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satrryeys4eva · 2 years

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Who I write for (hey guys, this is demigirl-with-problems! Same blog, just changed my name and theme)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Alice in borderland

Chishiya

Ann

Arisu

Niragi

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Gotham

Bruce

Oswald

Jerome

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Umbrella academy

Klaus

Diego

Five

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The vampire diaries

Damon

Kai

Jeremy

Elijah

Silas

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Lord of the rings

Thranduil

Kili

Farmir

Merry

Isildur

Arondir

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Ahs

Michael Langdon

Xavier Plymton

Valiant Thor

Kyle Spencer

Kai Anderson

James Patrick March

Dandy Mott

Dr Oliver Thderson

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Bates motel

Norman Bates

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Jennifer's body

Collin Gray

Jennifer Check

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Heathers

J.D

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

We need to talk about Kevin

Kevin (ooc)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Craft

Nancy Downs

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Turning

Miles Fairchild

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Walking Dead

Carl Grimes

Daryl Dixon

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Twilight

Alec Volutri (movie)

Caius Volutri

Garrett

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Marvel

Tony Stark

Thor

Tasm Harry Osborne

Druig

Kingo

John Walker

Adam Warlock

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

X-Men

Alex summers

Kurt Wagner

Warren iii Worthington

Peter maximoff

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Star trek aos

Jim Kirk

Spock

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Ouat

Peter pan

Felix

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The chilling adventures of Sabrina

Ambrose

Theo

Robin

Claban

Harvey

Nick

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Riverdale

Jughead

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Bohemian Rhapsody

Roger Taylor

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Game of thrones

Viserys iii Targaryen

Bran Stark

Robin Arryn

Joffrey Baratheon

Ramsay Bolton

Tommen Baratheon

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

House of the dragon

Aegon ii

Jacaerys

Criston Cole

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Reing

Charles Valois

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Star wars

Luke Skywalker

Obi wan kenobi

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The chronicles of Narnia

Edmund

Peter

Caspian

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Miss peregrine's home for peculiar children (movie)

Jake

Enoch O'Connor

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Goldfinch

Boris pavlikovsky

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Henry Bowers

Victor criss

Beverly Marsh

Stan Uris

Mike Hanlon

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Mha

Shigaraki

Denki

Tenya Ida

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Attack on Titan

Armin

Erwin

Eren

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Cobra kai

Miguel Diaz

Hawk/Eli

Robbie

Anthony

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Outerbanks

JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Breakfast Club

John Bender

Allison Reynolds

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Scream the series

Audrey jensen

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus

Leo

Percy

Nico

Jason

Thalia

Reyna

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Shadow and bone (books and show)

The Darkling

Nikolai lastlov

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Six of Crows (books and show)

Kaz

Jesper

Wylan

Nina

Inej

Mathias

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Pushing Daisies

Ned the piemaker

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Bridergton

Benedict

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Anne with an e

Gilbert

Jerry

Billy(ooc)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Metal lords

Hunter

Kevin

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Stranger things

Billy

Jason

Johnathan

Robin

Tommy

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Black Phone

Vance

Robin

Bruce

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Wednesday

Kent

Rowan

Ajax

Wednesday Addams

Xavier(maybe?not really sure)

Binaca

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Peaky Blinders

Tommy Shelby

Michael gray

John Shelby

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Johnathan crane (dark knight)

Lex Luthor (Batman vs Superman: dawn of justice)

Male Harley Quinn

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Boys

Homelander

The Deep

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Harry Potter

Harry

Cedric

Newt

Credence

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Disney channel

Ben Florian(descendants)

Carlos De Vil(descendants)

Wyatt Lykensen(Z.O.M.B.I.E.S)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

13 reasons why

Clay Jensen

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Books

Tamlin(acotar)

Cradan (the folk of the Ari)

Locke (the folk of the air)

Baleskin(the folk of the air)

Nikolav(shadow and bone)

Lord robine(folk of the air)

Eddie Roundtree (Daisy Jones and The Six)

Karen Sirko (Daisy Jones and The Six)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The school of good and evil(movie)

Hort

Sophie

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Celebritys

Xolo Maridueña

Finn wolfhard

Jaeden matrell

Timothee chalamet

Ross Lynch

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

You

Joe

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Gossip girl

Chuck

Dan

Nate

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Outsiders

Ponyboy

Johnny

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Gladiator

Cosmodus

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

Hemlock grove

Peter Rumanick

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

The Dirt

Nikki Sixx

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Wayne

Wayne Mccullough

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Bullet train

The Son

Ladybug

The prince

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Interview with a vampire(movie and show)

Lestat de lioncourt

Louis de pointe du lac

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Avatar*

Jake Sully

Spider

Lo'ak

Neteyam

Trudy

Tsu'tey

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Ragnarok

Laurits

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Young Royals

Prince Wilhelm

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One Piece LA

Sanji

Buggy

Luffy

Koby

Zoro

Mihawk

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Rules

I will not write

Pedophillea

Rape

Insest

{ unless its is a situation in which the reader opens up to a charterer about experiencing it or one of the charterers finds out about it even so I will not discribe it}

Reader who practices any particular religion { I am not educated enough on this subject }

naive/innocent/weak reader { I’m kinda sick of it }

reader with a given name , hair color , eye color { I write X Reader not X OC}

Smut { I will write NSFW stuff like headcanons but not full blown smut as of yet}

I will write

Yandere characters

a/b/o only beta or fem!alpha reader as there is a lot of omega reader

creature reader

poc reader { I’ll mostly be writing this with a desi reader in mind any way}

alt reader

reader with an appearance descriptor { eg. plus size , with stretch marks, tall , short hair ,ect } that is if they are only a few so that other people can still imagine themselves in the fic

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* all characters will be Na'vi(aside from spider and trudy) but reader will be human or some other creatures from earth or some other Plante that is not Pandora (might do asgardian reader or Vulcan reader)

Also the breathing tech will be different so that we can have more normalcy so no full face masks

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*

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4uru · 1 year

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CUPID'S CHOKEHOLD

(Part 1) The family

This is for those 5 ppl who are interested in my modern mundane band au heronstairs unwritten fanfic (unfinished fancomic)

CUPID'S CHOKEHOLD:

1. Ella, Will and Cecily get kidnapped as kids, ella dies, will and cecily gets out, will has survivor's guilt and thinks its his fault so he runs away.

2.Will parents try to look for him but give up after a few months thinking he is prolly dead by now.

3. Edmund is a dead beat, linette's soul is drained as tine goes by, cecily starts doing odd jobs and illegal shit to get money to help run the family and pay off debts

4. Cecily gets involved in a underground parkour(?) illegal scene (idfk man injust want her to climb buildings running from the cops in one scene)

5. Will runs away to london, somehow, is adopted by charlotte's (charlie) parents when charlie is 15/16. Jessamine also is adopted at the same time, her parents die and charlotte's parents were distant family friends who took her in. And all the other family members let them bc moneyyy

6. Will and jessamine and charlie have a sibling bond.

7. Charlie and Henry start dating when they are 16 and 17.

They meet at a school function where the boy's school and the girls school are participating together.

Or at a party in the bathroom, in the bathtub, they sit there sharing earphones, the party becomes irrelevant as they stare at the moon in the dark bathroom with "temporary high" by AURORA plays in their ear

8. Both are introverted nerds and quickly become friends. Henry plays drums bc i said so. Charlotte is in the debate and in the volleyball team, nishinoya ass bitch

9. They sneak out one night and encounter sofie, face torn in half, bleeding like a faucet, she runs towards them across the street with a man chasing her, as she reaches them the man behind her gets hit by a car.

10.Charlotte takes her home...

11. 3rd adopted child boom!

12.Sophie doesn't want to take any help from them so the fairchilds basically tell her to be the babysitter for will and jessamine.

13. She agrees and takes the weekly salary.

14. As a means of self defence she picks up boxing. The fairchilds encourage this, she is enrolled in the same school as the other kids and practices in the gyms. She becomes a professional kickboxer.( and an illegal one underground)

#cupid's chokehold #tsc fanfiction #henry branwell #anti charles fairchild #sophie lightwood #will herondale #jessamine lovelace

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saax2 · 6 months

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Il Velo

Vergine velata, 1850 (Presentation Convent, St. John’s, Canada) | Giovanni Strazza (1818-1875, Italia)

Sally Fairchild with blue veil, 1890 | John Singer Sargent (1865-1925, USA)

The blue veil, 1898 | Edmund Tarbell (1862-1938, USA)

Il velo azzurro (the blue veil), 1907 | Glauco Cambon (1875-1930, Italia)

Fashionable lady with feathered hat, early 20th-century | Axel Wallert (1890-1962, Sweden)

La Modestia, 1751 (Cappella Sansevero, Napoli) | Antonio Corradini (1688-1752, Italia)

La pudeur (modesty), 1937 ca. | ph., Erwin Blumenfeld (1897-1969, Germany-USA)

Boreas, 1902-03 | John William Waterhouse (1849-1917, England)

#veli #velo

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anghraine · 4 years

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pro patria, chapters 1-7

I don’t actually expect people to read this, but I want it over here for completeness’s sake, so—the Guild Wars 2 fic!

This one is ... different, apart from being for a canon that I think maybe three of my friends are interested in, because instead of writing a one-shot in my format of seven sections of seven sentences each, I've written an entire 70k+ fic that way. Each chapter is precisely 49 sentences long, which makes for a lot of very short chapters, so I'm bunching them up into groups of (of course!) seven.

It’s business as usual, however, in having copious footnotes (these ones assume everyone’s unfamiliar with the canon story).

title: pro patria (1-7/?) stuff that happens: a young Ascalonian woman grows from a sheltered aristocrat, to a hero rushing into danger to help a nearby village, to the investigator of a series of mysterious abductions and thefts tied to the Ministry itself. verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: PC (mesmer / human / noble origin / missing sister [Ascalonian]), Lord Faren, Minister Ailoda, Deborah, Countess Anise, Logan Thackeray; PC & Ailoda, PC & Deborah, PC & Anise, PC & Faren

ONE 1 I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second. Both of my parents were Ascalonian—my mother came from a family of Rurikton refugees fallen on good times, my father from Ebonhawke, and I was born there, myself. Mother had resigned from the Ministry over some quarrel with Minister Caudecus, and hammered in her protest by uprooting the entire family for an extended holiday with my aunt Elwin in Ebonhawke. This was long before the Rurikton gate got fixed on Ebonhawke, so in the off phases, people generally took “going to visit family in Ebonhawke” as a euphemism for something. But Mother being Mother, she headed through Lion’s Arch to the Black Citadel of all places, carved her way through only the gods knew what to the gates of Ebonhawke, turned herself over to the Vanguard, and waited for Aunt Elwin to show up and get them released. She was seven months pregnant with me by the time she arrived, Father and five-year-old Deborah in tow. And two months later, she delivered me there, Father and Aunt Elwin at her side, and Charr siege engines in her ears. 2 Father always wanted to go back to Kryta, for Deborah’s sake and mine. And during the times that the Rurikton gate got switched to Ebonhawke, when our kin in Divinity’s Reach rushed supplies through, requests for Mother’s return to the Ministry came with them. She only said, “We need soldiers, not supplies—yes, I know centaurs are attacking them, but —” “We need to go home,” said Father. A Charr attack shook her resolve more than he did: one that briefly broke through the walls while Deborah was out walking with Aunt Elwin. But it was Aunt Elwin who convinced Mother that she could do more to help our people in the Ministry than as one more staff against the Charr legions. She accepted the latest offer from the Ministry, this time to serve as representative of the Salma District itself, and we headed—home, to a place I’d never seen. 3 My father was a Fairchild, a descendant—if collateral—of Duke Barradin himself, while my mother was only a Langmar, and a Langmar of mixed heritage, no less. But Langmar meant nearly as much as Fairchild in Rurikton, where the family had owned a mansion for generations. When we first arrived, I’d never seen anything like it, for Aunt Elwin’s house in struggling Ebonhawke couldn’t begin to compare to the splendid gardens and shining marble of a mansion in Divinity’s Reach. Even Deborah, her eleven-year-old dignity often stronger than any other feeling, couldn’t help staring around with wide eyes. Mother, meanwhile, gained a still greater mansion in the Salma District upon receiving her appointment as representative, but she wanted us safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry. Deborah and I grew up quietly in Langmar Manor, educated with other Ascalonian nobles by Ascalonian tutors, familiar with every corner of Rurikton and very little beyond it. Deborah chafed at the confinement, but I was a little girl, content enough to spend my days playing and studying with Yolanda, Corone, and Faren, new and lifelong friends. 4 Deborah joined the Seraph the day she turned twenty. “I don’t understand,” I said blankly. “We call ourselves Ascalonians,” she told me, “and that means more than tracing our family trees. You don’t remember Ebonhawke, but those are real Ascalonians, fighting for what they love—like our ancestors fought for what they loved—but we’re happy to boast of their names without doing anything. Captain Thackeray could just sit back and enjoy everything he gets for being Gwen Thackeray’s heir, but he isn’t, and I won’t either. Ascalon is lost, even if Rurikton and the Settlement and Ebonhawke will never admit it, but as long as Kryta stands, we have something to fight for.” Deborah as a Seraph, solving crimes, keeping order, and skirmishing with the occasional bandit raid, wasn’t half so chilling a prospect as Deborah fighting legions of Charr, so I didn’t say what I thought—as long as Ebonhawke stands, we have Ascalon to fight for. 5 Deborah’s departure left the whole family scattered: my mother in Salma, my father dead, my aunt and cousins in Ebonhawke, my sister stationed all the way down in Claypool, and some remote relations and me in Rurikton. Mother, still grieving Father and anxious over Debs, decided that at fifteen, I was old enough to come live with her in her Ministry mansion. I’d felt lonely and restless in Langmar Manor, but I still received the news with very little short of horror. “You’re going the next district over, not across the world,” said Yolanda. “I’ll take a house in Manor Hill too,” Faren said recklessly, “and we’ll have amazing parties.” Faren being Faren, he actually did, aided by his father’s relief at him showing interest in something beyond Rurikton high society—even if that thing was only Salma high society. My mother kissed me when we arrived, and with a smile, told Faren, “It’s a pleasure to know you’ll be keeping my girl company, and of course, just to see you—you’re looking so well!” He preened. 6 We spent those early weeks exploring Salma, curious and cheerful despite ourselves, suppressing giggles as we followed a dour guide about the district. “Orr was destroyed,” the guide was saying, “Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire; only Kryta is left, and that by a narrow margin.” “Ascalon was ravaged by the Searing,” I said sharply, all laughter gone. Nobody would call Faren a great wit, but when it came to conversation and society, his instincts were impeccable. “You must have gotten the order confused, good sir—the Searing came first, the Foefire when everything was already wrecked—but a simple mistake, I’m sure—you were saying something about Kryta?” Biting back the first words that came to my lips, I forced myself to smile and say, “Sorry, we’re Ascalonian.” “I guessed,” said the guide. 7 I suppose I was a callow, coddled creature in those days, spoiled if not malicious—and though three years of even more luxury in Salma didn’t change that, a single letter did. To Minister Ailoda Langmar, I regret to inform you of the loss of Falcon Company in a centaur raid. Your daughter, Sergeant Deborah Fairchild, died honourably in battle. With my deepest condolences to you and your family, Captain J. Tervelan of the Seraph (Queensdale) As Mother staggered backwards, I caught her, and somehow afterwards, that was always the clearest memory: her weight in my arms, the letter falling out of her hand, fluttering downwards until it reached the floor, nothing visible but the seal of the Seraph. Until then, I’d been little more than an irritable butterfly, but with Mother shattered, I found myself willingly shouldering the work of mourning: the formal letters and heartbroken notes, the refusal of Deborah’s pension, the visits from friends and allies and enemies—I was warm and grateful to the Mashewes and Baroness Jasmina; coldly civil to that ass Zamon, whose commiseration fell little short of gloating; brave and dignified to Corone and his friend Edmonds; grieved but composed with Faren and Yolanda. Like a creature of a thousand faces, I sometimes thought in exhausted moments: not at all a proper Ascalonian hero, more Anise than Deborah—but it was the only way I knew to be strong.

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1) Ascalonian first: the PC from the first game was a resident of the human kingdom of Ascalon when the Charr, a species of giant cat people who lived in Ascalon a thousand years earlier, orchestrated a massive magical attack that killed thousands of Ascalonian civilians and devastated the landscape. Surviving Ascalonians were afterwards mostly killed or enslaved, except a few groups that escaped. The king then went mad and turned himself and the last survivors into vengeful ghosts.

2) and Krytan second: in GW1, the PC helps Prince Rurik of Ascalon lead a group of Ascalonian refugees into the neighbouring kingdom of Kryta. Some Ascalonians establish a settlement there while others live in the cities; generations later, this has resulted in a minority population of Krytan Ascalonians within broader Krytan culture, which the GW2 PC can belong to (though it has no impact on gameplay, which is what inspired the fic). In-game, Ascalonians are fiercely proud of their heritage.

3) Rurikton refugees: Rurikton, named after the Rurik in #2 (who was killed in the journey to Kryta), is the Ascalonian district of the Krytan capital, Divinity’s Reach.

4) Ebonhawke: a stronghold in the furthest reaches Ascalon built by elite Ascalonian soldiers and the civilians they fought to protect. It fell just outside of the king’s curse and has managed to survive the onslaughts of the Charr for 250 years.

5) I was born there [Ebonhawke]: there is no evidence for the PC being born outside Divinity's Reach, so this is probably one of the creakiest elements as far as canon goes. DR is canonically the PC’s home, and they strongly suggest they’ve never seen anything else. I made her very young when she arrived to finagle it, but it’s mostly there because I’m interested in the dynamic between Ebonhawke Ascalonians and Kryta Ascalonians, so I wanted to give her a foot in both worlds.

6) Minister Caudecus: a deeply corrupt Krytan minister who shows up in various storylines.

7) my aunt Elwin: Elwin Fairchild is a noblewoman of Ebonhawke in the game, a proud Ascalonian ambivalent over Krytan involvement in Ebonhawke’s affairs.

8) Rurikton gate: Asura gates are magic/technological portals created by a species of small, floppy-eared, ethically questionable scientists and researchers. They have a gate in Rurikton that will instantly transport you to the one in Ebonhawke, but it seems that it’s only recently been permanently fixed on Ebonhawke.

9) Lion’s Arch: the former capital of Kryta; after a cataclysm caused by giant eldritch dragons, the original Lion’s Arch was sunk and the city rebuilt into an independent city-state, while Divinity’s Reach became the new capital.

10) The Black Citadel: the capital of Charr-controlled Ascalon, built on top of the former human capital (and human remains, according to one Charr).

11) turned herself over to the Vanguard: the Ebon Vanguard defends and seems to largely control Ebonhawke.

12) five-year-old Deborah: we don’t know the exact age gap between Deborah and the PC, but Deborah seems to be older.

13) the Salma District: the PC will always live in Salma, regardless of origin, even though the city has sharp class and ethnic divisions and you can belong to one of the minority populations.

14) Duke Barradin himself: Duke Barradin was the heir to the previous royal family in GW1, but loyal to the elected king, Adelbern. His daughter was engaged to Adelbern’s son Rurik, but both were killed, so he has no direct descendants. However, the PC’s friend Faren is explicitly descended from royalty, the noble PC is implied to be so, and the Duke of Ebonhawke is descended from Ascalonian kings in particular, so it seems likely that their progenitor was some relation of Barradin’s.

15) only a Langmar: Captain Langmar led the elite Ascalonian soldiers that ultimately founded Ebonhawke, though she died in the process. There’s no sign that she had anything like an aristocratic background, but we’re told that class hierarchy in Rurikton is rooted in descent from Searing-era heroes, as Langmar was.

16) mixed heritage: GW2 Ascalonians, especially in Kryta, are a lot less homogeneous than in GW1. We see NPCs of all sorts of RL ethnicities identifying as Ascalonian or strongly implied to be Ascalonian. OTOH, Ebonhawke Ascalonians are implied to regard Krytan Ascalonians as "less" Ascalonian than they are, and there's a remark about Logan Thackeray’s beige heartthrob status being partly because he’s pure Ascalonian. The NPC I appropriated as their mother is a minister with default Krytan design, but who is talking with a Krytan who tells her to get over the Searing.

17) safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry: per #13, Salma is canonically the PC’s home and I’m stretching canon. The game is pretty emphatic that Ascalonians live in Rurikton or the Ascalon Settlement, and since there are nobles and mansions in Rurikton, it can’t even be a matter of “but the noble ones are up on Manor Hill.” The real explanation is that the choice of ethnicity is purely cosmetic and not considered any further, but that’s boring, and we’re never told that the PC has always lived in Salma.

18) Yolanda, Corone, and Faren: Faren is a shallow flibbertigibbet, but he seems to genuinely care for the PC; Yolanda and Corone are two of the friendliest guests at the party he throws for you.

19) the Seraph: the Seraph are a cross between soldiers and police in Kryta, principally involved in fighting off centaur and bandit attacks.

20) Captain Thackeray: Logan Thackeray, the Seraph commander of Divinity’s Reach and ultimate mentor/friend to the PC. He’s the descendant of Gwen Thackeray from GW1/GW: Eye of the North, who was the BEST CHARACTER IN GUILD WARS enslaved by the Charr as a child, but escaped to fight them for the rest of her life between succeeding Captain Langmar, finding love, and establishing Ebonhawke. She’s an iconic hero to Ascalonians.

21) Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire: you don’t get a chance to correct the Salma Guide, but otherwise these are his exact words. The Foefire was the mad king Adelbern’s final curse that turned him and the last survivors into ghosts; the game tends to emphasize this rather than the Searing + brutal invasion that led to it. (It’s particularly glaring in this case, as you personally see Ascalon ravaged by the Searing in GW1 and spend a good deal of time fighting there, years before the Foefire.)

22) Minister Ailoda Langmar: the Krytan-Ascalonian minister I mentioned above is simply "Minister Ailoda," with no other name given. There's no sign of any connection to the PC, but eh, game mechanics.

23) the Mashewes...Jasmina...that ass Zamon...Corone and his friend Edmonds: Lady Mashewe is a pleasant acquaintance who says her mother prayed for the PC; Jasmina's a noblewoman avoiding Faren; Zamon and the PC insult each other; Edmonds talks to the PC with Corone.

24) Anise: Anise is the charming, enigmatic, and powerful mesmer leader of the queen’s personal guard, the Shining Blade.

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TWO

1 My sister’s gravestone read: Deborah Fairchild Daughter of Kryta and Ascalon Died serving her country with honour, faith, and courage. No body rested beneath the stone; neither the Seraph nor Mother’s Ministry guards ever managed to recover the missing corpses. I never saw a ghost, never heard the merest whisper of her spirit. The grave was the nearest approximation we had, but I often felt drawn to it, dry-eyed and somber. A day rarely passed when I spoke her name, and a day rarely passed when I did not think of her, memories jumbled up with horror at what that missing body must mean. When Debs joined the Seraph, she spoke of Logan Thackeray, of Ebonhawke, of the ancestral heroes whose names brought us respect and luxury—not of Mother, Aunt Elwin, certainly not me. Yet I could not help feeling that somehow, had I done something different, been someone different, she would never have left us. 2 For a year, I played my part in what increasingly seemed a theatre of grief: three months’ withdrawal into mourning, gradual emergence into a solemn, reserved public life over the next six months, and another quarter-year to return to my old habits of gaiety and grudges—yet little altered for me, at court or during my weekly vigils at the grave. Not, at least, until one of the latter was interrupted by a familiar voice, saying: “Indulgence doesn’t suit you, darling.” “Anise?” I exclaimed, too surprised for offence; Countess Anise was a longtime friend of our family—only the Six knew how long—but I rarely saw her away from court, much less in the guarded seclusion of the Langmar cemetery. “All those faces of yours,” said Anise, her drawl indistinguishable from every other time I’d heard her, “and you’re squandering them on self-pity and an empty coffin.” “She wanted to be a real Ascalonian,” I blurted out—I, who hadn’t confided in my mother or my aunt or my friends, and somehow I couldn’t help but babble on, “a hero fighting for her home and her cause, and now—now she’s just like them, a martyr and a defiled corpse somewhere—” “You’re getting hysterical,” Anise said, not unkindly, and added, “Is martyrdom what it means to be Ascalonian, now?” I’d always liked Anise, a clever lady mesmer like my namesake, but alive and undefeated; I respected her uncharted skills and enjoyed her inscrutable charm, but until that moment, I never realized: she was Ascalonian, too. 3 Teach me, I found myself begging Anise, though I myself didn’t quite know what I meant—maneuvering in the court, or chaos magic, or defending another person, or outwitting potential threats, or generating clones, or simply surviving in prosperity—perhaps I did not mean anything in particular. I couldn’t be Deborah, and in my heart I didn’t want to be Deborah, a soldier locked into hierarchies and orders and thrown into small doomed skirmishes. In any case, I hadn’t Deborah’s resilience, or Captain Thackeray’s unwavering loyalty, or his foremother Gwen’s relentless courage—but if I did not envision myself as equal to Anise, hers were footsteps I could see myself following, regardless of the particulars. Even as I pleaded with her, I expected little from a woman at once detached and preoccupied—and thought little of what had driven her to intercede in the first place. But Anise, taking the request on its face, smiled. “Chaos for a devotee of Kormir? Delightful—I’ll expect you at moonrise.” 4 My life reformed itself over that next year. Mother, relieved to see me interested in something of substance, readily relinquished me to Anise’s patronage; Anise herself proved an exacting but gracious mentor, dispensing advice, demands, criticism, and praise in equal measure; and my friends found me more and more myself. Small concerns crept back into my mind: the superiority of silk over velvet, Barradin wine over Eldvin ale, Gwen Thackeray over Queen Salma. Greater ones, of course, drew my attention as well: the downfall of the Meades, one of the oldest Ascalonian houses in Kryta, and consequent disappearance of our childhood friend Kasmeer Meade; the desperation of the war in my birthplace and heightened Krytan aid; the murder of an Ascalonian minister. I miss Debs every day, I wrote to my aunt, but I know I have to make something of my own life, in my own way. I’ve been thinking of returning to Ebonhawke to help, since Anise says I am ‘highly proficient’ as an aetherist. I haven’t left Divinity’s Reach in years, though, so before I try myself against the Charr, I’m planning on making my way around Queensdale—at least Shaemoor. 5 To the world, my story began the day I stepped through Dwayna’s Gate into Shaemoor. The world is wrong, of course; my life didn’t begin with centaurs clubbing a frightened man the instant that I set foot in Shaemoor, with stalls and cottages roaring into flame, with a boy as blond as Debs huddled in a corner, with the blood and brains and screams of that day. It didn’t begin with the barely-heard orders from Corporal Beirne—with the indistinct impulse that had me running forward rather than back, urging strangers towards the inn, catching the boy up in my arms, consoling a woman over the slaughter of her dog as I dragged her with my free hand—with the furious spells tumbling from my mouth, focused through the weak wooden sceptre in my hand. I was someone before I became the hero of Shaemoor. I was myself, with my own history, my own concerns, my own people … the man, that man slaughtered before my eyes, was Ascalonian, and the boy too. If they had not been, perhaps the instinct of the moment would not have flung me into the horror as if I’d been tempered by the Searing, instead of sheltered in Divinity’s Reach. Or perhaps it ran deeper than that, and I would have turned onto that path had the man been Zamon, or an Asura, or even a Charr—but still, it was the turn, not the beginning. 6 Something did begin at Shaemoor, however: my association with Logan Thackeray. I’d met him before, socially, but only just—and in perfect honesty, knew him more as the butt of Anise’s wit than anything else. But I respected him from what I’d heard of his service to Divinity’s Reach, and for his determination to follow his ancestress’s footsteps and not just her name. In the midst of all that panic and death, it seemed only natural to rush to his aid when I heard that he was being overwhelmed. I had no sword, like Logan, or Deborah; I struck from among magical decoys, twisting chaos about our enemies from each direction—but it was something, and an hour from leaving the city for the first time, I was at Logan’s side, blasting aether at a massive earth elemental and the many smaller ones. He didn’t know me from Kormir, or at least from Kasmeer, but I knew we were a Langmar and a Thackeray again, thrown into another desperate fight, and there were worse ways to die. But we didn’t die; we lived and we triumphed, and by the time that I awoke in the care of a priestess of Dwayna, every Seraph from Logan on down knew who I was. 7 All my life, I had been Minister Ailoda’s other girl or the lady Elwin’s niece or Sergeant Fairchild’s sister or a Langmar, you know, on the mother’s side—or, now and then, merely my lady. I rarely heard my own name outside my little circle of Ascalonian nobles. I also rarely heard it in the immediate wake of Shaemoor. But now I wasn’t a satellite about greater relations, extensions of my mother or aunt or sister or heroic ancestors. I was the hero, myself, even as I wandered about Shaemoor in a daze. I didn’t do much: fought off little wyrms and harpies, found missing herds, gathered apples. Yet there was no my lady there, much less So-and-so’s relation: only the hero of Shaemoor.

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1) clever lady mesmer like my namesake: the PC's name isn't explicitly stated in this section, but those familiar with the original Guild Wars: Prophecies can probably figure it out from this reference.

2) Chaos for a devotee of Kormir?: all human characters choose a patron god/goddess, and the choice of god and the choice of profession are completely independent. But Kormir, goddess of order and truth, is a rather odd choice for a chaos magic-using mesmer.

3) the murder of an Ascalonian minister: Minister Brios, the representative for the Ascalonian Settlement, is poisoned in Divinity's Reach before a meeting with Anise. There are very few Ascalonian ministers, so the murder of one of them seems likely to be particularly troubling to Ascalonians.

4) before I try myself against the Charr: you can get to Ebonhawke straight from the starting zone of Divinity’s Reach, but Ebonhawke is in a level 30+ zone.

5) a boy as blond as Debs: Deborah will be blonde if you choose to be Ascalonian.

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THREE 1 These days, I knew better than to let myself get consumed by grief. Still, as I flung spells at spiders, giant worms, bandits, centaurs, anything, I couldn’t help but wish that Deborah could see me now. At the garrison, I snatched up a rusty sword and poured magic through it with every swing at a centaur; what would she think? Me, fighting with a sword? Maybe not the way she or the other Seraph did, but still! She wouldn’t believe it. She’d be proud, I thought—wouldn’t she? 2 I’d barely passed beyond Shaemoor when I heard from Faren: positively hasty, for him. His pet raven delivered a gushing note that, in the space of a few sentences, managed to tease me about my injuries, urge me to talk him up to my healer, and summon me to a party—at my own house. I could only laugh; ridiculous as he often was, I loved him dearly, and always had. Even as children, we’d been friends and companions, but after Kasmeer vanished and Deborah died, we found ourselves inseparable. We were among the last of that quiet, secure little Ascalonian world in which we’d grown up at Rurikton—certainly the closest. Deborah’s death had changed me, driven me beyond the walls of Rurikton and Manor Hill, beyond letters and parties and court gossip. But I remained Faren’s friend, as I would always be. 3 Many people, I think, assumed Faren and I were lovers; in fact, to our own bemusement, nothing could be further from the truth. When we were seventeen, he said, “I don’t understand it. You’re pretty—I’m gorgeous—but I really think I’d throw up.” I might have been offended had I not felt exactly the same. “Inbreeding, I expect,” I told him. Faren brightened. “Grandmama was a Fairchild.” 4 Faren waited ahead of the party—a sacrifice, in the world of Faren—to greet me with his most grandiose bow. “The hero of Shaemoor returns!” I shook my head, but I grinned despite myself. It turned out that my servants had gleefully conspired with him, and when I entered the courtyard, I found it full of strangers and friends alike, along with food, gossip, and a wizard. I’d enjoyed exploring Queensdale, pushing myself to further and further limits; it was good to know that I could enjoy simpler pleasures, too, although it didn’t extend to the dog fights and bear baiting that a cousin of Faren’s called for. “Not in my home,” I snapped, “and if you want to stay, don’t mention that again.” When I heard someone say my name, I seized the chance to turn away—only to find myself facing my mother’s most hated rival. 5 “Minister Zamon.” “You’ve done well for yourself,” Zamon said acidly. “All it takes for a noble to be a hero is a bit of swordplay, a few bottles of cheap brandy, and an inflated sense of self-importance.” He had said much the same of Deborah’s swift rise among the Seraph; she’d never responded, holding herself above partisan squabbles. “Then you’re almost a hero already, my lord,” I replied, smiling. “All you lack is the brandy and swordplay.” I was not Deborah. 6 Even my old friends seemed to see the hero of Shaemoor more than anything else. Corone, brought up with Faren and Kasmeer and me, and now a respected warrior, regarded me as if he’d never seen me before, and said he’d be honoured to fight beside me. Yolanda hailed me as a heroine—before chiding me for associating so much with Faren, “that rascal!” In his imagination, maybe. Fending off her interrogation about Logan Thackeray, I’d never been happier to see Faren bounce towards me. And the moment that I muttered something about being tired, he assured me that he was done with the party as well, and headed off to make our excuses to the servants. I was ignoring Yolanda’s meaningful stare when I heard him scream. 7 Corone got his wish sooner than either of us could have imagined. We easily trounced the bandits who swept into the party, but it didn’t matter: Faren was already gone. With Corone and Edmonds protecting the guests, I ran out of Manor Hill and into the district plaza, desperately trying to catch any sign of Faren, or even the bandits; they’d have to have some way to recognize each other, wouldn’t they? But there was nothing, just ordinary people carrying on with ordinary business, merchants calling out sales, the old tour guide talking to a woman with a red handkerchief about her neck … with that over her mouth, she’d look just like the bandits who had abducted Faren— “Madam?” said someone near us, and then “ma'am!” as I blasted the bandit with a bolt of aether. I fought at least half a dozen across the district, tracking them one by one to a house at the opposite end of Salma. At the sight of me, bandits poured out of the house, but I didn’t care: they’d learn what it meant to cross a daughter of Ascalon.

FOUR

1 After Shaemoor, the bandits were nothing. They kept jumping out of their safehouse one by one—idiocy—and flailed at my clones, even their supposed leader. “Soon, you’ll beg me for death!” he shouted. I laughed, and blew up the clones. He went down like a basket of eggs. But I never laughed for long. I’d yet to see Faren, and images of bandits beating him, tormenting him, cutting his throat, flickered before me, each as vivid as every spell I cast. 2 Inside the bandits’ safehouse, I raced upstairs, barely wasting attention on the few guards left inside. Fear and victory kept my blood rushing fast: I didn’t even think about Anise’s lessons, but my feet landed exactly as she’d taught me, my body slipped away from each attack, and every spell hit its mark. Beyond them, I could just see Faren. He seemed alive, thank the gods, but stretched out in magical chains that turned my anger and fear to raw fury. I fought through a haze of rage, but one that illuminated rather than blinded—everything seemed crisp and bright and clear, more than ever before. When the last of them collapsed, I scrambled the rest of the way up the stairs, and tried to clear my head. “Um,” said Faren, “a little help here?” 3 When I broke the chains, relief flooding through me, he gave a hoarse laugh. “Am I pleased to see you!” he exclaimed, then grinned and added, “though if you wanted me to leave the party, a simple ‘Begone, freeloader!’ would have sufficed.” Captivity or no, Faren clearly remained Faren. “I’ll make a note of that,” I said dryly, and asked after any information he might have picked up on what the devil was going on. But he knew only that they operated out of a house in Shaemoor, where they’d meant to lock him up, and that in recent months, they’d turned more brazen, bloodthirsty, and focused on rebellion against the crown. “I can't save you and leave the others to rot,” I decided, and managed to smile at him. “Bad form, you know.” 4 Faren, looking determined (for him), said, “Count me in—I may not be a centaur-killing berserker like you, but I can take care of myself.” I’d believe that when I saw it. On the way to the bandits' den, I said, “Glad to have you with me, but do me a favour? Stay close”—I poked him with my sceptre—“and that way, we can protect each other.” Faren shrugged that off, which didn’t comfort me, but he actually managed himself well enough; he didn’t even get blood on his clothes as we fought our way into the concealed and guarded caves, nor when we rescued all the prisoners caged inside, so it counted as a success as far as he was concerned. “If you know any fair maidens, be sure to tell them who rescued you,” he said, and added with a grin, “the dashing Lord Faren … and his friend!” 5 The mission did count as a success for me, too; one of the captives had filched papers about a plot in Divinity’s Reach. We escorted him and the others out, taking down the remaining bandits with impatience (me) and glee (Faren). “We showed them what Ascalonians are made of!” he said triumphantly, and I straightened right up. “That’s right.” When Logan Thackeray arrived to help, Faren swaggered up and said, “My friend and I defeated these delinquents with panache and aplomb; you're just in time to celebrate our victory.” “I’m … amazed,” said Captain Thackeray. I knew the feeling. 6 “Then again,” he said, favouring me with a respectful nod, “I should have known that the hero of Shaemoor wouldn’t let your kidnapping go unanswered.” I remembered Shaemoor, fighting alongside Captain Thackeray with my stick of a sceptre just like Gwen and Langmar once had, all those years ago, and tried not to think too much of it; we’d barely met, outside of a few social occasions he clearly didn’t remember. But I also thought of Faren struggling in his chains, and danger spreading to the home that was supposed to keep us safe, and that we were all Ascalonians together. “No one hurts my friends without answering to me,” I said firmly. I handed over the papers we’d acquired, but to my surprise, it was Faren(!) who proved most useful; he noticed the quality of the paper, and even knew of the papermaker I could track down to identify it. I promised, “I'll get the information you need, without anyone realizing the Seraph are aware of the traitor in the city.” “Be careful,” said Captain Thackeray. 7 Although he warned me, I didn’t realize so many skale existed in the world as I wiped out on that trip—luckily, I found a new sceptre on the way, so I managed to keep them at a distance, and my clothes remained as pristine as Faren’s. When I arrived, I found the paper maker he’d mentioned; Fursarai was a small, prissy man, an impression not helped by his quite beautiful waistcoat, but it didn’t stop him from shouting at a departing Norn about getting his supplies back to the city. “You there—you look like you can handle yourself in a fight!” he announced, gaze fixed on something in my direction; I glanced over my shoulder, but none of the Seraph seemed to be behind me, nor anyone else. He gabbled something about the garrison and cowardly guards at the empty air—unless—unless "you there" was supposed to mean me? What a boor: but unfortunately, a boor who could direct me to Faren’s attackers. Friendship had its sacrifices. I looked at my silk sleeves, and sighed. FIVE 1 “What do you cost?” Cin Fursarai demanded, and now I preferred to believe he wanted a replacement for that Norn. It was flattering, I suppose, that he looked at me—a young noblewoman in silk, wool, and fine leather, carrying only a sceptre and a small sword—and thought I looked like someone who could fight. “I’m not a mercenary,” I said, and added: “I'm here to ask for help identifying the craftsmanship of a piece of handmade paper.” Fursarai sniffed. “If you found quality paper in Divinity’s Reach, I can assure you, I made it.” By sheer force of will, I didn’t roll my eyes—I had a conspiracy to unearth, never mind how irritating this little prig was—and instead requested his help, only for him to sniff again and go on about how he had no loyalty to the crown, because he happened to live in Lion’s Arch. He had red hair and dressed in high Rurikton fashion; he had to be Ascalonian, descendant of refugees saved by Kryta’s rulers, yet—yet— 2 It didn’t matter. It didn’t, not right now—and anyway, our fashions had spread far and wide, Lion’s Arch had long ago drowned its history, and true Ascalonian identity meant more than ancestry, whatever they might say in Rurikton. Deborah had taught me that much; if he didn’t care about it, then I wouldn’t, either. Easier said than done, though. “I need this information as soon as possible,” I told him. “But why should I trust you?” he retorted. “Who are you, anyway?” 3 I lifted my chin, and for all I might tell myself, I felt as if the pride of generations clustered about me, even with my foremothers’ spirits hopefully at peace in the Hall of Echoes. I had not forgotten what I came from. All those Langmars, the children and children’s children of Gwen Thackeray’s great captain. The Krytans they’d married now and then, abandoning an easy heritage to transplant themselves into Rurikton, absorbed into Ascalonian life and identity. The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of the last kings, of the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter. They’d fought a long defeat, on and on, yet managed to keep a last corner of human Ascalon alive; my aunt still worked to keep Ebonhawke standing while this man sneered over paper. “I am Lady Althea Fairchild of Divinity’s Reach and Ebonhawke,” I said. 4 Fursarai eyed me suspiciously. “Well, which one?” Despite myself, my defiance flickered. I would always be Ascalonian above all else, yet I would always serve the queen, too, and set myself against the enemies of Kryta. I belonged to Ebonhawke, my father’s land, my birthplace and my pride; I belonged to Divinity’s Reach, the only home I knew, where my mother’s people had lived and fought for generations. Anise always called me a creature of two faces, and I supposed I was. “I don’t know,” I admitted. 5 He grunted. “Explains why you don’t stink like the rest, anyway.” “Thank you,” I replied dryly. After a minute of meditation (not helped by Fursarai’s string of complaints), we headed out. I was just about ready to kill him myself by the time we got to the Shaemoor garrison; he’d have easily died without me fighting skale and centaurs and one exceptionally large spider by sceptre and sword, but he made not the slightest attempt to defend himself, just cowering against his bull and yelping the entire way there. That was before I had to take down three centaur catapults and Lyssa knew how many centaurs, with maybe two Seraph backing me up. Naturally, his gratitude upon entering the garrison amounted to checking his supplies three times, turning to me, and pronouncing: “I feel like I was run over by a herd of marauding dolyaks!” 6 Irritation aside, he did supply the information I needed, admitting that he sold his paper to Minister Zamon. Zamon, the man who’d all but gloated at my mother when Deborah died, purely—I thought then—because of malice at the suffering of a rival. And then, not long ago: the man who’d sneered at my defense of Shaemoor. “He has excellent taste,” Fursarai said, his glance clearly implying that I didn’t. As if he’d know. I silently decided that I’d never buy anything from him, even if I had to go to Lion’s Arch myself to find another papermaker. I smiled and said, “Don’t leave Divinity’s Reach.” 7 I found Captain Thackeray in the Seraph Headquarters, deep in a discussion with Anise, of all people, but his head snapped up when he caught sight of me. “Do you have any news?” “Fursarai admitted he made the paper for Minister Zamon,” I said, suppressing any signs of satisfaction. Well, mostly; Anise cast an amused look in my direction. “Setting up citizens to be robbed and brutalized?” exclaimed Captain Thackeray. “That's out-and-out treason.” Why, so it was.

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1) The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of ... the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter: i.e., Duke Barradin, while his daughter, Lady Althea—this Althea’s namesake—was burned alive by the Charr.

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SIX 1 “But where are my manners?” said Captain Thackeray, whom I’d never seen with so much as a wrinkle in his surcoat or a hair out of place. “Allow me to introduce you to Countess Anise, Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade.” Bemused, I nodded at my mentor of years, while Anise bowed with a faint, ironic smile. Disregarding the matter of manners, she said smoothly, “Minister Wi’s hosting a party tonight; it’ll be a good opportunity to eavesdrop on ministers, their allies, and enemies.” Captain Thackeray couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree, but clearly wanted to; he proposed a (perfectly legal) raid on Zamon’s house instead, and worse still, left the choice to me, insisting that he couldn’t give me orders—even though he clearly had no idea who I was. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he’d realized I had a name. 2 Naturally, I consulted with Anise—Thackeray or no Thackeray, she was my guide and teacher. “Personally,” she said in her light voice, “I prefer convivial, face-to-face situations. Then again, cloak-and-dagger skulduggery is always fun.” I laughed. “The way you describe it, it all sounds so charming; I’ll have to think it over.” I didn’t, actually. Minister Wi lived in Rurikton, and Faren was my best friend; if I knew anything, it was Rurikton parties. 3 “Minister Wi’s party,” I announced. “I’ll see what I can learn.” “Are you sure?” said Captain Thackeray, though with a distinct note of resignation. “You can’t break into Zamon’s place if you attend Minister Wi’s party.” “I’m sure,” I told him. “Minister Wi’s party it is.” He sighed. 4 “Your fellow nobles seem to have a knack for making my life interesting,” Captain Thackeray told me, clearly putting the best face on it. “Let’s see if we can’t return the favour.” “We nobles, Captain Thackeray?” I said, amused; everyone knew about his relationship to Gwen—and his relationship to Queen Jennah, too. “A step down from royalty making your life interesting, I’m sure.” To my surprise, he flinched. Some lover’s spat, perhaps; I decided it was none of my business, and turned to Anise, who promised to meet me at the party—because it wouldn’t do to make us share the spotlight during our entrance. Of course. 5 I listened to a few complaints and registered some unsolved crimes after Anise left, then headed out. At least, I meant to, but on my way to the door out of Seraph Headquarters, I caught sight of an open book—a register. “That lists the names of all Seraph soldiers for the last two decades,” an officer told me proudly. I glanced over my shoulder, undoubtedly looking as suspect as a priest of Grenth on Wintersday, but nobody seemed to be paying attention; the officer had drifted over to settle a dispute over a farm, Captain Thackeray was talking to a lieutenant, and everybody else looked up to their ears in work. I opened the book, scolding myself for being foolish, giving into a pointless sentimentality that would achieve nothing, recover no corpse for a grave—but still, I turned the pages, searching for the name I would know. I felt like a spy, flipping through pages, for all that the registry was open to the public and I had every right to look—and then, there it was, near the head of its page. Sgt Deborah Fairchild; missing in action, assumed dead. 6 “Are you looking for someone?” said Captain Thackeray. I nearly jumped straight into the air; as it was, I flinched as violently as he had. “No, sir,” I said, and realized—Debs would have said no, sir in the exact same tone, would have stood in this very room as I did now, would know it all better than I did. What would she have thought, if she’d known that one day I would be investigating crimes for the Seraph, reporting to Captain Thackeray himself? She’d never pressed me to be anything I wasn’t, never seemed to love me less for being the thoughtless, frivolous creature I was then, but I couldn’t help but imagine she’d have been proud. Imagine how this whole thing might have gone if she’d been alive—maybe we’d be investigating Zamon together, or— “Good luck, Captain Thackeray,” I said, and walked out. 7 By happy coincidence, I already had an invitation, of sorts. My mother’s said Minister Ailoda Langmar and one other. “You want to go?” said Mother, looking startled. “I would have thought you’d be busy slaying monsters or saving people or whatever else you do these days.” I frowned, unsure how to take this; it might have been pride, if not for her studiously neutral tone—did she think all this unimportant, or regrettable, or beneath us? Or was it fear, with Deborah dead on Seraph business? For a wild moment, I longed to tell her, cling to her and admit that I was frightened and angry as well as resolved, to confide in someone who would always see Althea first and the hero of Shaemoor second. “I need to keep an eye on Faren,” I said.

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1) his relationship to Queen Jennah: Jennah is the Queen of Kryta, and a beautiful young woman; it’s widely rumoured that she and Logan are having an affair. The last time royalty made his life especially interesting was when he deserted his dragon-hunting guild, Destiny's Edge, out of love for Jennah.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- SEVEN 1 I headed back to Rurikton for the party, though a good while before it was set to begin. I hadn’t been home for a while—months, though it felt like longer—and I wanted to get my bearings. I strolled past the familiar stone gryphons, a light calm settling over me. It deepened as I made my way down the streets, passing refugees and servants who gave slight bows: respectful, no more. Clusters of nobles nodded familiarly at me. I stopped by local traders, most of whom I knew by name. One bookseller had a pair of rare books on Ascalonian history, one of which I’d wanted for ages; I purchased them on the spot, and after these weeks of fighting and investigating and rescuing, it was a pleasure to let it all slide for a moment, and decide that today was already a success. 2 I personally carried my books to Langmar Manor, since I’d forgotten to bring any servants, and didn’t feel very much inclined to send for one now. Oddly enough, I had gotten used to managing on my own. The walk from the district square was a short and easy one in any case; I strolled down the streets, encountering nothing worse than a few seditious posters I tore down, and a man complaining about Captain Thackeray to an unsympathetic friend. “You know, just because your wife’s taken a shine to Logan Thackeray doesn’t make him a bad guy—he’s cursed.” At the first man’s scoff, the friend added, “Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood! It’s not his fault that every woman fawns over him.” Not every woman, I thought. 3 The people of Rurikton had always mingled at the Maiden’s Whisper as well as Rurikton at large, so I attracted no particular curiosity when I strolled into the tavern. Several other lords and ladies stood near the entrance, smiling and lifting their glasses towards me as I passed, while everyone else simply continued their own conversations—despite the Norn inexplicably towering at the side of the room. “I like that Minister Caudecus,” one girl announced. “To Queen Jennah!” someone just out of sight said, echoed by a dozen toasts to the queen, Divinity’s Reach, Captain Thackeray, and assorted ministers. Across the hall, a man bellowed drunkenly, “Show me a woman who can wrestle a bear, and I’ll show you a keeper!” “If the Charr think they can come here,” said a woman, her voice clear and pleasant, “me and my meat cleaver will tell them otherwise.” I smiled; despite everything, it really was good to be home. 4 I spent the last few hours before the party skulking around Rurikton, but found nothing beyond a particularly incompetent group of adventurers and ordinary conversation on the street. Returning to the inn, I searched for a relatively secluded place, found it in a library, and closed my eyes, peering through those of a near-invisible clone as she drifted through Minister Wi’s manor. She wasn’t caught, but turned up nothing except preparations for the party. I was sure there had to be something we’d missed, but apparently not. Well, Zamon might be acting in secrecy. Might. I resigned myself to the inevitable: I would only discover what I needed to know at the party, and I would have no preparation beyond what I already knew. 5 When I arrived at the manor in person, the place was positively oozing Ministry guards, for no particular reason. Anise slanted them a glance that betrayed nothing, then eyed my finery with nearly smug approval. “This will be delightful,” she said, apparently no more inclined than usual to bother with such minutia as greetings and farewells. “Having the hero of Shaemoor on my arm will make tongues wag.” Even though it was just Anise, I flushed. So much for separate entrances—but it was like Anise to enjoy disrupting plans, even her own. “Thank you for letting me join you this evening, Countess,” I said, because it was like me, too. 6 “Mingle,” she said. “Speak to everyone—you never know who’ll say something they regret later.” It was an encouraging thought. “Second,” said Anise, “don’t limit your conversation to nobility; servants and guards see everything.” “Understood,” I replied, adding, “I suppose it goes without saying that I should be discreet?” “You catch on fast,” she told me, and touched her finger to the end of my nose, eliciting a startled laugh. “Go and charm the masses.” 7 “You know where to find me if you need me, pet,” Anise concluded, while I still tried to wrap my mind and dignity around the fact that she’d bopped my nose. But at the moment, I found her at my side, setting my hand on her arm and marching forward in her tall boots. She actually smiled when I matched my steps to hers, even if I could hardly match the total assurance of her stride and her drawl—but she smiled more at the sudden hush that fell over the grand room when we entered. “The Countess Anise,” the servant at the door announced, and after a suitably dramatic pause, continued, “and the hero of Shaemoor!” Virtually everyone in this room had known me from childhood, but they all bowed anyway, as if my mother herself stood in my place, rather than the other way around; she’d abruptly developed a cold when she heard Zamon would be there. Zamon himself was nowhere to be seen. Interesting.

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1) Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood: this (and much of the dialogue here) is part of the ambient dialogue near the inn.

#anghraine's gaming #anghraine's fic #ascalonian grudgefic #ascalonian grudgeblog #althea fairchild #ailoda langmar #countess anise #marius corone #deborah fairchild #edmund fairchild #elwin fairchild #lord faren #julius zamon #logan thackeray #captain tervelan #guild wars 2 #pro patria #footnotes ahoy!

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incorrectlasthours · 2 years

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Introducing: The Malevolent Tides

A Post-TLH Story - synopsis below!

Please note: The worldbuilding, TID, and TLH characters all belong to Cassandra Clare. I took the liberty to make up the children of the TLH characters (partially based off of the inaccurate Clockwork Princess family tree, but mostly from my own imagination). This story will contain spoilers for Chain of Thorns!

September, 1929: Coming of age during the mundane’s Great War and the Spanish Influenza, the young Shadowhunters of London are no strangers to demons and despair. In fact, compared to the hordes of demons attracted to Earth by the mundane conflicts of their youth, things have been relatively calm as the children grew from a troubled youth into a tentatively hopeful adolescence. Things are looking up… but little does this future “lost generation,” know, their light-hearted, wild youths are about to come to an abrupt end, as darkness and violence comes to claim the mundane - and shadow - worlds once again.

New York City, USA: Elizabeth Herondale has finally left her family’s home… and her drama with her brother, Owen, and his fiancée, Lydia, behind. Elizabeth is eager to forget her troubles in the vices that make New York City the center of the modern world; touted as a place where anyone can arrive a pauper and leave a millionaire, where women are free to move through the streets unaccompanied by men, and where illegal vices - booze, cards, jazz - are easier to find than avoid, Elizabeth is ready to relocate for good and reclaim her future. Accompanied by her intrepid parabatai and cousin, Margaret Blackthorn (who is more comfortable behind the lens of a camera than onstage in a flapper hall), Elizabeth has no plans to return to London any time soon. Then comes October, and the infamous crash of Wall Street that plunges the entire globe into economic recession. Elizabeth does not want to return home, but her and Margie might not have a choice in the matter…

Athens, Greece: Edmund Blackthorn was supposed to return to London and his family eight months ago… and he did, but something drew him back to Athens once more. Picking up his Uncle James’ love for the ancient classics from a young age, Edmund always knew he wanted to do his travel year in the center of it all: Athens, Greece. While he expected his year abroad to be full of research and sightseeing, he did not expect it to be entirely thrown off course by the witty, brilliant Cadia Sedgewick. Together, the two have uncovered an ancient mystery; while other Shadowhunters are urging them to focus on the rapidly-approaching and grim future, Edmund and Cadia are drawn further and further into the past. All the stories are true, after all, and this mystery might just be the key to aid the present and save the future.

Berlin, Germany: Owen Herondale didn’t plan to fall in love with Lydia Kingsmill… but Herondales love only once, as his father and grandfather told him from the time he was young, and Lydia was the only one for him. The Treaty of Versailles that ended the mundane Great War has thrust Germany into despair, and the Shadowhunters of the German institutes are feeling the side effects; indeed, as the churches and government are no longer able to tithe, many Shadowhunters have packed up and left for more lucrative cities, or returned home to Idris. Owen desperately wants Lydia to come to London with him, but Lydia doesn’t want to leave her family - and the institute she grew up in - behind.

Amsterdam, the Netherlands: Vienna Fairchild was determined to embark on a grand voyage like her father, and she wasn’t going to let the fact that she was a woman stop her. At the start of her travel year, Vienna ran to the last city full of glittering nightlife and wild parties in Europe - and indeed, Amsterdam is the last European stand of the ‘Roaring Twenties’ as recession grows over the continent like a shadow. Planning to pack her trunks and flee for the Americas with her best friends Lizzie and Margie, Vienna is stopped when the local institute desperately needs help. Their issue, however, is much larger than Amsterdam itself…

Alicante, Idris: The youngest of her siblings and cousins and friends, Alaina Blackthorn is thrilled to finally have her turn at Shadowhunter Academy. The Academy is, after all, a legendary place for life-changing bonds… it’s where her Uncle James and Uncle Matthew decided to become parabatai, and where her brother Theodore and Graham Fairchild first became friends - and now they, too, were parabatai. Flanked by her friends Raya Fairchild and Taron Carstairs-Lightwood, Alaina cannot wait to finally experience freedom - until the world starts to fall apart, and all their parents summon them back to London.

London, England: The adults of the London Enclave are certain the worst is behind them - they defeated Belial when they were teenagers, and the mundane world has finally calmed down after over a decade of war and pestilence. But the wicked never rest, and dark forces are gathering - and their target is London, the city that started it all.

#would people want to read it 🥹 let me know!!#there are SO many characters not in the synopsis #this is just a sneak peak hehe #but don’t worry all of our tlh faves have kids in this story!!#the last hours #tlh #the malevolent tides #james herondale #matthew fairchild #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #jesse blackthorn

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rinadragomir · 2 years

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I have so many questions about this art

1) Jonathan Shadowhunter is THE FIRST HERONDALE? CJ said that since he was the first shadowhunter in general he's the father of.... everyone. BUT STILL 👀👀👀👀👀

2) Why Valentine is on this art?

3) If it's about "Herondales & all parabatai" then where's Luke?

4)WHERE ARE TOBIAS AND HIS BROTHER WILLIAM GIMME🥺

Strange strange strange

#shadowhunters #herondales #jonathan shadowhunter #edmund herondale #will herondale #jem carstairs #matthew fairchild #james herondale #valentine morgenstern #alec lightwood #stephen herondale #jace herondale #tmi #tid #tlh #cassandra jean

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imherongraystairstrash · 2 years

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can I ask you for the headcanons you have on edmun herondale?

Edmund herondale?!?! Anon, this is the most original ask I've ever gotten and I absolutely love it! I've have been fascinated (strangely enough) by Edmund in the past, so you've come to the right place! Here you go:

Edmund was practically raised by the Fairchilds. This means that he was there when Charlotte was born and, due to his fondness for children, he and Charlotte were practically inseparable! When Edmund and Linette go to the institute to retrieve Will, he is shocked when a girl, who looked so much like Granville Fairchild, opened the door. After a couple of seconds, he recognized her as Charlotte and was in complete shock. He'd always wanted to know what had become of Little Lottie. Charlotte, of course, didn't recognize him, nor did she had any memories of Edmund. When it was obvious that Will wouldn't come back with them, Edmund was beyond devastated, but he felt a tiny bit better knowing that his only son was in good hands

He didn't have many friends growing up, despite being a ladies' man

His favorite child had always been Cecily (even though he would never admit it). She reminded him so much of Linette with her braveness though, unlike Ella (who also portrayed this trait) she was also quite quiet and observant, something she inherited from his dear mother. He cherished the reminder he had of her through his youngest daughter.

Though none of his children possess his coloring, their facial features make it undeniable that they're his.

The first time he held each of his children, he cried :,)

After Cecily left, Edmund never gambled again.

Every year, he and Linette walk to the sea and throw grains of rice into the ocean in honor of Ella's birthday

For years, he felt guilty for Ella's death (it was his Pyxis box, after all) and for Will running away. I feel like he gambled because he wanted to feel like he could succeed in something, which makes me quite sad lol i have to stop upsetting myself

He still trained after getting his marks stripped because he absolutely loved being a shadowhunter (though, he loved Linette even more)

He loved his parents more than anything (hence why he named Will after his father). When they died, a little piece of him broke that come never be recovered

Once he was able to overcome his gambling addiction, he and Linette happily grew old together, enjoying every visit they got from their children (both biological and in-laws) and grandchildren.

Yall why is Edmund's life so freakin' sad holy crap, was all of that suffering freakin' NECESSARY?!?

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @ninacarstairss @stxr-thxif @icouldnotask @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @readersconfessions812 @nightshade3465 @livvyheronstairs @zemiraa @proudtobealuthor @neurogliadudette @theenchanteddreamer @cheeseandmacarons @shadowhunting-hoolingans @writeordie-4 @amchara @myangelbach @livingformyself @dancing-under-the-moon @julescarstairs @wouldyouknowmeblind @grace-lightwoodd @livingformyself @ilikebooksandtvshows

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#edmund herondale #linette owens #linette herondale #will herondale #cecily herondale #tsc #tid #the dark artifices #headcanons #charlotte fairchild #cassandra clare #cecily lightwood

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livia-dovehallow · 2 years

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unseen scenes - cecily turns 12 (ft. charlotte & henry)

remember the whole “if you leave the Nephilim, the Clave still lay claim on your children, and a representative will come every 6 years until they are 18 to ask if they want to be a Shadowhunter” business? haven’t you ever wondered what happened when Cecily turned 12? Ella was gone and Will had gone to London three years prior when he himself was 12. this is my interpretation of that tense day in 1875.

Charlotte sighed and set down the letter that had arrived on her desk early that morning. She’d expected it, but despite having years to prepare, she felt helpless at the various possibilities that could arise.

Will didn’t want to know. Not unless something had happened to them. He didn’t even want the good news. What terrible turmoil he had to go through not to ever want to speak of his family. It filled Charlotte with terrible sorrow.

“Lottie?”

Her mood lifted the slightest bit at the sound of her nickname, spoken only by one person in the entire world. She looked up at Henry, who for once, did not hold any sort of contraption or invention in his hands. “Henry,” she breathed.

He looked at her concerned. “What is it? Are you troubled?”

“It is Will’s younger sister, Cecily,” she said, and gave him a sympathetic smile at his sudden expression of worry. “She is all right. But she does turn twelve today.”

Understanding dawned on Henry’s face. It was a rare moment, indeed, when Henry was not aloof with excitement or humor. Even if he had been at this moment, Charlotte figured it wouldn’t have done much to ease her worry. “The claim,” he confirmed, and Charlotte nodded. “Have they dispatched them already?”

“They have.” Charlotte unceremoniously held the letter out to him, which he took and read quickly. Ragnor Fell’s letter gave her little information about the events to come, except that he had confirmed with his sources that the Clave representatives had been seen crossing into Wales.

Henry stepped forward, the letter tossed forgotten on the desk, and took her hand. Her heart jumped, but this was no time to dwell on her feelings. She had to think of Will’s. “It will be all right,” he said, sounding assured. He appeared more confident about that statement that she did. “Whatever happens, Charlotte, it is not yours alone to face.”

Charlotte swallowed painfully. Henry was such a kind man and gentle husband. He’d done her a great service, marrying her to fulfill the promise owed to her father and to allow her to run the Insititue. He had no reason to continue being so kind to her. She shook herself out of her thoughts. “There is no way Will isn’t aware what day it is. Will you check on him?”

Henry gave her a smile. “Of course. Though, I am afraid he will know what I am up to and give me a challenge. I should have to bring one of my inventions with me to appease his mood, I think.”

Oh, Henry. Don’t injure the boy just to distract his thoughts.

...

Will was not in the mood to speak to anyone.

Not that he usually was to begin with. He dreaded when Jem would wake and look for him, for he was the only person who was not deterred from Will’s sharp tongue. And he would be another person Will would have to lie to about what day it was for him.

He could hear Henry clanging his way about the Institute, no doubt showing off whatever latest contraption he had conjured. Henry always tried to get him to talk by using those death traps. Didn’t he ever give up?

Despite his best efforts, Will could not stop thinking about Cecily. Had she grown much? Was she still as stubborn? Worst of all, would she come back with the Clave representatives?

Thud. He sunk another knife into the target at the other side of the room and glared. He missed her. His sister. He missed both of them, if he was honest. He had little right to miss them.

“Any harder and the board will split in half,” joked a voice behind him. Will closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Go away.”

Henry did not, in fact, go away. “You know, I’ve wondered if putting the target on a pulling system would be a better training mechanism. Very seldom does a demon remain in a single spot and unmoving.”

“Fascinating,” Will muttered. He threw another knife.

...

Cecily knew exactly who was at the door when she heard the knocking. She sat in her room, staring blankly at the window that faced the front of the house and into the vast hills that surrounded it. The last time she faced those people, she had her siblings to welcome her after she refused the offer. What did she have now?

Her father’s voice boomed through the walls. “Haven’t you enough of my children?”

Cecily could not hear the response of the others at the door, but she knew where her mother was. In town, away from the possibility of crossing paths with those people again. She’d told Cecily it was to collect the ingredients she needed to bake Cecily her birthday dessert that evening. Cecily knew better.

Her father called her name, less of a command and more of an empty sound. Cecily stood and calmly made her way into the hall and down the stairs, where she saw two men dressed in normal clothing opposite her father. She could see those markings on their skin beyond the collars of their shirts. It had been years since she last saw them, but she did not forget them.

“You know the Law, Edmund,” said one of the men. Her father scowled, his pale blue eyes darkened in anger and grief. Though, Cecily had to admit, they almost always were nowadays. “She is Nephilim by blood.”

Cecily stood at her father’s side and remained silent, her face even, giving away no expression or emotion in any manner or direction. “You think that in six years her decison will have changed?” her father asked, spiteful.

“A great many things have changed in six years, as we see it,” said the other man. Cecily forced herself to remain silent and calm. For a group of people who claim to be so uninterested in the lives of so-called Mundanes, they sure knew a lot about her family. “You’ve made your position quite clear, Edmund, but it is your daughter’s choice.”

“I will save you the time of walking me through a tedious interview,” Cecily finally spoke, staring down both men unabashed. She remembered the tone she had taken with them six years prior, when she’d still only been a small thing, and how angry it made them. It was satisfying and there was nothing they could do to a six-year-old girl about it. She took the same tone with them now and saw the same flicker of annoyance in their expressions. “My answer remains the same. No.”

“Your dedication to your parents is admirable,” said the man in the lighter suit. If he had shared his name, Cecily did not bother to remember it. “But you were gifted blood of the Angel by birth. A duty most would find to be an honor.”

“I do not choose how I am born,” Cecily replied. “And I do not find it an honor. My answer is no. I shall see you again when I am eighteen, to tell you yet again that I will not be a Shadowhunter.”

The other man, the one in the darker suit, shrugged and began to turn. “This is a waste of time, Hightower. Let us return to Idris and give our report.”

The men went back out the door, but not before the other man, Hightower, shook his head. “At least your brother made the wiser decision.”

Cecily was ready to explode, but her father slammed the door in their faces before she could. He said nothing to her. Instead, he patted her shoulder, kissed her head, and returned to his study. He closed the door behind him, but Cecily knew what he kept in there. She could smell it on him.

She turned and went back up the stairs, back into her room, and sat back down on the bed to look out at the same window. She hated them, the Shadowhunters, for tearing her family apart. She didn’t want to be one of them, but this was not a preferable life, either. Every day was the same. Her father, locked away in the study, drinking. Her mother, in the gardens all day long, weeping every time she came across the bed of wildflowers that grew just outside the fencing that Ella used to pick and keep in her room.

One day she would find him, her brother. She would march him back home and put her family back together again. It was this reason that, despite refusing to be one of them, she ached at her decision. Was she right to say no? Should she have said yes, and gone with them, for the sole purpose of finding her brother? They would take her right to where he would be.

Life was full of choices. Cecily feared she made the wrong one.

...

The day came to and end with dark cloud cover and silent drizzle. Charlotte awaited anxiously by the foyer for any news from Ragnor Fell to no avail. She supposed that no news was good news; that Cecily had refused the Clave’s offer of joining the Nephilim. That was what Will wanted, right? But who wanted never to see their family again when it was obvious they loved them? Charlotte could not understand Will’s choices, but she would accept them.

A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, followed by her favorite voice. “No news?”

She shook her head and sighed. “None. I fear we may not hear anything for a day or two, regardless of the outcome. It’s such a journey from northern Wales to London.”

“Come to bed, then,” Henry urgered her. “No sense in making yourself unwell with worry if there is nothing that can be done.”

He was right, but it broke Charlotte’s heart. “How is Will?”

“Locked up in his room. Been there since dinner. I don’t expect him to come out.”

Charlotte turned and looked up at Henry, taking comfort in his support. “It could not have been an easy day for him. I hope he is better by the morning.”

Henry gave her a rueful smile and gathered her up in his arms. “I’ll wager that he will not be until time has passed and the window for a hypothetical arrival has gone and she has not come. TIme, darling.”

Charlotte closed her eyes. She had a sinking feeling, deep in her stomach, that Will wanted to see his sister. He never spoke of her, or his parents, but every significant day--whether it be a birthday or anniversary--he became withdrawn. That was not the behavior of someone who did not want to remember.

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