RolePlayer.me

Before we get started, please be advised that I flat out refuse to write an Ascended version of Astarion that will dominate your character or make them his slave. If I agree to write as this version of him, we will have to suss out the details of our muses' relationship and set boundaries before proceeding. 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've had too many bad experiences on Discord with people not respecting my boundaries and I've hit a limit with it and will not be using it.My presence here isn't transactional and I don't owe anyone anything aside from my very best when it comes to writing. That's it. 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.Paisley-S-6-4-24Cameron-S-6-5-24Lindy-S-5-23-24Avery-S-5-19-24Bohyun-S-6-10-24Libby-S-5-22-24Lukas-S-5-28-24Teagan-S-5-17-24YOU OWE ME.Willow-S-5-19-24Niklaus-R-6-10-24UPDATED AS OF 6-10-24

 “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.

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.

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