»  Blog Home
  »  Browse All Blogs
  »  Blog Layouts

Manage Blog
  »  Add New Post
  »  View My Blog
  »  Customize Blog
  »  My Subscriptions
  »  My Subscribers

  »  Browse All Blogs
  »  Uncategorized
  »  Blogging
  »  Guidelines
  »  Photography
  »  Real Life
  »  Resources
  »  Stories

Browse All Blogs
Dantanian❀'s His Vampy Ethena

11/22/2020 03:58 PM 

We Are Team Astaroth
Current mood:  naughty

Ethena and I decided to keep things as they have been. Even if some mystical Ethen like the real once comes to exisit. Since the real one never wanted anything to do with us. We don't want anything to do with his side of the family. Just how it has always been for us. I truly wish I knew if the 2012 Astaroth was out there and if Brit was out there. We all hope they come back if they do. I don't know am not this witch person. That knows how beautifully blend the truth and lies into one. Since Kim's other account is in The Boys verse now. She is going to bring back some Mystery account if I spelt it correctly. She said it's like a Jennifer Check but custom made and she can eat smutters on it after sex. But we all do hope Ethen gives you the closure you need. Sorry, we never met you in the outcast world he use to send others too. Trust me there are far better men out there besides ether of them. And we will make a Devils Ranch were both sides will be welcome to join no matter what world you come from.  where we will gather for our Pagan traditions. But will all remain off each others list as it was prior. Peace and Godspeed to you all. Hope whatever is you are truly after you find. Cause once we find Jason and Brit our lives are complete. 


11/22/2020 01:51 PM 

[cs] - the recruit

the recruit There was a set of clean clothes on the floor: white socks and boxers, pressed orange T-shirt, green military-style trousers with zipped pockets, and a pair of boots. Slowly, I picked up the boots and inspected them: rubbery smell and shiny new black soles. They were new. The military-style clothes easily looked as if this was where kids ended up if they kept getting into trouble. I put on the underwear and studied the logo embroidered on the T-shirt. It was a crosshair with a set of initials: CHERUB. Attempting to spin the initials in my head, I couldn’t make sense of them. Out in the corridor, other students wore the same boots and trousers, but their T-shirts were either black or grey, all with the CHERUB logo on them. A young, male approached me. β€œI don’t know what to do”, I said. β€œCan’t talk to orange”, the boy said without stopping. β€œCan you tell me where to go?” I asked another. β€œCan’t talk to orange,” one girl replied. The other one smiled, saying, β€œCan’t talk,” but she pointed towards a lift and then made a downward motion with her hand. β€œCheers”, I replied. As I waited for the lift, a white CHERUB T-shirt wearing adult spoke. β€œCan’t talk to orange”, before raising one finger. Up until now, I had assumed this was a prank being played on the β€˜new kid’, but a much older adult joining in was weird. It took a moment, but I realized the raised finger was telling me to get out at the first floor. It was a reception area. I could see out the main entrance into plush gardens where a fountain spouted water five meters into the air. Stepping up to the desk, an elderly lady was there to greet newcomers. β€œPlease don’t say β€˜Can’t talk to orange,’ I just-β€œ I didn’t even get to finish. β€œGood morning, Marcus Noir. The Commanding Officer, McAfferty, would like to see you in his office.” She led me down a short corridor and knocked on a door. β€œEnter,” a soft Scottish accent said from inside. With shook nerves, I stepped into an office with full height windows and a crackling fireplace. The walls were lined with leather-bound books. The Commanding Officer stood up from behind his desk and crushed my hand as he shook it - causing me to make a grimace. β€œWelcome to CHERUB campus, Marcus - where we turn bright young men into men ready to join the ranks of our military.”


11/22/2020 01:44 PM 

[cs] - homeless

  Three years of surviving on the streets abruptly came to an end when a social worker found me sleeping on a bench outside of the city park. Apparently when you get assigned to a social worker, they keep a very keen eye on you - especially when your parent’s estate consisted of millions of dollars (unknown to Marcus). The social worker approached me cautiously, I guess she was trying to identify me without having to wake me up or disturb me. It didn’t work, the not disturbing me part, as I learned the hard way that you must become a light sleeper to survive on the streets.“Marcus Arguello Noir?” She asked. I haven’t heard my full name spoken in so long, it almost felt foreign to hear. I sat up on the park bench, giving her space to sit if she choose to do so. “Depends on who’s asking…”, I advised. I gave her the up and down look, trying to see if looked suspicious or like a cop. She went into detail about she was a social worker and how my uncle was going through the process of becoming my legal guardian for the past few years. I questioned why it took three entire years for him to become my legal guardian because… it just felt off. Did the process really take *that* long? Did he have to *think* on it for three years before deciding to essentially adopt me?“There were… *legal difficulties*.” Her answer seemed to echo with each of my questions. Unbeknown to me at the time, my uncle was trying to find a way to obtain my parent’s estate. He exhausted all options to do so without having to claim legal guardianship of me, but that didn’t work. The next ploy to obtain it was by essentially adopting me and claiming the funds withdrawn would be used in the care of a thirteen year old boy who just lost his parents.“If you want to gather your… *things*, I can drive you down to the office and we can arrange for your uncle to come pick you up.” She didn’t really know what *things* a homeless kid would have. I looked around, half-expecting to find the *things* she mentioned. But the answer was nothing. If it wasn’t in my physical possession, it wasn’t mine. “I guess… I’m ready.”****I sat in an office that resembled an interrogation room for about two hours. The social worker left me here while she contacted my uncle and made the final arrangements for him to finally pick me up. The doorknob made a noise as it twisted to be opened. In came my uncle that I recognized from holidays, cousins’ birthdays, and other family based events. Just when the image of my father’s face was beginning to blur in my memory, my uncle reminded me of so many of his physical features. For a moment, I imagined my own father standing in the doorway - ready to take me home to see my mother. There was a lump in my throat that burned, causing my tear ducts to betray me.“There’s my nephew…”, his voice quickly broke the illusion. “Let’s get you out of here.” There was a numbness I felt after waking up from the earlier illusion. Though the idea of having *some* sense of a family was nice, I didn’t like the constant reminder that my father was no longer here - which was exactly what my uncle did. I took a few steps forward, unable to speak or even form coherent sounds. He placed a hand on my shoulder, walking me through the office and out to his car where both my cousins were waiting - Clyde and Lyle. Both Clyde and Lyle were older than me, at least by 4-5 years.“Why does *it* smell like sh*t?” Clyde’s first words to me after not speaking for over four years. “Clyde! *It* has a name, and it’s Macrus.” Lyle spoke up in my defense. I was still too broken to respond or fight back at this point. Three years of living on the street while my cousins lived a normal, safe life. “Okay, okay. Why does MarcASS smell like sh*t?” Clyde made his rebuttal.“I know how the homeless get by’, my uncle spoke up. “…stealing from whoever they can just to make it by. He’s a thief, but we’ll see what we can do about that.” 


11/22/2020 01:20 PM 

[cs] - the escape

the escape Six months. That’s approximately how long I’ve been held hostage in Sunset Boy’s Home. At least, that’s what I could tell from the scratch marks I’ve been making along my wooden bed frame. Immediately after the *incident*, I was sent here while the court system figured out what to do with a ten year old boy whose next of kin didn’t want anything to do with him. From the outside, Sunset Boy’s Home looked like a safe place for orphaned boys. The courts would never know the horrors that happened below in the basement. A sweatshop, where they forced all of the boys to work 14 hours shifts sewing knock off shoes.On top of that, I was roomed with *Chester* - the psychotic, the lunatic, the *pet f***er*. Everything set this guy off: wrong looks, certain words, Tuesdays, not responding to questions. One moment he would go from laying on his bed (touching himself to a dog show) to using a homemade shank to either cut or stab me. Quite a few of my scars, ones that would never heal correctly because they were never treated properly, came from interactions with Chester. But, all of that was coming to an end *today*.“What are you doing over there, Marcus?” Chester asked from his bed on the other side of the room. “Just reading a comic book”, I replied.Behind the comic book I was adding the final pieces to my escape plan. Over the past five months, I’ve snuck needles and razors from the basement sweatshop into my room. The guards have noticed the short supply and suspected me - taking me to Mistress Ranks’ office. They stripped me, bent me over, and inspected every possible place I could’ve hidden those needles, but had to let me go when they didn’t find any. Sure, the guards checked my mouth and under my tongue, but they never found the needles I stuck *inside* of my cheeks. Hurt like hell, but worth it.“Did you get my sandwich?” Chester called back out. It wasn’t actually *his* sandwich. It was his way of saying, ‘give me your dinner’. “Yeah, here you go”, I tossed the food over to him and waited anxiously for him to begin eating. It wouldn’t be long now, starting with the first cough. “What did you - “, Chester struggled to see between chokes.“Hard to talk with needles in your throat?” Chester toppled to the floor with both hands wrapped around his neck - struggling to live.Step two.I flipped my bed over, creating a sort of barrier between me and the door. “Guards! There’s something wrong with me roommate”, I yelled. “What the f***, Noir”, they asked while unlocking the door and stepping in to check on Chester. “Hiding behind that bed won’t help you.”“Says you”, I said before tossing the homemade bomb I made over the wall of the bed. “What the f*** is -.“ By the time they realized, it was too late. The mini bomb exploded, projecting needles and razors in every direction. Both guards instantly toppled on to the floor. Chester stopped struggling, now having needles inside and out. I contemplated going to the Head Mistress’ office and doing unthinkable things. The ideas played over in my mind so many times over the last six months. But in the end, I walked away - residing to rather be homeless than live in that hell.


11/21/2020 10:49 PM 

Come Back to Me

Rowena fell to the ground as Dean let her go.  She was afraid of Dean Winchester though she wouldn’t have admitted it. A soft little growl of annoyance as the handcuffs were once again in place.  She looked at the older Winchester and then her eyes flickered to Sam. “Bringing Dean’s precious Aurora back was not part of our bargain” As much as she was afraid of the Winchester’s and what they would do. She was more afraid of what Aurora would do if she saw Rowena.  Sam opened his mouth to speak but Dean grabbed Rowena once more and pushed her back up against the tree. “Well, the bargains changed.  You don’t get what you want until my wife is alive and breathing again.” The red-haired witch chewed on her bottom lip contemplating it all. “Very well, but I don't think your precious Aurora will be happy to see I have been a part of all this.”      The witch tried to straighten herself up waiting for the brothers to haul her away to where Aurora was buried. “Well? Let's get on with this.” Dean nodded and grabbed Rowena’s arm practically dragging her to where Sam had left the Impala. He opened the back door and threw her into the seat. Rowena landed practically on her head and she huffed. “Take it easy I may be a powerful witch, but I’m also delicate.’ Dean just rolled her eyes and held out his hand to Sam. “Sammy keys.” Sam held the keys out hesitantly. “I don’t know just came back...” Dean rolled his eyes again and yanked the keys from his brother’s hand.  “I’m fine Sammy now let's go.” He slid into the front seat and turned the key in the ignition. “There we go...did you miss me, baby?” Once Sam was in, he started driving. Rowena leaned forward. ‘Do you two idiots even know where Aurora's body has been kept?” Sam’s mouth opened he had no idea. “I... I didn’t there wasn’t a funeral....” Dean looked over at Sam. ‘What do you mean Lucifer didn’t even give his own daughter a funeral??” His anger growing even more. “Dean....they aren’t exactly human they don’t do things the same way we do.” Rowena sighed exasperatedly. “Honestly you two... I don’t know how either of you surv....oops.” she looked at Dean. “Sorry forgot you did die.” She smirked.  Dean gripped the steering wheel barely containing his desire to kill the damn witch, but he needed her to resurrect Aurora. “So, what do we do Sammy? We can’t go to Lucifer, he will try to stop us from bringing her back, he knows the consequences for magic like this.”  Rowena looked at them through the rearview mirror with a smug look on her face. “What if I told you boys, I know exactly where she would be kept?” Dean slammed on the brakes and turned his head to look at her. “You better tell us NOW,” Rowena smirked at him. ‘I will but, the deal is going to have to be sweetened a little bit more for that.” Dean hated that the witch had to bargain for every little thing but If he was alive, he needed his wife here with him too.  “What do you want?” Rowena shrugged. ‘Oh, just that you will help me when I need it next, no matter what it is I need help with.” Sam growled. “No, we can....” Dean looked over at him. ‘Shut up Sammy, this is my WIFE we are talking about I don’t care what the price is......” He looked back over at Rowena. “Done now where is my wife’s body?” Rowena sat back. “Just keep driving I will give you directions as needed.”  The impala continued driving away from the cemetery and towards the middle of town. But Rowena had not once told them to turn or anything. Dean was getting impatient. “Rowena where the hell are we going?” The redhead just shook her head. “Patience, love, Patience.” He growled and turned his attention back on the road as they left Lawrence. The streets of other towns passing by until they came to a dirt road. “Turn here.” Dean made the turn onto the dirt road. “Just keep going til the end.”  Dean looked at her through the rear-view mirror wondering if this was some sort of trap, but he could sense the uneasy tension coming from Rowena as they drew closer and knew she wasn’t looking forward to what was at the end of this journey.  As the road continued to get narrow, Dean noticed Mausoleums. Why would Lucifer keep her body way out here away from everyone He wondered.  The road dead-ended into a large white Mausoleum with the words Valentine written across the front.   “Aurora’s family are all demons, she’s the only one with different blood why would there be a crypt?” Sam asked out loud. Rowena looked at him. “Dear boy, all your questions will be answered once you get me out of here so we can go in and get this over with. “Dean and Sam got out of the Impala Dean opened Rowena’s door and yanking her out. ‘Good lord, don’t you do anything delicate? I guess your little princess must have liked being manhandled. ‘Rowena smirked.  Dean growled and shoved her towards the entrance to the mausoleum. “You don’t speak about my wife like that.” Rowena tripped and almost fell as right at the entrance there was a long staircase that led down.  ‘So rude and rough.” She started down the stairs. Sam just remembered something. ‘Um Rowena, won’t we need blood from Aurora’s family?” Rowena just smirked. “Don’t worry giant. I have that covered.” The three continued down what seemed like an eternity before there was another door. “Aurora’s behind there? There’s no way through that Rowena!!” Dean glared at her.  Rowena chuckled. “Oh, yee of little faith.’ She started chanting and the door slid up and she walked in towards where Aurora’s body lay in a glass-encased coffin. Her body had been perfectly preserved inside of it no wounds apparent.  She turned to see Dean and Sam still at the entrance. ‘Well come on then, I haven't got all night.’     Dean saw the coffin and he was frozen, his heart hurting seeing his wife so lifeless laying there. With a choked sob he moved forward to stand next to it his hand touching the top of the coffin. “I'm so sorry baby, But I am going to make this all right again. I promise.” Rowena chanted again and the coffin opened. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean wondered how Rowena knew the spells that protected Aurora’s burial place, but they didn’t make it to the surface all that mattered was bringing his wife back to him.  When his wife’s body was exposed to him Dean placed his hand in hers tears spilling down his cheeks as he felt how cold and limp she was now.  Rowena looked at Dean and her cold heart almost broke him for him but she cleared her throat.  She started to chant the same spell she used in resurrecting dean and she took the knife from Sam and she sliced her wrist as her own blood poured out over Aurora’s. Sam’s eyes raised in wonder. “Rowena your blood...but.” Rowena shushed him. “I need to concentrate, all your questions I am sure will be answered when she wakes.”   Rowena continued to chant and suddenly there was movement on the table. Dean leaned forward and squeezed his wife’s hand.  “That’s it, baby. I’m here come back to me please baby.” His voice cracked with emotion. Rowena’s chanting got louder, and Aurora’s eyes popped open. She quickly sat up a little disoriented at first.  Her eyes settled on Dean” Dean? I... you’re dead.... wait a minute...I’m dead......” Dean grabbed his wife up sobbing with relief and happiness. ‘We were dead baby, but when you killed yourself which by the way I ain’t happy about.... Sam knew he needed to bring me back because Nadia needed her father, but I couldn’t live without you, baby....”     Rowena tried to sneak away so Aurora wouldn’t notice her. ‘Where do you think you’re going?” Sam called after her. Aurora looked to see who Sam could be talking about and she saw the shock of red hair and as the woman turned, Aurora felt the blood drain from her as she was face to face with the one woman, she had vowed to never let anywhere near her again. Anger started to build up in her and she jumped from the coffin grabbing her mother by the collar. ‘What the f*** are you doing here?? Didn’t I tell you, MOTHER, to never come near me or my father again??? You cause nothing but heartbreak and misery and I loathe you!!” She was screaming directly into her face. Rowena still as calm as ever looked to Sam and Dean. ‘Will you two kindly get my daughter to let me go please.” Dean’s eyes blinked a little.” Daughter...?”  Sam made the move to loosen Aurora’s hold on Rowena’s collar so she could step back.  “Without me dear daughter, your husband would still be six feet under, and you would be dead and your father’s heart would still be breaking.” Aurora didn’t answer her and turned to look at her husband. “Baby, meet my mother Rowena.” 


11/21/2020 10:01 PM 


She had to wear a blonde wig her whole life. Zed is the first zombie she meets. Willa is the first werewolf she saw in the Forbidden Forest. She knows a little bit of the zombie language it seems. Addison is the first human to see that zombies and werewolves aren't dangerous.  She was kicked out of the cheer squad, however she's in the team again along with Bree. Addison was convinced that she is a werewolf but unfortunately for her it's not true. However, she seems to have a connection to a comet that is seen passing by outside her window while she sleeps in Zombies 2, as her hair glows when it does.


11/21/2020 06:03 PM 


(Greetings and welcome, To those who are just browsing through!? Or who add. I welcome everyone and hope to interact with eachand every one of you soon. My messages are always open for OOC chats, plotting a storyline or role-play. This page does have maturecontent for dark & trigger themes, brief language violence, horror and brief gore.  Please don't message me if you're just looking forsmut or any kinky or fluffy stuff. It will be deleted Verses writeDark Knight Trilogy (anywhere from Batman Begins -Dark Knight Rises)  Arkham-verse  Arkham Asylum (anywhere from Arkham Knight)  Batman Forever & Batman and Robin  Fan-fiction Crossovers are more welcome along with other OCs #Comics Rpers are welcome, along with Bat-family RPers About my character is on my profile page. I'm #OpenRP friendly please feel free to send starters, or if you prefer plottingfeel free to message we will work something out .1, I have zero tolerate for any type of bullying. You will be reported and blocked 2. If you can't role-play or just wants to call it quits for any reason!? Please message me along if you have problemwith me or my character message me and we will work it out. Just don't ghost me out and block me for no reason 3. No real life drama I will quick blocked fast

POD Phyllis

11/21/2020 04:19 PM 

Its time to be Single and Mingle.
Current mood:  determined

Phyllis was now just simply coming to an understanding that Asmo just no longer wanted anything to do with her. She just assumed it was some way to try and impress Sharon. Who she felt truly had not wanted anything to do with him. As much as Phyllis wanted anything to do with that daughter who just came out of now where. Like she thought babies came from storks at any chosen time. And just were left at your doorstep. If only that old cliche could be true. Since child birthing can for some be one the most painful experiences.   And how can girl rule over others. Who can not even all be on each others list. But she did think about one thing. Maybe if she just took some time to get out there and meet new people. She might actually find the right one. Although no days all you ever really find is flakes. Or people who do not write more than a sentence at a time. No less it did not mean she would not keep trying to do so. Cause the last thing she desired was being labelled another POD girl who just refused to move on. And maybe having extended family was better than no family at all. The truth was her greatest fear was of being broken again. Since no matter how much we can say we will refuse to let love in. Love controls itself not us controlling it. She could turn off her humanity. But then she would just want to kill and rampage about. And that surely would not leave her with any friends or followers. First got to get a new video up. Second just start adding others trying to see if it will go anywhere. Third, ignore the invasion of the body snatchers. Cause they seem to be from another planet. And likely take over those they snatch. At least from what she been seeing thus far. She then turns and hits her MP3 player. She starts to get ready for the new day now ahead of her. And it just so happened to be the perfect song. That she needed to hear for a little morale boost No, I don't know where I'm goin'But I sure know where I've beenHanging on the promises in songs of yesterdayAnd I've made up my mindI ain't wasting no more timeThough I keep searchin' for an answerI never seem to find what I'm lookin' forOh Lord, I pray you to give me the strength to carry on'Cause I know what it meansTo walk along the lonely street of dreamsAnd here I go again on my ownGoin' down the only road I've ever knownLike a drifter, I was born to walk aloneAnd I've made up my mindI ain't wasting no more timeJust another heart in need of rescueWaiting on love's sweet charityI'm gonna hold on for the rest of my days'Cause I know what it meansTo walk along the lonely street of dreamsAnd here I go again on my ownGoin' down the only road I've ever knownLike a drifter, I was born to walk aloneAnd I've made up my mindI ain't wasting no more timeBut here I go againHere I go againHere I go againOoh baby, ooh yeahAnd I've made up my mindOoh baby, ain't wasting no more timeAnd here I go again on my ownGoin' down the only road I've ever knownLike a drifter, I was born to walk alone'Cause I know what it meansTo walk along the lonely street of dreamsHere I go again on my ownGoin' down the only road I've ever known



11/21/2020 04:28 PM 


CHAPTER I: SMOKE & ASH The fire had smoldered into dying wisps of smoke as the sky darkened to hazy indigo, and as the sun flushed over the horizon in seething maroon, he dipped his soaked raven-black, soot-smudged boots closer to the expiring flame. Helios was a memory of warm gold, twilight settling in lavender dusk as night slowly built around the dark figure, around his dark clothes until he was part of it; careless cloak draped over his knee, akin to the silver sword that glinted like mercury in the rising moonlight. An idle hand added a few logs to the pyre, and it uttered a few sparks in protest but it smoked, budding embers sputtering to life. "Good," he thought. "It's finally night."   He preferred hunting at night.   His gaze, felidae halo of vivid malachite, scanned the chilly depths of the shadowy woodland. The green, admittedly a strange bedfellow in comparison to the tawny iris of his fellow Witchers, was drawn to the snapping and cracking of the forest floor and knew something vast moved within. Prey and predator, the leshen was an invisible shroud of power that melted into the backdrop of trees, of ash and elm, and the Witcher feared the inevitability: the ancient nature spirit knew why he was there.    Dimly, dully, the ache in his hip flared, and spread, and for a moment, he seemed to remember it (not that he could forget it): "Must be rain," Rue mused sullenly. The man in black could even smell it, earthy brown smells of petrichor as the clouds bundled over the inky firmament, blackening the smattering of crystalline flecks and eclipsing the crescent moon. Damn men and damn their wars; now his femur always festered when it was about to downpour, and cursed the need for gold. In truth, he might've tossed the job if he didn't need the orens. Hunting had been good lately, too good, but the guild was always starving for more resources, and the herbs to make their brews were costly. Lately, there was a sort of weariness settling in, a bone weariness, that he just couldn't shake. Do Witchers even retire?  A mental memo stored away for safekeeping, a half-joke to ask Vesemir to maybe lighten the mood; f u c k knows, they could use a smile (or three).    Mercurial silver gleamed by the fireside, and Aegon stood with newly dry boots (thankful and toasty). Leaves, autumnal and a myriad of colour, tumbled on a frosty tempest downhill from the open maw of the forest: a seemingly foreboding and ominous apprisal from the danger that lurked within. The sole of buskin stomped what was left of the crumbling blaze to a scalding pit, the glowing ash a mere vestige of his time spent there. It was now or never. The tattered edges of the cape rustled in the frigid squall, sword at the ready, though his precarious gait favored his left leg. The smell of smoke followed him into the dark, into the copse of trees, where a legion of blackbirds brooded.    The leshen was close. Rue could taste the sickly-sour, sickly-sweet bouquet of death that followed it, and his inhuman eyes detected the human blood in muddled trails. "Oh, yea, this be the place," he thought. The Witcher dogged the scent like a bloodhound, not letting up and not letting go.    CHAPTER II: SO MUCH MEAT   Melitele, Freya, the Eternal f u c k i n g Fire: as a centenarian, Rue wasn't much of a praying man, but after gawping at the mislaid and partially consumed body parts, he was almost wishing he'd sent a younger Witcher in. "I'm getting too old for this s h i t." The mumble was only just above a whisper, intoned on a screamy breath that shuddered with pain. It wasn't that he was incapable, but moreso unwilling; the undiagnosed ailment in his head made him ever vigilant, an unsleeping swain that remembered the arduous years of the Northern War. All the g o d d a m n e d blood, on his hands and on his heart. He saw the phantom faces of men, like he saw the faces of men now, long dead, floating in his waking vision that bedeviled his already tired psyche.    Crack.   Something moved to his right, slow and steady, crouched and on four legs. No - eight - twelve - sixteen. . . twenty canine legs in total closed in, bristling tails tucked and their rabid maws glistling with claret drool, bloody with a fresh kill. He hadn’t been quick enough to cease the senseless butchery: the threadbare fragments of a dress lay scattered, a haunting trinket of the paling corpse reposed not far. Her soft stomach had been torn apart, entrails scattered like so much meat and the look of terror frozen on her dirty face; her death hadn’t been a quick one, no. It made his heart hurt.    Nigh, obscured by the caliginosity of evergreen, the Witcher could distinguish the off-white color of bone. The deer skull was colossal, the biggest stag’s head he ever saw (and, remarking later, he imagined it might have been something else - moose?) but in that moment, epinephrine super charged his entire body with a sudden surge of movement. The wolves reacted instantaneously, their braying and barking snouts quivering in anticipation for another kill; driven to absolute madness by the leshen’s influence.    Gory flecks of dribble coated his arm, a solitary bite making contact as his fist collided with another furry muzzle. A different kind of blood splattered him: beastly crimson painted the right side of his beard, oozing down the chestnut to varnish silver medallion. He could almost kill the animals in his sleep (almost); he grew up hunting wolves, and during Witcher training, he killed packs of them. Here he thought it was going so well - . . .    A root loosened flinging soil, stinging his eyes and temporarily blinding him. It snapped like a whip, knocking him to the foliage -strewn floor; he lay, prostrate among dead leaves and moss. Oxygen heaved painfully through his startled diaphragm, screaming breaths pulled through his bleeding (and broken) nose. But he heaved himself to his feet, quick as a tarantula (though not nearly as limber) and cast the sign of Igni, the burst of flame lighting the wood with a swift torrent of illumination. Howls of agony erupted from the remaining hounds, their loyalty - or whatever remained of the enchantment - seemingly forgotten as they desperately withdrew from the spreading inferno, tearing at their coats with their own teeth to assuage flaming fur. Now, it was just him and the leshen. The spirit retreated further into the darkness, roots discharging rapidly but the Witcher was ready: Igni blasted once more, burning through the snapping tendrils.    His leg quavered. It was red-hot, searing, and it threatened to forgo holding his weight, and if that happened? He could kiss his ass goodbye, and somehow, a hundred years didn’t feel like enough - . . .    A primeval roar shook the forest, cavernous and never ending, and it imperiled his tottering balance. It echoed hollowly from the chasm of ossein, the stag’s head rumbling with fiendish snarls.  “Well, f u c k. You didnae had to.”  Birds. He f u c k i n g hated birds. They always reminded him of battlefields, g o d d a m n e d carrion eaters, with their oily black feathers mottled with blood. “They ate eyes, they ate livers, they weren’t picky, oh, gods, let me live, or you’ll have me to deal with.” He dreaded inwardly, nauseated, his mind a roiling and sickened sea. They were descending upon him in a massive flock, blackbirds, winged crows, their pinions clouding his vision (however brief). Aard was signed with his free hand, the powerful wave shooting the villainous fowl abroad: the murder momentarily dissolved of their power. But Rue was exhausted, bleeding, and something - other than his nose - was broken: the question was what. He was panting, lungs breathing fire as he closed the gap between the colossal monster and himself.    Silver at the ready, it was ringing as it slashed through the frigid night air. But every cut was calculated: no energy was wasted, not even an ounce, his sword hand like a virulent cobra hacking at the wood-armored chassis. The creature’s ligneous and lacerating talons pulverized his sloe-black leather jerkin, the sheath hanging loosely in shreds baring his naked and vulnerable chest. Blood - his blood - tinseled the vast lechy in claret, and he felt sick again, the panic welling in his forebrain.   The spell Quen cast with a dog-tired, shuddery forelimb, he unleashed the bomb Dragon’s Dream from a sable sheepskin. Protected in the mystical circle, withheld only by his failing strength, he blasted Igni one last time and watched as the forest went up in smoke like so much kindling. The leshen groaned once more before crumpling into a pile of ash, into a pile of branches, and then Rue released Quen and stood among the smog. Red-eyed and half-weeping, he collapsed beside his fallen enemy with the hilt of his sword still clasped in his palm. Argent aglow in the blinding flames.   “A nap for us both, then, eh? Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”    After all, a century was a long time.    He thought about Gambit, his wolfdog, and thought about how he’d never know why Rue never came home. The Witcher closed his eyes and thought no more.   CHAPTER III: WITCHERS NEVER RETIRE   The heavy redolence of aureate celandine and the heady brew of dwarven spirits permeated the small hut. Through half-lidded eyes, he could glimpse the womanly figure mulling over a small cauldron with a mortar and pestle. For a terse, and fleeting microsecond, alarm blared in his battle fatigue choked noggin; but no, didn’t move, didn’t twitch, didn’t give away his wakefulness. Her backside somehow reminded him of the Crones (which - admittedly - made him shudder) but as she shifted, she revealed her face. Tomira, her sweetness revealed in her gentle smile and cornflower blue eyes. The terror in his heart unlatched itself, though his hitched breathing remained unsteady.    The halo, wreathed by heavy lash, widened only a bit more to further investigate his surroundings: though he had passed by the cottage, it had been hastily, only to buy a few herbs to aid in the dangerous enterprise. Had he been such a man to say so, he might even say the place was cute. Dried honeysuckle, buckthorn, mistletoe, and ribleaf hung from the walls, wrapped in various colored threads. The girl, too, had made an attempt to paint a mosaic in disparate washes of natural paints, her skilled hand etching and healing with both fungi and bloom. Even her bed smelled of white myrtle petals and chamomile, and as he sat there breathing in all this panacea, he thought her as the secret gift of White Orchard.    “You’re awake.” Her words were short, but sure, and he said nothing. His dark hair shifted on the pillow to view the healer, though she was almost a silhouette with the glare of the hearth behind her.    A mug of steaming tea sat at his bedside, along with a pouch of orens (all two thousand of them) which evoked an uneasy smile from Aegon. “How long ‘ave I been out?” The floral melange sipped as he sat up. There was no memory of pain: just pain, which seemingly stretched across his entirety. He just noticed that his ribs were bandaged, and Tomira stopped him with a surprisingly strong hand. “You need to rest,” She urged, nectarous but dour all the same. But how - how could he tell her? Witchers never rest. Witchers never retire. “Can’t. Where’s my dog?” The drink was swallowed in its entirety, half out of the bed as covers were thrown off and he was already putting on a boot.    She sat there, mouth clamped in a straight white line, and her words were sullen and angry when they finally came. “If you don’t pick a time to rest, your body will pick it for you. I hope you reconsider.”    Tomira was right. He knew that, of course, but Kaer Morhen was calling him home. The last of his armor was laced (or what could be laced - his jerkin was still torn to shreds) and, his awkward gait teetered his weight in place as he sputtered a small apology. “I’d be dead without ya. Barbeque, probably.” A toothy smile, bordering on wolfish, was offered along with a few coins; after all, he was feeling generous. The healer, eyes downcast to the largest amount of coin she’d ever seen, and hand stalling, took them. “You’re going to kill yourself, Witcher. By exhaustion alone. I don’t want this, but - . . .”  “You need it. I don’t. Er, not really, but it is a bit drafty.” He joked, taking a glance down at his bare teats. Standing on the threshold of the door, he bade her farewell and left the balmy insides of the hut: his black mustang, Puddles, dutifully waited outside. His saddlebags packed, his lute thrown over the horse’s rump while he followed Tomira’s directions to the White Orchard Inn. One more night couldn’t hurt, right?   The building was quaint, flocks of chickens making their home in the courtyard. Pigs roamed, along with muddy laughing children, which he barely bypassed on shaking flanks. The thatched roof had seen better days, but the clement and fragrant warmth of the tavern was immediately welcomed to his cold veneer. Wreaths of flowers hung from the ceiling, colorful pageantry, and some petals were scattered on the floor and the tables; beside the bar, cloves of garlic dangled overhead. Many white candles melted into pools of wax, lit the tables and the bartop.    An old woman tended the saloon, and she was tending a glass when she looked up at her new guest. Her ancient face crinkled into a vision of disgust and vehemence.   “Hey, stop me if you've heard this one -”    “ANOTHER F***ING WITCHER! GET OUT! THE LOT OF YOU!”

πŒπ€π 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑!

11/21/2020 04:03 PM 

another nsfw from mcslut.

( bold what applies, italic for sometimes. )— INCLINATION / HABITSis submissive // is dominant // prefers to top // prefers to bottom // likes to switch // identifies as heterosexual // identifies as homosexual // identifies as bisexual // identifies as pansexual // identifies as demisexual // identifies as asexual // enjoys sex with men // enjoys sex with women // enjoys sex with multiple people at once // initiates // waits for partner to initiate // spits // swallows // prefers sex in the morning // prefers sex at night // prefers sex anytime // no sex drive // low sex drive // average sex drive // high sex drive // fluctuating sex drive— BODY / APPEARANCEsmall build // medium build // athletic build // muscular build // curvy build // voluptuous build // wears boxers // wears lingerie // goes ‘commando’ // shaves/waxes // doesn’t shave/wax // cup size a-c // cup size d-f // 1-5" in length // 6-9“ in length // 10” or over in length— SOUNDSis silent //makes little to no sounds // is very quiet // is very loud // grows in volume over time // bites hand/partner/pillow to muffle themselves // calls out partner’s name // curses // fakes/exaggerates // prefers a quiet partner // prefers a loud partner // is turned on by dirty talk // is turned off by dirty talk— TURN ONS / KINKShaving their hands pinned // pinning their partner’s hands // having their hair pulled // pulling their partner's hair // being watched ( by their partner ) // being watched ( by a third party ) // watching their partner // receiving oral // giving oral // calling their partner ‘daddy’ // being called ‘daddy’ // giving praise // receiving praise // biting/marking // being bitten/marked // spanking // being spanked // teasing // being teased // having toys used on them // using toys on their partner // giving anal // receiving anal // choking // being choked // dirty talk // being tied up // tying their partner up // being worshipped // worshipping their partner // humiliating // being humiliated // degrading // being degraded // knife play // blood play // being pegged // pegging their partner


11/21/2020 10:52 PM 



11/21/2020 01:54 PM 

Nakota Witter: An Introduction

Nakota Witter | 30 | Net Worth: $10 million✘ ππˆπŽπ†π‘π€ππ‡π˜π‘π‘Žπ‘˜π‘œπ‘‘π‘Ž πΊπ‘Ÿπ‘Žπ˜©π‘Žπ‘š π‘Šπ‘–π‘‘π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ was born at the Cleveland Clinic Fairview Hospital on April 22, 1990, to his parents, Raymond and Angela Witter. He grew up in a small village called Put-In-Bay located on South Bass Island in Lake Erie. His parents were very hands-off when it came to parenting. His father owned his own lucrative fishing charter business while his mother was an office assistant at a hair salon. Growing up as an only child, he spent many days out of the house playing with kids in his village until late at night. While he knew that his parents loved him, he basically raised himself. At a young age, Witter was able to pick up on street smarts from the local kids that he hung around with.Throughout the rest of his childhood and adolescence, things drastically changed for young Wilde. His mother left when Nakota was 12 to be with a man that she met. The was on the island for vacation and offered Angela promises of a better life, and she fell head over heels. A few months after she left, she served Raymond with divorce papers. It was now just the two of them - Raymond and Nakota. Amidst the tragedy of his mother leaving, the upside that came out of it was that father and son formed a close-knit bond.In the middle of high school, Witter excelled when it came to drawing and making music. At the age of 15, he became an apprentice at Voodoo Monkey Tattoo. During his sophomore year of high school, Witter decided to complete his GED to the dismay of his father and pursue music. He even gave up his apprenticeship and abandoned his impressive portfolio to pursue a dream that may or may not happen. At 16, he released his first mixtape, “Stamp of Approval” (2006), and helped his reputation and profile to grow, allowing him to perform at venues outside of Put-In-Pay. His stage name “Machine Gun Kelly”, was coined by fans as they were impressed with his swift delivery in regards to rap.In April of 2011, after five years of pursuing his dream, Witter was signed to an independent label by the name of Pinnacle Music Group. PMG not only gave him full artistic freedom, but it finally allowed him to have a larger audience to divulge his music too. Later in 2012, he released his first album, “Lace Up” followed by his second album “General Admission” in 2015. His third album “Bloom” was released in May of 2017. His fourth album, “Hotel Diablo” was released two years later in 2019. At last, his most recent album “Tickets to My Downfall” was released in September of 2020. He still continues to climb music’s everlasting mountain.Despite all of the success that he received in his career, he never really got over the fact that his mother left him so young. What made matters worse is that he lost his father in July of 2020. The pain of losing both of his parents left a void in his heart that money, drugs, alcohol, women, and fame couldn’t fill no matter how hard he tried.✘ ππ„π‘π’πŽππ€π‹πˆπ“π˜Nakota is described by his friends as an outgoing and friendly male - an exceptionally outgoing individual. The loss of his parents have given him a constant yearning for companionship and an intense dread of being alone. He tosses himself into social situations and tries his best to steer clear of isolation. His eagerness and excitement often bring him to being overly noisy around other people. He is rather awkward around those he doesn’t know, to the point that some might call him socially awkward. Despite Nakota being socially inept, he yearns for companionship, and often to make a fool of himself in his eagerness to impress others and make good of them.✘ π‘π„π‹π€π“πˆπŽππ’π‡πˆππ’βœ˜Emma Cannon (2008)✘Rachel Starr (2012-2015)✘Amber Rose (2015)✘Ashley Frangipane (2018-2019)✘Chantel Jeffries (2019)✘Sommer Ray (2020)✘Megan Fox (2020)✘ πŽπ‚π‚π”ππ€π“πˆπŽπSinger/songwriter for Pinnacle Music Group✘ π†πŽπ€π‹π’While music is his passion, Nakota would love to open his very own record label. In the music industry, it's hard to find labels that value artists and encourage them to embrace their individuality. Instead, most labels these days take a good artist and tries to morph them into their own idea of what a successful artist should be. When he does open his own label, he vows to let his clients be whoever they want to be.

machine gun kelly, mgk, machinegunkelly, music, artist, musician, colsonbaker, colson baker


11/21/2020 12:32 PM 

rules to follow.

The writer portrays Lilith in various ways, before you engage her in roleplay please determine which version you are interested in.  Lilith is not someone who will all of a sudden become a knocked up housewife, she is a powerful supernatural entity who dates as far back as 700 B.C.E. While she has the propensity to birth children - she will not marry. Love interests (if active, loyal, compatible, and imaginative) may develop but only if I the writer sees fit. The writer has roleplayed Lilith since the days of MySpace and tends to research her extensively for her upcoming novels. Do not question or attempt to change how Lilith is portrayed.  Do not add if you do not seriously plan on writing. The writer has no time for chatty Cathys or do nothing Dans. Do not waste her time ever. She has no tolerance for it. Discord for the present time is a big fat NO, it is too distracting to the writer and it only ends up pissing her off that people have all the time in the world for messengers and no time to actually write posts. -smh- This may change but only with active writers & friends. We will see. The writer is a multi-para to novella player, quite literate and quite educated. One liners and gobbly gook will not be accepted as roleplay posts. The writer will not discuss her reality. So mind your buisness! Drama llamas, miserable folks, profile collectors are not welcomed on this page. If you continually bulletin or stream for payment for crappy edits, be gone with you before Lilith sends you to the furthest chasms of Hell for your insatiable greed and stupidity!  Solicitation of any kind is a Cardinal Sin, if Lilith is plagued with it she will most definitely end you and annihilate you and your soul! Stealing from Lilith is not wise. Just do not do it, EVER! Patience is a must as the writer gets busy. Deal with it or take your whiny arse elsewhere. While the writer is sweet, Lilith is mostly not. Know it is only roleplay and nothing more. Do not read into sh*t and Do not assume! Do not ask the writer to change her character to suit yours. Lilith is a supernatural entity and it will remain this way. Keep in mind I am here to write. Nothing else. Respect this. I am a woman in reality, please be respectful. Lilith favors males as they can help bring her demonic spawn into the world, this does not mean she will not flirt and seduce women as well. The writer behind Lilith is an adult and will write dark, macabre, or triggering themes, if something is off limits to you, please inform the writer to begin with so we may avoid any future problems. While Lilith is a figure in Jewish mysticism, the writer does believe in God and is a practicing Roman Catholic, if the religious or biblical aspects of Lilith offend you then this is not a page that you should add. To clarify, the writer is an editor with her own editing page. She will not make edits on this page. This is a character writing account only. If you want her edits which are free, feel free to ask for her editing site's link.   All rules are subject to change at any time.  Sign only your NAME, send me a gif or a pic and I will tear your heart out.

Devils Advocate Justine

11/20/2020 11:26 PM 

Bruja Got all up in my feelings now
Current mood:  indifferent



Jedi Master General Plo Koon

11/20/2020 06:44 PM 

Starter 3: Traitor (Clone Wars AU)

An uncommon storm raged outside the windows of the Coruscant Jedi Temple.  Rain pelted the glass like blaster fire against the armor of a Separatist tank.  Streaks of the liquid water painted the clear panes with intricate patterns like the web of a spider against the dark charcoal clouds.  Lightnight cast eery reflections and shadows upon the walls and floor, illuminating the dimly lit room in bursts of brilliant clarity.  Thunder roared angrily and shook the very foundations of the Temple as if threatening to shake it apart stone by stone.Such termoil was reflected in the hearts of the Jedi High Council as they listened silently to the reports of Admiral Tarkin regarding the recent escape of Padawan Ahasoka Tano.It had come as a great surprise that the Youngling Torgruta had been accused of murdering a suspected anti-Jedi terrorist when the Padawan had gone into the correctional faciltiy to interview her per the prisoner's request.  As upset as the Youngling could get, and the ferosity of her passion when under emotional distress, she had never killed in cold blood before.  It did not seem in her nature and she had thus far proven to take her oath as a Jedi Learner seriously.  The sudden change in her behavior was suspiciously out of place.However, evidence was suddenly mounting against her and it was hard to argue that it was beginning to look like she had indeed been guilty for the recent bombing of the Temple hanger as well.Yet, the Force was disturbed beyond the ability for the Council to ignore.  Many did not show their displeasure, but it was not hard to feel the tention mounting within the Council Chamber.  One in particular was having an impossible time coming to terms with the recent events.  He suspected that a sinister plot was at work, and the Youngling was an unfortunate innocent being framed for such heinous crimes.Without alerting his fellows, Master Plo Koon lent forward upon his elbows with his clawed digits interlaced before his masked face.  An aura of great concentration and interest disguisted the conflicting unrest within his heart.Emotions had never been a source of thought or action for him, and now was no different.  However, he coudl not deny that a part of him was bonded to Padawan Tano.  Logically speaking, he knew her better than many others, sometimes that included her Master, Anakin Skywalker.  He had found her as a Force Sensitive on her home planet and had brought her to the Order for training, as was protocol.  During her growth to Padawan Learner, he had observed and watched her progress closely with great interest.  They had continued something of a platonic, paternal relationship through the years, and had continued to do so even after she had been assigned to Skywalker.There had never been a single inplication that Ahsoka could ever raise a hand in violence towards a civilian, except for the reasons of self-defense or the defense of other innocents.The more information that became aware to Koon on the subject, the greater his suspicions that something was amiss."After further investigation, there can be little doubt that the Clone Officers murdered in the escape were killed by none other than Ahsoka Tano herself.  She used a Jedi Mind-Trick to convince the Clone to open the door, and then proceeded to cut him down along with five other Clones along the way." Tarkin finally finsiehd, a cold and ruthless firmness upon his expression and in his voice.He was definative in his words, suggesting there was no margin for argument.The Council was silent for several moments, gazes swiftly peering towards one another.The Kel Dor male slowly straightened himself up, hands easing down to rest upon his lap and still interlaced at the fingers."I... do not believe that Ahsoka could've fallen so far..." he uttered thoughtfully, equally steadfast in his resolve.The other Masters turned to him, gazing over his figure to observe him.  Several were surprised to hear his opinion, as he typically never made it known unless urged to share it.  Others shared a bit of suspicion, as they were well aware of his bond to her and were concerned that for the very first time in his long years of service, he was emotionally compromised."The beliefs of the Jedi Council are irrelovant." Tarkin sharply interrupted.  "We deal strictly in facts and evidence, and the evidence points to Padawan Tano being guilty of the attack on the Temple and the murder of the Republic Officers.  This is sadition!"To further drive his point, the transmission with the Admiral was terminated.  The hologram of his figure and the figures of two Clones flanking him vanished into nothing, casting the Chamber into an even darker space for several seconds before the lights automatically lifted.Master Plo dipped his head slightly, though not in defeat.  It was a gesture of determination and thought.  He was rather insulted that an outsider had scolded him and attempted to correct him.  The opinions of the Council did matter in situations such as this, for it was an internal affair to some extent.  Their opinions were what made decisions regarding their actions and guided their influence upon Chancellor Palpatine.The Kel Dor was not one to become cross, but the circumstances were spiralling out of control quickly and he was not going to allow it to reach the depths that it could possibly reach.During his contemplation, the room became a restless but quiet blur of sweeping gazes, shifting heads and unsteady expressions of worry, concern and distress.A conversation began with questions towards Skywalker, who had been silently standing near the doorway and patiently waiting for someone to address him.  Discussion of what to do and a declaration of the majority vote was also added to the chatter.  Skywalker loyally defended his Padawan's reasoning and justified her actions with logical explanations."Now she's in the lower depths... With her skills, she will be hard to find." Master Windu suggested.His words ripped Koon from his thoughts and returned him to the moment."Two teams we will send.  Master Skywalker... and Master Plo Koon with Clones you will go." Master Yoda replied, a deeply exasperated and regretful expression underlaying the determined and firm eyes.Tactically, that was the best course of action.  Skywalker and Koon knew Tano the best, thus would be the only ones with the best chances of finding the wayward Padawan.  However, there was now going to be doubt cast upon both named Jedi because of their connections to the fugitive.  However, the only one they would worry about was Anakin because of his impulsive and often rebellious nature.  Sending the steadfast and unshakable Kel Dor alongside him would keep Skywalker on the right path.More importantly, it was a relief to be made charge of the search.  Master Koon would not have to worry about someone else harming the Youngling.  He would be there to protect her and could conduct an interview of her himself to either confirm or deny his suspcions.  He would know if she was lying to him..."I think it would be best if both Masters stayed here." Windu countered doubtfully, turning to Yoda with apprehention and distrust in his eyes.  "Their involvement may actually make things worse."The Chamber became filled with soft utterings.Skywalker made to respond, but Plo Koon settled a hand upon the younger's shoulder and eased him."Respectuflly, I must disagree, Master Windu." the Kel Dor replied calmly.  "Master Skywalker and I know Padawan Tano best.  She will respond to our negotiations if needed, and I have little doubt that she will refuse to return with us once we convince her to do so.  You know as well as any that I will be able to do what is necessary despite my opinions upon the matter and can ensure that Master Skywalker will do the same."The assembled settled.  All eyes turned to the small green creature at the head of their Order and waited with baited breath as to the final judgement.  The air was still thick with tension and conflicting emotions, but an overall agreement seemed to have befallen them.  They knew their fellow Councilman was correct and trusted him to do as he promised.Yoda closed his eyes briefly and released a slow sigh.  When the large brown hues reopened, he smoothly waved his hand towards the door."Go swiftly then, Masters, and bring back this lost Youngling before it is too late."Relief flooded not only Skywalker's aura, but the same could be said for Koon's.  The entire Chamber relaxed just enough to verify the vote of confidence.Both Masters bowed briefly."Yes, Master." they affirmed in unison.Together and in a rare moment of syncronization, the pair straightened, turned and strode out of the Chamber towards their common goal.'Be strong, Little Soka.  We are coming to aid you.' the elder of the two males mentally assured.

© 2020 All Rights Reserved.