#emilios — biography

[ofdieus]

‘ theo james, cis man, he/him, 37 (360), high fae ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems EMILIOS ACHESON has finally made it to the capital, the HIGH LORD from the SPRING COURT is said to be ASSERTIVE and is said to describe themselves with THE FEELING OF ROT; SLOWLY DESTROYING YOURSELF FROM THE INSIDE, SACRIFICES BROUGHT TO THE ALTAR BURNED FOR AN UNCARING GOD, HIDING YOUR MANIPULATIONS BEHIND SACCHARINE SMILES, NEVER AFRAID TO GET YOUR OWN HANDS DIRTY & PALE LIPS THAT HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO SMILE and with all of this in mind their HAUGHTY nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

GENERAL DETAILS.

full name: emilios richard acheson nickname(s): milo, ellio, eli date of birth: november 3rd zodiac: scorpio sun, aquarius moon, gemini rising gender & pronouns: cis man ( he / him ) species: high fae place of birth: spring court orientation: heterosexual, heteroromantic occupation: the high lord of spring

PHYSICAL, ETC.

faceclaim: theo james hair colour & style: here clothing style: here distinguishing characteristics: charming smile and bright eyes piercing(s) & tattoo(s): none

PERSONALITY.

positive trait(s): assertive, captivating, adroit negative trait(s): haughty, disputatious, nefarious like(s): hiking, horseback riding, gardening, sword fighting dislike(s): feeling uninspired, feeling unimportant, lack of power hobbie(s): reading, researching, star gazing, gardening, hiking character inspiration: damon salvatore (the vampire diaries), rumpelstiltskin (once upon a time) littlefinger (game of thrones)

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

mother: circe acheson-cartwings (nee leowynn) father: loukas acheson (deceased) adoptive uncle: richard cartwings (deceased) adopted cousin(s): eldest son of richard cartwings (deceased), tbd sibling(s)/halfsibling(s): corisande acheson, tbd significant other: n/a

BACKGROUND.

biography trigger(s): murder, death, betrayal, mention of depression

Eli always knew he was meant to be the high lord, even if he knew he would never get it. His father was only high lord a few years before his sudden death. He and his siblings were taken in by his father's second in command, a strong man with a wise and sweet heart. Eli grew to detest him.

When he was old enough to start acting out, he did. His temper grew shorter and he started to really take note of the world around him. He started to speak less and it started to concern a lot of people... He used to be a talkative, happy kid.

At the same time, his mother started to become depressed over the death of his father. He and his siblings tried to keep their mother happy as long as they could but the only thing she held onto was that one day, she could see his father again.

Although, as he got older - his mother started to get happier again and that was because of the new high lord, his fathers second in command.

By the time he was a teenager, the two of them had remarried and Eli's anger and resentment continued to build. He almost refused to talk to either of them for years, just as he started to plot his revenge and his first step was to take out the heir.

Growing up, he and Richard's son were the best of friends, one day he thought they would be like their fathers. When Eli realized that his friend would be the heir and not him, the young fae took matters into his own hands. It was labelled an accident, of course, Eli was devastated about it. There was a funeral and a period of mourning.

Years later, Eli took his second more important plan into action. He had worked hard to get close with the new lord, as well as reconnecting with his mother. He was the next in line, of course.

When the lord mysteriously died, Eli managed everything. He played the role of the devoted son so well and he was rewarded. The new high lord of spring was crowned.

He has always and still, keeps his siblings at an arms length but now that he has been the lord a while, things are starting to become trickier. Eli's way of ruling was harsh and he only sought out more power. He was starting to become what he always wanted, though. To him, that was the greatest reward... Even if he had no one to share it with along the way.

HEADCANONS.

he wishes for a bride and to showcase he isnt as cruel as he seems to the rest of the spring court he is just unsure if he would find anyone who would want the same things as him

he enjoys being outside in his animal form, prefers to travel in it and doesn't enjoy winnowing

he loves spending the days outside and the nights locked in his library where he can research war strategies and advance his abilities as high lord

he has a collection of butterflies and other insects in his office that he likes to study and learn from

has extensive knowledge of hand-to-hand combat and large swords are his preference of weapon

[kingofthering]

saw your tags when Fabio was supposed to follow on Marc s footsteps, but a mess happened with his manager.

I am new what exactly happened

Okay, so. Going to gather all the information from Fabio's biography by Michel Turco.

Fabio's first ever manager was Eduardo Martin.

Essentially, Eduardo's main issue is that instead of growing Fabio's career to make Fabio better, he chose the directions of Fabio's career to better fit the promotion and marketing of his energy drink (Wild Wolf) [note : the brand never ever really came to life).

In 2011, Fabio was riding in 80cc and that's where Eduardo approached his parents. He started helping Fabio and buying him a bike so he could train for the next category. He helped Fabio secure a sit in CEV Moto3 in 2013, with the team Wild Wolf Racing. That year, Fabio also moved to Spain in Eduardo's house.

Fabio won CEV Moto3 in 2013, winning the last 3 races (championship had 9 of them).

At that time, Emilio Alzamora (Marc's manager for 18 years, until mid-2022) was working with Monlau Competition and Estrella Galicia to build a ladder to bring young riders to Moto3 and then Moto2 (they had already done it with Alex Marquez and Alex Rins).

During the 2013 season, in Albacete (so either June or September), Emilio approached Eduardo to talk about Fabio. Apparently, Eduardo wasn't liking the potential move to Marc VDS in Moto2 and the presence of Monster (remember when I said that Eduardo only cared about his energy drink brand?) and Emilio said that it took him days and days before being able to have Fabio's contract signed.

In 2014, Fabio was finally in the Monlau Competition structure and he joined team Honda Estrella Galicia 0,0. Emilio says that they taught Fabio a lot of things then, especially in the way his race weekends were structured. Fabio also got to try new bike parts that HRC was then giving to Alex R. and Marc.

The 2014 season of CEV Moto3 contained 11 races. Fabio won 9 of them and finished the other two second. He obviously got a second title that year. Please have a look at one of my fave quotes from the book, where Emilio compares Marc & Fabio at 14 years old.

In the summer of 2014, Emilio had to go talk to Carmelo Ezpeleta because back then, the minimum age to participate in a GP was 16 (note : Fabio would only turn 16 on the 20th of April 2015, the day after the 3rd round of that MotoGP/Moto2/Moto3 season). After a bunch of discussions, Emilio managed to have the big instances say that "a 15 years-old crowned in CEV could start in the World Championship even if his birthday was after the start of the season" [note : we essentially still have that rule today except now you have to be 18 and 17 years old are accepted if they were crowned champions the year prior].

Now the year is 2015 and Fabio is riding for Estrella Galicia 0,0 in Moto3. His season does not go as he would have hoped. He gets two second places in the early part of the season but finishes 10th and has a couple of crashes, ends up beat by his teammate Jorge Navarro.

Here's what Emilio had to say about the situation : "The issue wasn't Fabio but this Eduardo, taking care of him. [...] He didn't know much about racing. He only had one thing in mind : to see Fabio on top of every practice session. He wanted him to win before he had even learnt what had to be learned. This attitude didn't benefice anyone."

Mid-season, Emilio said : "His results until now have exceeded our expectations. The objective of the first half of the season is to gain experience. Some people seem to forget that he's only 16 years old."

As the season progresses, tensions rise between Eduardo and Emilio. Eduardo wants to take Fabio to Leopard Racing (they were on top of the Moto3 Championship with Danny Kent then) while other team managers are interested in Fabio, including Aki Ajo. Aki said that he was really interested in getting Fabio and that he did a lot of efforts to have him in his team. He said : "I remember that it was a real challenge and that insisted a lot, I was convinced that we could do something to help him. When I met him in my office, I immediately felt like he was the type of guy I would really like to work with. I think that he felt the same thing then but there were other reasons, coming from his management or elsewhere, that made this not happen."

Towards the end of August, in Misano, Fabio gets a double fracture in his right ankle and shortens his first Moto3 season. Fabio wasn't doing well then but that's when he met Tom, please see some of my other favorite quotes.

At the end of 2015, Fabio leaves the Monlau structure. Back then, Eduardo justified it by saying this : "When we started renegotiating the contract with Alzamora, the question of our liberties for the future came. The contract we were offered was engaging us for a longer time than I wished for Fabio. Leopard was giving us this freedom and everything else I asked for. The Estrella Galicia project went from CEV to MotoGP, going through Moto3 and Moto2. I understand this philosophy and I suppose it suits most riders. It wasn't fine for me because Fabio is not a rider like the others. He's a special rider and he needs to be free so he can always make the best choice at the right time. The Almazora project is not flexible enough for us."

Also, like I mentioned earlier, Eduardo didn't want long term because he didn't want to end up in Moto2 with Marc VDS. Michael Bartholemy, then head of that team, says : "This guy was crazy. He didn't know anything about motorbikes and racing. He thought he was managing Lewis Hamilton, he wanted 300-pages contracts, wanted to choose the sponsors, etc..."

We'll finish this with one last quote from Emilio, still having regrets about not being able to finish this missions with Fabio six years later [note : the book was published in 2021] : "It was a waste. We had sponsors like Estrella Galicia who had already invested a lot in the project. They were counting on Fabio to launch themselves on the international market, notably the French market. Everything fell through because of a manager not very clear-sighted... At the same time, this taught us how to better write our contracts. On my side, I'm very happy that Fabio managed to bounce back and that his talent didn't end up being wasted."

[mybeingthere]

Emilio Scanavino, (1922 - 1986, Italian)

Emilio Scanavino was born in Genoa (Italy).

His father, Attilio Scanavino, was an accountant and belonged to a family of merchants who had lived for two generations in Salto Oriental, in Uruguay. Attilio returned to Italy during the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918, and volunteered to fight in WWI. Once back from the front lines, he married Maria Felicina Sterla.

For years, he worked as an importer of coffee from Brazil for Italian buyers (Associazione Commercio Caffé Droghe e Coloniali), but was very interested in philosophy and esotericism, collecting books in Portuguese, Spanish and Italian.

Emilio Scanavino, during his childhood – since his father was a victim of political persecution – could not play outdoors with other children, so he spent his days on the terrace of his home, building knick-knacks and small paper toys that he used to throw down in the courtyard below to the children freely playing there. He spent his days in the company of the doves living in the dovecote that his parents had built for him. This passion will remain with him, so much so that as an adult, he dedicated himself to collecting precious racing pigeons that he purchased in Belgium and in other cities abroad.

1934

For four years he attended the teacher training high school in Genoa with poor results.

His father would have liked to embark him on a cargo ship as a cabin boy to impart order and discipline on him, since Scanavino spent his time drawing and building “useless objects”.

1938

Asking his father for one last chance not to set sail, he expressed a desire to attend the Art High School in Genoa. This change stimulated his artistic abilities and aptitude, giving him a strong cultural spur. He approached the literature and poetry of writers such as Guillaume Apollinaire, André Gide, Jacques Prévert, Marcel Proust, Jean Paul Sartre, Federico García Lorca, Franz Kafka and Dylan Thomas.

At this school he met Giorgina Graglia, who became his wife in 1946.

Continue https://www.archivioscanavino.it/en/info/biography

[ameliaxcarrasco]

[eva longoria — 55 — she/her] Introducing AMELIA CARRASCO. Word on the street is they are a AUTHOR & FREELANCE EDITOR, having been around for 35 YEARS. Though they are A WORKOHOLIC and A PERFECTIONIST, they can also be A VISIONARY and PRODUCTIVE. In the chaos of New York City, they’re sure to fit right in.

bio & wcs under the read more.

— BASICS

Name: Amelia Carrasco Age / D.O.B.: 55 / september 22nd, 1968 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Female, She/Her, Heterosexual Hometown: Lima, Peru Affiliation: Civilian Job position: Author & Freelance Editor Education: English literature degree Relationship status: Married to @emiliocarrasco Children: Youngest to oldest - Oscar Carrasco, Alex Carrasco, Luis Carrasco @oscar-carrasco @alexxcarrasco @lluiscarrasco Positive traits: Homely, Compassionate, Caring, Open-Minded, Determined Negative traits: Workaholic, Perfectionist, Defensive, Frivolous, Stubborn

— BIOGRAPHY

Born in Peru, a whirlwind romance whisked her up in her teenage years. It was a feeling unlike any she had felt before, and it only grew over the years. Getting married in 1990 simply bonded them even closer, like they were an unbreakable duo and nothing could ever bring them down. Children was the next logical step, and Amelia was such a maternal being she longed for them. She was overjoyed when their first child was born - a son - and she felt that same way as each one of her children were brought into the world. She lived for them. Amelia always had done, and was ever attentive. She never missed a single event in their lives, and always made sure they wanted for nothing. She did the best she could, even during hard times that just seemed to keep getting harder. As time passed, she felt like she was doing it all on her own. Emilio so busy with work, barely around. No time for her, let alone the children. She was becoming unhappy, and you could see it in her writing. The unhappier she was, the darker her books were, but if her husband could not pay attention to her own emotions when she was right in front of him, Amelia very much doubted he even tried to pick up a book. It was a rocky time in 2018, and the matriarch found herself at her wits end. Amelia wasn't one for ultimatums, and she didn't give one, but it was very apparent that she was increasingly concerned for Emilio the less and less time he spent with the family. At that point in their life, she knew she wasn't even seen by him, let alone heard or enjoyed. The word divorce kept cropping up in conversations, in arguments, though she refused to argue in front of her children. She threw herself into her own work, living for writing and her children, trying to get Emilio to just slow down whenever she saw him - which she was lucky to even catch a glimpse. Enough was enough. Amelia saw how much this job was affecting her husband, turning him into someone he wasn't, or at least not someone she was used to. Working himself to the bone wasn't good for his physical or mental health, and after many forced lengthy conversations he finally listened to reason and started to try and find a work-life balance. It's still difficult, but it's better than it was. She loves her family more than anything, loves Emilio dearly. She would hold onto the last thread of their relationship for eons if it meant a chance to repair it... and repair it is what they are slowly doing. She would do anything for her family, including standing by them and their decisions even if it was breaking her heart.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

WRITERS: Authors that she edits for. She mainly edits for books, many of which end up on the NYT best seller lists. However, she is freelance and can pick and choose which jobs she wants, so occasionally she will take on articles and the like if the workload she currently has is light.

TBA!

[wildwcst]

APPLICATION.

( emilio sakraya, demi man, he/they ). welcome to westworld, DALLAS RAMI. you have been programmed to look like you are 27 years old, and to operate as a MINER in the park. you have a bit of a reputation as the ICARUS, and are programmed to be DARING and PROTECTIVE, but also FOOLISH and IMPULSIVE. sometimes, people say you remind them of ALADDIN (ALADDIN), NICK MILLER (NEW GIRL), AND MAYLEN ORETSEV (SHADOW & BONE). if you had to describe yourself in a few words, it would be FEARLESS CHILD, BROKEN BOY, TELL ME WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BURN. it is rumoured that YOUR FAMILY’S FARM WASN’T PRODUCING ENOUGH FOOD, SO YOU STARTED STEALING TO SUPPORT YOUR MOM AND SISTER. YOU STOLE FROM THE WRONG PERSON AND ENDED UP RUNNING AWAY AND HIDING OUT IN THE MINES. we hope you can entertain the guests!

FILE.

full name: dallas rami

age: twenty-seven

gender / pronouns: demi man, he/they

orientation: bisexual

affiliation: host

occupation: miner

family: tbd rami (mother, alive), pearl rami (sister, alive)

faceclaim: emilio sakraya

inspiration: aladdin (aladdin), nick miller (new girl), maylen oretsev (shadow & bone)

Pinterest

BIOGRAPHY.

You're a boy who came from humble beginnings. Your family had been in the farming business for generations, and when you were born, you were expected to follow in their footsteps. Your early days were spent running around the farms and helping your mother harvest the produce, and for years, you felt content with your destined path.

You knew your family's farm was never the most successful in terms of items produced, but you always managed to get by. It wasn't until around a year ago that you noticed the crops stopped yielding as much product. You tried to brush it off as a batch of late-bloomers, but time went on and you weren't able to sell as much as before. This impacted your family's livelihood, so you took matters into your own hands.

After your chores were done, you found yourself wandering over to the nearest town in search of food and supplies for your family. You ended up inhabiting the role of a pickpocketer--- targeting newcomers and oblivious citizens to help keep your family fed and healthy. The role worked well at the start, but when you decided to steal from a wanted criminal, you realized you were no longer safe in the town.

Your mind panicked at the thought of your family being put in danger due to your actions, so you decided it was best to leave and lay low until the individual forgot about you. You signed up to work in the mines, knowing it was far enough away from the town to keep you safe and tucked away, and that's where you've been for months.

The only time you see non-miners is when newcomers wander over to check out the mines, but though you try to warn them about the dangers of the underground cavern, they often insist on wandering around. You reluctantly tag along with them, and when you run into them on your rare visits to the town, you'll often ask them to act as a lookout in case the criminal is after you again.

One day you hope to abandon the mines and return to your family, but until you feel like it's safe, you'll remain tucked behind the shadows of the underground mines.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

The outlaw who is after Dallas

Other individuals who Dallas stole from back in the day

Fellow miners

Old friends

Exes/crushes

Guests who are exploring his storyline

Employees who often update/fix Dallas

[hzaidan]

Saint Blandina (French: Blandine, died 177 AD) was a Christian during the reign of Emperor Marcus Aurelius. She belonged to the band of martyrs of Lyon who, after some of their number had endured frightful tortures, suffered martyrdom in 177 AD…

Please follow link for full post

Art,Ptolemaic dynasty,Paintings,Jules-Antoine Gilles Duvaux,RELIGIOUS,Fine Art,biography,History,Emilio Magistretti,mythology,religion,Zaidan,Egyptian,footnotes,Blandina,Saint,

02 Works, Interpretation of the bible, St. Blandina in the Amphitheater of Lyon, by Emilio Magistretti and Jules-Antoine Duvaux, with Footnotes #213

[oscar-carrasco]

OSCAR.

&& wait, is that ( oscar carrasco ) dancing to his favorite song? i've heard through a grapevine, that he's one of new york's upcoming ( graphic designers ). rumors say that he's the son of emilio carrasco, but are they on good terms? he looks just like ( henrique zaga ). there's more to him than just art and music - people say he can be ( tense ) and ( blunt). but i believe he's ( cunning ) and ( earnest ). ( penned by logan. they/them )

— BASICS

NAME: Oscar Carrasco AGE / D.O.B.: 25 / 19.07.1998 GENDER / PRONOUNS & SEXUALITY: Cismale / he/him / Pansexual HOMETOWN: New York, New York AFFILIATION: Civillian JOB POSITION: Graphic Designer / Tour Guide / Social Media Guy for the MET EDUCATION: High School Diploma, NYU Master's degree RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single CHILDREN: None POSITIVE TRAITS: clean, creative, aspiring, genuine, loyal NEGATIVE TRAITS: anxious, obsessive, too honest, too caring, envious

— BIOGRAPHY

TW: Depression, bullying

The sounds of footsteps coming closer to Oscar's door always were a reason for him too draw in a sharp breath, hold it in his lungs for as long as possible and only let the air out of his burning lungs when the noises had long passed. A knock on his door, leading to conflicts of any type, just because he had done something unfitting and unwanted again, or worse, dinner; his greatest fear. He preferred being alone, not having to talk about his time in school (or about how one of the guys there had once again pushed his food off the table, had once again pushed him onto the field during gym class). It wasn't that he did anything, or was necessarily weird, no, he was just there and quiet and non-defensive, and that had always been enough.

His peace started on one year's birthday; there had been nothing he wished for, and yet his mother got him the perfect thing: headphones. Likely at his sister's plea, as she kept banging against his wall when he listened to music, but he didn't care - it was love at first sight, and love at second when he put them on for the first time, and suddenly, the world was much more okay. There was just art and him now, his sketchbook and his pencils, later an iPad, a cheap computer bought through random jobs worked late in the evening.

Escaping the world was so much easier when you were all alone, listening to music - and after a while, there wasn't even sleeping without some kind of sound blasting through the headphones. While the bullying kind of never stopped during his years in school, his grades were always fine, and with much luck and many won art competitions, he was offered a NYU scholarship, which he took and used to become something unfitting and unwanted - a graphic designer. There was always this small dream, nagging the back of his head, the thought that hey, becoming a profiler, a sketcher for the police, that would make them proud. That would be of profit. But Oscar never succumbed to the idea of it, never dared to. Because if he failed at that, he'd fail at everything, and not making his father proud was easier to live with than to disappoint him.

What falls right into his lap is the job a friend gets him - tour guide at the MET. Hell yeah. He knows enough about the art, has spent many hours there already, and when they find out he's a graphic designer, they let him do a little social media, too. It's fun, it pays okay (though not enough to move out, not yet). It's okay. And he is okay. He's always just okay.

[emiliocarrasco]

➵  BASICS

NAME: Emilio Carrasco GOES BY: Emilio, Deputy, Deputy Carrasco AGE / D.O.B. 3rd June, 1963 [60 yo] FACECLAIM: Benjamin Bratt GENDER & SEXUALITY: Cis-Male, hetero. HOMETOWN: Lima, Peru. CURRENTLY:  Queens, NYC. AFFILIATION: NYPD. / Law Enforcement.  JOB POSITION: Deputy Chief of Police EDUCATION: High School Diploma / GED, Police Academy. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Involved. ➵ Amelia Carrasco, wife; thirty-three years married. ( m. 1990 ) CHILDREN: ➵ Luis Carrasco, eldest son; thirty-one. ➵ Alex Carrasco, eldest daughter; twenty-seven. ➵ Oscar Carrasco, youngest son; twenty-five.

➵  TRAITS

POSITIVE: Focused, Decisive, Dedicated, Passionate, Determined. NEGATIVE: Controlling, Temperamental, Aggressive, Harsh, Stern.

➵  BIOGRAPHY

"We are not here to create disorder, we are here to preserve disorder. We are not the enemy, we never were; we serve to protect. We are justice for you, not the desperate revolution. I am - pardon the cliche - the arm of the Law tasked with keeping New York safe. And I will do that until it no longer stands; and I'll make it be long after I am gone." Emilio Carrasco, 1996, NYT.

Carrasco cringes at least once a month at his old pre-written statements given as a young officer. Feeding the wolves what they wanted to hear in order to quieten the howls.

Everything had to stop being pre-written after '97, and then '01... and then '07-'10 where Emilio's faith in Law was shaken. '18 seemed to be the reality check within the force, shortly followed by '21. When did it stop? Promising impossibilities?

From one tumulus country, to another. Emilio had grown numb to the viciousness, and vile corners of humanity. He had spent years of his early life clawing out of stigmatic labels, keeping his head down and studying to be the change he wished he could be in the world.

He was naïve then. A young boy convinced with one right voice; with good intentions he could change it overnight.

The clawing never stopped. Thirty-four years later, and he simply moved one position closer to that change. Maybe it was still a little foolish to think that he could keep stability after everything Carrasco had seen. After he had balanced a working life, and an outside life so precariously that he wasn't sure which life would crumble first.

Emilio's problem always was that he put the job first; he put the criminals ahead of his wife, of his children. Fiercely defending them in a way that was suffocating whilst being entirely too absent. But he was making the city safe for them, and every citizen who called New York a home.

The media could write one right thing about him, out of twenty. It would always mean very little to him. But reputation; a standing was part of the fragile clockwork that ran the city. He understands that, and he'll put on the face of severity. He will continue to put individuals behind bars, and bring justice - because, without them, who else would?

The gangs?

An unholy kind of justice. Emilio would see righteousness reign first.

➵  CONNECTIONS

AMELIA CARRASCO | Wife; 55, freelance editor. (m.1990) LUIS CARRASCO | Eldest son; 31, casino pit supervisor. (b.1992) ALEX CARRASCO | Eldest daughter; 27, poli-sci graduate. (b.1996) OSCAR CARRASCO | Youngest son; 25, graphic designer. (b.1998)

➵  HEADCANONS

If you attempt to corrupt him, your efforts will be solely wasted.

Has worked for NYPD since 1989; academy; rookie; detective ['13-'20]; captain['20-'22]; deputy chief.

Married the love of his life; a teenage whirlwind over the course of a crazy summer, in 1990. It was one year after Emilio began his pursuit of law enforcement. Were happily married, turning toxic and unhealthy due to Emilio's determination to clean up the city.

Two years after they married, their first son was born; Luis.

Mentions of divorce in '18, during rife gang war.

Children have some resentment for him due to missing familial commitments due to work - however, Emilio loves them dearly, and would never encourage the animosity. He does his best.

Loathes the media, of course. Has a special place in his heart for dismissing them. Has been photographed previously getting aggressive with those waving microphones, and cameras in his face. It was followed by public apologies.

Motivated by the belief that one day New York will be safe; the streets will be safe to walk on at all hours. Crime will be at an all time low before he retires. As it stands; a pipe dream.

Bilingual, from his parents - and few years as a child in Peru.

A man that does everything - mostly - by the book. Throwing himself headlong into danger is not by the book. But he won't miss an opportunity.

Self corruption is a different kind of trouble.

Listens unironically to Beyonce albums in his office, accompanied by a glass.

Where his limits stretch, is often with his children; he knows they can get into trouble. But it isn't a good look. It makes bad headlines, and looks worse when the prosecutions are light.

There have been rumours in the past about his marriage, and adultery. They are not true from Emilio's side. ( He has not the time. ) And Amelia has denied them too. Emil assumes it is a personal attack on the force to try and unstable him, and he will not allow it to cloud his judgement. But it affects his children.

He is stern. Because he feels like he can never really drop the jacket of the law, even at home where he can be softer - and loving, he finds it difficult to switch off.

[wonderfulworldofmaeth]

Library

"Do you know how many secrets a library holds? This is the only place the whole world could possibly fit between four walls. I could be lost in this library for a million years, yet here I'd be sure to find millions more."

Biographies:

Salice Halloway Shuhei Kumagai Anshelinah Circe Emilio Taylor Van Cruz Mara Gabris Nazir Circe

Quote Introductions:

Petra Moretti Nina Yanez Marnie Ursil

Fiction:

Featuring: Salice

This Is Maeth? Peacock Feathers Scared You Had Gone He Loves You A Man Worth Saving Telephone Stupid Laundry Wishing Well Heart Everything They Became I'll Wait For You In Moonlight

Featuring: Shuhei

Charcoal Drawing A Special Friend A Song In Our Home Remedy Are You Happy? You Have To Come Back

Featuring: Anshelinah

The Lion and the Gazelle

Featuring: Emilio

Seeing Lilac

@themaethpost

[welidot]

Fidel Castro

This Biography is about one of the best Professional Politician of the world Fidel Castro including his Height, weight, Age & Other Detail… Express info Real Name Fidel Alejandro Castro Ruz Nickname Not Known Profession Politician and Revolutionary Age (as on 25 November 2016) 90 Years old Physical Stats & More Info Party Communist Party of Cuba Political Journey • In 1947, he joined the Party of the Cuban People (Partido Ortodoxo), founded by Eduardo Chibás. • In June 1952 election, he was nominated for the House of Representatives. • In 1952, he formed a group called "The Movement". • On 16 February 1959, he was sworn in as the 16th Prime Minister of Cuba. • In July 1959, he proclaimed himself Representative of the Rebel Armed Forces of the Presidency and resumed his Premiership on July 23. • On 24 June 1961, he became the 1st secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Cuba. • On 2 December 1976, he became the 17th President of Cuba. Biggest Rival Fulgencio Batista Physical Stats & More Of Fidel Castro Height (approx.) in centimeters- 191 cm in meters- 1.91 m in Feet Inches- 6’ 3” Weight (approx.) in Kilograms- 80 kg in Pounds- 176 lbs Eye Colour Black Hair Colour White Personal Life Of Fidel Castro Date of Birth August 13, 1926 Place of Birth Birán, Holguin Province, Cuba Date of Death November 25, 2016 Place of Death Havana, Cuba Cause of Death Not Known Zodiac sign/Sun sign Leo Nationality Cuban Hometown Santiago de Cuba School La Salle boarding school, Santiago, Cuba Jesuit-run Dolores School, Santiago, Cuba Belen Jesuit Preparatory School, Havana, Cuba College University of Havana, Cuba Educational Qualifications Doctor of Law from the University of Havana Debut In 1947, when he joined the Party of the Cuban People (Partido Ortodoxo) founded by Eduardo Chibás Family Father- Ángel Castro y Argiz Mother- Lina Ruz GonzálezBrothers- Raúl Castro (President of Cuba), Ramón Castro Ruz, Pedro Emilio Castro Argota, Manuel Castro Argota, Martin Castro Sisters- Juanita Castro, Emma Castro, Ángela María Castro Ruz, Agustina Castro, Lidia Castro Argota, Antonia Maria Castro Argota, Georgina Castro Argota Religion Atheist (later became a Christian sympathizer in his old age) Address Fidel Castro Republica de Cuba Consejo De Estado Palacio del Gobierno Havana Cuba Hobbies Reading, Cooking, Spear-fishing Controversies • He was often criticized for his dictatorship & human rights violations to Cuban people. • He was also blamed for the stagnant economic growth of Cuba due to adverse relations with the United States. Favorite Things Of Fidel Castro Favorite Writer Ernest Hemingway Favorite Book For Whom the Bell Tolls by by Ernest Hemingway Girls, Affairs and More Of Fidel Castro Marital Status Married Affairs/Girlfriends Mirta Diaz-Balart (1948-1955) Marita Lorenz (1959) Dalia Soto del Valle (1980-2016) Wife Mirta Diaz-Balart (married 1948-1955) Dalia Soto del Valle (married 1980-2016) Children Sons- Fidel Ángel Castro Díaz-Balart (from Mirta Diaz-Balart), Antonio Castro-Soto (from Dalia Soto del Valle), Alejandro Castro-Soto (from Dalia Soto del Valle), Alex Castro-Soto (from Dalia Soto del Valle), Jorge Angel Castro, Alexis Castro-Soto (from Dalia Soto del Valle), Angel Castro-Soto (from Dalia Soto del Valle)Daughter- Alina Fernández, Francisca Pupo Earning Money Of Fidel Castro Net Worth $900 million (approx.) This Biography written by www.welidot.com Read the full article

[desotosykes]

NAME: DeSoto Emilio Sykes AGE: 49 MAGICK STATUS: Mundus OCCUPATION: Running the Streets of NYC (Mafia Prince w/Roscoe)  CURRENT LOCATION: New York City  RELATIONSHIP STATUS (IF APPLICABLE): single CHILDREN (IF APPLICABLE):  Amelia Sykes (2 years old) BIOGRAPHY: 

If you knew DeSoto Sykes, you knew that he was not meant to live life in a small town. Especially when he'd only come to that small town on orders from a father that spent more time molding him into the perfect soldier than paying attention to where his true loyalty lay. So when things finally settled and DeSoto got the all clear from some of his guys back home, he was more than ready to give the information to Roscoe and get the hell out of Swynlake.

New York was his home. It would always be his home. It was the one place DeSoto felt like he belonged. Being back in New York was a breath of fresh air and he felt like he was finally settled back into his own skin.

No more looking over his shoulder for a boogeyman that would never come, no more dodging phone calls because he hadn't carried out certain orders. No more. He and Roscoe were the kings now and what they said went.

The Sykes boys were back home and they made sure that the city knew it.

Not one to be tied down, DeSoto continued his playboy ways. Courting any girl that held his interest and just as quickly tossing them to the side when he was done. After all, what else were you supposed to do when the consequences didn't apply to you?

DeSoto was content to live his life out that way until a bundle was left on his doorstep with a name and a note attached to it. Amelia Sykes entered his life quite unexpectedly and, despite a lot of drunken arguments with both his brother and sister-in-law, she was there to stay.

It's been two years since that fateful day and Des is sort of dreading the trip back to Swynlake. But it's a family vacation and a certain niece had insisted that he come and bring little Amelia with him. He just hopes Swynlake is a bit more boring now than it was when he lived there...

[adhonoremrpbios]

-- CHARACTER --

Name: James Potter Faceclaim: Emilio Sakraya Age: 21 Blood Status: Pureblood Affiliation: Order Former School & House: Hogwarts, Gryffindor Occupation: Children’s flying coach

-- BIOGRAPHY --

James Potter: the miracle child! The pride of Gryffindor House! The King of Quidditch! Yikes. It was a lot of crowns for one boy to wear. Thank Merlin his head was big enough.

James came into the world just as his parents had lost hope that he’d ever arrive. In later years, he’d call it being ‘fashionably late’. In those early days however, Fleamont and Euphemia had a thousand and one other terms, ranging from “our blessing from above” to “the greatest gift granted”. Euphemia came up with the preliminary name suggestions. Boone. Lucious. Thaddeus. It was Fleamont, who had known the torment of growing up with a ridiculous name, who had shut that right down. No child of his would be born Lucious. Only a terrible parent would name their boy Lucious. In the end, they found a happy middle ground: James. 'Blessed as the supplanter.' And supplant things he did. He became his parents’ whole world, getting doted on far more than was good for him. He wanted for nothing. He was well-liked by the other children in Godric’s Hollow, becoming their de facto leader. When the silver spoon in his mouth lost even the slightest sheen, it was replaced. Cloistered and coddled, James became confident and headstrong.

It only got worse when he reached Hogwarts. There were now rules he could push, see how far he could bend them without getting in trouble. And there were best friends. Sirius, the wanker with the wicked grin. Remus, the wallflower with the softest eyes James had ever seen. Peter, the wildcard who always seemed to be up for anything. They were his brothers and his people, and they enabled a whole new level of rebellion for him.

Between detentions and Quidditch and stupid school rivalries, James actually began to apply himself. Professor McGonagall had earned his respect, and thus Transfiguration had become his favourite subject. He listened in class. He did his homework. He even read ahead. Most impressively, he took his newfound knowledge and applied it to a real-world situation, culminating in the creation of the Marauder’s Map. If it wasn’t a violation of several school rules, he was sure Professor McGonagall would’ve been proud.

James continued to flourish throughout the rest of his school career. By the time he had graduated, he was on top of the world. And then the real world hit him.

Nobody warned you what it was really like, living with war as your neighbour. They didn’t tell you about how you’d sit at your breakfast table, eyes darting across the pages of the Daily Prophet for news of your friends. They didn’t teach you when to keep your head down or when to hold your chin up high. They certainly didn’t prepare you for the destruction. Duels in the streets. Turning over corpses to see if you recognised them. Living with survivor’s guilt. It was the reality they all faced, fighting against the Death Eaters.

But James didn’t quite see it that way. He wasn’t fighting against them, as that made it sound like there was a chance his side could lose. No, he was fighting for the life his people deserved. Fear was a strong motivator, but love was stronger. Fear could stay your hand, but love would never falter. Love was what pulled his side together. And as long as love survived, as long as he believed in the future his friends would be safe in, James Potter would never stop fighting for the cause. Not even if it killed him.

-- TRAITS --

Negative - Headstrong - Rebellious Positive + Loyal + Protective

James Potter is taken by Ty.

[tonopahfallshq]

Name: Javier Inciarte Age: 31 Occupation: Barber at Benny’s Barbershop Time living in Tonopah: 22 years Neighborhood: Downtown Gang Affiliation: Sicario with Los Bandoleros Face Claim: Alejandro Speitzer

Biography: 

Javier Mateo Inciarte Mendoza was born in Culiacán, Sinaloa, Mexico, in the summer of 1991 to Emilio Inciarte and Juana Mendoza, two people who really had no business being parents but lacked the self awareness to realize it. Emilio was deep into the criminal underground, particularly whenever it came to smuggling drugs, and Juana loved the dangerous thrill of that perhaps more than she ever loved Emilio. Together, they were a match made in hell– Juana was kerosene and Emilio was the open flame. There was no way Javi was ever going to walk through life with them without leaving a trail of ashes in his wake.

As predicted, his childhood was unstable. There were very few things in Javi’s life that held any sort of permanence– even where he would eventually rest his head each night was often a toss up, with the three of them bouncing from place to place in tandem with Emilio’s work. The faces surrounding him day in and day out held little to no consistency too, save for his parents. But one of the few pieces of Javier’s childhood that stood the test of time and survived every turbulent year-- other than utter chaos-- was music. No matter where the boy went, he carried a small, portable keyboard with him. Juana had suggested it as a means to keep Javi occupied and therefore out of Emilio’s way, but neither of his parents could have ever predicted the love affair Javi would develop with piano, or his knack for it. For the young boy, it was more than just a passion, it was an escape.

Tragedy struck early, as it often does in a story like Javi’s. One morning, Juana and Javier had borrowed one of Emilio’s cars and had gone into the city to shop around. Juana had been looking for a new summer dress and an eight year old Javi had been on the prowl for fresh sheet music to learn. Needless to say, Juana never got her dress and Javi never got his copy of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. On the way into town, countless clips were unloaded into the side of their car in an assault clearly meant for Emilio. But as the story would go, the bullets meant for her husband ripped Juana to shreds and one managed to catch Javi in the back as well.

It was there in the hospital, while planning his wife’s funeral and watching a chest tube get jammed into his son’s side that Emilio decided it was time for a change. A little late, sure, but late was better than never. They had to get out of Mexico, no matter the cost. But with no legitimate trade skills in his arsenal, Emilio’s options were limited. All he’d ever known was this outlaw way of living, but he couldn’t keep living it in Culiacán. Luckily, one of Juana’s sisters hadn’t quite escaped it either and was living in Tonopah Falls, Nevada, building a life and a name within Los Bandoleros. Emilio saw that as his opportunity and once Javier was well enough to travel, the duo left for the United States and never looked back.

Once landing in Nevada, Emilio hit the ground running, quickly proving himself within Los Bandoleros. Javi, only nine years old at the time, stuck to his piano– for as long as he could, anyway. Inevitably, the cartel’s pull caught up with him and he began to hang around a little more– learning, but always on the outside of it…just the way he preferred it. After nearly losing his life to gang violence, he wasn’t so keen on throwing himself at it. Instead, he focused on his music and eventually started hanging around the barbershop, learning the craft so that he could earn money of his own. When he wasn’t learning Chopin or Debussy on piano, or learning how to perfect the latest hairstyle, Javi was often left to his own devices, and in the desert, his amusement could take any sort of shape. For him, he’d learned to love to play with fire– quite literally. The flames never did frighten him the way they should have. Quite the opposite, really. They were starving for oxygen the same way he was and that both fascinated and devastated him all at once.

When he was seventeen, he met Rio Romero, who happened to be his cousin– the son of the very woman who’d brought Javi and Emilio to Tonopah. Little did he know at the time that this man, not that much older than him, would become his rock and the family he’d always longed for. Rio was a cousin, an older brother, and a father all in one. Somehow, in no time at all, he made up for everything Emilio and Juana both hadn’t been able to give Javi and for the first time in his life, he felt genuinely wanted– and safe.

Two years later, when Javi was nineteen, Emilio was revealed as the scumbag his son had always believed him to be. Accused and convicted of stealing profits from Los Bandoleros, Emilio Inciarte was sentenced to death– and rather quickly. A scandal like that couldn’t be given too much daylight. Once the dust settled, all eyes looked to Javi. Had Emilio’s flesh and blood been in on the plot? Had he aided him? History would show that Javi was completely innocent, but that hardly mattered when there was an opportunity to make an example of him. Shortly after his father’s execution, he was forced into cartel life– the one thing Javier never wanted. But someone had to pay Emilio’s debt, and who better than the son who was suspected of helping him?

The next few years were hard on Javi. Every move he made was looked at with scrutiny and he felt like an outsider, no matter how many times he proved he wasn’t. During that time, Rio talked him off a literal edge more than once, somehow convincing him that his life was worth more than what his father’s scandal had reduced it to. Little by little, Javi picked up the pieces with Rio’s help and over time, he carved out his own name in Los Bandoleros– apart from the one Emilio had made for him. He’d always been resourceful and wise, he just needed a chance to show it.

And show it, Javi did. Eventually earning the rank of a sicario, he finally reached a point where he felt like he stood on his own two feet and most of the suspicious looks and doubts were cast aside. Sure, some remained, but the reputation he’d built for himself outlasted them.

When he was twenty-six, he met Harper Jones. Having recently been discovered as Chase McCoy’s half sister, naturally Javi and Rio had signed on to keep an eye on her while Chase was away. And that’s exactly what it was— his duty…at least, it was at first. Over the next year, he developed a real, genuine friendship with Harper. They bonded over anything and everything, and what had started as a favor to Chase slowly but surely turned into something so much more. But whatever he felt had to take a backseat once Harper’s past reared its ugly head and she found herself in too deep with a local thug. When his idle threats suddenly weren’t so idle anymore, Javi knew he had to intervene— not just because of his own feelings for the woman, but because of the promise he’d made her brother. And so despite assuring Harper he’d stay out of it, Javi didn’t.

Instead, he set fire to the man’s home— burned it to the fucking ground with the hope of catching him in the blaze in the process. But it didn’t play out quite the way Javi had hoped. The flames spared the thug and Javi was arrested. Convicted on a first degree arson charge, he was sentenced to four years in the Nevada State Penitentiary.

It didn’t take him long to realize he’d burned down a hell of a lot more than a home— he’d torched his freedom too, and whatever he’d been looking to build with Harper. Despite her relentless support and countless visits, Javi couldn’t stand the thought of her tying herself to him and holding her back, and so he cut it off about two years into his sentence. What was meant to spare her ended up nearly destroying him. During the next two years, Javi spiraled without her steady presence to lean on, but in the end, he still believed he’d made the right call in breaking off contact.

Now, he’s rapidly approaching the end of his sentence, and Javi is far from the same man who went in four years ago, but he’s eager to rebuild his life and see what pieces are left for him to pick up.

Headcannons:

Nickname from those closest to him is “Sweeney,” as in Sweeney Todd, because he will quite literally demon barber your ass if the cartel needs him to.

The bullet that struck him when he was eight is still in his body, just below his heart, because the surgeons thought it too dangerous to remove. (thanks to britt for the inspo <3)

Taught himself how to read music and play piano, though he mostly plays by ear.

[senatushq]

NAME. Zahrya AGE & BIRTH DATE. 4000+, Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. High Elf COURT. Dawn OCCUPATION. Chancellor FACE CLAIM.  Emilio Sakraya

BIOGRAPHY

( tw death, violence, blood ) Zahrya’s father was old before Titania ascended, but his duty was his bond and he vowed to serve her with the same diligence he showed the previous queen, especially in the new realm they descended upon. This didn’t mean he could only regard her protection, quite the opposite. Ensuring he produced at least one seed that blossomed so a noble spring eladrin who would always be there for her was the greatest service he could provide.

This drive temporarily stole him from his steadfast path, allowing his interest in an eladrin who had few interests outside the children their kind toyed with to grow. After years of guiding them, they finally rose out of dirt and began building cities. Pasiphae was as graceful as she was pernicious, and the spring noble was taken with her despite their difference in status and goals. It was from their connection that Zahrya was born, a seedling needing every assistance to take root and grow. Pasiphae had grown to love her place beside King Minos, acting as his high priestess and whispering all manner of things into his ear in kind. However this role endeared her too much to the children and made her blind to their nature. The chancellor had no such hang-ups and could still recognize the violence and hate the children expressed towards each other. Even though times were still peaceful, he dreaded to think what would become of their kind if the children expressed violence and hate towards them instead.

So he set out to create an Eden for his son to bloom in peace, far away from the influences of the mortal realm. He enlisted the help of prodigal witch and inventor Daedalus to construct this garden in a nearshore pocket of the Otherworld. Much like Pasiphae, the chancellor was a skilled whisperer, filling Daedalus’ head with hubris that grew like a weed. He was the strongest witch of that era, the most clever and inventive, and normal means of casting were beneath him. With a high-ranking eladrin offering his blood for free, there was nothing in this world that was out of reach. Daedalus learned the hard way that a gift from faeries is hardly ever kind. Though she had no interest in raising Zahrya, Pasiphae would do whatever was necessary to protect her son and brought misfortune upon Daedalus until his last day so he never had the chance to return to the Labyrinth or teach anyone else how to navigate its paths.

The Labyrinth was an architectural wonder. Enchantments caused the mazes to shift on their own, weaving an endless fortress that only the architects and other fey could travel without getting lost. There were multiple entrances in the mortal realm capable of trapping those who got too curious, for it was meant for Zahrya and any other newborns to bloom. Unfortunately thanks to mounting conflicts in the moral realm, Zahrya would be the only eladrin growing within the Labyrinth. Those shifting walls were home, and his one companion was Asterion. His father would come and go to check on Zahrya’s progress, but he would rarely stay. Conflict between the children was already mounting, and loyalty demanded Zahrya’s father charged headlong into battle for his prince. Inside the Labyrinth, Zahrya was safe from those who would harm him. This much he understood, and so he wandered the mazes with Asterion, ignorant to the war that ravaged his kind or the results of their spilled blood.

His father would one day leave and never return, though Zahrya was prepared by him and knew what it meant. Asterion was all he had left, and all he needed. They never exchanged a single word but they didn’t need them. Asterion was there to accompany the noble eladrin and led him to awaken to who he was. It was Asterion who helped Zahrya realize his nature and power, and the blossoming eladrin would sing the songs of his heart to soothe his warder in times of frenzy. Zahrya never harbored fear or vitriol for Asterion despite how different they were. Zahrya began to understand over time that he represented life, and in many ways, his companion was a harbinger of death. The children would often find themselves in the Labyrinth too, and Zahrya watched Asterion tear each one apart without hesitation. Treasure hunters, questing heroes, and wayward travelers alike would get trounced and devoured by the Minotaur and Zahrya never once averted his eyes from the violence. In these acts too, Asterion was teaching him though it would be millennia before Zahrya would grasp the lesson.

Just as spring is merely the introduction to something new, his centuries in the Labyrinth were merely a precursor to his destiny. Zahrya’s reprieve from the world beyond the Labyrinth was merely a gift to honor his father’s sacrifice, but there was a place he was meant to be. Asterion one day led Zahrya through the maze, deeper into the Otherworld, right to the gates of the faerie realm. Fully blossomed, it was time he took his place at court, though it was not Asterion’s place to protect the eladrin any longer. Despite Zahrya’s distressing refusal to part, Asterion left to return to the Labyrinth, knowing his ward to be safe and his duties fulfilled. Having never been surrounded by so many fey or even met any of his kind beyond his progenitors, Zahrya felt his first moments in the faerie realm were what he needed Asterion’s protection from, but these feelings only lasted briefly.

Everything made sense the first time he saw Queen Titania in all her splendor. He was her chancellor and she was his queen, and he had been maturing all this time to serve her. The court exploded with celebration that heralded a spring that lasted for decades, and Zahrya came to see himself truly as a bringer of life and jollity like the spring itself. He threw himself into the affairs of his court for a length of time unclear even to him. His life became about keeping his queen’s favor. That meant staying in the realm, keeping the laughter and music alive at his court at all times, willing iridescent blooms into existence to match whatever season she brought about, and serving her dutifully just as his father had. Zahrya did this century after century until he couldn’t focus on his responsibilities any longer. Eventually, the need to sing his heart to Asterion became too much to ignore and he ventured out into his Labyrinth.

What he found was a far cry from the marvel he grew in. With no power to draw from or architects to maintain it, the Labyrinth had fallen to ruin while Zahrya was away. Even worse, Asterion was reduced to a pile of bones, forgotten and crumbling to dust like the rest of the maze. He was undoubtedly looking at the consequence of human violence, but he couldn’t understand Asterion falling to one of them. He pressed on to the mortal realm, desperate for any answers, and what he found filled him with an unfamiliar fury.

The eladrin at court spoke of the wonders of the mortal world, but Zahrya didn’t believe it until then. He saw cities, civilization, culture, life, which felt backward. Why did creatures who were beneath him get to thrive? Why were his kind made to flee? And what gave them the right to draw breath when Asterion was dead? Zahrya had no answers, all he had was a song reverberating in his heart, one with melodies of fury and hatred for the world beyond his Labyrinth. For Asterion’s sake, he unleashed it. Zahrya’s song caused great tree roots to tear apart settlements, woke fauna of all kinds from their hibernation to raze crops, and summoned tumultuous storms that would rage for days on end. It was a song unlike any he’d sung before, but it took the smallest breadth of time for his malice to be drained leaving the spring chancellor with only residual pain.

It was once he stopped singing that Zahrya finally understood the most important lesson Asterion had to teach him: the trivial, insignificant creatures scuttling about the world his kind built would always clamber for more than they deserved. The only way to keep them in their place was with the very same violence they wielded against the fey and themselves. He could see clearly what was needed for the eladrin’s chance to thrive and take back their birthright—powerful protectors and a true home imposed right on the material world, not hidden away in the Otherworld like his home or the faerie realm. Zahrya knew that if he could bring about both, then Queen Titania might see the chance for their kind to reclaim what was lost and for her to rule the Earth once more.

For the next few centuries, realizing his vision would be Zahrya’s single motivation for returning to the mortal realm. He would lure unsuspecting individuals into the Otherworld and gift them with the opportunity of becoming his changelings. These deceptions were experiments to him, figuring out the best combination for the most powerful results. A fledgling vampire here, an injured beta there—-even faiman were enamored by his assurances of passageway to the faerie realm only to lose themselves by the following dawn. Zahrya was indiscriminate about who he chose, concerned only with the power they gained after transforming. Those who were insufficient were released in the Otherworld wilds to roam freely however those with promise he kept and nurtured within the vestiges of the Labyrinth that still remained. Witches were rarely selected since they served another purpose. From among them Zahrya knew he would find his architect, and to that aim he did as his father had. He’d whisper in the ears of the talented ones, appeal to their egos, and show them worlds of magic beyond what they could perceive on their own. Of course with Zahrya directing them exclusively for his own pursuits, the witches and covens he chose would inevitably exhaust themselves in futile attempts to keep pace with his ideas or cast themselves into oblivion thanks to his disregard of their limits.

Zahrya’s mission is the only reason he returns to the mortal world. The last few centuries have been kind to his work and he feels he’s close to creating his kind’s turning point. It’s also why he makes a point to pass through Rome whenever he returns. It will be the location of the first Labyrinth he erects when the time is right. What better place to have their safe haven be than the city that spit all over the grandeur of his kind? Zahrya can’t imagine anything else would please his queen more.

PERSONALITY

+ jovial, devoted, whimsical – inscrutable, obtrusive, vainglorious

PLAYED BY ZEN. EST. He/Him.

[thequeendomhq]

NAME. Torsten AGE & BIRTH DATE. 27 & July 17th, 2997 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him NATIONALITY. Iskaran SPECIES. Witcher FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Kingsguard FACE CLAIM. Emilio Sakraya

biography

( tw: child abuse, violence, death )

i. CHILDHOOD

Generational wealth defined the bloodline that flooded Torsten’s veins from birth; he was the privileged firstborn son of a mining family from the Northlands. The deep pockets of his mother’s family saw their daughter married to a promising heir to wealthy merchants who’d been connected to the family for years. Their family lines tied together would mean a monopoly on the trade of silver across not only Iskaldrik but Taravell as well. Silver ran through them; his mother’s family, with their brightly contrasted hair, was a stark reminder of the ore that was inherently tied to their name. That same shock was evident from the day of Torsten’s birth, the newborn with a scrap of hair atop his head and the same dark eyes of his mother’s clan.

Torsten was raised in the privilege of Yggdrasildal, under the banner of a proud family, alongside the children of royalty and nobility. In those early days, there was little thought about the apparition of magic; these things were distant stories of a period long gone. Yggdrasildal was a bastion of modernity, honor, valor, and trade. In the upper echelons of the jeweled city, there were few concerns beyond who could concoct the best story for how they’d someday obtain their glory—practicing with wooden swords and makeshift axes, picking the pockets of merchants because they could get away with it - only to be dragged back by his mother’s huscarl by his ear to pay for the wares he’d taken.

Before Torsten’s magic ever flourished, he witnessed another’s with his own eyes, from a human boy to a blighted elvhen the Prince of Iskaldrik transformed. Changeling. Every child across the Kingdom knew the myths about capricious elvhen creeping into the bedrooms of infant children to place the babe into the cradle alongside the healthy mortal. Whatever dark seidr persisted was subject to a myriad of retellings, but the truth was clear; beneath the skin of the Prince that had been Torsten’s friend for the breadth of his childhood was a monster.

The right thing to do would’ve been to tell anyone—his mother, father, the huscarl, or a witcher. The truth was that the figures had always frightened him, somber figures of cruelty. Fate’s intervention had these same indomitable creatures standing before Torsten anyway; one day, one foolish incident in the market square with him and his peers had Torsten clapped in irons. In one instance, there was laughter; then there was a brief instance of fleeting frustration, then a rush of air as one boy was on his back and the silver-haired boy stood over him. Torsten was a child, but the witchers dragged him away from his friends, screaming; he did not see his family again, only the inside of a cage as he was rolled in a caravan to land on the hard, stone floor of Witcher’s Watch. A child of seven, under the tutelage of the First Witcher and those anointed to the tower as instructors, Torsten would spend many years training within.

ii. RECRUIT

( child abuse tw )

Few survived their first year within the Watch; the alchemical process of turning a witch into a witcher was brutal and cruel. Poisons that burned like fire flooded their veins, and some did not even survive the initial dose. It was the first rite; Torsten was put on his knees, jaw wrenched open, and the regent was poured across the tarmac of his tongue. Acrid, pungent, and vile, the days that followed left Torsten bedridden. His body convulsed painfully, limbs twisted and contorted at unnatural angles as the fever he pitched felt as though it was boiling him alive. It passed, Torsten’s training began, and a month later, he was given his second dose.

There was no escape; this was Torsten’s first lesson. He’d been a spoiled child bereft of consequences, did as he pleased and lived with the careless disposition of a male heir who’d someday come into a great fortune. Within the Watch, he was nothing, less than nothing; he was a witch. A worm who was the lowest of the low, his value would only come from his ability to survive. In the beginning, he was spiteful and resistant, and despite the stories of the children who’d drowned attempting to cross the dark, frigid waters of Dökkvatn, Torsten still dreamt of his attempts. He’d dream of making it to the other side, or times where he’d start an uprising in the mess hall, he and the other children would fight back, they’d escape and into the countryside, and they’d start anew. Torsten’s family was wealthy and well-connected; they’d see him from this place and fly him to safety, where he would not need to fear the cold rod of The First.

Cruelty was a currency, and corporal punishment was the first recourse. With every attempt that Torsten made to escape, with every chance he took to speak out of turn or to try to exercise agency of his own, he was punished as all the others were. When his abuse was not enough, they turned to those around him, his classmates whom he bunked, trained, studied, and dined with. If he caused trouble, then they would feel the cold rod of the First’s discipline.

After his second year under the dark shadow of the Watch’s tutelage, Torsten made his last attempt to escape. He resolved to cross the lake, to make it to the distant shore, or to die in his attempt. It was summer, but the waters were still cold, unnaturally so, black and lightless, and the clouds overhead were perpetually afraid to part and reveal whatever lurked in its depth. He remembered the cold coil of eels about his limbs as he made it a mile out and then another - a weary, hardened body that was accustomed to abuse, pain, and suffering. A frame that had been made sturdy by the rigidity of the training, a body that could make the most of what it had been given.

Torsten would have drowned out amid Dökkvatn, but as his weary frame descended beneath the tide, a strong arm gripped him by the back of his neck and hoisted him into one of the ironwood boats. The First stood over him, leering, proud in a way that Torsten could not place - he returned to the Watch, to the home of the witchers, to the family that awaited him, and the training within. They gave him another dose, but this time, it hurt less. The threads he’d long felt weren’t silent but changed - like if Torsten tried to reach for them, they’d recoil in fear.

iii. TRAINEE

( child abuse tw )

Twelve now remained in a class and age group that had begun as thirty. Three years in, Torsten was a boy of ten, no longer a witch but not yet a witcher. He stood in the transient phase of one with the ability but still lacked the form and the skills. Then, the poison that Torsten drank no longer burned; it came weekly now, and the pattern that had existed just at the edge of his consciousness feared his approach. Among the others, he trained under the tutelage of The First, a cruel master of the blade who, alongside others, taught the class the ways of Iskaran warfare. They’d swim in the cold waters of the Dökkvatn and temper their bodies to the harsh reality of the elements of Iskaldrik.

In the small hours when their bodies were too battered to fight, they studied and practiced with the alchemical reagents synonymous with being a witcher. The pungent aroma of poultices, tonics, and poisons filled the antechamber of the master of poisons. When they were not crowded in the Watch, the master of beasts escorted them into the mountains and forests that hung over Dökkvatn. Among his class was one who’d dreamed of escape, but if there were others, they would not act on it. They had developed a kinship between them, the ones who were surviving, the students of the Watch that would someday protect their proud nation from the perils of magic. One tried to escape, and with ease, the master of beasts showed Torsten and his class how to track them; they came upon the boy’s body, torn apart by a drake, and then watched with some marvel as the witcher felled the beast.

They learned to navigate the harsh, rugged terrain in the mountains in summer or winter. How to survive, navigate, track, and live off the land. This was their proving ground, where disputes among them were encouraged so that they could settle it between them with little more than their fists. Torsten watched a classmate beat another to death over a ration; kinship’s course was run, and that same classmate died later that month as the poisons they ingested caused a latent reaction - his heart arrested. The class of twelve was down to nine, but training continued—education in the corruptible nature of magic, the cataclysm, and their ancient history. The air of mystery surrounding the mystical creatures was dispelled as the Blight, the Dark One, and the pattern that witches manipulated were broken down. Torsten noted changelings, how one was born deficient, so they consumed a portion of another’s soul to make room for their own. Two people sharing the same flesh but inhabiting different bodies. There seemed to be no end to the vile nature of magic.

Preferences towards weapons bloomed among them; some enjoyed the cruel snap of a whip, and others preferred blunted weapons or a shield to protect a friend from shoulder to knee. A spear tipped with poison. Torsten preferred the sword and shield; practicality and function defined his fighting style. Other generations came into the Watch, screaming in the night, and alongside the friends he’d made within, they’d bet on how long they’d last. Who was strong enough to survive, who’d be foolish enough to run, and who’d find a knife across their throat after they kept the wrong person awake.

iv. GRADUATION

By sixteen, four remained from Torsten’s class. The final rite to becoming a witcher was a proving; this old tradition sent the remaining students into the mountains alone. In separate directions, they’d row ironwood boats across Dökkvatn, spend a fortnight in the hills of Valkyrie’s Rest, and return with the head of a monster. For the first time in almost a decade, Torsten was well and truly alone. Given nothing but a crude sword, shield, and some loose clothes, he landed and began to find high ground and the essential resources he’d need to survive: shelter, fire, water, and food. Foraging worked for a while; the boar he killed suited him better as he camped in a rocky, defensible outcrop that overlooked one of the Iskaran forests below.

After a few days, Torsten’s hunt began. The First would not accept a pig, deer, or other common creature. A dire wolf would be a prize, but like any Iskaran, he wanted glory. Into the mountains, he continued, following stories that pervaded the lessons the master of beasts and lore imparted to him. Amid Valkyrie’s Rest were old druidic standing stones littered with the long-forgotten bones of the druids who’d once protected them. Magic charged the air palpably with the acrid taste that reminded him of the poison he’d been ingesting from childhood. Not all creatures simply arose when their territory was threatened; some needed to be goaded from across the veil, others were sealed, and some required words like an incantation to be roused from wherever they slept.

Torsten remembered the story,

“It is said they were rock and tree, wind and rain, given form and breath by the elvhen gods to protect their people.”

Torsten spoke: “Varterral.”

From the ancient site, the creature rose, large as a bereskarn but with the spindly legs of a spider—a hide akin to ironwood and a bite that could crumble steel or shatter stone. Torsten’s shield did little to defend him; it was wrenched from his arm, and the recruit was tossed haphazardly into the neighboring trees. It reared, and with a howl, flames erupted from its maw - enchanted flamed that Torsten returned towards the Varterral with incensed vitriol. They did little but enrage the beast, but battered and broken, Torsten stood victorious over the creature’s heaving carcass. With its dying breath, he heard the pained cry as a wisp of magic escaped from it, fading into the aether above and desiccating into the broken ruins of the druidic standing stones. Torsten felt - he could not place how he felt. Instead, he cut off its massive head, bandaged it, and took to the long process of dragging it back to his ironwood boat upon the distant shore.

Upon his graduation, the class of thirty was reduced to two, an uncommonly high ratio of survivors. For the last time, the poison passed his lips, and now, Torsten could have sworn it tasted sweet. Before The First, Torsten swore an unbreakable oath to serve the High King, obey The First, and to never create any object that can be used as a weapon.

v. WITCHER

Blademaster, land owner, jarl, merchant - a witcher could not own lands, and they could not carry any titles. Their first and only duty was service to the crown and to uphold the order entrusted to them. Torsten met this with vigor, resolved to hunt magic and eradicate its influence wherever he found it. Distantly, now and then, he thought about what he’d witnessed in his youth. He no longer feared the witchers; he was one of them; still, Torsten made the conscious decision to say nothing at all and instead met his post wherever he was appointed. The sword was what Torsten had become, a blade devoted to certainty and purpose; it could defend, assault, intimidate, and pass judgment - but it needed a hand to wield it. To direct it, and just like a sword Torsten filled his duties to the letter.

When he was made warden over a mine, no escapees were under his charge. When he answered the call to investigate magic-related crimes, the perpetrators were caught and punished according to the applicable laws. He dragged men and women to the mines, brought children to Witcher’s Watch, and corresponded with The First promptly and without hesitation. Thorough, efficient, and cold. Torsten was not unnecessarily cruel as other witchers might have been; he was only cruel when it was required of him. When the laws he enforced came across as unfair or callous, this cold air flooded him, ice in his veins that would never melt.

Torsten’s resolve, character, skill, and reputation caught the attention of The First, a figure who’d watched with pride for years as he’d blossomed from the hotheaded, pompous brat to a warrior with an impeccable record—one who saw the world in clear contrast of black and white, right and wrong. At twenty-three, he was anointed into the Kingsguard; in the halls of the High King’s castle, he stood once more. Within Yggdrasildal, he was the hand of the law; if there were anyone who might have known him from his youth, they would scarcely recognize the man he’d become.

Here, he learned about his father’s fate - a prisoner of the mines, while his mother’s shame had her remarry in the Southlands. This was for the best; witchers didn’t have a family; they had those from their class and the witchers who’d come before and those who’d come after. The High King knighted Torsten, Kingsguard, the highest point of ascension a witcher could reach besides the title of First. With some measure of juxtaposed pride, he stood at the man’s side, unwavering and dedicated, despite knowing the dark secret that permeated this family.

vi. KINGSGUARD

A year passed, and the King fell ill; the days of protecting the man and blademaster’s caravan on the open road now lay behind him. There was a time when Torsten stood at High King Orhan Gökhan’s side in council, listening to the man who was gradually coming to consider a mentor. An unknown future hung over the Iskaran royal family, and with Orhan’s sudden illness, the Huscarl became the interim King of Iskaldrik; the Princess would no longer have to leave her Kingdom behind to marry and birth the children of a foreigner, and the changeling Prince was not in danger of throwing the nation into civil war and anarchy.

A witcher’s duty was to protect the realm and defend it from threats of magic, incursion, and perceived threats. To obey the command of the High King and the order of The First. Torsten would always perform his duties to the letter; a sword pointed with direction.

personality

+ dedicated, humble, rational – blunt, repressed, secretive

played by shane. est. he/him.

[emilioalveraz]

Is that ARON PIPER? No, that’s EMILIO ALVERAZ. The FIFTY years old FAIRY OMEGA MALE (HE/HIM) is a TATTOO ARTIST. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be CREATIVE & LOYAL, but beware, they’re also known to be RECKLESS & STUBBORN. Can you believe they’re from THE PRESENT? Me either.

BASIC INFO

Name: Emilio Tomas Alveraz

Nickname: Emi

Age: 50 years old

Secondary gender: omega

Birthday: march 29th

Zodiac sign: aries

Species: fairy

Ethnicity: white (spanish/german)

Occupation: tattoo artist

APPEARANCE

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 175 lbs

Build: athletic/brawny

Hair color: dark brown / sometimes bleached blond

Eye Color: green

Tattoos: he has many tattoos and is constantly adding to them. he has lots of small tattoos, ranging from cartoon like scrawls, written phrases and more larger, artistic pieces. Example here and here.

Piercings: ears

Distinguishing Features: his mother always said he was sharp, a sharp nose and cheekbones.

Body hair: trimmed

PERSONALITY

Alignment: chaotic good

Positive traits: loyal, creative, gentle, curious and genuine

Negative traits: reckless, stubborn, gullible, blunt, hedonistic

Pet peeves: unnecessary rudeness

Hobbies: drawing, painting, gardening

NSFW

Kinks: breeding, praise, servicing his top

Anti-Kinks: scat, vore, vomit, blood and fisting

Favourite positions: missionary, doggy, cowboy, bend over, spooning

Sexual preference: bottom

Safe word: dragonfly

Dick size: 6"

BIOGRAPHY

tw: death

Emilio was born to be a soldier for their realm, just like his father and older brothers. It was in their blood to be on the front lines and protecting their kingdom. His father had been training him to follow his footsteps. As much as Emilio wanted to please his father and be a good soldier, he was too soft for it. It was in his blood so he wasn't a bad soldier, he could keep up with his brothers, skilled just like they were. But he hated it. Emilio didn't have that aggressive desire to clash with another and see blood shed.

His mother had always known that he wasn't that child, he was more like her. She taught him to draw, a skill his father deemed useless until she explained he could draw maps for them. It was how much of his early life had gone, his mother would find ways to make Emilio fit into the mold his father wanted.

When he was just over forty years old, a war started brewing and his father was readying them for war. Emilio was terrified of war but he was now considered old enough where he should be on the battlefield with his brothers. He was on the front line with his father and brothers for only two weeks before he watched his brother die. The battlefield went silent and while he knew he should be angry, he should fight for his brother. Instead, he ran.

His family rarely ever left their realm but Emilio knew he couldn't stay there anymore. He would die if he did because he would die before he would tell his father that he hated this life. He returned home and packed a few items and scribbled a note for his mother, the only person he knew he had to say goodbye to.

The human realm was strange to him and it took a few years for Emilio to find his bearings. There wasn't much room in this world for him to be an artist and afford to life so instead he turned his skill into tattooing, able to make a decent wage and still do something he liked.

Emilio had been living in a new city and found new friends and even a boyfriend. It felt like his life was all put together until he found his boyfriend cheating on him with one of those new friends. It turned out it didn't bother him too much because the fairy wanted to move on and far away from his ex. Another friend had told him about New Haven and the idea of being near other fairies made Emilio want to move to the town. It was a fresh start with a new job and new clients and that was just what he needed.