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His Holiness

11/28/2021 04:36 PM 

Dynasty December prompt

George didn’t want to do Christmas this year. No one was in a festive mood this year. Even Mrs. Weasley was missing the spring in her step with festivities. She tried to be lively, to seem like she was in the festive mood. But George knew better, they all knew better then to believe Mrs. Weasley wasn’t at the top of her game like she usually were. This year has been rough. With the battle of Hogwarts, the deaths that came with it, it had taken its toll on the Weasley family, on Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.   George had grabbed a cup of tea from the kitchen and headed to the living room, where everyone was doing something silently. It was only the beginning of December, but there wasn’t much laughter at the Burrow like there had been every year before/ “What would everyone like for Christmas?” Molly asked as she arrived into the living room with her own cup of tea. Everyone looked at Mrs. Weasley like she was an alien, unsure how to respond. Most not even wanting to celebrate    What did George Weasley want for Christmas? HE looked down at the cup of tea that he held between his two shaky hands. What he wanted no one could simply buy. He wanted laughter. Sure, he could simply take something from his shop, it’ll get people to laugh. But not the belly laugh that had everyone on the floor. It’ll make people laugh, but not like it did before. He wanted everyone to feel normal. But how were they supposed to feel normal when normal is taken away? Normal being the entire family here.   Family. Tonks and Lupin. Fred. George looked at the clock that had a hand for every one, including Hermione and Harry. As he looked at the clock, his fingers found Fred’s hand that used to be on the clock. Fred was no longer here, neither was Tonks and Lupin. What did George want? George wanted Tonks and Lupin, they were part of the family. But most of all, he wanted them here for little Teddy, who would be growing up with his mother and father. Although Teddy was without his parents, he had his grandmother but also Harry and the Weasley’s. They all would make sure that little Teddy wouldn’t go without love and support. They’d all be there for him.   But most of all, what George wanted Fred back. His twin, partner in crime. Partner in the shop, the shop that they both worked so hard for. He missed Fred so much and never imagined life without him. They had spent twenty years doing almost everything together. Now George had to learn how to do everything by himself. Some days he felt like he was suffocating, the nightmares were never ending. His poor mother woke up in screaming fits for her son. Everyone looked at George with sadness because they all saw Fred in him.   What did George want for christmas? Nothing that money could buy but his brother, Tonks and Lupin. For laughter and fun times. He could feel the tears silently going down his face as he quickly left the living room to head to his room so he could have some privacy.  

*(LOS Cleric)*Natasha De La Vega(T)

11/28/2021 04:31 PM 

Natasha's home

Walker

11/28/2021 04:27 PM 

Roles

1) Mentor and protege. Version one. This is the most creative, this is something you would have the most freedom with.2) Mentor And protege. Version two. I give you a serial killer story and the general character and you incorporate some parts in (Such as name, age range. and some personality traits)2a)A concept at the moment would be an actress that has a serial killing nature.3) A cop/detective/agent. My idea was a bit of cat and mouse. You are hunting my alter ego down while working me as my lawyer side. A few ways the future can go, but i'll share those later on.Lastly, a little about myself, so you can get a sense of my character.Name: Nolan Andrew Walker.Preferred Themes: Dark, crime, psychological, thrillers and all similar.Optional Themes: Open to supernatural, comics, mythologies. Most times, I'll do my best to fit.Age: 32Nationality: English.Height: 6'3Occupation: Criminal Defence/Prosecutor Lawyer. Attorney. (Open to being in other fields of Law for certain storylines.)Secrets: May or may not kill criminals. (serial killer optional)Morality: Depends on the story. Good. Antihero.Parents and fiancee were murdered by a criminal.Sexual Orientation: Straight.

*(LOS Cleric)*Natasha De La Vega(T)

11/28/2021 04:20 PM 

Natasha's office

โ€Ž

11/28/2021 02:07 PM 

CH.STUDY - LEO/LIBRA

A MAN WHO CHEATS TO SECURE HIS CROWN... /grฤ“k-gäd/ noun a strikingly handsome male deity - archetype of male beauty. bold – aesthetics that relate to your muse.๐™ฐ๐š๐™ธ๐™ด๐š‚ – [03]bonfires • competitiveness • hand veins • loud laughs • messy hair • sneaking out at 2 am • abandoned beaches • stray dogs • candle lights • body language • creaking floorboards • ouija boards • having no regrets • karaoke nights out๐šƒ๐™ฐ๐š„๐š๐š„๐š‚ – [02]house plants • oversized sweaters • soft hands • fuzzy socks • visiting big cities • snoozing your alarm clock • the color yellow • vanilla-scented candles • aloe vera • fruit smoothies • baking cookies • the mom friend • loves the ukulele๐™ถ๐™ด๐™ผ๐™ธ๐™ฝ๐™ธ – [06]femme fatale movies • in love with female villains • sharp eyeliner • quick-witted • does things out of spite • do no harm but take no sh*t • in love with dogs • probably cries during sad movies but wont admit it • easily excited • ripped jeans๐™ฒ๐™ฐ๐™ฝ๐™ฒ๐™ด๐š – [05]mermaids • easily infatuated by love • smelling flowers • picnics in open fields • gets sad when thinking about the past • impressed easily • daydreaming in class • plucking fresh fruit • loves fashion • would die for their friends๐™ป๐™ด๐™พ – [08]confidence in what they do • kill them with kindness • high ponytails • probably wants to visit paris once • not afraid to tell the truth • in love with cute animals • the one to lift others up • good at teamwork • the warm feeling of summer • dragons๐š…๐™ธ๐š๐™ถ๐™พ – [02]pastel markers • the smell of lavender • has a welcoming vibe around them • actually organized • scrunchies • neat notes • loves going to museums • probably into photography • neutral colors • handwritten letters • stardust๐™ป๐™ธ๐™ฑ๐š๐™ฐ – [08]soft blankets • cuddling the ones you love • always standing up for your friends • hopeless romantic • can be very distant • can be a little (very) dramatic • pretty hair • dresses nicely • tries to be popular on social media • optimistic • humorous๐š‚๐™ฒ๐™พ๐š๐™ฟ๐™ธ๐™พ – [06]cottages in the woods • in love with greek mythology • vintage t-shirts • really emotional but doesn’t want anyone to know • determined • moonlight • pretty handwriting • into the retro aesthetic • rainy days • doesn’t judge people • cats๐š‚๐™ฐ๐™ถ๐™ธ๐šƒ๐šƒ๐™ฐ๐š๐™ธ๐š„๐š‚ – [04]always ready for an adventure • street smart • wants to travel the world someday • doesn’t easily trust people • alcohol • paintbrushes • can’t sit still • untied shoelaces • tangled up earphones • blasting music at midnight • eye-gazing๐™ฒ๐™ฐ๐™ฟ๐š๐™ธ๐™ฒ๐™พ๐š๐™ฝ – [02]cold aura • coffee is what keeps them going • probably hasn’t slept in two days • actually a big softie • high-waisted jeans • cute pet videos • small apartments • has too many notebooks • often goes to the library • writing essays๐™ฐ๐š€๐š„๐™ฐ๐š๐™ธ๐š„๐š‚ – [03]loves to paint & do any kind of art • wants to live at the seaside • knows a lot of random facts • food • messy notes • bullsh*ts an entire essay • graffiti • has their own distinct style • wants to live their life like they want to๐™ฟ๐™ธ๐š‚๐™ฒ๐™ด๐š‚ – [04]old teddy bears • unsent love letters • dad-jeans • loves to sing • feels at home by the ocean • writes poetry • hard-workers • always up for deep conversations • probably did the stupid thing • open curtains • a soft breeze ...IS NOT WORTHY OF THE THRONE.

๐’ฟ๐’ถ๐’น๐‘’๐’น.

11/28/2021 01:22 PM 

npcs.

**this will get cleaned up and updated later, but here's some of the NPCS thus far in mike's story. name: caroline herdel age: 41relation: maternal aunt of mike; legal guardian of mike, marc, and anaoccupation: pediatric neurologistname: marcus "marc" kingage: 28relation: adoptive brotheroccupation: rookie boxer name: ana fuentesage: 28relation: adoptive sisteroccupation: mma fighter (currently in off-season)name: alberto garciaage: 45relation: caroline's boyfriendoccupation: retired professional boxer, owner of Knuckles Boxing and Mixed Martial Arts Gymname: billy millerage: 58relation: the filth that ana sleeps withoccupation: auto mechanic

one-eight-seven.

11/28/2021 10:45 PM 

Drabbles.

EPISODE ONE Theodore Root was the name given to him by his father. A fan of Roosevelt, would tell Teddy, “he was the youngest president in hist-tree!” As a child Teddy admired his father when he was sober and feared him when he was drunk. A ten year old smeared in his father’s cum, his mother screaming, his father holding back his fist, “one more and she’s down for the count,” and that laugh — the maniacal flood of laughter that ensued like a clown in a house of horrors. It wasn’t long before boys from school who would bully Teddy saw what sort of hobbies he maintained in the absent of the prison-like recess yard. They reported to their parents immediately the ritualistic cat sacrifices in his backyard. Now and again pets would come up missing and everyone would point, spit, and toss rocks at ole’ Teddy calling him the Freak of the Bayou. They didn’t have much money, hell, not much was too much, they didn’t have that either. Stones would pile in the woods behind Teddy’s home and when the neighbors would come screaming at little Teddy, his father would pounce at the door to defend his son. He’d come sit by the bed from time to time with a beer in hand and nurse the boy, saying, “don’t listen to’em, you’re smarter than they’ar. They’re jealous, Teddy. That’s all.” These words would instill in him a deepened meaning that would carry into his adulthood. They’re jealous, all of them. When Teddy served in Nam things became abundantly clear for ‘ole Teddy that he and the world were two different entities. The world had its rules and regulations. To live among the sheep meant to be a sheep. He had to listen to orders, kill who they wanted, serve who they wanted, save who they wanted. The God damn country’s morales changed on a day to day basis. Sometimes, in those trenches, in those jungles when it would rain hard and sideways, they would fight for God. In the green, overgrown vineyards, it was for the motherland, for the planet, for the future. When they were back at base — it was for family, for honor, for the fabled medal of honor. Teddy got it wrapped around his head that it didn’t really matter to him who the sheep fought for, he just wanted to get on home. Every Viet he claimed was another one he sent to God, that’s what they’d say. “Teddy sent another one to God,” and he smiled, nod, and those devilish eyes would burrow beneath their own darkness. In 1981 when Teddy Root came back to Louisiana he wasn’t welcomed home with open arms. He was rushed to his mother’s funeral. Father had killed her with a revolver, then, he took his own life and left a note. The plantation passed down for generations of the Root family was going to his little sister, Abigail. She was no more than nine when he came back. A red-haired, snaggle-tooth little thing. He looked at her the way he looked at the world and all its sheep. She did what the world told her to do. She listened to their words and spoke them with pride. His gut boiled. He had gone to war. He had seen things, done things, he paid for the plantation — the American dream — with blood and sweat. It was his father’s last cruel joke. He had been home for a few months before he went into the backyard and started cleaning the small, petite stones that once served as his pet gravesites. As he wiped away the moss and weeds something stirred in his eyes. And like he often did, he spoke to himself in a grandiose accent, british, “well, ‘ole chap. We’re going to need more stones.” CUE MUSIC — โ™ซ August 27th, 2021 Sophia Brynes’ body is discovered in Lafourche’ Bayou, Louisiana. ROLL CREDITS     NEW ORLEANS TEEN FOUND DEAD Local teen, Sophia Michelle Brynes found dead at the age of 18 in Lafourche Bayou, Lousianna. She is survived by her mother, Rose Brynes and father Timothy Brynes. Police and Detectives say that Sophia's body was discovered around 9AM on Tuesday morning. It's spectulated she had been deceased for roughly 72 hours before her body was discovered. A local fisherman, Allen Watts,34, said he was driving his boat when he saw her hand protruding from a batch of weeds near the shore. The investigation is currently on-going with the police and family of Sophia Brynes offering a reward of $25,000 to anyone with information regarding her murder. There are currently no suspects. While speaking to some of her classmates it was revealed that Sophia was not one to frequent the known hang-out location of her peers, the Bayou. She was described as a teacher's pet, a loving and caring student who had excellent grades. Sophia Brynes was the kind of student that others aspired to be, she is quoted as saying that she would run for class president and turn Cohen Highschool around. Cohen Highschool, notoriously placed as America's most dangerous school in the year of 2021. With gang vilolence and the war on drugs escalating, could there be a connection? Stay with us as the investigation into the murder of Sophia Brynes continues. NEW ORLEANS DAILY BEWS, 2021 ©   EPISODE TWO NOLA POLICE DEPT. — 8PM It was the first time that in a room full of so many it seemed that he was screaming and no one could hear him. The Captain came out and looked across the room with folded arms, his sergeant put his head down. Burns was posted up on his desk, one leg on and the other straight. When he looked around the room no one dared make eye-contact. He figured it would be much easier on them all he he go quietly. He grabbed the pictures, the folders, the squeeze ball and the notepads and tablets he had laying around and stuffed them all in a medium-sized, brown box. There was still blood on his shirt from hours prior. When he was done collecting his things it was Burns who came up and shook his hand, patted his shoulder and then came in for a half-hug, “you’re gonna’ be alright. This’ll turn up clean. Just lay low and—” As Kyle turned away to carry his things to the elevator he hesitated, turned back to Burns and listened, “if you need anything, you know where to find me, brotha’.” Kyle then quietly exited toward the elevators.   He spun around and looked, one last time, out across the room of black and blue. In all of their eyes were fear and disappointment. It was a mixed crowd of he-done-it. FRENCH QUARTER — 8:15PM She was crying again, this time into her phone. “—and for that reason, I’m going to have to take you off of this story.” She sniffled, “Rebecca, please…” There was static noise, “I spent years on this. You can’t — can’t do this to me.” It remained quiet and after a cold, hard ten seconds of silence Rebecca spoke up, “Tess, I’m sorry. It’s not my call to make. I’m sorry that this happened to you. Happy — happy birthday, I’m sorry. Again, I’m sorry.” She ended the call and beat her phone against her leg in the back of the uber. “This okay, here?” The car slowly came to a stop. “This is — this is fine, here. Keep whatever, and uhm—” she hurried to grab her things together and stuff them into her purse. She wiped her eyes and sniffled, pulling her coat together against herself, using her palms under her eyes and making sure she seemed presentable. “Thank you, I’m sorry about that — that phone call just now,” he smiled, looked away, “you’d be surprised the sh*t I hear coming from back there. Tough break, lost your job?” She laughed a bit only imagining what he might actually hear while trotting people around town, “not exactly. Just four years of my life. My boyfriend slept with my boss, I tossed him out, she tossed me off a case that I’ve been writing about for — I don’t know — the last four years of my life. I mean —” she opened the door, stepped out and went to the window, folding her arms over the seal, “I’ve got so much sh*t on this guy and no one wants to publish it.” “Leak it,” he laughed, “I would.” She laughed back, “yeah, I’ll be the next Snowden.” “You’re gonna be late, Miss…” He looked over her shoulder at a crowd of people cheering inside of a bar. “It’s okay, I’m not the party type. I prefer to spend my birthday’s alone. My brother never lets me sulk, but, hey — it’s eight-thirty. I might be off the hook.”     And it donned on her that she would, yet again, be spending her birthday alone. No boyfriend, no friends at the office. Everyone was keeping quiet around her over the scandal, and lastly, no brother. Mom was back in the treatment center and dad — oh boy, dad. What do you need family for anyway? She tried not to start crying again. It was hard. “I’m so sorry, here I am talking your ear off. You probably have places to be.” He laughed, “I’m a man of much time, it’s why I do what I do. Didn’t like the nine-to-five gigs.” The SUV snored off almost as if he wanted her to wave him back down. She stood there on the street corner breathing heavy until it became a big heave and ho, then came the tears again. She was utterly and undeniably alone. The last time she spoke to Kyle, he wanted less than nothing to do with her. She got down to a squat and let the river flow. The tears streamed, what was a fight and struggle to hold them back became a release of the flood gates altogether, “f***, f***. You’re so stupid. Why didn’t you just keep it to yourself, stupid girl.” FRENCH QUARTER — 8:43PM CUE MUSIC — โ™ซ “Who’s stupid?” He said, standing no more than ten feet from her holding a medium, brown box. His hair unkempt, everywhere, blood stained on his button down, badge gone from his hip, no gun in his holster and nothing but smiles. “I know that’s not Tessa Lieberman crying on the corner in the Frenchie of all places?” He got closer, slowly put his box down beside her. She looked up and wiped away her tears, “you remember when mom would bring us up here as kids? We use to pass this bar and think, ‘oh, that’s fancy. That’s where all the rich people gotta’ eat. One day, when we grow up, what did we say—” She smiled, laughed a bit even, “we were gonna’ get one of everything on the menu.” He wiped her cheek, “let’s go get a burger down the street, Tess. Honestly, we can’t eat there. Sh*t is expensive.” She slowly stood up with his help, pulling her. “Why did you come,” she laughed, “It’s your birthday. Family tradition.” He took a step back and got a good look at her. Messy bun, big sweater that said NEW YORKER on it and tights with boots. There was a scrunchie on her wrist and she was wearing last night’s makeup.     “Long day at the office?” He said with a smile, “I should be asking you,” she pointed to the box. “It’s just uh, I had too much stuff on my desk. Let’s go get that food.” She hugged him without warning and sniffled in his ear, “I’m glad you’re here, Kyle.” He dropped the box and put his arms around her upper back and squeezed, “wouldn’t miss it, little sister.”   EPISODE THREE A 1980’s black Monte Carlo creepily pulls into the furthest parking spot in the northwest lot of Cohen Highschool. It’s loud exhaust is noticeable to anyone within a twenty-foot radius and smoke is pooling from the rear. It’s the last gasp of Fall before Winter’s frosted grip chokes the south. Louisiana didn’t necessarily get snow all winter long but there were some days that it came close. The year is 2021 and school shootings are all the media seems to cover these days. It’s only 8:01AM but he’s an hour late for his first day. “Yeah, yeah — I know. I’ll keep that in mind. Hey, listen I have to go now. I’ll call you later. Okay? Alright.” He ends the call and tosses the phone into his passenger seat on top of a bulk of case files. The leather is colder than outside it feels and he breathes the fresh air from his driver-side open window but can’t quite grasp the aura of fresh air. It’s thick, it’s cold, he sniffles. He grabs the files and starts organizing them and then clips on his badge, TRAVIS WINDERMAN, MR. WINDERMAN, HISTORY. He’s donned in a button down with slacks and dress shoes. He fixes his tie in the mirror while never removing his eyes from the blue color in them. “You got this. You got this, it’s six months. Give it that at least.” He opens the door and exits the old sh*tcan and finally gets his first real look at the school, COHEN HIGH SCHOOL, NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. He leans against the car and lights up a drag, takes a couple puffs and tosses it. He strolls into the inner-parking lot with the files tucked under his arms. As he enters he is greeted at the front desk by Miss Rowanda Baxter, “how can I help you?” She says right away, eye-ing him up and down, “you lost?”She says with a hint of sass. “I’m Mr. Winderman, History? I’m the substitute.” Her desk partner pulls the phone away from her ear, “another one?” She gives him a look of confusion and concern, “oo baby, hope you ready? Most subs don’t last here.”He smiles a southern charm sort of smile and squints his kind blue eyes, “so I’ve heard. I think I can handle it.” Rwanda stamps his badge, “that’s what they all say. Down the hall, Hallway C, Room 411. God bless ya’ sweetie.”“Thank you.” The hallways are buzzing. Rap music blaring, kids keeping their heads down, dominantly African American kids crowd. They all look him up and down, they’ve never seen someone so put together work in a place like this. They know he’s a meal. He’s to be eaten, he’s to be shown how it is, what it is, who is God and who governs the law here — they do. One kid, taller than him, shoulder-presses him, he nearly drops his files. “F*** outta’ my way, bitch.” He says but Kyle’s seen worse, he’s been through worse. He holds the files, “my apologies,"  he offers and opens the door to Room 411. Inside kids are stretched across their desks with their feet, paper is everywhere.        They’re rough-housing, dancing, chatting, laughing, cursing, and chewing loudly. One kid in particular is sitting in the teacher’s desk, talking on his phone. The door starts to close behind him, in almost concern he turns and watches it. He knows when it closes — it’s over — he’s Travis Winderman, Substitute teacher for Room 411 — history class. He swallows hard, but he knows why he’s there and that’s more important. It closes, and his journey begins. Cue theme — โ™ซ   EPISODE FOUR ( V / O ) “...And while her husband was on the run…” His fingers flipped through the pages tapping over pictures of suspects of similar crimes. He drug his index over redacted black lines and depositions printed barbarically in Special Elite across faded paper. Nineteen-ninety-two, three dead, one missing, case cold. ( V / O ) “...The murder took place in the Hollywood hills…” From his peripherals he saw the hand of Jamal come up and wave frantically with a displeasing frustration written into his expression, “yes, Jamal?” Mr. Winderman said ( Kyle ). “I gotta take a piss,” without missing a beat he pointed to the door to the classroom suggesting that the boy just simply go. Jamal exited the classroom while passing glances over to the case files and then back at the door. He exited and took his bathroom break but Kyle was never the wiser. His mind was trapped and riddled by the files before him. Now, it had been four months since the murder of Sophia but the department was no closer to naming a suspect than winter was ending and it was f***ing cold. Frost painted every window and shivering was part of every early start to the morning. The heat in the damn building barely worked to keep the chilled grip at bay and even with ice floating down the river, it didn’t stop the boats from flooding. If he could only catch the break he needed. There had to be some moral justification for posing as a substitute, some needed guideline to say — “hey, you’re in the right place. You’re doing the right thing!” It never came. It had been months and nothing. The f***ing sh*t bag of a school was hell on earth. Teachers came and went. The turnaround was unbelievable and rivaled after slaughter house in a fifty-mile radius. He just couldn’t get the picture of Sophia, 18, holding her dog out of his head. Just a sliver of a news paper cut article and it had him tossing and turning day in and day out. Jamal had been gone for far too long. He was likely cutting or smoking in the bathroom and with a heavy sigh all Kyle could remember was Rowanda preaching, “don’t let them kids walk on ya’. You gotta’ show’em who’s boss.” Kyle, Mr. Winderman, stood up and sighed while looking at the class. None of them cared about the movie. One girl was painting her nails, two guys were playing cards and everyone else was sleeping or texting. They were trapped here. This was their hell. They had to be here or they’d be sent to the detention center for truancy. None of them wanted to do the time. This was easier. “I’ll be back class, I need to take a piss.” Beat. He entered nonchalantly and closed his eyes at the urinal, “hey, Jamal, if you’re in here. Let’s get back to class.” He tilted his head back feeling the stream spiral the drain and splash the scented cake. He zipped up his pants and no sooner did a shot land in the back of his head. It must have been a two-by-four, it felt like the butt of a gun. Something blunt, something stiff. Everything went black after that. He heard their voices like the blur of a rainy window; half-there-half-not. “Stop diggin’ mother f***a’. You-on’t need to be lookin’ fo’ sh*t, you don’t-an mess with these fools,” then it was gone; all black. That was the first time he met her, Mrs.Lagrange. She was a thirty-something, blonde woman with a youthful appearance, very canter in speech, lady-like unbecoming of a place like this. “I’ll try to get the swelling down, but what — I mean what happened to you?” He fluttered, he stirred up and the first thing he noticed was the clock on the wall. The ticking louder than usual, “we have a stand-in, in your class at the moment. But, are you going to be okay? Mr. Winderman?”     He opened his eyes to find the round, yet somehow, thin face of Mrs.Lagrange — the nurse. “I don’t remember. I think I fell in the bathroom.” His nose was busted, lip fat, eye, black. “Just a fall? That must have been some distance.” She said fall like foul, a thick but discrete southern accent. As he laid there in the nurses corner of the office one thing became blindingly clear — it wasn’t going to be easy nor safe to ask students questions openly about Sophia Brynes. He had only ever spoke to one student about her case and already he was being pushed. Another thing became clear subsequently so, that Jamal was somehow involved.   EPISODE FIVE CUE MUSIC — โ™ซ A black crown vic yanked into a hotel valet. The keys were handed off, and Terrence had never felt more out of his element than among the High Society. He hated this sh*t. Meeting big, rich, ass bitches like these? Sh*t is for the birds. He wore his father’s leather jacket. It meant more than it let on. It was his father who initiated him into the sh*t. It was a badge of approval, of honor in Tulane. He pulled it tight, felt its texture and patted his hip for his glock. The driver walk around the car, “no guns,” he said and put his hand out. “Man, yall out ya damn mind you think I’m —” “Do it, give it to him.” Said Jamal. The trio strode into the hotel lobby, greeted by Copper. “Ah sh*t, it’s a reunion!” Terrence hugged his old comrade. “Damn, it’s been what—” “Four years, my nig—” “Damn, it’s good — it’s good, how’s momma?” “She’s—you know—we tryin…” Grecko was a suit and tie. Liberace mother f***er. He wore nothing that wasn’t name brand; all white, white shades, slicked back, black hair and age worn as well as it could be. Italian, Terrence assumed. “How are my assets being handled in the slums of New Orleans?!” He smiled, big, teethy, too white to be real and smelled like Old Spice. Skin-like-leather, and chest hair curling out the top of his white button-down. Terrence got quiet. He didn’t like to show himself too much around Grecko. He was big evil. Big business. There wasn’t a bowl in a thousand miles he didn’t have his fingers in, one way or another. CUT TO — TERRACE, HOTEL ROOFTOP BAR. There were hues of purple and green dancing around them, a hip-hop song played in the background. Smoke would have made it hard to see there was so much had the terrace not been open. Girls, petite, barely clothed danced around them. “Private party,” Grecko told Terrence, who looked around cautiously. “Nobody else, —homie—just us, us men, and the things we like…” He slowly turned toward a latin beauty who jumped into the pool completely nude. Her ass swooped up, baring everything to be seen. Hedges trimmed, baby-smooth skin, he couldn’t find a flaw on her. “Oh you like her? You want her?” Terrence said nothing just stared at her, swimming, laughing, her dimples, everything—he couldn’t look away. “You tell me how we’re doing down there, I’ll send her up to you tonight.” “Jamal to—” “I know what he said, what do you say?” “I’unno man. There’s a new teacher at the school.” “Ah, giving you too much homework vato?” He laughed. “Nah man, nothing like that. Just rubbin’ me the wrong way, ya’ feel? Sh*t goes down with that girl, he shows up the next day. Don’t sit right with me, ya’ know I’m sane?” Grecko nodded, “alright, you watch him. Anything seems strange, you let me know. Directly, me. You understand, no?” “Ya’ I feel you. I’m worried. This is big sh*t that’s happening.” “Ha-ha, yes it is my friend. Big sh*t. Sh*t like this, ain’t never been done before, homie. What we’re doing, what we’re planning.” CUT TO—TERRENCE ROOM, MIDNIGHT. The door creaks open, she has her shoes between her fingers. Terrence can do nothing but stare from the window. He closes the blinds, she unzips her dress. She says something in spanish that he doesn't recognize and then she walks the way water runs in a river. He takes her by the hip first, lips upon her neck. "Damn," he whispers. Fade.   EPISODE SIX “You look like sh*t,” she said. Tessa Lieberman was his younger sister. Younger by a couple years but definitely the golden child of the two. Their mom and dad always favored her. She was a gymnast, a good singer, had dance lessons since ten and took all the same self-defense classes he did. When he got his brown belt nobody showed up, congratulated him, no pizza for dinner — nothing. When Tess put her Gi on, mom brought out the old camera she got from grandma and filmed every inch of her first class. She stood every bit of five-six and maybe a buck twenty; a thin little thing with a blonde pin-up and stern blue eyes. She could command a room and never really backed down from a story. See, it was her job to dig into things that made other people scared. She learned all the gruesome and dirty details around town. She printed whatever she wanted whether the consequences were life-threatening or not. He didn’t know why that would ever mean he’d get a pass. “Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting company.” “I called you—” “I didn’t answer.” “Oh well, I’m here now. Let’s get food. You’ll want a drink too,” Kyle stood up and sighed, “guess that means you’ve got good news.” CUT TO — CLOVER GRILL, 6PM He’s eating a burger. He had just taken such a big bite that lettuce and grease is drooling over his plate. Still chewing, “that’s gross,” she admits and pulls a folder out of her purse, sliding it over to him. He licks his fingers, “what’s this?” “Just look at it.” He opens it and knows right away what it is. He closes it and slides it back, “why would you show me that?” She looks at him as if to say, how dare you? But she doesn’t, “they’re putting me on this. You need to come clean, now…” She looks around, “if it’s going to be written you need to control the narrative. Someone died because of you.” “I told you,” he said, putting his finger up to the bartender, “think I’ll have that drink now boss,” She put the file back into her purse, “—you told me what? What you told every other news outlet that came kicking your door down that night.” “I told you the same truth I told everyone else, Tess. That was self-defense.” She pulled out a snippet of a news article, NEW ORLEANS DETECTIVE WILL STAND TRIAL FOR SHOOTING GONE WRONG. “Have you read this?” “No, don’t want to either...It’s all bullsh*t. They weren’t there, you weren’t there. You don’t know what situations like that demand. You need to be ready at all times, prepared for anything.” She pulled her lip, bumped her brows and tilted her head, “and now I hear you’re subbing at the same school Sophia Brynes went to before she turned up in the Bayou, that a coincidence too, Kyle?” “Look, stay out of my business. Stay away from my job. If you’re here to get a story out of me then—” “I’m here to tell you that mom’s cancer sprung back up, this was just a bonus. Don’t know why I expected you to be straight with me, anyway—” He stopped — everything. He only stared forward in that moment feeling his heart sink into his gut. The two coalescening into a sh*t-storm. He couldn’t lose them both. He had cut mom off after what happened to his dad, hell, borderline blamed her for everything.     “You’d know if you ever came around the family,” she stood up and began to take her leave, “Tess, wait.” She turned, languidly, not sure if he had anything worth listening to at that point, “has she been admitted again? Where is she this time?” “Tulane.” She said, “Tulane Cancer Center.” He nodded, “give me three months, then I’ll tell you anything.” She pushed the door, “I won’t hold my breath.” He stared at bar stools absolutely defeated. How had he missed it? He’s been running from so many demons that the ones who suffer were around him. If he solved this case but his mother died, it was all for nothing. He couldn’t pull himself to admit it, but making them proud was the reason for everything. Even if it meant he had to disappear for a while to do it. CUE MUSIC — โ™ซ

His Holiness

11/28/2021 07:59 PM 

Prompt for Outcast

How could I ever trust you?  George was on his knees as he looked up at the God of Mischief. Loki had terrorized them, beaten them, and still expected them to follow him. Now George was bloody, beaten and being threatened. But he was still sticking to his gut, this wasn’t right, he knew better then to side with some one who terrorized people. “Come on, we could do great things if you helped me, '' Loki said as he sneered down at George.   George spat at Loki, blood flying out of his mouth “I will never side with you” George said through his teeth. The guard that Loki had holding onto George pulled at the chains holding onto George’s wrist, making them pull on his shoulders. George grunted at the pain, but never wavered. “I’d rather die than help you” George had been through battle before, he knew what the most likely outcome could be.   “But with your….. Pranks, which are great, can cause so much chaos in both worlds” Loki said with a smirk. “We could rule together, but the Gods of Mischief. I can help get you the status of a God” Loki promised the young wizard. “You have a brilliant mind. A mind that I would love to have at my side” He said “Plus your powers? A young wizard like yourself can do so much with your life if you join me. You can live for centuries”   George looked up at Loki. It was hard to see him. His left eye was nearly swollen shut. His right eye was having a hard time focusing on the man before him. George would gladly take a beating again to defend the people who didn’t deserve to be terrorized by Loki. “How can I possibly trust you?” It was a legit question. George took a beating for defending people, how could he possibly trust Loki?   The God just sneered down at George. “You could, if you joined me. I have never strayed from something that I’ve offered if the person willingly joined me” George shook his head, still refusing to join him. “Nothing ever good comes out joining the wrong side” George said. Just then George felt a smack across his face, causing him to cry out in pain. One of Loki’s minions had backhanded George for saying Loki’s side was the wrong side.    “Now now” Loki said “He’s allowed to have his opinion, even if it is wrong” Loki said just as George looked back at him. His cheek throbbed even more now. But he refused to give in. This wasn’t the first time he had been in a battle or captured, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last time either.  

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11/28/2021 05:15 AM 

The Secret Door

The Secret Door   Diamondback /1684718 mentions Lost and FoundSilas Verlac had been the Head of the New Orleans Institute for nearly three years now. Everything imaginable had happened to him, or so he'd thought at the moment. He was still young, so he had no real idea what could truly lay ahead for him. Being young and dying young was what Nephilim tended to do, so he was going to live each moment as he could, especially since he was going to marry Serena Herondale very soon.There were some areas of the Institute that were still new to him. He had practically grown up in the institute, but his father kept him away from certain areas at all times. Now that he was given his father's position. There was no need in keeping him from these areas. He stood in front of one such door right now. He felt a chill race down his spine. He couldn't let that stop him, so he pushed himself to go forward. His right hand turned the knob and the door opened in his hand.By the looks of it, nobody had been in this room for at least 25 years. The amount of dust on the furniture was beyond belief. It was obvious Tammy didn't come in here. He was wondering who was the last one in here. Maybe it was his Dad? By the style of the furniture, he surmised that this room dated back to his grandpa Albert. It was so much to take in that Silas almost felt like he was intruding. Impossible curiosity drove him forward. That had to be his faerie blood.In the corner of the room, there was an old book lying open on a swivel stand with a bookmark gently placed upon the book. Silas was drawn to the tome. It was practically calling to him. He took the last few steps brushing away the stirred up dust with his extended palm. He gently blew the dust from the onion skin pages before looking at them himself.The pages were blank. Silas narrowed his eyes. There had been something that brought him here. Had he been hallucinating? He blinked again as he saw something that was blood red crawl across the pages. He canted his head to the left and began to make out words.All will be made whole when the vessel is unified with its master.Silas backed away from the book as though he'd seen a ghost. He stumbled into the hallway practically running over Tammy in the process. She grabbed her grandson by the arm and spoke to him firmly. "Silas. SILAS! WHAT have you done?" Her expression was usually very jovial but now there was something that Silas had not seen before. Tammy was afraid."I'm sorry Gramma. I just went into the room. There was a book in there and words appeared." Silas was panting again and in a full blown panic. "That can't be about me!" His olive hues looked desperately for answers to his Faerie Grandmother.Her heart sank. For all this time, she strived to protect Silas even if he was still a fully recognized and skilled Shadowhunter. Nothing could protect him from Jacques St Germain. Tammy would die to save that boy if she had to, just as her daughter did before her. "What did the words on the boy say baby?" She spoke lovingly trying to calm him.Silas closed his eyes to remember. "All will be made whole when the vessel is unified with its master." He repeated in a cold voice that had no heart. It sounded like St. Germain to Tammy and that made her start to worry.Tammy squeezed his arm. "Si baby. You've been overwhelmed lately with everything happening. Why don't you go down to the gym and blow off some steam? I think Rena is in there." She was hiding her anger well. Only a handful of people knew that Silas had a claim on his body by Jacques St Germain. She was the only one alive left who knew this. "It's gonna be alright baby. I promise."Silas nodded. He knew he always knew he felt better after a workout. "Yeah. Good idea." He kissed her on the side of her cheek. "You're right Gramma." He nodded and finally headed in the direction of the gym.Tammy pulled out her mobile and sent Rena a text.I need you to keep Silas busy for a few hours in the gym, okay? I'll fill you in on the details later. -xo She hit send to make sure her granddaughter-to-be would keep Silas out of trouble. Tammy had something to do.  “Vireseit vulnere virtus.”  Virtue grows in strength from wounds. credit: james kriet

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11/27/2021 11:10 PM 

Irish Eyes

1x1 with Fierce Heart Irish Eyes Rembrandt/ 1593610 AUTHOR'S NOTE. This piece is connected to another I wrote that you can locate here One week agoIn the countryside of IrelandThe Emerald Isle had been home to many different civilizations over the years. University College of Dublin financed a dig here for the archaeology majors. It was an elaborate set up with various pits in a 45 yard radius of a certain spot. Each pit had four students inside working in unison.One student was a girl with flowing curly crimson locks that were tied in a ponytail behind her head. Her brilliant jade hues were focused intently on an item that appeared to be embedded in the dirt rather deeply. She began firmly scraping so as not to damage anything that might be recovered in this particular pit. Finally she started to uncover a medallion with an inscription on it. "Professor! I think I found something."The instructor was a tallish man with a distinctly receding hairline. He had spectacles on a chain from his neck that he lifted to sit upon his nose one more time. He approached the student who had called to him looking inside to spy the object she was excavating. "What have you found there?""I'm not sure." She cracked away at the dirt until the medallion revealed its secret. There was a superscript "M" surrounded by snakes. Snakes were no longer located in Ireland so this was a rather fascinating discovery. She started to pull the medallion free when she realized that it was in the hands of a skeleton. From the looks of the skeleton it was a female.The professor turned as white as a sheet. His eyes widened. "So she really was alive…" He whispered in increasingly loud telling tones. "Brigid was real….. This has to be her."The young student was shocked by the declaration. She and her other classmates exited the pit. They were frightened out of their minds. Finding Brigid meant that the Monster would be coming back if he wasn't already here….~*~Present DayIreland was a land of the greenest hills and the most beautiful blue skies. Klaus loved it here and he knew his wife Caroline did too. He had whisked away his wife and toddler son to Ireland for some much needed rest. The school was on a summer break. They wouldn't resume classes for weeks yet. That was plenty of time for them to spend together.Klaus Mikaelson stood outside in the gardens of a castle that had come into his possession nearly 900 years ago. It was from this castle that he overlooked the hamlet below. He was a different creature back then but still the heart of evil remained the same. It was just hidden more carefully over the centuries.He'd hidden here many times over the years. He even had an area in the dungeon renovated somewhere along the time that Joan of Arc was conducting her battles against the English because no one would bloody care what he was even doing. This was where he kept the coffins of his siblings when they needed to be daggered on occasion. Poor Finn spent two hundred years locked in his coffin in that wing. One could almost feel sorry for him. AlmostKlaus couldn't wait to have his son run the grounds of this castle. Mercutio was becoming a strapping young boy with a distinct proclivity for mischief. There were little subtle hints about the child that had him quite concerned. Ireland was definitely the place to be, because answers that they needed couldn't be found in America. That was something of which Klaus was definitely certain.He decided to pull out his phone to call his protegee when he got this notification on his phone. It was a picture of a medallion bearing the Mikaelson crest caked with the dirt of the ages. The headline read. "The grave of St. Brigid discovered. The Legends of The Monster of Tullamore are being spoken of once more for the first time in 900 years."Klaus' steps carried him into the castle and toward the nursery where he found Caroline looking after their son. "I should have told you a long time ago." He handed the phone to his wife so she could read what was on his screen. "I am the Monster of Tullamore." He added with hushed tones.  credit: james kriet

๐•Žitch'๐•ค ๐•ƒamen๐•ฅ

11/27/2021 10:59 PM 

Chaos Realm Christmas Drabble

Elijah Mikaelson Chaos Realm RPG Shoes for Père Nöel | Mentions: Niklaus Mikaelson and Rebekah Mikaelson ... https://www.roleplayer.me/1745585 This was more difficult than Elijah thought. He stood in his bedroom as casually as was possible for him on a full scale day. His suit jacket was left flopped upon the lush king size bed and with his sleeves rolled up he stood there contemplating. His arms crossed over his chest and just his socks upon the carpet under his feet. For the sake of holiday cheer he would have to decide which pair of shoes he would have to sacrifice to the lounge downstairs. They would be set next to his siblings' shoes along the crook of the fireplace. Not close enough to burn, but they would have to be among the gift giving area."Why didn't we stop this tradition when we came overseas?" Elijah asked himself. He then shook his head and decided. Bending lightly he took up the polished brown dress shoes in his right hand and in a trained motion his black pair were slipped on. Taking up the suit jacket, he slipped it on and then made his way out of the room.It was when he came to the lounge that his heart seemed to melt a little bit. As much as he couldn't stand this old French tradition of leaving shoes to ask for offerings on Christmas Night…. Seeing Niklaus' sneakers and Rebekah's night slippers there brought a sense that the family time was appreciated. Still cherished despite all their back and forth banter. Just a few days ago he ended up in a bit of a punching match with Klaus but still there were his shoes. With a smile Elijah stepped forward and placed his own shoes there along with there's.They beat him to it as usual… Now just to figure out what to get them -- aside from shoe offerings. "Always and Forever" template credit.  

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05/10/2018 05:40 PM 

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His Holiness

11/27/2021 08:34 PM 

Drabble reply for Brilliantly Scary

George’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked Hermione over as she said she’d be fine alone for a few hours since he was going out to have dinner with his children and ex-wife.  “I just want to make sure you are absolutely sure you're fine for a few hours” George said gently. He kissed her back, sighing softly as she ran a hand through his hair. She said it was fine, spending the night alone while reading. He kissed her gently, then left the flat. At the bottom of the steps he met up with Angelina, Fred II and Roxanne.   George was always finding ways to spend time with his children. He wanted to show that even though their parents weren’t together any more, that they could still work together, have a healthy friendship while co-parenting them. It was working out better when Angelina and George were together. Their relationship wasn’t healthy, it was toxic and unfair to the both of them. It had taken four years to realize that. It wasn’t an environment that they wanted to raise their kids in.    George knew, both him and Angelina had struggled since the war, since losing Fred. Both hoping to hold onto Fred in some way. They thought by being together, it would work. But it didn’t. George wasn’t Fred. He never could be his brother, even if he looked exactly like him. George was his own person, and has his own personality. Angelina only wanted George because of him looking like Fred. After years of struggles, and Mrs. Weasley about their relationship being unhealthy, they both agreed it was better to end it before it got worse. They were better off as friends, managing to co-parent quite well.    As the night wore on with Angelina and the kids, it was easy now to reimence about Fred without completely breaking down. Sharing stories to the kids about their late uncle and the shenanigans the twins had had the kids roaring with laughter. It felt great to be able to do this. Was this how Hermione and Ron were with Hugo and Rose? George’s mind wandered to Hermione as the table got quiet as they ate their dinner.    Was Hermione and Ron’s friendship better now that they weren’t together? Was their co-parenting of his niece and nephew going well? Was Hermione even happy with him? HE tried to remind her every day how much he loves her, how grateful to have her and allshe’s done for him. Does she feel the same way about him? Some days he felt guilty for the fact that he was with Hermione. Granted, she wasn’t with Ron any more, but every one had never anticipated George and Hermione to get together as both couples got divorced. Hell, George never anticipated it either.   Their relationship was a healthy one. Sure, they argued and fought, but always managed to make it up to each other afterwards, always working out their problems. Every day George told Hermione how much he loves her. He knew her insecurities got the better of her some days. Some days he wondered if they would have children of their own. Don’t get him wrong, he loves all his children. But sometimes he wondered if Hermione would like to have children with him. He knew he would love to have children one day with her, when she was ready to. And if she wasn’t, then that was fine with him.   A few hours later, supper was winding down. They had dessert and talked about how things were going in both homes. George missed the nights of talking to the kids and reading to them. But having them at the flat made George cherish them and their time even more. After everyone was done, George paid for their meal and they were heading out.   After making sure Angelina and the kids were safely home, George apparaited to the front of his shop. He headed in quietly, unsure if Hermione had dozed from reading in bed. He got to the door, only to hear soft sobs from his room. He was curious but confused as to why he heard her sobbing. “Hermione?” George said quietly as he opened the door. It was dark in their room as he approached the bed. His hand extended to her shoulder, frozen as he heard what she had to say. Eventually her words were cut short as she froze. It looked like fear crossed her face as she realized it was him. Who else would it be? Harry? Oh…. She had called Harry while he was out with Angie and the kids.   “Hermione” George said gently, Hermione dipped her head to avoid eye contact with him. “Hermione, look at me please” HE said in his gentle tone. When she wouldn’t willingly look at him, he used a finger on her chin to make her look at him. “Your feelings aren’t illogical. Or unvalid” He said. “You have every right to feel the way you do” He smiled softly at her. “No matter what the amount of time I spend with Angelina, will never make me go back to her” HE said. “What happened with her and I wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t a healthy relationship”    George wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her to his lap. “We have worked so hard for far too long for this relationship. We are here, together, because of how much we fought for it” He kissed her cheek. “Don’t shove down your insecurities. I love everything about you, even those insecurities. I don’t want any one else'' He grabbed his wand and flicked on the light so she could see him. He could see tears trickling down her cheeks, using a thumb he wiped them away.   “I want nobody else. No one can compare to how I feel for you” He hugged her tightly. “No matter what life throws at me, I want no one but you to tackle what’s thrown at me. I will be by your side no matter what. No matter what is thrown at you, I'm here. For the good and the bad, the ugly and beautiful. I love you more than anything Mrs. Hermione soon to be Weasley” He smiled when that got a small laugh from her. He meant every word he said. He’d be here for her, at any moment. He would help squash her insecurities when it comes to him  

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11/27/2021 06:57 PM 

Starter/Drabble: New start, new home.

A man was standing by the coffin. A ghost. Freya could see echoes of people who died. The dead moved onto another word - or what they assumed was another world. - She wasn’t sure and always felt that as people who could see the dead. All of them are lying to the dead. How did they know what they would find on the other side? To the light. Grandmother said to her once, she never understood what that was supposed to mean to a ghost. If it was just that, she might be fine. Even if the dead moved on, she could still find threads of echoes left behind and sometimes this would lead her to another ghost or just nothing but a memory and pounding headache. Then Freya wondered, could she leave echoes of herself behind while she still lived in this world? The man stood by the coffin and stared at the woman behind her, crying. It took sometime for the little girl to see he was an echo. This man was no longer a man, but an echo trying to stay behind for his wife. An old woman kneeled down to Freya, and this was enough to make her turn to her grandmother. Face serious, chocolate brown eyes narrowed, “Granny?” she inquired her question without voicing it, glancing back at the man and then back to her grandmother. Just a kid. She was just a kid. How was she supposed to cope with seeing echoes of the dead? Being different told her she would never have a normal life. Part of her was curious, it terrified part of her - and deep within; she was unhappy. Freya was a thin woman with a normal height for a seven-year-old. Her dark brown hair tucked behind her ears with a side fringe, reaching down her back to her waist, almost. She also wore a white dress shirt and her black school dress with white tights and polished black shoes from school. The woman beside her smiled. Soft curls cut into that short hairstyle every woman goes for when they reach their elderly age. Soft hazel eyes filled with pity. “I know,” grandmother said. Placing a hand on her shoulder, she pulled the rose from her hand placed it inside the coffin. Then, with her gentle guidance, she moved them to the lady crying. It was her very first time speaking to someone about her power... 6 am. New York City. It wasn’t a easy life, but that might be because of her own fault. Freya in her early years, high school. Fooled herself into thinking it might be okay to tell her closest friends about her power. To say they didn’t take it well would be such a vast understatement. If that wasn’t enough, she had her own family issues to deal with and ghosts trying to get her to help. Freya tried her best to ignore them. She did. However, sometimes you can’t run away from these things. Sometimes you just have to face them head-on and deal with it. No matter the outcome. The very first ghost she knew from home was her grandmother. She couldn’t move on without knowing she would be okay. Freya by then promised to go back to New York City and find her family’s house. An old house of her great grandmother. If it wasn’t for that, she might have stayed in that small town in the middle of nowhere in Scotland. She opened the door and stepped outside her taxi. The man walked out and rounded his car for her luggage. In the end, here she was, in front of an old Victorian house. Freya pulled out some money from her wallet and passed on the money to the driver. “Have a nice day, miss,” the man inclined his head slightly before returning to his car. With a small smile, she waved her hand and turned to look at the house behind her. “Home, sweet home.” She wished. She couldn't think of having a home after sleeping in hotels or her car for years on end after she left college and her grandmother’s home. She came back every year for certain holidays, but time away from those ghosts and her family was all she wanted back then. Freya changed since her brooding days as a kid. She was still thin for someone her age and she had her dark brown hair. Occasionally going blonde or light brown. She dyed her brown hair slightly lighter from her childhood days, combing into a side fringe, the rest now cut down past her shoulders. Her round face now grew into a shape, with her eyes colored with rose gold eye make-up and red lipstick. In her early years she wouldn’t have cared who saw her as a mess but after years or growing and meeting guys who didn’t get past a few dates... Freya switched it up and grew into a comfortable style. Today she was wearing a black bralette and a lace black blouse to cover herself with love flowing sleeves. The rest was simple black pants and black wide pumps, with her black vest over the top to hide more skin. Freya never enjoyed putting on more than that. This time she had a heart silver ring, and floral earrings with pearls, purple and black stones on it. Taking a deep breath, Freya glanced at the house one more time and grabbed her hobo bag from the floor. Taking a large duffle bag and her black luggage with it. She had little. The house was going to need a lot of work to make it her home, but at least she had the money to do that. Freya eventually walked up the stairs in her front yard, parking space directly left of it. Handy. If she ever had a car or decided she wanted to drive. Not likely, but this is a good start. She thought to herself, her back vanishing inside of the house.

Student Reporter

11/27/2021 07:06 PM 

Who Wants To Investigate Evil?
Current mood:  anxious

Looking to begin a small writing group that starts on RolePlayer. A group of New York University students who create a small investigation group that covers and films in famous haunted places. Faces I am currently looking for:Tom Holland- The InvestorAlexandra Daddario- The ManagerJensen Ackles- The Film & History TeacherEmma Roberts- The Reporter(Claimed)Dylan O'Brien- The Tech WizBella Thorne- The Partier(Claimed)Taissa Farmiga-The SkepticGrant Gustin-The KnowledgeAriana Grande-The PsychicDianna Agron-The BitchAmong others. I am welcome to INQUIRIES, IDEAS & OTHER FACE CLAIMS! https://www.roleplayer.me/StudyingAbroad




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