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God came one day to AbrahamSaying Abe my son I have this planSee all these stars up in the skyTo your kin folk I will give lifeSo Abraham being a righteous manHad two sons all in Gods planBut being old he and his wife couldn't waitSo he laid with a female slaveMiracles from aboveIshmael and Isaac grew upBut a test came for his loveGod had asked for his trustHagar was left behindAs father and son travelled the dessertWhere he had been called to testifyHow he could pioneer and turn to rightBring civilisation to God's lightNow we all know the test was passedOr we wouldn't be here todaySpeaking of the saviours who brought us to God's wayFrom Abraham came his sonsThe messengers forever honouredIn Christianity, Judaism and IslamJacob, Moses, Elijah and JonahZechariyah, John, Soloman and NoahFrom them came Jesus and MohammedSo we say peace be upon them allAnd peace be upon this worldUnited we standFor our ancestors were oneFrom the same blood we beganFor the same Lord we bow...

Summary: Darman could smell rain on the wind that gently blew their bedroom curtains. The sun was just beginning to rise, clouds filtering the pink light into cold gray. He buried his face in Etain's hair and took a deep breath. Notes: I do not own Star Wars.     Darman could smell rain on the wind that gently blew their bedroom curtains. The sun was just beginning to rise, clouds filtering the pink light into cold gray. He buried his face in Etain's hair and took a deep breath. "Morning." She shifted uncomfortably. Her belly had officially reached massive status, though Darman would cut his leg off before saying it to her face. "Mm. Lemme just…" She flung a sleepy hand in the direction of the window, closing it with her Force powers. Darman chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. "You could have just asked me to close it, you know." "Why get up when I can…" She wiggled her fingers. Darman took another deep breath of her dewberry blonde hair; she insisted it was brown, as though she'd never seen her own hair in the afternoon light. Her shampoo smelled like sunshine and had some sort of cactus he didn't recognize on the front of the bottle. "I like doing things for you." "I know you do." She struggled to turn over in his arms. "You don't have to wait on me, Dar. You're not subservient to me." "I absolutely am." He kissed her neck, and ignored the scowl that popped up in favor of gently biting the thin skin over her pulse point. "I'm your riduur. You're carrying my child. I am subservient to you in every way imaginable, and I wouldn't have it any other way." "You're incorrigible," she grumbled. He laughed. "And how are you feeling this morning, ner Et'ika?" Etain looked dolefully down at her giant stomach and sighed. "Enormous." Darman kept kissing her neck, considering it the smarter option over confirming her opinion. "Do you want a massage?" he mumbled into her skin. "Maybe later." She caught his hand and guided it to her belly, smiling. "Do you feel your son?" He nodded, his throat going tight. There was a fluttering pulse under his palm. "He's kicking," Darman said in awe. "Yeah he is." Etain adjusted herself again and frowned at her big belly. Darman sympathized with her. He'd jumped out of larties wearing more in equipment than what his runt of a wife weighed soaking wet and seven months pregnant. "He's feisty. Like his mama." Darman kissed her cheek. "He's a pain in my shebs like his daddy," Etain corrected him. "Oh, you know I love it when you speak Mando'a, ner cyar'ika." Darman said, nuzzling her neck. He blew a snozzberry in her throat and made her laugh. "Ner jet'ika, ner mesh'lane cyar'ika, gar dinui ner runi mirjahaal. Ni kartay'li gar darasuum." "I love you too," she sighed, lacing their hands together over her stomach. "I'm sorry, Dar." "About what?" "That we never got to do this." She blinked her big, sad green eyes at him. "We deserved this, but we never had it." "What are you talking about, Et'ika?" Darman sat up, confused. Etain just looked at him patiently. "You know what I'm talking about." "I…" Darman couldn't draw a full breath. "It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong, my love." "I…" Not my girl! Not my girl! "Hey." Etain pulled his face close, pressed their foreheads together. "It was my fault. I've been using a lightsaber since I was four years old. I knew better than to try and stop one with my body." "Then why did you?" Darman whispered, shaking. "What were you thinking?" "I wasn't." She laughed softly. "I wasn't thinking, Dar. I acted on instinct and made a stupid, stupid mistake that cost me my life. I'm sorry you had to watch." "I miss you." Darman squeezed his eyes shut. "I miss you so much, Etain. I wish you could see Kad. He's… he's like you. He needs you, but he doesn't have you." "Lucky for him, he has the best dad in the whole galaxy." She kissed his fingers. "I love you, Dar. I will always love you. Ni kartay'li gar darasuum, ner riduur." "Etain," Darman said frantically, "Etain, wait—" "Daddy?" Darman shot up, instantly awake. He'd never lost that ability, even though it'd been four years since he'd seen active combat. The smell of Etain's shampoo lingered in the air. "Kad?" He held out his arms to the silhouette in the doorway. It was early; the sun had just barely risen, the gray rainclouds above Kyrimorut bleaching the pink dawn into cold gray. His son dove into his arms eagerly. "You okay, Daddy?" he asked, getting situated. "Of course, ad'ika. Just a sad dream." Darman fluffed his son's dewberry-blond hair, the same as his mother's. "Let's get some breakfast. Daddy's hungry." "Was it a mama dream?" Kad didn't seem eager to leave his arms. Darman sighed. "Yeah. It was a mama dream." "Well, that's okay then." Kad smiled. "That just means she misses you. That's what she says when I have mama dreams. She comes and sees me 'cause she misses me so much." Darman didn't want to cry in front of his son, but it was a damn close call. He forced himself to smile instead and threw off the covers. "Come on. Let's make some waffles." He reached up to close the window he'd left cracked the night before and paused. It was already closed. Notes: MANDO'A TRANSLATIONSriduur: spousener Et'ika: my little Etainshebs: buttner cyar'ika: my sweetheartner jet'ika, ner mesh'lane cyar'ika, gar dinui ner runi mirjahaal. ni kartay'li gar darasuum: my little jedi, my most beautiful sweetheart, you give my soul peace. i hold you in my heart foreverad'ika: child Maybe this is playing w the prompt a little but being a human shield is how Etain died, so *strokes her face* her death made no sense even as it broke my heart. I'm going to fix her. She's going to get a personality when she shows up in DNGG instead of just being written to provide Dar with a sad magic tradwife who thinks about nothing but how horrible the clones have it, destined for the fridge. She may even get a hobby. Perhaps a favorite color.

Summary: The absence of power isn't what makes her human. It's not in her genes, or in the crest she wears on her uniform, or in the political party she votes for.       People always think it's the memories that aren't a part of her. None of them really understand, though, that the memories are the easiest part of being Rogue. Memories are just thoughts attached to images attached to feelings. Marie can absorb those, make them her own. It doesn't matter where they come from—from her own past, from someone else's. Once they're inside her, they're hers. But doesn't it get confusing? Bobby asked her once, squinting at her as if he'd already decided the answer was yes. She'd searched for words to tell him, tell him no, don't you see? Once they're in there, it's not like havin' someone else in my brain. It's all just me. But she could tell from his expression that the meaning would be lost on him. Marie also doesn't bother trying to explain to them that it's her skin that's no longer her own. She can handle the strangers in her head; she can handle the powers that shouldn't be hers. What she can't handle is the stranger that covers every inch of her body, and keeps her at arm's length from herself. * Afterwards, after needles and condemnations and dirty looks, it's like meeting an old friend after years of separation. She keeps the gloves for a few months, still scared of what might happen—what she might do—but after a season has turned and she hasn't hurt anyone, she starts to trust. Maybe she's really at home, again. She sits in the new summer sun, feeling as shy as an eleven year-old just becoming aware of her femininity. It's an appreciation she didn't have growing up, an acute self-consciousness forced upon her by image after image of pain caused by her touch. The names and faces well up behind the specks in her eyes when she glances up at the noon-day crest of light. She sighs with the wind on her skin. No needle can grant her asylum from this, from the layers of guilt that are the basis of the power she had. She's not sure she can excise it, not even one cell at a time. * She didn't do it for Bobby, but she's sure as hell ready to kill him when she catches him with Kitty. They don't even have the decency to pretend they're doing something innocent—he just looks down, unable to meet her eyes, and, really, that's all the answer she needs. She didn't do it for Bobby. But she'd be lying to herself if she tried to pretend that she hadn't thought—hadn't hoped— Well. None of that really mattered now, did it? Marie's used to being on her own. * She's ill at ease with the X-Men. They don't quite know what to do with her, anymore, and she doesn't quite know what to do with them. Logan tries to include her, come up with ways that she can be a part of the team even without her powers, but Ororo waits for no woman, and certainly no "misguided young girl who has alienated half of her classmates." She wants to tell Ororo that being able to wear a tank top and dance until her chest burns at a club doesn't make her any less a member of the team. That losing the last traces of chains around ankles and claws emerging from her knuckles doesn't make her human. The absence of power isn't what makes her human. It's not in her genes, or in the crest she wears on her uniform, or in the political party she votes for. She isn't sure yet what will make her human, or if she even wants to be. * She gravitates to other mutants, a moth to new flames. There are others who don't compare her to what she was, all the things that they think she could have been: she likes meeting someone and not seeing a hint of disappointment flicker in their eyes when she can shake their hand. They don't challenge her right to call herself Rogue. She goes to a support group, meets some others who've been cured. Marie stays quiet, for the most part, but loves to listen, absorb the stories: here, she can do that, and no one has to get hurt. And it's nice not to feel alone. * She meets Carol outside the building on a rainy Wednesday night; between closing her umbrella and juggling her backpack, Marie can hardly see where she's going, and they would have been a fast tangle of limbs on the ground if not for Carol's hand on the small of her back. I'm so sorry, she says breathlessly, straightening up. Carol's smile widens the more Marie tries to apologize, and Marie stops when she realizes that the woman's hand hasn't moved although she's completely steady on her feet now. I'm so sorry about that, she says again, swallowing, her throat dry despite the high humidity in the air. I'm not, Carol tells her, her fingers smoothing over Marie's waist when she does let go. I'm not sorry in the least. * Carol, Marie finds out later, was there for a group of her own. Joe, she explains over coffee. They told us he died in battle. It's another six meetings (at which point Marie is thoroughly tired of talking about her feelings) before she has the courage to say yes when Carol suggests a movie. Dinner takes another three, but by then, it's Marie doing the asking. * Carol's strong—stronger than anyone Marie has ever known. She let nothing stand in her way: not her father, not the instructors who told her women weren't meant to be pilots, and certainly not Ms. Marvel. Each obstacle in her life she overcame with a single-minded determination and refusal to acknowledge that anything less than victory was an option. Marie's glad she'll never have to face Carol on the opposite side of a battlefield. * Some nights, she wakes up in a cold sweat. Her dreams are vivid splashes of color—faces she's not supposed to remember, places she's never been. Her skin crawls, goosepimples rising all along her arms, but there's no cool air coming in. She keeps her window closed at night. She scratches until pale pink turns to red, until she can't feel her heart pound with the knowledge of the last time her skin felt like this, and tosses and turns well into the dawn, swatches of light showing her things she doesn't want to see. * Y'all don't think…don't think it was only temporary? She's braved the beige-and-blue meeting room again, gloves bunched nervously in her hands, knees locked tightly together. It's the question she refused to ask those first few months, sure she already knew the answer. But a room full of heads shake at her, and Mrs. Hertzfeld tells her it's completely normal to still feel ghost sensations. Like phantom limbs, she tells Marie, patting her comfortingly on the hand, give them time and they'll go away. * I don't know what to tell ya, kid. Logan neatly slices the apple in half, eating one-half of the green fruit with a decisive clench of his jaw. If Hank couldn't find anything, why're ya still worryin'? Marie shrugs, her chin resting in her palm. He offers her the other half, and shows no fear when her fingertips brush his knuckles. Then again, he never has. It's why she likes him, and why she'll never completely trust him. * I don't think it's safe, she tells Carol, looking out the window so that she doesn't have to see the effect of her words. She's seen more than her share of disappointment and pain for one lifetime. At least this time it's for the best. But Carol's strength, the same strength she admired, refuses to hear her. Carol's hands are sure, and they know all the places that Marie—that Rogue—can't say no to, those places that she's still getting re-acquainted with, the ones Carol has helped her make home again. Carol tells her that Marie doesn't have the right to make this choice for her, and Marie knows she's right. And she finds she can't say no when her body says yes. Even now, she's the weaker of the two. * She's known all along that Carol has precognition—it's the excuse Carol used to take her on dizzying flights through the city, barely dodging buildings and trees in a mad aerial roller coaster ride. I sense immediate danger and avoid it, Carol said, with her cocky fighter-pilot's smile. I won't let anything happen to you, love. And she didn't. Every flight, they landed unscathed. Marie hadn't seen Carol's pre-cognition as it was happening, but she recognizes it immediately, even before her skin screams out with a thousand pricking needles bursting up from under the surface, even before she collapses against Carol in a helpless throe of joint-wracking pain. Carol looks at her, takes Marie's face in her hands; her eyes tremble, glaze slightly, and she just has time to whisper this my gift before the world goes white and Marie stops being Marie and Rogue is born into a world of searing agony and power. So much power. Carol hadn't lied to her: every flight, Marie lands unscathed. But in their last one, skin to skin, it's only Marie who lands, and Carol who keeps flying, aware of the danger, and shooting straight up into the white-hot glare of the sun. * Rogue knows hospitals. She knows the sound of heart monitors, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum when the uninjured party standing at the bedside can't stand to look anywhere else. She went into County General a young girl unready to face the consequences of actions she hadn't made the choice to commit, unwilling to believe that a kiss could really be responsible. She apologized through glass and didn't make it past the door until he'd been discharged. She enters New York Presbyterian three years older and lifetimes wiser, clothed from head to toe in black. She has made a vow that she will never again set foot outside without this uniform again. She recites the names to Carol, each and every one: they are a line, not a path, but a living and breathing lineage that her skin remembers. Carol's brow feels cool even through the material of the gloves; she doesn't stir when Marie's lips press down on the velvet barrier. She flies, that night, for the first time, crazy with Carol, crazy with grief, but the wind is on her skin, and then she knows, as sure as she knows the hum of power: they're all with her. There are no strangers in the map of her skin, anymore, no doubts about who she is. She is Rogue, and is everyone she has ever touched. She isn't alone. They'll always be with her.

Summary: Ordo feels he might finally be getting used to his new cadet body. And as much as he hates to admit it, he's starting to enjoy how his ori'vode and his buir now dote on him and Mereel. But now that they're returning to Kyrimorut...he's not sure how he feels about the rest of the family seeing him like this. Notes: I do not own Star Wars.     Ordo slowly awoke to the humming sound of a ship. For a moment, he just lay there, feeling oddly content. His head was resting on something warm and he could feel someone stroking his hair. It was a nice feeling and he let out a sigh, having no intention of moving. Then his eyes flew open and he jumped up with a cry. Where was he? Was he on a mission? Was he supposed to be protecting his vode? Why couldn't he remember? And why did he feel so...small? "Udesii ad'ika." Kal'buir's voice had the effect of immediately calming him, despite his...fear? Why was he afraid? Ordo was never afraid, not like this at least. Not when there was no reason to be. When he glanced at Buir, he found himself looking up at him. That bewildered him for a moment before his memories finally clicked into place. Getting captured by the Empire, him and Mereel both. Experimented on. Somehow transferred into ridiculously small cadet bodies. Sold to Zygerrians. Rescued by a vod named Fives who'd been similarly transferred to a younger body, a vod who was also a jetii. And, finally, being returned to Buir. Somehow, he both hated and loved the strange feelings that came with his new body. He and Mereel no longer had the eidetic memory of a Null. That had been a disturbing discovery. And it seemed that his muscle mass was less than it had been when he'd physically been this age the first time around. He also got afraid a lot easier than he would have liked. But at the same time, he found he now craved his buir and vode in a way he never had before. Their voices. Their touch. And, as humiliating as it was, the way they'd scoop him up and hold him close. It made him feel safe. "Ord'ika?" Kal'buir knelt in front of him and gently grabbed his shoulders. "Are you okay?" Ordo nodded, not wanting to hear his ridiculously high-pitched, child's voice at the moment. He leaned against his buir and closed his eyes. A moment later, he was gently lifted up and found he couldn't have complained even if he'd wanted to. He heard footsteps a moment later and glanced up to find Jaing had appeared in the doorway. "We're almost home Kal'buir." He grinned at Ordo. "How're you doing vod'ika?" "M'fine." He didn't think he'd ever get used to that voice. And this body didn't have accelerated aging, so he was going to have to put up with it for several years yet. A delighted shriek filled the air as Prudii pushed past Jaing, a blue-eyed, blond cadet hanging upside down from his arms. "Prudii! Put me down!" Mereel giggled. "No." Prudii grinned. "This is what you get for stealing my uj'alayi." Kal'buir smiled. "You know I would have given you your own." Mereel laughed. "But this was more fun!" At that moment, A'den and Kom'rk appeared from the cockpit followed by four more cadets. Rio, Arrow, Orar and Nuhun were physically a little older than Ordo and Mereel, but were real cadets. They'd been rescued from the slavers as well, and Kal'buir had decided to adopt them. Ordo couldn't say he was surprised. "Just finished landing," Kom'rk said. "You two ready to see the rest of our aliit?" "I am!" Mereel kept trying to twist out of Prudii's arms. "Do you...think they'll like us?" Arrow asked nervously. "They'll love you vod'ika." Kom'rk pulled him into a hug. "They'll love all of you." Ordo swallowed, thinking about the rest of his family on Mandalore. "How much did you tell them?" "Only that we found you," A'den said. "We thought the rest would be...easier to explain in person." "Is that okay?" Kal'buir asked. "Or would you rather us go and explain before you come?" "No!" Mereel had finally extricated himself from Prudii's arms and was now perched on Jaing's shoulders. "I want to see the looks on their faces when they find out!" Buir gently set him down. "Ordo?" Ordo shrugged. "Sure. I'll be fine."   Ordo refused to be carried off the ship in full view of his vode. Mereel, on the other hand, was happy enough to remain on Jaing's shoulders as they walked off the ship. It was nice to be home, despite Ordo's misgivings. But when he saw several other individuals approaching, he froze up. A hand fell on his shoulder. "It's okay Ord'ika." He glanced up to find Buir smiling gently down at him. "They're aliit. This won't change anything." Ordo took a deep breath and continued, taking in which of his aliit were present. All of Omega squad was there. Etain was at Darman's side, Kad asleep in her arms. And Bardan was there as well. "What's with all the cadet's Kal'buir?" Darman's eyes darted over their party. "And where are Mereel and Ordo?" Buir smiled. "Funny story, that." "I thought you said you found them," Corr said, looking worried. "I think they did." Bardan's eyes were fixed on Ordo, an amused quirk to his lips. Stupid jetii  powers! "But..." Etain's eyes were darting from Ordo to Mereel before finally resting on Kal'buir. "How?" "How what?" Darman glanced at his wife. Buir sighed. "First things first." He gestured the real cadets forward. "Everyone, meet Arrow, Orar, Nuhun and Rio Skirata." The cadets shuffled forward, sheepish smiles on their faces. Fi's face broke into a grin. "Su'cuy vod'ike! Welcome to the family!" "That's it?" Orar blinked. "Just like that? You're not surprised?" Jaing laughed. "Kal'buir tends to adopt any clones he can get his hands on." "What about them?" Atin motioned to where Mereel had come to stand beside Ordo. A grin broke across Mereel's face. "Come on vod, it's us!" He gestured to Ordo. "Don't you recognize Ordo's scowl?" Ordo felt his face warm as he watched his family's reactions. Everyone was staring at them with wide eyes, except Bardan and Etain. They just looked like they were trying to figure out a puzzle. Corr was the first to react. "Mereel?" Mereel trotted over to his brother for a hug. "Hey Corr." He pulled away grinning. Corr stared at him for a moment before laughing and lifting him into his arms for another hug. "Mereel, you're adorable!" Ordo shot a glare at the others. "First person who calls me adorable is going to regret it." Fi's face got a look that meant trouble. "Not sure you could really do that much." Then everyone was talking at once, asking questions. Kal'buir patiently explained what had happened, Project Rebirth and troopers getting transferred to cadet bodies. He also told them about the new allies they had on Lothal, including Jedi. Everyone was surprised and impressed when they learned of the Force-sensitive clones. "So..." Darman examined Ordo. "You're...stuck like this now?" "Evidenly." Ordo sighed. "Until we grow up again. Don't even have accelerated aging in these bodies." Not that they'd had it before either. Kal'buir had seen to that. Still, Ordo wouldn't have minded growing up quickly for a bit. He wasn't sure about being a child like this for so long. It sounded like a hassle. "I'm glad." Corr messed with Mereel's hair. He hadn't set the boy down and was hugging him like a stuffed tooka. Not that Mereel seemed to mind in the slightest. "Are you going to be okay?" Ordo was startled by Etain's touch. His senses really weren't what they used to be. "We'll be fine." He hoped he sounded convincing. "We have our aliit. I may not like this, but I'll live." Darman walked over to stand with his wife, his son tucked in his arms. "Well, at least Kad's still younger than you." Kad was awake now, watching Ordo and giggling. He still looked tiny, despite Ordo's new size. He also looked very comfortable in his father's arms. Oh no. Not this again. But Ordo couldn't help himself. He felt his cheeks redden as he walked to Kal'buir, eyes down. Buir glanced down at him in surprise before a delighted grin crossed his face and he scooped Ordo up. Ordo expected taunts from his vode as he leaned his head on Kal'buir's shoulder, but they didn't come. And he couldn't help but smile a little at last. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad after all. Notes: Finally got around to working on some of the Second Life one shots I promised! I have another started that should be ready before too long. Haven't started on the main sequel yet, but I'm hoping to get started on that pretty soon as well. As I've said before, I haven't actually finished the Republic Commando books yet. I know there are several things that aren't accurate to the books, but I like happy endings. So, in this universe, Etain lives and gets to raise her son with Darman and clan Skirata gets to stick together. Don't ask me how that happened though. Also, for this, Besany and Ordo haven't met. I like to think she happens to be younger in this universe and they'll still get married one day, but I doubt I'll ever write about that. Have a great day! Mando'a TranslationsYaim'ol: homecomingVode: brothersUdesii: calm downAd'ika: little oneKal'buir: papa KalBuir: fatherVod: brotherJetii: JediOrd'ika: little OrdoVod'ika: little brotherUj'alayli: uj cakeAliit: clan; familySu'cuy: hiVod'ike: little brothers

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vengeful_ghost

1. Morgan hates the idea of not being able to watch what she wants when she wants to. She tends to bring her Apple TV with her on trips so she can watch whatever show she needs to to fall asleep. She also can't fall asleep without the sound of the TV in the background and if it's a show she has never seen she will stay up and watch it so this is a safe way for her to pick something she knows. 2. Her study book is a big one. Despite being on vacation where she shouldn't be thinking about work, she is. She brings the book with her to constantly be reminding herself and learning about everything. She often gets the latest edition to make sure she's up to date on everything. 3. A digital camera, this one's so old school. Everyone can take pictures on their phone but the digital camera is a full other way to rememebr. She still likes to print pictures off and she just missed having one. She bought it to capture all the moments on the trip.4. A towel for the shower. Most people might bring beach towels or soemthing but Morgan hates hotel towels. She needs something comfortable and therefore when she travels she brings it. Plus she wants to make sure she's able to fully wrap up in the plush fabric. 5. A fake ring. Morgan bring this because when she goes out she can get a little wild and a fake ring is the one way to ensure she won't do anything stupid. She can easily pretend she's in a relationship and it helps keep men flirting with her at a minimum. 

Warm buttery sands that engulf Ella's delicate toes like a mother embracing her child in the morning first light. Far beyond the breakers, where ships vanish from the naked eye and beyond the horizon, where sky and water merge, lies the promise of distant lands. Sailors set sail, chasing the edge of the world seeking answers in the salt-kissed breeze as Ella's nose twitches feeling the bite of the sand like whispering  dreams.In these early morning hours is where Ella could always be found. She believed its where her parents soul's mingled and spoke to her in the churning of the sea of concerto's, sacred notes and  secrets she would find carved upon tiny seashells.A smile painted her plush scarlet lips as she thought of them and imagined their toes gracefully dancing along the whipped edges of the waves as she too danced along the shoreline thankful for the life they have given her and the  love they shared with each other  painting dreams she held to in her days.In her darkest of days and under her step mother's demanding hand it was these memories and mornings that brought the light back into her young fawning eyes. And the lessons her mother always taught her to live your life in grace, kindness and not even the blackest of nights could dim her everlasting light.

Midnight Rain; a Prequel   Bubblegum / @shakeitoff 2007Beverly Hills, CA USA It had been ten long years since Zhan and Jingyi Lee had immigrated to America. It was all as Tomi Shishido had told them. They were relieved to face no stress there. Unfortunately stress came in other places. With their own assets along with Shishido Sama's seemingly unending source of capital, they established their import export business successfully. The government of China moved in to assume control of Hong Kong with the eyes of the world watching. The Lees watched from their new home in Beverly Hills California. All was seemingly right with the world.They waited a year before trying to have a child. Unfortunately, that part of their dream would take a bit longer to accomplish. The roller coaster of emotions had nearly carried them away twice. Jingyi had suffered two miscarriages before being given the joyous news in late 2005 that she had successfully conceived once more. She did everything differently this time. Zhan insisted on more bed rest for his wife. He also took on more responsibilities with their business and direct interaction with Shishido. He wanted nothing upsetting his wife. He was working from home when he heard his wife scream in sheer agony. It was summertime and the sun was high overhead. His heart was pounding and his breath hitched in his throat. All he thought to do was to run to his wife. Beads of perspiration threaten to sting his eyes as they fall from his forehead. He needed to find her.The pain was far more intense than she could imagine. Jingyi grasped her burgeoning abdomen as agony threatened to rip her apart. Two babies had been lost. She couldn't lose the third one. This was their last chance to have that child they both longed to hold. Her right hand clung to the back of a chair in their den. If she let go, it would be a disaster. She had to fight for their baby.Zhan found his wife clinging to the back of his favorite chair in the den. “Jingyi!” He shouted. His voice cracked with fear. He wrapped his arms around her. “你還好嗎？” [Are you alright?] He could tell the answer to that even as the words came out of his mouth.Her knees buckled when her husband wrapped his arms around her. A sudden gush of water came from between her legs saturating the floor. Jingyi couldn't speak. The pain was intense. She cast her pained gaze upon her husband pleading with him to save her and their baby. She spoke no words. Her tears said it all.Zhan lifted his petite wife from her feet. His resolve was carved in stone. He would not lose his wife or his unborn daughter. If he had to face Māra incarnate, he'd do just that. His determination and courage was something his daughter would inherit from him as her life would later take her on a path of discovery that she thought she'd tread alone. The next stop, Cedars Sinai Hospital in Beverly Hills.Cedars Sinai Labor and Delivery  Jingyi Lee was placed on a stretcher and immediately rushed to the Birthing Center. Since she was 37 years old and had already miscarried twice, she was considered a high risk pregnancy. Zhan was running alongside the stretcher, being sure that his wife could see him. He was not about to leave her side.The stretcher finally raced through the doors to do an emergency delivery. Zhan was stopped just before he could enter the room. “What do you think you're doing? I want to be there with my wife!” He started to struggle against the orderly holding him back.“We want you to be in there with her.” He took Zhan aside. “You need to be prepared first. Please let me help you.” The man nodded to the anxious father to be. He'd seen this many times before and was always ready to help these men who wanted to be there for their wives. “It won't take a minute.”The sterile conditions of the birthing center were filled with nurses tending to Jingyi Lee's every need. The brilliant staff was prepared for any given situation that would arise. A fetal monitor was already in place showing that the baby's heartbeat was strong. All of Mrs. Lee's vital signs were stable as well. She was in active labor. That was determined by the female doctor on the scene examining the patients. A pediatrician was also called on standby to examine the baby when she was born. There was only one thing missing. “W-Where is my husband?” Jingyi's voice cracked with the pain she endured.The doors parted and Zhan Lee was in a complete hospital gown, mask, cap and booties on his shoes. He heard his wife speak. “I'm here.” He spoke in cool tones as he replied to her. He did not want to excite his wife in the slightest. All that mattered was keeping her calm. He reached for his wife holding the small appendage in his own hand.The sounds of the fetal monitor started to beep louder. Jingyi gripped her husband's hand tightly as pain shot through her body again. The screams of agony made Zhan's heart pound. “Please! What's going on?” He was filled with desperation as the idea of another baby slipping away gripped his soul.“The baby is in distress. We need to do a c-section now.” The OB replied to the inquiry by the anxious father. The blood pressure cuff on Jingyi's opposite arm started to beep as well. Her heart rate was dropping. “We need to operate NOW.”Zhan felt his wife's hand grow limp. “DO IT!” He begged them. He had not come to America to lose everything. He was here to gain everything. He also wasn't about to move either as the staff began moving in an expedient manner to perform the emergency surgery. He silently pleaded with any god who heard him to save his baby and his wife. He was nothing without them.The speed in which the team worked was astounding. Medical drips were in place for the mother as they started the surgery. She was given oxygen through a mask as extra insurance. The skilled hands of the OB made the low transverse incision to open up the uterus with no difficulty. In a matter of minutes the small creature with a head full of dark hair was lifted from her mother's body. Because of the emergency surgery, the baby was handed to the pediatrician who immediately took her to the incubator. Zhan watched as his new daughter was cleaned off and her mouth and nose were suctioned. The pediatrician scraped her foot in order to get a first cry out of her. The child obliged by screaming loudly. The nurses all applauded. The OB and the other nurses had successfully stitched up Jingyi with no issues whatsoever.The pediatrician swaddled the baby who was making grumbling sounds and had her eyes open. “Congratulations. It's a very healthy little girl.” He handed the baby to Zhan.Zhan held his daughter in his arms. He felt tears of relief and joy race down his cheeks. He lowered the baby close enough for his wife to see their perfect little girl. “She is our happiness. She is our Jubilation.” He kissed his baby's forehead and then his wife's forehead. This was the greatest day of his life.Outside the doors, Tomi Shishido was watching through the windows. He smiled as the baby was born. “Welcome to the world Jubilation Lee.” The prediction of the sages came true. Now all they had to do was wait.TO BE CONCLUDED  "If you disappoint me, I'm going rogue." -- Jubilation Lee credit: james kriet

Imagine...imagine...imagine... Bathed in lightening, bathed in heat...Join us...   Balmy, staccato breaths could be overheard in the dusky room. Sucking in, out, in, out in a gentle rhythm while the pleasant air is heated but not stale. Wanda rolls around on the bed, restless as a person can be heard softly snoring next to her. Shapely arms akimbo and legs pulled up tight to her belly, she dreams, fitfully. A soft nightmare suddenly grips her from the divine realms of Morpheus. It felt visceral, like she could reach out and interfere with anything and it would be the corporeal world. An audible gasp disrupts the soft soundtrack of the private room she’s present in. Inchmeal, Wanda starts promptly to move from the bed. Raising like a zombie with the delicious scent of brains not far off. ‘Eeeeeeeeuuuuyyyaaa,’ the distinctive sound erupts over her delicate rosy lips. Her nodding head lolls from side to side as the plush curtain of scarlet hair slowly swings down against her lap. Like a soft saw is sea-sawing its direct path against the visible tops of her thighs. The sudden movement disrupts that soft cacophony of distinctive sounds. A groggy “Wha…What…what is it,” can be heard in a gruff voice right next to her. The sleepy soul is suddenly switched on as he carefully wipes gritty dust from his bleary eyes. “Wanda…” it is a question filled with much concern. The specific word becomes more urgent and intense as she seems to not move. It is as if she were a mere marionette anticipating its puppeteer. “WANDA.”He fiercely shouts her name as he grips her slim shoulders. Reasonably knowing it is ungood to wake a sleepwalking person but at the same time…he can smell something is amiss. Gently, he envelops her shoulders and carefully rolls to kneel across from her when her head suddenly snaps upward. Once green eyes were now milky and unfocused. There is no mutual recognition, just a swift move of her legs. They rolled upward and to the right, before she straightened them both out and came instantly to standing next to the bed. Although her movements were forced, they were elegant. Turning on her heel, Wanda spun around to face the impenetrable wall across from herself and she took sure, steadfast steps toward it. Acting as if there was a visible door there that she could instantly access but it was all walls. Next, as if she were undertaking the waltz with something unseen, she spun in quick, sure circles. Head and back arched hard so that her abundant hair spun around in soft, slow arcs behind her. The spinning, slowly, got faster and faster until a portal suddenly opened in the wall and she was sucked right in. A fierce yell of her name was all that could be heard as she was, suddenly, swallowed up in an alternate world. In Hell, Mephisto remained the one carefully plucking her strings. Once she was through the portal, it was like it carefully shut behind her as if it were a prison door. The thud resounded through the cavernous hall. Wanda could feel herself scream and then she was isolated. The unique place was dank, boiling, and dreary. Everything around her glittered. An ingenious trick of the visible light like fireflies in the night sky. She became mesmerized. “Make her one of us,” the specific words were murmured gently in the air, but there was no one there to speak. A moment later, the sultry air shimmered, and like a willow wisp, a lithe dancer miraculously appeared. Garmented all in black, beyond black. Akin to a grand portal littered with luminous stars. Wanda ran from it to the other side of the ample room. “SHOW YOURSELF,” she bellowed out, the distinctive sound of her voice echoed, then reverberated, and completely permeated the ample room to brimming before it snapped out of existence. It was extraordinarily intense Wanda promptly had to grasp her head and just cry as her conscious mind felt close to snapping into twine. “...What do you demand?”Her voice was pathetic, frail. “Make her one of us,” the demon whispered fiercely close to her ear from behind. It intentionally made Wanda jump so high off the ground that she promptly fell into a heap on the ground before her. Clutching her head, she cowered. “I do not wish to be one of you!” She wisely said with a hiss. “Make. Her. One. Of. Us.”It fiercely growled the distinct voice accurately represented a hiss, and it prompted her of a snake. “Stop…” she begged softly. “Imagine, imagine… You will see…” it conspiratorially whispered to her as it eagerly seized her left hand very firmly and hauled her off her nimble feet. “No, please…” she sobbed hysterically. “You will see.” Gradually, the blackened form obtained a firm hold of the graceful girl with her proper hand and then swiped her left hand across Wanda's green eyes so that they returned instantly to their milky, pale color. Wanda was instantly transported. Pulling her flush to its front, it tugged Wanda into standing straight, poised. Next, the demon methodically began to swirl and twirl with her about the room. Each proper time they tentatively approached a stopping point, Wanda’s head would snap back hard. A ghastly light would penetrate her eyes, then the room which would shimmer and slowly glitter down. When she revealed her eyes, Wanda was back at her humble home in Sokovia, before the intended bomb. There were her dear mother and father, a boxed set of American comedies in her father’s hand, as they carefully picked a show to play that night. Pietro moves through the room to give everyone a plate of homemade dessert their mother typically made for them. Wanda heard herself gasp at the peaceful scene. It felt too palpable, too optimistic. She whimpered, “no…make it stop.” At that pivotal moment, she was hurled back, pulled viciously from the familiar scene. Feeling keenly the mighty tug and irresistible pull once more into that in-between. “Imagine…” the word was whispered passionately.“I can give you that back if you unite with me. Join us…by all means, join us…us…join us.”A chorus of distinctive voices could be heard, carried on the unfavorable wind that surrounded her like a whirling dervish. It merely felt that way because the sentient being that clung to her; Clutched eagerly and too hard to her ample bosom. Its distinct steps instantly began to speed things up. The continuous rotations were so fast, so intense that Wanda could instantly feel her stomach flip flop with each fluid movement. Dearly wanting to spill the toxic slug that she naturally felt bubbling up there. “Remember…join us…”it whispered tenderly in the air. The unmistakable sound was more sensual, like a devoted lover’s fond caress. Wanda could feel her chest heave as a choking sob broke over her lips. The djinn gripped her left hand and started eagerly to spin her in place, one proper rotation, two, three, four…faster and faster. She could feel her belly turning upside down as she was dipped harshly. The ground rippled like she was pitched into hot tar. As the impregnable walls bounced back, she was suddenly in her home in NJ. Vision comes gaily down the stairs with a set of twin boys hot on his heels and a tiny dog barking joyously behind them. From what she gathered, they were all ready to keenly enjoy the Halloween festivities. Even her beloved brother was there, not the imposter but her Pietro. She was slung into the room and had to skid to an actual stop as she fell straight into Vision’s chest. “Wanda, what are you doing? Cleaning? I thought we were all going to dress up and properly explore town.”He remarked thoughtfully, carefully holding her Sokovian fortune-teller costume.“Join us,” he said, but she did not perceive him, she only just heard the sleazy whispers of a thousand pit vipers. “Yes, Mom! Join us…”Billy said with boundless enthusiasm, Tommy speeding around her with the distinctive costume in hand.“By all means, Mommy, join us,” Wanda screamed and ripped the costume from his deft hands, throwing it to the ground. ”NEVER!” She bellowed. Something captured her by the waist and tugged her back hard. Her body folded in half as she was wrenched through a formidable wall of molasses. “STOP…enough, enough.” she protested earnestly, but Mephisto was not done with her. Time after time she was heaved to her feet, spun, dipped, and thrown into another familiar setting. Another time she lost, another person gone, something dead, something stolen. It sincerely felt like it lasted eons. Even though it was scarcely for a mere hour. At the imminent end of her torture, the demon spun her five more times. Her body spun wildly out of control as it suddenly let her go and she went intentionally crashing, hard, into a rock wall. “I…will…never,” she said in a ragged voice. “Oh? But all these lovely things, I can deliver back to you…My love. You and I…our gifted sons. We can rule over hell. All would be but mere trinkets for you. A splendid present…for you to clasp my hand. Imagine. Imagine, the whole world at your feet. Whatever you ardently desire, I can gi…” “LIES,” she screeched and seamlessly moved to punch him. Though, she wasn’t banking on the fact that her stomach would be so upset. As a viable replacement, as she moved to cuff him, she evacuated her stomach all at his feet. When she was completed, she laughed. It was maniacal; unhinged. “Lies…that is what I expect of them. All I can imagine with you is enslavement. A life in hell. All lies,” she hissed at him and plopped down onto the floor. Arms crossed over her ample chest as she sat there and stared at the floor. “You, you are squandering your time,” her tone was venomous. Suddenly, the beast-man howled out. His commanding voice was deep, hateful, and cutting. “Oh, you will willingly choose. I will detain you here and undertake this with you every hour on the hour. If I cannot compel you, I will break you.”He barked out as he leaned down and grasped her arms very hard. Traumatizing her. All Wanda could do was laugh and laugh; her mind breaking with each breathless second she sat there. “Bring it on then,” she whispered and spat in his face. With that, he wrenched her up to standing and flung her hard across the room. Her body fell onto her right side, and she went skidding across the filthy, uneven floor. The action caused a road burn all along her side. As she came to a stop, she found herself in a tiny metal cage. The top slammed down upon her like an outdoor rabbit trap. Instantly, she was to be caged like an animal. “No one knows you are here, little one. I can perform this on you for an eternity.” His affect was flat but menacing.“Now, lay there and rot for all I mind. You will break. They all do.” with a few brisk steps, he was gone. His body shimmering and then blinking out of existence. Wanda found herself stuck in a dank, tiny, rusty cage. There was no sound left, it was like she was stowed in space. No sounds, hell it felt like no oxygen. She was floating, alone, and far from the world she belonged to. Suddenly, one word began to whisper through the air. “Imagine…imagine…Imagine, imagine.” Both of her hands slammed over her ears and she screamed but there was no sound. Wanda was in a vacuum. Nothing to hold onto, nothing to covet, nothing to love. Just herself and the soul-sucking nothingness that lies all around her now. Cursed and tortured for what felt like an eternity and in that eternity she would stay. All she could do was imagine a life that was merely ash on her tongue and die a little bit more deep inside. Discord; momproblems, an active writer who only takes on small loads of rp.

We all get unmade sometimes. I will find my way back.   Come under my wings, little bird Come under my wings, little bird Come under my wings Unmade, unmade I swear that there's nothing up my sleeves And then back again I swear there's nothing Unmade There's still no faces Won't grow back again Broken pieces Unmade I swear there's nothing Won't grow back again I swear there's nothing Come under my wings Come under my wings Come under my wings Under my wings We're unmade It had been precisely three years, three months, three days, three hours, and 33 minutes since Wanda had last seen him. Straight away, Wanda was no idiot; She knew he was seeking her out but not for the reasons one had hoped there would be. No, she accurately knew he was, nonetheless, an Avenger where she, was directly a criminal. The young Maximoff had been enemy number one. Hell, it had been for a damn sound reason, anyway. Wanda had gone off the deep end there for a while once Agatha had intentionally introduced her to her enduring legacy. The book. A seal of her ultimate fate; her key reason for breathing, for being, for killing. The Darkhold. Wanda, now, naturally knew that if she had never been presented with that timebomb then there would typically remain a precise time in her life that the book would expose itself to her. Dig itself into her skin like an irritating burr and never permit her to be let go. It was fate for the woman; A cruel cosmic joke. She was part and parcel of a world of darkness and always meant to belong to it and Cthon. A generational curse that would be unbearable to break. She reasonably knew there was no going back here. Wanda would perpetually be a wanted criminal; As she should be. However, there were consistent thoughts back to that idyllic time with him and how truly loved and accepted she had truly felt. Sure, his specific job was to accurately track her down right now but at the same time; Had he not endured his own tragic fate? A familiar path of death, moral corruption, and pain. It mirrored her own. So, affectionately knowing this was a vast undertaking. She would suck it up and obtain this massive chance. Wanda assuredly had to try. The woman was dirty, dressed like a hobo, skinny, and emotionally and physically bruised. Times had been lawless ever since Strange helped sufficiently convince her it would be best for the world and herself to intentionally destroy the book. Take down Wundergore castle and possibly Cthon with it. Afterward, the bewildered woman had lost herself. So linked to the book and that unique place that when she destroyed the ponderous tome, she unmade herself as well. It took her quite a prolonged time to obtain her ability to remember back but when she did? Err, well the biggest, most vivid memory slammed into her and instantly began to flood her senses. Eagerly consuming her in the best possible way. Thoughts of those lovely nights. That delightful time with a beautiful man. One that had been her faithful friend in every sense of the word. So, it was normal to come back here, was it not? She understood correctly he had been married, but she was okay with that because Wanda empirically knew he would be loved. Those pleasant memories would undoubtedly have to wait, though. Right now, she dearly needed her friend to get ahead of all of this. Wanda had no more fight left to give and was naturally losing the will to faithfully keep putting one foot in front of another to face another day. Her hopes? To find him and give herself up with the desire that he could work carefully some kind of magic to at least get her more preferential treatment. Some kind of good-faith deal. Coming up to the humble cabin, she could feel her breath seizing in her chest. The place hadn’t changed. It still felt warm, a beloved place. The appetizing smell of cooked food clung to the air around her and it was nice to see the place without snow on the ground. But could Wanda face him? Could she resolutely face all the hard truths that were going to come up once she knocked on that warm, wooden door? Only one way to find out. Gently forcing one foot in front of the other, the petite woman moved haltingly to said door and tenderly lifted her hand to knock. And as if they were on the same page or even supposing he could read her mind... The hospitable door was suddenly flung open in front of her. A small, gentle hand that was stained with so much proverbial blood stood poised in the air as a surprised "Oh" formed upon her chapped lips. Green eyes went a bit too wide. Revealing very red, bloodshot whites. No doubt from the prime hours of sobbing hysterically all the while screaming as she belted out profanity after profanity. Getting her poignant grief and pain out of the way before she typically saw him. Once her ultimate decision and path had been clear to her. A weak, tiny voice clawed its meaningful way up from her sore throat. She uttered one operative word that carefully held all of her hopes, ultimate dreams, needs, desires, and happiness in it. "Clint." Discord; momproblems, an active writer who only takes on small loads of rp.

MY LIMITS:• Rape• Abuse• Incest• Underage• Race play ———————PLEASE DONT ASK ME TO PLOT ANDSEND A STARTER. YOU SEND A STARTERIF YOU'RE THE ONE ASKING. I'LL ONLY SENDA STARTER FIRST IF I ASKED YOU TO PLOT. —————————————————————-Note that I get bored very easily so please when plotting with me keep it to one sentences to miniparagraphs. Anything longer and I WONT read it. I am 21 & over so I expect you to be or else no plot. —————————————————————-I will reply within 1-3 days. PleaseDO NOT rush me or double msg me. I will get to you when I can. I also do plots likemafia, fantasy, movie, tv, supernatural, horror etc.I will pretty much plot anything except the things listed above.-- Kendall 

Basics:Name: Helena Eros Thantos.Name Meaning: Hellena (Shining light), Eros (Love, Desire), Thantos (Death).Born: 1st Century B.C.E. (Greece; Age Unknown/2000+).Turned: 1st Century B.C. (Through The Immortality Spell).Species: Cynanthrophe (Weredog Shifter).Title: Mother of Weredogs, First Cynanthrope, Immortal Dog Shifter, ​​​​Queen of all Dogs.Dog Breed:  Grey Husky Dog Biography​​​​​:Hellena Eros Thantos is known as the Mother of Weredogs, First Cynanthrope, Immortal Dog Shifter, Queen of all Dogs. She was born in the 1st Century B.C.E. (Greece; Age Unknown/2000+). She was turned in the 1st Century B.C. (Through The Immortality Spell). A spell casted by her own mother, and enacted by her father. Her mother cursed her to be a Weredog, to shift on a full moon and to never know peace. Her Father, killed her with a sword and left her to awaken shackled down and naked in front of the entire village.  Her parents abused her physically and mentally, forcing her to comply with their orders. She has no clue why her parents hate her so much and even asking would get her beaten  and tortured. She assumes it has to do with her, but  doesn't know why or what she did to make them hate her so much. Her parents never wanted children and wanted to kill her. But in the end,they decided to make her live forever, unable to die and they thought it would be a good punishment for her existence.A few months after her change, she attacked her mother in dog form and killed her. She broke free of her chains once her mother was torn apart by her.  Once free she attacked her village only running away when her father attacked her with a pure silver knife in the left leg. She ran for her life and limping and bleeding. It was then she met a witch who helped her out. The witch helped her to heal. Once healed she continued on her way around the world. Running from her father, who seemed to immortal as well, because by the 21st century came around, he was still hunting her. She made her way to Mystic Falls, Virginia and has been living there ever since, working at the Mystic Grill and keeping a low profile, only telling a select few about her supernatural abilities. 

GUILT By: Veda Starbloom Featuring: Slade Carver, Save my Soul @1716764OOC: Writer has not wrote a drabble (or anything, really) In a very long time. I feel super rusty!She pictures guilt as a thick matte black the kind her boyfriend used to wear on his nails and for eyeliner. Guilt like storm clouds, angry and rolling. It happens whenever she hears the sound of a festival. Here in this small town there was no carnivals going by. But the festivals—the smell of deep fried foods and seeing small children run like crazy made the guilt well up. This town had a small German festival that she never went to. When it was October, Veda would hide in her Tarot Shop. So today there is a “Closed” sign on the door as the young woman sat down at her round table where she normally performs tarot readings. She has a tumbler of vodka in orange juice with ice. Her favorite kind of music, older country blares out from a radio. She sighs, tries to tense all of her achy muscles. This stupid fair..if she closes her soft brown eyes she can see the fire again. She can hear the people yelling, screaming. A muscle near her jaw tenses and is visible under her smooth skin. Outside, young children run about from their parents. She can hear the yells of children. And it throws her into a loop of fear. She can see the Ferris wheel, smell fried corn dogs which used to be her favorite snack. Now she gets sick when she sees or smells them. Veda raises and goes to her mini altar and lights a heavy sweet sandalwood incense stick. Soon it blocks out the greasy food from outside, but she can hear the cheerful fair music. “F***!” She exclaims and her hand goes out, a flame of fire popping out of it. Feeling the sudden heat makes her eyes open and her jaw go slack. She closes her fist around the fire flame and it dies inside. She has a picture of her parents on her altar. Her mother was dark haired like she was, wearing a gypsy style dress and her father was blonde, according to her adoptive mother. This picture is black and white, nearly sepia from age. “Why.” Veda whispers, touching their faces. “Why couldn't I have been born earlier and I could have saved you both? Then the carnival would still be alive, and I wouldn't feel such guilt.” Her eyes sparkled with tears and she went back to her table to pick up her drink. She sipped it and the vodka went down her body, soothing each tense muscle. When her phone pinged she picked it up. An unexpected text from an old friend appeared. It was from Slade.I know today is a tough day for you...need to talk? Feel free to call.The gesture of friendship was unexpected, but welcomed. Veda looked troubled, though not wanting anyone else to have to suffer the amount of guilt she felt when this day, the day the carnival was burnt down by a fearful twelve year old girl with powers beyond her ability to experience it. But at the last moment she grabbed her phone up and hit the name. Another moment and she heard a familiar voice. And soon she felt released from her pain.

REGULATIONS FOR ROLE PLAY AND BANTER. Please read, and comment! Thank you! First and foremost, I am an adult. I am over the age of twenty one--I'm 41. I am old and too tired for bull sh it. Why am I here? I love to write, love to edit and basically want to have some fun with some long time old online friends. I am not here for petty drama, she said-he said-she said or stupid cliques. Please delete me if you are prone to this kind of attitude. I work at a high end restaurant and my hours are always the same. I work Friday to Tuesday, 11-5 on the weekdays and 11-7 on weekends.Which means my days off are Wensday and Thursdays unless I get called in and need/want to work. Those days are the best time for me to write, really. On Friday and Saturday nights my time here varies. If I am feeling up to it I will be on. If not, I may just be chilling on Discord or editing, writing, etc. PATIENCE IS APPRECIATED AND REQUIRED. However, if we have a thread going on and it's taken me a while to get back to you--you are allowed to inquire on it. POLIETLY. If I'm not feeling the thread I will talk to you privately and perhaps we can instead do stream banter. Sometimes it happens. Just don't ghost me. I have ghosted before, and it's not fun. I'm trying to correct myself, and learn from my past mistakes. If you ask me for an edit, please USE IT. Do not hoard edits I have made for you. I am a very generous person and I love to give out gifts. Randomly I'll make edits for friends. Also in that same vein do not constantly ask me for an edit. I might be busy with other things at the time or do not feel inspired by your playby of choice to do so. Constant asking for edits (or other resources) will get you removed from the page. Discord is Friend based only atm. I'm very paranoid-ish about adding people who may be out to hurt me. I am no angel--I've done stupid, immature things in the past I wish I could take back. But we can't. We can just learn from them and move forward. If anyone on here has major beef with me, then that's your problem because I just don't care anymore. You stay in your lane, and I'll stay in mine OK? Ok :) Writing style--I am a multi para plus writer. I love to be expressive in my writing and detailed as well. I've been told through my writing I can take a reader with me, and they can see it through my eyes. That was one of the best compliments I've ever gotten on my writing. And it came from a dear friend so I know they were telling me the truth. I do not and never will do one liners or paras. They are too short for me, too simple and not challenging enough. The only exception with one liners are for stream banter. My time to write was stated above. It is done on my days off, and only on my days off when I have time to fully focus. If I am on during a workday after work it will be to relax and have fun. Love interest. I am not looking for one currently. I have someone in mind if they wish to write a part for me. Thanks. However--if there is chemistry beteween our characters and only if--you'll have to give me time. I've been abandoned, hurt and all that other stuff. It's hard for me to trust. Just all I ask is give me time. But at the moment I do not need one or want one. I write mature things. Meaning s e x, drugs, alcohol, sometimes even mentions of physical and emotional abuse from a partner. Do not worry if that's not your cup of tea, I will always add trigger warnings. I won't go overboard like some people on here tend to do, just make sure you know what the content inside holds. Face claims. I was going to use two faces, but I think I am sticking to only Emmy Rossum for the time being. That said, I don't mind adding those who have my same face as long as you're respectful to me. You don't steal and alter my pictures, copy my storyline or be "overly inspired" by it. Yes, I've had a stalker once before so I've been all through that. I do not add and write with child face claim writers. One, it makes me uncomfortable and two, it's kind of odd--to me. So please understand and respect that decision of mine. If my character ends up having a child they will be more than likely NPC. As in myself and my love interest are the only ones allowed to use them unless a friend involves the child into the story as an Auntie or Uncle. So please don't ask if you can be my daughter or son unless I know you very well and trust you. COMMENTS are for writing only. I will never, ever write in messages. For me, messages are for discussions or OOC information that is needed such as "I'll be out of town for a few days" or "I have family over" etc. I probably won't join your group or writing forum either, sorry. I don't have that much time for that sort. But thanks for thinking of inviting me ahead of time. Crossovers are adored! I love crossovers, and especially of TV shows, movies and books. If you're creative like me and want to plot then by all means let's discuss! See where we can go. After all role player and writing are fueled by imagination right? I am in character 99 percent of the time unless stated by an out of character post, which for me is either // those slashes or OOC before the post. PLEASE do not comment as your character in the // or OOC post. It is very confusing. With that said, on Discord I am not beyond discussing things out of character, either. We can get to know one another! But you must feel comfortable with that as well. I will never push or force you to be OOC if you don't feel up to it.I also write on Discord. It's one of my favorite things to do. It's easier sometimes than the site, and when I'm on it's where I'm hanging out. If you do as well, let's write! Just ask first in case I'm busy or not feeling it. I hope I don't come off as too bitchy. I am really not--I promise. I just wantpeople to fully understand this. Alright, I'm out. If you've read all of this give me your favorite color and a song lyric.