#Nine sons born to this man and all disappointments

[duchess-of-oldtown]

One thing that always gets me, is Quellon Greyjoy. You got this ✨tall✨ scary dude who could have been a big fucking threat but decides to be a reformer. He tries to fix the reputation of the Iron Islands and the Greyjoys. And he dies in the most Ironborn way, in battle at sea, probably thinking at least "I did something to be proud of and the Islands are on the way to a better relationship with Westeros". But then his kids are literally an eldritch horror, a dumb thot, a religious fanatic and one short king and they just undo all of his work in like five mins. You cannot convince me that Quellon was not looking up from the depths of the Drowned God's watery halls like

#I just love the idea of Quellon just screaming in the afterlife because of his kids #Tywin is there too just catatonic over Cersei and Jaime & #the fact that Tyrion is actually impressing him in his whole Essos hot girl summer #Quellon Greyjoy #Nine sons born to this man and all disappointments #house greyjoy #asoiaf meta #Asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #a song of ice and fire #balon greyjoy #theon greyjoy #Asha Greyjoy #euron greyjoy #aeron greyjoy #victarion greyjoy #the iron islands #GRRM #grr martin

[spacedace]

Had an idea, thought I'd make it a prompt, 3k+ words later realized this wasn't a prompt anymore but a ficlet 🙃

Anyway, here's the first almost 2k of Talia being a good parent and deciding to not go with either Bruce or Ra's and go off and do her own thing and raise Damian and oops she got attached to Jason while checking in on Bruce and saved him from dying in Ethiopia. & now has 2 sons lol

-

When her Beloved and her father demanded Talia make a choice, of who she would choose, she didn't hesitate.

She chose neither of them. She chose her child. She chose herself.

Outwitting both Ra's al Ghul and Batman was no simple feat. They were both brilliant, relentless and with endless resources at their command. It was why their clashes were as devastating as they were. Immovable objects and unstoppable forces the both of them. If there was something they wanted, it was something they would have.

But not her.

They would not have her.

She had her own networks, her own people, her own keen intelligence and sharp cunning. It took time - time she really didn't have - and a great deal of pain and loss, but she slipped them eventually. Shrugged off the shroud of who she had been - who she was made to be - and stepped confidently into her new life.

Her son was born nine days after her freedom had finally, fully been assured.

He was small and perfect in every way. Soft and warm cradled close to her chest, unblemished by the cruelty of the world as he slept soundly in her arms. Even as exhausted as she was after such a long labor, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Her attention narrowed down entirely on his every quiet breath, his downy soft hair, his round peaceful face.

In the weeks that followed his eyes would shift and change from a newborn's blue to her own green. It would take years before she could know if he inherited any of his father's features, but that was fine. He was hers and hers alone.

She named him Damian.

In another life she would name him with her father in mind. That her son would rise as Heir to the Demon and conquer the world. That he'd stand as ruler of all.

In this one, she named him with hope in her heart that what he would master was his own life. That he would never be forced to bow to the will of anyone else. To be made to act as servant or puppet. Let him tame his fate into something good and kind and happy.

She did her best to give him the life he deserved.

Lavished him with all her love and affection. Gave him everything he could ever want or need. The friends she began making for herself - not just trusted allies, but friends - laughed that she would spoil him rotten. It was probably true, but she didn't have it in her to care.

Her son would have the childhood he would have been denied if raised raised in the home of either of their fathers. Her father would have demand harsh lessons and frightened obedience and impossible standards. Damian's would have tried - she knew her Beloved would have tried - but his heart would always be for his city first and all else, even his children, second.

Talia kept tabs on both of them, covertly. Ensured she always kept a healthy distance from anything that involved her father or his people. Gathered stories of her Beloved's exploits to share with her son when he was old enough to hear them.

It gave her insight on just what choosing her Beloved would have meant. Reassured her that while not choosing her father had been the right choice, choosing her Beloved would have been the wrong one.

Bruce Wayne was a good man. Brilliant and driven with his kind heart and admirable goals. Breathtaking in his skill and ability.

Disappointing in his parenting skills.

Talia knew she was lacking as a parent herself. That her own upbringing had left its scars and that try as she might she'd undoubtedly end up doing the same to her own child over the years. But she always pushed herself hard towards improving, in making herself better for the tiny boy that she loved more than anything else. And she felt satisfied that in the very least that when presented with options on how her and her son's life would be, she'd made the one that was best for Damian.

Not the life of an assassin or a vigilante, but the life of a child.

A child who was taught some of the skills of both the worlds she'd turned her back on, admittedly, but only ever for his own protection. Damian was safer knowing how to hide, how to escape, how to fight. She had done her best, but there was always the looming threat that they might be found one day. She needed to be sure he was ready, if that time ever come.

She didn't teach him the way she was taught.

When her son fumbled or failed she gently corrected him. Walked him through what he'd done wrong, how he could improve. Made a game out of the experience so that he came running up to her on toddling feet with bright eyes begging that they have a lesson. His excitement and delight in it all made him a better student then her fear and desperate need for her father's approval and affection.

There was a day she caught sight of him, all of four years old, tiny face scrunched in a look of concentration as he practiced the form she'd taught him the day before with his small, wooden practice sword. Some of his father's features lingered at the edges of his face, but he'd deepened his resemblance to her by picking up her mannerisms and expressions. Her son, going through the same steps and motions she had when she'd been his age, little body wobbling as he turned to fast before plopping on the ground with a tiny oof.

Talia had small silver scars on the back of her hands, so thin and so old as to nearly be invisible anymore. They burned all the same as she recalled herself stumbling in nearly the same way. Stomach churning as she remembered the terror she'd felt as her instructor had snatched her up by her hair and drug her over to a low table, holding her hands in place with a massive hand. The way she'd bit her lip hard enough that her mouth filled with blood as he struck her with the thin lash, knowing that if she cried the punishment would be all the worse.

Damian only blinked his big green eyes and scowled the same way she did whenever something of minor importance didn't go the way she wanted it to. Then he saw her standing there in the doorway watching him and his face lit up, bright as the son and just as beautiful as he jumped to his feet and darted over to her. Tiny hand clinging to the loose fabric of her pant leg as he begged her show me again Mama!

It was moments like that where she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt she'd made the right choice.

Her father would have broken her brilliant, kind hearted son. Would have done to him what was done to her to forge Damian into a weapon.

Her beloved...

He would never hurt her son like that. Not the way her father and his loyal followers would. But she couldn't ignore the fact that Damian would still be hurt all the same under his father's tutelage.

Talia knew the man she loved well. Adored his strengths, but was not blind to his flaws. He kept his heart well guarded, hidden behind imposing walls of silence and razor wire of words he didn't truly mean. Still kind, but horribly distant when it came to those he cared for most. It shielded him some, perhaps, but it left those who loved him feeling lost and alone.

She saw how Dick Grayson had grown over the years. Tall and clever and lonely and bitter. Fighting for independence, for acknowledgement, for his father to speak words of love and respect. Things Bruce felt but almost never said unless he thought things were dire.

She saw too how the heavy weight of her Beloved's priorities weighed up on his second son.

Young Jason Todd who saw magic in the harsh world he'd been drawn into and desired to be the protection for others that he never had growing up. She saw much of herself in him, though he faced the world with far more hope than she had at his age. He was a bright boy with a good heart that had weathered a harsh upbringing that Talia could sympathize with. There was a familiar anger in him too, broiling just beneath the surface, flaring up and burning him as much as everyone else when triggered.

Most of all though Talia could see the desperate loneliness that had marred her own life in the boy. The soul deep fear of abandonment. The painful desire for love from a father that always seemed to stay at arm's length who spoke rarely of affection and often of missions to be completed.

She kept a close eye on her Beloved's second Robin.

When he left for Ethiopia, searching for family in a stranger that had already given him up, she'd followed.

Jason only ever wanted family and love. A good boy, bright and fierce and brave. A boy Talia saw a lot of herself in, who faced the world with such determined brightness in spite of the pain and hardship he'd known.

Shelia Haywood took that boy that Talia had grown so fond of, took his trust and his love and crushed it beneath her heel. Callously handed him over to the Joker without a second thought. As if he was disposable, as if he was nothing more than a puppet to use and toss away when it suited her.

Talia had risked everything when she'd decided she would not choose either her father or her Beloved. She'd turned her back on her entire life, everything that had ever been and ever could be on either side. She spent months running, hiding, fighting and killing, in orchestrating a plan that could outwit and outmaneuver the two most brilliant men she knew. And she'd done it all so that her son could live free, as master of his own life.

Jason Todd had come to Ethiopia looking for a mother.

Talia, with blood on her hands and a burning warehouse behind her as she carried his broken body to safety, made sure he found one.

#batman #batman au #talia al ghul #damian al ghul #damian wayne #jason todd #talia al ghul is a good parent #good parent talia al ghul #protective talia al ghul #jason doesn't die #Talia ends up catching Bruce's adoption habit oops #Bruce isn't a bad parent in this exactly #he's just not a good parent either #he loves his kids but his priorities are fucked up and his communication skills are worse than a literal rock's #I just have a lot of feelings about the abstract parallels that you could find between Talia & Jason #And about how Talia could be the mother that doesn't abandon or betray him #believe it or not I think I make this a dpxdc thing #got ideas about introducing Jazz to this whole mess lol #we'll see what happens #Jason - terribly concussed coming to in a private jet with Talia casually reading across from him #Jason: Am I being kidnapped? #Talia - gently and reassuringly: Oh no no no #Jason: Can I leave? #Talia: No. #Damian is gonna lose his damn mind over getting a big brother #Jason was gonna try and escape and go back to Gotham but Damian is just so cute? And loves him so much? And Talia is being so nice?

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: ghost!gojo x f!reader, mentions of death, manga spoilers, mentions of character death(s), mentions of sick parents, reader being nurturing, satoru being intruiged by reader, reader talking to herself even though she knows she's being listened to, slight fluff at the end, gojo feeling some type of way word count: 2.2k a/n: someone help me name this series. this is the quickest time I've written a pt. 2 after a part 1. also, shout out to mitski's my love mine all mine for the extra kick to finish the end. I was supposed to sleep 2 hrs ago, so here's the unedited chapter. here is part 1. some inspiration to the gojo clan home: photo 1,

5 months into your arrival as his nephew's tutor, satoru thinks you've finally accepted his presence, yet he never plans to outwardly reach out to you because what if you told his family in the estate?

he should feel relieved over this, but bringing his clan in this issue would surely bring more problems than he'd like to admit. if he were 'dead' now, imagine what his clan would do once he really died?

shortly before finishing his fight with kenjaku, satoru was blindly cursed. "I may not be able to bring the strongest with me, but I will curse you, satoru gojo," the words still echo in the back of his head.

"your spirit will remain the same, your being remains, but you will be here no more, in the presence for others to see. you shall remain invisible, a ghost to all, and you'll be lucky to be noticed by anyone who does not already know your inherit value as a sorcerer. known by all, but never remembered."

satoru thinks back to that fateful day, ending the life of a stranger inside the body of his best friend, the epitome of his youth, hopes, and aspirations. satoru remembers the look on his student's faces, blank disappointment. either at him or themselves, but he knows it's geared towards him. shoko's knuckles barely turn white as her lips press into a tight line, while yuuji chokes on air as he's on his knees, other students at his side, attempting to console him while megumi lays unconscious several feet away. he turns out okay in the end, with a minor concussion and a few injuries he'd like to thank shoko for fixing up, the boy lives.

and on that day, gojo satoru died from the face of the earth.

he doesn't know how or why he ended up in his estate. a large, but quaint home with endless scenery and a garden right out of a movie. the house still holds traditional japanese elements, but the peony shrubs his mother had planted stick out like a sore thumb.

just like her.

young, beautiful, and once full of life. hopeful to marry into a family that would one day accept her albeit she was a foreigner, marrying a man whom she thought was serious and sophisticated enough to handle marriage.

but oh how foolish we are to assume the best in others when it comes to matters of the heart.

when he was alive, satoru would regularly check in with the old nanny, ensuring that the shrubs were trimmed and water just right. he knew just how much those flowers meant to his mother. a pretty housewife who no matter what she did was never enough to impress the clan.

until satoru was born. her pride and joy, holding no mind to the comments of his white hair and how he held ancestral resemblance to an ancient sorcerer from within the clan. all his mother knew was that she was head over heels in love with the peaceful human she was able to carry for nine months. no concern for the future, only hope that his son would see and be treated with the humanness he deserved to have. but oh how fate twists. one thing leads to another and his mother now requires a blanket everywhere she goes. she still hangs out in the gardens, spending what time she can with her son who is now 5, nearly 6. and then she's bed bound, finding solace in the brush stokes against the canvas and the warmth of her son.

sometimes, satoru carries the bitter reminder yet anger towards his father. he never saw them happy, only formal and curt, almost as if being together was a chore for him, and his mother's smile would falter when he would avoid a hug from her. the smell of cheap vanilla perfume stained his coat, hanging by his arm, and satoru's mother would simply look towards the ground. almost in shame.

he never loved his mother, satoru then realized as an adult. not even bring her up in the lonely nights, reminisce her life, what they shared, it was as if she was a long-forgotten chapter in his life.

you arrive in august, cheerful and kind. he thinks you won't last long because his family demands unreasonably long hours and surely your boyfriend back home would not approve, but he was surprised, 3 months in your stay that you continued to tutor his nephew. you seemed much more genuine than any other temporary nanny he had when he was a kid, satoru thinks, but then again he and hotaru are completely different in terms of cursed energy.

when november is nearing it's end, you decide to stay a few extra minutes in the garden. hotaru has now joined his family for dinner, and he watches the estate nanny walk towards you and hand you a mug. he can't quite hear what you're both saying since the leaves rustle a little too loudly for his liking, but he notices the 'oh' you make is serious, followed by a nervous chuckle after the nanny had said something.

satoru wonders what you must have said as the nanny suddenly rises from the garden stone bench, looking at his direction as he leans against a tree. she tells you something before departing, and you sigh moments later.

"I can feel you're around, you've been watching us for some time, and I know it." you speak almost so knowingly that it makes satoru swallow the lump at the back of his throat, but the feeling quickly dissipates as soon as the white housecat, mochi, startles you.

you leave shortly after.

12 days of your normal routine pass when satoru notices something is wrong. hotaru doesn't eat as much and at night, he calls for you. "you'll spoil him if you keep letting him be around that commoner," a distant aunt of satoru, one who he wasn't particularly fond of sneers at the nanny, "now he's calling her before bedtime,"

"he's 5," the nanny says, almost defensively. if anyone were to speak to his aunt like that then the staff would have surely been fired, but after working in the estate for nearly 30 years, satoru's father would have prohibited the dismissal of a staff member with this much seniority over something like this. "his mother is ill, and the boy's tutor has been his only maternal rock at this point. he doesn't open up to anyone but her, so we would be doing the nephew of gojo satoru a disservice by treating his nephew the way you treat him." satoru watched at how furiously the woman's brows furrowed then softened, speechless and at a loss for words before she gives up and leaves.

within an hour, you are quick to make it to the estate with a much more informal set of clothes. a pair of joggers and loungewear ideal for the nearing winter. it is past 10 when you hold the boy in his arms, talk to him about his problems, make a pinky promise (not just any promise) with him, and read him a bedtime story you had so thoughtfully decided to bring in your bag.

within minutes, the boy instantly falls asleep tucked to your side and the look you hold in your face makes satoru stare in admiration as he sits from one of the rocking chairs across the room. gently placing the book down, you kiss hotaru's forehead. "I'll see you on thursday," you promise the sleeping child before heading outside where hatoru's nanny greets you. she bows her head momentarily.

"we cannot thank you enough for your work, miss." she says, hands formally clasped together at her front. "we have made sleeping arrangements for you to stay the night. we insist, as a commute back home at this hour is late," she adds, "we have set up nightwear and can even prepare dinner for you miss."

"thank you," you say simply, politely, "I... I really don't mean to intrude nor cause any-"

"oh you could never," the woman says, "please, allow us to be your host for the night. and do not worry about waking up at an hour in fear of inconveniencing us. we have multiple guest bedrooms and would be honored to let you stay."

satoru notices the expression in your face soften as he knows that you can't possibly say no know, so you accept. choosing to spend the night. the staff set you up in a nice, private room with your own exit to the gardens. and the estate chef sends you his best soup and side dishes to fill your stomach on this cold night.

"you clearly don't have to worry about anything in here," you speak lowly but loudly enough for satoru to hear. you sit and lean against your slide shift door, facing the garden as satoru sits on the wooden surface of the 'sidewalk' (referenced in photo one). and he nearly wants to laugh at your comment, swaying his feet that he almost kicks some of the pebbled stones.

"but... hotaru still worries," you definitely have his attention now as you sigh softly, troubled, not knowing the spirit of hotaru's uncle listens to you.

"sometimes... I don't know what to do. sometimes... I feel like I can cross a boundary, but I'm an employee at the end of the day. how can I act as his therapist without... being this motherly to him?"

there was clearly a problem that satoru didn't know the answer to, but he sympathized with you trying to take on as many roles as you possibly could. he knew how complicated his family clan was. how you would always and forever walk on eggshells around them and no matter what you accomplished, it was never enough.

"I try, I really do..." your murmur to yourself, and a long silence passes as you sit in the quietness of the room. "I..." you chuckled, "I'm sorry, I can't believe I'm doing this- talking to myself, hoping something or some spirit is listening when in reality I'm just speaking to myself like a complete fool, or a japanese spirit is here right now truly mind boggled as a girl speaks in english," you stand to your feet and chuckle, heading to your bed. as satoru hears yourself bickering, the corner if his lip tugs ever so slightly upwards.

he wants to say something. thinks about what the possibility of you talking with him would be like. and as you're making your way to the bed, you still go off on a tangent.

"...no, I bet they do understand me." you argue with yourself, lecturing as if you had your own personal podcast, "if feelings are universal, so are energies and vibrations... meaning one of two things." now you're walking back and forth, concentrated on your own footsteps. satoru wants to chuckle, scare you off even, but this entertainment was the best thing he's had since he could remember. so he decided to wait this one out.

"1- the spirits must think I'm an idiot, I mean I already look like one here, but... 2, they can sense my energy." satoru feels his figurative heart drop to his stomach when you instantly look in his direction, did you know he was here all along? he thinks for a split moment, your eyes sharp with knowing.

you shudder, as your hairs stand on the sides of your arms. not unpleasantly, but enough to know some energy besides your own was here. after a short consideration, you speak.

"move a pebble if you're here," your eyes don't leave his direction, and satoru sits motionless, almost afraid you could see the real him, break all notions of metaphysical theories and curses, and then, you walk towards him; sitting criss cross applesauce.

"I know you're here," softly, you whisper, and satoru can see how you're cold, hugging your frame as your jaw slightly tenses. "I just don't know if you choose to ignore my attempts because you want to or because you genuinely can't communicate," your energy warms him, he doesn't know how else to describe it as you lean closer and closer. he thinks that if he were still alive, then you'd probably make fun of his faltered composure.

I don't know how, he wants to say, but deep down, if he wanted to try he could. he just didn't have the guts to do it.

a long minute passes, you wait patiently before you sigh, but not in defeat. "but either way, I'll be here. and your nephew will be okay. I don't know if that's the reason why you're here, but..." you trail, eyes fixated on the garden as your brows furrow and unfurrow, "...he's going to be okay." shortly after, you stand up, closing the conversation, and satoru senses he shouldn't be here anymore as you make your way to the bed. taking his cue, he leaves with a fuzzy feeling in his chest, remembering your words that oddly felt like a promise. one he hasn't been made to in forever.

he could learn to trust you.

#gojo #satoru #guilty pleasure #jjk #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #gojo headcanons #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo sensei #satoru gojo #gojo x you

[bloofinntoona]

Of Serpents and Whispers: To be Ominis

Part 1 of the Ominis Gaunt series: Of Serpents and Whispers

Word count: 1.2 k

Themes: Angst, gen, TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of pain from the Cruciatus Curse

Pairing: (to come) Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader, Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Summary/Author's Note: I wanted to expand Ominis' story since his background and storyline wasn't as polished as the other main student characters. Will dive deeper into the story further on!

Darkness.

Ominis Gaunt saw the world differently compared to other people. Being born without the ability to see, Ominis was used to navigating the world through his other senses. There was more than meets the eye anyways. Visuals are overrated. Ominis could feel the coldness of winter through the prickly sensation of snow falling on his skin, or how refreshing it is to inhale the scent of dew-covered leaves in spring mornings. To be quite honest, it was an advantage to block out the snide looks that his family gives him on the daily.

Some might say that being born into the House of Gaunt is a blessing. The Gaunts were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Ominis thought otherwise. Behind the splendor of the Gaunts’ massive manor, there was darkness weaved into the family name. Like many of Slytherin’s descendants, the Gaunt family was obsessed with keeping their lineage pure. Magic had to be kept between Wizard-kind only. These words were burned onto Ominis’ ears ever since he was little, as well as the screams of muggles when his family casted Crucio and other dark arts on them. They said that they did it for ‘practice’ and because ‘muggles are beneath us and they don’t deserve to live’. Ominis begged the differ. He could see neither muggles nor pure-bloods alike. It doesn’t matter. everyone was the same through his light-grey orbs.

Ominis Gaunt wished he was born into a normal family when his own parents made him stand in front of a cowering muggle. The boy couldn't see the terrified expression of the man, yet the gritting teeth, the wails, and pleas sent shivers down his spine. He could feel the wand in his sweaty grip slipping and falling down, the sound echoes around the chamber. Ominis thanked the universe that he couldn't see the disgusting looks of his snickering siblings, taunting the youngest of the Gaunt family. He heard a loud slap and felt a stinging pain on the backside of his head. “You foolish child,” his father grunted, “how many times do I have to tell you to cast the Cruciatus Curse on this… creature.” 

Ominis’ tears well up, shaking his head profusely. “Please, father, I cannot do this!” The nine-year-old boy fell down on his knees, begging for just a little bit of mercy from his family.

Yet it was all for naught. “Avada Kedavra!” screamed his father, followed by a loud thump! Ominis couldn't hear the pleas from the man anymore. He sits down, hugging his knees, blocking his siblings’ cruel remarks. Despite his inability to see, he can feel his father’s disappointed gaze burning onto him.

“Crucio!”

Ominis could only feel pain. His whole body stung, it felt like there were a thousand knives jabbing him all over his body. On top of that, he couldn’t scream as he felt a hand squeezing around his throat. The boy thought he would die there and then, yet the pain subsided after what it felt like hours.

“You are no son of mine.”

Ominis’ relationship with his family was never the same after that. Not like it was good before, but he could feel that Gaunts’ wished he would disappear. He solidified his hatred towards the Dark Arts, promising himself that we will not wield it. This view was shared with his favorite family member, his aunt Noctua Gaunt. Ominis didn’t get to see Noctua a lot as his aunt was deep into studying Salazar Slytherin’s past. He didn’t mind though, he loved hearing stories about the Hogwarts Wizarding school that he will attend. Not only Ominis was keen on learning more about magic, but it was an invitation to get away from his dreadful family. 

Despite not hearing back from Noctua after a while, he was beyond delighted to receive the invitation letter on his 11th birthday. Ominis ran his hands across the scruffy envelope paper, feeling the pointed folded edges. He flipped the envelope, opening the seal to produce the parchment inside. He ghosted his fingers against the paper, reading the invitation through the Braille letters embossed. It only took him a day to quickly pack his belongings and head to school.  

Being the only blind student is one thing, but carrying the Gaunt name did make an impact in between the first years. It didn’t help that Headmaster Black escorted him into the sorting hat ceremony. What a pompous twit, Ominis thought. Gone were the expectations of having new friends and living a normal life at Hogwarts. Ominis sat down at the end of the long table.

However, an arm around his shoulder took him by surprise. “I’m Sebastian Sallow! And this is my sister, Anne!” chirped the boy. He grabbed Ominis’ arm, resting it on what Ominis suspected was a little girl. “Sebastian, don’t be rude! Sorry, my name is Anne. We saw you were sitting alone, so we thought we introduce ourselves?”

Ominis chuckled and introduced himself, “I’m Ominis Gaunt. Pleasure to meet you.” The children talked about how excited they were to be sorted. Ominis knew that he would be sorted into Slytherin, but he was pleasantly surprised to hear that his new friends were sorted into the same house.

The universe might not hate him after all.

The Hogwarts students were convinced that Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne were joined at the hip. Wherever one went, the other would follow. Contrary to popular belief that Sebastian was the most mischievous of the trip, it was Anne who was the biggest troublemaker. Ominis would use his family name to sweet-talk Headmaster Black from giving the twins detention. He didn’t mind, Sebastian and Anne were his found family. He would rather spend his holidays at Feldcroft. The Sallows loved to have Ominis at home as well, making the small house livelier after the loss of their parents.

However, good things don’t last forever. Ominis could vividly recall the blades of air passing through his skin as he flew to Feldcroft one night. Sebastian had sent him an owl notifying that Anne was cursed by the goblins. The boy was horrified to see one of his best friend crying, writhing on the bed. Daresay it reminisced him of the muggles that his family liked to torture. Ominis couldn’t do anything but to hold Sebastian as he cried in his arms. 

Seasons changed. Anne had to pause her studies to rest at home. Sebastian was able to joke around again, but Ominis knew that he had a new goal in mind - to save Anne. It’s not like Ominis didn’t want to try, but after dealing with Dark Arts throughout his whole life, he understood that there was no cure. At least a cure with minor consequences.

As if Ominis’ life wasn’t eventful enough, he didn’t expect that there would be a new student joining the fifth year. Sebastian said that it was pretty comical seeing an older student walking towards the stage among the short first-years. Ominis did hear Sebastian murmuring that the new student was pretty, yet he dismissed it since Sebastian was a notorious flirt anyways. It took them by surprise that the sorting hat announced “SLYTHERIN!” after being placed on top of the girl’s head.

“Well, this shall be fun.” Sebastian chuckles as he helped Ominis to stand.

“Yes, it shall be.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #ominis #ominis gaunt x reader #angst #ominis gaunt angst #hehe #ominis gaunt fanfic #will do more parts if it do well hehe

[insomniacwriter17]

Saved from the Flames - Chapter One

“When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.” --Richard Kadrey

Billy Hargrove is 9 years old. He tries his best to be the son his father wants him to be - quiet, respectful, and obedient. But Neil just pushes harder and harder, all in the name of raising a "strong man". When Billy is removed from his father's custody and placed in foster care, it takes some time for him to realize his world is no longer burning around him. New experiences, new people, new opportunities all make Billy realize there's a whole lot more to life than respect and responsibility.

AKA: The story of how Bob Newby became a real life superhero for one little boy who needed saving.

Inspired by this post I saw from @connordax

read on ao3

CW: Descriptions of physical/mental/emotional abuse

It was a warm Monday night in the Hargrove home. Billy had come home from school to an empty house, and he’d managed to get his chores done before his dad had come home from work. While his dad cooked, Billy had sat down at the table with his math worksheet to start his homework. Now the nine-year-old was sitting in front of a plate of spaghetti, his dad next to him. It was silent at the table, tense and uncomfortable. There was a knock on the door and Neil stood up, pointing to Billy’s plate. “Eat up, you have homework to do.” 

Billy nodded, casting a glance down at the plate. He hated tomatoes, but he knew his dad didn’t want to hear that. So instead, Billy took the opportunity of being alone to pour more of the powdered parmesan cheese on his noodles, hoping to mask the tomato flavor. 

He’d only gotten a few bites swallowed before his dad came back into the room, an odd look on his face. “Billy and I just sat down to dinner. He’s right here.” Billy didn’t understand, were they having company? Usually when there was company, Neil would force Billy into a nicer outfit. And his dad was using his public voice. The one that didn’t sound so angry, so disappointed all the time. Neil stepped out of the doorway and a lady with pretty blonde hair and a briefcase walked in, a smile on her face. 

“Hi, Billy. My name’s Gabby. How are you?” she asked. Billy’s mouth was full of food, so he didn’t dare answer, not with his dad shooting daggers at him over Gabby’s shoulder. So instead, he held up his hand with a thumbs up, nodding at her. “Can I sit down with you for a minute?” she continued, pointing to Neil’s abandoned chair. 

Billy’s gaze fell to his father again, searching for some sort of understanding that didn’t come. “I brought some work home with me,” Neil interrupted, reaching for his plate. Billy was becoming more and more uncomfortable – his dad seemed scared. That wasn’t normal. “I’ll go eat and knock it out while Gabby keeps you company, okay?” His voice was too kind for home, Billy noted. This was the voice he used around teachers and doctors. 

Billy only nodded.

And then Neil left the room and Gabby sat down beside Billy, offering him a gentle smile. “How’s your dinner, Billy?” 

Billy shrugged. “It’s fine,” he murmured, pushing the noodles around his plate with the fork. “How do you know my dad?” 

Gabby set the briefcase at her feet and then leaned forward so she was leaning against the table, looking at Billy with gentle eyes. “I actually haven’t met your dad before right now. Billy, have you ever heard of a social worker?” 

“No ma’am,” Billy replied. Better be polite so she doesn’t tell my dad I was rude, he thought. 

“Well, my job is to go around Hawkins and check in on kids to make sure they’re safe,” she explained. “You can keep eating if you want to, but I have some questions for you to answer, if you feel up to that?” 

Billy shrugged but made no move to continue eating. In fact, he put his fork down. “It’s okay, I don’t like tomatoes anyway,” he told her. She seemed nice enough. “What questions?” Something about this made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t know why. It felt almost like a trap. 

“Just simple questions about your life,” Gabby promised. “I just want to get to know you a little bit. Like…your dad told me you were nine years old. When’s your birthday?” 

Billy relaxed a bit at the ease of the question, especially when he heard it was questions that Neil had fielded before they’d gotten to Billy. “March 29,” he replied, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

Gabby asked a lot more questions, ranging from questions about Billy’s day at school, what things he liked to do when he was home, and a lot of questions about his dad. Billy tried to answer them as best he could, but sometimes Gabby looked like she didn’t like his answer or something was making her sad. 

“You seem like a really sweet kid, Billy. Do you ever get in trouble? Like at school or at home?” 

“Sometimes,” Billy mumbled, shrugging. “I guess.” 

“When you get in trouble, what happens?” Gabby’s voice had gotten more serious, and Billy’s tummy was churning. He felt like he was going to throw up. He knew this question. The school counselor had asked him that question a few days ago, and she hadn’t liked his answer. She’d gotten serious and quiet and asked a lot more questions, but Billy had clammed up and refused to answer anything else.

So Billy changed his answer. “Um, nothing. Sometimes Dad gets mad and yells.” 

“That’s it?” Gabby pushed, leaning in a little closer to Billy, like she was really trying to listen to him. Billy nodded. “He never gets too mad and accidentally hits you?” 

Well, accidents happen sometimes. That’s not bad. “Maybe on accident,” Billy whispered, looking at his plate. His spaghetti would be cold by now, which would make it even grosser. Maybe if he answered Gabby’s questions and he could get her to leave, his dad would put it in the microwave and warm it back up. 

But Gabby wasn’t done. “Can you show me your room, Billy? Do you have any cool toys?” 

Billy bit his lip but shrugged, sliding off the chair and heading toward the living room. Gabby followed behind him, and Billy froze when he caught sight of his dad on the sofa. The man’s face was unreadable to Billy, which was never a good sign. His lips were pursed tightly and he was stiff where he sat. “How’s it going, kiddo?” he asked evenly. 

“She wants to see my room,” Billy kicked at the carpet nervously and didn’t look at his dad. “Sir,” he added quickly. 

Neil froze, silent for a moment. “That’s fine,” he replied curtly, standing with his half-finished plate. “I’ll start cleaning up the kitchen.” Billy nodded, swallowing thickly before leading Gabby down the hallway to his room. 

“What is this, Billy?” Gabby asked as they approached his room, reaching for the lock up toward the top of the door. The outside of the door. 

“It keeps the monsters out,” Billy told her. “Dad locks it at night when I go to bed. Or if he’s not going to be home to watch me.” 

Oh no. He definitely shouldn’t have said that, he realized. Gabby stopped, casting a look to the blonde boy in front of her. “How often does that happen?” 

Billy shrugged, clamping his mouth shut. Oh, his dad was going to kill him. “Billy, honey, you can talk to me,” Gabby promised, kneeling in front of him. Her face was more serious than it had been before. “Does he do that a lot? Leave you here alone?” 

Billy stared back at her, unyielding. But his eyes were wide, and that was enough of an answer for Gabby. “Okay, how about those toys then?” He didn’t have the courage to say he didn’t have any, so instead Billy just walked into his room and stood there, waiting for Gabby to come in and take a look around. 

Gabby realized quickly that Billy wasn’t going to say anything else, but that was fine. She had what she needed, though it would take a few days to get it all together. She looked around the bare bedroom, her heart sinking for the young boy in front of her. She wished nothing more than to be able to scoop him up and take him now, but they had to wait until the judge gave the okay. 

“Alright, Billy, thank you for being so helpful!” she smiled cheerfully at the boy. “I’ll let you and your dad finish your dinner now.” She led him back to the living room and then into the kitchen where Billy could hear Neil cleaning the dishes. 

“Mr. Hargrove, I think we’re all done here. Thank you for being so helpful,” she smiled over Billy’s head, nudging him toward the table. Billy settled himself in front of the cold pasta, trying hard not to pull a face. 

“Thanks for swinging by,” Neil’s voice was tight. “Hey, Billy?” The boy stiffened in his chair, looking to his dad immediately. 

“Yes, sir?” His voice was meek, shaky. 

“Why don’t you walk Miss Gabby to the door, tell her thank you, and I’ll heat your dinner back up for you?” Neil offered, drying his hands on his jeans and heading to the table. Billy looked like a deer caught in headlights as he scrambled off the dining room chair, nodding quickly. 

“Yes, sir,” he repeated before looking up at Gabby. The blonde woman smiled reassuringly and let BIlly lead the way to the front door. 

“Thank you again for being so helpful, Billy. Now, I’m going to give you this,” she explained, handing him a small, rectangular piece of paper. “This has my phone number on it. If you’re ever scared or in danger, you can call me and I’ll come find you, okay?” 

Billy nodded quickly, shoving the paper in his pocket without hardly looking at it. “Thank you,” he mumbled under his breath, and Gabby ruffled his hair before she walked out the door and Billy was able to close it behind her. 

Feeling like his feet were way too heavy, Billy shuffled back into the kitchen, where Neil was pulling a plate of spaghetti out of the microwave. “You better put your ass in that seat and eat this food,” the man ordered, and Billy scrambled to obey. “Who in the hell did you talk to?!” 

The plate slammed down onto the placemat in front of Billy, causing the smaller boy to flinch. “N-nobody!” he insisted tearfully. He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth, ignoring the way the sauce burned every inch of his mouth from being too hot. 

“You better hope she doesn’t come back,” Neil huffed as he moved back to clean the kitchen, slamming dishes too hard into the sink. “You won’t like it if she does.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy whispered, blinking tears out of his eyes. He continued to eat his dinner, knowing the faster his plate was clean, the sooner Billy could get out from under his father’s burning glare. 

When Billy finally made his way to the bathroom to shower that night, Billy pulled the piece of paper Gabby had given him out of his pocket, staring at it for a minute. He knew if his dad found it, he’d be in way more trouble, so Billy ripped it up into little tiny pieces, flushing it down the toilet. 

And it was a good thing he did, too. Because as soon as Billy came out of the bathroom, Neil was grabbing Billy’s dirty clothes from his arms, searching the pockets for anything he could find. The searched clothes were tossed to the floor, and Neil growled, “Pick ‘em up. Get in bed.” 

It was too early for bed, Billy wanted to argue. He still had math homework! But before he could open his mouth, a smack to the shoulder sent pain radiating through Billy’s body. “Boy, I told you to do something!” 

“Yes, sir,” Billy whispered, scrambling to pick up his jeans before running into his room. Neil followed after him, lecturing about respect and responsibility, while Billy tried to dodge his father’s swinging hands unsuccessfully. 

By the time Neil left Billy’s bedroom, Billy was crying. His torso and thighs were pounding where his dad had hit him, and the threats Neil had given him echoed in Billy’s mind as he laid himself down in his bed. “If that woman shows up here again because of something you said, you’re not gonna be able to talk for a week.” 

For a woman whose job was to make kids in Hawkins safe, her showing up really didn’t help Billy feel safe. He hoped he never had to see her again. 

#stranger things #billy hargrove #bob newby #neil hargrove #neil hargrove is an asshole #foster care au #no upside down #billy deserved better #bob deserved better #mentions of child abuse #cw: abuse #ao3 #insomniacwriter17

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Day 20 Touch Starved

Several Days late for day 20 of whumpril

the original day 20 developed so much I didn't think it fit anymore.

So here's more Mother's son, from Dahlia Pov so not a positive review of Esther's mothering skills.

----

It takes Dahlia months to realise that the reason her son stills at her touch isn’t solely due to her actions claiming him or the nasty overreaction she had left on Elijah’s mind.

She couldn’t have her child, the boy Esther had made hers, call her sister that, Esther didn’t deserve a child she betrayed to call her mother. Dahlia would be better but still her anger had powered her magic and shaped the spell in a way that had been admittedly harsher than she had planned.

The boy himself had adapted quickly and in response, took to answering any and all of her questions about his family and life in short one word answers forcing her to use the precise wording to learn what she wanted.

Still Freya’s glare everytime Elijah cried out and gripped his head, when he mistakenly used or thought of the wrong word to refer to Esther or herself, had only left her angrier at Esther.

That anger and bitterness grew as she learned that Elijah’s stillness happened around all adults, that even Freya’s frequent surprise hugs caused Elijah to freeze for a moment.

It easy to link Elijah’s wariness around men to the bute Esther chose, and her rage at the idea of that man laying hands on her son was the only thing that eclipsed her disappointment at her sister. The woman who had bargained her firstborn away to have children had seemingly failed to care for all those that she got.

Was Elijah’s issues something only he had developed, had she pointedly kept her distance from the child she had made Dahlia’s, was it solely due to Elijah’s resemblance to her but Dahlia doubted that after all her sister had left a fourteen year old, nine year old and five year old to wander far from home alone, after all.

Elijah viewed praise with confusion and almost distrust, even as she made sure she regularly complimented him as he followed her instructions and learned control with a rigid unwavering focus she wouldn’t have expected of a child his age. 

Far quicker than she had expected when he magic had multiplied at their first touch as their family magic realised that Elijah being her son made him a first-born and delivered the magic he was due. Taking Elijah from barley having enough magic to count as a tapped witch to equaling Freya a few years ago, the shock had been useful to convince Elijah of offer himself and his magic to her, allowing her to add his magic to hers and Freya’s before she had even returned to her niece, but she had been annoyed at the thought of spending years training the boy control.

Elijah was just as unused to any physical affection aside from that she assumed of his younger siblings. He hadn’t hesitated or flinched from tiny Niklaus as she had watched that day, but when she laid an hand on his shoulder or carefully, somewhat stiffly, it had been a while since she had needed or wanted to offer comfort to another, pulled him into a hug he was tense for several moments before he relaxed.  

She also noted the way he hugged Freya back tighter on the times he froze, held on longer, that sometimes he followed her as she drew back, unconsciously following her touch.

Dahlia had felt the way his hands trembled to stop himself reaching back to hold her too, torn between his obvious want for comfort and quiet resentment towards her.

Elijah may never lover her, his first memory of her was as she tormented his older brother and threatened his younger one before stealing him away, she herself had linked herself to pain in his mind. But she was going to undo the damage Esther’s neglect had done.

—--

Elijah hated the way he leaned into mother’s touch, the way even as he reminded himself why he should hate her; he worked to impressed her, to make her proud for the brief gentle touch he got in reward, a hand on his cheek or though his hair, the press of lips to his forehead or stiff awkward hug.

It wasn’t like he was completely staved of positive touch, Freya was always there with a hug or offering her hand, she'd play with his hair and trust him with hers.

Freya was his sister, no matter what the truth of that was, but Dahlia was giving him the attention he had longed for from mother, what he had watched her do with Finn and Klaus and wondered why he never got the same.

Well he knew why now, didn’t he.

He still couldn’t let himself give in, she made sure he couldn’t call her anything but mother but he couldn’t forget how he came to her; not after the last time he saw his brothers, Finn still on the ground recovering from her making him scream and the last thing Elijah heard was his little brother, his Klaus crying begging him to come back.

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday20 #Touched Starved #fanfiction #the originals #tvd fanfiction #fic #the originals au #dahlia to #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #AU- Mother's son #elijah and dahlia

[soupedepates]

So. Let me introduce the Puget de Cabassole du Réal de Berbentane. Old money, old nobility "Nobles of the Sword", Catholic (as they should), entwined in the story of the Templars (at least the sect that came after it).

In these time and age, we have Thomas, the head of the family, the patriarch. His mother died when he was ten, and he had to assume the role of his grieving father, while they (he, his dad, his brother, his three sisters) were away from the Commanderie in the Pays Basque. They return when Thomas was 12, because he had to carry the legacy, he had to get the training as a true knight. And well, undiagnosed ADHD dominant hyperactivity did wonder: "this boy has no head but would do a marvelous knight". Thomas always knew he wasn't the brightest, but he was fiercely loyal and righteous to the point of the Savior Syndrome, such a proeminent feature in the family. Even if he was the best friend of the Great Master of the order, Thomas got dubbed quite late: he married at 15, became an orphan a few months after the wedding and a father at 16. He never had time to be a teenager, but although he took on huge responsibilities early he keeps all his life an endearing childishness, he just sees good in everyone, he just loves to have fun with his friends, he just loves his wife and children, he is pretty happy with his life. But of course, he is a product of his environment. He is a devout Catholic, and though he never rose his hand on his cherished wife he did hit his eldest and acted as a patriarch. He never helps Elvire with the children or the housework, because this "isn't a man's work", while you can see him work in the fields early in the morning and helps training the youngling in the afternoon. Thomas is the second-in-command, because the family was always close to power, but humble enough not to claim it. He embodies the motto of his house: "Loyality to the Man, devotion to the Lord". He would die for anyone asking him to. He would save anyone he thinks needs to be saved. There is only one thing more sacred than helping your neighbour for him: family. He would, and he has, kill for his family. But he can't help but be disappointed for being a father to nine girls, and only one son.

Elvire is Thomas's wife. She was raised to be a wife by her meek mother and her cruel father. She always went hungry, she always feared men and their anger, so she grew quiet, discreet, compliant. She married Thomas because she had to, before falling in love with the boy who was worshipping her like she was God. To be honest, she almost thought Thomas loved her more than the Lord and was ready to tell him to stop; but she learnt Thomas was just hyperbolic and extreme in his way of loving. He made her feel worthy for the first time. He made her feel loved. He had her go well fed and happy, and assured her she was beautiful and wonderful each and everytime they kissed. It is a never-ending courtship, Elvire is the only one of her sisters ending a love marriage. She nearly died of her first pregnancy at 16, birthing gigantic baby Tomyris. She had trouble loving her, while she fell in love when she laid her eyes on baby Prudence and the eight others. She never forgives herself for that, because she knows she thought she needn't take care of her eldest for she was strong enough to thrive. Even after getting married, Elvire stayed quiet. She sometimes puts her head on Thomas' shoulder and asks him if he regrets marrying her, he always says that he loves her and their family more than everything and that she is the most beautiful woman of the world. Elvire feels loved. Safed. Saved.

Tomyris is the first-born. She was supposed to marry the son of the Great Master, her best friend, until an other bachelorette came around. She was raised to be a wife and a mother, to care after her sisters, to be protective and strong, but because her father had no son she always had to assume the role of the boy of the family because she was tall and strong. At 9, she was tall enough to be considered as a teen, and was sexualized because of that; she understood also at that age that her quiet mother could be fierce and deadly if her offspring was at stake, she started to understand her mother was more of a lionness than she thought. At 10 her hair fell off, alopecia universalis, so she wasn't suited for marriage anymore. But because she was as strong as the boys, if not stronger, and was as hyperactive as her father, she started training. Women's world was too much subtext for her undiagnosed autism anyway, but she felt like she was robbed of something (she didn't know what at that age). She actually liked training. And oh, how great she was. Better than most of them (mostly because she was taller and stronger, thanks Thomas' genetics and insistance for his daughters to never go hungry), the only match was her best friend, the one whe was once betrothed to. She fell in love with the perfect girl (who actually was a boy, and she knew it, she didn't understand but accepted because what Ambroise said was like the gospel) without knowing this was love. She saw her sisters getting married. Her sister Quitterie crying in her arms and begging for protection, because her husband has violated her. People frowning upon her promotion to knighthood, the first and only woman who had that honour. She follows the motto of the family. She is deadly loyal, and this is her biggest flaw. Sometimes, she dreams of the life she should've had: marriage, children, family. But she is her father's favourite, until the birth of her brother, and also the shield of her sisters. She always took the punishment for them, because she was tough enough. She loves her sisters more than her life. She couldn't care less about her brother. She doesn't know him, they are 21 years apart. She was always considered a freak and loved the old Foulques, as much of a freak as one can be, more than her own father. And she meets Jennifer. Fragile Jennifer, Jennifer as a damsel in distress, Jennifer stronger than she seems and than she thinks. Tomyris loves like her father, blindly and devoutly. Of course she would kill for Jennifer.

Prudence is the second. She started to look at her elder with contempt when Tomyris declared alopecia. She was spoilt by her parents, because she was the first "true" daughter, and she was supposed to marry big. And she married at 14 a good man, she never loved him but likes his companionship. She has 15 children. It is her duty. She birthed boys for her father and her husband, so the legacy would be carried on. She was raised to be the perfect mother and housewife, and she is everything you want a trophy wife to be. She makes things look effortless, and will look at you with disdain if you can't do it, even if she trained for long before giving this impression. She is proud of her children. She loves them and would die for them. The first time her husband slapped her, she slapped back and yelled at him, saying she was pregnant with his very own child and he'd better treat her like a princess or he won't have any heir. Though she considered Tomyris with contempt, she learnt from her sister to be assertive and to look confident even when she wasn't. Prudence knows her worth. Maybe she isn't the perfect Catholic wife she wants to look like, she isn't submissive and feeble enough; she carries this outspoken legacy and raises her daughters not to let their husbands treat them less than a queen. Even if she is traditional, she pursues the breaking of the circle initiated by her mother.

Quitterie is the third. She wasn't cultivated and perfect like Prudence, but she was prettier, and she was quick-witted. Growing up she looked up to her elder sisters, learning to make herself respected like Tomyris and to be a good housewife like Prudence. Her marriage is horrible. She is scared of her husband. She hides behind Tomyris. She begs her father to intervene, but "it is her husband, her family, her problems". Her mother forsakes her in this ordeal. Only Tomyris actively tries to protect her, until she can't do it anymore. She is worshipping her eldest sister but won't say a thing about it. She hates Prudence. She looks after her younger siblings, worried sick they have her fate. But Quitterie is a scaredy cat behind all her wit, she won't escape even if given the chance. The only thing she does is praying that Tomyris will one day save her, or that her husband will die in his sleep.

After Quitterie comes Aliénor. She is the prettiest. She was raised with sisters looking after her and parents spoiling her like a princess. She is cheerful. She is pious. She is humble and kind. Yes, she isn't that smart, but she is genuine. She is very close to her mother, she talks with her for hours while doing embroidery. She has a love marriage. Her tragedy is multiple miscarriages, until her rainbow twins. Aliénor is happy. She is maybe the happiest sister. But never has she ever questionned the system.

Zénaïde is the fifth children, and she is the smartest. She scares her father sometimes by her insight and knowledge. She wanted to be a theologian, or a priest, but she was born a woman. She preferred books to people, and was for Thomas the most enigmatic child. Zénaïde never thought herself as an enigma, but she was to her parents who couldn't wrap their head around the fact she was hyperfixated on books and religion. She married a good man, she loves him in her aromantic fashion, they have a child for good mesures. Zénaïde aspires to her own path, but not without her sisters. She is the one trying to hold the family together by writing regularly to everyone. She loves them without knowing how to tell them. She looks at her child, who is so different from the others, and she hugs them, and kisses them, and tells them they're so, so, so loved.

Marguerite is the crazy sister. They prefer locking her up in the house, in her bedroom, not to bring shame to the family. Marguerite broke down under the pressure to be a perfect wife, especially when Tomyis left. Tomyris was her role model, so different from the other Templar women. She is secluded in her room, in her head, alone with herself, and she yearns for someone to talk to her.

No-one cares about Blandine. She is the seventh daughter. She isn't as pretty as Aliénor, nor as smart as Zénaïde, nor as strong as Tomyris, nor as witted as Quitterie, nor as perfect as Prudence. No-one cares about Blandine so she doesn't care about herself. Her parents were busy with a lot of other kids and issues, mostly after Marguerite's breakdown and Emmanuelle's rebellion. She doesn't feel like a part of the family. She has a love marriage, and for the first time someone cares about Blandine.

Emmanuelle is the eighth and the most recklessness. Tomyris is her idol and she is a daddy's girl. She wants to be as strong and tall and confident as her eldest sister. As such she shaved her head, she tried to train with the boys, she fell in love with a girl. But Emmanuelle was a Puget's daughter. She had to marry a proper man. So she married. And she ran away with her girlfriend. She got protected by Tomyis until she can sustain herself. She feels guilty not to be independent, but she doesn't realised how strong she is.

And here's come Athalie, the last girl. Elvire and Thomas keep her in childhood. They're not ready for her to marry, and they don't want either a Marguerite or an Emmanuelle. So Athalie is the child. She doesn't feel like she belongs with her peers. She sometimes sleeps with Marguerite, who only seems calm in her company.

Finally, the only son, Pie. He was wanted so much. His father spoilt him rotten, while his mother tried to do the discipline. Pie is mischievous, and looks like Tomyris and Quitterie. As stubborn as the first one, as witted as the second one. He will do for a good heir. If he lives long enough. The Puget de Cabassole du Réal de Berbentane males have a tendency to die young.

#lpm #templars #oc #my hyperfixxxx #this ain't as exhaustive as I want but i so tired rn #family

[rowanaelinn]

Wires - Prologue

Masterlist

A/N: Hey! I hope you will enjoy this new fic:) It’s set in a Formula One AU, and I know that it can be confusing so feel free to ask any questions if I write something you don’t understand! I’m doing my best to explain without info dumping, lol. Are we ready for romance and angst and smut?👀

Warnings: Language | Word Count: 3,100

The sun beamed through the private plane’s window, warming up Aelin’s naked thighs. She’d been nose deep into her books for the entire flight, knees bent and feet resting on her seat.

She was grateful for the new headphones she bought a month before, noise cancelling ones. It came in handy when Aedion’s and his team started talking strategy. Sometimes she enjoyed hearing them speak, it was distracting and even comical when no one agreed, but sometimes she needed her peace and quiet.

When they left Spain barely a hour ago, the air was warm and welcoming. She loved her country, loved its people and its landscape. The month of March officially opened the tourism season, tourists who couldn’t handle extreme heat enjoyed their stay in early spring.

But it wasn’t the only thing officially starting in March. When the sun started showing and warming the sand of Spain, it was when the annual Formula One championship started. With that, started eight to nine months of entire debauchery, happiness, anger and exhaustion.

She vaguely remembered traveling all over the world as a kid, her father talking strategy while she sat on his lap playing with her dolls. She slightly remembered the heavy, yellow protection her mother used to place over Aelin’s ears.

Her parent’s mansion was full of pictures of her father celebrating his wins with Aelin on his shoulders. She was his pride and joy, or at least it was what her mother told her.

Aelin looked up to find her uncle’s warm gaze on her. She smiled at him, sending a small wave of her hand his way. He winked and turned his gaze back on his son.

The first race of the season was four days away, but Aedion already looked ready for battle. He didn’t take well his loss last season, not when he’d been so close to winning.

Aedion Ashryver had been born for winning. He could barely walk the first time his father and hers took him into a kart, and since that day, half of his soul belonged to the track.

He trained his entire life to be where he was now. At twenty-seven, Aedion was in the prime of his career. Some drivers kept racing even in their forties, but it was rare. If it was on Aelin, Aedion would already be retired. She hated this world, the luxury and the falseness of it all. She despised the consequences this lifestyle had on her.

She had stayed away from it all for years, only attending one race per year: Aedion’s home race in Barcelona.

That was until now, until her goddamned cousin gave her an ultimatum. She wanted to be angry at him, and a big part of her was. But she was also aware that she brought it on herself. So, she brooded in silence and away from everyone else.

She gathered her pink hair in a high ponytail and used the empty seat next to her to lay her legs there, using her cousin’s Ferrari coat to cover her legs. Damn air conditioning, she started shivering the moment she closed the porthole, darkening her side of the plane.

Aedion threw a glance at her, and she arched a blonde eyebrow in question. He hadn’t really talked to her, either. He looked away, and she hid her disappointment.

She rested her head against the wall and fell into a restless sleep until they landed in Germany.

What was advantageous while traveling as one of the Ferrari’s driver’s special guests was the treatment she received. The private planes, she was used to it. It nearly was the only way she had used to travel for her entire life. No, what Aelin appreciated was how they made it their job to serve her as much as they did for Aedion.

Alright, maybe he was treated a little bit better. But still, Aelin didn’t refuse it when one man from his team took her luggage and placed it in the trunk of Aedion’s rental car.

His entire job was driving, so Aedion always refused to be driven anywhere. The only time she saw him on a passenger seat since he turned eighteen was when he taught her how to drive for long hours.

His father, as a former racer, was the same as his son. Which was why he also took a car of his own, and considering how luxurious their tastes ran—which Aelin threw in their face every time they criticized her for the same reason—their cars reflected on it.

Each of their car was two-seats only. Aelin tried to rush for Uncle Gavriel’s car, but Dorian, Aedion’s new teammate, beat her to it. She didn’t hide her groan, turning to face her cousin.

His face was annoyed and pointed to his red car, “Get in.”

She crossed her arms, “I am not a dog. You don’t order me around.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not waiting, Aelin.”

“Maybe I’ll thumb a ride for the hotel.”

He snorted, opening the driver’s side door. “Sí, prima, remind me when you learned German?”

Well, he did mark a point. She had tried to learn German, Aelin praised herself with her ability to learn quite a lot of languages, but she was awful at it. It was the same with French, but brain just… didn’t register anything.

She rolled her eyes and flipped him off before climbing into the car. He closed the door behind himself and put on his seatbelt. “Don’t drive too fast,” she reminded him, her voice slightly more vulnerable.

“I never do when you’re around,” he answered, letting go of the tension ever so present in his voice since he found her. But it was gone one second after, “We’re going to the pitlane for now, I have a training session. Then Rolfe is taking the entire team to a restaurant.” William Rolfe was the head of Ferrari. Basically, Aedion had to kiss his feet every day to thank him for his spot on the team.

She shook her head even if he couldn’t see it, “I want go to the hotel.”

“No one will be there,” Aedion answered, turning left. “So, the answer is no. You’ll nap in the paddock if you’re that tired.”

“Fuck you, Aedion,” she spat. “I’m not a child.”

He didn’t answer to her jab, he only turned the music on and drove quietly to their destinations. She knew he had Uncle Gavriel on his side, and even her own mother. There was nothing to do, Aelin was to do what her cousin wished. Lysandra wasn’t even there; she would only join them in a few weeks. For the last three championship, she’d been able to work from wherever on the globe and follow her boyfriend into his expeditions. She would do the same this year, but she had important clients to meet before she could switch to online work.

“How’s your leg?”

“Fine,” was her only answer. The one she always gave when the question came up.

Aedion knew that, he sighed and his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel, but he said nothing.

Good, she wasn’t in the mood to talk. She placed her earphone in her ears and blasted her music into her ears, watching the landscapes.

She already missed Madrid and its warmth. She had to wear her coat when the plane landed, a perfectly warm coat given generously by Ferrari. She was a walking advertisement, not just for Ferrari but also for every brand who could afford it.

She looked ridiculous in bright red, especially with her large, orange pants. But she was a creature of luxury, warmth and comfort.

An hour after, Aedion’s car parked in front of the circuit. The building was huge, tall and long, built around the track. Ferrari’s logo was huge and bright on the wall, next to Mercedes’ and Red Bull’s.

“You coming?” Aedion asked, already out of the car.

It wasn’t like she truly had a choice, and they were in public anyway. The parking wasn’t full, but there were enough cars to indicate that a race was about to be performed in less than two days.

She was sure to give her cousin hell when they were in private, but now that she was twenty-two, Aelin was done with public tantrums. It brought unnecessary attention. She sighed and got out of the car, crossing her arms as she followed after Aedion.

Uncle Gavriel and Dorian had arrived ten minutes before them, probably because they were more inclined to break or brush the speed limit.

Aedion opened the red door for her, and she walked in, all her attention stolen by the different activities on going. The door on the opposite side was open, allowing them a view of the pitlane. There were stairs leading to more private rooms, one for each of the drivers and a couple of soundproof rooms for meeting and strategy.

Downstairs it was the garage, mechanics were already working either above or under the two red, racing cars. There were screens on the left side, with headsets and everything needed to maintain connection between the drivers and their strategists.

Aedion knew everyone’s name, not ignoring anyone as he saluted every single man or woman working. They all smiled warmly at him, as if it was a pleasure to work with him. He introduced her to everyone, and while she didn’t start conversations, she did wave at them and tried to remember as many names as she could.

She would spend the next months with these people, she could at least remember their name and offer them a smile. It wasn’t their fault if Aelin was locked out of her mansion in Madrid.

Aedion was the reason behind it, and even if she knew he was dragging her across the world for a good reason, she wished he would only hear her out.

Outside, on the border of the pitlane, Dorian and Uncle Gavriel were talking, the old man probably giving advices to Dorian for his first F1 season. Dorian was her age, and they’d seen each other a few times as they grew up. His father and hers had been teammates for a year or so, and then Dorian Senior changed teams.

It was the norm for the same surnames to appear on people’s televisions every twenty years or so. Racing was a very closed circle, one only men could attain, and one only privileged people were allowed to be a part of.

Driver’s sons almost always ended up being drivers themselves.

Dorian’s lips were parted around a cigarette, inhaling the toxic smoke.

Aelin rolled her eyes, “Are you even allowed to smoke?”

He shrugged and grin, his cigarette between two of his fingers as he exhaled. “Don’t girls love bad boys?”  

“To answer your question,” Uncle Gavriel and his ever-diplomatic voice took over. “It is not forbidden, though highly discouraged. Not that he listens.” His gaze slightly darkened as he looked at the youngest driver.

Uncle Gavriel wasn’t technically hired by the team, but as Aedion’s father and mentor, he acted as a coach to both drivers. He was included in every discussion for the team, and his advice was taken religiously. She supposed it was one of the advantages of winning five championships in his young days.

Gavriel retired early, at the young age of twenty-five. He could have been one of the greatest drivers of all time, he could have won ten more trophies. But the moment his wife told him she was pregnant, Gavriel backed up from the championship. Mid-season.

His family was his priority, and it also spread to his niece.

She shifted her weight on her left leg, flinching when she heard the loud sound of engine when a car drove by them less than five feet away from where they stood, one driver already training onto the track.

Dorian chuckled, “You’ll get used to the sounds.”  

Aelin was doubtful about it, but she didn’t have time to answer before a mechanic called Dorian’s name, he winked at his teammate and kissed her cheek. He ran to the mechanic standing over one of the cars.

“Where are your crutches?” Uncle Gavriel asked.

Her eyes turned murderous when she looked at him, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t need them.”

“Your leg obviously hurt,” he answered, looking down at her hidden legs. “You keep fidgeting and resting on your left one.”

“Why didn’t you tell us it hurt?” Aedion asked in a hurry. “I have your meds in my backpack, I’ll be right back in a minute.”

She couldn’t tell him off, one second later he was already gone. She rolled her eyes at him, he could be so… The reminder that she didn’t even have access to her own meds was sour in her mouth, but she’d already tried arguing. “I should have my meds on me.”

Uncle Gavriel sighed. They’d had this argument a lot these past few weeks. “He doesn’t trust you.”

“But do you?” If he did, then he could tell her resonate Aedion.

He sighed, “Where are your crutches, Aelin?”

His lack of answer was answer enough. Fuck him. Fuck everyone here. “Home,” she snapped. “I don’t need them.”

“You left them in Spain?” Gavriel asked, his eyes wide.

“Toma, coge eso, prima,” Here, take that, cousin. Aedion returned, handing her a single white pill. He didn’t even let her see the bottle. Just one fucking pill.

“Want to put that in my mouth and check I swallow?” She hissed.

“Don’t be fucking difficult,” he grilled through his teeth.

She rolled her eyes and snatched the pill, swallowing it dry. She opened her mouth and lifted her tongue before giving her cousin a snarky smile, “Happy, Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes. Throwing a look at the same car that drove past us one more time, a slight frown forming on his face. Maybe he was feeling guilty for not being on the track on time. Aedion was big on hard work, which was something no one could take away from him. He wasn’t where he stood because of his father and uncle. No, he was there because he was talented and loved it, it somehow made it scarier.

If he loved it, he was willing to take more risks.

“What about your crutches? Do you need ice or something?” He asked. Her worried cousin was back. In ten seconds, he’d be back into his snappy mood.

“I don’t need help to walk,” she snapped. “I can do it on my own, alright? The flight and car right probably just probably swelled my leg. That’s all.”

“Do you want help to—”

“No.” She breathed, closing her eyes for a second. She shouldn’t be mad when they were only trying to help. She couldn’t help it, though. She was an adult, not a child anymore. “I’ll just get upstairs and lay my leg a little.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gavriel nodded. “Aedion needs to train a little and talk to some sponsors today. Nothing worth standing for hours.”

“Thanks, dad.”

Her uncle chuckled, “She can watch your practice from your room, cub.”

Aedion rolled his eyes at the nickname his father used but the corner of his lips seemed to lift a little. “Dad’s right. Feel free to rest.”

Aelin nodded, watching as the car that had been doing laps all over the track parked in front of the Red Bull’s paddock which was the one right on the left of Ferrari’s.

Mechanics rushed to the side of the car. The driver took off his seatbelt, reaching on the side of the car to help him stand and get out of the car.

His suit was dark blue, with all the sponsors’ logos on the material. He took off his gloves before zipping down his suit, freeing his chest from the weight and protection of it and tying the selves around his waist to keep it hanging there. His shirt was long sleeved, too. How did these men not die of heat? The car in itself was a furnace, but with the suit plus the protective shirt and pants under…

She was sure she could make a fortune in deodorant for drivers. She had no wishes to be close to any of them after a race, but smell must be…

His hands were for his helmet, he undid it before taking it off and shook his head, his hair flying into the wind. His silver hair.

Something in Aelin’s stomach sank and she noticed the tattoo on his hand. She couldn’t see his arm, but she knew the black ink would run all over his arm. She could see the hint of it on his neck.

Her heart palpitated, her lips parting.

Rowan Whitethorn. One of the best drivers of their time. He came from France, had been raised there and taught how to race by his father, Julien Whitethorn. He was Aedion’s biggest rival, the one he’d lost last year’s championship to.

As if he could feel her burning gaze on him, his head whipped to her side of the paddock. His shoulder stiffened as he saw her, the already sharp lines of his face hardening.

She had known she would see him, but somehow it was harder than she expected. Two sides of her brain were at war, one wanted to run away from there, the other one lingered for a fight, to destroy what destroyed her.

Aedion turned his head, watching over where she was staring. In the corner of her vision, she could see him tense. Actually, tense would be a very naïve and nice way to describe Aedion and Rowan’s rivalry.

Hatred was more the word for it.

Aedion’s warm hand laid on her shoulder, but she didn’t look away. Neither did Rowan. A strategist, if he was to guess by the way he was dressed, was looking at his electronic tablet and talked to the driver. She didn’t know if he was listening, she wasn’t aware of anything but him.

Aedion’s arm wrapped around her shoulder and guided her back inside the paddock, breaking her eye contact with the silver-haired driver. “He is still trouble,” Aedion’s deep voice tore her out of her thoughts. “Stay away from him.”

“You think I need you to tell me that?”

“I’m worried for you,” he said, and he looked like he was. “I’m trying to protect you. I won’t let him get near you.”

She looked on her left, but there was nothing but a wall. “Let him try,” she said, tension in her voice. “He won’t regret it.”

••••••

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog​ // @becarefuloflove​ // @imnotsogoodatthis​ // @rowaelinismyotp​ // @a-court-of-milkandhoney​ // @feysand-loml​ // @elentiyawhitethorn​ // @live-the-fangirl-life​ // @story-scribbler​ // @loves-books​ // @fangirlprincess09​ // @theysayitscrazy​ // @danibutterr​ // @endlessdaydream​ // @thegreyj​ // @gracie-rosee​ // @acreativelydifferentlove // @cretaceous-therapod​ // @louphantomdragon // @mis-lil-red​ // @backtobl4ck​ // @whoever-you-choose-to-love​ // @lemonade-coolattas​ // @mad-madeline-ace​ // @the-introverted-bibliophile​ // @leiawritesstories​ // @emilyoftheshadows​ // @anniesbookshelf​ // @rainbowcheetah512​ // @astra-ad-mare​ // @story-scribbler​ // @superspiritfestival​ // @wordsafterhours​ // @rowaelinrambling​ // @black-daisy-water​ // @fireheart-violet​ // @livsdriverslicense​ // @charlizeed​ // @ladykreads​ // @mariamuses​ // @autumnbabylon​

#wires #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #throne of glass fanfiction #aelin galathynius #throne of glass

[micahweissberg]

name: micah weissberg

age: 29

birthday: jan 19

residence: bighorn hills

length of time in providence: three months

sexuality: pansexual

relationship status: single

trigger warnings in bio under the cut: abandonment issues, addiction, alcoholism, car crash, low self esteem, divorce

Micah was born to Saul and Katie Weissberg. By the time he was two, they were divorced and he was on his way to live with his mother in the suburbs away from the city. His father, Saul, was the fun parent whilst Katie was the full time single mom and disciplinarian. But this never resulted in resentment from Micah as he loved his mother and she raised him to be a courageous and sensitive man. Because of his upbringing and the lack of seeing his father, Micah often came up with elaborate stories on what his father was doing away from him - like fighting for justice akin to the superhero’s he loved in his comics and on tv. When he dreamed of these things, his father’s absence didn’t sting as much. 

Because Micah didn’t grow up having superpowers like those superhero’s, he put all his stock into becoming a human rights lawyer and fighting for justice in other, more practical ways. He was sensitive and had his share of heartbreak over the years including many letdowns in school as he never quite fit in with education the way his father had. Feeling like he was a disappointment, he never allowed anyone to see he was struggling and developed a pill habit, medicating himself with aderrall like the other academics did in his elite school - the one he barely managed to scrape into with his extracurricular. 

Graduation was a breath of fresh air, his mother and father in attendance - for once, in the same room without bickering, and he went on to intern at an elite office in New York. His addiction to pills had switched to white powdery substances and alcohol in that time and he ended up driving his car off the road shortly after he made partner - he told no one about this, didn’t call the cops, and was able to inch the car home to his mortification. 

Turning twenty-nine was a wake up call of sorts and Micah decided that he needed to move away from the city, away from the lifestyle that he had found himself in, and to the countryside. He owns a little, broken-down cabin in the midst of bighorn hills and he spends his days fighting injustice and fixing the place up. Taking the job at Chapman and Sons wasn’t an f-you to his father by any means… but it allowed him the distance he craved whilst he figured out his next move and how to tell his father he needed help with substance abuse. For now, he just hopes that he can hide it. 

#providence.intro

[forbelobog]

gepard's relationship with his parents is...not the best. and by parents i mean his father. the landau name has a lot of prestige in belobog, there was a lot already on gepard's shoulders before he was even a toddler, being the first born son. his military training started early - much earlier than should have been allowed - and nothing less than exceptional was acceptable by his father. the abuse was sometimes physical, but the vast majority of it was verbal and mental. their father would berate his children if they didn't meet his absurdly high expectations.

his mother, while kind and nurturing, did little to interfere if his father got a little too rowdy, a little too harsh, a little too mean which, in my book, makes her guilty by association. still, he would have much rather had her in his life than not, and he loves her dearly. where his father was cold and efficient, his mother was warm and doting. she babied gepard whenever she got the chance, him being her only son.

to gepard, his father is a righteous man of dignity and respect, but deep down even he knows the way he was raised - the way serval was raised - was harsh. there were many times serval put herself between gepard and their father just to save gepard from their father's ire. her desire to protect him resonated with him a lot, and he took it to heart. his desire to protect not just her, but the people of belobog, is largely her influence. he does something similar to this for their younger sister whenever he can. when serval "left" the family name, or stopped speaking to their father, he felt a little...betrayed? it felt like she turned her back on gepard specifically, but with time and discussion he's come to realize she had to do what she felt was best for herself, and gepard supports her now as best he can. but their father really planted a lot of seeds in his brain that almost kept him from seeing why serval did what she did in the first place.

gepard's feelings toward his father are difficult to say the least. on the one hand, he believes the man was just trying to instill values in his children, and make them achieve their best, even when it was difficult. on the other, gepard still tenses whenever his father is around, and he knows that's not how a parent should make their child feel. his biggest fear, for a long time, wasn't death or pain or the dark or anything like that - it was disappointing his father. in fact, death was something he was expected to observe. since he was old enough to understand, he was told about the glory of dying on the battlefield, the honor of giving your life for belobog and the supreme guardian. his own self worth suffered because of this.

landau senior is...traditional. gepard is expected to carry on the landau name, meet a woman, have children, the whole nine yards. gepard has yet to tell his father that he's gay, and considers the idea of never telling him at all. it's hard to predict what the man's response will be.

in short, gepard's father was and still is a big ol' swinging dick, and his mother - while caring and supportive - made excuses for the way her kids were raised.

#( ( headcanon #abuse tw #death tw #it's been on my brain since #yesterday #when i read a phenom hc from serval #got me thinking about gepard's side of their childhood #long post #i could go on and on about how twisted gep feels about his dad #how back and forth he is #but me objectively looking outside in? #dude's a dick #who raised his son to be a soldier with no personal wants

[biboocat]

I loved The History of Pendennis, Book 1. This is Thackeray’s semi-autobiographical Bildungsroman. As in Vanity Fair we have Thackeray’s assured and playful voice (occasionally speaking directly to the reader) describing various follies of human nature, but Thackeray’s personality is more directly present in this work. Pendennis brings to mind a better known contemporaneous Bildungsroman, David Copperfield, for comparison. In Dickens’ work we admire its endearing protagonist, the innocent humor, and its fairy tale like quality. In The History of Pendennis the protagonist is more flawed and foolish, there is more cynicism, and the humor is more often sarcastic or tongue in cheek. I find this work funnier, more true to life, and more adult. More than the plot or characters, I treasure Thackeray’s entertaining company and his penchant for skewering pomposity. I’m glad to have Book 2 yet to enjoy.

Some Victorian expressions and words:

Sate = sat

Fain = adj. pleased or willing under the circumstances; adv. with pleasure; gladly

Hard by = next to

By and by = eventually

Signify = to have significance

Excerpts:

I never knew a man to die of love certainly, but I have known a twelve stone man go down to nine stone five under a disappointing passion, so that pretty nearly a quarter of him may be said to have perished: and that is no small portion.

Up to this time, the old county families had been rather shy of our friends of Clavering Park. The Fogeys of Drumington; the Squares of Tozely Park; the Wellbores of the Barrow &c.😂

I doubt whether the wisest of us know what our own motives are, and whether some of the actions of which we are the very proudest will not surprise us when we trace them, as we shall one day, to their source.

He was so poor that he couldn’t afford to know a poor man.

We admit into our aristocracy merit of every kind, and that the lowliest-born man, if he but deserve it, may wear the robes of a peer, and sit alongside of a Cavendish or a Stanley: so it ought to be the boast of our good society, that haughty though it be, naturally jealous of its privileges, and careful who shall be admitted into its circle, yet if an individual be but rich enough, all barriers are instantly removed, and he or she is welcomed, as from his wealth he merits to be. This fact shows our British independence and honest feeling – our higher orders are not such mere haughty aristocrats as the ignorant represent them: on the contrary, if a man have money they will hold out their hands to him, eat his dinners, dance at his balls, marry his daughters, or give their own lovely girls to his sons, as affably as your common roturier would do.

A London drawing room fitted up without regard to expense, is surely one of the noblest and most curious sights of the present day. The Romans of the Lower Empire, the dear Marchionesses and countesses of Louis XV., could scarcely have had a finer taste than our modern folks exhibit; and everybody who saw Lady Clavering’s reception rooms were forced to confess that they were most elegant; and that the prettiest rooms in London – Lady Harley Quin’s, Lady Hanway Wardour’s, or Mrs. Hodge-Podgson’s own, the great Railroad Croesus’ wife, were not fitted up with a more consummate “chastity.”

#william makepeace thackeray #Thackeray #pendennis

[renee-writer]

Baby Girl Chapter Ninety-nine

AO3

“He is perfect.” Claire coos about her hour old son.  Jamie laughs.

 

“Aye, now that all the crud is cleaned up off him.” He had first been shocked at the sight of his child, covered as he was in vernix and blood. Claire shakes her head.

 

“He was beautiful from birth.” Her mam’s sight won’t let her see otherwise.

 

Jameson Brian Murtagh was born on his due date with a smooth labor and birth. He arrived seven months after his parents marriage, to his Grandda Brian’s disappointment.

 

“Pish, you know we’ll what it is like to be in love. They got married. That is what matters.” Ellen said. She is over the moon at her coming grandchild.

 

Both his parents are relieved at their retirement from Scotland Yard.

 

“You put in your time son. Now is time to stay safe with your family.” He spent a total of a month in hospital before being released with a whole new routine. Now it is heart healthy meals and less heavy lifting.

 

Jamie spent all his wife ‘s pregnancy helping at Lallybroch. Claire is by his side fussing over her new dad. Brian loves it. He gets to see his child ‘s son grow inside her.

 

Now that Jameson is here, his daddy will take a month with him before starting his new job as a professor. He will teach profiling. Claire will take some freelance work when he is older.

 

A week later

 

“Oh there he is!” Murtagh exclaims. He leads their old team, their family in to see Jameson. ��He is a braw lad, isn’t he?”

 

Claire grins. “A bit. A nine pounder.”

 

“Oh you poor thing.” Mary holds her own baby, Avery, born three months ago. “I thought her almost 8 pounds was a lot.”

 

“She was amazing. Only cried out a few times. Was totally serene.” Jamie brags.

 

“Drugs.” Geillis says, kneeling down to see the baby better.

 

“No. A bit of gas and air towards the end but mainly mediation. I pictured him moving down the birth canal and myself opening to receive him.”

 

“Wow.” From Mary. She takes a seat beside her and has A very wave at her ‘ future husband.’

 

“It makes sense. Mediation has been used for centuries for all types of situations. Child birth is a logic use with the child and mother being so connected.” John offers.

 

Jamie slips Jameson up and hands him to Murtagh. “His full name is Jameson Brian Murtagh Fraser.” He announces.

 

The older man cradles the child, speechless. He has no children of his own and expects none. His job precludes that type of life. To hold a child that has his name, it is amazing.

 

“Jamie, Claire, that is… ah… thank you for the honor.”

 

All the team is smiling. Each gets a turn holding him. Claire takes Avery, who seem a chunk compared to her newborn.

 

He is toasted and welcomed to the circle of protection that will always surround him, whether his parents are retired or not.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #baby girl #chapter ninety-nine #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

[ofswordandcrowns]

It is with great honor that I present (ARMAN) of HOUSE (PITHOU), the (QUEEN) of (NOK). They are (FORTY-NINE) and look a great deal like (HRITHIK ROSHAN). Their people have described them as (ELOQUENT & INTELLIGENT) but be careful, for their closest friends have disclosed that they are also known to be quite (BOASTFUL & CRITICAL).

basic info

full name — Arman Rahim Pithou (nee Petkett)

nickname - Your Majesty

age — Forty-Nine

kingdom — Nok

gender — cis male, (he/ him/ his pronouns)

religion —follows the teachings of Aznas and Etia

occupation — Queen Of Nok, Mother Of The Future King

living arrangements — The Cerulean Castle

physical info

face claim — Hrithik Roshan

hair — black / eyes — brown

height — five foot & eleven inches

clothing style — silk. silk. silk. tunics, robes, cloaks - you name it, it's usually in silk. he also enjoys wearing fine jewelry, gifts from his king and many lovers.

sexual preference — true versatile - enjoys both submitting and dominating, as well as both topping and bottoming.

The oldest son of the great house of Petkett, Arman’s fate had been sealed at an early age. Like many children born in Nok, his parents had already decided on who he would wed when the time would come - the babe that had been born to King and Queen Pithou just a year prior - and they made sure to let Arman know this. Of course, as a kid, he did resent them. Why couldn’t he marry for love? Why couldn’t he marry who he wanted to marry and not who his parents wanted him to marry? It wasn’t until he began to think about it that he realized that it was a good thing. Sure, the idea of being Queen wasn’t that enticing to him - he would rather be called King, given that they were often seen as the true power in a kingdom and that Queens were seen as lesser - but the idea that his children wouldn’t just be nobles but princes? That was enough for him to shut his mouth.

And, really, he could do worse than someone like Ram Pithou. The crown prince was handsome, personable, and even if he didn't seem keen on the idea of an arranged marriage, he was always polite and cordial with Arman and while it wasn't the most romantic of ways to be matched, Arman did find himself developing feelings for the crown prince. And he knew, really, that he would actually enjoy marrying the prince and living life beside him. He even began to fantasize about their wedding day, imagining just how extravagant a royal wedding would be... when all of a sudden, plans had changed.

With Ram abdicating his throne, his younger brother becoming the heir, Arman was no longer promised to Ram but to his brother. While Arman was relieved that he would still get to be Queen, part of him was... disappointed that he wouldn't be Ram's Queen. Even still, though, with the other members of court looking at Ram with disdain for stepping away from his duties, he did what he could to ensure that Ram knew that he would always be someone he could talk to - all the while Arman married Berik and the two began to build their life together.

Several years have passed since Arman's first heartbreak, and while he may not have loved Berik when they had first married, he can wholeheartedly say that he does love him now. Behind Berik's imposing and intimidating presence is a kind heart and a gentle soul, one that Arman feels gracious enough that he had been able to see, but he would be lying if he said that there wasn't a small part of him that also fluttered at the mere mention of Ram. How could it be that even after all these years, he still harbors these feelings for the man that had once been his betrothed?

Still, Arman knows his place in court and he knows that he has fulfilled the biggest part of his duty - providing an heir to the Nokian empire - but he knows that his job isn't done. No, what he has to do next is to ensure that the next generation of Pithou's are primed and ready to ensure the success of their family line. And if, in the meantime, Arman can have his fun as well? Well, that wasn't something he'd be too upset about.

#(about arman)

[mothercauldron]

𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐒𝐩𝐲𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬

Amaryllis Sterling, age 369, was born in the Spring Court but at an early age was betrothed to a fellow child from the Court of Nightmares. She is charming and vivacious, but holds some secrets–she is watchful and jaded due to knowing the thoughts of others as a daemati. She got married but was widowed, and despite not having children her in-laws let her stay and be heir to their business. She travels to various courts, socializing and making deals. After trying to anonymously report traitorous plans against her High Lady that she learned through her gift, it came down to confessing or being accused as a Spring Court spy once she was found out. She now uses her martial skills and daemati abilities to report information she learns as she travels.

Full bio under the cut. Graphic credit (x).

Amaryllis Sterling was born in the Spring Court to a wealthy family who produced leather on a large scale and sold it across Prythian. They were less than pleased with her birth–they had hoped for a son and heir–but they adapted and had her betrothed before the age of ten. Her betrothed was the young heir to a weapons creator based in the Hewn City of the Night Court who, like the Sterlings, traded their wares throughout Prythian. She began training in fighting and with weapons at an early age so that she wouldn't "fail" as an heir's wife.

However, she did not advertise her martial skills. She was extroverted, excitable, and always wanted to have some fun (or mischief). Ryllis was also sociable and had many acquaintances–but few friends–and they all pitied her for her destiny of ending up in the infamous Hewn City. However, she did not mind. The flowers and sunlight of the Spring Court did not warm the coldness of her parents, and she was more likely to look to the stars for hope rather than at sunlight.

The bubbly exterior hid a more complicated fae underneath. She was always watching others and analyzing their actions, words, and behaviors. She was quickly jaded by how much people lied and took up doing so herself, though more to fit in rather than out of hostility. 

Amaryllis also has a secret. She knew her parents were disappointed in her and didn't truly care about her not because they told her, but because she knew their thoughts. She assumed this was normal and others checked up her knowledge to being very perceptive, but that changed at the age of nine.

There was a boy who was a bully to most of the kids they associated with. Amaryllis was a rather tolerant child and didn't react until one day he hit her closest friend across the face so hard that she fell down.

"Stop it and go away!" she demanded, and she felt herself imposing her will upon his mind to stop–and in her anger and lack of understanding she felt herself push too hard.

He didn't die, but he was never the same. He was quiet, subdued, and withdrawn. His parents didn't understand and no one suspected Amaryllis, but she knew.

Reading books led her to realize what she was: daemati. The books spoke of them with both reverence and fear, and Ryllis had no desire to be feared. So she hid her secret and went about her life.

At the age of two hundred she was married to her betrothed, Alexander Demir. She had only met him a few times and if she was not a daemati she might have assumed him to be a stoic and cold young man. But his thoughts–and the thoughts of his parents–told a different story of kindness and generosity. 

She moved to the Hewn City and never looked back, relieved to be leaving her parents and the Spring Court behind.

Life in the Court of Nightmares had made the Demirs undemonstrative and unemotional in order to survive. However, they did little things and silent gestures that showed they cared for her. She came to love them deeply and the Hewn City felt more like home than the Spring Court ever had.

She was not in love with her husband, but they were close and his unexpected death in an accident traveling between courts rocked her to her core. Not only did she grieve and grieve for his parents, she had the practical fear of being sent back to the Spring Court.

However, the Demirs asked what she was doing when she began packing. In the most honest they'd ever been, they told her that this was her home even if Alexander was gone. Also, with no heir, it made sense to make her the heir to the business in their son's stead. So now she goes around the courts of Prythian–socializing, schmoozing, and making deals with the knowledge she gains from her gift.

With tensions and a possible civil war brewing in the Night Court, Amaryllis also occasionally read the thoughts of those with plans against her High Lady. At first she tried to send the information anonymously but she got caught–and once she was she had little proof or explanation for how she had found out this information. It was suspected she might be a spy from Spring, and in order to protect herself she revealed that she is a daemati.

Now she works for the Night Court picking up secrets, a wolf in sheep's clothing that no one would suspect of being the Spymaster.

#amaryllis sterling #amaryllis bio #bio #intro

[insomniacwriter17]

Saved from the Flames - Chapter Eleven

“When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.” –Richard Kadrey

Billy Hargrove is 9 years old. He tries his best to be the son his father wants him to be - quiet, respectful, and obedient. But Neil just pushes harder and harder, all in the name of raising a “strong man”. When Billy is removed from his father’s custody and placed in foster care, it takes some time for him to realize his world is no longer burning around him. New experiences, new people, new opportunities all make Billy realize there’s a whole lot more to life than respect and responsibility.

AKA: The story of how Bob Newby became a real life superhero for one little boy who needed saving.

Inspired by this post I saw from @connordax

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten

read on ao3

Billy didn’t know it, but Bob spent most of the morning at the school. It had started with Mrs. MacDonald so that Bob could introduce himself and ask some questions. They stepped out into the hallway to talk a bit more privately. Mrs. MacDonald was quick to tell Bob that Billy was a great student, but she did mention that he was quiet and his attendance was spotty at best. “We had no idea that anything was wrong until last week,” she whispered to Bob, her eyes wide and a bit teary. “Thank you for what you’re doing for him.”

Awkwardly, Bob shrugged off the compliment and instead changed the subject. As the kids ran around the room and played, Bob learned that Billy was great at math and reading, that he didn’t seem to enjoy history very much but he tried his best, and that he was always well-behaved. “How’s he doing…well, socially?” Bob wondered. He was currently watching Billy and Eddie build Lego towers in what looked to be a comfortable silence, but in the few minutes he’d been there, Bob hadn’t seen any other kids approach them.

Mrs. MacDonald sighed. “He tries,” she admitted. “And he and Eddie play together really well. But he’s pretty reserved and he seems almost uncomfortable around a lot of the other kids so they tend to try and keep in their current friend groups.” 

Bob nodded, fighting away the ‘disappointed but not surprised’ feeling that was pulling at his chest. “It doesn’t seem to upset Billy very much,” the teacher continued with a soft smile. “He works well in team exercises and he gets along with the others easily when there’s clear instructions.”

Before Bob could answer her, he felt tiny arms wrap around his waist. “Bob! Hi! Why are you in my class?!” an excited voice asked. He looked down with a wide smile, kneeling down to hug Jonathan Byers. The brunette boy hugged him tightly, pulling away and looking confused. “Did my mom send you?” 

Bob chuckled and shook his head. “No, pal. It’s so good to see you though!” he nodded to the classroom doorway. “I came to drop someone else off this morning.” Jonathan cocked his head to the side, wide eyes studying Bob. 

“Someone in my class is living with you now?” he asked. Jonathan didn’t know a lot about what Bob did as a foster parent, but because Bob and Joyce were friends, there had been a few playdates in the past with other kids placed in Bob’s care. Jonathan knew that kids who needed somewhere safe to stay would come live with Bob until it was safe for them to go home. 

Bob simply nodded, standing up and ruffling Jonathan’s hair. “Yup. But that’s not for you to worry about. Heard you guys have music today!” Bob tried to change the subject, and it worked like a charm. Jonathan was grinning and nodding before he turned toward the classroom. “You go on in and have a good day, okay, pal? I’ll see you soon!” Bob watched with an amused smile as Jonathan shuffled into the classroom, and Mrs. MacDonald cleared her throat. 

“He’s a sweet boy too,” she commented. “Is there anything I need to know about Billy?” she continued. 

Bob shrugged. “I think you know him better than I do still,” he chuckled good-naturedly. “I can’t think of anything. But if he needs any additional supplies or anything like that, just let me know. I’m happy to get all that for him.” He paused, looking through the open doorway. Billy was still playing contently with Eddie. “And uh, I’m not sure if this’ll even be an issue, but if he asks to call or something…can we make that happen?” 

“Absolutely,” Mrs. MacDonald smiled. “If he asks, we can send him down to the counselor’s office.” 

Bob felt the tension leaving his chest at her words, relaxing. “Great, thank you so much for all of your time. I will let you get in there and start your class,” he offered with a sheepish smile. “Oh! One more question, sorry,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Where do I pick him up at the end of the day?” 

“We’ll have the car-rider line out front,” Mrs. MacDonald told him. “Unless it’s raining. Then you’ll come get him right here,” she smiled. Bob nodded, stepping away to head toward the office. 

“Have a great day!” he called over his shoulder before Mrs. MacDonald disappeared into her classroom. As he made his way down the hall, he could hear her calling everyone together and asking them to put the toys away.

The next few hours, Bob spent in the front office. First with the receptionist, making sure all of Billy’s information got updated: new address, new emergency contacts, all that kind of stuff. Gabby had left strict instructions about making sure that in the event Neil was released from jail, he was not to make it past the front office or have any contact with Billy if he came up to the school. That wasn’t a fun conversation, but an important one. 

Bob was also able to pick up information on the lunch menu like he’d promised, as well as the after-school program. Then he made his way to the counselor’s office to talk with her. Even though she was the one who had originally put in a report to the Department of Family Services, she hadn’t gotten any further information. Legally, Bob couldn’t tell her anything about the findings or what was happening, but his very presence answered the most important question: Was Billy safe now? 

Diana and Bob knew each other well enough, considering the fact that Bob had fostered a few other elementary aged kids in the past. “He’s been handling it really well, like almost too well,” Bob told her. “I’m a little afraid the other shoe’s going to drop at some point. I don’t think he’s fully processed it yet.”

Diana nodded her understanding. “It’s only been a few days,” she agreed. “He may still be in shock. I’ll keep an eye on him,” she promised. “And even if he still seems unbothered, I’ll pull him in on Wednesday during the day to check in.”

Bob relaxed in his seat with a nod. “I would really appreciate that. And Mrs. MacDonald said she’d send him down here to you in case he needs to call home for anything.” The man handed her a piece of paper with both their home number and the Radio Shack number on it. “I wrote down the numbers for you. Usually give the store a call first.” Diana smiled and leaned back in her chair with a laugh. 

“Well, then it sounds like you’ve already done my job for me,” she laughed. “I’ve got nothing else for you. It’s like you’ve done this before.”

Bob shrugged, a sheepish grin making its way across his face. “I just know you’re busy and I’d like to make this as easy on you as I can,” he admitted. “I know I can be a bit much at times.”

Diana immediately shook her head and waved Bob off. “Please, you are not ‘a bit much’. You care. That’s a good thing. That’s what kids like Billy need,” she promised. “You’ve heard the speech before, so I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes: we’re a team now for Billy. You, me, his caseworker, his teachers, all of the adults in his life. And we have to work together and communicate to make sure Billy’s getting what he needs. And I have absolutely no doubt that with you, he’s getting that,” Diana smiled. “So cut yourself some slack, okay? It can’t be too much if it’s exactly what Billy needs.” 

Bob smiled and pulled himself out of the chair. “Thanks, Diana. I appreciate all your hard work. And…” he paused, unsure if he should say what he was going to say. But he said it anyway. “Thanks for raising the red flag for Billy. Gabby told me you were the one to make the initial call.”

Diana nodded in response. “Thank you for stepping up for him, too,” she replied. “You’ve got the hard job. I couldn’t do what you do.” 

“I couldn’t do what you do,” Bob insisted with a shake of his head. “So on that note, I’ll let you get back to saving the world. I’m going to go sell some radios,” he laughed. 

But instead of selling radios, Bob spent the day watching the clock. He was anxious for the clock to hit 3:30 so he could head to the school, determined to be there before 3:45 so Billy wasn’t left waiting. 

He was in line for pickup by 3:15. He wondered if it was overkill, but when Billy walked out of the front door of the school looking a bit apprehensive, Bob knew he’d made the right choice. He was the third car in line, so it didn’t take long for Mrs. MacDonald to come to his window then turn toward where the class was sitting. “Billy, your ride is here!” she called, and Billy’s face lit up. 

“Mr. Bob! Hi!” Billy chirped as he climbed into the backseat. “You were here so fast!”

“I told you I would be, pal!” Bob grinned into the rearview mirror. “How was school?”

As Billy buckled his seatbelt, he grinned up at Bob. “It was good! You were right! Eddie is my friend!” He flopped back against the seat and began to ramble on about his day. It was easily the most Bob had heard Billy say in one sitting, not that he was complaining. He was thrilled that Billy was beginning to open up. 

By the time Bob pulled into the driveway, Billy had told him about how he and Eddie got to play the maracas during music class, and that he did the monkey bars during recess. Billy was proudly running through his spelling list for the week when he felt the car stop, looking up. “Oh, we’re here!” he noted. “That was so fast! Usually the bus takes forever.” 

Bob laughed as he helped Billy out of the car, taking his backpack and empty lunchbox. “That’s what happens when you only have to make one stop instead of a lot!” he pointed out. “You want a snack when we get inside?”

“Yes, please! Can I play outside?” Billy asked, following Bob into the house. “Wait! Can I eat my snack outside, too?!” 

Bob laughed. “So many questions! Yes, you can play outside. Yes, you can eat your snack outside, too. Did you bring any homework home?” 

Billy shrugged. “I just have to read for fifteen minutes,” he replied. “That’s the only homework we get on Mondays.” 

Bob nodded. “Okay, how about we make a deal? You go play while I get your snack ready, you can eat, and then we’ll knock that reading out?” He saw Billy perk up like he was going to ask a question, so Bob quickly added, “Yes, you can read outside.” 

“Okay!” Billy grinned. He was off like a shot, running for the backdoor before Bob could ask him to put his backpack away. Then he ran right back into the room with a breathless, “Can’t forget him!” Bob watched in total awe as Billy dove onto the couch to grab his bear from where he’d been left that morning. And then he was gone again, and Bob heard the screen door slam a moment later. 

It was like Bob had brought home a totally different kid than he had taken to school that morning. Not that Bob minded, of course. He much preferred this excited, expressive boy over the incredibly shy and worried one.

Billy was swinging on the swingset when Bob appeared a few minutes later, a plate in one hand and a glass in the other. “Your snack’s ready, kiddo!” he called. “I’m going to leave it on the table for you.”

“Okay!” Billy called, pumping his legs faster so he’d swing higher. The wind pushed his hair out of his face, cool against his cheeks. The sunshine was making him squint, bright and unforgiving to his eyes. He felt good. Like nothing could hurt him right now. 

So, he jumped. As the swing pushed forward he let go of the chains, leaning his weight forward so that he propelled himself off the swing. For a split second he felt like he was flying – and just as quickly, it was over. He hit the grass hard, the wind knocking out of his lungs at the impact.

He heard Bob call his name, but Billy couldn’t talk quite yet. All he could do was stare at the grass below him, trying to suck air into his sore chest. Just as fear started creeping into his veins because I can’t breathe, Bob’s hand fell to Billy’s back. 

“Man, that was a hard landing. You okay, bud? Can you sit up for me?” Bob’s voice sounded a little farther away than normal, but Billy nodded. As he sat up and saw Bob crouched beside him, the fear dissipated a little bit. 

I can’t breathe, he thought again, but as Bob’s hand ran up and down Billy’s back, he realized he could breathe. It hurt a bit and it was shallow, but he was okay. Billy looked up at Bob, who was looking at Billy with so much concern. 

And then Billy started to giggle. “That was fun!” he rasped. Beside him, Bob sighed. 

“Fun, huh?” the man repeated, willing his heart back down into his chest. “You got some air there, Billy,” he laughed. “You scared me.” 

Billy paused, sucking in another slightly deeper breath. “I scared you?” he questioned. “Why?” 

Bob paused, looking at Billy carefully. “Because I was worried you were hurt,” he replied softly. “That would’ve made me sad.” 

Billy studied the man, his little eyebrows furrowing together. “But why?” he asked. “You didn’t hurt me.” 

Bob shook his head. “Well, no, but I care about you! So I would’ve been sad if you were hurt. But you’re not hurt, are you?” he confirmed. Billy shook his head immediately, smiling at Bob. “Good! Okay, then let’s get you up and get that snack,” Bob redirected the boy’s attention to the patio table. 

As Billy munched on his sliced apple and cheese stick, he thought about what had just happened. He was scared until Bob showed up, and then Bob helped him feel better. 

He was used to getting scared when people showed up. This was a new feeling. Normally, Billy dreaded the end of the school day because that meant going home. But today, the end of school meant getting back to Bob. 

Bob, who apparently worried about Billy hurting himself and made him snacks and was still sitting here with Billy, even though he probably had more important things to do. By the time Billy pushed away his empty plate and said, “I’m all done!” he had decided that maybe he didn’t mind being here after all. 

Maybe – he actually kind of liked it here. 

#stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargrove deserved better #bob newby #bob newby deserved better #ao3 #insomniacwriter17 #cw: child abuse #foster care au #sftf #we're BACK BABY

[ofmdeaguila]

meet magdalena

tw: violence, drugs

— BASICS

full name: magdalena jimena de aguíla nickname: magda, mags, mj, lena (by her brothers) preferred name: magda, mags, mj age: thirty-nine birthday: february 2nd zodiac: aquarius birthplace: davie, florida current residence: new york city, new york nationality: Italian, lebanese, & brazilian ethnicity: brazilian affiliation: the cortázar cartel occupation: cartel underboss / psychic @ the beyond psychic shop

— PERSONAL

gender: female pronouns: she/her sexual orientation: bicurious romantic orientation: heteroromantic relationship status: single education: master's degree in biochemistry with a neurobiology minor positive traits: incisive, pragmatic, astute, eloquent, studious negative traits: stubborn. manipulative, argumentative, sly, reckless

— FAMILY

birth father: geraldo de aguíla birth mother: yesenia tafalla de aguíla sibling(s): 3 older brothers cousin(s): 1 female cousin, 1 male children: none

— BIOGRAPHY

Magda has been working hard since day one; her three older brothers were nothing short of the apples of her father's eye and being the only girl and the youngest, she had to fight her just a second in the spotlight. Her mother tried hard to have her fit in the same little box all the other little girls her age were in but the moment she started play fighting and roughhousing with her brothers, Magda was on a path that led to where she is today. Her parents had an arranged marriage, both of their families having known each other for generations as she was told and since her parents were young, they'd been surrounded by a life of crime. Various family members were either arrested or with a criminal record before they hit high school; the crimes ranged from assault to drug dealing. Her father's parents were well known by law enforcement for their criminal activity while her mother's various family members had tried and failed to get on the straight and narrow. When it looked like her father was on track to follow in his own father's footsteps, her mother's parents gave the ultimatum of either her father cleaning up his acting and moving to the home they'd purchase for the two in America or staying in the Dominican Republic and ending their arrangement.

Her father chose her mother.

While living in the Dominican Republic, Magda's parents had not liked each other or the arrangement but over the course of their teen years and early 20s, they began to develop true feelings for each other. Before leaving for America, Magda's mother gave birth to her first brother with him being the only one of the four born outside the states. Her grandparents were true to their word and bought them a home in Florida where her two other brothers, dubbed the twins, were born. Her father was a proud man and reveled in the fact he had all boys and while he'd made a promise to his in-laws, he knew the disappointment he'd be with his parents if he left his criminal life behind so he picked up where he left off in the Dominican Republic and started working for a minor drug gang in Florida. At the risk of losing her husband or her children, Magda's mother kept her mouth shut about her husband's return to crime and would lie to her parent's about what he did for a living. While her mother loved her children, she longed for a daughter to spoil like the other mother's she knew with their daughters; the boys loved her and accepted the warmth and love she provided but they looked up to their father, wanting to be the tough and successful man he was.

Five years into their new life, her father's new career and three sons, Magda's mother gave birth to her, the one and only daughter to Geraldo De Aguíla. Her mother was thrilled, finally having the daughter she'd dreamed of having while her father was happy but focused on keeping her out of the crime life and her brothers following in his name as he rose to the ranks within the small drug gang. Magda was only five years old when she witnessed her father and three brothers beating a man that owed money. Despite being so young, Magda knew what was happening and this was where Magda made her first wish: to be as tough and strong as her father and brother. Since that day, Magda did everything she could to be like her brothers, wanting the same praise that her father gave to them, at the same time as her mother put her through dance classes and cheer like the other little girls that lived in the neighborhood. Several times as a child, a phone call would be placed home due to Magda getting into fights with the other girls for making fun of her when she didn't "act like a girl" or with the boys for "being a girl". There was really no win for her.

When she was thirteen, Magda began voicing her desire to be like her brothers, to tag along with her father like they did, but her father told her this life was no place for her. He told her that she was too young and it would break her mother's heart if she followed the dangerous path he and her brothers were taking, all three of which had a pretty lengthy record at this point. One thing she took away from this was the look in her father's eyes when he said that, he was secretly proud of her strong will at her age but knew he was going to make her earn her place. From that day on, Magda worked hard in school, which is where her brothers slightly lacked, because she knew that she needed more than just street smarts to make a name for herself in the "family business". She continued to appease her mother with her dance training and cheer all throughout middle and high school while simultaneously excelling in school, specifically the sciences. Something she'd picked up from her mother without having to be forced into it was tarot card readings; her mother's side of the family had claims of being well-intuitive and people in the old neighborhood would come to her grandmother to seek answers on their future, from their successes to their romantic lives. Her mother held up the notoriety when she made the move to Florida, her father still lovingly calls her mother his little bruja to this day. On the day of her fifteenth birthday, Magda's mother gave her a family-owned tarot deck and started teaching her the family's ways and to her mother's joy, Magda was a natural.

While she stopped cheering halfway through high school, Magda kept up dance as it proved to be a great method of exercising her body on top of the rigorous workouts she followed her brothers doing. In high school, Magda knew her looks and charm could convince and fool anyone and she used that to her advantage when she'd attend parties where her brothers sold drugs or collected money and when she'd gather information on rivals for her father with no one noticing her even there; these were the moments her father would show his praise and approval. Her mother was furious when she first learned Magda was actively following in a criminal lifestyle but Magda made the argument that she was still maintaining her studies and dance classes like her mother wanted, she'd even managed to get into college. Despite her record of violence and run-ins with police at parties that had gotten busted, her record of community service and rehabilitation proved her course of change or the illusion of change she showed the public. Plus, she was never actually arrested.

After high school, Magda left Florida to pursue a degree in biochemistry with a minor in neurobiology in New York and with the information she gained while in school, her father and brothers were able to take it and thrive in Florida which was making her more and more proud with her father. While she worked hard to get her degree and make her father proud of her, Magda would let loose when she could and she would party hard; she'd work to the point of having free time for the weekend and would hit the streets of New York with friends. Her brothers eventually made their way to New York as a way of expanding their family's business to New York and the four would hit up college parties to sell and eventually making themselves known among the rich and affluent. They kept this up for a little while before word got out of a small crew operating in the Bronx and the Cortázar Cartel had a word with the four. Magda was only eighteen and scared out of her mind; she didn't want to lose her brothers or her life nor did she want to have to leave her new life in New York but those worries went out the window when the offer to join the Cartel was put onto the table as an alternative to death or leaving New York. She and her brothers accepted for the sake of their lives and immediately told their father who they'd assumed would be disappointed or ashamed but he was the opposite. Their father knew of the Cartel and to have all four of his children among the ranks had never made him prouder; those in his circles back in Florida made their respect known for the man when the news had reached him.

Magda and her brothers spent their time working hard for the Cartel, taking everything they did within the gang seriously, more seriously than they had been when they each had first started out with Magda taking the most seriously. She worked hard to use the knowledge she gained from school that she'd given her father to give to the Cartel, learning about the drugs they sold and how they affected a person, on top of taking a few marketing courses to better herself on the pricing and trafficking of the drugs. Magda did everything she could to prove herself to the cartel and after getting her degree, her parents being present for the graduation ceremony, Magda dedicated herself to the Cartel as she rose through the ranks which filled her father with joy. With the money she earned, Magda moved her parents up to New York and bought them a house in White Plains, visiting every chance she gets especially since her father retired from the drug trade, and buying herself her dream loft. Her smarts, skills, and charms proved to be the tools she needed and for the past two years, Magdalena De Aguíla has operated as the Cortázar Cartel's Underboss and her father truly has never been prouder and even with gaining her father's admiration, she still works hard to prove herself to be the strong-willed and confident woman she is.

— EXTRA FACTS

Despite being forced to do it at first, Magda enjoyed taking her dance classes and still loves to dance today but if caught vibing to a beat, she'd deny it

Magda has a tattoo with the words "I am the rich man" tattoo on her inner bicep that she'd gotten on a dare by a friend in her first few months of college because of her saying she didn't want to marry rich but be the rich someone would want to marry

She will explode in Spanish whenever she gets frustrated, pissed off, or stressed

Magda kept the family tarot deck and continued to do readings throughout college and when she made the move to the Cartel, a well-made cover as a "day job" for herself

Her entire childhood and teenage years were spent trying to gain her father’s love and trust through any means necessary, even if it meant making her brothers look bad which usually ended up with her being reprimanded.

While she wants to prove herself and be the best, she feels self-conscious comparing herself to other girls growing up because she didn’t want the same things they did. For a while, she thought something was wrong with her but she chose to keep the self-doubt to herself and focus on whatever task at hand. Usually meaning she throws herself into work and sometimes neglects herself.

Magdalena strives for praise, wanting someone to see how well she does for others, for the Cartel, and tell her she’s doing a good job so she feels like her efforts are all worth it in the end since she hadn’t received much acknowledgment when it came to her father growing up and her mother was only disappointed that her only daughter wanted to follow her brothers and father down a dangerous career path.

She was labeled a chameleon in her family for how well she’d adapt to her surroundings and become someone else; she took on numerous side jobs, blending into the crowds and putting on a facade to trick people into revealing things to her.

Magdalena worked hard to get where she is but while she couldn’t maintain solid relationships, romantic or with her family, she was no stranger to letting loose and having a good time. She partied hard with the best, some occasions that lead to gaining intel and connections, but most of the time it was when she was overwhelmed with working too hard and needed to let it all go. Something she was known for was doing things in excess, whether it be working or partying, she still hasn’t found an equal balance between the two.

Her brothers did dislike her when she’d try to tag along with them when she was younger or show them up but they were still family and when she got old enough that her tagging along wasn’t going to be too much for her, she’d learn about the ins and outs of the drug trade. It wasn’t the entirety of the trade but she learned enough that retaining that information helped her rise the ranks in the Cartel.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

ELDEST BROTHER (40s); he was annoyed with her antics when they were kids but willingly taught her what he knew and supported her when she joined the cartel and moved up in ranks

THE TWINS (35-39); they are similar with their interests and life of crime but polar opposites in personality. One is the angel, protective over Magda and her number one supporter when she moved up in ranks, and the other was the devil, still protective over Magda but the one that roughhoused with her the most

FEMALE COUSIN (30s); the opposite of Magda and jealous of the attention her own mother and Magda's mother placed on Magda after each achievement

MALE COUSIN (30); if Magda had a twin, this would be the person. If her brothers couldn't make it to be her protection on a deal then this cousin would go with her.

FIRST LOVE; Magda's hard time with maintaining a relationship with the job she does had taken a toll on this relationship and she ended things when they got too serious; she still thinks about him from time to time

FIRST ONS TURNED FWB; Magda had only meant to be with this man once and be done with him, just expel some stress and be on her way but she finds he knows her pretty well in just a short amount of time and when she calls, under whatever stress of the day, he knows what she needs

#wb.intro