#descent.intro

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ⸻

name : josephine blythe nickname(s) : josie , jo age & birthday : 30 / november 23, 1996 sign : sagittarius gender & pronouns : cis woman , she/her sexual orientation : lesbian species : nephilim/shadowhunter allegiance : the circle traits : resourceful, persistent, adventurous, inquisitive, passionate, sarcastic, impulsive, blunt, unforgiving, restless

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⸻

parents : celeste beaumont & elijah blythe siblings : evelyne blythe, benjamin blythe, jonathan blythe, sabrina blythe, eliza blythe parabatai : jonathan blythe

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 ⸻

tw: death of family member

born alongside her brother, jonathan or jb, the twins were the middle children among the six. though, admittedly, their infant and toddler years made their parents question whether or not they would continue to have more. they were a handful as it was and whipping them into being the next generation of soldiers shadowhunters within their lineage was proving to be a struggle.

or maybe the struggle was mostly with josie, her parents would never fully admit it out loud but that's how it certainly felt. coming from two pureblood lines of shadowhunters meant there was a legacy her and her siblings would have to sustain.

she may have not fully understood it at a young age but the pressure would surely make a home in her chest and suffocate her.

attached at her brothers hip, the two were partners in crime from the moment they started crawling and you couldn't tell them that they weren't born with twin telepathy. a 'gift' bestowed upon them by angels, their grandmother would jokingly entertain.

although eager to walk, jump and climb all over the place, getting josie to sit and focus on her studies was a hassle. she was too hyperactive and inattentive, spoke yapped out of line and unfiltered too much unlike her older siblings who just seemed to get it easily. the twins would be sent off to the academy in idris, despite how slightly embarrassing it was that the training their family could provide wouldn't be enough.

she wasn't a complete lost cause, josie enjoyed training in combat and learning weaponry. it kept her busy and entertained, and it seemed to be the only time she did focus. the academy could work with that and mold her into a disciplined warrior and weapon, as close as josephine could get, at least.

her parents even feared whether or not she would be initiated at twelve, josie thought they were dramatic (they were) and she wore her first rune with pride, happy to prove them wrong. maybe, just maybe, they'd stop their doubting and have a little faith.

naturally, of course josie and jb would become each other's parabatai. fighting alongside one another and being able to know of each other's whereabouts even when they were apart on separate missions. as if the twins weren't bonded enough as it was, at least their parents could be proud of them for completing their training and following in their footsteps.

josie thrived being able to travel, enjoying the missions that were a little bit too far out more than others, always finding creative ways to come victoriously on top. plus she got to see a lot more of the world and meet new people, who wouldn't enjoy those perks?

that is, until she'd been traveling back to meet with her brother to join him on a mission he'd taken up. she'd told him to wait, that she'd be there soon, but of course he just had to be impatient and reckless (she definitely shouldn't be judging harshly) . if it weren't for the fact that they were outnumbered she would've yelled at him for not listening to her.

what neither had expected were the hellhounds and how quickly they'd ripped into jb like nothing. all she could hear were his strangled final breaths, still doing his best to hurt the creatures before they could turn their attention towards her. with blurred vision she'd managed to escape, knowing it was the only smart thing she could do as what little of his life force that was left faded along with their parabatai rune.

josie would have to come back to the scene of the crime, numbered this time, to collect his body and finish the mission.

your mother sat you at her vanity and pressed her cold palms against your cheeks. legacy. promise. a gold-plated girl, dressed up in diamonds to hide the dirty truth of the matter   —  that a name is just a name, and a name is only worth the weight it carries. back then, a naive child, you would have crawled over splintered glass to preserve your family's pride.

you met him on a cold winter night, your father holding court at the far end of the table. such a pretty face, he mused. and from then on, your future was a foregone conclusion. the countess, mircalla karnstein.

but you didn't run to your fate gladly. you walked as though to the gallows. the count was a fine man, but your eyes wandered everywhere but.  the pretty servant girl, with her crooked nose and crooked smile. the governess. all you ever had was longing. but longing felt too intimate, too pretty a word to describe the hunger in you for something, anything, to make you feel. you moved through the world as atlas, chained by leash and collar to the weight and veracity of your own desire.

so when those chains were severed by sharp teeth, in shadowy corner of the ballroom, you welcomed the bite. only when your lungs were starved of air, when your heart stopped beating, were you able to finally breathe.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 : present day, new york.

femininity as performance. mask in one hand, blade in the other. you have cycled through so many anagrams of a name, settling on carmilla, the lie, and mar, the person you become when nobody's watching   —  when you wipe away the rouge and meet your own eyes in the mirror, the beautiful truth laid bare.

to be continued . . .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ⸻

name : yesenia zavala nickname(s) : none age & birthday : 600 / october 29 sign : scorpio gender & pronouns : cis woman , she/her sexual orientation : bisexual species : witchpire familiar : doberman, named 'arevalo' / rev allegiance : no one occupation : owner of victrola traits : adaptable, strategic, determined, confident, passionate, selfish, resentful, secretive, impatient, ruthless

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⸻

parents : xiomara & ignacio zavala siblings : unnamed zavala's more to be added

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 ⸻

tw: mentions arranged marriage & domestic abuse? kinda? def not in detail

from the moment they had proof of yesenia's life, she had been cherished and adored. born from two witches, with diluted warlock and fey ancestry from either side, who wanted nothing more than to grow their coven and continue to pass down their gifts.

her parents had broken away from the coven they'd originally met in, some may have called them ungrateful for it but truth was, it was far too fractured to try and save. there was strength in numbers and if they wanted their kind to survive, they'd have to strive for better and relocate. a few of their closest friends had been persuaded, though it didn't take much as tensions were running high within the group.

naturally, her parents became the leaders with far better discipline and cohesion to amplify their magic. along the way, they'd welcome more witches seeking growth and community too.

being the firstborn to the founders of the coven meant yesenia never lacked affection or attention. from the start, even when she'd been in her mothers womb, she'd been blessed with protection rituals and adorned with charms and talismans that'd been passed down. herbs and oils would be carefully smudged onto her skin with muttered chanting in latin that would soon become a second language to her too.

her magic would manifest at a young age with the guidance of her parents and coven, a luxury they didn't have in their own childhoods. and although some would have said she was the guinea pig (and spoiled princess) they realized that if they continued to successfully raise their children just as yesenia was, they'd amplify their abilities and protect each other from infernals and downworlders.

they lived mostly in peace with a few run ins with other species. admittedly, yesenia found them interesting despite being told that they were lost souls to the darkness. she would never admit out loud to the elders but she'd surely whisper about it with her sisters and cousins.

as lost as their soul may have been, or whatever the elders would say, they had far more powerful attributes that she'd secretly craved. as a teenager she'd sneak off to learn more about their kind, maybe even acquainting herself with a few vampires from a nearby clan or the nomadic warlocks that would pass through occasionally.

(alright, gonna try and speed this up a bit as I'm getting lazy -- oop)

tragedy does eventually strike when a pack of wolves, driven mad by the moon, breaks the treaty. a restless night of screaming and blood being splattered. they'd done their best to ward them off, killing a few in the process, but the zavala coven had lost more than half their people and homes.

her father had never been the same after losing his people, but losing his wife and a few sons hurt and angered him the most. everyone felt it, spirits were down, they'd have to rebuild from the ashes. in a fit of desperation, the only sort of solution he could come up with was seeking unity and refuge to the coven's nearby, a cry for help. most had turned a blind eye, they had enough on their own plates. until one finally lent a hand, they'd been acquainted with one another, occasionally trading spells and objects.

from the start of their partnership, before the bloodshed, yesenia had captured the attention of the leader who was far older than she was. she'd never paid him any mind but with the zavala's desperate for a helping hand, he named his price. she would be his in exchange for everything else.

it was an unhappy marriage and yesenia would forever despise the man and resent her father for it. in the end it was all for nothing as their covens merged into one, resources were scarce and her father easily overthrown. her ' husband ' lead with fear and heavy fists, community nowhere near what the zavala's once had.

desperate to find a way out for her and her remaining siblings, yesenia managed to sneak away in the dead of night when her ' husband ' had been off at some meeting. she'd run to that same vampire clan nearby, the one where she'd befriended a member or two. she was willing and ready to trade her magic for strength and bloodlust, that's when she'd found out she could transform into a hybrid.

she had targeted them where it hurt the most : siphoning every last drop of magic from their bodies. it was a new and welcomed ability, one that drove her into a frenzy just as much as the taste of blood did.

yesenia had of course spared her people, the same couldn't be said about her dad, and so she led them, helping them build from the ground up and in turn they worshipped her for it- for doing what her father couldn't when tragedy struck. she'd protect them and get her revenge on the covens that'd left them out to bleed, leaving them as weak mundanes.

but she craved more and knew she couldn't stay permanently, the years were starting to pass and she remained and the hunger only grew. the only way to satisfy her appetite was by leaving.

its been centuries now and yesenia has long parted ways with the pain she endured during her mundane witch years. the anger and annoyance remains as a reminder.

she enjoys indulging in her hunger and desire, keeping herself entertained as she can - its for the best she doesn't let boredom manifest 🤫 new york has been fun thus far, always something to get into, someone to see. she's had victrola for a while now, its good income and keeps her busy and the bloodlust at bay. if she isn't consuming it, she's using it in her rituals. and it most certainly is on the menu.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⸻

FULL NAME - Leyla Tilki

ALIASES - N/A

NAME MEANING: Leyla - ‘Night’/’Daughter of the Night’ Tilki - ‘Fox’

AGE  &  D.O.B. - 29 - 8th Sept 1996

GENDER - Cis-Female

FACECLAIM - Melisa Asli Pamuk

SEXUALITY - Pansexual

SPECIES - Nephilim (Shadowhunter)

P.O.B. - Turkey

LANGUAGES - English, Turkish, French

HEIGHT - 5’6

BUILD - Slender

HAIR - Long dark brown, usually wavy and half up

PIERCINGS - Many in ears, old scar from navel

TATTOOS - Dots on fingers, Runes

HABITS - Smoking, Twirling rings on her fingers, fiddling with her knives

HOBBIES - Ballet/Dance, Training, Riding her motorbike

AESTHETICS - Leather jackets over mini dresses, high heels on dark pavement, pouring drinks in the club light, razor sharp nails, cigarette smoke swirling the air, sharp tongue with a sickly sweet smile

LIKES - Coffee too sweet, Vodka, Ballet

DISLIKES - Early mornings, long meetings, being trapped inside too long

FEARS - Loyalty being broken, losing more family

Leyla was born to two shadowhunters in Turkey, loved and prime to have a place at that institute her whole life things seemed like a picket fence dream for the young Shadowhunter, Though training was rough to start with Leyla also enjoyed ballet classes from a young age, finding a softness in dance that her parents sometimes frowned upon but ultimately supported. When she was 3 she lost her parents in a fight, something that most would hold a grudge to their whole lives but Leyla was so young she didn’t really understand, after this she was moved to the France Institute to be looked after by close family friends and her childhood was happy but she never got over the loss completely. Her childhood from there was rather uneventful other than meeting her best friend Julian, someone she looked up to and loved to train with when she wasn’t sneaking off to dance instead of fight. As a teenager Leyla was rather a handful, going out to bars every night and causing trouble, getting involved with the ‘wrong’ sort of people, something that would never really leave her spirit though she did start to understand the importance of her job as a Shadowhunter more. Her training was rigorous and whenever she had the chance the girl would be keeping up her skills, earning her the privilege to travel to other Institutes to help with their training of young Shadowhunters, though some would always think they heard her dancing rather than fighting late at night. Now she’s in New York Leyla is excited to reunite with her childhood best friend though her issues with authority and him being head of the institute will surely clash, she fights hard and though easily frustrated ultimately her loyalty is to her fellow Nephilim. Leyla found a job at Victrola as a bartender but after seeing the girls she started to adopt a somewhat house-mom type role for them, always helping with dance injuries or bringing them drinks between their entertainment, truly she loves her job at the club and though its far from the traditional strict structure of ballet its easy for her to appreciate dance in its more risque form. Her short temper will surely get her in trouble behind the bar but Leyla never backs down from a fight, even with the mundane if need be.

001. full  name: rayvin marie atkins.  nicknames: some people could get away with ray.   date  of  birth:  august 10th.  age: 415 looks in her twenties.  birthplace:  unknown, has always lived in new york.   home: a brownstone in manhattan.   gender:  cis  woman.  pronouns:  she  &  her.  orientation:  bisexual  &  biromantic.  occupation : owns victrola.  languages:  many.  relationship status:  single.

002. faceclaim: ryan destiny.  hair:  natural black.  eyes: dark brown.  height:  five  feet, seven inches.  build: slender.    dominant  hand: left. godly parent: nyx. deadly sin: greed. heavenly virtue: diligence. label: the mannequin. personality traits: resilient, aloof, calculated, observant, flaky, rigid.

003. rayvin grew up with half a story missing. her mother never spoke about her father, not even a lie to soften the absence. whenever rayvin asked, her mother’s expression would shutter, and the room would fall into that heavy, warning kind of quiet. so rayvin learned early that some questions weren’t meant to be answered, and some truths weren’t meant to be shared. her childhood was quiet. her mother worked nights and slept through the days and left rayvin to navigate life on her own. that felt more like a waiting room than a home. she moved like a shadow even then, slightly out of sync with the world around her. she left home at seventeen, no longer willing to pretend with the woman that only saw her father's face. she drifted through the city until she found someone that felt familiar in a way her mother never had. another warlock that had taken her under his wing since a warlock without a mentor and gone unchecked could be a disaster. unknowing that he was an infamous name in the downworld that was known for helping people but at a cost. she never knew what the cost would be for her, as he never came to collect. the centuries she spent under his tutelage growing her magic and learning control culminated in her becoming known as his assistant, where if other people sought him out, they knew to come to her. victrola became like a second home base to her after she purchased it, building it up to what it is now through the use of some magic and people that owed some favors.

they put her to death on a rainy friday. burn the witch. and as you hide in the shadows, face streaked with tears, she gives you one last smile and whispers i love you. your father is home, seeking absolution at the bottom of the bottle.

you’ve never been one to do things by halves, and so shades of grey elude you. you are firm in your convictions, no matter how hard your conscience tugs at your sleeves or how urgently it whispers   —  are you sure? you tear down cities. you want to make it right, for her. your mother, the martyr. but just because you feel it, even if you burn with it, doesn't mean it's right. you are neither judge nor jury. your crown is a halo of light, ephemeral, and it disappears with the sun.

they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. you've laid every brick by hand   —  and what do you have to show for it? nothing but ashes in the sky and ashes at your feet.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 : present day, new york.

as one thing ends, so another begins. cyclical. ourobrus. in your dreams, even now, you smell fire. you see fire in the righteous set of their shoulders. you see it reflected in their blades. people look to you for guidance, but if you speak in a low enough voice and dress the point up in metaphor, no-one cares to really see. you are not a prophet, nor a scholar. you have no real answers, because this story can only ever end one way   —  in the plumes of the pyre.

to be continued . . .

001. full  name: dovia calanthe clark.  nicknames: dove to most people.   date  of  birth:  february 13th.  age: thirty5, recently changed darklighter.  birthplace:  new york, new york city.   home: an apartment in brooklyn.   gender:  demi  woman.  pronouns:  she  &  they.  orientation:  pansexual  &  panromantic.  occupation : owns thorns & petals.  languages:  english, french, passable italian.  relationship status:  single.

002. faceclaim: laura harrier.  hair:  natural black.  eyes: dark brown.  height:  five  feet, nine inches.  build: slender.    dominant  hand: right. godly parent: hebe. deadly sin: greed. heavenly virtue: chastity. label: the flower child. personality traits: sensitive, conflict averse, forgiving, idealistic, passive, nurturing, creative.

003. dove is the eldest daughter in the clarke family, and knew she was the golden child. she excelled in debate club, not because she liked arguing, but because she loved understanding people. she was the girl who could dismantle an opponent’s logic with a smile and then help them carry their books afterward. she spent her weekends horseback riding, hair braided with wildflowers, posture perfect, laughter echoing across the fields. she was graceful, composed, and quietly competitive but would still hand her ribbons to her younger sisters because they looked better in them. after high school, dovia moved to new york city and attended barnard college, majoring in environmental studies with a concentration in plant sciences. she loved the city, but she missed the quiet of home. after graduating, she worked at a few floral shops, apprenticed under a botanical designer, and eventually opened her own shop. thorns & petals became her own escape that she turned into her home away from home. when she heard how things became strained and the sudden absence from one of her younger siblings, she threw herself into improving the store. she relied on the stability for her sanity and felt like things were coming together, until they suddenly weren't. the night she was turned into a darklighter is a blur. she remembers shadows and whispers above everything else, and waking up fundamentally different. knowing nothing of the various supernatural species in new york prior, she's had a hard time adjusting to her new powers but thorns & petals is still the constant that keeps her sane.

001. full  name: vivienne sarani west.  nicknames: vivi to friends.   date  of  birth:  springtime when flowers were in bloom, they've chosen may 11th.  age: over 900, she lost track a century ago.  birthplace:  mali region, south africa but modern day established homes in new york and ribeauvillé, france.   home:  ribeauvillé, france + new york.   gender:  demi  woman.  pronouns:  she  &  they.  orientation:  demisexual  &  panromantic.  occupation : owns various businesses but known in new york as the clan head and owner of hotel dumort.  languages:  many.  relationship status:  single.

002. faceclaim: ashley moore.  hair:  brown balayage with light pink.   eyes: dark brown.  height:  five  feet, five inches.  build: petite.    dominant  hand: ambidextrous. godly parent: aphrodite. deadly sin: lust. heavenly virtue: patience. label: the aesthete. personality traits: jaded, avoidant, soft spoken, patient, loyal, detached, secretive.

003. vivienne was turned at nineteen. young enough to be hopeful, old enough to understand loss. she was born in a century where women were meant to be quiet, delicate, ornamental. she was all of those things, but she was also curious, hungry for the world, desperate to feel something beyond the confines of her era. the vampire who turned her mistook her softness for weakness. they both learned quickly that she was made of silk, but the same could be used to strangle. she spent her first century in love with everything: poets, painters, dancers, dreamers. she loved mundanes before it occurred to her how quickly they would flash before her eyes. she buried lovers, friends, entire generations. she watched cities rise and fall, watched fashion change a dozen times, watched the world forget people she still remembered vividly. after a few hundred years, the grief stopped being sharp. it became a hum beneath her ribs, a quiet ache she carried like a keepsake. vivienne learned to stop loving deeply. she learned to love aesthetically like someone loves a painting or a flower. from a distance without having to risk the loss.

she became a collector of beauty instead of a participant in it. she keeps journals filled with pressed flowers and names of people long dead. she kept trinkets from every century, every heartbreak. all of them have stories attached to them that she can recite like a prayer she lost long ago.