#tempusxtao

➢ Send me a ♪ and I’ll put all of my songs on shuffle and write a drabble involving our muses.     ↳ source: ☓ —— accepting: yes. —— ( tempusxtao )

                             ⊱   WAITING FOR THE END   ⊰

Very few outside the nephilim have ever entered the city of Alicante. It’s considered the shadowhunters’ most sacred place. No one but them may enter or leave, unless permitted by the council.

SeLin Shin is one of the interesting cases. He’s not a shadowhunter - he’s not related to Raziel at all. He’s a warlock, a downworlder - those that shadowhunters have sworn to keep in line... or kill.

He’s also standing in the center of Alicante, the Glass City, staring up at the towers that are supposed to be keeping him out. They’re beautiful, the same way that a reaper’s blade would be. Deadly, powerful - breathtaking. If things hadn’t recently taken a turn for the shitty, he’d probably never have been given the chance to see them.

On either side of him is a nephilim. They’re both tense, uncomfortable with his very presence here. But he’s practically aglow with exuberance. It’s not often he gets to rub shadowhunter faces into the dirt without repercussion. They are at the mercy of his humble largesse right now. And he’s simply basking in it.

Both of his babysitters stiffen another nanometer when their little flock is approached by another. He’s taller, with hair that almost matches SeLin’s in color, but wearing the same black leather that everyone around here is clad in. Not interesting enough to keep his attention.

15: Kiss in the Rain

Brows lifted up in disappointed as a clap of thunder sounded in the sky, immediately followed by a down pour of rain that was almost deafening as it fell upon the awnings that stuck out from all the shops around her. Reaching up, her hands planted themselves on top of her head, as if that would somehow help stop the rain from ruining her hair as she started quickly hurrying down the side walk, a pout forming on cherry colored lips.

Turning a corner, she found herself nearly falling over as she ran straight into a firm chest, a foot taking a step back to balance herself while a hand shot out to grab her elbow. Blinking, she looked up at the other and smiled a bit sheepishly, embarrassed to have not looked where she was going, she ducked her head down a bit before speaking. “I’m so sorry about that! I guess I was just trying to get out of the rain too quickly, huh?”

The summer heat was relentless. Vengeance seemed to be the word of the day as it took to burning those who had doubted its prowess; arms burnt brown, white lines left behind sliding bra straps— his own tan was on the verge of worrisome. If he were to care about such things. He wore short sleeves with the sole intention of burning his unusually pale skin— it took longer some years than others for the tell tale brown of the season to burn him. The process had always started on the back of his neck, where it would trail across the span of his shoulders and eventually wind its way over the length of his arms. This year though the sun hung high and started up the belief that he could change the start of things. He bent his arms with the hope by the time he returned home, his elbows would stay hot to the touch. 

    When he spots the crowd in the Great Hall the night after the announcement is made to start putting in names, he frowns. He'd just wanted to get in and get out, quick as a flash, but there are students and staff all over the place, gossiping and watching as a couple of others step up to drop their slips of paper in. Most are of Hogwarts, predictably. He'd be willing to wager that a good portion of his classmates tossed theirs in earlier today. Beauxbatons will probably step up tomorrow. A couple of lone Durmstrang boys in the back are watching him with curious eyes and failing at keeping their conversation quiet. He hears his name come up - it seems as though they hadn't expected him to enter. This is surprising, considering his known penchant for violent sports.

    He strides up to the display with purpose, eyes locked on the wooden cup in the center, and ignoring the disgruntled stare of the girl that is (was) supposed to be next in line. He's already got his parchment folded up between his fingers and it takes just a second to reach up and drop it in. He turns back around to face the room, offers a very dry smile to his onlookers, and starts for the door again.

Wand Information Wood: Elm Core: Dragon heartstring Length: 13 ½" Magic/Combat Information: Skills: Martial arts, apparition, dark arts, curses & hexes, occlumency Strengths: Potions, transfiguration, arithmancy, charms Weaknesses: Herbology, flying, alchemy, defense against the dark arts, legilimency Additional Information: First-hand front-line battle experience for roughly three to four years as a Deatheater; declined to enter the Inner Circle, preference to remain detached from the political power play.

Stats: Compassion: Negligible Empathy: Negligible Creativity: 2/10 Mental Flexibility: 4/10 Motivation: Establishing control, normally through means of psychical and mental attacks.

Stamina: 7/10 Physical Strength: 6/10 Battle Skill: Experienced, see above  Initiative: 6/10 Restraint: 2/10 Agility: 9/10 Strategy: 7/10 Teamwork: 5/10

Employment Information  Graduated from: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Ravenclaw House Employer: Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hit Wizard Years Employed: Four months Additional Information: Previously a Death Eater, now turned spy for the Ministry of Magic. Under constant surveillance by members of the Order, see Sungjoon. Looming threat of Azkaban, on parole for good behavior. 

Extra Information: Likes: Unknown, penchant to violence.  Dislikes: Quidditch, Ministry of Magic, Order of the Phoenix (in particular, Sungjoon), muggles. Hobbies: Martial arts, wizard chess, dueling. Boggart: Ticking clock, reasons unknown.  Patronus: Unable to form one. 

Personality:  Abandoned as a child, raised with the mentality of an cornered beast. He's detached, intelligent, unassuming, and uninterested. Fundamentally judgmental, with an artificial mask. Remarkably hypocritical, isolated by choice. Taciturn but authoritative, aggression has become a means of survival. 

Biography:  Mistakes mark his transitions in life. His mother, a desperate immigrant from China working two part-time jobs to make ends meet left her mistake at the doorstep of an impoverished orphanage in Sussex, England. Unwanted brands him for the next twelve years, alone with nothing but distrust and anger. 

He was eleven when he first received his letter of acceptance from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The surprise came with a bitter aftertaste of betrayal, dead eyes blurring red ink. This was his first mistake.

Unnaturally intelligent with a vicious mind, he delves into dark arts with unstated hunger. Without much penchant for friendship, he remains alone for the majority of the years spent confined behind Hogwart’s walls. He met the only person deserving of his attention in his second year. A sharp-minded Gryffindor he dated for three years. Their breakup was his undoing. Nothing she said would coax him out of the prison he built around himself. Here, he made his second mistake letting her go.

He graduates with little to no fuss, leaving the school with nothing but the robe on his back and a wand in his hand. Joining the Dark Lord was simply to bring bread to the table. He doesn't consider it a mistake. His only other mistake was trusting another Deatheater to watch his back. Now, he works for the Ministry killing anyone he recognizes with a smile on his face.