#grandchild fo

[sugar-and-pearls]

Thank you so much Hedone for your sweet words on my Maxwell writing drabble!!!! I wanted to come ask, do you and any of your f/os have a favorite rainy day, indoor activity??

I hope this finds you in good cheer and good health; I'm rooting for you✨💜!!!!

Moxie @tex-treasures

Hiya Nikki ! Thanks for sending this in!!!

Because of the cold weather Monty will have me help him take care of the reptiles. We’ll be in the reptile room, often as The Incredibly Deadly Viper is wrapped around my body like a cross between an overgrown puppy and a long scarf, as we go over poetry and music. Often times Sunny, Klaus and Violet will join us.

When it rains my Grandfather, The Storyteller likes to pass his time the way he always does (or in any day that ends in a Y) and that is with a story. My hair done up in a towel, sitting by the warm fire with Dog as he starts to spin one marvellous tale after another. 

My favourite grandson from the future Bart likes to watch movies with me. We being out lots of sweets and cakes and pick a ton of films to watch. He says it helps him play catch up with the modern day, which I think is a lie but don’t tell him that. Often its family movies that I pick, but I also make him watch some scottish media to let him know where he gets some of his snarkiness from. 

[silmsmutweek]

The Hunters

Day 7: Fem!Maedhros/Aredhel, 2016 words, explicit

Written also for this prompt at @silmkinkmeme 

Read also on Ao3

~ ~ ~

It is not often that Irissë attends various celebrations and festivities her grandfather is so fond of. More often than not, she is away from Tirion with the Hunt of Oromë or alone with her cousin, who feels as stifled in the city as she does. 

But the invitation has come from her eldest cousin personally, and Irissë is well aware of what it means.

There is an impatient tingle in her belly even before she sees Maitimë. When her cousin finally arrives, Irissë has to sit on her hands, so she won’t start touching herself in public.

Maitimë is wearing a backless dress, ethereal and flowing. Her fiery hair is in an elaborate updo, displaying her flawless neck and strong shoulders. Her back muscles move seamlessly under soft skin, and Irissë’s cunt clenches involuntarily.

She doesn’t know if her cousin is aware of Irissë’s weakness for bare shoulders. It pleases her to think that Maitimë has chosen to wear this dress specifically for Irissë, but the truth is they had never spoken of it. They don’t have that kind of relationship, and they are both happy with it. 

Maitimë glides amid the nobles with practiced ease. The crowd parts before her like waves before a ship. Anyone who secretly whispers that Fëanáro’s first son should be his true heir has never met Maitimë. 

Graceful isn’t the first word Irissë would choose to describe her, even though of grace she has plenty. But above all, she is strong and effortlessly confident in a way that seems innate. That was what attracted Irissë in the first place, even before she knew there was truth in the rumors that Finwë’s eldest grandchild takes only female lovers.

Maitimë catches her look across the hall. Her lips twitch. Irissë presses her legs together. She has to be patient and wait until Maitimë is finished with her social duties and can focus only on Irissë. 

At last, her torment nears its end. With an elegant movement, Maitimë beckons her, and Irissë follows as a faithful hound. 

Maitimë is already naked by the time Irissë finds her. Her long form is reclined against the pillows on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Irissë’s knees go weak.

“Fuck,” she says.

“Is that how you greet your cousin after so long?” Maitimë asks with a smirk.

She uncrosses her legs and stares, unabashed, at Irissë. Maitimë usually keeps her bush trimmed, but she has let it grow now, and Irissë’s throat goes dry as she takes in Maitimë’s long legs, her glistening cunt, framed by dark red curls, and Maitimë’s full breasts with large, light brown nipples. 

It has been too long since Irissë bedded a woman. She hungers. Her own need nearly forgotten, she disrobes swiftly and pounces on Maitimë. 

For a moment, Irissë is dizzy with the smell of her, the heat of her soft skin, the sound of her silvery laughter. She wants everything all at once. She doesn’t know where to touch Maitimë. There is so much of her to touch.

Finally, she cups Maitimë’s breasts. The tender flesh overspills from her hands. Irissë’s own breasts are easy enough to cup even with one hand, especially with Maitimë’s large, long-fingered one. 

Maitimë’s nipples are still smooth and soft, so Irissë makes it her mission to harden them. She runs her tongue along the blue vein visible under the skin. Maitimë shivers. Encouraged, Irissë takes the nub into her mouth, circling it with her tongue. Maitimë’s quiet sigh is Irissë’s reward. She gives the same treatment to the other nipple, then buries her face in Maitimë’s breasts, kissing and biting gently, until Maitimë tugs at her braids.

“There is a better use for your mouth,” she says.

She is panting already, and so is Irissë, her breasts pressing against Maitimë’s rapidly rising and falling abdomen. 

Irissë slides down between Maitimë’s legs and plunges her tongue into Maitimë’s slick cunt. Maitimë’s hand tightens around her braids, both in pleasure and in warning lest Irissë forget herself and let her tongue dive deeper than Maitimë allows her. Irissë drinks her in, her mouth sucking at Maitimë’s lips, her tongue exploring every crevice and circling Maitimë’s clit. She then brings a hand to rub gently at the spot, while she reaches with her other hand for Maitimë’s breast.

Maitimë cries out - a passionate, untethered sound. Her heels dig into Irissë’s back, her strong thighs imprison Irissë between them. Not for the first time, Irissë imagines how fetching Maitimë would look in hunting breeches, imagines Maitimë riding alongside her, her thick hair in a simple hunting braid. After the hunt, she would drag Maitimë behind a bush and finger her braid while Maitimë would be fingering her. They would emerge together, and everyone would see Maitimë’s disheveled hair and Irissë’s blissful look and know. They would know that Maitimë would never be theirs, but she could be Irissë’s whenever she liked. 

She moans still mouthing at Maitimë’s sex. 

“You are doing so well,” Maitimë pants haltingly. “Your sweet mouth will be the end of me.”

Irissë flushes, the praise making her want to do even better, to bring Maitimë even more pleasure. Heat blooms low in her belly and swirls down. Her cunt is throbbing, aching for a touch. She dives into Maitimë’s wetness with renewed vigor and sucks on her clit, focusing on the unrestrained, loud cries that are spilling out of Maitimë’s sensual lips, on the tightening of Maitimë’s fingers in Irissë’s hair, on the way Maitimë trembles as the pleasure builds and builds until finally Maitimë’s cunt spasms, and with a cry she goes boneless beneath Irissë’s hands.

Irissë keeps going, lapping at Maitimë’s release. She wonders how fast she can bring Maitimë to the edge again, but her cousin has other ideas. She easily pulls Irissë up.  She could lift me up with one hand,  Irissë thinks and shivers.

Maitimë draws her into a deep, almost violent kiss. She licks into Irissë’s mouth and moans, tasting herself on her tongue. 

Irissë is burning with need. She writhes on top of Maitimë, trying to rub her slick cunt against Matimë’s still quivering thighs. 

“Let’s see how wet you are for me,” Maitimë says, her voice hoarser than it was before.

Her elegant fingers run down Irissë’s spine, ghost over her buttocks and stop near her slit. Not too gently, Maitimë probes Irissë’s cunt, a pleased smile appearing on her face.

“Sopping wet,” she says as Irissë whimpers. “Oh, you poor thing! How selfish of me to keep you in need for so long.”

She sits, pulling Irissë up with her. Her finger stays in Irissë’s cunt as she gathers Irissë in her lap. With her free hand, she gently pushes sweat-soaked strands of hair away from Irissë’s face.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, her finger unmoving inside Irissë.

Silently, Irissë curses Maitimë and herself for not thinking this through. Had she demanded her pleasure first before pleasuring Maitimë, her cousin wouldn’t have the patience to tease her. But Maitimë likes playing these games after she gets what she wants.

“Touch me,” Irissë begs.

Maitimë caresses her face with the back of her hand.

“What else?” she asks.

“Fuck, Maitimë, you know what to do! This isn’t the first time, is it? Fuck me! Move your fingers! Do something!”

Maitimë’s laughter is like pearls falling on tiles. She curls a finger inside Irissë and rubs her engorged clit with a thumb. Irissë cries out, then whines when the movement stops.

“More?” Maitimë asks merrily.

“Yes!” Irissë gasps.

“You know you have to ask for it, sweet cousin.”

“Fuck you!” Irissë cries, then immediately adds, “Another finger, please, Maitimë, I need it.”

She falls, panting, against Maitimë’s chest as her cousin indulges her. Two fingers curl then stretch inside Irissë for a few blissful, euphoric moments. Then Maitimë stills, raises Irissë’s chin up and smiles at her.

“Go on then,” she says.

Shaken by the sudden deprivation, Irissë doesn’t comprehend at first what is requested of her. When she does, she grasps Maitimë’s shoulders and begins to move. 

Maitimë looks at her in unbridled awe as Irissë, tits bouncing, fucks herself on her long, beautiful fingers. 

Maitimë’s other hand roams over Irissë’s body, strokes her back, cups her breasts, caresses her neck. Two fingers tap at her lips, and Irissë opens her mouth, takes them in and sucks ravenously. Maitimë rewards her with a third finger in her cunt, all three moving in rhythm with Irissë. 

With both her mouth and her cunt filled, Irissë completely surrenders to the sensations. The desperate, needy sounds she makes in her throat are more fit for an animal in heat than a princess. But she doesn’t care. 

She rarely gives up control during sex. With her fellow hunters, sex is a competition. With others, even other women, there is always a layer of distance. But there is something about Maitimë that brings out this side of Irissë. Something safe, something secure. The assurance that she will get all her needs met with relentless efficacy and profound care. 

Maitimë’s fingers leave her mouth and trail down her neck. In vain, Irissë, breathless and gaping, chases after them. But she doesn’t have to complain because Maitimë cups her breasts, rubs her dark nipples between two wet fingers and then pinches them.

Irissë cries out as sharp pleasure courses through her. Her fingers are leaving bruises on Maitimë’s shoulders. She doesn’t seem to notice it, too busy with taking Irissë apart with only her skilled fingers. Irissë’s mouth feels empty. She almost wishes Maitimë had brought one of her toys, so she could have two hands free to ruin Irissë. But then Irissë wouldn’t have Maitimë’s near-burning fingers inside her, playing her like a well-used instrument, pressing, rubbing and caressing with passion not worn down with experience. 

As though reading her mind, Maitimë claims Irissë’s mouth with her own, giving Irissë her tongue to suck on. She does, pressing closer to Maitimë’s chest, sinking faster onto Maitimë’s fingers, her ah-ah-ah drowning in Maitimë’s mouth. 

She suddenly realizes that Maitimë is also moaning, and the movement of her fingers in Irissë’s cunt has become shaky, uncontrollable. It is the knowledge that she can affect Maitimë so that makes Irissë fall apart. Tightening around Maitimë’s fingers, her release came abruptly and took her under. 

They lay side by side for a few moments, catching their breaths. Irissë tilts her head to look at Maitimë in all her naked glory. Once again, Irissë has a vision of Maitimë on a steed - magnificent and regal like a Maia of Oromë.

“Why don’t you come to hunt with us more often?” she asks.

Maitimë doesn’t seem surprised by the seemingly random question. She only smiles and turns to look at Irissë.

“Why don’t you stay in the city longer?” she asks.

Irissë shrugs. “I could never be like you,” she says.

“You mean boring?”

“Your word,” Irissë laughs. “No, I mean I could never stay in one place for so long. I would lose my mind if I had to look at walls all the time, see the same people every day, speak about the same things. I much prefer the open fields, the emerald green forests and the chase of the game. I think you would like it if you came hunting with us.”

“I do all my hunting here,” Maitimë says.

Irissë snorts. “How many maidens like me have you deflowered?” she asks.

“You were hardly a maiden,” Maitimë says, amused. “In any case, a lady does not kiss and tell.”

“That many?” Irissë grins. 

“The number you should be interested in instead,” Maitimë says, her index finger circling Irissë’s hardening nipple, “is the highest number of orgasms I have bestowed upon a lady during a single encounter.”

“Would you tell me if I asked?” Irissë says, breath hitching as Maitimë’s feathery touch creeps farther down. 

“No,” Maitimë says, her finger sliding easily into Irissë’s still-wet cunt, “but I can tell you that I shall surpass that number today.”

[gritsandbrits]

Evan and Charlie are foils

Both use gender neutral nicknames

Charlie is the daughter of the first demons while Evan is the great grandchild of the first humans and a grandkid fo the first Murderer

Both are based on disney princesses/heroines who wear purple (Charlie is based on Rapunzel and Evan is partly inspired by Jane from Return To Neverland)

Both has blonde hair but Charlie's natural blond and is long, Evan dyes her hair and usually keeps it short

Both use a melee weapon, Charlie uses a trident while Kané uses dual swords

Both are sympathetic to sinners

Charlie confronts problems while Evan tends to run away

Charlie learns to be a lot more assertive while Evan needed to learn to calmly assess the situation

Both are estranged from theur dads or parental figure; Charlie reconnects with Lucifer while Evan hopes to meet her bio dad, and struggles to connect to Adam.

Both find motherly figures in different people, Charlie found one in Rosie and Evan found one in....LILITH???

Charlie wears red, Evan wears green both are complementary colors

Charlie is associated with ducks, Evan is associated with dragonflies. both are pond animals

Charlie is in a relationship with Vaggie while Evan doesn't care for True Love

Charlie shares a duet woth her dad as part of reconnection while Evan and Adam call each other out on their flaws through song

Charlie's original name Charlie Magne was a pun while Evan is a twist on Eve/angel.

Charlie can also be called Lotte/Letty/Lee which fits tte alliterative theming of Lucifer and Lilith; while Evan's name starts with E like Eve, and her other nickname Kané is an alternative spelling of Cain

Charlie is a hellborn princess while Evan is a civilian from the human world who had no idea of her holy lineage.

Charlie wishes to redeem sinners and is a good person at heart while Kané is destined to redeem the Cain line but started out fairly selfish and had to learn to care about others again.

[himbos-hotline]

what'cha writing?

This ask just gives me an excuse to write more infomation about my WIPS and AUS! All of which are open for asks, I love talking about my writing and my little gremlin OC Jay and the polycule!

Till death do us part, please keep breaking my heart ['Til it ceases to beat, please be mine.]: My hungbucks fic that is currently leaning towards more romantic hangmatt and platonic hangnick. However I am currently unsure what way it is going to go. A look at the Bucks and Hangers relationship just after Hanger wins the AEW world title and Kennny disappears. Its highly implied that Kenny had a relationship with both Hanger and the Bucks because he totally did. Can you read it? Yes the first two chapters are currently up on AO3]

Writing Requests: Yes, I take writing requests! I have one that im currently working on but my requests are open so ive any of my followers or just people who see my tumblr advertised on AO3 [I sometimes mention it in my notes] and gone "damn I wish you would write X thing" drop it into my askbox and maybe I will, I mostly unsprisingly wrie for AEW/WWE at the moment and I will not write X readers but if you ever want that, I can suggest some people who do write fantastic X reader fics! Can I read it?: Yes I also post my requests on AO3 as well as my matherlist

The ghost story would be over: Taking place during and after AEW full gear where Regal betrays the BCC. I thought about how Jay would react to it as not just only as a member of the BCC but also as a Regals grandchild. A look at how close Jay and the BCC are with added connections to the Elite. Currently its a look at Jay's found family with the BCC and romance with Wheeler as well as just as how close she is with the bucks as brothers and Kenny as his beloved. A queer look at found family and betrayal with a distinct human touch. Can I read it?: Yes, please do its my favourite thing im working on so far! The first two chapters are currently on AO3

And I'll be in denyal for just a little while [What about the plans we made?]: A fic that looks at Jays canon story. From working on NXT as a mixed tag team with adam cole, to their blossoming relationship barely hidden as fuck-buddies, to betrayal and loss. Follow Jay through her transformation from Jayden Orton, still stuck behind her cousins shadow to Jay Orton, the poly genderqueer bisexual. A journey which is incredibly always linked with one beloved baybay with blue eyes. Can I read it?: Not yet, Currently I am half way through the first chapter but I promise you can soon!

Turn you on when I need you: Adam loves Kenny. Kenny doesnt love Adam. At least, not the way Adam wants him too. hes there for a quick fuck whenever Kenny is stressed. and its not like he doesnt LIKE adam, Kenny does. He just doesnt Love him..until Adam gets another boyfriend sometime later and Kenny realises that his heart longs for the cowboy. Can I read it?: Not yet, it is currently in the stages of just being an idea. Ya know spoken about in discord messages and linked in other stories.

And now for AUS!

The step-by-step franchise! Have you ever questioned about what wrestlers would be like as kids? what about as stupid middle school children? high school? college?! well now you dont have to wonder. as we're writing it! [me and my big sibling @itsnoosetome] a four part series following a collection of wwe/aew wrestlers as well as like three OCs! Can I read it?: No, at the moment its' currently being writen but theres ideas and asks are always appreciated!

The soulmate actor Au A look at Jay [OC] and their boyfriends and girlfriend through the lense of them all being soulmates. None of them wrestle. Wheeler and Jay work in a theatre, Kenny is an artist, Hanger is a western actor star and Cole is an a-list trans femme superstar who the elite happen to just use to fuck.

I love the taste of his pretty red lipstick [I love the taste of his pretty red tongue] The Stripper au! Your favourite aew stars strip for a living featuring a whole load of flirting and unresolved trauma. Lots of trans characters too! becuase we cannot be stopped! Can I read it? Eventually maybe.

What baking can do The bakery au! Mostly planned. but more non-wrestling AUS. Four chapters are planned. Follow Jay [again, look he has a fun veiw of the world] through the little bakery town that all the wrestlers live in!

[im-not-a-joke]

im on anon so this counts as following rules. your issue is youre too fucking awesome and thats the only thing wrong with you. so good job, grandpa homo, you're too awesome for your own good.

Jamie this doesn’t count, I know it’s you.

[youareunbearable]

Not to be like "but if Feanor had seven daughters instead of seven sons things would have been better" but also if Feanor had seven daughters instead of seven sons things would have not been like fixed, but better then they were.

Like his whole problem is that he feels that Finwe betrayed his mother and that he will be forgotten compared to his new children with Indis. So what if we give him a way to see that he is the one that carries on his mother’s name and line, he is the one that can show his mother’s talent and beauty, he is the living memory of her, but like in a good way instead of a spiteful way like he does in canon?

(The Daughters of Feanor are now named!! Thanks to @arofili!! )

He and Nerdanel think their first born is gonna be a son, and they have all these plans for names and baby clothes, and Nerdanel says the child’s fea feels just like Feanor’s, but brighter? Warmer? So they’re convinced it’s gonna be a son.

Instead, their child is born and she looks just like the woman in the portraits Feanor used to sit and stare at for hours as a child. She has his mother’s button nose, her soft petal lips, her slightly longer pointed ears, and the same sprinkle of freckles that look like constellations across her nose. Feanor cries, and all his plans for a snub at his half-siblings by calling his child “Third Finwe” and standing triumph at the scandal it will inevitably cause fly out the window.

He calls her Tatyamíriel, his "Second Jewel",and Nerdanel calls her Maitimë or “Well Formed One” and it’s fitting because she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

As she ages, his little Tatyamíriel looks more and more like her grandmother, in all but her hair, which is her mother’s brilliant wave of fire. Finwe, of course, spoils his first grandchild, but he looks so guilty at her sometimes, because once she becomes of age, everything about her reminds him of his late first wife. The way she laughs, like a tinkling of bells, the way she stands tall and proud at court, the way her words and actions draw all the attention in a room (not just because she is by far the tallest woman in the room), and how with a wave of her hand or a small smile she can ease any and all tension both in court and at family gatherings.

Tatyamíriel has the bearing of a Queen. She is beloved by all, especially her little half cousins. The whole family laughed and cooed when little baby Findekano proclaimed during one family dinner, that any that wishes for the hand his favourite cousin will have to duel him for the right, because his cousin has the best hugs and the best smiles. So she deserves someone who will always fight to be there for them! Little Findekano was often teased with the epithet, “The Valiant” after that declaration, much to his chagrin and his dearest cousin’s embarrassment. Everyone is eager for the day Tatyamíriel decides she wants to court, because there will be a trail of broken hearts (and bones) behind her.

Feanor couldn’t be prouder, for this daughter of his will be the queen his own mother didn’t have the chance to be. Alive and beloved as she should have been.

They try for another child, and surprise! It is another daughter. When she is born she wails so loudly and so demandingly that Feanor laughs, gently lifting her into his arms and says, “We hear your demands my Strong Voiced Jewel! My Kanamíriel! Welcome to life, little one, and may you keep singing.” Nerdanel smiles tiredly at the duo, patting Tatyamíriel on the hand as the girl uses the other to cover her ear with a frown. “A voice strong enough to cut through even the softest of metals, if she tries hard enough. Our little Makalaure she will become!”

As Kanamíriel grows, he can see that she has her grandmother’s clever fingers. Plucking strings of her lyre like Miriel would pluck strings of cloth. He can hear the whisper of older Elves as they comment on how her voice is just as sweet as Miriel’s when she would sing and weave on her looms, and Feanor feels proud.

For how can he feel so abandoned by his parents when his mother’s talents and looks are echoed so loudly in her grandchildren?

Their third child is another daughter, and this time they expected it despite all the fortune tellers saying otherwise. This daughter was beautiful as she was loud. She was a wild thing, often scraping her knees climbing trees and trailed mud on the floors after playing in the rain and the whole house was at their wits end. She was truly her father’s Strongest Jewel, his Turcamíriel. Her mother name of Tyelkormë was right on the nose as well, what with all the times her eldest and longest suffering sister, Tatyamíriel, had to pull her away from scrapping with her half-cousins.

“Ladies do not start fights!” Was a phrase repeated often enough in their House.

It was always followed with a fierce, “But they do finish them!” This was most likely followed with her half-cousins screaming in fear or pain as she pulled herself from her sister’s grasp and lept, fists flying.

But for all her wildness, she had the starlight silver hair that Miriel was known for. And where her grandmother had the favour of Vaire, she held the favour of Orome so much so that he even gifted her a puppy from his own pack of hunting hounds.

Their fourth daughter caused Feanor the most worry. She had tufts of the darkest red hair he had ever seen, and her eyes were such a dark grey that they almost looked black, so much so that he named her his Morimíriel, his small onyx. None of this was much to worry about. Neither was the healthy flush of red in her cheeks, that became her cause for her mother name of Carnistir. What caused him to worry was how often those little cheeks would flush with emotion. She was more emotional than her siblings, something they didn’t think was possible with their melodramatic Kanamíriel, or ther wild Turcamíriel. Feanor often had older Elves come up to him and warn over how deeply she feels, for Miriel was the exact same and she faded under the weight of her heightened emotions.

Luckily, while his little onyx would flush with joy, anger, jealousy, pleasure, and many other powerful emotions, her little cheeks never became ruddy with tears of despair for too long. She seemed too full of life to want to fade like his own mother, but he always kept a close eye on her just in case.

Their fifth daughter, much to everyone’s surprise, didn’t share much with Miriel, but instead looked like a little female copy of her father. She looked so much like Feanor when he was an infant, that Finwe had often called her Curufinwe instead of her actual name, Curumíriel. In fact so many had made the same mistake, that she often went by her mother name of Atarinkë.

"At least this way," Kanamíriel would laugh, "They can't mix up your names if they really do want to call you 'Little Father.'" Little Curumíriel would just scowl and try and kick her sister's shins, just like Feanor would try and kick Nolofinwe after a court session.

As she grew she acted just like Feanor, wanted to dress just like him, wanted to watch him in the forge, often was found mimicking her father’s angry scowl right behind him. This tended to help defuse some tense family gatherings as one just had to look down and see a mini-Feanor huffing and puffing right behind her dad, and it was just too cute not to coo at.

Feanor often found himself smiling as he thought that all his children were just like his mother, but just like him as well. And years later, when Curumíriel married a gold-smith, they had a little son that looked just like his mother, and just like his grandfather. Feanor would laugh loudly at those who were brazen enough to comment that, thankfully, at least this child didn’t copy Feanor’s personality as he did with his looks. He wondered if his mother would laugh at those who would say the same things of her own similarities with her granddaughters.

Just as Feanor had a child that was a little mimic of him, Nerdanel had her own little mimics with their sixth and seventh daughters. The twins Pityamíriel and Telumíriel had her mess of red curls, her warm skin tone and bright dusty freckles speckled from the tips of their ears all the way down to the tops of their toes. They had her quick smile, her strong hands, and short stature.

But they still carried their grandmother’s genes, just like all of their sisters.

“Miriel was a twin, did I ever tell you that?” Finwe murmured as he looked down at his youngest granddaughters.

“No, you never did.” Feanor replied, a little bitterly.

“Her twin sister died young, barely past the age of maturity, so it was a sore memory to recall. Miriel and Telpina, her sister, were very close. While they were not identical as some twins are, they were like two sides of a coin. She was loud and brash where your mother was quiet and steady, and while your mother was eye-catching, it was Telpina that could keep the eyes on her with her personality and voice. They were often giggling and singing with each other as they weaved. It was Telpina that encouraged your mother to accept my courtship of her, teasing her with blushing whispers and knowing looks. Once Miriel accepted, Telpina cornered me and threatened my manhood with a blade if I ever broke her heart.” Finwe grew quiet.

“One day they went into the woods to scavenge for plants they could use to make dye. I was hunting nearby with Olwe and Elwe, for it was a chance meeting that our two clans were close enough to mingle. We heard a scream and flew to investigate. And there was Miriel, you mother, weeping as she fought off Shadows of the Dark Hunter with nothing but her small dagger. Telpina was attacked, for it was her that screamed, and killed right before her twin. I believed that was the start of your mother’s overwhelming grief.” He paused, and his eyes became wet with tears. “It is one thing to lose a friend or a sibling. But I’m told losing a twin is something different. It’s like losing a part of yourself.”

Finwe reached over and grasped his first born son’s hand. It was shaking a little. “You look so much like Telpina, I think that is what finally broke her. It’s no fault of yours, beloved son of mine, but your colouring, your temper, your passion, the way you shine brighter than anyone in a room… You are almost an exact copy of the twin she had so painfully lost, and don't think she was strong enough to withstand that loss, for your mother felt things much more deeply than others did.”

It was a quiet evening, when Finwe and Feanor had that heart to heart, and it repaired something between them. Feanor finally felt that he understood his mother, that he understood why she had left him behind all those years ago. His own daughters were like little puzzle pieces that helped him create a missing image of a woman he never knew but loved so deeply. Watching them grow and having them in his life healed some parts of his bruised heart and led him to feel less attacked by those around him.

Finwe, in turn, would also be reminded of his dead first wife much more often as he watched his granddaughters live their lives in Tirion, women that look and act just like the wife he lost in different ways. It would be so much harder to not mention these similarities and reminisce with his first son.

When Melkor was released, his whispers didn’t affect Feanor nearly as much as it would have once. When Feanor created his Silmarils, it wasn’t as a desperate attempt to showcase his worth to his father, but instead as a way to honour his mother, the brightest and most brilliant jewel he knew. One gem for each stage of Miriel’s life, a Sister, a Wife, and a Mother. There would be no sword waving, no banishment and exile, but leaving willingly to further distinguish the Houses of Miriel and Indis, so the House of Feanor will no longer live in Finwe’s shadow but Miriel’s brilliant shine. When Melkor steals the Silmarils, and kills Finwe who was visiting his son’s home, there was no snub with a passing the crown over the eldest born to the second-son. There is no bitter anger over being replaced that forces Feanor to burn the Ships, forcing his half-brother and his kin to pass through the grinding ice.

There are still some things that are the same. With the loss of his Silmarils, Feanor falls into a fey anger, as if the Enemy had stolen his mother’s light from him again. There is still an Oath to bind the Daughters of Feanor to help him reclaim the gems, however not a damning Oath. There is still the first Kinslaying when Olwe refuses to give him his ships. There is still the Doom of Feanor. Fingolfin and his kin and his brother’s children still follow Feanor as their leader. Nerdanel still chooses to stay behind, so she can greet her daughters and husband when they inevitably return to the Undying Lands. Noldolante is still sung from the wailing lips of a blood coated Kanamíriel.

There is still a quick battle after Feanor and his host land on Middle-Earth, and Feanor is still quick to anger and fuelled by rage and pride he moves to attack Melkor before his half-brother and his host sail to the shores. Feanor still is killed by Balrogs and the evils of Melkor’s host. His Fea still burns bright enough to catch fire and burn his hora to dust as his daughters weep beside him. Tatyamíriel is still crowned High Queen of the Noldor with the death of her father.

However, this time Ulmo delays Nolofinwe and his kin with bad winds, and they don’t reach the shores of Beleriand until after their new queen was taken during a skirmish with Melkor’s forces, for this time Tatyamíriel did not agree to meet with his emissaries until her half-uncle arrived, but was still stolen away with her guards slaughtered. Again, her Valiant young half-cousin steals away in the night on a mission to save her. This time it takes him longer, for there is no sun to protect him as he travels, and it is harder to see a path with only the light of the stars. Instead of a single year, it takes Findekano thirty to find a way to save his dearest cousin, and while he was often in low spirits he never lost hope. Still, the sun rose, and with its brilliance Findekano was allowed to travel faster and bolder. With the rising of the sun he was able to sing songs of his childhood until he found the sweetest echo. When he brought his dearest cousin and queen back to their people, frail, starved, naked, and missing her right hand, Nolofinwe thanked the Valar that Feanor couldn’t see Tatyamíriel like this. His eldest daughter, who was so much like Miriel, looked like she was one breath away from walking the same path of her grandmother during those long days of recovery.

But still, Tatyamíriel recovered. Still, she gave up her crown. Still she moved her host east and became the constant, steady pebble in Melkor’s sandals. Persistent, annoying, unmoveable, and painful. Tatyamíriel still became Maedhros, the Lady of the North, and was as deadly with her left-handed blade as she was with her mind.

Things would have been different with the Daughters of Feanor, but not by much.

However, it would have made all the difference.

[randomwriteronline]

The day. Is. Sloooooow.

Might be because they are in the middle of the damn desert and it is. Too hot to function properly. The gargantuan bones offer shade and respite but Goddesses allmighty its is. Too hot.

Wind has been rolling in the sand for five minutes. He claims it’s to get the heat off of him. As far as everybody else is concerned he’s just getting sand all over himself, but are they going to stop him? Warriors is half naked and dying, Twilight is enduring the pain of keeping his pelt on so it doesnt get absolutely riddled with coarse particles, Hyrule is slowly passing out, and Four nearly slammed himself against a rib with his pot of winds. Legend has buried half his body into the sand and Sky is desperately trying to sleep with his face laying down on his shirt. Time has died.

Wild looks at the horrible sight of them from the height of his climate appropriate outfit and thanks Hylia for the Secret Gerudo Club and their voe clothes.

A head rises suddenly: “Sweet Nayru,” Time rasps, “I have three sons.”

“What.” Legend croaks at him.

“I have one-” and Time stands up and puts a hand on Twilight’s head, “-two-” and he puts it on Legend’s, “-and three.” and he puts it on Wind’s. “Three whole boys. And two - three?- grandchildren.” and he points at Warriors and Hyrule, before shifting to Wild: “And one great-grandchild. Merciful Din I am old.”

Four squints his eyes at him: “They’re not your biological sons.”

Time ignores him completely: “I can feel my bones shattering as we speak.” he says, “What is a fatherly activity to be done with your children? My father was a tree, we couldn’t do much about that.”

“Fishing?” Wind offers.

“I like fishing.” Twilight murmurs absentmindedly.

“Ok, I know fishing, we can do that.” Time says almost relieved, “We’re going fishing once we stop  being here.”

“I will not be fishing.” Legend decides.

“Yes you will,” and Time goes to lift him out of the sand.

“Hold on,” Warriors blocks him, “Hold on, you were concieved by a tree?”

Time looks at him like he’s out of his mind: “What the fuck,” is in fact how he begins: “No, he took me in. And he was rooted to the ground so he couldn’t do much either with me or the others.”

Sky lifts his head: “You have siblings?”

“No, they’re the Kokiri.”

“You were raised by Koroks?” Wild intervenes.

“What the hell is a Korok?”

“Like a wood baby with, with leaves on their face.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing in my entire life. What on Earth.”

“Wait,” Wind interrupts them: “But you’re not like... My real dad, right? Because you were gone... A billion years before I was born.”

Time weighs the probabilities: “I’m your dad now.” he decides.

“No you’re not,” Four stops him, “You’re his ancestor.”

“Same thing, he’s my son now.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Yes it is, look at Twilight.” Time insists, and points as his increasingly pained child, “That’s my son and thus my descendant, so they’re my descendants and thus my sons.”

“He’s your son?” Warriors’ voice cracks while Four insists a little annoyed: “That’s not how it works!”

Legend points at Hyrule, who resuscitates briefly from his slow descent into unconsciousness by the suddenness of the movement: “You are. Not. My son.” he manages to get out.

Hyrule nods a few times: “Alright.” he just says, as Warriors keeps asking a disinterested Time while raising his voice: “Your honest-to-Farore’s son?”

“I have not fucked. Ever. In my life,” Legend continues. “And I will not fuck. For the rest of it. Not even if they pay me. ‘s too gross. Not into it. Not a fan. So you are not my son. Ok? Ok. No sons. Or daughters. Or children in general. No fucking for me. Forbidden.”

“Like you made him with your wife?” Warriors’ cries still go unanswered, though he does manage to make Sky nearly spit his tongue out in a sudden fit of embarassed laughter.

“Wait, who came before me.” Time stops. He turns to Four. The much smaller man looks at him quizzically. His only eye squints: “Father...”

Wild gives a hysterical wheeze.

“Absolutely not!” Four yells.

But Time decides not to listen to that, and instead speaks without thinking: “Father, may I go see the merrygorounds?”

Four coughs up a laugh: “I’m not your dad! You are way too young for that!”

The single eye turns to Sky: “Grandfather, may I go see the merrygorounds?”

“He’s not your grandpa!”

“Be nice to your father,” Time reprimands him.

Sky howls with a strange sound, almost unsure of wether or not Time is right, while he and Four look at each other; the shorter hero shoots him a glare and shakes his head vehemently.

Warriors finally stands up as Time begins trying to pick up his boys, which is a sweet idea but also destined to fail miserably because the heat makes him slow, weak and not particularly smart: “This is your son?” the captain asks again as he grabs Twilight, who is slowly losing his grip on reality.

He turns to Warriors a little: “ ‘n’ maybe ‘m your dad,” he drawls. The pelt is killing him but like hell he will ruin it in the sand.

Warriors processes it for a moment.

“Are you my son?!” he yells at Wild.

Okay, Wild thinks to himself as he turns around and leaves the clearly delirious bunch to themselves for a while to get some sort of refreshment (hydromelon maybe, or wild berries, or literally anything with some water in it), I think they have completely lost it.

[triscribe]

Sometimes it’s the oddest things-

-that cause a sudden surge of emotion, choking up your throat and bringing out a few tears.

My great-grand-aunt, age one hundred and one years old, is currently in hospice. The doctors and family expected her to die within a few days of being admitted - it’s been over a month. She’s not getting stronger, exactly, but after getting over a brief period where everybody thought she’d given up, Aunt Opal’s back to eating small amounts and speaking with her daughters. I’m still trying to convince my mom to take a few days to drive across state lines to get in one final visit, but she’s reluctant for a number of reasons, so secondhand communication is the best we can manage.

Right now, I can hear her out in the hall, talking over the phone with one of her cousins, getting an update on the old lady (and offering reassurance that the tornado in Central Texas yesterday didn’t come more than within a couple miles of our house). Recently one of the youngsters in my generation brought her baby for a visit, which delighted Aunt Opal to no end, and Mom’s voice took on a wistful note as she replied with a brief story.

Apparently, when I was but six months old, she took me to visit my own great-grandmother, this aunt’s much older sister, in the nursing home where she lived out her last few years. She would’ve been in her mid nineties (they grow the women hard and healthy on that side of the family), and didn’t have as much in the way of her mental faculties as Opal, nor hardly any remaining ability to see.

But as Mom just described it, she only had to plop my chubby baby self down on the bed next to the old timer, and Great-Nanny Ethel promptly smiled, and started to rub a hand up and down my back with an expression of great contentment.

I have no memory of this woman. She passed away not long after that visit, and there are only a couple of photographs that have survived this long in our chaotic household. Neither I nor Mom know if she was aware the baby she held and loved on was her great-grandchild. But in that moment, it didn’t matter - this woman, who spent her life determined to hold herself and her children to exacting standards; who often got into arguments with my unmarried grandmother on how to raise her only daughter; who even blind could reach out when Mom visited to feel her jeans and insist that she “wear a dress next time”, have some pride in her appearance-

I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t.

Twenty-five years ago, an old woman whose eyes and mind were failing her was given a baby to hold. One story ending, another just beginning. Hardly any overlap, certainly no influence on one another, aside from the residual effects of other lives connected to them both.

There are so many stories I’ve heard about my great-grandmother, some humorous when they involve my great-grandfather gently poking fun at her, many horrifying when they reveal just how close Mom came to being taken away from her own mother and raised in another household. Echoes of behavior that make me grit my teeth, make me think I would have adored Grandpa Luck and despised Nanny Ethel. Patterns that I could recognize in their daughter’s interactions with her only child, habits Mom has tried to break with regards to how she’s raised me only to develop other failings in the opposite direction.

And yet.

For all of the complicated family history and strife, there was an old woman who held me once, and very clearly offered all the affection she could, whether she knew who I was or not. And it feels like- not an answer, but maybe a clue, to something big and indescribable about humanity, and how love can still be tied up in the midst of so many other bad things.

And I wonder, who else has felt this inexplicable surge of emotion about their own barely-known family members?

Will my young cousin ever feel it too, regarding Aunt Opal, some day in not-so-distant future?

I don’t know. I doubt I ever will. But I’m sitting here, mourning someone I’ve never thought I could love, for the simple fact that she died after a single encounter before I could even speak - and I wonder.

Sometimes it’s the oddest things that make you cry.

[astra-galaxie]

"I'll have to teach you my mother's cream bundt cake recipe, Fili loves it." - Quinn Savage

Biographical information

Full Name: Quinn Savage (née McGee)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Status: Alive

Age: 63 (Season 1)

Birth: 1950

Race: Witch

Nationality: Irish

Origin: Dublin, Ireland

Residence:

Grimsborough, USA

Dublin, Ireland (formerly)

Profession(s): Co-owner of The Lucky Clover (in Fili's absence)

Family:

John Savage (husband)

Fili Savage (son)

James Savage (stepson)

Sean McGee (brother)

Adalet (Anders) Sadik-Halvorsen (child-in-law)

Ahmet Savage (grandson)

Clover Savage (grandchild) (deceased)

Affiliation(s): The Lucky Clover

Profile

Height: 5'4" Age: 63 (Season 1) Weight: 150lbs Eyes: blue Blood: B-

Opposite her husband, Quinn is where Fili got his looks from. She has long blonde hair that is turning white, pale skin with a splash of freckles on her cheeks and shining blue eyes. She normally has her hair braided into a bun with her long bangs left loose and wears light-coloured jeans tucked into a pair of work boots and held up by a pair of green suspenders, a black flannel shirt and a green bandana around her neck that she wears on her head when working.

Powers and abilities

Magic

Spell casting

Potion making

History

Quinn grew up on her family's farm in Dublin, Ireland with her twelve siblings, her being the third oldest in the family. Quinn has countless memories of time spent with her family and cherishes every one of them. She went to college for business and agriculture to help manage the farm after her parents retired.

She met her husband John after he began sending her flowers and love letter. Quinn is a very extroverted woman who is not afraid to speak her mind so once she found out who the letters were from, she demanded that John begin seeing her in person and not hide behind a pen and paper. While the two come from different backgrounds, they have always been able to find common interests or get joy from teaching each other their hobbies.

After the birth of her son Fili, Quinn planted a tree on the edge of her family's farm. It's a generation-old tradition to plant a tree when a new baby is born so that it grows along with them. The farm is filled with trees of different species and ages representing the McGee family. The next time Fili is in Dublin, he plans to plant a tree for his son and any other future children he and Adalet have.

Quinn was worried when her son decided he wanted to become an MI6 agent like his father, but she knew there was no way she could make him change his mind. So, she made sure that he learned everything he needed to succeed in life, from cooking and sewing to self-defence and emergency first aid.

When she and John decided to move to Grimsborough, Quinn was excited to see her son again and help out in his floral shop. While she would miss Dublin and being near the rest of her family, she was looking forward to a new adventure to share with John and to finally get to say "I do" to the love of her life.

Events of Criminal Case

Season 1

Quinn moved to Grimsborough with John to be closer to their son Fili. Quinn helps manage The Lucky Clover by designing and making the floral arrangements, a hobby she's had since she was a child. Quinn immediately considers Adalet and James a part of her family the moment she met them and is so happy that John was able to reconnect with his oldest son.

Quinn made it her mission to help John and James reconnect and the three found a common interest in spending time in the woods away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Quinn way also able to bond with her stepson as she is also an avid hunter and is no strange when it comes to shooting a rifle. She taught James archery and how to use a crossbow while John watched from a safe distance, suddenly remembering why he vowed to never make Quinn angry.

She and the rest of her family were present at the send-off party for Adalet when the woman was transferring to Pacific Bay. She's so happy that Fili found someone to spend the rest of his life with and doesn't think he could have made a better choice, even if she used to tease him about his old partners.

Season 2

Quinn made a couple of minor appearances during Pacific Bay alongside her husband John. She cried the whole time she was at her son's wedding but assured Fili that every tear was one of joy.

Season 3

Behind the scenes of Where In The World Are The Killer?, Quinn visited Fili in Australia with John and James following the Bureau rescuing him from SOMBRA. She cried when she saw her baby for the first time, curled up in a hospital bed with tubes and wires connected to him. He was so scared to let them get close to him after what SOMBRA had done to him, but she persisted until he believed Quinn when she said he wouldn't hurt him. And with that trust came recovery, and she helped him learn to control his new magical abilities, just like she did when he first came into his powers.

When Fili was ready to return to his team and help them continue their mission to take down SOMBRA, Quinn watched him fly away with Oberon, Dean and Avi. She worried about her son being so far away while he was still adapting to the changes SOMBRA did to him, but she knew Adalet and the Bureau would help him. And since Fili promised to call them at least every other night, that helped relax her, too. But Quinn didn't feel true relief until she saw on the news the announcement that SOMBRA was gone for good. And that relief grew even more when Aslan and Heimdall invited her, John, and James to New York to celebrate with the Bureau.

Seeing Fili and his team so happy about defeating SOMBRA made Quinn smile. But they were all sad to hear that the Bureau had lost Dupont in the final battle. Even if the historian couldn't be there to see the new world, Quinn is sure he's smiling down at them. Especially because of the baby Savage on the way! Quinn was so excited to find out she was going to be a grandmother again and is already planning tons of fun things to do with the baby and things to get them before their arrival.

Story Information

First appeared: Meeting the Parents

Trivia

She may seem like a sweet, cookie-baking grandmother on the outside but hell hath no fury like an angry McGee. She's not afraid to drag you by your ear and put you in a time-out, no matter how old you are

While most assume that John wears the pants in the relationship, he will be the first to correct you and say that it's Quinn who wears them (and rather well, might he add)

She will adopt anyone as one of her own without hesitation, it's how Fili was able to so easily recover from the shock of learning that Adalet had adopted Ahmet. He's been watching his mother take in and help people in need his whole life

Always has small candies with her for people who need a little treat to brighten their day. Fili swears his mother must have pockets like Mary Poppin's bag because she never seems to run out of her assortment of candies

Disclaimer: Character design was created using Rinmarugames Mega Anime Avatar Creator! I have only made minor edits to the design! Background courtesy of CriminalArtist5.

Links to my stories:

The Case of the Criminal (Ao3/Wattpad)

Killer Bay (Ao3/Wattpad)

Where in the World are the Killers? (Ao3/Wattpad)

[thelostmadrigals]

⌛🫓🦋🔥≻|| Fuega ; headcanon  ||≺🔥🦋🫓⌛

Fuega’s mood often appears very black and white and Fuega herself does very little to change people’s opinion on her. Often her moods are angry and spiteful to certain people and neutral to others. 

She’s sort of like a cat.

Anger is a quick and easy defence that she uses to cover her vulnerable side with a thicker shell; it kept people who couldn’t take the heat away. Unfortunately, Fuega is an observant girl for 7 years old, and smart, with passion for puzzles that led her to piece together her assumptions of her family.

She believes that she was a replacement baby after Mirabel’s failure and that Julieta and Agustin were pressured into having her by Abuela. Not entirely a false belief either but for a child it’s hard for her to cope with that information. She hates that she was born under those circumstances while her siblings were made out of love. That’s one of the reason Fuega holds a flame of anger towards her parents. She subconsciously feels like she wasn’t ever truly wanted like her siblings. 

When her mood drops from rage to sadness, this can lead her to having an  existential crisis if her thoughts wander to her issues (above) but Luisa and Felix and Pepa are often the ones to pull her out of those states, which is easier to see as her flames burn weakly and often coats her hands and exposed skin in soot. They’re more emotionally available to her and don’t reprimand her for her abilities.

Luisa is one of the few of her immediate family that she seeks out for fun and where she won’t be scolded for her fiery emotions. Luisa’s also one of the few that can make her genuinely laugh and smile and Fuega purposely seeks her out to get her to eat and to bring her home. Luisa is also the first of the family that she threw up on as a newborn when she first held her, clearly a strong sibling bond meant to be. 

Fuega’s pranks are often seen in a bad light, but to Fuega’s eyes, it’s one fo the few ways to find enjoyment in an otherwise boring place and she doesn’t delve into her pranks without knowing she’d get told off and sent to her room; she’d take laughing and having fun for as long as she can, even at the expense of others. She wants to find things that make her happy, and as long as she’s not causing permanent harm, why not?

Fuega had rage long before her gift, but after her gift, it was more visible and thus, became a ‘problem’ due to the destructive nature which only heightened the concern on her usage and control. Her struggle to contain her gift added more anger and a cruel cycle to begin. Even when she wasn’t angry, her gift acted different to other emotions; heating up, creating smoke, exhaling too-hot air, soot and sparks are often visible in one form or another of strong emotion. Any of these seen by Abuela is sometimes written of her Fuega being in a bad mood, which again leads to her getting told to control her gift.

Abuela is a strong connection of resentment for Fuega, and as a result, had a lot less outward respect for her which leads to Fuega being rude and dismissive because Fuega only sees any interaction ending up only in Abuela's favour and that there’s no point in trying when Abuela only sees her as the risky angry granddaughter. Fuega wants her Abuela’s approval and love but all she sees is that going straight to Isabela. What she wants, what she expects and what she gets are very conflicting and leads to her confused to what she wants. Spite if often her go-to in that regard. 

That is why Fuega has a flame against Isabela. Jealousy is a major factor. The first born grandchild, the flower girl, senorita perfecta who hogged the attention of her parents and her Abuela. The comparison that Fuega can’t hold herself up to, no matter if she tried and she hates that. It’s easy to hate something she can’t reach than try and knowing for a fact she’d fail; she’d seen Mirabel do that and not stop so why bother herself?

Fuega’s isolation from town is very similar with her Tio Bruno. Due to the dangerous nature of her gift, children she used to play with were kept away, more so after a minor burn incident which led Fuega to be supervised when playing by an adult. That scrutiny killed Fuega’s joy of playing with the towns kids because she felt very distrusted. Rumors did spread but no one directly bullied her, for obvious reasons.

Fuega holds some distrain towards casita, majorly due to the fact Casita obeys Abuela. When Casita tries to get her away from coffee, she does threaten to burn the house down in hopes to intimidate the home to giving her what she wants. Not that it works. She thinks Casita is Abulea’s lacky.

Despite her threats, she doesn’t actually want to cause harm unless she’s pushed to the limit.

[thev1rginjesus]

hello grandchild! thank you fo teaching what "milfs" are!

hello grandma!! u’re welcome!! now go simp for some😡

[amethyst-geek]

Theory on why Emilie used the damaged Peacock miraculous

So with the latest episode of Miraculous revealed that Gabriel apparently to wants to destroy the current world and replace with a world where he and Emilie can be together, now seems like as good as time as any to share my theory on what Emilie had been using the Peacock miraculous for. 

Ask some of you may have read in 1 of my previous post predicting Felix’s role in season 4 (which so far seems to have been debunked fo the most part), I predicted that Felix is actually Adrien’s twin’s brother and that Emilie’s father forced her to give to Amelie because Amelie and/or her husband were struggling with infertility and grandpa Graham De Vanily loathed the idea of having a grandchild who wasn't related to him by blood. I’m still assuming this to be the case in this theory expect I’m changing the means as to how Grandpa Graham de Vanily managed to coerce Emilie into giving Felix to Amelie. 

In my previous post predicting Felix’s role, I suggested that Grandpa Graham de Vanily threatened to destroy Gabriel’s career if Emilie didn't give Felix to Amelie. However I’m gonna change to connect with the fan theory that Adrien was sickly as child. Instead of blackmailing Emilie, I now think that upon hearing that Amelie anther husband were planning to adopt and Emilie was expecting twins, Grandpa Graham De Vanily poisoned the then-pregnant Emilie with some sort of magic potion that threatened the health of Emilie and her unborn sons and made it clear that he would only give her the antidote if she agreed to give 1 of the babies to Amelie (I’ll let u draw your own conclusions as whether or not Amelie was in on it or if her father lead her to believe Emilie willingly decided to give Amelie 1 of her babies. Alternatively, there’s also the possibility that Amelie herself was the 1 who poisoned Emilie). Emilie reluctantly agreed, lead Gabriel to believe that she was only carrying 1 child (as I said before, Gabriel and Felix’s interactions in his intro episode gives me reason to believe that if Felix is indeed the bio son of Gabriel and Emilie, then Gabriel isn't aware of it). Her father gave her the antidote, and she made an almost full recovery. However, her father didn't give her enough of the antidote. As result, while 1 baby was born healthy, the other baby was very sickly. Grandpa Graham de Vanily gave the healthy baby to Amelie, who named the baby Felix. 

Due to his sickly nature (as well as Emilie’s trauma of being forced to give up 1 of her babies), Gabriel and Emilie became very overprotective of Adrien. Even though they could afford the best doctors money could buy, none of them could help Adrien all that much. Eventually sometime prior to the events of the main series, Emilie confessed to Gabriel that she had been poisoned by her father while she was pregnant with Adrien (though she leaves out certain details, such as the fact that she was also pregnant with Felix at the time) and that the poison was magical in nature. This leads to Gabriel and Emilie realizing that they may need to use magic to cure Adrien of his ailment(s). Sometime later (about a year or so prior to “Origins”), they found the butterfly and peacock miraculous. Emilie then used the peacock miraculous to create sentimonster that helped Adrien recover from his magical ailment. 

However, after she did this, Emilie became sickly herself, and it was at this point  she and Gabriel realized that they peacock miraculous had been damaged. Gabriel then advised Emilie to not use the Peacock miraculous again until they could find a way to fix it. Unfortunately, Emilie and Gabriel’s very justified anger towards her father as well as Emilie’s understandable desire to get Felix back (though she keeps this part of her motivation to herself) drove Emilie to use the peacock miraculous again. Her plan was to create another sentimonster, 1 that would kill her father, alter everyone memories to make everyone think Felix has been with the Agreste's the whole time but to also give Amelie a replacement child (whom thank to the sentimonster’s memory-altering powers, Amelie would think she’d bene there the whole time). The new sentimonster she created was a young girl. However, before she could send the sentimonster to kill her father, Emilie succumbed to the effects of using a damaged miraculous and slipped into her coma. Gabriel then put Emilie in that life support thing. 

He then put hid the sentimonster somewhere, and took her amok item commanded her to become dormant until he could find use for her. Eventually, after he learned that several of the temp heroes were students at Francois Dupont, he decided that the sentimonster Emilie created would make a good sleeper agent. So he took the sentimonster out of storage and had her alter the memories of Audrey Bourgois to think that the sentimonster was her illegitimate daughter, whom Gabriel dubbed Zoe Lee. After Audrey passed out form he memory-altering, Gabriel then took Zoe back his place where he then had her alter her own memories to comply with the false memories she gave Audrey and also forget that she was a sentimonster. He then gave Zoe whatever her amok is in and sent her on her way back to the hotel. (and if this part of the theory is giving anyone deja vu, that’s because this part is a revision of another 1 of my theories; I wasn't planning incorporating Zoe into this post when i first started writing it, but then I figured why not) 

Later in the episode titled Gabriel Agreste, Felix returns and reveals to Gabriel that he is his son (Amelie’s husband told him on his deathbed), and Gabriel changes his plans so that his wish is re-write the world so that he and Emilie didn't lose Felix, Adrien had never been sickly (at least not to the same extent he was prior to his parents getting their hands on the peacock miraculous), and his father-in-law suffered a slow and painful death before he had the chance to poison Emilie. 

[writers-worst-nightmare]

How to name a character:

There are tons of ways to name your character! But, it can be hard sometimes, so I will separate this post into sections so you guys can understand better!

Making a name that is not in your language:

Making a oc that is in a different country and speaks a different language ten then you Is hard, so I recommend making the characters personality and looks down before making the name. This way you can revolve the name around the character. So, lets make a oc! I have this oc that is going to have white hair and grey eyes, they are going to be innocent, gullible, nice, and easily taken advantage of. Now let‘s go to google translate (or any translator app) and put in some adj that would describe that describe the character. I put in their personality “innocent“ and in Japan innocent is “Mujitsu” or “無実” so we already got their first name which is “Mujitsu” so now we got the first name we can go to the middle name. The middle name will be ”angel” since her name so far into English will be “innocent angel” so I put it in google translate once again and got “Tenshi” or “天使” so we got the middle name “Tenshi” so far the name fo this oc is “Mujitsu Tenshi” so now we can pick out the last name. Now, unlike the first and middle name, you can just do a google search for “most popular last names in (country)” so thats what I did and I just picked what I think sounded/looked good. I chose Abiko means “peaceful grandchild/child“

I would also highly suggest that you look into how somebody says their name, for example in Japan it is common for friends, classmates, and teachers to call somebody by their last name. only really close friends, partners, and/or family members get to call somebody by their first name.

And also I would suggest you look into the manner in that certain country, for example: you would add “sensei” at the end of a teachers name. So if our little Mujitsu became a teachers then their students will call them “Abiko-sensei”

Writing names in your own language:

Writing names in your own language is a little bit more easiest but still hard. there still has to be thought put into the name or it will just sound dumb. For example: if I have a mean villain then I wouldn’t name the villain Amanda since Amanda means lovable instead I might name that villain “Kritanta” which means god of death. So, we got a first name for the villain, Kritanta! Now it is time for middle names. Often times a middle name is a relatives first name, so, I will give Kritanta the middle name Ava because her Mother is going to be named Ava. Ava also means “bird” and is a shortened term of “Evie” which can mean “living one” or “living.” Now so far we have the name Kritanta Ava. Now it is time for a last name, a last name can be difficult to come up with but a google search for “most popular American last names and their meanings” should clear things up a bit. I did some research myself ad found the last names “Williams“ which means “helmet of protection“ and “desire of will.” So the ending results of the name is Kritanta Ava Williams!

[soulnottainted]

Really close to adding Ashoka Tano as a platonic fo...because she is aWESOME! I would fight alongside her of course during the Clone Wars

And also Count Dooku as my first GRANDPARENT fo....because I swear if he was on the light side if the force he would be a great grandparent, just saying. But who knows, maybe he'd still be attached to his adopted grandchild if he is on the dark side

Don't make me give into this!

[heartofswords]

"I'll lose sleep over that. Definitely."

SARCASM: a sentence pack

Tobirama raised an eyebrow at his grandchild. A part of him wanted to comment that Kakashi was too young to be that sassy, but on the other hand... pot, kettle.

“I see the sass runs in the family,” Tobirama said instead, hiding his smirk by taking a sip fo his tea. “I’m sure my brother is laughing at me in the Pure Lands. Kami knows he suffered my sass when I was a kid.”

[betterlatethannever2]

THE ALLY PALLY CONNECTION

I recently came across a photo, taken from Mountview Road, near Crouch End, where I lived as a child.  I was amazed to be able to see Alexandra Palace on a further hilltop, which I am sure was not visible from there in the 1940’s.  Grandma and Grandad Hoad (my mother’s parents) lived at 103 Rosebery Road, Muswell Hill, which was barely a stone’s throw from the Palace, and my mother and I were frequent visitors there.  This was the house that was provided for my grandparents after their own house at Nunhead (102 Drakefell Road) suffered war damage.  These visits are among my earliest memories, and I certainly remember being there in June 1944 when a telegram was delivered to announce that my Uncle Leslie had been killed in a motor-cycle accident on Malta.  He was on War Service but wasn’t involved in hostilities at the time.  I remember the grief, but it was stoically borne, in my presence anyway.  I was four at the time.

The second sad event at this address was the cot-death of my first brother, Anthony.  We must have been staying for the night.  This was totally unexpected, and I remember my mother’s devastation.  For a few weeks it seemed as though I had become the responsibility of Grandma, and my Auntie Marjorie who was still living at home at the time.  Nobody spoke to me about the tragedy, and I had to work out for myself why my mother was unable to cope with my care, and why she did not wish to speak to any body.  I do not recall being present at the funeral, but I presume my mother was able to regain her composure once all the procedures had been dealt with.  We manage things very differently now.

My grandparents were still at this address in 1947, and by this time I was trusted to go and see them by myself on the bus.  The bus stop, at the bottom of the green sweep, and on the road that curves round and up to Alexandra Palace was still there fifteen years ago, and I am sure it is still there now.  I would get off the bus and make my way through a small cutting, turn left, and then right, and straight on down Rosebery  Road to 103.  The semi-detached house, in an area now beloved by TV executives, had a very relaxed appearance, and a certain ‘graciousness’ inside.  There were two quite large and formal rooms on the ground floor, and stairs down to the kitchen, where we all sat unless there was a big family gathering.  the front room was very rarely used, but the back room could accommodate a sizeable party, and I enjoyed one or two of these, at adult knee height.  This room had french windows which led out onto a raised wooden veranda overlooking the garden.  I can smell the damp woodland feel its slippery surface under my feet, even now.  I loved all these visits.

I was the first grandchild, and while not actually spoilt in that sense, I enjoyed lots of affection and attention.  On my arrival, Grandad would reach for his ’sweetie’ tin on the piano, and while intoning Fe Fi Fo Fum, would invite me to plunge my small hand into the  sweet smelling and sticky selection.  I was particularly fond of pear drops.  Grandma had a selection of toys, wind-up tin animals and vehicles, simple construction sets, and jigsaws.  And of course, there were the Just William books.  I was never, ever bored, and always happy to listen in to the adult conversation, without making that too obvious.

Grandad was a very practical man, and was always making useful gadgets and small pieces of wooden furniture, and even toys.  He also repaired the family shoes on his lasts - a great saving then, as shoe repairs were very costly.  His workshop was a small room tucked away under the veranda.  He was also very proud of his garden.  His new potatoes, garden peas and strawberries have never been equalled in my experience.  I can just about summon their exquisite flavour, together with that of the pears from the trees  that grew in the garden.

On a Sunday morning he would take me to the newsagent’s to buy a comic for me, and a couple of the less salubrious Sunday papers for him, together with Titbits.  I read them all!  In the afternoon he would pack up his leather cases, and take his bowls up to the Muswell Hill Bowling Green.  I still have the smaller case, and I treasure it - not with the bowls in unfortunately.  I expect other members of the family took care of those.

Grandma, or more often my Auntie Marjorie, would take me to play on the swings in the grounds of Alexandra Palace.  On the top terraces, you had a wonderful view over London.  On one unforgettable occasion, my mother, Aunty Marjorie and myself dressed up in the beautiful dresses my mother had made out of  nylon parachute material.  Mine was white with red silk thread embellishment to the frills, and theirs were yellow with jade thread.  We were off to the Ball at the Palace.  Even at the time I thought it was very nice of them both to take me too, but with hindsight, I guess I made a useful chaperone.  They didn’t have to dance together all evening, there were gentlemanly invitations too.  I am always trying to reconstruct that evening in my mind, and comb the television screen whenever there is an event at Ally Pally, but it always eludes me.

These memories have been stirred by finding the paperwork connected with the requisitioning of the house that Grandad actually bought in 1933, located between Nunhead and New Cross.  He was a draughtsman by profession, and went to work in a suit, white shirt and tie.  His recent ancestors had been boatbuilders at Rye, hence his handyman skills, but clearly he was ‘upwardly mobile’.  The house cost £650.  By 1953, and after a great deal of ‘argy bargy’ about the war damage repair costs, and who was responsible for them, the house was valued at £350.  I have not been able to follow the line of argument, but clearly my grandfather knew when and how to dig his heels in when necessary, but he may have lost out on value as a result.

My grandparents were delighted to be back in their own house at last, and I hope that I never let on that I much preferred the house at Rosebery Road.  The railway ran at the bottom of their garden which was interesting, but noisy.  When I was ten, or eleven, my father (long home from the army by then), accepted a transfer of his post with the Public Trustee (a branch of the Civil Service, dealing with wills and probate) and we moved north to Manchester, settling in the nearby village of Romiley, then in Cheshire.  I was very homesick, but my parents allowed me to travel back to Grandma and Grandad’s for some of my school holidays.  I had the sort of freedom I would tremble to give my own grandchildren now.  Nunhead station was just down the road, and I would regularly take myself into central London to explore.  I also enjoyed visits to places like Kew Gardens, and to see other relatives, with Grandma and Auntie Marjorie.

When I watch TV programmes like ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ I know I am very lucky to know exactly who I am. 1st June.2020