RolePlayer.me

Father's day was always a bit hard for Isabella, she had lost her father when she was ten years old. She tried to make a trip to New York around that year, she was going to stay in Seattle although she had sent money to her mother to buy flowers for her father's grave site. She had much work going on with the boutique that she couldn't leave for the day. She felt bad but one thing that helped her was being able to write a letter, she wrote letters almost every year to her father, she never sent them, she kept them. This year, wouldn't be any different. Sitting down at her desk, she started to write the letter: Dear dad,Where can I begin? Its been so long since you left us, I always wonder if you would be proud of me and if you would be proud of  Aaron, your son, my brother. You would probably be upset at him for what he has been to. You probably wouldn't be happy that I left New York but perhaps you would of understand why I left. I left because mostly everything there reminded me of heartaches and sad times, great times because of you but sad because you are not here anymore. I am thankful to have had a father like you. You were strong, sweet, loving, caring and truly amazing. I know that you are above us and watching us, I feel you near me all the time. I hope I am making you proud  papà, I miss you so much. Mom is doing great and she never remarried, she always did say that you were her one true love, I hope to one day find the kind of love you two had. I miss you every day dad, I miss you so much, they say that time makes the pain easier but I feel that it is still there, it hurts badly. Thank you for being the best father and even though you left too soon, I know you are guiding me through your spirit. Happy Father's Day, papà! Ti Amo Molto! Mi Manchi Molto! Your daugher,Isa After writing the letter, she started to feel the tears coming down her cheeks. Her dog Mason started to get closer to her and snuggled up with her. "I'm sorry baby it just that it hurts still" she said softly, wiping the tears off her face and cudddling with her dog. 

  THE MANY FACES OF EASTON.outfit 1. Easy doesn't really have a work uniform when he goes to work because it's his shop and he wears whatever is comfortable. Being that he works at a surf shop that sells swimwear and all swim toys and things, mostly surfboards he likes to wear something that is welcoming to the customers eyes. Bright colors and his charming perfect smile seems to make his customers happy and he aims to please.outfit 2. Easton is always in the water. When he's not with family or friends or at work, he's in the water and he has the endless supply of swim shorts, all kinds, every single color. He even has rash guards of every color but only ever wears that when he's surfing and even then he hardly ever wears it because he likes getting dark and feeling the sun on his skin and showing off his tattoos.outfit 3. Easy likes to look good always, especially for a nice event. He likes to use his famous cologne he's known for bringing all the ladies in with his scent and his charm. He's proud of his sleeve tattoo, so anything to show it off he will. As you can see in the third photo he also just wants to look aesthetically pleasing to post on the gram. Image is everything to him.There is no trend, if anything Easton likes to start trends, and when he does it makes him happy.  

body { background: url('https://media.istockphoto.com/id/1472581627/vector/sequined-golden-texture-with-palliettes-scales.jpg?s=612x612&w=0&k=20&c=oUbEMU0ivlZ9Az_UaYP-wxfOU0Pd4WYIoAPjwKLMN7I='); repeat; }    { MUSIC P L A Y E R } .music { bottom:10px; right:-32px; width:32px; height:30px; position:fixed!important; -webkit-transition: all .3s linear; -moz-transition: all .3s linear; -o-transition: all .3s linear;} .music:hover { right:10px; } .ghost { width:32px; height:30px; overflow:hidden; } .player { margin-left:-10px; margin-top:-11px; }   ♫

THIS POST IS DEALING WITH HER ED. IF THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU, DO NOT GO FORWARD IN READING. LOVE YOU, BE SAFE.             Hadley Remington stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyes hollow and skin stretched taut over her cheekbones. The scale flashed an accusatory number, a testament to her relentless pursuit of the perfect racing physique. In the cutthroat world of Formula One, every ounce mattered, and Hadley was determined to shed any weight that could slow her down on the track. She had always been a high achiever, driven by an insatiable hunger for success. But somewhere along the way, that hunger had morphed into something darker, more destructive. The pressure to maintain her elite status, both on the track and in high society, had consumed her. Hadley's days were filled with grueling training sessions and meager meals, her nights haunted by the gnawing emptiness in her stomach. Her parents had noticed the changes, the way her once-vibrant energy had dimmed, replaced by a brittle intensity. They tried to intervene, to coax her into seeking help, but Hadley brushed off their concerns with a practiced smile and a flippant remark about the sacrifices required for greatness. In the solitude of her private moments, Hadley grappled with the toll her disorder was taking on her body and mind. The constant fatigue, the dizziness that threatened to overtake her during long races, the way her once-sharp focus had become clouded by thoughts of food and weight. She knew, deep down, that she was spiraling out of control, but the siren song of perfection drowned out the whispers of reason. On the track, Hadley pushed herself to the brink, her skill behind the wheel fueled by a desperate need to prove her worth. Every victory, every podium finish, was a fleeting balm for the wounds her disorder had inflicted. But the high never lasted long, and soon she was back in the cycle of restriction and self-loathing. As she stood there, staring at her reflection, Hadley knew the path she was on was a dangerous one. The cracks in her façade were beginning to show, but the price of perfection still seemed worth paying. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for another day of pushing her body and mind to their limits. The race for success, for validation, for control, continued on, even as it threatened to consume her entirely.

***Loyal friends are like the glue that holds our lives together. They provide support, laughter, and a listening ear when we need it most. These connections are invaluable and should be treasured. Here is a list of those who have proven their loyalty to me:***[insert names here].***

***  I created this thread tracker to stay organized with all the stories I'm involved in with others. It's like my own personal story map, helping me keep track of characters, plots, and timelines. It's a handy tool for staying on top of my creative collaborations.¦¦¦¦​​​​​​¬ Klaus Mikaelson @The Original Bastard Hybrid - RP - ​​​​​​¬ Peter Parker @Spiderman - RP - ¬ Josh Valentine @ Josh Valentine [MCRP] - RP -  ***

In a world where vampires lurked in the shadows, young Abraham Lincoln embarked on a journey unlike any other. Armed with a silver weapon and a thirst for vengeance, he sought to rid his land of the undead. His closest companion in this dark quest was none other than Henry Sturges, a vampire who had been his oldest friend since their young adulthood.One crisp autumn evening, as they trekked through the dense forest in pursuit of a nest of vampires, Abraham stumbled over a fallen branch and landed face-first in a patch of mud. Henry, with his timeless elegance, smirked at the sight of his friend now sporting a mud mask."Having a bit of trouble there, Abe?" Henry teased, his eyes dancing with amusement.Abraham scowled good-naturedly, wiping mud from his face. "Just testing the effectiveness of a new disguise method," he retorted, his voice laced with dry humor.Henry chuckled, the sound echoing through the dark trees. "I must say, you make an excellent swamp monster," he remarked, lifting an eyebrow in mock admiration.As Abraham tried to rise, his foot slipped on a root, sending him tumbling back into the mud. With a resigned sigh, he lay sprawled on the ground, staring up at the twinkling stars above. Henry extended a hand to help him up, a genuine smile tugging at his lips."You know, Abe, if this vampire-hunting business doesn't work out, you could always consider a career in comedy," Henry quipped, his gaze warm with affection.Abraham accepted the offered hand with a chuckle, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "And what about you, Henry? Any hidden talents besides hunting vampires and mocking your friends?" he retorted, his eyes dancing with mirth.With a dramatic flourish, Henry bowed low. "Ah, but my dear friend, my greatest talent lies in enduring your company with grace and charm," he replied, a twinkle in his eye. Lincoln brushed off Henry's words and shoved his shoulder."You be so lucky to endure me" Lincoln drawled onward with a whine as he and Henry walked off into the shadows of the darkness of the woods to hunt the vampires down and offering merely laughter in their friendship. Despite Henry being a vampire and Abraham a human, they seemed to be kindred souls with the goal of saving innocent lives.

The year was 1834, and young Abraham Lincoln found himself standing amidst the bustling crowd of New Orleans. He had been traveling up the Mississippi River for weeks now, his trusty axe strapped to his back, a small sack of possessions slung over his shoulder. He was here to make his fortune, to start a new life for himself, far away from the dreary farms of his youth. The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices, and the sound of laughter and the clanging of coins filled the air.Abraham turned a corner, and there it was: the slave auction. He'd heard tales of such places, of the brutal trade in human flesh that took place within their walls. He couldn't help but feel a mixture of revulsion and fascination as he surveyed the scene before him. Row after row of human beings were lined up, men, women, and children alike, their skin a rainbow of colors. Some were chained together, their bodies marked with the cruelty of their masters. Others stood proudly, shoulders back, refusing to let their captors see the fear that surely gripped their hearts.As he made his way through the crowd, Abraham couldn't help but overhear a conversation between two men who were watching the auction with equal parts horror and fascination. One of the men was his friend Larry Renfield, a fellow traveler and someone with whom he often discussed politics and philosophy. Larry was arguing with another man, insisting that the spread of slavery must be stopped at all costs. "It is a stain upon our nation's conscience," he declared, his voice rising above the din of the crowd. "A blight upon our collective humanity."Abraham stepped forward, unable to remain silent any longer. "Larry, you're a good man," he began, "but I don't see how ending slavery will solve anything. The problem goes deeper than that. It's the nature of men themselves." He gestured toward the auction block. "These people are not property. They are not cattle. They are human beings, just like you and me. Until we acknowledge that fact, until we treat them with the dignity and respect they deserve, we will never truly be free."The other men scoffed, "But they're not like us! They're savages! They don't deserve the same rights!" Abraham shook his head sadly. "That is where you are wrong. It is our duty, as Americans, to fight for the rights of the oppressed, regardless of their skin color or their place of birth. It is our duty to stand up against tyranny and injustice, for if we do not, who will?"The auctioneer stepped forward, a gavel in his hand. He rapped it sharply against a podium, drawing the attention of the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a fine specimen of a slave here today. Strong and healthy, he'll make a fine addition to any plantation. Who'll start the bidding?" Abraham felt a shiver run down his spine as the auctioneer spoke, his voice cold and calculating."Five hundred dollars," a man in the front row called out. Another man raised his hand, nodding in agreement. "Six hundred," he bid. The crowd murmured, their voices a cacophony of whispers and shouts. Abraham couldn't take his eyes off the slave as he was paraded back and forth, his body on display like some prized possession.Larry glanced at Abraham, his expression grim. "I can't believe this is really happening," he said softly. "How can people be so cruel?" Abraham shook his head, unable to form the words that needed to be said. He wanted to do something, to stop the auction and free the slaves, but what could one man do against such a vast and entrenched system of oppression?The auctioneer continued to call out bids, the price of the slave's freedom rising higher with each passing moment. Abraham felt a growing sense of helplessness as he watched the man being sold off like a piece of property. He glanced around the crowd, searching for anyone who might share their disgust and determination to put an end to this injustice. But all he saw were faces hardened by the brutality they had witnessed, the horrors they had endured.As the auction drew to a close, the slave's eyes met Abraham's, and for a brief moment, they shared a look of despair that cut straight to his soul. The slave's family was being torn apart before their eyes, their loved ones being sold off to strangers, their fates unknown. It was a scene that Abraham would never forget, a stark reminder of the cruelty that human beings were capable of inflicting upon one another.

The darkness was suffocating, but the silence was worse. It held no whispers of battlefields, no murmurs of speeches, no comforting creak of the rocking chair. It was just a vast, emptiness that pressed in on Abraham Lincoln, his tired body strangely light.Then, a faint glow. It grew, shimmering like moonlight on a snow-covered field, and a figure emerged. Tall, majestic, his face etched with wisdom and time. George Washington stood before him, a familiar but somehow different aura surrounding him."Mr. President," Washington spoke, his voice resonating with a gentle power, "We have been waiting."Lincoln blinked, the world around him coming into focus. He wasn't in his bedchamber. He wasn't anywhere. This place felt...at peace."Waiting?" Lincoln echoed, confused. "For what, General?"Washington smiled a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "For you, Mr. President. Your journey here has been long and arduous, filled with trials and tribulations. But you have fought for a cause greater than yourself, for a nation you believed in, for the very soul of liberty."Lincoln felt a pang in his chest, a memory of the war, the pain, the division. He looked again at Washington, the man he had so admired from childhood, the man he had always strived to emulate."But...my work is not finished," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "The nation is still divided, the wounds are still fresh. I must return."Washington laid a hand on Lincoln's shoulder, his touch surprisingly warm. "Your work is done, Mr. President. You have left a legacy, a path for others to follow. The journey ahead will be yours no longer. You are free."Lincoln looked around, trying to grasp the reality of his situation. This place radiated a peace he had never known, a calmness that washed away the tension and burdens of his life."But what of the future? What of the challenges to come?" he asked, his voice thick with worry."Those will be faced by others,"Washington replied, his eyes twinkling with a knowing light. "But they will face them with the strength you have given them, with the ideals you have instilled in their hearts. Your work will live on."Lincoln closed his eyes, feeling a weariness he hadn't known before. He had finally found the rest he had so desperately desired."General," he whispered, 'I...I am at peace now.'Washington smiled, his gaze reflecting the soft glow surrounding them. "Welcome home, Mr. President."And as Lincoln stepped forward, the world around them dissolved into a blinding light. He felt a sense of liberation, of finally being free from the shackles of his mortal life. He was no longer a president, no longer a man of war, no longer burdened by the weight of a divided nation. He was simply Abraham Lincoln, finally at peace, finally home.

 Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States, walked amongst the fallen soldiers. His tall frame stooped, his hands clasped behind his back, his black suit now stained with mud and grime. He did not wear a hat, for it had been blown away long ago, and he found it rather fitting, somehow, that he should be exposed to the elements just as his beloved country was.His eyes roamed over the battlefield, searching for any signs of life amidst the carnage. He was drawn to a particular figure lying motionless on the ground, a young soldier whose uniform still bore the crispness of a fresh enlistment. Lincoln knelt beside the soldier, his hand gently brushing aside a lock of hair from the boy's forehead. The soldier's skin was pale, his breath shallow. Lincoln could see the deep wound in his chest, could feel the warmth of his blood soaking into his own clothes."Son," he murmured softly, "what's your name?"The soldier coughed weakly, his eyes fluttering open. "L-Lieutenant Jack...son, sir." He tried to summon the strength to salute, but his arm fell lifelessly back to the ground.Abraham Lincoln's heart ached as he looked into the young man's eyes. "I'm not your commanding officer, Lieutenant Jackson. My name is Abraham Lincoln. I'm the President of the United States."The soldier seemed to struggle for breath, his eyes widening in recognition. "The... the President... sir... it's an honor..." His voice trailed off, his strength failing him.Abraham Lincoln reached out, gently taking the young man's hand in his own. "The honor is mine, Lieutenant Jackson. To stand beside brave soldiers like yourself, to see the courage and selflessness you display in the face of such adversity... it fills me with pride, and reminds me of why we fight."The soldier's eyes, already dimming, grew brighter at the President's words. A faint smile curved his lips. "Sir... I... I'm sorry. I tried my best..." His voice trailed off, his breath growing shallower.Abraham Lincoln squeezed the young man's hand, feeling the coldness seeping into his own flesh. "Lieutenant Jackson, you don't need to apologize. You've done more than your duty. You've given your life for a cause greater than yourself. And for that, I thank you. I promise you, your sacrifice will not be forgotten."The sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the battlefield into darkness. The air grew chill, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves on the trees, carrying with it the cries of the wounded and the distant boom of artillery. Abraham Lincoln remained kneeling beside Lieutenant Jackson, the young man's hand still clasped in his own. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, inhaling the smell of gunpowder and blood that hung heavy in the air."You're a good man, Lieutenant Jackson," he whispered softly. "A good man, and a brave soldier. I can only hope that those you left behind will find some solace in knowing that you died fighting for what is right. For what is just."The President leaned back, resting on his heels, and gazed up at the starlit sky. The constellations twinkled coldly, seemingly unmoved by the turmoil below. "Sometimes, I wonder if it's all worth it," he mused aloud. "All the bloodshed, all the pain... does it really make a difference in the end?"Lieutenant Jackson's grip on his hand tightened slightly, and Lincoln glanced down at the young man, hoping that his words had not caused him undue distress. "Forgive me, Lieutenant," he said gently. "I didn't mean to doubt your sacrifice. It's just that sometimes, the weight of it all can be overwhelming. But I do believe that what we fight for, what we die for, it matters. It changes the course of history. It shapes the future for generations to come."The President paused, drawing a deep breath as he studied the stars above. "We fight for a world where all men are created equal, where every person has the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We fight for a world where our children can grow up free from the shackles of oppression, free to chase their dreams and live their lives to the fullest. And I believe, with all my heart, that the sacrifices we make today will not be in vain. They will not be forgotten."Abraham Lincoln leaned forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lieutenant Jackson's forehead. "You were a good man, Lieutenant. You served your country with honor and distinction. And for that, you will always have a place in my heart, and in the hearts of your fellow countrymen."The President's voice cracked as he spoke, and he blinked back tears. "I wish there was more I could do. I wish I could bring back the thousands of lives that have been lost on this field. I wish I could undo the pain and suffering that war brings. But I can't. All I can do is offer my condolences, and promise that we will never forget what you and the others have given."Abraham Lincoln stood slowly, his joints protesting from the long hours spent kneeling in the dirt. He reached down and gently closed Lieutenant Jackson's eyes, brushing a tear from his cheek. "Rest easy, my friend," he whispered. "Your sacrifice will not be in vain."

The air was thick with tension as Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd Lincoln sat across from each other in their cozy parlor. The flickering light of the fireplace cast dancing shadows across the walls, painting the somber scene in warm hues. A heavy silence hung between them, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the floorboards and the hiss of the fire. It was the sort of silence that could be cut with a knife, and both Lincoln's were acutely aware of its presence.Their son, Robert, had recently come to them with news that would surely rip their family apart. He wished to join the Union Army and fight in the ongoing Civil War. A war that their father, Abraham Lincoln, was leading as the President of the United States. It was a conflict that had already claimed so many lives, and now their own son wanted to throw himself into the fray."Abraham," Mary's voice broke the silence, her words laced with a combination of fear and desperation, "surely you can't let him do this." She looked to her husband, pleading with him to see reason. But Abraham's expression was unreadable. He seemed to be wrestling with his own thoughts, his own conscience.Robert's choice was a cruel irony. As the President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln was charged with preserving the Union at all costs. Yet here he was, faced with the possibility of losing his own son in the process. It was a conflict that tore at his very soul."Mary," Abraham finally said, his voice low and measured, "I understand your concerns. But Robert is a grown man, and he has made his decision." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Besides, what father could possibly deny their son the chance to fight for what they believe in?" His eyes met hers, searching for some sign of understanding or agreement. But Mary only looked away, her features set in a stubborn scowl.The fire crackled and spat, casting dancing shadows across the room as Abraham leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "I don't envy you, my dear," he said softly, "having to live with the choice that Robert has made. But know this: I will never stand in his way. If he wishes to fight for our country, then he will have my blessing, and my respect."Mary looked up at her husband, a mixture of gratitude and disappointment in her eyes. "I only wish that we didn't have to lose him in the process," she said, her voice catching in her throat. "He is all we have left."Abraham reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "We will get through this, Mary," he said with quiet conviction. "Together, we will see our country through these dark times. And if it means that Robert must fight for that future, then so be it." There was a newfound determination in his voice, a resolve that seemed to strengthen them both.Outside, the wind picked up, howling through the trees and rustling the curtains of their parlor window. It was as if nature itself was echoing their turmoil. The fire crackled and spat, casting dancing shadows across the room, painting the scene in warm hues. Despite the tension that still hung thick in the air, there was an unspoken understanding between them. They would support their son, no matter what path he chose.As they sat there in silence, lost in their own thoughts, Robert's words echoed in their minds. They knew that he was a changed man, hardened by the world and the horrors of war. They also knew that he was still their son, their little boy who had once chased butterflies in the meadow and dreamt of becoming a great explorer. They ached for the loss of that innocence, but they also understood that it was a sacrifice they would have to make for the greater good.The night wore on, and eventually Abraham and Mary retired to their chambers. They lay side by side in their bed, their bodies entwined in a silent embrace. Though they tried to sleep, their minds were filled with images of Robert marching off to battle, of the horrors he might face on the battlefield. Despite their fears, they found solace in each other's presence, taking strength from the bond that had sustained them through so many trials and tribulations.As the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Mary stirred, rolling over to face her husband. "Abraham," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the patter of rain against the window, "do you ever wonder if we're doing the right thing?"Abraham sighed, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. "Sometimes, Mary," he admitted. "But I believe that Robert is a good man, and that he knows what he is fighting for. And as his parents, it is our duty to support him, even when it hurts." He reached over, taking her hand in his once more. "We must trust that God has a plan for all of us, and that Robert's role in it is an important one."Together, they faced the new day, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead, but strengthened by the unbreakable bond of love and family that bound them together. They would endure the pain, and they would survive. For they were the Lincolns, and they were made of stronger stuff

Two Roads   Machiavellian / @windingxpath Tokyo was always beautiful this time of year. The grounds of Tokyo Jujutsu High were full of flowering buds and innocent animals with the desperate curiosity to know what these children were learning. Granted Suguru Getou wasn't exactly a child but he wasn't a fully recognized sorcerer as of yet. He stood by himself next to the bright yellow petals of the kiku that he gently caressed with his extended digits. Most outside of Japan associate cherry blossoms with their country. The whole thing amused Getou to a rather large degree. Getou was a young man of considerable height. He was dressed neatly in his school uniform with a fresh crispness about it. The lengthy sable strands of his hair spilled down his shoulders and along his spine. He was one of two leading sorcerers at the school at this time. There was a team of four at the time but everyone knew that it was between him and his best friend Satoru Gojo. Getou and his collection of cursed spirits were far superior to the general sorcerer. Even the other two that were often in his and Gojo's company couldn't hope to be on their level any time soon. Yet Getou fell short.Gojo often wore sunglasses to hide his eyes and with good reason. His eyes were the color of heaven itself. It was the Six Eyes that came along ever so often in his sorcerer clan. This meant that this arrogant little prick was the most powerful sorcerer in a generation. Getou could never hope to be on his level but he was damn close. If not for Gojo he would have been the absolute best. Instead he had to play second string to Satoru Gojo. Where was the equity in that? The answer was simple. There was none. Oh there was nothing wrong with playing second to Gojo. Getou and Gojo got along famously. They were even best friends. Although considering how well the two knew each other, Getou and Gojo were like brothers. They were inseparable. It was actually why he was waiting here for his brother. The obnoxious little warthog with the most beautiful eyes in all of Japan was late. Getou was going to have to save his ass again. A stitch of stress passed behind Getou's left eye letting it give a slight twitch. Gojo was going to have to learn to stand on his own soon. Getou's path was turning in a different direction. He could already see it just beyond the proverbial next bend. It was still soon enough that maybe he didn't have to walk it alone.Getou brought the brilliant yellow petals closer to his nose so he could inhale the scent. He had been hidden away from nearly everyone as the most stygian thoughts began to overtake his mind. Sorcerers were dying for a world that did not know they existed. Not only were the youth or the sorcerers in training dying, established sorcerers were wiped out on a daily basis. The ignorant monkeys who were not sorcerers had no clue of the world of cursed energy and curses in general. They were unseen and out of mind. Yet the duty of the Jujutsu Sorcerer was to protect them with their life if necessary. The majority of Sorcerers were in Japan. A handful existed beyond their country. It was Getou's decision that he would find them all no matter how long it took. The minutes he spent waiting for Gojo were beginning to stretch to hours. The tension and anxiety of this decision was beginning to exact a toll on him. He pulled the kiku blossom and left the petals torn to bits on the ground before him. Gojo was everything to him. It was becoming painfully obvious he was going to have to walk away from his brother. The continued heightened thoughts that had taken root in Getou's mind were fervently in place. His decision had been made. Their paths were about to diverge.All Getou could do now was mourn the glory that could have been with them both side by side. He was going to have a new family now and Gojo would not be a part of it. Getou ceased his waiting and turned in the direction of a path away from the school and away from Gojo. The wind began to whip around as Suguru Getou left the campus as a student. The once beautiful cloudy sky had parted and the rain began to fall.  I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.  "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." credit: james kriet

Michael was the loyal soldier of a gang leader. His skills and strength were second to none, and his name was more well known than his boss. He followed orders without question and did not have any ambitions of his own. That is until he met a woman that gave him a reason to be selfish. And from that came a child. However, he soon learned the consequences of his unwavering devotion. Once it was found out that he had married in secret, his wife was killed. It was seen as an act of betrayal that this man sought after anything other than his boss' wishes. Michael was forced to face reality. One thing that was well known was to never come between a man and his family. The world was going to have to learn that lesson the hard way. He burned it all down as the hate consumed him. 5 years later:The most precious thing in his life is his daughter. After having avenged his wife, those who once followed the man he killed now followed him. This life kept him away from home often, but he needed to keep little Chloe safe. That was when she was hired to take care of and live with his daughter. It was not an easy position to get considering the extensive background checks. However, the very generous salary as well as the lavish living accommodations made it a dream position, especially for a college aged girl.  Since Michael could not always be there for his daughter, he spoiled her beyond belief. They lived at the top of the city in the most gorgeous penthouse. Anything she wanted she got. However, it did not make up for her absent father. Fortunately, Chloe took a liking to her new nanny, seeing a sort of mother in her. This of course made Michael grateful to her as well for all that she has done, but that was where his feelings ended. But her attraction towards him had only grown. After all, what she saw was an older man that was handsome, caring, and an utter mystery. However, she has heard a bit of the rumors surrounding this man and who he truly was, but those rumors hardly described the half of it. Could anything truly develop between them? Even if it somehow did, would her little crush remain after learning the truth about this dangerous man?He had been out of town for almost a week now, but he was finally coming back home. The man always had a professional, sharp appearance. His sleek clothes fit his frame well and conveyed his authority. When he did return, it was late into the night. Shutting the door behind him, Michael let out a low breath- the relief of being back where he belonged. Following the faint sounds, he moved deeper into the living room. It was a rainy night, and the large floor to ceiling windows offered the most gorgeous view of the city under the cover of darkness. Yet, that is not what had caught his attention. The television was running: there was occasional spur of bright color along with faint mumbles of background noise. Turning it off, the room darkened with only the moonlight able to offer some illumination. Stepping behind the couch, he looked down to what was before him, and it made a soft smile come over the hardened man. She and his daughter were snuggled up together on the couch. Chloe was leaned into her side like the little bean she was and sleeping peacefully in her embrace. They must have had quite the night together to be passed out like this with each other. Chloe's coloring books spread out on the coffee table. Taking the blanket, Michael pulled it over the both of them to keep them comfortable. His rough hand rubbing against her cheek as he did so, which is when he noticed her eyes open. His deep blue hues looking down to her, "Hey..." That deep voice had been forged through all sorts of trauma, yet it sounded so tempting. His daughter still resting against her side. "Thank you" he whispers to her softly. How could it be possible for those rumors to describe the man before her? They must be false right?

  I lay on the floor, shivering. I told Minny to go home but she wouldn't. She came in, gasped at the horrific scene before her—her boss on the floor a blubberin' cryin' mess with blood all over her. I look up at her dark eyes, pleading with her. I reach out a hand, slap it on the porcelain white commode. A stain the size of my hand is left behind as I collapse onto the floor.“Why is there so much...blood?” I wheeze out as Minny seems to draw in a deep breath. I hear her suck in a breath as though blood is a touchy subject. I'm from Sugar Ditch, Missippi and I've seen way worse. Why I've seen my Mama lay her hands on a man who had his ear sliced off due to a gamblin' debt and then he could hear out of that hole. She's stopped a baby from crying with the colic, she's helped a woman keep her wayward husband at home. But once Mama died, the magic she held seemed to as well.She tries to teach me. I can remember at seven in our sweltering trailer watchin' her pour somethin' into her black cauldron. It was outside, in the bonfire. She used herbs and her pretty crystals I used to hold up to the light-- and candle wax. And other thins I don't care to recall. I can smell Mama's perfume oil, handmade. Before marryin' my husband I never had no store bought clothes. No makeup that wasn't natural. My husband he treats me to all of it and it's still all a treat to me. Such as Co-Cola in the bottle, or on ice with a lemon wedge! I feel like a fancy lady drinkin' that. I seem to go in and out of it. Minny is pleading with me to get up, tellin' me it's nearly four and Mr. Jonny—my husband—will be home soon. I'm dreamin' of this baby's blue eyes like Johnny and his dark blonde hair. I can see fat cheeks, plump little hands.Why...Don't....They...Stay with me? *** When I wake up Minny is still there though it's gotta be late. “Mr. Johnny he at the lodge.” Says Minny. Concern folds her dark eyes, her hair in that bun, bent over studying me. “I hid in the storage room downstairs when he found you up here, sleepin'. So he left you a note.” She hands it to me. I read his precise, perfect scholar penmanship. Cee, Some of the guys wanted me to play darts. Won't be no later than about nine, darlin'My love, Johnny. The kindness in the note makes me wanna cry. I hold it to me to put in a scrapbook of things for a future daughter if there ever is one, but with three plots of flowers outside I'm starting to doubt things. Minny sighs. “Don't you be gettin' soft now, Miss Celia.” She orders. “I'm on to teach you to cook and clean not lay around in bed and feel sorry for you self!”I roll over. “You have kids, Minny. Everyone in Jackson has a child, but me.” I say mournfully. “Miss Skeeter don't.” Minny says of Charlotte Phelan's daughter. I wrinkle my nose. “That's cause she's weird.” I say. “Now look.” I sat up softly. “Can you get me a cold Co-Cola with ice and lemon? I'll get up, I promise.”Minny studies me as if she's on to say somethin' but then changes her mind. “Yes, Ma'am.” I watch her form walk down. For a few moments I sit quietly feeling very empty inside of myself. My childhood is inky at best. I seem to recall half a dozen memories, and wonder if any of them are true. My teen years are what I remember most. An angry mother, teenage angst, those things. Wishin' to be anywhere but here...“Minny.” I say when she returns with two glasses of ice. We share the bottle cause now she no she no better than me. “We should start workin' on the fried chicken.”“But Miss Celia--”“We should. I want to make it myself by the end a the week!” I insist sharply. She saw there was no room for argument. “Yes, Ma'am. Soon as you get up.”We both sip our sodas in silence. A thick, dark silence I was used to that kept all kinds of secrets.  

  What on earth made her think that was going to work out?He deserved that knee to the nuts. He deserved it. Amy kept repeating over and over in her head. The clacking of her pumps on cobblestones was background noise to her. This moment in her life was like something out of a movie. She was walking in the cold London rain, hugging her chest and her head hanging forward. The End Last pub was shrinking into the distance behind her. It was where she first met Blake and where they would have the fight that ended in their split. Instead of punching Amy, Blake’s fist went through the pub’s jukebox.I’m sorry, Amy. This was all a mistake. She didn’t want to believe a word of it. No wonder Amy didn’t feel much guilt sleeping with an A&R man behind her boyfriend’s back. She already knew about Becky and never liked her too much. 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘰.Later that night, she would be naked under her sheets, turning over onto her back with a big old smirk after sleeping with a close friend of Blake’s. Her former boyfriend was unavoidable, and they occasionally ran into each other at Camden Town pubs they frequented. But her drinking had taken a toll on her. Unable to walk to the pub herself, she downed a pint bottle of Jack Daniels and passed out on the couch of her flat in Jeffrey’s Place.That morning, Amy did not respond to a loud pounding on her door, which she foolishly left unlocked all night. Her ginger-haired manager, Nick Shymansky, found his way in, calling her name, but it just reverbed. “Oh God, Ame,” He gasped, kneeling at the front of the couch. Amy felt lethargic, grasping her head. Nick brought the trash can to the living room so she could empty her stomach. Gathering her long locks of hair behind her head, Nick held it back, waiting for her to finish. Her head dropped back onto the cushion.“Nicky… what is it…?” She inquired, her voice more hoarse than usual. “Amy… you don’t answer my calls. When you do, you sound like someone else. What’s happened? Talk to me. Please.” Taking her hands, the towering man helped her upright and parked beside her. “It’s… it’s Blake,” Amy sighed, leaning forward. Sluggishly, she swiped away a hanging streak of saliva from her mouth. Her eyeliner was smudged around her eyes and trailed down her cheeks from all of the crying the night before, “He dumped me. I just… goddamn, man. I drink about as much as you do! Get off my 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠.” “Amy, you do realise this isn’t normal? Island said they need another album from you within the next year, or they will drop you! Three years is a bloody long time to wait; you have had plenty to come up with something and get in the studio again. Instead, you’re crying about blokes like… him.”“Don’t…” Amy said firmly, glaring up at Nick through her touseled locks. Lying back down on her side in a fetal position, she wasn’t interested in talking to him any further. In a couple of minutes, she fell back asleep. Quickly getting up, Nick swiped the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped Amy in it. Grabbing her keys and heading out to his car, he loaded her into the backseat. After forty minutes of being out of consciousness, Amy returned and slowly sat up, looking to see where they were in the middle of nowhere. Nick’s blue orbs pierced hers through the central rearview mirror. Pulling over the highway's edge, he got out and fetched Amy.“W…What the 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 are you doing??!” Maybe she had watched too many films, but this was the type of thing someone about to commit murder would do. She and Nick were too close; he wouldn’t do that. But her mind under the influence convinced her otherwise. Thrashing around, Amy barely caught her balance on the way out, leaning against the car. Angrily, she kicked the side. “What the 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 is this?? Nicky?? What’re you doing?!” Crossing his arms, her manager shook his head.“I took you here so you can think this over. You need to get a grip on the situation you’ve got yourself in, Ame,” Nick started, his voice gradually picking up in volume, “Most days, you’re too pissed to function! Over Blake?! He’s a dopey fella, and you don’t need to be around someone like that!! Amy, I care too much about you to let this slide. I…” Sighing, Nick pocketed his hands and slowly began to turn away from her. Business and friendship never go together. And they allowed things to go too far past a platonic relationship previously.Letting her forehead fall on the hull of the car, Amy began to sob uncontrollably. Unsure whether to approach her and risk her wrath, Nick took small steps toward her. Precariously, he placed his large hands on her shoulders. “Ame… please. There’s a rehab out here you can go to, and-”Shooting upward, Amy slammed her fists onto the hard steel and kicked it a few times. The rubber of her Reebok sneaker squeaked against the metal hull, her toes stung, but she barely reacted. Hopping a few steps back, Nick recoiled. Getting on Amy's bad side was something he knew to avoid, but he was pushed to the brink. “𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆!! No!! I don’t NEED rehab!! I won’t go to rehab! NO! NO! NO! No bloody rehab!! Do you hear me?! I don’t have seventeen weeks!! Everyone will think I'm on the mend!! I don't need that kind of reputation!! If my Daddy thinks I’m fine, then I’m fine!! Understand?!”Starting to chuckle, Nick stroked his chin. “Hey, Ame. Write that down. All of what you just said. It sounds like it could be a good hit song. I’m serious.” The moment Amy stared at him seemed like an hour. Weakly, she curled a smile, scratching at her Monroe piercing.“Oh… I love you, Nicky. You 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 cunt.” Greetings. You are on Contemp Jams FM, your local pop music station, and I'm your host, Tom Harley.Today, British singer Amy Winehouse released a single in the United States for the first time. She has already won European music awards, from Ivor Novello to the Mercury Prize and BRITs. This is her first exposure to an American audience. She already has one album out called Frank. Unfortunately, it has not yet been distributed outside of Europe.This song from her second record, Back To Black, is called 'Rehab'. I have heard the track myself already, and I have to say it is amazing. I, personally, think it will be fire. Amy has to be one of, if not the best vocalist I have heard in years. Decades, even. And I believe this young girl is just twenty-two years old. I don't even know if I said that number correctly. Anyway, you will have to hear it for yourself. So, again, this is 'REHAB' by British soul singer Amy Winehouse. Enjoy."𝓡𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫"𝓞𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓭,"𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓣𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓸 𝓜𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓜𝓮 𝓖𝓸 𝓣𝓸 𝓡𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫"---𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸𝓨𝓮𝓼 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓘 𝓪𝓲𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝓘'𝓶 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸𝓘'𝓭 𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓡𝓪𝔂𝓘 𝓪𝓲𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼'𝓒𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓶𝓮𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓷 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓜𝓻. 𝓗𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓘 𝓭𝓲𝓭𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓲𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓪 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓽 𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸𝓨𝓮𝓼 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓘 𝓪𝓲𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝓘'𝓶 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓷 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭 '𝔀𝓱𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮?'𝓘 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭, '𝓘 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓷𝓸 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪.'"𝓘'𝓶 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪, 𝓘'𝓶 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂""𝓢𝓸 𝓘 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓪 𝓫𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝓪𝓻"𝓗𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭, "𝓘 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭""𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓮, 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓱 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽"𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸𝓨𝓮𝓼 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓘 𝓪𝓲𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝓘'𝓶 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸𝓘 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓘 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽, 𝓸𝓱 𝓘 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓪 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓞𝓸𝓱, 𝓘'𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓼𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓘'𝓶 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 '𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓭𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸, 𝓷𝓸𝓨𝓮𝓼 𝓘'𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀,, 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓘 𝓪𝓲𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝓘'𝓶 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓰𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓫 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸, 𝓰𝓸