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Chicago Museum: 8:00The entire city was to attend this Gala, as there was to be a grand opening of a new exhibit. The dive into the spirits of the Amazon, and that had intrigued Lara enough to where she would be in attendance as well. Her limousine had taken the shortest path through the city, and just as Lara had finished applying her ruby lipstick the vehicle had come to a stop in front of the broad building. The Countess of Abingdon was attired in a sparkling black gown with the bottom half cut to give the woman plenty of movement while wearing it, her hair had been tied in a long rope-like braid that coiled into the seat beside her. Slowly the door opened to ventilate the evening air through the car, and she stepped out onto the red carpet. The heels of her formal string shoes thumped upon the carpet, and giving her that extra three inches which made her 5'11 once she stood still long enough to be flashed by the cameras, recognizing Lara Croft as one of the wealthy doners of this museum. Many of the African relics in the East wing had been donated by her upon her many digs, but tonight was more about winding down, and getting to know some of the more powerful figures in the city.Her swiveling hips carried her to the front of the slanted stairs, as her long athletic legs mounted each step, one after the other, and then she was close enough to where banners as long as fifty feet ebony drapes that displayed "Mysteries of the amazon." Lara did fancy herself a good story, so this would be an adventure of itself. Lara was allowed to step in due to the curtesy of one of the guests that walked before her, and she stepped in through the circular door. The cool evening air soon replaced with the central heating of the building, and Lara's foot placements had seemed to echo despite it being so loud with all of the mingling, and cross talk. "Miss Croft..I am so glad that you could make it." The museum curator was a short older woman who Lara had befriended on their first meeting, her fingers slowly fit inside of her own, and she kissed the woman's cheeks softly. "Of course, Miss Green. I wouldn't miss this Gala for the world.." Lara said, as she smiled down at her, and walked with her a moment. "Now your recent addition was one that drew great importance for tonight's tour, and within the hour. We will be cutting the red tape, or rather the Mayor will. I would be honored if you would be one of the first to take part in tonights exhibit." What a request, one that had caught Lara off-guard a bit. "Well, well..that is quite an honor. I..of course, I will." The kind curator kissed Lara's knuckle and then patted her weathered hands on top of her appendage. "Thank you, my dear. Thank you.. please, enjoy yourself until then."Lara smiled warmly, as her heart filled with immense joy at being reunited with her friend again. It had been too long since she had been to this part of the world, and she was taking some time off from her world-traveling to help fund and promote some of the local attractions; Lara approached the refreshment table to scoop up one of the smoked salmon crackers and lifted it to her lips for a large bite. Croft chewed happily and then turned her focus on some of the other guests in attendance. Right away she noticed that quite a few wealthy families had also joined the Gala, knowing that they were all here to promote the museum in some way. The history of the world was just as important as the present times, and Lara wanted to make sure that this museum had gotten the exposure that it rightfully deserved. Lara was approached by a waiter holding a large tray filled with glasses of champagne, and she reached out to collect one of the glasses. "Enjoy your evening miss.." He said in passing, and Lara tilted the glass back a bit to taste of the bubbly liquid. Mm.. The tingling bringing out excitement within the woman, and the heels of her shoes clacked across the floor. She wasn't just here for the showing, however, as she did hear that there had been a series of murders that took place in Lake Michigan not too long ago, each of the sailors killed in a ritualistic fashion. She hadn't expected the Aztecs to be known for ripping the heads off of people, and what's worse was that she also found out that there was no such weapon nor man of such power to do the kind of damage seen upon the bodies that were found in the morgue.Part 2 in the works..

This is a highly triggering page Preston is a dark character and he's someone who is closeted with his sexuality. Please don't force a ship for him . This is a multi verse and multi ship page. I will add more rules as needed .

Originally, I had planned to write this rules either on the same day or the next day when I created this profile. But life had kept me busy. Anyway, I would probably come back on this rules blog to add more rules when they will come up and edit this part out. Without further ado, here are my rules.1) Normally, I would not mind people send me friend requests. However, I do not want anyone to send me suggestive themed messages or pics on the first message or comment. It is more of a "first impression" type of thing and I don't want to think that anyone who send me that in the first message/comment to be all about sm*t. I appreciate those who do that to be at least civil. Just because I have mature story bit on my profile, it doesn't mean I want to jump right into it. I want build up and connections first.2) Regarding rping length, like para, multiple para, etc, I have no problem with. As long as I need time to come up with the replies. However, Novella are something I can't do, because of real life. My apologies to those who do Novella rps. Also, one liners are a bit tricky. I will get bored easily because of the lack of details. While it is okay for some one-off rp, in the long term, I want more then one liners. I know that I said that I am busy in rl, but one line rps are not something I want to invest in a long term.3) Romance, something I felt I need to talk about. My Spidey, at the time I am writing this rule, is single. I don't know how to feel about multi love interest. I did see a few rpers who do that. But I don't know if I want that or not. But I do want to settle down with one love interest. Till that happens, I will play it by ear. Oh, I am not limited to MJ. No offense, but finding a MJ is not what I am looking for. I am not a PeterxMJ fan. Not a hater of MJ, just not a fan of those two together. 4) This rules will establish that I don't mind waiting for people who have reasons for being gone, and I do understand rl. But I also do routine friends list clean up. Meaning that I will check on my friends list every month or two months clean out my list. I will keep in mind of those who have reasons who are gone for a bit, like medical or emergency family emergency, as I am not unreasonable. But those who straight up left their profile with not warning or anything, I will remove them.

Cole SprouseSelena GomezLili Reinhart Camila MendesKJ ApaMädchen Amick. template credit.

NAME: JasperMIDDLE: ChrimsonLAST: RosewoodAGE: 19 yrDOB: July 7thSIGN: CancerBIRTHSTONE: RubyBREED: Fox ShifterSEXUALITY: GayPROFESSION: Model/SocialiteEYE COLOR: BrownHAIR COLOR: RedHEIGHT: 5'9"BODY SHAPE:  Slender, Slight masculinity, TonedSKIN TONE: Lite SkinSHOE SIZE: 10.5 HOBBY(S): Exploring, Rock climbing, Reading, Drawing, Collecting Moonstones. 

AUDITION FORM:What character caught your eye and why?:OCs, what do you feel your character will bring to the group?:Have you been, or are you currently part of another rpg? If you are, that's completely fine, as long as you understand that you'll be making us an equal priority.:Audition pieces MUST be at least 3 paragraphs as the character that you are auditioning for. You can write as much as you want, but just remember we love QUALITY over QUANTITY, so a long sample does not guarantee your acceptance. Send in a message with tittle Audition form, and we will try our best to get back to you ASAP. . template credit.

I'm a 37 year old female writer (happily married, mind you so don't get any silly ideas!) with over two decades of experience under my belt. I won't say I'm the best of the best, but my passion is there. At the end of the day I'm here to write. Making friends is nice, but I'm very shy and anxious, and it's easy to lose interest in my stories if I'm dealing with heavy anxiety. So please, let's not overcomplicate things. I need direction when it comes to stories. Discussion is a must before starting anything big. I ADORE banter! It's very fun and a great way for our muses to feel each other out as well as to test the waters of compatibility with other writers. I'm not fully sure I will be using Discord anymore and have deleted the one that I've been using for Astarion. I've had too many bad experiences there with people not respecting my boundaries and I've hit a limit with it. If I ever do decide to make a new one I won't be joining any servers, neither will I be making any. Any and all writing will happen here on site. My presence isn't transactional and I don't owe anyone anything aside from my very best when it comes to writing. That's it. Please don't push or pester me. I deserve a safe space here as much as everyone else. There are no time limits or writing limits with me. Give me what you've got and I will return the same amount of effort. If you have beef with other writers, that's between you and them. I mind my own business for my own sanity's sake and do not want to be involved. Thank you for reading! I just want to RP- not to be stressed out! So let's have a nice, NORMAL time, ok? 

Well, I'm back.  And I'm not 100% sure why.  I'm not sure who is going to find this as I'm not making friend requests or anything but honestly this blog is meant to be about me anyway.  I am just journaling my life.  I figured this was the best place to put it.I made it out of mania.  I'm on the meds now like a good girl.  I wonder how much more I would say if I felt I could be completely open and vulnerable.  We'll see what happens when I get my kids back someday.OK SO LET'S TALK ABOUT MY LIFEThings with the boyfriend are strained... He spent a week at his stbx wife's house trying to help her transition through their breakup.  He probably would have spent another one if I was not like, "Uhm, hello, this cannot be healthy for either one of you actually" while also reminding him that I am a biased source for information and not to actually listen to me.Let's talk about my guilt with that for a second.... It's his son's mother!  Adopted mother, and he the adopted father, but that i think makes it even worse.  Am I being a homewrecker?  They were separated for a couple years before I ever got involved and he says that he was over her before we got together but suddenly 2 months into our relationship she wants to get back with him?  And I'm around now?  And I told him "You can take a few months and try to make things work with her and I'll be cool with that but I also won't be just waiting around for you" and he was like "nah".... it was more than "nah" ok but that's the jist of it.  Should I have encouraged him more to stay with her?  UGH it's so frustrating when the Universe is like "babes, this one's on you"Also, I have a girlfriend.  Ya'll would love her.  She's swimming in fanfiction creation.  She won't even share her Tumbler page with me.  Which i find a little funny given these circumstances.  I tried to tell her about this site but it fell on deaf ears.  Sometimes she's wrapped into her own ideas and that's cool i guess.I love her to pieces, as a good friend and as a human being but I don't think I can say I'm "in love" with her, and I feel like the "I love you"s took a turn there and i don't really know how to correct them.I also have a bunch of friends, some of which who have come back into the fold and some of which are new but have been around for years now and some of which who are newer and ever so kind.  It's hard to trust the latter though.  It's almost like you have to test a friendship before you know it's real in my head.  Like, I don't believe you're gonna have my back when I'm manic but then again nobody did.  But then again I didn't have many friends to start with when I fell off the deep end.Mac MIller still lifts my spirits.  Still intimidated as hell by Ari.  Found a new solace in Spotify though, and the new artists I have found to really enjoy (Shout out Hozier)IDRK what to say anymore so I'm gonna stop saying things.  WIll update when there's another moment I feel I should

I OWE YOU.Ethan-S-5-22-24YOU OWE ME.UPDATED AS OF 5-25-24

 “Beneath the Waves”  (Verse 1) In the heart of the ocean’s embrace, Where sunlight fades and shadows trace, A secret realm of fire and might, Volcanoes slumber through day and night. (Pre-Chorus) Their fiery breath, a whispered song, Hidden from our eyes, where currents throng, Beneath the waves, they dream and sigh, A symphony of ancient lullabies. (Chorus) Oh, beneath the waves, where magma flows, A molten dance, where mystery grows, Volcanoes sleep, their fiery core, In ocean depths, forevermore. (Verse 2) Their rocky beds, a cradle deep, Where tides weave tales, and secrets keep, The Earth’s heartbeat pulses below, A fiery rhythm, a primal glow. (Pre-Chorus) And when they wake, oh, what a sight, Eruptions paint the blackest night, Lava kisses the water’s skin, A tempest born from deep within. (Chorus) Oh, beneath the waves, where magma flows, A molten dance, where mystery grows, Volcanoes sleep, their fiery core, In ocean depths, forevermore. (Bridge) Legends tell of ancient wrath, Gods and goddesses in their path, Yet even now, as tides ebb and sway, Volcanoes slumber, waiting for their day. (Verse 3) Beneath the waves, where currents entwine, Volcanoes dream, their fiery hearts align, In molten chambers, a rhythmic beat, Earth’s pulse echoing in the deep’s retreat. (Outro) So let us honor their silent might, These guardians of the hidden night, For beneath the waves, they weave their tale, Volcanoes dream, and the oceans sail. 

----General Information----Name: Choi SanAlias: Night WolfExperiment Number: NW-00187Age: 24 years oldGender: MaleSpecies: Wolf ShifterBirthplace: UnknownCurrent living: Seoul, South KoreaNationality: KoreanSexuality: GayOccupation: Underground Street Fighter----Other Information----Personality: Generally if he knows who you are he is nice and sweet, but if it is someone new he has his guard up, makes a more curious or unsure approach to things, not wanting to let anyone close in fear that they could possibly be from the agency that is trying to take him back to the lab. Background: San was born in a place god knows where, right in the facility that created him, unaware of who his mother or father was just the heavy amounts of scientists that helped him grow up. He remembers when he reached about 10 years old that when things began to become painful for his life. He remembers being strapped down to chairs, having needles poked into his arms, right into his veins, he remembered the pain of what they injected him with and the numerous experiments that they performed on him. After the experiments were done he was immediately thrown into combat training, survival, things to do with computers, anything that would help him get by in the world. Every day it was the same drill get beat up, fail a program, go hungry and bleeding for several days until he got much better at it. At the age of 18 the heavy doses of experimentation finally hit him, the first time he felt his body on fire, the first time he felt his skin rip apart and he turned into something different. A pure black wolf, he could hear the scientists applauding, so happy that they had created a man made shifter with their own hands. San was horrified but it was now his life, a human that was able to shift into an animal or at least have the tail and ears in certain situations. Once San had mastered everything he needed, climbing to the top of the ranks, mastered being able to do things even in his wolf form he was assigned to an organization of 7 other men all in black. In this organization to turned into a hitman of sorts, the rich or anyone with the money would pay to have a person or a group of people eliminated and San would do it no questions asked just so he would be able to return to the building and relax. At the age of 22 that was when he realized what he was doing was wrong, that was when his human instincts kicked in and told him he needed to run. A job that involved a family that had to be eliminated just because someone was bored made San realize he wasn't this kind of person anymore, he couldn't be this kind of person. Unable to speak about that mission he simply ran in the middle of it, ditching everything he had to escape into the darkest parts of Korea looking for a new life. Now at 24 he lives in the undergrounds of Seoul, in an abandoned building while doing Street Fighting for money, being one of the best there so he could easily earn thousands. He constantly hides himself to make sure that the agency doesn't find him again, keeping himself in the shadows the best he can.

IOU:Lily (s) 5/24YOM:Sawyer (s) 5/24   Updated:5/25

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.