how hands that are built to grapple don't quite fit the artistic mold. And Suguru cracks a smile, his bangs almost bashfully curtaining his features with the motion. Larue takes his seat in the instrunment and spares the others from Suguru's experimentations, just as the latter retreats to the recliners and plucks his glass of whiskey from the table that sits at the middle of it all. His woody musk blends into the lingering smoke and the spicy notes of snacks on the buffet arrangement, where Miguel is busy making talk with an American curse user he's invited over for business — Master Geto's temple had become a hive for all sorts of seedy activity for the jujutsu society underworld.

Easily finding his place among the cushions, Suguru slouches with his drink in hand, propped up on an elbow with a folded leg in the air of someone who is too comfortable hanging around these shady characters - he is their host, after all. A person like that cannot afford to think about vulnerable things, such as romance. But the soul does not forget its yearning.

Liquid courage swirls in the crystal and sharp eyes fix ahead as he begins, dragging the sultry cadence over the woman that has had her eyes on him throughout the entire evening — watched each layer of red diffuse in his cheekbones with each glass.

❝ Am I supposed to find the ogling alluring and mysterious? ❞ A gaze obscured by thick lashes blinks away something bashful before it turns to meet his comrade's own. In seeing Verona, he does not think of soft and tender things - of romance. But he does think about the silky lines of drool connecting the gaping jaws of a tiger, the smell of blood on its breath - wild and feral things that darkly excite the imagination. The liquor whispers to him of something carnal; she has been circling him with glances and smiles and intricate musical arrangements all week. A languid sip later, Suguru sinks deeper into the pillows and throws his head back with a playful pout.

❝ You're quiet tonight. Should I ask what's on your mind ? ❞ But she does not look upset; quite the contrary - his tone matches that glare in invitation.

[aradumpiex]

“Yielding to prayer”

According to Google, the meaning of my name, Arabella, is "yielding to prayer".

I suddenly recalled my mother's old stories.

“You are a gift from God, for your sister.” My mama used to tell me that line every April 21st of the year. My birthday. Mama said that Ate keeps on praying every night for God to give her a baby sister because she was an only child for 8 long years. She keeps on nagging our papa, “Pa, kailan ka ba talaga manganganak?” Because my dad is a big man and he has a big tummy, like a pregnant woman for 9 months. Mama said that every time they're going to bed, ate keeps on talking to God through prayer, loud and proud with her eyes super closed that she wants a baby sister to be her companion at everything—partner-in-crime, soul mate, and best friend—but turned out we became best enemies. LOL.

Since then, everytime I am asked who am I, I always answer it this way. “I am a gift from God. I am an answered prayer.”

My parents chose to leave Manila when I was 8 years old due to a serious family issue. leaving the dazzling city lights, dizzying big buildings in Manila, including the polluted atmosphere, LOL. and my papa's profession, which wasn't very well paid but was sufficient for us to live comfortably in the city.

(credits to the rightful owner of the photo)

The year 2010 marks our permanent relocation to Dolores, Eastern Samar, my hometown.

Dolores is a coastal town bounded on the east by the Pacific Ocean in the Eastern Visayas region of the Philippines. It has many beaches and small islands. Most of the populace speak and understand English.

The Municipality of Dolores, is a 3rd class municipality located in the northern Part of the Province of Eastern Samar. It was created by virtue of a Decree issued by the King of Spain as a Pueblo on April 4, 1674. The Municipality of Dolores is predominantly agricultural.

I do believe that everything happens for a reason. Even if we leave the better life in Manila than what we have here in Dolores, my parents made the right choice for our family, and I will always be grateful to them for that. I'm grateful that they decided to leave Manila because if we hadn't, I never would have had the opportunity to meet those incredible people who helped shape who I am today.

I wouldn't have the chance to meet my girlies, my college besties—not sisters by blood but sisters by heart. I am hoping and praying that wherever life takes us, our friendship will stay stronger than it was in the beginning. May our laughter get louder when we're together. I pray to God to add people on our table we called "anak” and never let us tear apart because I can't imagine sitting at the same table knowing that we’re incomplete. They are the reason why college life is fun and bearable, even though I am far from my family. I thank them for giving me rainbow colors that light up my boring life. They introduce me to a lot of “first time” that makes them extra special people in my entire life.

If we stayed in Manila, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet the loml, who is my confidant, lover, and the other man I love besides my father. I don't need to keep watching Descendants of the Sun because I already have my own “big boss” now. I thank him for being so patient with me. for taking care of me and ensuring that I wouldn't experience the same pain that my past causes me to. I salute you for giving me more than the respect that I deserve. I thank him for being my blanket everytime life turns cold. I thank him for always reminding me that a bad day doesn’t make me a bad person. And I thank him for lending me his colors in my grayest day.

[recurring-polynya]

Please share your thoughts on Byakuya's evolving opinion of Kurosaki Ichigo. * Eagerly awaiting this TED talk *

So, I have talked at length in the past about how much I love Byakuya’s complete emotional turnarounds regarding his sister (from “I will see you at the execution ground -> Her death is my worst fear) and his lieutenant (throwing him in jail for losing a fight -> embarassing himself at a funeral) but I have not talked much about how his opinions on one Kurosaki Ichigo go from: 

to

So come take a pictorial journey with me!

To be honest, as I was doing this, the biggest surprise to me was that Byakuya isn’t actually that mean to Ichigo. I think the thing is, Ichigo is one of first people Byakuya is a dick to, but that’s just Byakuya, and we aren’t yet used to the viciousness of his shade.

So! First fight! Byakuya and Renji come to arrest Rukia. The worst thing Byakuya does here is to basically not even pay attention, while Renji makes a horse’s ass of himself. I honestly wish Byakuya was into spirit phones, because the only thing that would his attitude toward this debacle even better is if he were playing Candy Crush the whole time. Anyway, eventually he gets bored of Renji’s clownery, beats Ichigo in 0.2 seconds, and unleashes this devastating burn:

I mean, I guess he cut Ichigo’s soul chain, but I feel like this alone would have landed me in intensive care for a day or so.

Anyway, so skipping ahead, the next time B and Ichigo meet is on the bridge to the Penitence Tower. This is shortly after Yamamoto refused to let Byakuya fire his lieutenant for, and I quote, “being a wretch.” I couldn’t find anywhere that Byakuya called Ichigo a name like that, so it’s safe to say that Renji is the current king of Byakuya’s shit list. Byakuya prefers to deal instead with objective facts, like how much worse Ichigo is than himself.

Skipping ahead, I really expected the actual fight at Soukyoku Hill to contain a bunch of name-calling and insults, but once again, he’s fairly civil. Byakuya is truly a master of the backhanded compliment. Someone needs to get my man a Twitter account.

A notable thing about this fight is that at the end, we find out that Byakuya thought the entire ryouka invasion was a personal attack, and also that the reason he doesn’t like Ichigo is because he reminds him of Kaien. And then he falls over.

After B takes a sword in the chest, he apologizes to Rukia and then thanks Ichigo, but it’s not exactly... effusive. I am not sure Ichigo even heard it, because he was busy having his intestines put back in.

Finally, I don’t know why, but it is extremely funny to me that Byakuya shows up to the senkaimon to say good-bye to Ichigo and his pals at the end of the arc, but Komamura is there, too, so maybe Yamamoto ordered all captains to show up and make sure Ichigo actually gets the hell out of Soul Society.

Now, it’s pretty clear that Byakuya’s big change of heart re: Rukia happens sometime between the end of the Soul Society Arc and when he comes to help her out in Hueco Mundo and refers to her as “his pride.” So perhaps, in the same time, his affections have grown toward Ichigo as well?

...not really.

First of all, once again, absolutely transcendent drag, especially the part that B said this, with what I am sure was a straight face, to Rukia and Renji of all people. I also love that Ichigo regards this as “mellowing out.”

At the end of the Lust Arc, when Ichigo is getting ready to go fight Aizen, Byakuya gives him this magnificent “pep talk”, studded with broken glass.

Stop whining and go do your fucking job, Ichigo. Fortunately, this style of pep talk is Super Effective on Ichigo, and he gives Byakuya the Patented Kurosaki Ichigo “I am overcome by my love for my precious friend!” Soft Gaze.

Maybe that’s it! Maybe this is the exact moment that Byakuya is won over by Ichigo! It’s probably not because he immediately starts shit-talking Kenpachi, but it happens sometime before he gives this absolutely bananas speech to Tsukishima in the Fullbringer Arc out of goddamn nowhere.

What? When? How? What just happened?

Rather than conjecture, let’s take a look at one last clip from the TYBW arc, when Ichigo... comes to talk to him while he’s dying? As I say this, I don’t really know why Ichigo went directly to Byakuya as soon as he gets to Soul Society, but here we are.

So, I think I’ve figured out the crux of it, which is that Byakuya, above all else, views it as his duty to protect Soul Society. I think the actual change of heart is directly due to the fact that Ichigo killed Aizen-- an internal threat to Soul Society that the Gotei utterly failed to contain. In retrospect, his “go protect that little town of yours” speech in Hueco Mundo wasn’t quite as belittling as it seems-- he genuinely thinks that we all have specific roles in the world and that to fulfill the duty assigned to you is the noblest aspiration. He respects Ichigo because Ichigo went above and beyond, and saved Byakuya the shame of failing in his duty not once, but twice now (and a third time, if you count his familial duty to Rukia, which I am not entirely sure he does). Anyway, I can def see B lamenting to Renji later how shameful it was to ask Ichigo for help and Renji’s just like, “yeah, dude, that must have sucked, I can’t imagine.”

Anyway, what’s really embarassing is that Ichigo does not answer and just walks away and Byakuya stands in the rain and thirstily thinks about how cool Ichigo is.

My alternative, much more flip explanation for all this is that Rukia and Renji started dating during the timeskip, and Byakuya takes to extolling Ichigo’s virtues at every opportunity, just for the purposes of trolling them, but then he got kinda into it. I firmly believe that, had Rukia started dating Ichigo, Byakuya would have started constantly talking about how great Renji is instead, that’s just the Kind of Guy Byakuya Is.

[wangxiandecoded]

Episode 12

Previous Episode | Next Episode

(Spoilers for the whole show ahead!)

Even when Wen Chao asks for their swords, Wei Ying is trying desperately to make Lan Zhan look him in the eye to telepathically understand what his soulmate is feeling. Lan Zhan hates it but he has no choice but to cooperate with the enemy. He has withdrawn to himself after the multiple losses he’s faced and being a puppet at the hands of the Wens must be rattling him some more. Even if he wanted to tell Wei Ying everything that’s on his mind, he wouldn’t have been able to find the words to. 

Lucky for him, Wei Ying has an inkling that his Lan Zhan has faced an inexplicable disaster and that’s why he’s behaving this way with him. He knows it doesn’t mean he should stop reaching out. His concern for him leads him to repeatedly seek Lan Zhan’s face, looking for anything that might suggest how he can alleviate his plight.

One of the perks of having Wei Wuxian as your boyfriend is that he was born ready to make a clown out of the most dastardly villains.

Wei Ying Says “Fuck You” In The Name Of Love

Wei Ying has a brilliant idea to talk to Lan Zhan or at least let him know he is not alone.

There is something powerfully impressive and quietly romantic about Wei Ying insulting the Wen clan by reciting the Lan clan’s rules to Wen Chao’s face, on the heels of the former decimating and annexing the latter. Of course Wei Ying is the first one in a room to stand up to a bully and protect the others but Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan’s hands are tied right now, even if he doesn’t know what exactly happened. But that’s okay, because Wei Ying will defend his honor and become Lan Zhan’s hands, his mouth, his everything that delivers the unmistakable “fuck you” on behalf of his family. And he does it in an act of rebellion that originates in the sanctum of love. Understandably, Lan Zhan falls more in love with him.

Wei Ying’s Plan Misfires 

His happiness is short-lived, but honestly who could predict his plan would go like this?

We see that Lan Zhan does want to confide in his soulmate the pain and pressure he’s been dealing with alone the whole time, but it’s too dangerous for them to talk right now. 

Wen Chao carries the same kind of smugness as a prick who’s been waiting to out a gay couple. I mean how awful do you have to be to physically abuse Wangxian for.. being Wangxian? Blatant homophobia right there.

Wei Ying has had enough of Wen Chao’s bullshit and is unafraid to clap back with his signature cheekiness.

When Wei Ying is captured, Lan Zhan blocks the whip coming his way and ends up taking a hit to his injured leg. Wei Ying then wants Wen Chao to come for him instead of Lan Zhan, and we can honestly expect nothing less from Wangxian at this point.

Lan Zhan conquers his silent grieving and mute seething to stand in defiance against Wen Chao. It is worth mentioning that his patience and tolerance can even bear the brunt of a fallen world, but cease to exist the second someone mistreats Wei Ying before his eyes. You know what they say about love being a vicious motivator. His protective stance here screams..

Lan Zhan Holds On To Wei Ying For A Short Span Of Eternity

Wen Chao sure is very curious about the nature of their relationship and unable to fathom what Wei Ying could possibly want with Lan Zhan. He’s already safe and sound with him in Qishan, so if they’re not talking about the Yin Iron, what the hell is it? This inquisition is a bit ridiculous, as if the writer specifically gave him these lines to point out to the audience that Wangxian are being soulmates in love once again.

What Lan Zhan does not say, he makes up for with the million times he reaches for Wei Ying instinctively; spontaneous skinship is one of the ways through which his love for Wei Ying finds expression. It is phenomenal that He Who Does Not Touch People firmly holds on to his lover through this whole monologue that follows.

There are few things in the world that can inspire Lan Zhan’s wrath and protection right now, and Wei Ying commands both so effortlessly. Defeated as he is, for Wei Ying, Lan Zhan is always a man of action. And this action particularly proves his willingness to send packing to hell whoever dares to come close to his lover. I wonder what would’ve happened if Wei Ying hadn’t gone to the dungeon on his own volition.

Wangxian Are Once Again Ready To Risk It All For Each Other

It would’ve been nice to see them get their alone time, but what’s one more complication on the path of true love, right?

If you thought about it, Wangxian’s universe truly conspires to bring them together sometimes. Wen Ning tells Wei Ying everything Lan Zhan wasn’t able to, and Wen Qing does everything in her power to ensure they’re both out of harm’s way. Even when our heroes aren’t able to spend time together, they are being assisted by outside forces that work to ensure their love has a future. There are always people left in the world who are rooting for Wangxian because they’re the good gays guys! 

We are well aware of how deeply and madly Wei Ying loves Lan Zhan, but it is startling all the same that even when he is in physical agony, what infuriates him to the point of madness is the news of Lan Zhan being hurt and his home being burnt down. Wei Ying is also more than willing to endure his pain a while longer if it means Lan Zhan has a shot at getting better.

Wangxian at any given point of time are ready to sacrifice themselves for the other and wage a war against the entire world for wronging the love of their life. That’s what makes these soulmates more unique than most, if not all lovers in fiction. Throughout the story, their romance is subjected to a billion tests and every choice they make is bound to make the viewers cry and highlight the unfairness of the impossible stakes they go through to be with each other. This is no ordinary romance, and that’s why it is all the more fantastic they are able to survive these unthinkable odds and come out shining in the end.

Lan Zhan’s concern and affection for Wei Ying is so open that it bleeds all over our screens. It’s like he looks at the rest of the world with aloof objectivity but the minute his lover comes into his sight, his eyes can bloom only warmth and emotion. Even the vision that touches Wei Ying from afar should be gentle and reverent, fit for holding in sight something precious beyond measure. This can be said about the both of them.

It is when NHS mentions their halcyon days at Cloud Recesses that we realize how their lives have changed irreversibly. Both Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are visibly sadder, like they’re wishing to return to simpler times when courting Lan Zhan was the biggest problem in Wei Ying’s life and fighting his feelings for Wei Ying was Lan Zhan’s. They’ve grown closer since then but the impediments on their road have also grown bigger.

Wei Ying Asks Jiang Cheng To Stay Out Of His Love Life

Lan Zhan keeps walking like #conceal don’t feel but the sad version of WuJi reveals all.

Wei Ying has been growing tired of Jiang Cheng trying to dictate what he should and should not feel or do about things that do not concern him and he rightfully puts him in his place in this scene. Jiang Cheng tells Wei Ying to not choose “someone else” as “we” already have a lot to deal with. He implies Wei Ying shouldn’t help Lan Zhan because he isn’t family and is clearly underplaying his injury despite Wei Ying emphasising its urgency. And Wei Ying is so done with putting up with that kind of negative energy in his love life.

He is quick to silence anyone who thinks they can hold him back from his heart or overstep the boundaries of his relationship with Lan Zhan. And his logic is very sound, for who on earth is capable of stopping Wei Ying from helping him? Not even Lan Zhan! 

Wei Ying breaks free of Jiang Cheng's grip and leaves in Lan Zhan's direction after patronizingly patting his arm. And that is his answer. To him, Lan Zhan isn’t just another person and there is certainly no choice he has to make when it comes to him. It will always be Lan Zhan who is his foremost priority and the rest of the world has to simply get used to being left behind.

We see that he knows Lan Zhan would never ask for help but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. His soulmate will hence always offer it, and if rejected, simply throw him on his back and continue while Lan Zhan informs him once again of how “boring” it is. He doesn’t get to do that, but his sentiment is romantic enough to stay in Lan Zhan’s memory for sixteen years and become an action he boldly reciprocates when Wei Ying comes back.

Wangxian’s Love Story is Truly “Epic”

Episodes 11 and 12 trace the beginnings of the turmoil that will forge Wangxian’s path (and make us weep). Every romance starts from the idyllic state of undisturbed happiness but it seldom remains there through the whole story. And let’s be honest, calamities bring emotional depth and complexity to a plot, exposing that our favorite characters are human, flawed and a lot closer to reality than we imagined. Both the heroes stay loyal to their core values, with the conviction to be fearless in the face of unforeseen adversities in life and love.

And we hope like the hopeless romantics who are in love with the greatest love story ever told, that maybe all the tragedies that are about to befall Wei Ying and Lan Zhan won’t matter one day because their happy ending will heal all wounds. Obstacles will continue to strew our heroes apart and push them towards the other on a loop, but Wangxian are like magnets destined to snap back together. They will ascend beyond the stratosphere of romance, straight to the heavens, because their love’s greatest virtue is that they have each other and know each other more than any two people ever did in all of history. They are devoted to the other unconditionally in soul, mind and body. 

It’s just that our idiot-soulmates take the long way round to realize that their own joint force is capable of annihilating and birthing entire universes, and nothing that ever dared to stand on their path ever stood a chance. And when they do realize that their love is an infinite, impossible force that can bend the laws of nature and be a harbinger of greatness to a world that is doomed to fail, their story is exalted to an epic that doubles as a romance, effectively displacing all the bland, straight examples of love that have infiltrated our past and perpetuated heteronormativity. Because it boasts a love that all of humankind should vie to fashion their lives after and is a true sight to behold - a sight we will rewatch for as long as we live, and bequeath to posterity so they can grow up looking up to Wangxian. Because their love story is the big budget live action fantasy that queer people have been deprived of for so long and is now here to tell us : You should dare to love because it will become your greatest strength. Just like it became Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s.

[thetypedwriter]

Chain of Iron Book Review

Chain of Iron Book Review by Cassandra Clare 

You know, I was actually really irritated when this book came out because once again, the Dark Artifices seems to be shafted for this new series (that nobody asked for) to shine, but fortunately I wasn’t as bothered by it as I predicted I would be. 

In case you are in the small minority of people who haven’t heard of Cassandra Clare and her millions of Shadowhunter books, Chain of Iron is the next nephilim installment in Clare’s never-ending series. 

Chain of Iron is the sequel to Chain of Gold, and the series as a whole is a sequel to the Infernal Devices series, but a prequel to the original Mortal Instruments as well as the Dark Artifices which is the sequel series to the Mortal Instruments. 

I would be surprised if you weren’t baffled right now. 

I’ve said this before for other Shadowhunter installments, but these books are not user friendly for new folk. You genuinely need to have read the other series to get full enjoyment and understanding of these books.

 If you do read them without having read the others, I'm sure it would still be enjoyable to a certain extent, but a large case of ensemble character and relationships will be lost to you and a big portion of these novels are the relationships within them. 

To delve right in, Chain of Iron has our main cast of friendly teenagers nicknamed the Merry Thieves (which I just abhor, sorry, not sorry) return from Chain of Gold after fighting one of the princes of Hell, Belial, and now with Cordelia and James being married as to avoid a scandal of Cordelia’s reputation and James’ criminal record. 

In addition, there is a new serial killer on the loose murdering shadowhunters at dawn and stealing their runes. Most of the book is dealt with trying to catch the culprit, the Consul and Inquisitor along with the whole of adult shadowhunter authority being inconsequential and inept as usual (how these people became parents are beyond me as they never have any sort of clue what their children get up to) along with side plots including raising Jesse Blackthorn from the dead and romance galore in typical Clare fashion that makes you want to rip your hair out because if everyone just communicated and was honest there would be no issues. 

The beginning of the novel is molasses slow.

I’ve come to expect this with Clare’s books. Actually, I think I’ve figured out the formula entirely. Here is is:

Mostly nothing of consequence happens for nearly 400 pages except for character building and small instances of plot 

Intersperse some random demon attacks for flavor 

Everyone is beautiful, everyone is in love, and love is the most groundbreaking, earth shattering thing in existence 

Get into the last 200ish pages and shit hits the fan with action, misunderstandings, and confessions 

Nobody is honest with anybody and lying is commonplace

End the behemoth on a cliffhanger so that the audience is kept in suspenseful anxiety until the next installment 

You can’t see me, but I am bowing right now. 

Genuinely, that is how 90% of Clare’s novels pan out. Obviously, as she has a very successful and long-running book series, the formula works. 

That being said, there are some vices and virtues to it. 

For this book, the beginning was slow. Almost nothing of significance happens for most of it and it's a dredge to get through. 

However, it’s mundane to get through in the same way that reading fanfiction of your favorite characters is mundane. What Clare does for 400 pieces of paper is build up her characters and their relationships. Normally, you would do this interspersed with plot, but not in this case. 

It’s not very conventional, but it kinda works?

I definitely struggled connecting with the characters from this series more than any other of Clare’s novels. The Mortal Instruments, as the original, were beloved if a little cheesy. Then came the Infernal Devices with witty Will, soulful Jem, and intelligent Tessa. Then we got the Dark Artifices, which to me, is still the best as Julian, Emma, Mark, Christina and the others are the most flawed in any of the series and I enjoy that. 

I enjoy that they’re not perfect, I enjoy that they’re devious and conniving. It makes them more interesting and more worthwhile to read about. 

Instead, the main characters in Chain of Iron and the subsequent series are mainly James, Cordelia, Matthew, and sometimes Lucie. I would argue that no one else matters in the book and are just added in for some sugar, spice, and everything nice. 

Some of you might be outraged at this statement. What about Grace? You might say. Or Jesse? Or Thomas, Christopher, Alistair, Ariadne or Anna?

They don’t matter. 

They matter in a very small, plot convenience, fluff ensues kind of way, but not really in any way of substance. Or, at the very least, that’s how I feel. 

Anna is just there to be cool, Thomas is a gay gentle giant with literally no personality, Christopher is so basic and is essentially the Trader Joe’s version of Henry who was better and more interesting as the first, Alistair is a redeemed bully, and Ariadne is an orphan who loves Anna. 

The end. 

Once again, sometimes Clare bites off more than she can chew and I wonder if she just throws these characters in there just because it makes her happy. 

As for our main protagonists, they’re mediocre. Matthew is definitely the most interesting in the bunch and I was jubilant to see him get more screen time this time around. The increasing realization of his alcohol abuse, his feelings for Cordelia, his nonplussed attitude. 

All of it is intriguing. I still don’t like him as much as other protagonists from other installments, but he is by far the winner of this triad. 

James is too perfect, too beautiful, and a worse version of his father. If I wanted more Will I would have turned to fanfiction of the Infernal Devices instead of imagining up his son. The only interesting thing about James is his demon connection which is not even something he does, but rather something that is done to him. 

Cordelia is banal. Once again, she’s too perfect, too brave, and too kind. Literally nothing is wrong with her. She’s level headed, intelligent, forgiving, and fierce. 

Basically, she’s boring to the brim. 

I do think Clare did a better job this time around to include more of Cordelia’s Persian heritage, but it still mainly fell to the backburner of her lackluster and blank personality. In fact, I think James made more of an effort for Persian food and culture than Cordelia did, but I digress. 

Also, a small note, but still with weight, why does Cordelia have eight names??

It bugs the living daylights out of me that in a single sentence she will be called Cordelia, Layla and Daisy. 

Clare. Give the girl one name. My god. 

Actually, as a side note to this side note, Clare is talented at many things, but nicknames are not one of them. EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER IN THIS NOVEL has a nickname and all of them are horrible. I have never in my entire life known a Matthew that has gone by the nickname Math. 

What. In. The. World. 

Anyways, the only other character of note is Lucie. I like and dislike Lucie. Lucie is also boring and her novelist passion is aggravating to me. However, I did like her turn with necromancy and her increasing desperation to save Jesse that drives her to work with Grace and lie to her friends and family was a much-needed note of interest. 

Overall, this book did make me like the characters more than I did in Chain of Gold, but it took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get there, more than what I think should have been afforded. If you need to kill 400 trees in order to make me like your main characters, that’s a problem. 

Whatever the method, I do care about them more than I did previously so I suppose mission accomplished. I do think some of the strongest relationships in the book are the romances, but then also the parabatai bond between Matthew and James. 

Matthew and James have one of the best relationships in the book and I’m equally frustrated and intrigued how things will play out with Matthew now having confessed his feelings for Cordelia. 

I do feel like female parabatai get shafted in a lot of Clare’s novels compared to the boys. The coed pairs often do well like Clary and Simon or Emma and Julian. Otherwise, the boys far outrank the girls in terms of bond and friendship. 

Even in this novel, the “friendship” between Lucie and Cordelia is laughable. They barely talk to each other or spend time together and when they do is shallow.  Whereas Matthew and James seem much more involved in each other’s lives. 

That being said, if you noticed I didn’t speak much of the plot it’s because for me plot comes very much second in a Shadowhudenter novel. It’s there of course, and it’s entertaining, but I do enjoy the characters and their relationships more than anything else which makes Chain of Iron  better than its predecessor but still worse in my view than any other of Clare’s novels. 

Plot just doesn’t compare to the soul crushing love and friendships shown between the pages, for better or for worse. 

Recommendation: The Dark Artifices > Infernal Devices > The Mortal Instruments ...and  The Last Hours fall somewhere after the Mortal Instruments and the trillions of side novels that Clare has co-written with other authors and all seem to be about Magnus Bane.

Score: 7/10 

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: burnt sugar, dead roses, and half-lit cigarettes. With a slight resemblance to BAE JOOHYUN (IRENE) of/the RED VELVET.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

create the file: last name, first name: chae sebinn alias: one-winged angel realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Korean, born in Rome age: 300+ date of birth: mid-1600s gender: cis female preferred pronouns: she/her species: succubus occupation: ivory lotus mistress sexual orientation: undecided but ultimately, not straight

VISUAL FILE:

skin color: pale red eye color: golden scars: none piercings: not anywhere one can see with clothes on ;0 tattoos: a giant red dragon on her left thigh hair color: black abnormalities: not really abnormal but she has claw-like nails. Are they acrylics? Who knows horns/ wings/ etc: one enormous, black, dragon-like wing, curled ram-like horns, sharp fangs,  transformed form: red eyes, the wing, and a prehensile tail hehe

PERSONAL FILE:

religious belief:  does considering oneself god count as a religion? sins:  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  / lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath virtues: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  patience /  justice known languages: english, korean, latin, among others secrets: there’s literally no reason that she needs to be as fucking crazy as she is. savvies: a great manipulator; she can play to people’s wants and beliefs, willing to do anything (in more ways than one) to obtain power, actually a pretty decent leader

powers & abilities: immortality, lust inducement, kiss of death (gluck gluck 3000 of the soul), Death by Sex, Dream Walking, Enslavement Kiss, Indomitable Sexuality, Lust Magic, Temptation Embodiment.

traits: through, but just. Mean. so mean.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

date of birth: mid-1600s date of death: n/a crime record: she hasn’t gotten caught for anything yet but you know she’s done some shit

Background/Biography:

( TW: death)

BORN TO AN ARISTOCRATIC DEMON FAMILY, CHAE SEBINN HAD IT ALL. SHE WAS THE PRIDE AND JOY OF EVERYONE IN HER LIFE; SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL, SMART, AND SEEMINGLY KIND. HER FAMILY, LIKE MANY OTHER SUPERNATURAL BEINGS DURING HER TIME, LIVED OUT THEIR DAYS SEEMINGLY HUMAN; HER FAMILY WAS ESPECIALLY RARE, GOING SO FAR AS TO RENOUNCE THEIR DEMONIC NATURES SO THAT THEY MIGHT WALK IN PEACE AMONG THE HUMANS.

SEBINN WAS DIFFERENT. WHILE SHE WAS RAISED TO HOLD THE SAME BELIEFS AS HER FAMILY, SHE KNEW SHE WAS SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT. SHE DIDN’T WANT TO PLAY AT HUMAN: MALLEABLE, SMALL…WEAK. IT WAS BENEATH HER. SHE WANTED EVERYONE TO KNOW JUST HOW GOOD SHE WAS, AND HOW GREAT SHE COULD BE.

SHE THOUGHT THAT COMMUNICATING THIS TO HER FAMILY WOULD CHANGE THEIR WAYS, BECAUSE SHE WAS MOST LOVED, MOST REVERED, ABOVE ALL IN HER HOUSE. DESPITE THAT, SHE WAS MET WITH CONCERN, WORRY. HER PARENTS TALKED HER OFF THE LEDGE, OR SO THEY’D THOUGHT.

WITHOUT ANY BACKING FROM THE HOUSE, SEBINN WENT SO FAR AS TO SNEAK OFF IN THE NIGHT, COURTING VARIOUS SUITORS AND PLAYING AT GOD WHEN SHE COULD. SHE WENT SO FAR AS TO SEDUCE VARIOUS MEMBERS OF THE CHURCH, CLAIMING TO BE THEIR GOD--THEY DIDN’T KNOW ANY BETTER, AND WITH HER ENHANCED MANIPULATION, ONE BY ONE, THEY HAD FALLEN TO HER FEET.

IT GOT BORING, OVER TIME, HOWEVER; KNOWING PEOPLE COULD SO EASILY SUCCUMB TO HER AND HER WILLS WAS NO FUN, AT LEAST NOT ALONE. OVER THE YEARS, SHE CONTINUED TO TRY AND PRESSURE HER FAMILY INTO JOINING HER IN HER DARK CRUSADE, BUT THEY DIDN’T LISTEN.

SO, SHE KILLED THEM ALL.

FOR A TIME, SHE WENT INTO HIDING, JUMPING FROM CONTINENT TO CONTINENT WITH THE HELP OF HER FAMILY’S MASSIVE FORTUNE, AND PONDERED WHY SHE HAD DONE WHAT SHE’D DONE. IN THE END, SHE CONCLUDED THAT IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HELPED. THAT THIS WAS THEIR ABSOLUTION, THEIR SALVATION.

SHE HAD KILLED THEM TO SAVE THEM, SHE DECIDED, IF THEY WERE NOT TO COME WITH HER, THEN THEY SHOULD NOT BE PUNISHED FOR IT. TO HER, IT WAS A MERCY. TO EVERYONE ELSE? SENSELESS MURDER, PROBABLY.

EVENTUALLY, SHE FOUND HERSELF AMONG THE WOMEN OF THE COVEN THAT WOULD EVENTUALLY BLOOM INTO AND FOUND THE IVORY LOTUS. SHE WAS STILL YOUNG THEN, HAVING BEEN ADOPTED BY THE WOMEN OF THE CLAN AFTER HAVING SOLD A STORY OF HER LOST HERITAGE AND HER FAMILY THAT HAD BEEN "TRAGICALLY MURDERED". SHE GREW WITH THE COVEN AND EVENTUALLY WITH THE LOTUS, STARTING AS THE LOWEST OF THE LOW.

FOLLOWING THE LOSS OF MANY OF THE HEADS OF POWER IN THE GANG, ALL EYES TURNED TO HER TO BECOME THEIR NEXT LEADER. AND WHILE SHE WAS STILL VERY YOUNG, SHE WATCHED THEIR PETTY PLAYS AT POWER UNFOLD MUCH TO HER DELIGHT. SHE DECIDED THAT IT WOULDN’T BE ANY GOOD TO BE LEFT OUT FROM ALL THE FUN, AND THAT GOD DESERVED HER RIGHTFUL THRONE IN THE KINGDOM OF HER HEAVEN, RIGHT?

WHICH IS HOW SHE FOUND HERSELF NOW, PERCHED UP HIGH AND MIGHTY IN HER GILDED THRONE (WORK CHAIR) IN THE CURSED AGDOEG, FIGHTING A MERCILESS, BRUTAL WAR FOR NOTHING BUT THE FUN OF IT.

FOR SHE WAS ABSOLUTION, FOR SHE WAS SALVATION.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

“I-I don’t know,” her quiet whimper still managed to echo in the quiet room. The incompetence of whoever had landed her here would be paid with their head on a fucking platter. She didn’t need to fucking be here. But it was easier to play along as hapless victim than run from the police. Which was why her record was about as clean as a newborn baby’s. 

“It happened so fast… one minute I was walking home from my sister’s apartment--she has the sweetest baby--and the next, I saw some brutes attacking each other outside of the bar!” They weren’t just any brutes, they were members of the other gangs in the city. The smell of hound and fae still tickled at her nose. But she wasn’t supposed to know that; she was supposed to be an innocent by-stander, who got lost in the mess of such a… terrible fight. Giving away information now would be pointless, and also, would make it harder for her to get out scot-free. 

She looked up at the officer with wide, teary eyes. “I’m so sorry, it’s been such a long night… may I please go home now?” 

[ofdragonsdeep]

11: Preaching to the Choir

None would have disagreed on the matter of Lord Haurchefant's virtues.

(HW spoilers, character death mention, grief, all that jazz)

The bitter chill of the Coerthas winds did little to salve the ache as Ar’telan walked the familiar path from the Gates of Judgement to Camp Dragonhead. A soft snowfall had set in with the evening, clouds crowding out the stars, and he rubbed his hands together for warmth as he went.

The guard on the gate straightened as Ar’telan approached, then relaxed as recognition set in. He was nodded in, no words spoken between them, but even in the flickering firelight of the meagre torch that marked his station, Ar’telan could see the red around his eyes.

The atmosphere was muted. Despite the ever-present threat, no knights milled about save for the guard up on the ramparts, and the courtyard was entirely free of the adventurers it usually gathered. Up by the aetheryte, there was only the silhouetted form of the foreign-born man who worked on the cannons without cease, and Inquisitor Brigie, leaning against the wall and staring out into the middle distance. She did not see him pass, and he was not keen to alert her, in the circumstances.

The heavy wood and iron doors to the keep opened with a scrape and creak of protest, and the few knights within looked up as he walked inside. Even now, weeks after it had happened, it felt like a twist of the heart to look at the empty chair on the other side of the desk.

“Ar’telan. It’s… it’s good to see you,” Yaelle remarked, offering a weak smile, one of the more genuine ones he had seen of late. Corentiaux rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, gathering himself.

“We wondered when we might see you here. Are… are you staying long?” he asked. Ar’telan sighed.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he replied, which felt pathetic in the moment. A young astrologian deviated from the stacks of records to pull out a chair for him without a word, and he sat in it haltingly, afraid of appearing rude. “I wouldn’t want to- to impose. After…” Yaelle shook her head.

“You will always be welcome here. It’s what- what he would have wanted,” she remarked, her voice remarkably level across it all. Ar’telan took a deep breath, and held in the sadness. He was here now. He had waited - no, he had come here as soon as the chase against King Thordan had allowed, but he had left soon after, not able to stand it. He had waited until the dust had settled on that part of the war, until he had felt like there had been some kind of recompense, until he could bear to look the people of the camp in the eye and not collapse under the weight of the guilt of it all.

“We won’t turn you out into the snow. Make yourself at home,” Corentiaux agreed. “You have missed mess, I will allow, but there will be something in the pot for you.” Ar’telan swallowed back the grief.

“Thank you. I… I will try not to intrude,” he managed, feeling the weight of his reasons in the pack he carried. If they wanted to see it, he would let them do it on their own terms, not ones that might soothe his wounds.

As if anything could have soothed them.

---

The young roegadyn woman who was a cheerful constant of the mess hall looked up with a spectre of panic on her face as the door opened. She had been reserved when Ar’telan had first spoken to her, but over the moons she had opened up, her heart boundless in its love. She was… not coping well.

“Ar’telan. The knights didn’t… oh, I’m so sorry, I haven’t…” she tried, before choking back a sob and turning to hide it in the pot on the stove. “Y-you must be hungry. I-I’ll make you something.” Ar’telan tried to disagree, pained by her distress, but she had so lost herself in the busywork of it that she saw none of his desperate hand signs. Resigned, he eased himself onto the edge of one of the benches, elbows on the table and head resting on his hands. They had always taken care of him at Camp Dragonhead, the way they took care of anyone in need who passed through their walls. It was a kindness that permeated every brick, every cobblestone, a smile easy on the face when your spirits were buoyed. They did it now in reflex, stumbling in uncertainty through every day that greeted them. Ar’telan couldn’t help but think back to the days before. He had been there for the internment of knights his healing arts had not been able to save, he had been cheered and encouraged and warmed by the fire that lit every soul within, from the boy who swept the stables to the loftiest knight.

It had hurt, to see knights he had broken bread with that morning in a coffin by the dusk. He had watched the lines of stoic soldiers, some weeping into the shoulders of their fellows as the bodies of their friends were borne past, towards Ishgard. None of it could have prepared him for the grip of the all-consuming grief that lay like a pall over Dragonhead’s heart. Glassy eyes that stared at nothingness, a soul walking with the Fury instead of among the living. And for what? A war without end for the dragons that Nidhogg had driven to madness with his incessant Song, the sins of long-forgotten fathers carved out into the hides of the sons. To bear home the news of the great wyrm’s death, a tragedy of man’s design, and be greeted with a refusal… a refusal to yield.

By Ishgardian hands, by Ishgardian blood. What was it worth?

“Here. I h-hope it’s still good,” Medguistl said, startling Ar’telan from his reverie.

“It will be fine. My thanks,” he said, taking the proffered bowl and setting it down on the table before him. She sat down opposite him, seeming to fold into the table under the weight of her own thoughts.

“It’s not fair,” she said, her voice muffled by wood and her arms. “All those h-horrible people and it had, it h-had to be him.” Ar’telan flinched at her words, staring down at the stew in front of him rather than offer an answer she would not be able to see. “After everything that happened, all the kind things he said, I can’t… I can’t imagine that I’ll never see his smile again. Nobody wants to talk about it. We can’t. It just… it hurts.” She sniffled, looking up at him with an apologetic look on her face. “I-I’m sorry. I-I think this is the last thing you need, t-today of all days. B-but…”

“You are allowed to grieve,” Ar’telan disagreed, the words weaving around the spoon he was holding. “Pretending that it doesn’t hurt won’t make it go away.” He bit his lip uncertainly, sharp canines finding the scar that traced down the side of it. “He would be flattered that he had… touched so many so deeply. Though I think he would rather you held a little cheer, when you can.” Medguistl nodded, sniffing back the rest of the tears.

“Th-thank you,” she said. “I know that we’ll… we’ll carry the memory forever. So maybe… maybe in a way he won’t be truly gone.” Ar’telan wished that it was in a way which mattered, but did not voice the sadness aloud.

“I owe my life to him. To all of you here, as well. So if there is anything I can do…” he began, but the chef shook her head, straightening up.

“You can eat, is what you can do, and maybe we’ll think about the rest afterwards,” she said, and Ar’telan wearily complied.

---

The trek up to Providence Point, lit now by the light of the morning, was made no easier despite the absence of the aevises that had once plagued the trail. The ruin of the Steel Vigil stretched up to greet the day, snow and crumbling rock falling from the edifice at the slightest wind, and to the west, the crest of the hill.

He had come up here before, many times. Not all of them with Haurchefant, but many of them. They had stood before the stone that bore the seal of Oschon, the Wanderer, and Ar’telan had wondered at its presence in a land which clung so stubbornly in place. Beyond the piled stones, the crest of the cliff offered a crystal-clear view of Ishgard and the Steps of Faith, the best place to observe her beauty from save for within the walls of the city herself.

The headstone was small, and unobtrusive. Snow had already settled atop it, a faint dusting of white to match that which plagued the entire land since the Calamity had struck. Ar’telan knelt down beside it, brushed his fingers over the name.

Haurchefant Greystone.

Though they had buried his body in the Fortemps family crypt, in his public monument he could not bear the name. It was so like Ishgard, a place so comfortingly familiar that he had almost felt sure in calling it home. As if Hydaelyn would have let him rest, when he still had work to do.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” said a familiar voice. Francel, the first truly kind person he had met in this frozen hellscape of a place after the massacre at the Waking Sands. “Though I suppose it should not be a surprise, should it?” He closed the distance between them, joining Ar’telan in kneeling down in the snow. In his hands, a bouquet of Nymeia lilies, of the kind of freshness only the son of a High House could afford. Ar’telan had laid them upon coffins before, but here Francel simply rested them on top of the snow, tears already beading at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Ar’telan said, and Francel shook his head, rubbing the treacherous tears away with delicate fingers.

“No, no. You shouldn’t be,” he said. “He… he would be glad that you’d come. He always… always loved the view up here.” Ar’telan held his tongue on the memories, instead pulling the heavy pack from his back, and gently teasing the shield free from the canvas he had wrapped it in.

All the knights at the Camp had one like it. They adorned the walls of the keep, of the manor at House Fortemps, the arms of every person pledged to the house’s service. The gaping hole in this one, rent by a lance of pure aetherial light, was one he hoped the other shields would never see.

“The Count gave you this?” Francel asked, though he didn’t sound surprised. Ar’telan nodded, reaching out to rest it against the stone of the grave. If it could not protect him in life, it would at least watch him in death. “I’m glad. It’s… you should have had it,” Francel said, the words stiff and awkward in his mouth. “It never gets any easier, does it?” he asked, eyes on the city beyond the rise, across the void of wind that made the Sea of Clouds.

“No,” Ar’telan agreed, sitting back in the snow. “Different, maybe. But never easier.” Francel let out a long, low sigh.

“You will come back, won’t you?” he asked, a tremulous note to his voice. “To Ishgard. To us.” Ar’telan looked over in surprise at the question.

“If I am welcome,” he said, and Francel let out a single, disbelieving laugh.

“Welcome? Of course you are welcome. You helped to save us,” he said, shaking his head slightly at the idea. “All of us are hurting now, every one, but we would never turn you away. Not ever.” His eyes went back to the grave, his gaze lingering on the shield’s mortal wound. “I know you would never leave him behind, and he would not want you to. But I dont… I don’t want to bear this alone.” Ar’telan offered a smile.

“You are not alone. There is not a soul in the Highlands who does not know of Haurchefant’s grace,” he said, and Francel flopped backwards into a sitting position, as if actually hearing his name was a little too much.

“Have you spoken with the Count de Fortemps?” he asked. “After… After it all, I mean. When it wasn’t… When it wasn’t all too much.” Ar’telan sighed.

“Yes. I… I know he would not want me to leave,” he said, the first time he had voiced it aloud. “He said as much, but it is hard to believe it. Hard to let go of the feeling that I… That Haurchefant…”

“You will always have a home here,” Francel said, his voice quiet. “I would make sure of it, but I do not need to. Stay strong, my friend. Perhaps the grief will not fade, but the road will feel easier to walk in stride with another.” Ar’telan smiled slightly at the thought, his tail carving a little eddy in the snow as it swept from side to side.

“I would like that,” he agreed. It hurt, more than anything had a right to hurt, still aching as though Ser Zephirin’s lance had pierced his heart instead, but for the future - there was hope.

[moskaisley]

migraine pt.3 | chronic

gif: @logan-solo​

rating: mature

word count: 3k

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, fluff but also ANGST, jealous!mando aka my favorite kind 

a/n: this literally took so long to write bc i basically changed the last half of this fic, but i’m rly happy with the results. there was a lot i wanted to include about life before din left, and i thought i’d put them in separate like one shots, but i figured that it would be include in the main story too. this is basically like an anime recap episode LMAO. enjoy!! thanks for the love <3

summary:

“But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives.”

When you and the Mandalorian existed in another time, another place. 

parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

ao3 link / masterlist

Dreams these days never really consisted of anything new. Old memories played in your head like a holovid, both the good and the bad. Tonight, they were filled with him. 

In the beginning, the two of you never really acknowledged what it was. 

You fucked only a few more times after the cockpit. Business always came first, of course, and sex wasn’t a regular occurrence. But when the tension (often mixed with the adrenaline of bounty hunting) became too much to handle, you were all over each other. Most of the time, you were in either of each other’s bunks, and you only did it in the cockpit when you couldn’t bother to go down the ladder. At first, you chalked it up to strictly satisfying physical needs. With the two of you in such close quarters, it only made sense. The aftermath often involved getting dressed and cleaned up in silence. There would be an occasional joke or two, but the discussion usually steered itself towards the next mission. 

But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives. Your hands would linger on each other longer. He seemed to loosen up around you, joke around and indulge you in conversation. It was such a stark contrast to his menacing, stoic warrior demeanour he used when rounding up bounties.

Once, you found yourself too distracted and flustered to even spar with him.

“At this rate, you’ll never win a match against me,” he poked, legs straddling your waist as he pinned your arms down

“Oh, shut up,” you huffed, irritated. He had won against you using the same move, twice. 

You’d never tell him, but your eyes were definitely indulging over the build of his body, imagining the way his bare muscles flexed or his lips moved against yours. 

Squirming against him, you hiss, “Off, Mando.”

He chuckles and your chest tightens. I bet his real voice sounds like heaven.

“I dunno, I think I like you like this.”

He studies you under him, helmet tilting sideways watching your chest heave up and down. A wave of heat washes over you at the thought of tearing off his mask and pulling him down for a kiss. Mando lightly laughs again and you swear you’re going to fucking lose it.

“I think you like it too.”

With all your strength, you bring your knee into the small of his back, knocking him forwards as you twist to launch him off of you. After shuffling up to stand, you spin on your heels and march away, embarrassed at how he’s got you flushed and smiling like an idiot schoolgirl. 

He’s still groaning in pain when he calls to you, “Done already?”

You stumble on a witty response, “You’re the worst!”

Smooth.

--

You weren't the only one losing their cool. Mando became a lot more defensive of you in those days; you nearly killed him once because he kept trying to cover you from blaster fire. He even started a bar fight for you. 

You hated the stares you received by virtue of being around him; traveling with him always meant that being unassuming was impossible. Normally, people would avert their eyes. If you were particularly lucky, a poor soul would try and push the Mandalorian’s buttons, not realizing they’re digging their own graves. One day, however, you’d hit the jackpot when they decided to  target you. 

You sat across from him in a booth, patiently waiting for the quarry to pass through; you took the side facing the door while he was turned away, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Out of the corner of your eye, three drunk bumbling idiots stumbled from the opposite end of the bar. Despite your stealthy gaze, one of them locked eyes with you, and when you saw his lips curl into a disgusting smile, you knew you were in for it. 

The man you saw and sauntered over to your side of the chair. His friends shuffled behind him like dogs, and he practically beamed when he saw Mando, seemingly nonchalant.

“My my, Mando! You’ve got quite the catch here,” he says, undressing you with his eyes, “Where’d he buy a thing like you, baby?”

Are you fucking serious?

You cocked an eyebrow and shot him a glare in response, but remained quiet. You turn back to your view on the door, praying to Maker that he’d leave you alone. But the man didn’t let up.

Instead, he turns to your partner inquiring,

“How good of a lay is she, huh, Mandalorian? Bet she’d be a real treat for me and my boys” his men move a little closer to corner you both, “How much to take her off your hands?”

Can a girl just exist?

“I’m not for sale,” you snarl, voice tight. A dull pain begins to echo in your temples.

“So she speaks,” Your irritation only seemed to egg him on, “C'mon darlin’ let us take care of you. I promise I’m good for it.”

Your fingers were itching towards your blades, but you were still waiting on the quarry to enter the cantina. A scene would scare him away and you would lose your money and time.

Business comes first. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Mando’s voice cut through your exchange, “Get lost, she said she’s not interested.”

“Now, that’s not what we heard, was it boys?” His men laugh in agreement behind him. His eyes turn dark as he goes to place a hand on your shoulder, “The lady can speak for herself. I think we can negotia-”

A blaster shot whizzes by your ears before you can even think to fight back against him. Mando, ever the gunslinger, shoots again towards his leg, knocking him onto the floor.

And then the whole bar descends into chaos. 

Drunkards pile on top of each other as tensions crescendo; the sound of a single shot has everybody up in arms. Your migraine only grows in intensity as the situation spirals out of control. To top it off, amidst the chaos, you see the quarry a few paces away. His eyes were wide watching the shitshow before him, and in a panic, he scurried back out the door.

You’d caught him eventually, but not without traversing the entire underground marketplace that stretched under the city. By the time he was in carbonite and you were both in the cockpit, your irritation boiled over.

“Are you insane, Din?” You fumed, “When did you get so careless? We nearly lost him!”

He simply looked at you as if you knew the answer, but his silence only fueled your exasperation.

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” you grumbled, throwing your hands in the air, “I’ll be in the refresher.”

You turned to leave, but his gloved hand suddenly gripped your upper arm, spinning you into his chest. It was then that you realized how much bigger he was, dwarfing you in his arms as he rubbed the space above your elbows. 

“He was gonna touch you,” Mando’s voice was low, bordering on a growl.

Oh. The air in the room shifts dramatically.

You take a shaky breath, your voice quieting down to a whisper, “And if he did?”

The gloved hands on your arms squeeze like a vice grip. Your heart swells.

“He’d have a hole in his head.”

Your expression softens before your lips spread into a sly smile. You move as close as you can, eyes boring into the black space of his visor.

“Tell me something,” you swallow hard as you gingerly move his hands to your waist and trace your fingertips over his breastplate. Mando’s breathing is ragged through his vocoder, and you relish in his excitement. You bat your eyelashes a few times before peering up at him.

“How good of a lay am I, Mandalorian?”

His fingers dig deeper into your sides before pulling you even closer, erection already stiffening against you. He groans out a response, “Let’s find out.”

--

There were little things that warmed your heart, too. When you were stuck in your bunk with a migraine, he never let you get up to do anything by yourself. He brought you water and food and he took extra care in opening the door so no light was let in and he wasn’t too loud. When you could tell he was dozing off in hyperspace, you forced him to go to bed. If he was particularly stubborn, you shoved him into the co-pilot’s chair and covered him with a blanket. Sometimes, if you came across a market with a few extra credits, you’d cook him a real meal, leagues better than the shitty ration packs you normally partook in. 

And then, there was the first time he kissed you.

You were strolling through a bazaar before a job when you stopped at a produce stand, excitedly picking up a fuzzy white peach from the box.

“I haven’t eaten one of these since I was a teenager,” you say, bringing up it to your nose and sniffing, “They smell amazing. We should get some later.”

Much to your chagrin, the job went south that day. You were so frustrated and angry that you’d completely forgotten about it, caked in mud and grime demanding to go straight back to the Razor Crest.

Holed up in your bunk and fresh out the shower, you were clad in only a long sleeve shirt and underwear when you heard him knock. When you opened the door, you were surprised to see  the fiercest hunter in the parsec standing before you with a plate of peaches from the market, sliced neatly into little wedges.  

Mando sat with you on your bed as he watched you eat; you told him about how the fruit used to grow on trees in your family’s orchard in the summer. Though you acted like you were sick of them, you always ate it when you were upset. You smiled at the memory of your adolescence, silently cutting up the fruit into wedges and eating them outside during dawn, right after your first break up with some boy.

You were so caught up in the memory that you nearly jumped when Mando leaned in and took your chin in his right hand. His finger traced over the side of your lips, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“Sorry, it’s just,” he uttered, “It was going to drip on your chin.”

You would’ve thought he’d lit your body on fire. Your core ached and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. When he began to pull back, it felt like instinct to grab his wrist and keep his hand near your face. You leaned into his touch, pressing a chaste kiss to his thumb. 

You began to crawl across your bunk to him when he stopped you, “Wait.”

Mando stood, and closed the door and shut the lights off. Darkness enveloped you both, and you called out to him, “Din?” His voice cut through the inky dark, “Can you see anything?”

You hear him shuffle, as he stands in front of you, “I dunno, can I?”

“Y/N,” he urged, impatient.

“No, Din. I can’t see.”

And then you hear the air hiss, and metal clanging to the floor. Realization hit like a meteor crash.

He took it off.

You panic immediately.

“Din, wait! What are you doi-”

You shut up the instant his hands cup your face and his lips are on yours.

And it felt delightful, better than any kiss you’d ever had. Your eyes flutter shut as you deepen the kiss. Your arms go to wrap around his neck, and you pull him even closer, elated at the way his soft hair feels in between your fingers. You were sure that he could taste the sweet, tangy peach on your tongue. When he pulls away for air, your face feels flushed with heat and you could feel your swollen lips.

You’re in a daze, “You kissed me.”

He laughs and you hear it. His real voice. No distortion. No modulator. 

“I did.”

He does sound like an angel.

“Do it again.”

--

When it all broke apart, it wasn’t like the steady, dawdling way you fell in love. The break was quick and it stung worse than any migraine. 

“What do you think?”

You walked around the cockpit, tracing your fingers over the controls. “Why? You thinking of an upgrade?” You shoot Mando a smile. He doesn’t seem amused, “It’s nice, I guess. Smaller, though. We already have a tough time fitting together in the Razor Crest.”

You’d been on Nevarro for a few days, having finally finished your last job. Instead of going back to the Crest, however, Mando took you to a shipyard and aboard an empty cruiser. The Slipstream’s windows were big and were much cleaner, but space was still an issue even if you and Din didn’t carry much.

You turn to him expecting a response, but he only says, “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Mando,” you reach for his shoulder, “What is this about? I don’t understand. Why are we here?”

He doesn’t stop to answer, “I said, let’s go.”

You let out a huff as you followed him out of the cockpit. Ever since you landed, Mando’s behavior had flipped like a switch. Your friendly talks had been reduced to one-sided exchanges. He’d been ignoring you, cold like the beskar he donned on his back. 

“Mando!”

He kept walking down the loading ramp. His terrible attitude had made your blood simmer for a while, and now it was all boiling over. 

You stomp forwards, stopping at the entrance to the hull and shout. 

“Din, stop!”

And he does, but he doesn’t turn around.

You’re fuming, “What is your problem? You’ve been in a shitty mood ever since we got here and frankly I-” You’re interrupted by something flying towards you, instinct having you catch in your hands. It’s a small silver device. Code sets, for what could only be the ship you’re currently standing on.

The dots begin to chaotically connect in your head, “What the hell is this?”

“It’s the -”

“No, Din. I know what this fucking thing is,” You’re seething with panic and rage as you hold up the silver box, “I mean, what are you doing?”

He only stares up at you, the mask emotionless and frigid. The reality of the situation was crashing into you like waves; you were begging to any god that this was just a fucked up nightmare. Tears were stinging in your eyes, threatening to pool and pour over. 

You hated how your voice cracked, “Answer me!”

“I’m leaving you, Y/N.”

Fuck. Hearing him say it out loud made your gut wrench. 

You made an audible sob; you couldn’t control it. Shuffling to the bottom of the ramp, you’re desperate to try and connect to him, bring him back to you. The questions spill from your lips.

“Why? What did I even do? What’s wrong?” You bring your hands up, cupping the sides of his helmet. You whisper through your cries, “Din, please.”

You know. You feel it in your bones. You know he feels it too. 

He gently holds your wrists, “We can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” You plead, “I know something’s wrong, you gotta let me in.”

“Y/N, please don’t make this harder than it already is,” he chides, pulling your hands away from his helmet. Your heart feels like it’s in freefall when he turns around to continue walking.

You try to scramble forward to pull him back but to your horror, you’re met with the barrel of a blaster. The noise that roars through your ears sounds like shattering glass. You gape at him, a mixture of shock and disbelief contorting your features. The figure that stood before you was unrecognizable. Because it wasn’t Din, the soft lover who kissed you in the dark and traced words of Mando’a into your sternum. It wasn’t even Mando, the old snarky friend who joked at how bad of a shot you were and who laughs like a complete idiot when he had one too many sips.

It was the Mandalorian, the ruthless and deadly warrior poised and ready to fire you away.

--

You wake up smelling peaches and blaster smoke.

Shifting to sit up against the wall behind you, you groan at the dull ache in your head and heart. Mando is here with you at the foot of the bed; you’ve memorized the way the bunk feels with or without him. 

“Why are the lights off?” You ask.

“I didn’t know if you were going to wake up with a headache or not.”

Of fucking course. It drives you insane how considerate he is sometimes.

You suddenly become more alert as you remember, “Aayn’vida, where is she? Is she safe?”

He quells your anxiety immediately, “She’s safe. I took her to her family.”

“And Khan?”

“Cold.”

You feel him shove pills and a bottle of water into your hands. You took them, and as you both waited for the pain in your head to subside, he told you what happened in Jaemai. As it turns out, Aayn’vida’s mother was a doctor for many years, and she was kind enough to check on you and care for your wounds. Khan’s goon nicked your right side; no major organs were hit, but your skin was likely scarred since it was basically singed off. There was another thing, however. Mando had asked her about the constant migraines,  “She said that they can happen because of stress or trauma.”

You laughed bitterly, “Well, we both know I have plenty of that.”

Silence blankets you two again. Even in the dark, you can tell when the Mandalorian is uneasy. You wait for him to confess.

“If I’d known this would’ve happened, I would’ve never asked you to come with me,” he lets out a tired sigh, “I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes. Why is he so fucking nice?

“We’ve been through worse,” you say, a familiar feeling fluttering through your chest, 

“Besides, this just means I’ve rightfully earned my 80%”

[bigskydreaming]

Headcanon that when Damian starts finally referring to each of his siblings by their first names, it goes something like this:

Damian started calling Cass “Cassandra” after someone gave him the full scoop on David Cain, and he refused to further acknowledge that degenerate with any connection to his sister. If nothing else, Cassandra was a deadly fighter and a force to be reckoned with, and giving the likes of David Cain credit for her mastery of the martial arts would be a disrespect to said arts themselves, and Damian will not stand for that. 

After all, Cassandra was one of the only adversaries capable of defeating Damian himself (and might always be such), and any association with the biological father who first taught her risked even the implication of that monster being similarly capable of withstanding Damian’s fury, should they ever meet, and should Damian feel compelled to seek justice on behalf of one of his victims. 

As well, he’d heard it said that all of David Cain’s efforts in regards to his daughter were made in the name of ensuring his own legacy. And Damian knew a thing or two about over-ambitious, obsessive tyrants who would seek to build their own immortal legacy at the expense of others’ souls, and he had no use for such. 

He did not turn his back on his grandfather’s intentions and his own intended throne, simply to cater to another madman’s delusions of grandeur, or his attempt to lay a claim to Cassandra’s life merely by staking a claim upon her with his name. No, whatever else Cassandra might come to be remembered for, it would not be her connection to that reprobate, if Damian had anything to say about it.

But then, too, just calling her Wayne instead would sound absurd, since that is of course his own last name as well. And no, that does not mean he considered it at first and thus was even now, already admitting to being....ugh....familial with her ....as being family was about the most mortifying ordeal Damian could contemplate submitting to. 

(Look, it gets glossed over far too often that for most of his life, Damian’s circle of family largely consisted of his mother and a ruthless, megalomaniac immortal supervillain occupying the role that for most families, would be occupied by a “Grand-poppy.” When most people are two, said Grand-poppies are happy to settle for whatever mish-mash of syllables they can mash together. When Damian was two, he got “No. ‘The Demon’s Head.’ Try again.” The kid’s anti-family stance is fairly well-earned when he first arrives, is all I’m saying. Its not necessarily spoiled brat syndrome as opposed to “I’ve yet to hear a convincing argument for why ‘family’ is at all a good or desirable thing” syndrome.)

Damian started calling Dick “Richard” when he grudgingly realized oh no, I respect him, with the consequence of that being that he had to find some distinct form of address for him at that point, otherwise Dick would by default be lumped in with all those he didn’t respect, aka 99.9% of the rest of humanity, and what’s the point of respect without acknowledgment? 

He finally started calling him “Dick” when he eventually realized that Richard was in its own way still a form of disrespect, by insisting there was a more proper form of address for his brother other than what his brother asked to be called. His own private feelings on the matter of Dick’s name were rendered irrelevant by the blinding grin Dick gave in return the first time Damian called him such - it was after all, a name Dick insisted on only as an honorarium to his own parents. Thus, it later occurred to Damian, a refusal to consider it to be so, or otherwise ‘beneath’ someone’s use, was to some degree or another likely just a back-handed insult to his parents, in Dick’s own eyes.

Damian started calling Drake “Timothy” when he considered the way some parents of his classmates used ‘full-naming’ their child as a form of threat or warning, and it occurred to him that he could pack far more disdain into a drawled “Timothy” than even he could manage to put into “Drake.” As an added bonus, his Father was so pleased to hear him finally begin addressing his most reviled brother by his first name, as it was an honor he still only reserved for family thus far - that he also completely failed to pick up on the threats and/or insults Damian had oh so carefully also layered into and around his first several uses of Timothy for his brother.

Damian finally started calling him “Tim” when he was backed into a corner that compelled some acknowledgement of exceptional skill or expertise no one else had managed to muster, and because Damian was not in the habit of backstepping on any of his choices or decisions. Thus when such a day came to pass, and he’d already ‘used up’ the only other progression available for acknowledging Tim as having moved forward in his regard, he was left without options: the only way to acknowledge that Tim was now a worthier individual in his eyes, distinct on his merits and not just as a member of his family, was to call him “Tim.”

Only belatedly did it occur to Damian that no matter his intentions when shifting from calling his brother Drake to calling him Timothy, in doing so he had inadvertently moved him into the category reserved exclusively for family, regardless of the fact that he’d been nowhere near ready at that point to admit to such in any other way. 

In fact, it may very well have been his constant utterances of “Timothy,” a name he had once delighted in using at every possible opportunity, gloating as he sneaked his contempt for the brother in question right under his Father’s very nose....well, it only occurs to Damian much later on, that his frequent addresses in a form he only associated with family, may have actually done the very work of associating Tim with ‘family’ in his mind, to such a degree that even he was no longer capable of denying it.

Which, in light of that, makes it entirely possible, and even likely, that their Father had not missed his intended purpose in using “Timothy” at all...but rather had deemed it more strategic to make no mention of that, and play the long game instead.

Sometimes, Father’s intellect was not so much staggering as it was staggeringly obnoxious.

Damian finally started calling his second oldest brother “Jason,” not long after the whole ‘Timothy’ fiasco got underway. His logic had seemed similarly sound at the time - after all, by virtue of Jason remaining the only member of the family not being addressed by his first name, there ran the risk of singling him out as significant from his other siblings in some way, and thus implying that Damian held him in more esteem than he did the others, even Dick or Cassandra. Which was pointedly absurd, of course, but people insisted on believing absurd things all the time. Thus it only seemed prudent that he stave that assumption off and in doing so, spare himself a great deal of time and aggravation likely to otherwise be spent explaining himself.

Moreover, he happened to note on more than one occasion that both Father and Dick’s eyes were overtaken with a curiously lost or distant expression, when Damian tended to refer to “Todd” as such in their presence - Pennyworth’s as well, for that matter. It was his understanding that even before his second oldest brother’s untimely demise, he was not in the habit of referring to himself or being addressed as Jason Wayne. Still, his name was written down as Jason Todd-Wayne on all official documentation, and was even what adorned the gravestone that remained in place, for the sake of an otherwise unknowing public.

After giving the matter some thought, Damian concluded that given what had transpired, and given the dynamics often at play in their family in the here and now, there was a degree to which it might at times feel like all of that was a thing of the past, or another life entirely. After all, he wasn’t given to undoing his choices himself, nor were any of his family, but there were few ways to regard a shift from his brother being Todd-Wayne in all iterations of his name, to being just Todd....as anything but an unwriting of that name, a kind of erasure of the history of Jason Todd-Wayne and his presence as such in this house and their lives. As if none of that had ever happened, or left no witnesses to say otherwise.

And given that their family and close circle of allies tended to be the only ones aware of Jason’s true name and thus likely to refer to him as Todd in any context at all....Damian’s own tendency to address him as such were probably the most frequent and stark reminder that for all that he remained family in all but name, there was a time when that was true even in name as well. Damian tended to believe that Father would be more than gratified to see Jason claim that name a second time, or reclaim it as it were, and he hardly doubted Dick would be far behind him in joy. He suspected though that Jason assumed otherwise, and was too proud to ever ask for what he likely believed Father never would offer again. There were many assumptions in play in all of that which Damian did not believe to be remotely correct himself, but he lacked confidence that he was the right person to cast those assumptions in doubt. And as a general rule, he didn’t do things he lacked confidence towards. It set a precedent he didn’t entirely care for.

So he let it be, for the most part, knowing as Cassandra and Tim likely did as well, that those older members of their family would always be players in a kind of private tragedy none of the rest of them had roles to play in. Any great third-act revivals or changes of fate would, of necessity, take place upon the stage all of that was set upon, not come from the seats they bore audience from. 

And so Damian deigned to address his remaining brother as “Jason,” rather than “Todd.” And all things considered....that, too, was not so bad.

Of course, in due time he came to refer to Duke by his first name, even though they were not, strictly speaking, “family” in all the same senses as he and his other siblings. Nor were they assuredly likely to be, given that the older boy considered his parents to be all the family he needed or wanted by that name. Still, he lived with Damian’s family, he fought with Damian’s family, it seemed silly and illogical to address him as Damian addressed those who were not his family, since none of the latter sort spent nearly as much time around he and his family as Duke did. And he did not dislike the other boy, certainly not enough to want him to feel ostracized or unwelcome by singling him out in such a way as that, so there was no good reason to insist upon calling him “Thomas” instead, Damian figured. 

And if he maintained steadfast in addressing Oracle as “Gordon,” well, as he saw it, if she cared to be addressed as otherwise, or as part of his family, then she could easily enough make all that happen - considering the spell his oldest brother remained eternally enmeshed in. So as far as Damian was concerned, any time she were to go ahead and simply marry the sap, he would be perfectly willing to revisit the matter of her name, and address her by a different one of her choosing. Until such a point however, Gordon she was and Gordon she would remain.

All of which left Brown. Who was most emphatically not his sister, nor would she ever be, if Damian had anything to say about it - up to and past the point of directing less loathsome prospects towards Tim to perhaps consider romancing in the future instead. Nor did she live with them, or appear on such a daily a basis as Duke, and thus warrant a similar manner of address and for the same reasons as Duke. Nor did he actually like her, as he did Duke, and thus care to address her by her name as he did with Duke. Nor did he actually like Duke, or anyone really, that wasn’t his point, not that he disliked Duke, per se....

Regardless.

For all of those reasons and more, Batgirl was a plague upon his House and a scourge from which he seemed always destined to endure. As was just proven, to even think of her was to invite chaos into one’s thoughts much in the way not turning her away at the threshold was to invite chaos into one’s life, She was, however, grudgingly tenacious if nothing else, and as many varied and sundried attempts to pry her from this mortal coil had not born fruit despite all logic to the contrary, Damian was not certain that even his own attempts to pry her from his family’s lives were worth the time and expenditure of his efforts and resources.

Not that he couldn’t do it, mind you. It just seemed more trouble than it was worth.

So with all of that in mind, and forced to acknowledge (as she kept count) the distressingly high number of times she’d aided him in....surviving some mishap where he was not at his best-equipped to do so, shall we say....it fell upon him to decide upon something else to address her as. Something that would neatly avoid all the pitfalls inherent on using her first name, as he did with family, or the pitfalls likely to come from using her last name, and thus giving credence to her claims of him being -ugh, what was it she’d called him yesterday? Oh yes. "An ungrateful little garden gnome with years of pent-up road rage and yet still several years to go before he can reach the pedals that make things go vroom vroom.”

Abominable woman.

But regardless, his plight was what it was, and thus Damian had no choice but to come up with some clever workaround. And so it was that he finally happened upon “Eggplant.” Which was a patently ridiculous color, in his opinion, as befit her patently ridiculous fondness for it and insistence on it being referred to it by that name and no other. Moreover, it was a clever play upon the fact that her actual surname was the name of a color, without actually being a way to refer to her by merely her surname, and having some distinction from that. 

Also, just last week he’d made some idle comment about Kent in passing, and she’d said “Well if you like him so much, why don’t you just marry him” and then laughed in that way she had when she found herself utterly hilarious, and small creatures found a reason to flee violently with all possible haste. 

And so, with that in mind, he determined that he would call her Eggplant. And at some point in the future, while boring him and his siblings to death with pointless narration as she scrolled through the Instagram feed of some crush of hers that she’d picked as her latest obsession, and with Damian’s siblings all being too polite and brainwashed or possibly blackmailed by her to object and so just allowing her to prattle on endlessly without reprieve....Damian would then interrupt and feign surprise to hear of this new romantic interest of hers. And then when she asked what that was supposed to mean, he would deliver his coup de grace: 

“Isn’t it obvious? You like eggplant so much you might as well marry it, which I assumed you had, and thus Eggplant was now your surname. You mean to tell me its not?”

Yes, Damian was confident. Eggplant would do perfectly.

....it did not, in fact, do perfectly. In actuality, the first time he addressed her as such, she squealed, seized him bodily in a completely unwelcome hug, and hoisted him off his feet while shrieking: 

“Omg, omg, you gave me a nickname? That’s sooooo adorable! Is this your first actual nickname that you’ve given out? Omgggggg, I can’t even, I’m so honored Lil’ D! Okay, everybody has to use Dami’s nickname for me from now on, otherwise you’ll make him feel bad, and this Eggplant kicks the butts of anybody who makes the baby Dami cry! Eggplant! Is that just the cutest or what!? And it even pays homage to my favorite color too, omg its perfect!”

Names, Damian ultimately concludes, were a mistake. None of them are worth any of this time and effort, and henceforth, anyone should feel lucky if he deigns to address them as anything directly at all.

Hmph.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au (Part II)

N/A: Something silly and uhm, world-building?

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @muninandhugin

Jubilee still recalls the famous wedding of Jean and Scott- and of course, Prof X confessing his undying love towards Jean. Jubilee still recalls how Ororo looked surprised because everyone was sure Logan would do this pathetic role- and Jubilee can´t help to seeth to the point she show her tongue - a real act of defiance - to an image of Prof X display in an outdoor. "Is he giving another interview about his undying love to Jean?" Jubilee asks shaking her head. Her cellphone rings right in time as two pixies are flying freely in the sky.

"Hey, just saw two pixies flying. You have good news or stupid good news?" Jubilee asked carefree as she walks along the street. The large demon-like figures- mutants or real demons. It became a taboo to even ask this question- are walking in slow peace and speaking in Latin.

"Oh, I got a job" Kitty explains easily on the other line. "By the way, did you cut your hair? Looks good" and Jubilee gingerly passes her hand over her now short hairstyle. And her eyes widen at that.

"Wait, you got magic eyes? I didn´t tell anyone...hell, I didn´t even post on social media...So...magic eyes? Yana will love, she joins the magic club and is ruling with an iron fist" Jubilee babbles amused. Her eyes now travel to a coffee shop and see some old witches - old as the white hair is the only indication, Jubilee is sure they´re people who would still consider them hot and would love to sleep with them- drink tea and chattering about old times.

"Jubes...I´d not have a magical eye...but I´m seeing your yellow jacket right now" Kitty replies again.

"Oh, my god! You´re seeing premonitions? Will I meet my Mr. Right now or  Miss. Right?"

"Jubes, I´m at the coffee shop!" Kitty explains and Jubilee looks right to see Kitty waving at her.

"I know. I saw your fluffy hair. You´re the only one with the fluffy hair here" and the call is canceled as the two women are now talking. The TV is showing once again the same story much to the dismay of Kitty and Jubilee.

"You think people would hate him enough to not want to see his face ever again" Kitty rambled to herself but Jubilee shakes her head again - the bald head of Prof X will never leave the news. And the media loves the story of a constrained love or unrequited love. Jubilee looks forlon thinking of Jean and Scott. ''how one deal with this with their sanity intact?"- and adds "the media loves the sensationalist. Bobby told me many journalists hounded his house making questions about, you know, the love affair"

Kitty frowns at that. "Poor Bobby. And poor Scott and Jean...have to deal with this...and people think is a love affair" Kitty and Jubilee are looking at the menu. Jubilee is now changing the subject- is not good to be angry with Prof X with empty stomachs- "did you get a new job? A magical one or a boring one?"

"Well, I´m working with Santa...so, I think is magic" and now Jubilee looks frightened for Kitty´s sake. Jubilee does not know how to be subtle and even if she knew...she would prefer to ignore it.

"Kitty..." her tone is low and direct as she looks side to side until she deems is safe to speak. "Are you Santa´s lover?"

"WHAT?!"

"Santa...dates anything and everyone...he even slept with Marrow last year" Jubilee confessed and Kitty is too deadpan at moment. She closes her eyes and tries to make sense of those words and from her life.

"Wait, are you telling me Santa fucks? Isn´t he married?"

"Gee, Kitty, you live under a rock? That marriage is over for a century"

"I´m Jewish I couldn´t care less for Christmas"

"Me neither. But I like the gossips. And Kitty...Santa fucks anything if you don´t believe...ask Marrow" Kitty vows to not ask Marrow about this. Instead, she says Kity only replies she believes- well, if Minotaurs can fuck...nothing more fair Santa can too- and tries to make sense of this conversation.

"Well, I´m a secretary and sometimes postwoman. I´m, technically, working with his assistant....Krampus. 6 months for now" and Jubilee stops smiling and looks at Kitty serious.

"Oh my god, Kitty...you´re working with Krampus"

"Well...is what I just said..."

"Kitty...he tortures people!"

".......what?"

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Kurt is drinking his hot chocolate- thanks to the chilly weather. This is the right beverage to spend time- when Santa enters into his study room. "Santa, do you have a hot date tonight? Another X-lady?" Kurt jokes and Santa chuckles and shakes his head.

"No, I´m here to talk about Kitty...your new secretary...what you really think of her?  You´re the only one who was against having a secretary..." Santa trails off and made a chair out of nowhere and sits to study Kurt´s face. Friendship is one thing, business is something completely different. "She doesn´t know anything about you..."

Kurt smiles amused. "I notice. That´ll be fun...so funny...when she discovered what I´m...if she discovers" and answering your question. "I think she´s a smart but naive woman. She´s has a good soul. She has flaws, she has virtues and I can only hope to see her lasting on this job for a while...she seems a funny one"

"Well, is all we wanted to know...by the way, changing the subject here. What do you plan to do with Prof X? Some of our patrons are wondering about that" Santa concludes and Kurt is mulling over.

"Do we know to torture anyone who makes a fool of themselves or anyone who tries to break weddings? Because that seems a cupid and his minions direction...not ours" Kurt completes now drinking his hot choco and Santa is stroking his beard.

"Yes, you´re right. I was just wondering since...you never hide the fact you hated Prof X"

And Kurt offers the most devious smile he can muster. One that doesn´t belong to his handsome face. "There´s always the tomorrow and Prof X did a stupid move where his adopted family now hated him and the entire world thinks he´s a horny asshole. His girlfriend leaves him and his school is no more...I think I´m satisfied...for now"

[littlegalerion]

Doing two forms, one for Aithilo and one for Hirchire.

Name:

Aitholo Raamando

Race:

Dunmer

Gender:

Male

Hair Color:

Dark satin red

Eye Color:

Pink

Complexion:

Lighter gray-toned

Body Markings:

Tattoos of wines with leaves on his torso and arms

Height:

Relatively tall for a dunmer

Mortal Parent:

Rasulu Raamando

Their influence on the their child:

Aithilo was inspired by his late mother's desire to travel and learn of all the knowledge Tamriel had to offer, as well as her patience and hope a trace of good nature laid within every soul.

The demigod's opinion on their mortal parent:

Aithilo never met her, as she passed after giving birth to him, but the stories his uncles and father would tell him brought him a sense of wonder. He always hoped to be as optimistic, open minded, and resilient as his mother.

"Mortal" Parent 2:

Divayth Fyr (adoptive father)

Their influence on the their child:

He made sure Aithilo received "education standard for his breeding", which meant apprenticeship to Fyr for most of Aithilo's young life. Divayth was always firm, persistent, and prideful of Aithilo, but also a good listener and shockingly patient, despite the many things he and his son clash over.

The demigod's opinion on their mortal parent:

Aithilo is well aware of his father's flaws. He dislikes Divayth's sharp tongue, stubborn temper, and flirtatious appetite. However, he also admires Divayth's shameless studies into the planes of Oblivion, and him not caring what other dunmer think of him.

Divine Parent:

Sotha Sil

Their influence on the their demigod:

His influence was his absence. Sil chose to not claim Aithilo, and so none if Sil virtues were reflected upon his son.

The demigod's opinion on their divine parent:

Upon learning the truth of his real father, Aithilo became sickened, and harbors a bitter resentment towards the Tribunal. He disagrees with everything Sil teaches, and never refers to him as "father".

Divine Parent 2:

Lorkhan

Their influence on the their demigod:

Lorkhan is Aithilo's 2nd true father. He shares no blood with him, but a spiritual connect perhaps thicker. The Tribunal, which means Sil, stole Lorkhan's power, and as Sil fathered Aithilo, Lorkhan's power was inherited by him. Unlike the Tribunal, Aithilo has no need to steal power. His immortality and limited but still divine powers are his own.

The demigod's opinion on their divine parent:

Aithilo is extremely frightened and cautious of his connection to Lorkhan. They sleeping god has tormented Aithilo with nightmares of the god's death, of Nerevar' death, and Lorkhan's heart itself whispers to him whenever he sets foot on Vvardenfell. Eventually, Lorkhan attempted to totally possess him, especially once the heart was destroyed. Aithilo only survived and overcame the possession with the help of Trechire and Fyr. Ever since, Lorkhan has remained quiet, but Aithilo knows that he is still there, somewhere, waiting for the next promising opportunity.

Demigod's childhood home(s):

Around Grahtwood and in various homes with Divayth has the two traveled.

Demigod's current home(s):

Ebonheart (a rented room) and in Western Skyrim

Demigod's relatives (both dead and alive):

Uncle Raiynes: His mother's brother, who left their Ashlander tribe with her as they both wished to learn the schools of magic without restraints.

Uncle Arncano: Raiynes' husband, an altmer noble who moved to coastal Valenwood after a family out with his family.

Setheso: Aithilo's daughter, the Nerevarine, through an unnamed dunmer woman.

Demigod's relationships towards relatives:

His uncles raised him up until he was eight, when Fyr insisted Aithilo was old enough to begin an apprenticeship. Aithilo loved his uncles, and misses them a great deal ever since their peaceful passings.

Setheso is precious to him, though he was absent throughout her young life. He will forever feel guilt for that, and will forever try to become worthy to refer to himself as her father. Setheso is indifferent towards him, but becomes hostile if he tries to form any sort of close family bond. The irony is not lost on him that he is essentially his own blood father, Sil.

Demigod's view on mortal political affairs:

Aithilo participated in the Three Banner's War, though more so by flying under no banner but going where he was needed to help peasants and common folk who were affected by the war. This was in both Dominion and Pact territories. He even reluctantly worked with Alamalexia for a brief time.

After that, he never took part in politics again, except for matters in Black Marsh when his friends needed his assistance with uniting or pacifying the various tribes

Demigod's own personal beliefs:

Funny enough, Aithilo reveres Sithis. He picked up this practice from his argonian friends, who worship Sithis as the bringer of constant change. Sometimes in the form death, but not all change is bad. Aithilo deeply values this mindset, and can not fathom a world of absolutes.

He also does not eat vegetation, as he has a respect for both Y'fre and the Hist, though he is well aware the Hist does not demand such things. Still, eating vegetation seems award to him. So he is a full blown carnivore.

Demigod's personal goals in life:

To be a better father, to assist other half-divine individuals like himself, and to hold on to the weird family he has seemingly attained over the various centuries.

Are they single:

Yes

Their partner:

He's an ace, but does keep close, intense frienships as he craves companionship.

Steady or fragile relationship:

Steady. As long as he is able, he will always try to keep a strong friendship going.

《《••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••》》

Name:

Hircine

Race:

Altmer-Daedra mix

Gender:

Male

Hair Color:

Cinnamon Brown

Eye Color:

Blue

Complexion:

Copper-gold skin

Body Markings:

Fawn colored patches with white dapples splashed over his body. Has antelope horns.

Height:

Very, VERY tall. Taller than a tall altmer.

Mortal Parent:

Trechire Galerio

Their influence on the their child:

Raised Hirchire throughout his entire childhood, mentored him when he joined the packs, and to this day visits with him and is supportive.

The demiprince's opinion on their mortal parent:

Hirchire is extremely close to his mother, overprotective to the max. He didn't take well to her husband Eliindil mantilng Sheogorath, and for the longest time didn't know how to react to his demiprince half brother Kirr. It's only due to his love for his mother that he isn't hostile.

Divine Parent:

Barbas

Their influence on the their demiprince:

Hirchire was concieved due to Barbas attempting to fool Trechire, masquerading as someone she loved. The idea was to take it incredibly far, then reveal himself and watch her spirits break again. Clavicus Vile always grows bored every century, and his favorite pastime had become stirring trouble with one of his bigger rivals.

However, Trechire caught on to the act early, but pretended to be fooled. When she became pregnant, she sought Hircine, and dedicated the demiprince to him, if he would accept it as his own. Hircine agreed because what huntsman wouldn't want a fluid shapeshifting hound bred straight from one of his most prized hounds??? And so Trechire is the one who fooled Barbas and Vile, revealing to them she had played them and carried a demiprince, which humiliated Barbas and enraged Vile.

Barbas has never interacted with Hirchire, and most likely never will.

The demiprince's opinion on their divine parent:

Hirchire doesn't consider Barbas his father, and so refers to his simply another daedric being with which he has no interest in.

Divine Parent 2:

Hircine (adoptive father)

Their influence on the their demiprince:

Hircine was more than eager to accept this demiprince as his own, and saw to it Trechire raised him as true hunter, one who would serve him for all eternity and even help to maintain his realm. Hirchire is his best of the best-of Hircine sends him after you, then know Hircine will have your head on his wall.

The demiprince's opinion on their divine parent:

Hirchire is loyal to Hircine, sharing his mother's respect for him, as well as a bold nature to even question Hircine at times, which is what made Hircine value Trechire in the first place. Everything Hirchire does is for Hircine' honor.

Demiprince's childhood home(s):

Valenwood (near Reaper's March)

Demiprince's current home(s):

The Hunting Grounds

Demiprince's relatives (both dead and alive):

Rinyu: Elder Half brother

Sunnabela: Elder/Younger Half Brother

Kirr: Younger half brother, fellow demiprince

Eliindil/Sheogorath: Step-father

Demiprince's relationships towards relatives:

Hirchire is on great terms with Rinyu, but towards Sunnabela and Kirr he isn't so social. Kirr is the son of one of Hircine's great rivals, and there is considerable jealousy over the young demiprince in Hirchire's heart, as he liked being the only demiprince offspring of Trechire's. Sunny is always around Kirr, so that doesn't help Sunny.

Hirchire at first was neutral towards Eliindil, but once he mantled Sheogorath now Hirchire no longer speaks with him for obvious reasons.

Sadly, Hirchire was born after Vanus and Caafire's passing, so he never met his grandparents.

Demiprince's view on mortal political affairs:

Not interested at all, unless it affects his packs or hunting grounds.

Demiprince's own personal beliefs:

A true hunter doesn't chase weak prey. A hunter always strives for the best, and seeks a fair hunt. Anything less and you are no better than a common dog chasing chickens on the farm. There is no satisfaction, just a stupid and primitive gratification that means nothing unless you wish to be a basic beast.

If which case, you aren't Hircine's hunter, but a throw away pawn.

Demiprince's personal goals in life:

Bring honor to Hircine, protect his pack mates, live up his mother's legacy among the packs.

Are they single:

Yes

Their partner:

None, but is welcome to the idea

Steady or fragile relationship:

Somewhere between if he had one.

[tht-tohid]

Why Traveling Makes Us More Creative ?

Traveling is a wonderful hobby for millions of people across the globe. This also provides various advantages to people. Here's why traveling is important. The ability to move around from one place to the other place is the main virtue one can ever have. All humans and animals have been secured with this ability, but humans are always a step forward. We humans being, have an extraordinary virtue of seeing, experiencing, and learning from it, and this is exactly what makes our traveling more satisfying and enriching.

A person who went on a long-distance journey returned home after some years. Till then, his family had either no or very little information regarding his situation and well-being. In some thrilling cases, a person would never return. In spite of all these barriers and difficulties, people traveled; not always because they needed to, but many times, also because they loved to. And why not? Traveling not only takes us to distant lands and explains us with various people, but this also removes the dullness of our lives.

This is certainly very unlucky that some people feel traveling is a sheer waste of time, energy, and money. Some also discovered traveling a very boring activity. However, a good majority of people across the world wish traveling, rather than staying inside the partial spaces of their homes. They love to travel to new places, meet new people, as well as see things that they would not find in their homelands. This is a very common attitude that has made tourism, one of the most money-making, commercial sectors in the world.

People travel for different reasons. Some travel for work, others for fun, and some for finding mental peace. Though every person may have his/her own reason to go on a traveling, this is significant to note that traveling, in itself, has some inherent rewards. For one, for some days getting away from everyday routine is a pleasant change. This not only refreshes one's body but also the mind and soul. Traveling to a distant place and doing fantastic things that are not thought of otherwise, can refresh a person, who then returns home, ready to take on new and more problematic challenges in life and work. This makes a person forget his worries, problems, preventions, and fears, albeit for some time. This offers him a chance to think wisely and usefully. Traveling also helps to heal; this can mend a broken heart.

For many people, traveling is a way to achieve knowledge, and perhaps, a quest to find answers to their questions. For this, different people prefer to go to faraway and lonely places. For believers, this is a search for God and to gain higher knowledge; for others, this is a search for inner peace. They might or might not find what they are looking for, but such an experience certainly augments their lives.

With people, with their culture, opinions and ideas also travel. When they go from one place to another place, they are bound to meet people and share their thoughts and experiences with them. This is where the exchange of ideas takes place, and it definitely broadens a person's outlook. This makes him/her think in a different way, from a different viewpoint. When we speak of cultural influences and exchange, food is one of the important factors. The food habits of people say a lot of things about them. It is very interesting to discover new and unknown ways and values; they really add spice to life.

Traveling also makes lifelong memories

 Whether a person travels solo or along with family and friends, the experience certainly gives him/her nice and thrilling stories, which he/she can share with people back home. A good long holiday with loved ones allows him/her to spend some quality time with them, which in turn, benefits to renew and restore relationships and makes very strong one-to-one and family bonds. In fact, traveling away from home and spending time with near and dear ones (s) can bring the relationship an entirely new perspective, and possibly, people may begin understanding each other in a good way.

In addition to the above, traveling and getting away from our homes allows us to spend some time with our own selves. This makes us subtler and more tolerant of others. This also makes it easier for us to meet and mingle with various kinds of people, and also explains us to live life to the fullest. Some of them travel from richer countries to poorer ones in pursuit of cheaper medication; some others travel from inferior countries to more developed ones to get the right medication. Medical tourism is today, one of the most essential parts of the travel and tourism sector, and more than 50 countries have recognized it as a national industry.

Personal health is what makes travel very important. People here, travel because they don't have an option in most cases. One might wonder that if a person becomes medical aid only after he reaches his/her destination, what importance does traveling hold in this call, traveling stimulates hope in a person. As a person travels and gets faster and faster to the destination, the hope of getting preserved and living a healthy as well as smooth life ahead goes on increasing. Thus, traveling makes a person more confident in life. Traveling can therefore be a very enchanting and inspiring experience that may help recover the quality of your life. So, let the travel bug bite you so that you experience the excitement and the serenity of life at the same time, and arise a different person altogether.

James Martens, a Travel writer, has been employed in a travel agency for many days. He writes inspiring articles on his own travel blog found at http://emenactravel.com/travel where he shares travel tips and his adventures from two years abroad.

[shipersanonymous]

The One They Left Behind

Chapter 1

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: None of this is based on actual Greek mythology, Just the names were used.

I'm sorry this has taken this long. And we (myself and my lovely co-author @annacarina2​) really hope you enjoy it!

Cliffhanger warnings apply😘

XOXO

P. S. The nursery scene referred to is the 1st half of the prologue. 😘

Prologue

Chapter 1

“Barry! Time for bed!” Nora announces as she comes into the living room from the kitchen, only to find that the area is deserted. She hears the thump-thump of little footsteps above her and chuckles to herself as she carries the glass of warm milk up to her son’s room.

“Barry.” She sings out as she pushes open the door and finds his smiling face, bright and green eyed, eagerly waiting for her.

“Well would you look at that, you’ve already picked out a bedtime story,” she remarks, noting the book clasped in his little hands. He nods with excitement and holds it up for her to see the cover.

Sons of Zeus

“Are you sure you want to read this one again tonight?” Nora asks sceptically as her son’s obsession with the Supernatural past makes her a little uneasy. Barry nods in confirmation.

“Can we? please?” he asks so sweetly that she can’t help but smile.

“Of course my beautiful boy.” She answers setting the milk down on the bedside table and taking the book from him. Nora settles down beside her son and Barry rests his head on her chest as she wraps her arms around him and begins to read…

Once upon a time

In a land beyond the clouds.

There lived a mighty God by the name of Zeus. His power surpassed that of any other and this, when combined with his great inclination for leadership and kind heart granted him the title of ruler of the realm of light. His power resided in the deadly brilliance of lightning, a gift he generously shared with his two sons:

Achilles and Apollo.

Along with his radiant and brave queen, Iris, Zeus did his best to bestow upon his children the virtues of love, kindness, humility and courage but this was a task that proved challenging even for the most powerful of Gods.

You see, mere days before his brother’s birth, Achilles found himself entranced by the sharp tongue of an elderly sorceress who drew him out with a promise of adventure. It was there, in the vast blue, with the son completing its journey around the earth beneath them, that this vixen of the unknown soiled the naïve soul’s mind with hateful notions. Insinuations that his mother’s love could not be shared, that his brother would be the end of his family.

Her words were tainted with a thirst for revenge that poor Achilles, young as he was, could not as yet point out and with an innocence common to one so green, he fell for her every word. His little heart was consumed by a fear of loss and upon his brother’s arrival the damage had been done and the seed of hatred nestled warmly within his tiny heart…

Nora looked down at a softly snoring Barry and smiled, relieved that she would not have to re-read the dreadful nursery scene to her ten year old son. Truthfully she didn’t want to have to relive that horror. As gently as she possibly could, she lifted herself off of the bed and tucked him in, giving him a soft kiss goodnight before turning on his night light. With a final look back she turned the rooms light off and left the door ajar behind her. As she reached the bottom of the stairs the front door opened and in walked her husband.

Well, a part of him anyway.

Henry smiled at her though his eyes betrayed his exhaustion and Nora reached for his brief case as she leaned in for a ‘welcome home’ kiss.

“Long day?” she asked as he took her empty hand in his and let her lead him to the living room.

“The longest.” He admitted and brought their hands up to his lips to kiss the back of hers.

“How’s our little slugger?” he asked, nodding in the general direction of the stairs.

“Fast asleep. I just put him down.” She smiled as she let go of his hand and walked to the dining room table to put his briefcase down on one of the chairs. She knew her husband well and tired or not he’d be staying up a little later, after the street completely quieted down and the neighbors were all asleep, to do some work. A lawyer’s job is just never done.

“I’ll go say goodnight,” he answered with a tone that was both soft from exhaustion and energised with his love for his son. Nora offered him, her usual heart-warming smile as a ‘go ahead’ before he made his way to the stairs. A few seconds later a thump rang in her ears followed by her husbands muffled cry of agony.

“Henry?” she questioned as she rounded the wall to see her husband bent over, one hand on the railing to hold him up and the other clutching his heart. She knew instantly that something was terribly wrong.    

“Honey? Speak to me honey what’s going on?”

Her urgency was met with harsh breathing. His eyes widened as the wheezing grew louder. Then suddenly…

It stopped.

Henry stilled in her arms and the light of life vanished from his panicked eyes, frozen open in death. Nora felt the blood in her veins run cold and her mind began to buzz as adrenaline flooded her system.

He can’t be dead. Not unless….

Her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as realisation kicked in and without a second breath she abandoned Henry’s lifeless body and took the stairs two at a time.

“Barry!” She yelled, desperate to wake her son but just as she reached his door she froze, her body overwhelmed by an unknown force. She felt herself burning from the inside out and yelled out in pain.

“Mom!” came Barry’s frightened cry and through her misty eyes she could see his little face stained with fearful tears. A loud ringing echoed in her ears and her head began to pound violently. Nora braced herself against the door frame, shutting her eyes against the sudden wave of pain that flooded her body. She wanted to yell. To tell Barry to run, but she could barely breathe, let alone string together a sentence.

She felt her body give in.

She felt her eyes roll to the back of her head.

She felt her body hit the ground.

She felt her soul depart.

She opened her eyes and she was Nora no more.

She had returned to her true form. The form that was all powerful.

The form that bore the name:

Iris.

Her long hair, like threaded sunlight, rolled down her back to her waist. Her cloud like skin, soft and pail, seemed to glisten as if coated with the finest layer of glitter. The white dress, resembling ancient Greek attire, seemed to melt into the mist that floated lightly above the clouds that she called home.

But home it was far from.

Around her a show of lightning took place. Concealing the normally clear and infinite blue was a chaotic painting of bolts, lightning bolts, zipping about in all manner of directions. And in the middle of it all stood her eldest son, hovering over the quickly fading body of her husband.

Iris covered her mouth with the palm of her hand, muffling out her cry as the last remnants of the all mighty Zeus dissolved into a string of sparks that swirled into the air, disappearing soon after like ashes scattered in the wind.

She felt the last of his essence soak into her, feeding her all his power, every last drop.

And then he was gone.

Zeus was no more.

He lives on. In me!

She thought to herself, her eyes now focusing on the back she rubbed so gently in an attempt to ease the growing pains.

“What have you done?” She asked, her voice soft with disbelief. He didn’t stir.

“Achilles! What have you done!” She screamed, a thunderous noise that echoed out into the distance. Her son turned around to face her and she realised in that instant that, that was not Achilles. His eyes glowed a gut twisting red, like laser beams on a snipers rifle, aimed for the kill.

“Achilles?” her motherly heart called out, clinging to the hope that he might still be within reach, but his stare remained. Cold and fixed. His features were un-moving, set on an expression of pure malice. Of evil. Though her power granted her the luxury of fearlessness her heart still trembled out of love for her youngest son.

“Mommy!” Barry’s cry rose to them and she knew that Achilles had heard it too when his lips contorted into a devilish grin. A bolt of lighting fell, striking him where he stood, and just like that he vanished.

But she knew where he was going.

With all the strength she had, she compressed her abilities as much as she could, folding into herself until her aura was weak enough to inhabit a mortal body. Iris returned to her human form, taking a loud, deep breath once she resurfaced as Nora with Barry’s teary face buried in her chest.

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s OK. I’m here. I’m here.” She tried to calm him down as his sobs shook his entire body. Her head pounded with a raging migraine and she knew that she couldn’t stay in this form much longer. She had to get Barry somewhere safe.

“Barry baby listen to me.” She said with a gentle sternness as she wiped the tears from his cheeks and cupped his face.

“Listen to me we need to get out of here OK? Mommy doesn’t have time to explain right now but I need you to hold my hand and run OK? Don’t look back and don’t stop for any reason alright baby?” She asked and he nodded in her hands. Nora planted a quick kiss on his forehead then stood up and took hold of his hand.

“Alright. Come on.” She said as she took off towards the stairs, dashing down as fast as Barry’s childish legs would allow. As they approached Henry’s body, she felt her son give her hand a squeeze and she knew then that in her moment of unconsciousness Barry had made the horrifying discovery. Her heart ached as she imagined his fear and grief at the thought that he might be alone.

They reached the door and she swung it open, gasping when she came face to face with Achilles.

He had found them.

Despite her restricting herself into that suit of flesh in an attempt to camouflage herself, he’d tracked them down. Instinctively she pulled Barry behind her, acting as a human shield.

“Achilles, please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. His head tilted to the side, his eyes still red as he had retained his godly form.

“Please. I beg you. Don’t hurt him.” She pleaded once again. But it was no use. Achilles flung her to the side with a single, unpredictable, slap to the face leaving a trembling Barry staring up at him, paralysed by shock. The apparition lifted his hand, his palm facing Barry, as he planned his final strike.

“Run, Barry! Run!” Nora yelled, gathering what strength was still left in that broken vessel. His mother’s scream was enough to jolt him out of his fear and Barry turned around, sprinting in the opposite direction. Achilles made no move to chase him, instead his hand grew bright with the surge of electricity that grew around it as he prepared his blast.

He aimed.

He charged.

He fired.

“No!”

Iris broke free of her corporeal state, burning Nora away with the intensity of her essence. She sped into the bolts trajectory and it struck her straight in the heart.

The world disappeared in a flash of light.

[moniadler]

( margot robbie. twenty-nine. cis female. she / her. ) was that monika adler ? i heard a rumour they work for the faust family, but who knows for sure ? they can be a bit calculating & vindictive but i also heard they can be adventurous & ambitious. you’ll usually find them at wolves in their spare time, when they’re not being a caporegime & burlesque dancer at centro del sole. you may want to keep an eye on that one !

bonjour! it’s me again—your local trashcan chrissie with another muse. this is my precious angel ( more like a demoness, tbh but still ) bby girl monika and, to quote the legends that are queen, she’s a killer queeeeen. she’s sassy, classy and a lot badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger with hella abandonment issues like woah. but uhhh, anyways, hmu for plots here or on discord, i’m open to everything and anything so fire away!

MONIKA’S PINTEREST BOARD!

fundamentals.

full name. monika odette adler.

nicknames. moni, mon, & nik.

current age. twenty-nine.

date of birth. august 15th.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

nationality. american.

religion. agnostic.

birthplace. manhattan, new york city, united states.

current residence. chicago, illinois, united states.

sexual orientation. pansexual.

romantic orientation. aromantic.

education. psychology degree obtained from nyu.

past occupation. bartender, & dancer at genesis.

current occupation. burlesque dancer at centro del sole.

affiliation. the faust family.

rank. caporegime.

connections.

birth mother. unknown.

birth father. unknown.

sibling/s. unknown.

adoptive mother. rachael adler.

adoptive father. william adler. †

adoptive sister. lucy adler. †

adoptive brothers. jacob, & noah adler.

significant other. n/a.

child/ren. n/a.

pet/s. a balinese cat named tigger after the character in winnie the pooh.

proficiencies.

spoken languages. english, spanish, french, italian, german, & russian.

negative traits. brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, skilled with firearms, hand-to-hand combat, memory recall, physical stamina, able to use initiative, & excellent problem-solving abilities.

talents. violin, piano, ballet, dancing, singing, bartending, & photographic memory.

appearance.

eye colour. blue.

hair colour. natural blonde.

height. 5′5″.

weight. 61 kg.

build. she is considered average height for a female and is both slender and toned.

scars. a rather noticeable one across her clavicle and a few others in less visible places.

tattoos. a crimson lily on her left shoulder.

piercings. both earlobes.

glasses. n/a.

prominent feature. sparkling sapphire eyes.

miscellaneous.

zodiac. leo.

strengths. creative, passionate, humorous.

weaknesses. arrogant, stubborn, self-centred.

likes. theatre, being admired, expensive things.

dislikes. being ignored, facing difficult reality, not being treated like a queen.

element. fire.

colour. gold.

day. sunday.

ruler. the sun.

lucky number. three.

house. gryffindor.

myers briggs type. istp-a ( introverted, observant, thinking, prospecting. )

alignment. chaotic neutral.

enneagram. type 7: the enthusiast ( the busy, fun-loving type: spontaneous, versatile, distractible, and scattered. )

temperament. sanguine.

intelligence type. intra-personal.

character label. the vixen.

diseases. infertility.

past mental disorders. drug abuse, acute stress disorder, depression, & anxiety.

current mental disorders. addiction, & abandonment issues.

addictions. tobacco, cocaine, & alcohol.

vices. lust, greed, & wrath.

virtues. temperance, diligence, & humility.

allergies. penicillin.

diet. vegetarian.

dominant hand. ambidextrous.

accent. american.

blood type. o negative.

felonies. petty theft charge when she was fifteen. she also has a history of both kleptomania, & pyromania when she was a teenager.

vehicle. red 1966 shelby 427 cobra.

background.

( triggers for abandonment and abandonment issues ) in truth, monika isn't entirely sure where—or how—her story originated. well, minus the obvious: the birds, the bees, yadda yadda. whether or not her biological parents ever actually cared for her or loved her will remain one of life's greatest mysteries. at only one month old, she was discarded by those who gave her life; left abandoned and unwanted. a feeling the girl would grow up carrying around like a weight around her neck for the rest of her life. an incessant voice telling her she wasn't worth it, niggling at her every single time she would allow herself to get close to another human being. a dark shadow looming over her shoulder, whispering sinister thoughts into her ears—warning her that everyone would eventually leave in the end. they would always leave in the end.

( trigger for a mention of foster homes ) monika's earliest memories feature fragmented visions of various foster homes and the faces of many guardian figures; some good, some bad and some not worth even mentioning. that was her life for the majority of her childhood—bouncing from one home to another but never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her. 

( trigger for a mention of adoption ) finally, after eight long years of being uprooted and thrown into new environments time and time again, monika was adopted by the adler family. and, from that instant onwards, her upbringing was mostly positive. of course, she was thankful and grateful that she had been welcomed into their family and given a good life. things could have been a lot worse for her and she knows that. still, it didn't take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, monika knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. rachael and william adler were the best family that she'd ever had. the only family that she ever truly felt she might have belonged to. the only family that she cared enough about to continue carrying their last name, even to this day.

however, once monika reached a certain age, her personality shifted south. she was outgoing as ever but soon became meddlesome, troublesome and much too outspoken. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. no matter what the adler family done, monika always felt starved of love. despite their best efforts, monika never felt fully satisfied—as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void nobody could ever fill. thus, as a teenager, she started searching for a cure in the wrong places. she fell in with the wrong crowd, causing trouble for both herself and her family.

as a result of her out of control behaviour, monika found herself shipped off to an esteemed all-girls boarding school from the ages of fourteen to eighteen. once again, she felt as if she was being cast aside. admittedly, at first, it didn't seem so bad and although she took a while to settle in and adjust, it wasn’t long until the girl found her feet and made her mark. she had always been intelligent so it was no surprise that she excelled in her classes and extracurriculars. of course, true to form, she remained prone to rebellion every so often, but never enough to become detrimental. she had a small group of friends and the clique was rather close-knit and she finally felt she belonged somewhere.

( triggers for mentions of death, cancer, mental health issues, alcohol, and drugs ) however, as all good things do, they come to an end. in monika's case, those few blissful years reached a rather abrupt cessation—taking a drastic plummet into darkness. she was sixteen when her younger sister, lucy, tragically passed away after battling leukaemia. as a result, monika lost control of herself and of her path in life. she spent weeks alone and aimless, wavering on her tracks. she became isolated and withdrawn. she hid away in her dorm room that school year, only leaving to go to classes. she became quiet, reserved and wanted to be alone. after months of this—reverting to type—she went looking for stability in the wrong places once more. running with the ‘wrong’ crowd was simply something that came naturally to monika, as if she felt comfort in pressing the self-destruct button when times got tough. for her last year at school, she partied hard, drank way too much, experimented with drugs and with people and although these instances gave her a thrill, it never lasted too long. therefore, she continually crawled back to the things and the people she knew deep down was no good for her. but as long as she felt the high, nothing else mattered.

( triggers for mentions of death and huntington’s disease ) after she graduated, she moved back home to her adoptive parents and brothers, which, at first, felt as gloomy as she'd expected with the absence of her sister. due to her lifestyle in the final year of her education, monika's grades didn't quite cut it—not for her dreams of attending an ivy league university, anyway. after some consideration ( and the encouragement of her mother ), she attended night classes in order to obtain better grades before she managed to obtain a place at nyu where she studied psychology. but, once again, tragedy hit the adler's like a freight train. the summer before she left for university, her father passed away. while monika had always known that william's death was imminent given the fact that he had huntington’s disease, it didn't make the reality hurt any less. still, monika knew that life had to move on—as it always had—thus, she had no choice but to pack up her belongings and move to into her new home for the following few years: nyu campus.

during her university years, monika worked a lot of jobs around new york while visiting her family home on weekends. finally, once she graduated with rather impressive grades, she'd decided that her life was no longer tethered to manhattan. so, aged twenty-two, she packed up and travelled around the states for two years until, eventually, she wound up in chicago. in the beginning, she managed to get herself a job at genesis as a bartender where she met oliver faust ( without knowing his surname, of course ). completely clueless as to his prominence within the city, the two had a one night stand, seemingly never to see one another again. at least, until a year later.

after bartending in the club for quite some time, monika plucked up the courage to take her work a step further and take her place on the stage as one of the dancers. it was during this time that she met another faust member and quickly, the two became friends and through this friendship, only then did monika find out a little background information on the faust name. this faust member was the one who brought monika into the fold where she started as an affiliate. of course, you could imagine her surprise when she uncovered oliver's role as the boss—especially after a whole year had passed since their first encounter. regardless, monika felt secure and welcomed among the faust family, thus she was more than happy to work for them.

due to her no-nonsense approach and attitude, and her ability to handle herself whilst dancing, she found herself promoted to a solider. then, after ‘dealing’ with a target ( a regular at genesis who just so happened to request a dance from monika every night ) under the guise of an escort, the blonde was swiftly advanced to a crimson whilst continuing to dance at genesis. after maintaining the role of a crimson for a year, she climbed the ranks where she now remains a caporegime while now dancing at centro del sole. 

throughout her twenty-nine years of life so far, monika has built herself back up time and time again. with every punch swung her way ( both figuratively and literally ), she has risen to her feet each time. for as intelligent as she is, she is just as resilient and unyielding. the need to prove people wrong is almost overwhelming but never to her detriment. while she continues to bear the emotional scars of her past, monika refuses to write herself off. she allows herself to admire people, history, art, music, places, but she never grows comfortable enough that she is prepared to show even the people closest to her, her innermost, truest self.

as a result of her chaotic upbringing, fragments of monika are broken beyond repair—lost to the depths of her mind. yet deep down inside, the faintest sliver of that optimistic little girl remains. where she is now is precisely where monika wants to be and perhaps this is the exact path she needs to take in order to fully emerge from the ashes of her haunting past. from her teenage years, she easily fell under the bracket of an adventurous, charming, ‘party girl’ which hasn't altered much over the years. honestly, monika is content with playing this ‘role’ of a carefree, curious, typical blonde as she finds it helps with her work. after all, how unsuspecting does the pretty blonde dancer seem? not many people look at her and realise just how deadly she is underneath.

all in all, monika gets from one day to the other by dancing her worries away or drinking her problems out of her head. she rarely lets herself get attached to anybody and builds the highest walls around herself to ensure nobody wants to put the effort into trying to break them down. it's that little voice that's rattled around inside her head from childhood that has her this way—still telling her she isn't worth it. and she believes it. she believes that if she ever slowed down and stopped adopting her reckless lifestyle that the emptiness and loneliness would creep in and hold her prisoner. and if there's one thing that monika adler swears she'll never be, that's a slave to her mind or to anybody else.

some tidbits.

nicknames: monnie, moni, mon, nik, barbie, blondie ( if u wanna lose ur eyes ) … spawn of satan  >:-)

scared of goats. thinks they’re satanic creatures. those eyes are hella creepy, don’t even try and tell her otherwise.

her signature scent is chanel N°5.

she’s fearless af. throwback to her upbringing, most likely.

she’s all sweet smiles and charming words until her expression turns sharp and deadly. it’s her tactic to entice then pounce, if you will.

she loves to surprise people. most assume she’s a pretty blonde but oh, she loves the look of shock on their faces when she waves a knife at them.

in a way, her words are like her weaponry but really, monika would much prefer to point a gun in a person’s face. plus, it’s more efficient, she thinks. 

an angel of vengeance in a pair of designer sunglasses tbh. 

much prefers to be called a murderess / demoness as she believes it has a nicer ring to it rather than murderer / demon. she’s dramatique like that.

owns waaay too many pairs of heels.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

often wears suits and totally rocks them.

she’s … experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people …

quite power hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century long list shkjsh.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

when it comes to whether or not she is morally decent or an extremely bad person, she is somewhere in the middle of that spectrum—she isn’t heartless but she isn’t compassionate either. 

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. always her weapon of choice when on a job. always carries one on her person at all times.

although she wears a lot of red, black is actually her favourite colour. she feels her most powerful in an all-black outfit.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo. it has her initials engraved on it and where she got it or from who is something she’ll never tell.

always seen with a cigarette in hand. she seriously chain smokes. always says she needs to quit but never does and probably never will either.

when she was a little girl she’d always dreamed of having kids of her own one day and told herself she would love them unconditionally and never abandon them as her birth parents had but unfortunately, she is infertile and the likelihood of having her own kids one day is extremely slim. this is something that devastates her every day but you’d never tell. she has never told anybody about this.

drives way too fast but loves the thrill of it.

she can be pretty deadly if you piss her off enough.

thrives on chaos.

a tad theatrical.

is truly an independent woman who don't need no man.

plot ideas.

ok so pls excuse me and my last two remaining brain cells—we try real hard but it's tough skjhjks but gimme all of the connections from friends, frenemies, enemies, hookups, exes, rivals and everything else in between. added bonus if there’s angst or drama. if you have anything in mind feel free to throw it at me, i’m open to the majority of things and have zero triggers so come at me bro! below you can find some connections i’d love for my deadly bby.

the faust member who brought her into the fold. open.

her adoptive brothers. open and open. ( their names are listed as jacob and noah, but this can be changed if ya ain’t feeling those names! )

you’re a bad idea, but i like bad ideas. so, this could be somebody that monika knows through her dancing at genesis. maybe this gentleman pays for private dances and tips extremely well? i have an idea in my head that this man would trust monika and confide in her. in a way, she’d kind of act as a therapist for him and his paying for her private time would be more about talking than anything else. maybe over time, she would tell him things about her past or about the things she has done. maybe he could be somebody who, when he/if he realises she works for the fausts, asked her to take out a target for him. there are endless possibilities for this one! of course, added angst if he’s affiliated with a different gang. OPEN.

when friends become enemies. maybe this person and monika were friends from new york that she hung around with and got involved in reckless behaviour with. or maybe this person was someone monika befriended during her university years. or they could be someone that monika met when she moved to chicago. under whichever circumstance they met, one fact remains: the two are no longer on friendly terms. they were once close and trusted each other with anything but now, there is obvious hostility. perhaps there was a betrayal, blackmail, a breach of trust, lack of communication, a simple misunderstanding. whatever it was that cracked this relationship is set in stone and is unlikely to ever go back to how it once was. some things are just too broken to be mended. OPEN.

you’re in my veins, you fuck. monika has always had bad habits. has always gravitated to toxicity like a moth to a flame. thus, it would be safe to assume that 90% of her relationships have also been bad for her. the broken element inside her always found itself magnetised to the darkness in people. more especially, attracted to people she knew were no good for her. though, in the end, monika would always manage to break free and leave these people behind. however, there was always this one person she couldn’t seem to stay away from. she met them when she moved to chicago and instantly she knew they would break her heart yet it didn’t deter her from continuing to crawl back to them. these two have what can only be described as a toxic relationship. neither is good for the other yet neither can seem to walk away. OPEN.

if you don’t have enemies, you don’t have character. of course, it goes without saying that monika is the kind of woman who could make enemies for herself very easily. due to her sarcastic and distant nature, it would be safe to assume she has quite a few enemies and rivals. though this particular person would be the enemy of all enemies. somebody that she cannot abide and someone who cannot abide her either. they can’t stand the sight of each other and refuse to share the same space unless absolutely necessary. otherwise, there’s a massive chance of a fight outbreaking between them. there could be a history between them that has brought about their hostile nature toward each other. or they could simply dislike each other for no real known reason other than a sense they get from the other. bonus points if they’re walsh affiliated! OPEN.

a gal gang / her ride or dies. taken by amara ricci, & genevieve bisset.

a chance encounter / one night stand. taken by oliver faust.