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Browse All Blog Posts
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Regina.
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03/16/2024 07:42 PM
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Storyline ideas.
Plot Bunnies. 1. They are at the beach having a fun day when the Jaws music starts playing out of nowhere. How will they deal with the sight of a great white shark? 2. A hurricane is heading to the city. Will they be able to survive the storm or get caught up in it? 3. They are having a boat party on the sea and having a fun day when they jump into the water and forget to put the ladder down. Now, they are stuck in the sea, unable to get up. How did they do with this? 4. They are at Disneyland when a terrorist attack occurs. Muse A Regina works there as Snow White. How will Muse B, a guest at the park, deal with the situation?5. Two friends are embarking on a road trip across California. They come across a hitchhiker during their journey and decide to give him a ride. However, things take a turn for the worse when they discover that the hitchhiker is a murderer. Now, they must find a way to survive the night and escape the dangerous situation they have found themselves in.6. Muse A and Muse B are on a busy street in California, specifically a shopping center. Suddenly, they are hit by a massive earthquake that shakes the ground beneath them, causing buildings around them to crumble. The question is, how well will they work together to survive?7. Everything was going smoothly at Universal Studios until a city-wide blackout caused them to get stuck on a ride. 8. They are having fun at a spring carnival until they notice someone in a ghost mask stalking them at night. Will they be able to lose the stalker, and is he dangerous?
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Roblox
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03/16/2024 05:06 PM
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Roblox oc
Current mood:
aroused
1)Basic information eg:Alice Rosario Evansage dependsfemalevampire neko demon shape shifterbisexualaro/polyromantic 2)Appearance eg: 4ft90lbspale soft fragile skin small petite skinny feminine bodybrown and pink 3ft long thick messy hairsharp vampire fangspink big fluffy cat ears and tailspider legs and demon wingsdark clothing 3)Personality eg.Sweetcaringlovingniceanxiousoverwhelmed 5)Likes and Dislikes L:sweetsmensexhuge d*cksDL:rude people 6)This and that, eg. she almost never sleeps or eatsshe has 30+ friends(goning by how many I have on Roblox)she loves horrorshe is easily bored 7)Hobbies eg. readingplayingsingingdancingwatching
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𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒𝒟𝑜𝓋𝑒™️
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03/16/2024 04:47 PM
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TaleOfElla-ByTheBook
She was raised in a modest cottage on the outskirts of the king's Palace, and oil lanterns shine. With her mother and father dotting upon her and King's and Queens were the tiny meadow mice and farm animals she cared for in her younger life. She had a free-spirited soul. That could find beauty even in the darkest of nights. A tiny candle, always lite, flickered in each corner of her mind. She was much like her mother. Whose soul Ella thought was made of the wishing flowers surrounding their home and read to Ella and taught her great literature and told her of all the magicks of the world. She told her that the earth has a voice, as do the animals all around. If you had the heart to listen and lead with kindness instead of a darker sound. Her mother was dainty, and delicate, too.Not more than a farm girl who barely went to school. But when she met Ella's Papa, he saw the beauty beyond her locks in the lass and took it upon himself to spread his wings and teach her the written word, and reading at last. Now that they bore a daughter, her mother was firm in raising her right. Teaching her the same way Ella's father taught her how to care for the farm and the daily tackles of life. Ella felt as if her life was ripped out of a page from one of the fables her mother would read. Her father, a merchant, always bought back exotic scents, fabrics and trinkets for his beauties every time he had left them through the years.They were not poor, or rich by any means. But they never had a need or whim that couldn't be provided by her father's hands, and they even had servants to help with their daily needs. But the servants were not looked upon as other people would treat them. They were equals, families and to be respected at all times, and they looked upon Ella as a little Princess song dove and when she would question, "But I do not wear a crown?" They told her, and her mother would echo too; a crown is just a material want. Her crown came from the stars above and was placed on her by her gentle heart.On the day of her mother's passing, Ella felt a shift in the air long before. In the weeks and months before she became bedridden, she had slowed down her daily chores. Of course, Ella never minded and didn't view the farm as chores or work. She felt, just as a person, that it was alive in spirit and deserved equal love and care. But she could feel her mother's light dwindling, losing the fragrance light in her eyes, and even though her Papa denied it, to himself and her, Ella felt it in her heart. That early afternoon in spring was kissed by an unusual winter chill, and as she was picking raspberries and strawberries in the field, a crisp, strong wind blew. All the wishing flowers she always thought of as her mother's soul, each one a molecule making up her mother's heart, suddenly blew away like tiny fairies trying to escape the pending storm. Ella's small hands and smaller finger pressed upon her rosebud lips, and she dropped the wicker basket she held, and the berries poured over the emerald fields. She sprinted back to her cottage at once and rained through the long butter wheat fields around their home. Each strand whipped her creamy porcelain skin, lashing much more than the flesh it bore. Tears weltered in her forest-colored eyes, and her dark lashes splayed like tiny feathers, each one holding a tear that sparkled like the jewels of her mother's martial ring. As soon as she entered the door, she called out, "Papa? Mama? Where are you?" It was then that her father, with his head shrouding downward, would come into the room.She could see the shadows holding to his silhouette and not one of his frames upon the wall, and she felt the heaviness and tears as he finally explained to Ella her mother was sick and would soon depart. Her eyes swelled with a million tears, equating the rivers and streams around her, and like the floodgates of her soul, she poured and cried, and her father pulled the golden lass into his chest. Once she calmed down just enough, she walked into the room where her mother lay. She was cold, and her father had an array of puffy white blankets that looked to Ella like a chariot to heaven's gate. Even sick, her mother radiated like a stolen sacred flower from the garden of Eden, and as she kneeled besides her mother, her eyes flickered open, pouring in her crystal azures with such depth.Her voice was brittle as if it would break, but she struggled past it, wanting this moment with her daughter before she would pass, and one of her last words to Ella was, "Have courage and be kind, for there is much braver as this, and a heart that leads in such a way can never go wrong, and happiness will fill your days." As the last words spilled from her lips, her cherub face would slump to the side and at that moment, the sun yawned its goodbye and slipped into the horizon below as Ella wept, cried and her father gathered the little dove in his arms....Years with her father-- For many years, it was just the young Ella and her father, along with the servants, that graced their Cottage home. But both kept her mother's memory alive and read the same fables she once read to her. Her father did not know of them all as often as he was away on business abroad, and when Ella would read to him, he would see the same eyes and gentle voice held in her mother's song. He was so proud of his little dove and the young woman she was becoming. She took it upon herself to tend to the animals, and gardens, the same ones her mother planted from scratch. It was a tiny area on the side of their home that her father's family swore would never bear a single plant. Her father, who inherited the home, never questioned his own father's word and had admiration and respect for him in all of his father's days until his soul passed from this world. But his wife, when he was away on travel and the wild magical spirit that she was, planted an array of English flowers, the same ones that graced the palace gardens she adored, and when he came home, you would think he would be brass, but he loved his wife very much and pulled her into his arms. . Ella contained the spirit of her mother and, from him, his wisdom and logical sense. It was a contrast and ribbon between the two that made up Ella's unique spirit and heart, and she remembered her promise to her mother and repeated it each day, letting kindness lead her from the first morning rising star. Years would pass, and her father would long to love again, and Ella could see it in his eyes. One evening, as they sat in his study reading her mother's favourite poems, he had shared with her his wishes to marry a woman and her two youngest daughters. Ella loved her father so very much and embraced him, seeing the fret and worry upon his face. "Father, I do understand and marry you should, for even each petal of a rose is never the exact shade. In life, I believe Papa, loves can be this way too and the most beautiful of roses I have ever seen, "-giggling petting the nape of his neck as she sits upon his lap- "Are the in-perfections that make them ore beautiful still! So marry Papa and love once more! I shall love them too and embrace them whole!"The arrival of her step-mother, sisters and her father's untimely death--It was almost five years to the day since they lost her mother's soul and everything seemed to be perfect once again. Even spring broke into winter's lavish hold. The flowers in her mother's garden were rising under the sleepy soil below, revealing their kept mesmerizing colours in an array of roses, tulips and marigolds. Tiny bee's began to swarm and buzz, flickering their silvery wings in the streaming sunlight, and this would be the day that Ella would meet her father's new bride. She had two daughters, she was told, one only a year younger than the next. Both had hair with tight ringlets and both were well-educated, or so it would seem. But as Ella tended to the garden, she heard the hoofs of two heavy steeds. All of a sudden, a dark, luminous cloud made its descent in an almost perfect morning sky. It came in the form of a woman dressed in the latest of fashions and two daughters at her side. They had welcoming smiles and pleasant voices but the gentleness and sincerity never seemed to touch the shine in their eyes and this is where Ella's mother always told her, that the very essence of truth was written and could not hide. With graciousness and a welcoming soul, Ella excited greeted all the ladies at once and dusted her small hands on her apron before shaking the hands of them all. She noticed right away the coldness she felt as soon as she was next to them. But she shook it to the side and gave them a tour of their beloved, cherished home. One by one they picked apart this or that and even their cat rudely tore into the couch. Ella tried to politely brush him away, but he turned and hissed at her with an evil eyes. Days would pass, and even weeks, and she could still feel the chill in her bones.The cottage even seemed to lose its heart as they rearranged her mothers, pictures and seemed soul. This made poor Ella, tear almost daily, but she continued to try to be gracious and kind and each one of her mother's belongings in the attic where the meadow mice would often hide. Nearly a month would pass, and her father made the announcement that he would have to leave for just a few days. A new ship would port a few towns away and carrying the latest of spices and herbs. Being the kind-hearted man that he was always, he asked each girl what they would like for him to bring back. All spoke of extravagant things, but when not came to Ella, she wanted just one thing. She asked, "Father, I wish for a simple branch. The first one you see on your travels after leaving our town. I wish for you to keep it in your pocket close to your heart for you can always feel me, and think of me in every mile. Then upon your return please give it to me for it will be blessed and priceless having to carry you back home to me. Please, Papa? It's all that I wish for. I just want you back home, and with as much speed as the sun and the moon."It was nearing two weeks, and Ella's heart grew weary with much fright and equal fret. As the other's his new wife and her children rearranged their old cottage, transforming it and erasing her mother's very spirit. They even took down the most beloved portrait her father had spent a month's pay to have done. It was when Ella was barely a sugar plum and only reached as far as his father's knee long, and they sat for over three hours long. It was beautiful, and because it was painted with the finest of French oils, it never lost the lustre of colour in any way. Her mother's angelic eyes still held that glimmer, as though it were the very first day. It was nearly twilight when the news would come, delivered by an old family friend. It was an envelope with the contents of just her branch and the words of the man standing at the door.Ella's knees shook and gave way, and she pummeled to the ground, whimpering and sobbing, crying out why, as a puddle, a river formed all around. The others around gasped in annoyance, more concerned about how they all would survive, as Ellie pulled herself to her knees and stumbled up the stairs with her heart at her side. She sought the attic to rest on that very last night. The one that would redefine her entire life and couldn't sleep, or barely move as she cried in the pitch dark. The very next morning, when she awakened, the world seemed so different and foreign in her eyes, although she was still in her home, with the meadow mice, the King and the Queen at her side. She could feel a shift in the air that chilled her to the bones no matter how many layers she wore, and she nearly jumped, startled, when she heard a pile of dishes shatter on the floor. She gathered to her feet and chased her own shadow, or so it would seem, into the kitchen, where her stepmother's voice soared and roared. She was dismissing all the servants, cooks, and gardeners who never asked for too much.They were more than just hired help; they were the remains of Ella's family, a life she was losing as her stepmother barked on. Her teeth looked like sharp, jagged knives, ripping away each page in her life as she watched them scatter along the floor like burning feathers right in her sights. The staff all turned to Ella with tears staining down their cheeks and sniffling noses as they all shared the same fear of what would happen to the fair beauty they watched sprout up. Some even offered to stay with nothing more than food, shelter and a bed. But her stepmother insisted she couldn't even afford this and asked them to leave at once instead. More parts of her heart were taken from her that day, but still, she braved a smile and hugged each one of them, thanking them for being a part of her life.She gave them each a token from their home. Something they could look upon and remember, and I made them promise each other that they would send telegrams wherever they would land. They waved goodbye, and she held her head high in the thought that they were meant to go to this place in time. She was sure, because they all led with their hearts and knew to always be kind, that they would find a better place, even more so than this, and that their lives would be wonderful and sweet. These thoughts alone kept her heart feeling light, in spite of the darkness she could feel. Her stepmother's answer to the lack of help was to pour it upon poor Ella's back, and as much as she tried to resent this fact in caring for her childhood home, and her father's before him, she just couldn't do it. She looked upon it as an honor to be given such a big responsibility, and although some may view it as cruel, Ella tried to look upon it differently. Perhaps she was raised with less of a mother than she was blessed to have. Or maybe she simply did not know better, not wanting anything in her life. Whatever the reason, Ella was sure that one day her heart would soften if she just loved her beyond, and so, she did just this to spite all the daily harshness she would face and held a smile on her lips, eyes and heart.In her days, she made their breakfast and cleaned and hemmed in between. As well as tending to the farm animals outside, but this was the better part of her days. Ella finished her days all the same, and when the moon pinched up high in the inky sky. A ghostly apricot, pale and white, shimmers like a million stars. Her mother would tell her this was the best time to garden, when the roots were sleepy and still. She would add to their bedding the rich birthing soil and tuck each one gingerly in. At times, a winter chill would kiss the air pouring along the hills and the smokey mountain sides, like a vapor cascading downward over the tips of what looked like a saber tooth tiger. She would rip a piece of her hemming and wrap it around its frail little stems, warming it up just enough, so it wouldn't falter, shiver or bend. But some days, even for the little dove, her life would bear down much harder than others, and it was then that she had someone besides her who would cradle her and read her stories, as her mother once told her.On this particular day, just after breakfast, young Ella nearly lost her grasp. One of the field mice, whom she looked upon as family, was nearly eaten by their cat. He was so close, in fact, that the tiny mouse had teeth marks dragged across his fur. It's when Ella first brought him to safety in the attic, which she now shares with them. Then she reached for her shawl and headed to the stables, tears streaming like wildfire down her face as she leaped, twisted her tiny frame upon the steed, and galloped far, far away.Her eyes glazed over, and all she could hear was the steady gallop of the steed she rode upon. It was the very last part of her father's life. She refused to allow her stepmother to sell, trying, as she would say, to raise money to support them all. Ella knew he was worth some money as he was an Arabian pure raven hair steed and still very much so in the prime of his life as they melted beyond the carved-out path and into the denser darker of trees'. The soil blackened in this part of the forest as it was hardly touched by men, and the tree's had what almost looked to be decorating vines circling and twirling up the rich brown bark. Its branches of various kinds—oaks, maples and willows—grew wildly along the overgrown emerald-slick grass, and as her vision cleared, she could see many nests belonging to varying birds dotting along the edges of each branch.The air was so moist with a sweet, earthy scent that it invigorated her young mind and soul, and it almost had the power to fade away all the pain that she truly hid so well. But even this she knew had a reason to. Maybe the cat was neglected and not fed breakfast or yesterday's meal and was just too hungry out of sorts and only saw her friend the mouse as a savory meal. If he hadn't, then she would not have found this enchanted forest hushed so far away from the normal path she would travel, and she wouldn't have seen all the beauty around her if he hadn't made such a haste and mess. That's when she heard branches crackling all around her, or at least this is what she thought, as Ella turned her cherub face and brown spilling eyes all around, looking to where that sound could have been had. It was then that she finally locked eyes with an animal as gentle as he was soft.His fur was a dusting of crimson golden strands with little specks of wishing stars. He had two antlers so twisted and divine that she thought in his kind he must be royalty and his two black stones, onyx eyes, wide teardrops, and long lavish laces blinked almost frightened and petrified, which confused Ella, for she thought herself to be meek and unguarded. That's when they both shivered, hearing a hunting horn in the not-so-far distance and the galloping of many steeds sounding like the toppling of a tree's closing in the distance. Her heart sounded just as loud, and she felt it ripple inside as her lips perched tightly in fear as she gazed at the gentle one before her, and raised her voice, terrified for him." Go! You must run, and do so quickly; they are not too far behind us! I will try to distract them and if I can, but please, you must depart from this side of the forest!" She swore she could see him bow and blink with a single tear in his eyes as he leaped over a thick branch in front of him and just as quick as he appeared, he was gone, and she sighed, feeling a cool sweat bead upon her.A smile perched her trembled pink lips and her young breast rose above the powder blue bodice and deep bone lining, and she couldn't help but to giggle now, knowing this was yet another reason for that cat to act as he did before her. If she hadn't been in that forest, maybe the deer would have perished if the huntsman had found him and instead of roaming free he would have been on someone's plate before night would befall upon him. She was so relieved and suddenly felt so light, as if the entire world light up around her, and just when she was ready to find her way back home she heard the hoofing of a horse behind her.Ella tugged upon her steed, the leather strapping around the nape of his neck, turned and was faced with a nobleman on a grand horse in front of her. At that moment, the wind slightly picked up, and the different shades of green leaves swirled around all around them, and the ones that fluttered on the branches rustled in nature's song as they both stood gazing at each other. Her sun-drenched wheat coloured tresses spun as wildly as they did in the fields around her childhood home, and the fluctuating rise of her ample breast like two white clouds straining in her bodice before him. His eyes looked like the precious silk laces she kept on the side of her bed, wet and pristine, capturing all the light around him like seeing magical mirrors held to a certain haze. The curtaining of his black spooling hair and wavy locks framed his chiselled cheeks and the top of his thinking forehead as he looked as confused as she to find another soul in this depth of the forest.It was then that Ella would see his sword and hunting horn and her face, moments before soft and inviting, scowled at him with squinting eyes and a perfect pink pout transforming quickly in front of his eyes, and she asked, "What did he ever do to you, Sir, to be hunted and scared in his natural home? His poor heart is nearly giving way to fright. Could you please spare him some kindness and let him go and be in peace, leaving you and your men behind him?" She paused and tugged her bottom lips in the pearl of her teeth and nervously fretted about her steed and gazed behind her to make sure he really departed, and, thankfully, she couldn't see him. As she turned back to the gentleman, she was captured in his eyes once again, but she tried to keep her head held up to give confidence to her every word. In a much softer tone than before, she spoke again and petted her horse's thick black mane. "You know, Sir, sometimes it takes more courage and bravery to show kindness in a world seemingly built for anything such, especially when you truly do not have to."
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Cinderella, Ella, Dark Fairytale,
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⚔️Sons of Odin⚔️
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03/16/2024 03:02 PM
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Vidar Odinson
Name: Prince Vidar OdinsonAge: 25 in appearance.DOB: Spring SeasonRace: Norse God, AesirNationality: AsgardianSexuality: Gay. Bottom.Occupation(s): Shoe Maker. Warrior. Title(s): Norse God of Vengeance, Silence. Prince of AsgardNorse Name: --Eyes: Ocean BlueHair: Light BrownHeight: 5'9" Body: Slender, Lean build. Lite skin tone.Weight: 124lb.Tattoos: None.Piercings: None.Drink/Smoke: No/No.Color(s): White, Brown, Lite Blue, Silver, Gold, Black, RedPowers/Abilities: Superhuman strength, endurance, longevity, speed, regeneration, superior reflexes, resistance to magic, excellent senses and formidable combat skills.Weakness(s): -- Additional Fact(s): Best shoe maker of Asgard.Background: --
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⚔️Sons of Odin⚔️
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03/16/2024 02:49 PM
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Tyr Odinson
Name: Prince Tyr OdinsonAge: 31 in appearance.DOB: Summer SeasonRace: Norse God, AesirNationality: AsgardianSexuality: Bisexual. Make Lean.Occupation(s): Mercenary, HitmanTitle(s): Norse God of War, Prince of AsgardNorse Name: --Eyes: Ocean BlueHair: Dark BrownHeight: 6'3" Body: Muscular. Fit build. Lite tan skin tone.Weight: 190lbs.Tattoos: Runes on his body only present in direct sunlight.Piercings: None.Drink/Smoke: Mead/Yes.Color(s): Red, Black, Teal, Purple and Gray.Powers/Abilities: Superhuman strength, endurance, longevity, speed, regeneration, superior reflexes, resistance to magic, invulnerability to harm, superior senses and formidable combat skills.Weakness(s): --Additional Fact(s): --Background: --
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A.C.
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03/16/2024 01:05 PM
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Guidelines and Fun Facts
GUIDELINES, TIPS, AND PET PEEVES: First off, I would like to point out that normally I do not like setting any rules or guidelines or restrictions; anything of the nature. However, I have been roleplaying on and off since I was 16 (I’m now going on 35), and I have met some other “writers” that have given me no choice. ((Some of these are guidelines while others are pet peeves of mine)). COMMUNICATION!!!!: This simply means I would love to keep the lines of communication open one way or another. Now, I completely understand that this is a fun hobby for us to escape the stresses of the real world, and that home, work, and family come first. I just don’t like mutes. I would rather have 5 friends whom I speak with than 500 whom never communicate. Does that make sense? Forms of Communication Include but not Limited to: Small OOC Chats Pic Comment Wars/Banters Status Stream Banters Liking/Sharing Posts Participating in stories SPELLING, GRAMMAR, AND VOCABULARY: Just like some of you out there whom may have a learning disability, I too have a learning disability so there’s times where proper spelling and grammar can be bothersome. However, this is a pet peeve of mine where apparently there are some persons out there who have NEVER picked up a dictionary in their entire life and it shows. So when writing/discusssing storylines remember this: CONNECTIONS: Connections between the characters. What do they have in common? How do they know each other? Ex: Siblings, best friends, coworkers, enemies. SETTING/LOCATION: Time; Place; Weather. What time of day/night is it? What’s the weather like? Country or city or small town? Are they at home or at school or the mall? PLOTS: The course of main features of a narrative. Ex: In “Avatar: the Last Airbender” Aang has to master all four elements and defeat the Fire Lord. PLOT TWISTS: An unexpected development. Ex: In “Avatar” Aang dies in Ba Sing Se; when Zuko finds out his great grandfather is Avatar Roku. RUNNING GAGS: Random scenes that come and go throughout the story that have nothing to do with the actual plot or storyline. Ex: In “Lilo and Stitch” the fat man constantly losing his ice cream. Or in “Avatar” the man’s cart getting destroyed and him yelling “My cabbages!” (*Will add more if and/or when need be) RELATIONSHIPS: I am writing my character as a single love-interest (ships with chemistry). Loyalty is a trait that is very important to my character and also very important to me in real life, so I kindly ask that you respect that. I am one of those types whom is against bigamy. While we’re on the subject of relationships, absolutely no whores. Forgive me for being blunt but just because my character may take an interest in you does not mean he will immediately jump in bed with you. When it comes to relationships I prefer any and all of my characters that I create to behave like proper ladies and gentlemen. LENGTH: We all have our strengths on how long we can write in one setting and our muse comes and goes as it pleases; so I’m not going to tell anyone that they need to write a certain number of paragraphs in order to write with me. That adds stress and pressure and is no fun at all. Go wherever your muse takes you! The only pet peeve I have on this subject is when you’re writing and say you spend forever coming up with well detailed multiple paragraphs and the other person’s response is basically a summary of what you just wrote in one sentence or they send you a simple “Yup”. That’s annoying as hell! Don’t do it! Thank you. FUN FACTS ABOUT MY CHARACTER: DOPPLEGANGER: I find dopplegangers interesting so I decided to make my character that. He is not Fred or George Weasley nor is he related to them in any way. While he may have some similar features here’s a few differences: His last name is Claiborne, not Weasley. He has dark brown hair while Fred and George have bright red hair. He is a Half-blood. The Weasleys are Pureblood. He is in Ravenclaw. The Weasleys are in Gryffindor. He is an only child. The Weasleys have several siblings. MINOR DETAILS: Alexander’s childhood hometown is “Fair Faux”. Fair Faux is a fictional town that I made up based off of my real life hometown where I live. Some small details like his House, his wand, boggart, and patronus; I just took quizzes on Buzzfeed. The Rule of 9: 9 I consider to be my lucky number in real life so I’ve decided to collaborate 9 into my character’s profile. Alexander is in Ravenclaw House. Ravenclaw is 9 letters long. Alexander’s first, middle, and last names are each 9 letters long. 9+9+9= 27. 2+7= 9. His birthday is September 9th, 1980. September is the 9th month out of the year and is also 9 letters long. 1980: 1+9+8+0= 18; 1+8=9
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𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑎𝑑™
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03/16/2024 08:05 PM
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Righteous Lad™ Olympian Bloodline (Fin)
Righteous LadFinale [ Righteous Lad / Silver League HQ ] Finally back home and ready to return to the swing of things after being away for six days, Righteous Lad waits at the public Samaritan Facility for his team. Though, he decides to help himself to some breakfast at the cafeteria while passing the time. Just as he's finishing building a tray with a couple of pancakes, scrambled eggs, a cup of yogurt, a toast of bread, and three sausage links - someone approaches him with news to share. “Hey, Righteous Lad! Did you hear the A.D.A is coming here later today?” A cheery heroine asks with a tray of her own in hand. “Hey, Glitter Pop. And no, I haven't. Been dealing with… family stuff. What's the occasion?” He asks the blonde while turning to head toward the nearest vacant seat, knowing she'd follow alongside him to continue the conversation. She does so without fail. “I hear it's to promote and establish a sub-team for the new generation of samaritans! Like, working directly with them as interns or something like that.” She answers to the best of her knowledge. It's a response that makes Tyson arch a brow in confusion. “What? Isn't that what the Silver League is supposed to be? And what about the guys above us and just below them? We're going to be cutting the line to be the new faces representing America?” Tyson asks before taking a bite out of his toast. “Hmmm… That's a good question. But! Some of the guys in the Gem and Ruby ranks are kind of old. And they also already handle more intense stuff than we do here.” The blonde reasons before opening her 1 liter bottle of orange juice. “Yeah, I guess they don't necessarily have to strive for anything more. But what's going to be the criteria, I wonder…? Popularity? Powers? Skill sets? Jobs done? Teams? Will it also make the people here even more divided and resentful toward one another?” “You think they'll pick only the strongest samaritans?” Glitter pop asks. “I don't know. I'd imagine they'd want replacements that are at least nearly as strong as their best. Acrobatics can only get a normal person so far, but who knows? I have no idea how they'll decide to make their choices.” Tyson answers. “Guess we'll find out soon enough.” ______________ [ Righteous Lad / 4 Hours Later Back At The Silver League HQ ] “Greetings and salutations, samaritans fresh and seasoned!” The booming, fairly deep masculine voice that's as smooth as sweet cherry wine and belonging to none other than the greatest icon in America - Captain Righteous - carries across the massive gathering hall. It's a pretentious auditorium with walls of stainless white and both seats & carpet flooring of crimson red, and barely gets any use outside of special occasions that don't come often at all. It's built to hold a capacity of 40,000 people, but so many have shown up that the entrance doors have to be kept open so that those outside can see or at least hear what's being said. The isles are packed with heroes who are either sitting or leaning against something, while some of those who can fly spectate between 20 and 40 feet inside of the 60 feet tall room. The balcony above is just as packed. All of whom have come to listen to the strongest and most selfless official Samaritan in the 'business’. A man with a herculean physique underneath a snug and brilliant white suit with minor america-based colors and a vaguely familiar decal at the center of his chest. His beard thick, yet kempt. His brown hair is kept short and simple. Lastly, his skin is fair. “I know this is quite sudden and that you're all probably wondering what the American Deeds Association could possibly want to announce. Well, my friends and I are very aware they've been at this job for two decades, going on three now.” Captain Righteous begins, turning to gesture toward the other big name heroes behind him. Madam Ankh, a 5’10 tall woman with a toned physique adorn by light garbs and jewelry made up of a mixture of bits from her Egyptian & Central Africa heritage. Her skin holds a dark-ish tanned complexion, her eyes are pupiless and purely white with black eyeliner around her sockets, her wavy hair is a shade of midnight blue while also being long enough to reach her hamstrings. Her attire consists of black cloth & leather while any metal or jewelry share a brilliant shade of cyan. Major - a veteran of the Winter War who has no powers whatsoever, but is a master in the arts of covert tactics, hand-to-hand judo, infiltration, and has access to military grade and beyond equipment. He stands at 6’2 feet tall, fair skin, and an attire that hides most of his distinct features. A military bowl helmet, a thin jacket with black and gray camouflage patterns all over it, a black turtleneck sweater underneath his open jacket, combat gloves on his hands, a utility belt with various pouches on it, black cargo pants that tuck neatly into a pair of shin-high black combat boots. Of course, there's also the goggles he wears on his face. And then there's finally Lieutenant Outpace, or simply Outpace for short. Another veteran of the Winter War, though he hails from Scotland. His skin is the fairest on the stage. Thanks to the visor of his pilot helmet being up, it's possible to see that his eyes are of a radiant gold color. His mustache-less beard is ginger red, and his physique is lean yet built athletically while standing at a height of 6’0 feet tall. His attire is red and white, as well as made up of form fitting leather and very light armor plating. “And we know it's only a matter of time until some of us will need to or want to step down. Not just us, but contenders who also had the potential to fill our boots. And it would be a shame not to handpick successors to fill in the void and be the new reliable faces of this great nation!” Captain Righteous continues. His words stir up a bit of low incoherent chatter throughout the room. “Of course… I do not believe that any who we decide to endorse will be the definitive people to take our spots. Even so, I cannot deny the strong pull our choices will have on the public at large. It's practically a guarantee with our backing. So, with that said, I'd like to inform you all that we'll be spectating the lot of you at random. Us and trusted associates within the government. We'll be sorting through members of the Silver League only, and narrowing down new potential contenders until we're ready to make our choices. It could be four members, could be less, could be more. It may begin tomorrow, tonight, next week, or next month. But what I can definitely assure you of is that we will be fair and not be biased toward reputation or amount of work done in the past.” T H O O O M ! ! ! He concludes his explanation with immaculate timing! Nearly immediately when his last word passes, a ground shaking crackle of thunder strikes the city street nearby with enough force to knock countless of the Samaritans inside the building off their feet. “What.. Was THAT?” Alexecute asks while clutching onto the armrests of her seat. “Sounded like… Thunder? Is it raining?” Righteous Lad questions with an arching brow. Just right after, an abnormally strong wind begins blowing by and disturbing the peace even further. It's then and there that both Captain Righteous and Righteous Lad simultaneously decide to investigate the commotion. “I’m going to go see what's up…” / “I'll go see what's going on out there.” The two take off at the same time, though Tyson holds the lead. The pair of patriotic heroes rush within reasonable speed to navigate through the halls and rush out of the front door. They ascend upward 50 feet to get a good position to spot the trouble out and about, but not only does their search not take long at all but they discover it's not villains disrupting the quiet afternoon, but Deities. Divine beings who seem to be gathering from the sky and toward a bus stop as the focus point. Some on large spheres of winds, some on pegasus horses galloping on thin air, a few on fiery platforms made of nothing but burning flames, and lastly– “What is going on…?” Tyson questions as he looks up in disbelief. Overhead he sees a ginormous tsunami wave that could easily wash away the city like a speck in the wind, creeping closer. Somehow, it stops short of invading the town's shores while casting a giant shadow. It holds in place while those atop of it begin descending upon large serpent-like bodies of water they ride like surfboards all the way down to solid ground, where the watery platforms disperse. They too join the crowd as the tsunami retreats back toward the ocean. “They're Olympians…” Captain Righteous comments. “Huh?” Tyson arches a brow and then looks toward the large group of deities. He notices their familiar garbs from back when he was at Mount Olympus just a day or so ago. “Oh, yeah. I think you're right.” “But what are they doing here?” The elder of two inquires more so to himself than his younger associate. He flies forward and lowers to investigate the unusual gathering. Tyson of course follows right behind him. “Pardon me, may I ask what brings you all here?” The mature hero asks shortly after touching down. His question draws the attention of everyone present. “Ah, the Agent of Olympus. Perfect timing! We could use a guide to help in exploring the world of mortals.” A blonde woman states with a smile. Her way of addressing the biggest Samaritan in America brings forth a soft and curious frown upon Tyson's face. “Agent of Olympus?” The young man repeats while looking toward the taller male. “Another time, Righteous Lad.” The hero in white murmurs toward the other in response. Then his attention shifts toward the Olympian tourists. “I wouldn't mind, but this is quite the sudden visit and show of people. Is there a festivity taking place soon? What's the occasion?” He attempts to pry details from the bunch. “A puppet questioning his betters? We owe you no explanation, but if you must know, I'M here to see how much the realm of mortals has developed.” A male speaks up to answer for himself. “I see. Forgive me, Thanatos. I meant no offense.” Captain Righteous assures calmly. “Did your time among these beings inflate your ego, oh wise and strong puppet? Or perhaps, you have become possessive of this territory?” A woman's voice snidely chimes in. “Of course not, lady Terpsichore. I would not even dream of assuming I could dictate where any of you may set foot.” Captain Righteous responds. During this, Tyson's scowl and suspicion begins fortifying. However, it's then that two people from the crowd of around 50 deities step forward to address Righteous Lad. “Brother Konnence!” A female’s voice calls out to the hero in charcoal black and green. He looks over to see that it's Ligheonis, who's accompanied by his brother Orpheus. Both appear to be holding gold luggages “You two are here, too?” Tyson questions. “We FOUR. Asclepius and Apollonis are here, too. That aside, how have you been faring?” Orpheus questions with a smile. “Pretty good. I'm just confused as to why a bunch of Gods just showed up out of the blue.” The hero responds as he crosses his arms. “Weeeeeell… Your tales of America sounded very interesting. We may have caused things to escalate to this point when sharing your other stories with friends, who told their friends. By ‘'we’, I'm including you, by the way!” Ligheonis informs. “You're kidding…” Tyson blinks with a mild look of shock on his face. “No, she's not. It's very much true! I even wrote and performed a song of your adventures. It even got to a point where I defended your honor and credibility of your tales within heated debates. Word got around and curiosity among us grew.” Orpheus concurs. “I was just there just a day or so ago, though. It spread THAT fast?” Tyson questions. “Yes! Gods typically act upon their desires and wishes on a whim. Not only that, but some have extraordinary hearing and speed. It's not too surprising, truth be told.” Ligheonis reasons. “Jeeze, I just wanted to have a good time and forget about the drama. I didn't think telling stories at a bar would lead to this.” Tyson murmurs before sighing softly. “So… do you guys need a place to stay? There's not a lot of room at my parents’ house, but I can pay for a hotel room or two for you guys.” He goes on to offer afterwards. “No need. Asclepius has taken it upon himself to go study the architecture of this city and find us a plot of land to build a suitable home on.” Orpheus responds. “But we did intend to eventually visit.” Ligheonis adds. “Ah, I see. So like, are you guys are staying staying? You know, moving in to live in the city?” Tyson asks. “That's right. I don't know how long it'll be for, but I suspect it to be longer than seven sun cycles.” Orpheus answers. “Alright, alright. I just arranged for a tour bus to arrive at this location. If you all would be so willing, I'll gladly give you informative guidance around the city and how society conducts itself here. I politely ask that you patiently wait until the vehicle arrives. Once it does, we'll be on our way as soon as possible.” Captain Righteous announces to the group. template credit.
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Righteous Lad, Gray Heroics, OC
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ʜᴇᴇᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴏᴛʜ™
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03/16/2024 05:27 PM
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Who Are You Really - Backstory Part One
Who are you really but still the sunken stars appear Astarion usually didn’t consider himself very resilient, but he pressed against Gale’s spell, looking to exit the charm. The wizard yanked on the rogue’s shirt, suddenly tugging him backwards and spinning him to face Gale. Astarion was shocked at the level of anger across the normally placid, handsome features.“The BLAZES are you doing!”“I need to distract it,” he hissed, dodging another blow; the thing was massive, its hundreds of spider-like claws ever-expanding. Some were hallucinations. Shadowheart was attempting a spell that would show which–Gale was simply protecting the group from the thing’s influence.“We don’t even know what IT is,” Gale hissed through ground teeth. The purple orb that enveloped the group pulsed, as if with his anger. Finally, he broke his own concentrated stare at the gaunt, gigantic thing, to meet Astarion’s crimson gaze. Gale’s brown eyes were wide, almost–curious? But alarmed all the same. “It’s not a damned demon. Of any kind I’ve ever met.”“If it is hurt by a sword, I shall kill it!” Lae’Zael snapped, and behind her, almost elbow-to-elbow, Minsc happily echoed, “Hear, hear!”Astarion’s gaze shot from Gale to Shadowheart, and then he turned back toward the thing. Gale had protected them all thus far. He was getting weaker. He couldn’t keep this up. And as long as Shadowheart continued on this path, both warriors’ times were wasted on hitting every barbed, poison-tipped leg that came their way.“This isn’t working,” he hissed, and he could hear the thing taunting them from outside their safe zone. In an even lower voice he begged, “I am vampire, I am undead, it cannot harm me.”Gale’s glance toward the elf was again curious, but almost condescending as well, as if Astarion was an impudent, willful student and he a tired lecturer. “We…don’t know about that.”Perhaps it was Astarion’s will to prove the group wrong that caused him to move into action; perhaps it was the burst of light that penetrated Gale’s shield at that precise moment; either way, he shoved the wizard backwards into the two warriors–rather like pushing a sack against a stone wall–and he leapt between them all, taking the brunt of the spell that was intended for Gale. It was lightning, it had to be; he grunted in pain, seizing up and freezing.This thing–demon? Whatever it was, regarded him strangely. It had long, lean arms, with claws that nearly dragged the floor, and several more spidery appendages out of its back. And yet it had a robe; a robe that looked strangely familiar to Astarion. He writhed, attempting to break free of the spell, when it turned, showing interest in nothing else but him for a moment.Its face was in darkness, but there were glowing eyes there.The voice spoke, abrupt, haunting, a deep boom that sounded like thunder.“I know you, elf.”He struggled with more ferocity, wondering where in the hells he’d seen those robes before. Baldur’s Gate? But that seemed…wrong. He wanted to cry out to Gale, to walk back his words about not having a soul to bear the weight of whatever a demon wanted to extract from him. A fear, an old fear, crossed into his mind, and he remembered the distorted face of Cazador. A bifurcated lip, rows of teeth–a memory, changed by a spell of fear.“YOU!” Astarion choked out, dropping his daggers in an attempt to get away. “You–with–”“Ahhh,” the demon-thing purred, pleased that Astarion, in turn, recognized it. Or at least, recognized one of its effects on him. It drew closer, face still hidden in shadows, but a disgusting clicking, almost like insect noises, came from hidden mandibles below the hood.“You could be mine, you know. Not the mage’s.”“A SPELL, ANYTIME NOW–”“Nothing is WORKING, damn you for leaving!” Oh Gale. So heroic and yet, he still had the time to be pissy.“You–would’ve–”“STOP ARGUING!” That was Lae’Zael, and Astarion’s mouth snapped shut against the pain anyway. He closed his eyes, hating the voice, hating the feeling.“I can do more than any mage,” it cooed, in an almost motherly voice, save for the ragged, slobbering undertones. “I can give you paradise.”“Oh, I’m CERTAIN,” Astarion shot back. He deeply regretted dropping the daggers. The thing wanted to bargain with him. And he had no weapons, and little wit, thanks to the resonating electricity sparking throughout his unbeaten heart. He was pinned, and now it moved him, moving the spell, gliding across the chamber’s floor away from his companions. The demon, if that’s what it was, inched closer. “You think you do not have a soul. But as with so many things, you are wrong.”Even his companions froze at this; he could feel them, out of sight, but still nearby. Listening. Curious. Perhaps suspicious. Of it, or of him? Astarion squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Quietly he begged for something, anything–any intervention. Lae’Zael could throw Minsc at the creature and it would satisfy his urge to have something happen to draw attention away from him. He didn’t even process further words that were said, echoing around his mind like thunder. He couldn’t hear this. If he had a soul, it would mean he could be…toyed with, again. Used. As he had been before, by the Tevinter mage.So it was the one. He’d met this thing before, but it had only licked at his mind. That was just a touch, a threat. He was in its grasp now entirely, and it was seeking to bargain with him. THAT’S what the creature’s tattered robes were! Tevinter design! He bucked against the spell, silently cursing his own failings in magical practice. Now would be a great time to know how to break out of a lightning hold.“It is no ordinary soul, it is something…more. You shine with the light of an Elder of the Order. To capture you is to capture the heavens in a jar.” This bit of flattery went unnoticed by Astarion, who was close to breaking free–tantalizingly close. He could feel the grip of the spark loosening, he could almost press his heels back onto the ground. The creature exhaled as if delighted.“Let me see what it is you have lost,” it suggested in the same buttery-sweet tone. Before he could argue, there was a bright flash of white, and Astarion could see no more.—--------------He bolted upright, startled, and heard the soft swish of his own clothes as he struggled to regain his footing; what had happened? The silvery head of hair turned, peering around at the others in the room. Their heads did not turn toward his in return. He immediately recalled where he was; this was one of the spired buildings in his citadel–the receiving room of the learning house.His trainings were numerous, and even though the grey twilight extended out past the hill the citadel was built on, he knew he would be here far longer than most of the others. Astarion chuffed, his own grey irises that mirrored the sky, lowering to the grassy knoll where the others had been released.He was in his final year of basic learning, older than the children who frolicked in their robes on the purple-hued grasses. But younger than what the Star-Elves allowed as an age for a youth to choose their path. Soon it would be his 18th birthday if counting by the Material Plane, where time was marked and studied. After that day, he would choose his own path. Astarion didn’t want to be a warrior, like his father, whom he knew would be disappointed.He would be a diplomat and a liaison to the other realms. Like his mother.The daydreamy elf was lost in his own musing of the time he would bring this choice forward, when he paused, wondering why all of this was on his mind. Had he awoken from a dream? He felt as if someone in the region of his mind had asked him a question.Astarion had never dreamed, much less fallen asleep! Much less, standing up. He could only ponder at the strange lapse in time, when he realized that his own attendant had entered the room. Was that what had startled him awake? Astarion raised delicate hands to his forehead as it throbbed in a slight pain. He’d never felt this pain. Now he seemed to be….remembering something.Where was he? There was a ship. A memory of a creature. How? From where?“Even as you see now–he cannot stand at attention without a fidget!”The professor, Sythaeryn, was gesturing past his row of perfectly impassive, stoic and genderless pupils, and toward Astarion, whose fingers were still pressed to the pale forehead. Instantly the teenage elf snapped back to attention, both hating the school’s decorum, as well as wondering why he couldn’t just hold still. A thousand other equal criticisms, all heard over his time in the learning house, drifted back to his mind and he set his jaw, determined not to speak out of turn.“....has so much potential, and barely applies—”He could drift out of the topic again. There was no need to listen to this anymore. Astarion shot his caretaker an apologetic look, which she returned with a wry smile; she was just as much of a mother as his real mother–she understood him, and didn't seek to change him. She would likely know he was about to stare into nothingness under the ruse of being rapt at attention and obediently still as a good, young noble elf is supposed to be.Just as his brows lowered, and his face fell into the same impassive, stony stare as his comrades, a low horn sounded, dolefully rolling through the chill air and up into the large marble and glass room, where echoes carried off every stone and multiplied the brass sound. Astarion’s face lit up; other heads turned. He as well as several of his peers had parents or family returning with the convoy–the return of carriages from the Royal Court. His lineage was why he was still indoors, why he was uncomfortably straightening himself. Why was held to this standard, why he was standing inside like a soldier awaiting orders instead of frolicking over white stones and eating berries like other children.He was bored of it, by now. And he, as well as the others had no intention of keeping up this facade when their returning family members were going to enter the city.The teenagers were all gangly arms and white fabric as they whisked to the open doorway-windows, where large balconies perched over the greenery, the small river, and beyond, the singular road toward the fortressed town.His city was modest, like most Star Elf settlements. This one was smaller circumferentially than some others in the Feywild, but this one was more inhabited; in fact, a good many of the Sildëyuir citadels were abandoned.Astarion found it strange, but it had never been explained to him why. Either way, the manageable size here meant that even the pupils of the learning house could peer over the retaining wall and see the incoming convoy. A gate was opening, the latching, clacking sound of chains rolling down echoed crisp and clear to Elven ears.The others, particularly two very excitable feminine elves, were more animated than Astarion when they exited the balcony. The pair, overjoyed, waved bright violet handkerchiefs, one calling her brother’s name loudly in hopes that he might hear. As if someone on such an important convoy would break rank to smile and wave! But that’s likely why they did it–to tease, Astarion supposed.He didn’t have the spirit to tease. He needed to know if she was coming. His hands clasped together over his stomach, as if he were comforting himself with the way one gripped the other. He smelled the flowery aroma of his caregiver, Kaylessa, as she appeared beside him.The older elven woman had bright red hair that stood out against the peachy, shimmering twilight violet sky. As if pulling and deepening its color into her own soul. She hugged Astarion from the side, placing her chin on his shoulder. Having raised him from the day he was born, she knew every tense gesture, every subdued reaction.“My poor little star. I fear I must tell you not to hope…she really is not coming,” Kaylessa said in a patient tone. “You know she is gathering allies in Arvandor. It will be before your birthday. She promised.”“You never know,” he said on a wavering note, as if he had a breath stuck in his throat. He shrugged his shoulders upward in a shimmy at this, but she hugged him more tightly. He knew she was telling the truth. She would never lie to him. And if there was the slightest chance that his mother would return, his father would have found a way to send word to Kaylessa. She would have told the entire family. Several of Astarion’s siblings still lived in their duchy–all older than he–but would still welcome the return of their mother perhaps as much as he.Well, no, not that much.Astarion was the star of his mother’s eye; they had a bond despite her aloofness, and despite her job that carried her out of their realm and into others. Like many elven women she held a high position of authority while his father was more of the home-making sword-wielder. Her line was royal, but that’s all he knew–the secrets of Elven history and magic were kept from the children until their adulthood. He was well and far from it.Why was he thinking these things? Astarion raised pale fingers to rub at his own ear. It felt as though someone were in it, whispering questions, wanting to learn of him. He felt a chill even colder than the twilight’s air. Someone was listening to him. The elf sensed the magic, and shivered, leaning down to hug his beloved caregiver, planting his nose in her fiery braids.—-------------After the headmaster gave up on rounding up the pupils for another round of critique before evening lessons began, they spilled out of the large building and down into the white stone streets, moving as one with others in town who had emerged, with excitement, toward the gate.And yet it was Astarion’s father who found him first; the regal elf was in his forest-hued robes, his armor already removed at the first sight of home. And the young, curly-haired elf’s siblings moved around behind their father; they, unlike Astarion, had gotten word from a scout hours before, who returned with dire news.So, their faces were stricken, lifeless, horrible even in their impassivity. Astarion felt the weight of their postures, and so did Kaylessa. Her long stride slowed as she left the side of her charge, whose arm was threaded through hers as if he were still a small child. She stepped forward expectantly, shrewd eyes narrowing.Alinor Ancunin gave his son a glimpse of a pitying glance, and then his silver-violet eyes turned sympathetically toward Kaylessa. It was to her that he moved instead of Astarion, his hands on her shoulders instead of his son’s, his lips by her ear as he told the news.Astarion hung back, perplexed, hurt. But, that was simply the way the warrior was. Had always been. He exhaled thinly through his nostrils when she cried, putting a hand to her mouth, and several of the older siblings moved forward to comfort her.He had one word on his lips, and it faltered as he met his father’s gaze.“Mother…?”The noble high elf shook his head miserably slow, his expression still stoic, but Astarion knew.His mother was gone.—---------------------------It was night in the horseshoe-shaped bay, and the stars shone brilliantly for the beginning of the ritual. What the ritual was, Astarion didn’t actually understand. He’d traveled with his family, and some of his city’s most important elders, to Arvandor, for this. The rite of his mother’s passing. And that was the extent of the information given to him.He was barely seen as a child–still treated like a babe, by everyone from his father, to the well-meaning Arvandor elves, who spoke Common to him as if he were barely walking. The elves here found the Star Elves fascinating as a whole, and continually poked and prodded at the teenager. He didn’t stop them. He also didn’t understand their customs–he simply stood, awkwardly, while footmen from the Elven Court wrapped him in grey robes fit for a prince, a crown of silvery vines over his curls. They did their prayers and mutterings toward him, and steered him to his spot on the ledge.The ‘ledge’ was this large amphitheater-shaped outcropping of cliff rock that spanned hundreds of feet over the sea, where the highest peaks were concealed in fog. The bay below the crowd, where his mother lay in rest, was blackened by the natural oil seep that pooled into dark masses, coloring the washed-up kelp to look like strands of dark hair, and caused iridescent shine to shimmer out from the diffused light of the large bonfires lit high above, along the cliff side.He was standing, miserably, staring down below at the pyre constructed for her. She was down there on it, so far away, hidden under a sea of white and silver gauze and silks. They enveloped the pyre and its awning. The lustrous fabric billowed in the sea wind, as if teasing him, beckoning him to come closer for a glimpse of her.He didn’t know where his father was, and most of his older siblings were crowded around behind him, whispering angrily about his place in the rite, so Astarion’s silvery gaze fixated on the quiet, almost serene platform.Killed by a blade in the night, during Reverie.Over a political alliance she was campaigning and gathering support for. The human king to whom she’d beseeched was speaking; his voice filtered over the rocks and sweeping sounds of the ocean beyond, but Astarion couldn’t listen to the details of his words. The king was currently pledging to avenge her death, but still. Wasn’t it his fault she was dead? A star elf seeking to forge a bond with a human army made her a target for any orc. Even though he knew his mother, he knew she only had the best of intentions. To help their people. And for that attempt, she was murdered by a lowly assassin, a hired hand.He had to stop thinking of it. He wouldn’t maintain his composure. The elf’s eyes dropped from the pyre, where a silvery-purple spell emanated through the fabric, magic pulsing from the lifeless form of his mother. He didn’t know the point of that, either. He felt as if he didn’t know anything.Astarion shyly half-turned toward his siblings. Moonlight shone on them, on their silver hair, on their grey, embroidered robes, and he thought they looked beautiful, even with the distraught and ugly expressions across their faces. They’d stopped arguing to listen to the king’s speech, but none moved to comfort him or each other. One brother stared, annoyed that Astarion’s gaze had shifted, so the youngest sibling turned forward again.There were hundreds here, perhaps a thousand; not just his family, not just the dignitaries or even the members of the Elven Court–far, distant relatives who could make a show for show’s sake. There were humans, fishermen and women, there were gnomes and dwarves who worked in the nearby mine. Inhabitants of this humble, but old and magical bay, who knew her and her work, and loved her. He was not surprised that the cliffside crescent was filled to the brim with mourners of all races. He would have traded all of them, though, just to see her again. Astarion didn’t know if that was even possible. Magic was not a part of his studies yet. He felt like the babe they treated him as; ignorant, incapable, silent.One of the court’s elves, the same ranger who’d given him a bow earlier, now approached with a single arrow; he nodded at Astarion and handed it over before deftly disappearing again. This was something discussed (argued about) earlier, and now the siblings were at it again, as soon as the delivery was made.When Astarion took the arrow, he felt the magic in it; he turned it, noting the purplish sheen on the wood. It didn’t look dissimilar to the oil’s sheen on the water and the sand. The stain that lapped at the edges of his mother’s pyre, turning the white satin black at the base, with tendrils of fading grey snaking up the sides.His shoulders drooped as he heard the voices start. They were whispering, barely audible, and yet to his ears it was all clear.“He is too young!”“The decision was made!”“And if he misses?”“This is all just a stupid ritual anyway!”“I’ve seen this before, unlike you–”Astarion turned again, unwilling to listen to more. He held the arrow, and the bow, out. “Would someone else….like to….?”One of his elder sisters, the only one with green eyes, huffed sadly at him. She turned to the others. “He was chosen.”Even his angriest brothers looked at him pityingly when he offered to relinquish the bow. Astarion continued, “I don’t know what I was chosen for, or why. I know someone prayed at me and waved some smoke, and I was then told to fire this arrow.” His voice lowered into a hiss, and he felt tears spring up into his eyes. “I don’t know why.”This simple confession was all it took for them to adjust their trajectory; one brother leaned in to explain. “It’s an old tradition, Astarion. It used to be believed by our people that each elf passes a piece of their soul into a loved one. Usually it is a child…one who is destined to outlive them. Mother was traditional, she believed in those ways. She never said which of us have it.”There was a pause, a haughty break in the sentence that said what everyone was thinking–Astarion was his mother’s favorite by far. He also favored her the most–he had her features, her nose and lips, and the curls of her hair. Her hair color, unlike her children’s, and most Star Elves in fact, was white. But in most other ways, Astarion was her doppelganger. Whether or not his countenance and wisdom were like her, remained to be seen.“...But since she is not here,” the brother gestured, mimicking the smoke ritual of earlier with a hand flourish. “The wise people show us through signs, which person holds the piece of her.”“If you believe in those old ways,” now a sister continued, with a far more gentle tone, “Then when an elf dies, the one who holds their soul piece can send it back to them. So Araleth–or whichever god–can greet them, whole and together.”Astarion’s eyes were impossibly wide; he was shaking. “Is that true? Is that what this arrow does?”His eldest brother, who looked exactly like their father, rolled his eyes dramatically. “No, Astarion, it’s simply an old tradition. A tall tale puffed up by stupid elf mages who want to seem fancier than the rest. Just a simple charm to make some sparkles.”This brother got several ugly looks from his more sympathetic siblings for this; Astarion remained frozen, until he saw the familiar red hair pushing through the throng of onlookers, and then, past his siblings. She was not nobility; her robes were beautiful forested green, and he sighed with relief when he saw her. His second mother.She gave no thought to his siblings as she moved beyond them and took up step beside Astarion. His face was in her hands in moments. She spoke their language, quietly, so that none of the curious bystanders could overhear, or indeed, understand a word.“My little star, your mother looks to you on this night, I can feel it in my heart. Hers is completely broken, for you. And she chose you for this final act of courage to remember her by. Not to return a soul piece from an old superstition. But to say goodbye personally. That is what this is. You understand how difficult a goodbye is…but the one not said, is even worse. It would haunt you, my boy. You’ll look back on this when you are grown and remember your composure for your mother. How proud you made her.”He didn’t want to feel proud. He felt numb. Astarion nodded with something that looked like resolve, but did not feel like it in the slightest.He asked the question in a whisper. “What will happen when I fire this? What does it do?”She shrugged. “I’ve seen them before. Funerals like this. Sometimes nothing. Sometimes a cremation. It’s a beautiful sentiment. They say that sometimes, it’s magic.” The last word was said even more quietly, as if it were not allowed on such a somber occasion. He stared at her impassively, not sure how to respond.“Wait for the ranger’s signal–I fear this speech and the following chanting might take awhile,” she advised, and stepped back in line with the siblings.He could see the ranger on the rock out of his left periphery, but Astarion’s sight was elsewhere.He remembered learning archery with his mother; she’d worn a billowing gown. Her white, curly hair was in a braid that landed in the small of her back. He was very small then, truly a child. It was at their home. Before she left. Before the calling of diplomat pulled her to different realms.She was out with several of the children that day, another archery lesson. She had a natural proficiency for it, and had even won awards for mounted archery, in her younger days. He remembered the smell of her when she was near–it was a flowery smell, with rosemary added. He was frustrated that day and had almost angrily tossed the bow, until she knelt beside his fumbling child-sized hands.His voice was full of rage. “I can’t pull the bowstring back.”“I expect not, Astarion…it’s very heavy, and you are very small.”“How can I hit if–” he wrested, and the arrow twanged from the half-pulled bowstring, landing on the knoll nearby, causing his older sisters to laugh at him. He scowled, stuck out his tongue, and was happy when his mother looked away as if she hadn’t seen the gesture.Then she was by him, holding her hand over his own. “I know you want to pull it with your hand, but that’s not quite where the pull comes from. It comes from here.”A slender finger poked his shoulder. He looked at her doubtfully. She smiled back.“It’s true. Do you see how your shoulder points inward? Wants to slump to the ground?”“I know, Father always tells me, stop slouc–”“I’m not talking about standing up straight. I’m telling you to step back, raise your bow like this–” she put it into his right hand, “and instead of pulling very, very hard with your hand, try rolling your shoulder back.” More delicate touches. He felt the heavy string bend, then wobble, and it dry fired, twanging angrily at him. Astarion didn’t notice; he was jumping in place.“DID YOU SEE. IT WENT BACK EVEN MORE!”“I told you it would help! Just remember what I always tell you!” He continued jumping in celebration. Her smile never waned. “...You remember?”“The farther back….the…the…”His sister was loud, and her voice was pure know-it-all-sistery-nonsense.“The farther back your bowstring lies–”One of his louder brothers interrupted gleefully, happy to disturb the smug answer. “--the farther forward your arrow flies!”“I would’ve remembered it, I was excited,” Astarion said unhappily, glowering at the ground now, before he grasped another arrow from the pile into his too-small hand.“I know, my little star,” she answered, and nocked the arrow for him. “And what have I taught you about when the arrow is ready to fly?”“Let it fly,” he said proudly, throwing his siblings an ugly look. “Don’t wait.”“Don’t HESITATE, silly,” came the voice of his sister.“You’re both right,” Eirianwen said simply, taking the bow and its nocked arrow from her son and standing. “Don’t wait, don’t hesitate. The longer your string stays back, the worse your aim will get. A good shot is never the hesitant one.”He watched the way her shoulder moved back–she was using the same technique she’d just taught him, after all. True to her word, she pulled the string, her knuckles brushing her own eyelashes, touching only a second before the string was freed, the arrow flew across the grounds, and his siblings with their better, farther elf sight whooped as they saw it hit the target bullseye.—----------------------The moment of silence after the final prayer made him antsy; he didn’t like listening to the waves crashing against the cliffs; his eyes closed in weariness. Beasts, some of them very odd and scary to him, had begun to approach the bay from the nearby forest. He supposed he should have seen it as a sign of respect to his mother’s life that even the fauna of this strange realm would come to say goodbye, but he still couldn’t formulate thoughts that readily. He was sickened by this whole affair, and even pegasai couldn’t quell his stomach ache.Then it happened, after the silence. The prayer had ended, those who knelt were back to standing. The first noise was the human king’s calling horn; it rose as a single note, winding, then moaning as it echoed from cliffside to cliffside, its only accompaniment at first the crackling of the torches above, and the sighs of the sea below. Astarion paid no attention to the single tear that already stole its way down his cheek.The horn’s call was joined by its brothers. There had to be hundreds of them, he mused, rising up through the dell and blending together into one lone drawn out melancholy knoll. They were supposed to be war horns, so why did they sound so sad? Moments after their chorus began came the abrupt, rather ferocious accompaniment of drums from the same army. This sound was far more suitable for war; it was like thunder thrumming off the crags of the rock, pushing against Astarion’s throat, causing him to inhale shallow breaths, while he ignored more tears.The drumbeat–if it could be called a beat, and not just a cacophony, rippled through the crowd itself and gathered more sound. Cups and chains rattled, staffs were thumped against the stone, and those who had nothing to hit but their feet against the ground did so, stomping and adding to the resonance. It began to beat against Astarion like a painful, cold rain.It still didn’t feel real, he decided, this strange choir–he supposed it was a send-off, or an outpouring of grief, or some other emotional thing that he didn’t understand. The animals that had made their way to the cliffs began to make sounds as well; some were low brays, others high-pitched screeches. He’d never seen most of these animals–his own home realm was sparsely populated with mostly gentle creatures. These were huge, monstrous really, and seemed to harbor magic–he could sense it in most of them. Their cries were not quite human, but they were still full of pain and reverence.His gaze was moving over the large congregation, and past them, to the stars above the fog, which seemed to twinkle down at him when he found them. Whether or not that was in his mind, he wasn’t sure; he saw movement from his left, and turned his head there instead. The ranger elf met his eyes and signaled–it was an overhead, slight motion, not a grandiose sweep. He knew what it meant. It wasn’t the signal for him.Archers behind the first ranger aimed; a wave of arrows thudded into the boggy water around the pyre, not onto it, setting the bay alight with the first round of pitch-dipped arrows. All of the pools of oil were now in flames and growing. Astarion’s gaze moved back to the bay, where the black water was nothing but a sea of fiery orange. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of burning bodies before this moment, but as the flames licked the tall, beautifully constructed wooden pyre, his heart began to race in his chest. She would disappear. She would be gone. And he would never see her again.A second volley of arrows went further, this time hitting and illuminating the sea. Most of them stayed lit, and some hit the oil seep as it flowed back toward the ocean. It created a road of fire across the calmer water, which dissipated when the white foam of the waves met it in the true sea. He could hear sirens singing, he realized, from beyond those foaming waves.The ranger left his post, and stepped next to Astarion. He felt a kind, but firm grip on his wrist, that still held the arrow, its nock nestled along the bowstring.The other’s voice was low. “You know where to send it?”“Yes.” Well, he had been told. Many times. By everyone. It still didn’t settle, or register with him, and now the flames were threatening to collapse the wooden legs of the pyre.The ranger nodded at him, pointedly, and stepped back.That was his signal.This was it? It was now? But…he wasn’t ready, he realized. He would never be ready, but certainly not while the noises of so many unhappy souls rattled through his bones and at the very least, his many siblings’ eyes were on him. Somewhere too were his father’s eyes. None of them were aiding in this noisy chatter, none of them moved or stomped or cried out like the animals.They were still as trees.But he had to be the one to move. For her.In one fluid motion his right arm lifted the bow, and his left shoulder pulled back. The string moved easily under his strength, within moments his knuckles brushed his cheekbone. He could almost feel his fingers open, slipping like moth wings, one flourish and they would be away from the taut string, but he hesitated. His breath caught in his chest.He needed more time. To say goodbye? To….?A good shot is never the hesitant one —-------------- Remember your composure for your mother, how proud you made her He would never recall later on, if he said the words aloud, or if they stayed in his mind. If his siblings found his egregiously open emotional display unacceptable, they never flinched behind him. Not that he saw, anyway.Goodbye, Mother. I love you. Then the moth wings fluttered, his cheek was kissed by the string on its way, and his shoulder stayed anchored, pulled back as she’d taught him, until the arrow was far on its way. Only then did his shoulder move forward again.It found its mark, of course. The form under the silken sheets was not readily visible, but the spell on the body was. It glowed, pulsing with a lavender light that marked his target. He had no idea what the magic used here was–if it was Elven, if it was of his own people, or if it was simply a charm as his brother had said.But the arrow hit its mark, and the flames licked upward, engulfing the platform. Instead of a single spark, he watched trails of light cascade up from the fire. The tiny lights were subtle at first, dissipating with white-hot trails behind them. Tiny comets, thousands of them. His eyes were fixated on them, spellbound, as all the other spectators were. The way they swirled up, moving along with the tar’s smoke, they seemed as if they could be parts of the fire. Particularly bright embers, maybe.But then they shimmered, and changed color, and floated away from the smoke. The fragments moved like swirling, lazy rain, but upside down, as they flew toward their destination–the stars, it seemed. Each little bulb of light tripled, quadrupled, then quadrupled again as they shimmered with all the purple and violet shades of the color spectrum, until the sky looked awash in glitter that finally spread, crashing in all directions like the final break of a wave as it drags across sand.Astarion, and the others, had to tilt their heads back as the light show dazzled in all directions above them, and the thin tails of color turned into large bands of aurora. Purple, pink, periwinkle, and shades of magenta at the farthest stretches of the sky pierced through the fog, glowing with their own supernatural light.People were talking. Whispering. He could hear them, but Astarion only caught two fragments. One, from Kaylessa: “....by the Gods.”And the other, from one of his siblings, “NOW what do you say about our TRADITIONS, brother?”. created by creativian
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𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒
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03/16/2024 03:59 PM
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rules.
one. writers only. two. 18+ mature audiences only. three. you add, you talk. four. multi-para to novella writer. five. no, i will not join your rpg. six. themesinclude but are not limited to high fantasy, supernatural (not the show), mysteryslash thriller, horror, human slash normal. absolutely no wrestling or fame. seven. i enjoy smütty stories. these types of stories should be discussed beforehand. eight. do not speak to me ooc unless it concerns our story oractivity notices. stay ic. nine. don't steal from me. that's incredibly foolish. ten. discord is available upon request. eleven. literacy is key. twelve. i don't mind random starters. i don't do much banter outside of plot discussions. thirteen. roma is heterosexual. this is a multi-ship accountuntil it's not. :)
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Danganronpa
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03/16/2024 03:22 PM
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Alice
Current mood:
aroused
◇{Stepped in the room and she noticed meAlmost instantly and I can guarantee that sheHas heard about me through a girlfriendNot to mention that her boyfriend hates meIt's not my fault she looked at meIt's not your fault you can't competeAre we through with this? Cause I do insistNothing happened here this timeGuys Don't Like MeThese guys, they don't like meThese guys, don't like meCause their girl friends doGuys Don't Like MeThese guys, they don't like meThese guys, don't like meCause their girl friends doStop, let me explain the situationEverybody hating for the same reasonI attempted to mingle, she said she was singleAnd I'm just a nice guyIt's not my fault she looked at meIt's not your fault you can't competeI am through with this, but if you insistThen the next time she's mine You might also likeRooftopsIt Boys!Start the PartyIt Boys!we can’t be friends (wait for your love)Ariana Grande Guys Don't Like MeThese guys, they don't like meThese guys, don't like meCause their girl friends doGuys Don't Like MeThese guys, they don't like meThese guys, don't like meCause their girl friends doStepped into the club and she fell in loveGuys Don't Like MeThese guys, they don't like meThese guys, don't like meCause their girl friends doGuys Don't Like MeThese guys, they don't like meThese guys, don't like meCause their girl friends do}◇ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ○name○ *Alice Rosario Evans ○age○ *18+ ○ultimate○ *lust ○gender○ *female ○ sexuality ○ *bi ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ◇{[스텔라장 "빌런 (Villain)" 가사][Intro]We all pretend to be the heroes on the good sideOh-oh-ohOh-oh-oh-ohOh-oh-oh-ohOh[Verse 1]어떤 것은 검은색어떤 것은 하얀색색안경을 끼고 보면 어떡해넌 착한 사람이고걘 나쁜 사람이고재미없는 너의 세상은 흑백[Pre-Chorus]So many shades of grayOh, 어떻게 아직도 모를 수 있어Oh, good easily fades away함부로 나를 좋아하지 마[Chorus]BecauseI'm a villain왜 아닐 거라 생각해아주 못돼먹은작은 악마 같은 나인걸 몰라You’re a villain왜 아닐 거라 생각해미처 몰랐던 악마가네 안에 숨 쉬고 있어 You might also likeStella Jang - 빌런 (Villain) (Romanized)Genius RomanizationsVillainLydia the BardNow That We Don’t Talk (Taylor’s Version) [From The Vault]Taylor Swift [Post-Chorus]I'm killing someone maybeYou're killing someone maybeI’m killing you maybeYou're killing me maybe[Interlude]We all pretend to be the heroes on the good sideBut what if we're the villains on the other?[Verse 2]Am I good? Am I bad, ay?Are you good? Are you bad, ay?내가 제일 사랑하는 누군가는또 다른 누군가에게는 개, sayAre we good? Are we bad, ay?What is good? What is bad, ay?네가 제일 미워하는 누군가는사랑받는 누군가의 자식, say[Pre-Chorus]So many shades of grayOh, 어떻게 아직도 모를 수 있어Oh, good easily fades away함부로 나를 좋아하지 마[Chorus]Because (One, two)I'm a villain왜 아닐 거라 생각해아주 못돼먹은작은 악마 같은 나인걸 몰라You're a villain왜 아닐 거라 생각해미처 몰랐던 악마가네 안에 숨 쉬고 있어All villains왜 아닐 거라 생각해아주 못돼먹은작은 악마들이 우린 걸 몰라We're all villains왜 아닐 거라 생각해미처 몰랐던 악마 같은 우리를 좀 봐[Post-Chorus]I'm killing someone maybeYou're killing someone maybeI’m killing you maybeYou’re killing me maybe[Outro]We all pretend to be the heroes on the good sideBut what if we're the villains on the other?We all pretend to be the heroes on the good sideBut what if we’re the villains on the other?We all pretend to be the heroes on the good side}◇ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 》appearance《 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ♧height♧ *4ft ♧weight♧ *80lbs ♧skin tone♧ *pale ♧lip shape♧ *small ♧nose shape♧ *small ♧eye shape♧ *round ♧eye color♧ *green ♧piercings/ tattoos♧ *ears/non ♧ birthmark(s)♧ *non ♧ scars/ freckles / other♧ *covering her body ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ◇{[Verse 1]Superstar, where you from? How's it goin'?I know you got a clue what you're doin'You can play brand new to all the other chicks out hereBut I know what you are, what you are, babyLook at you, gettin' more than just a re-upBaby, you got all the puppets with their strings upFakin' like a good one, but I call 'em like I see 'emI know what you are, what you are, baby[Pre-Chorus]Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizerOh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, babyYou, you-you are, you, you-you areWomanizer, womanizer, womanizer (Womanizer)[Chorus]Boy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-are(You, you) You got me goin', you're oh-so-charmin'(You, you) But I can't do it, you womanizerBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-are(You, you) You say I'm crazy, I got your crazy(You, you) You're nothin' but a womanizer You might also likeIs It Over Now? (Taylor’s Version) [From The Vault]Taylor Swiftthe boy is mineAriana GrandeWhen Emma Falls in Love (Taylor’s Version) [From The Vault]Taylor Swift [Verse 2]Daddy-o, you got the swagger of a championToo bad for you, you just can't find the right companionI guess when you have one too manyMakes it hard, it could be easyWho you are, that's just who you are, babyLollipop, must mistake me, you're the suckerTo think that I would be a victim, not anotherSay it, play it how you wannaBut no way, I'm never gonnaFall for you, never you, baby[Pre-Chorus]Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizerOh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, babyYou, you-you are, you, you-you are (Womanizer, womanizer)Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer (Womanizer)[Chorus]Boy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-are(You, you) You got me goin', you're oh-so-charmin'(You, you) But I can't do it, you womanizerBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-are(You, you) You say I'm crazy, I got your crazy(You, you) You're nothin' but a womanizer[Bridge]Maybe if we both lived in a different world, yeah(Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer, womanizer)It would be all good and maybe I could be your girl (Yeah)But I can't 'cause we don't, you[Pre-Chorus]Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizerOh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, babyYou, you-you are, you, you-you are (Womanizer, womanizer)Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer (Womanizer)[Chorus]Boy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-are(You, you) You got me goin', you're oh-so-charmin'(You, you) But I can't do it, you womanizerBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-are(You, you) You say I'm crazy, I got your crazy(You, you) You're nothin' but a womanizer[Outro]Boy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areBoy, don't try to front, I-I know just, just what you are, a-areWomanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizerOh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, baby}◇ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 》 favorites 《 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ♤ favorite color ♤ *black ♤ favorite food ♤ *ramen ♤favorite drink♤ *coffee ♤favorite season♤ *winter ♤favorite TV show♤ *Happy Tree Friends ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ◇{[Verse 1}Tic tic toc, the time bomb clockTicks grinning ear to ear here babyTic Tic Toc, the time bomb clockTicks counting down...Tic, tic stop![Pre-Chorus]You know I speak in riddlesAnd I'm plotting to destroyVillain as I always wasCrazy is as crazy does{Chorus]My sanity's in short supplyMad as a hatter, hey surprise!T-T-T-Ticking bomb on the insideLivin' with the villain pacing in my mind[Verse 2]I'm blowing up the mysteryAnd all the pretty things you seeLight flame to fuseAnd Sparks will flyYou said goodnightNow say goodbye You might also likeNightmareWild FireNot an OptionWild FireEverybody KnowsWild Fire [Pre-Chorus]You know I speak in riddlesAnd I'm plotting to destroyVillain as I always wasCrazy is as crazy does[Chorus]My sanity's in short supplyMad as a hatter, hey surprise!T-T-T-Ticking bomb on the insideLivin' with the villain pacing in my mind[Bridge]I only want to hurt youAnd what I want I getI only want to hurt youAnd what I want I...I only want to hurt youAnd what I want I getI'm aiming to continueSo consider me a threatTic tic toc the time bomb clock, the time bomb clock, the time bomb clockTic tic toc the time bomb clock, the time bomb clock, the time bomb clock[Pre-Chorus]You know I speak in riddlesAnd I'm plotting to destroyVillain as I always wasCrazy is as crazy does[Chorus]My sanity's in short supplyMad as a hatter, hey surprise!T-T-T-Ticking bomb on the insideLivin' with the villain pacing in my mind}◇ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 》relations《 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ♡ siblings♡ *n/a ♡parents♡ *n/a ♡grandparents♡ *n/a ♡aunts/uncles♡ *n/a ♡cousins ♡ *n/a ♡freinds♡ *most ♡enemies♡ *some ♡partner♡ *Makoto ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ Credit
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anime
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Rosalie
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03/16/2024 02:26 AM
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My Rules
******I take these rules VERY seriously!******RULE 1I will NOT be adding anyone who just has "One-Liner" in Length because I HATE One Liners. That includes no text talk and using " - " and " * " for actions or speaking. Must be a Paragraph at LEAST. Multi-Para is accepted whole-heartedly with me.PROPER GRAMMAR AND SPELLING IS REQUIRED TO BE MY ROLEPLAYING BUDDY!!!Unless English isn't your native tongue. Then I will let you slide as long as your responses are understandable and grammar is a minimum.RULE 2If you hassle me (whether it's through Comments or PMs), I will delete you. However, if I had seen what you had written and I forgot, then I will not delete you. I am a human being that can forget things.RULE 3If you already started to roleplay with me and find me annoying, I'm deleting you. If you had discussed a romance roleplay with me, but go and get a girlfriend/boyfriend before we actually start roleplaying. Then I will delete and block you. I don't care. I'm not dealing with people like that. Nothing else to it.RULE 4If I send you a request or if you send me one and I accept, don't treat me as a number. I will delete you and never add you again. I came here to roleplay and, maybe, make friends. I didn't come here to become somebody's friend number like Facebook. Either we roleplay/talk or I won't see you on my friend's list again.If you add, then YOU talk to me. I will talk to you if I sent the request to you.You have 24 hours to message me. If I see that you haven't, then you're being removed. I won't delete you if I've seen that you haven't been online on your account for more than a day, BUT I will delete you if you've been offline for more than a month.RULE 5If there isn't ANYTHING about your character in your info (I'm NOT looking into blogs or pictures) and you had sent me a friend request, its an AUTOMATIC deny. I want to know what your character is like before I click "Accept." And I won't accept people who have private profiles.Do not EVER send me messages in character. It's annoying and just outright disrespectful for those who always talk out of character. If you do, then you're being removed. There will be some exceptions because that person is specifically an in-character account.This INCLUDES sending a starter without discussing roleplay plots with me. Mostly because I had a friend who got into drama without discussing. And the other girl said sh!t while lying about it. So, discussion BEFORE roleplaying.RULE 6I just want to have fun and no real life drama. I also have a life that requires me to work, eat, sleep, read, do arts and crafts and spend time with family on holidays.RULE 7If you don't like something about my starter or roleplay, please tell me. I want to make the roleplay as fun as possible for the both of us.RULE 8I will not roleplay as any canon character from any verse. I started out roleplaying as a canon character, but didn't stop hearing complaint after complaint of my portrayal of the characters. The only exception being Amy Rose.RULE 9Any romantic relationships that I do are ROLEPLAY ONLY. To me, each relationship that I create with people, then it's their own separate universe from the one you have. If I say that I like you out of character, then that means that I'm interested in trying a real relationship with you.RULE 10No god-modding, please? God-modding is "taking control of another player's character during roleplay." It upsets me and very much annoys me. I created these characters for me to roleplay as (minus Amy). It takes the fun out of roleplaying in general.RULE 11I only roleplay 3rd person point of view. If you roleplay in first person, I'm okay with that. However, I won't roleplay in first person for you.RULE 12If you can't handle some words that comes out of a roleplay with me, then don't add me. Because you should learn the difference between ROLEPLAY and REALITY.RULE 13I will NOT accept anybody that is a wrestler. Just because I’m not interested in doing those dumb roleplays.Secret word: Gunther Hessenheffer
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ʜᴇᴇᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴏᴛʜ™
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03/16/2024 12:32 PM
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His Master Was Afraid - Reply for Nettles
He lost all hope when she started laughing. Laughing–he knew how that went. The desperate, those near death laughed in the way she did. But what was that noise? The hells was going on outside? Astarion took Nettle’s hand happily, seeking one of the towers for a quieter exit. He didn’t want to think what would happen if his siblings got ahold of her–not the blood drinking.….Some of them participated in other endeavors that were more cruel than drinking blood.He was glad when she held his hand, and he marveled that it didn’t seem like the hand of someone on the verge of insanity. He had smelled almost every emotion through the years. In fact, she didn’t smell like others at all, but the instinctively intoxicating aroma of a breakdown wasn’t present.His eyes were on her as they continued to move down hallways; those echoing footsteps were back. Astarion listened to her question, his pout of disbelief clear. The footsteps sounded like thunder, and he skidded to a stop on blue marble as Cazador appeared. Astarion immediately cowered, covering his torso with his arms, but the vampire ignored his spawn completely, opening his hand at Nettles as he strode toward her.In one fluid motion she was against the wall and Astarion slunk away. He was not forced to bear witness to this; he was only several steps away when he paused, waiting. Waiting to see if the compulsion would come back, or if he could make his own choice. He never knew. It was maddening, the way Cazador’s thrall ebbed and flowed.He felt no urges; he could stay. Astarion slowly lowered his arms, worried that he was about to watch Nettles die, until he remembered that was the whole problem with her. Well, this torture would probably include him, then. He made it a point to stay, which he knew Cazador would bring up later when he was torturing the elf. He was back in his body for now, and these small, meaningless acts of defiance were all he had left.When he remembered them, which was happening less and less.But as Cazador hissed at Nettles, and she spoke back through choked fragmented sentences–Astarion’s gaze lifted to land on her directly at this–the elf began to notice fear. The precursor to a breakdown. The precursor to a lot of things, including intimacy. Fear was something a vampire could recognize the moment its heart stopped beating.And he felt it. But from his Master. Cazador was….…afraid.Astarion was staring openly now, as the lull of another wave began to wash over him. It was like falling asleep over and over. Never truly waking up, just sliding from dream to nightmare."Say it. Say you want to be free. That is all you have to say and I will free you in a way he will never grant you."He was frozen, his hands together worriedly. Free? Free from what?Clearly something was happening outside. Cracks began to form in the marble, and Astarion’s non-beating heart nearly leapt away from him. Was it happening? He stared up, smiling with open fangs as it appeared the castle was crumbling on itself.He could gladly bask in a death that would also cover Cazador. Just as he stepped out, ready to feel the pounding weight of stone on him, Cazador dropped Nettles.REALLY?!?!!?This vampire, HIS MASTER, actually believed this! At first Astarion was poised to make a snide quip, but then he realized who it would be to, and his gaze snapped instead toward Nettles, now looking suspicious and afraid. What on earth was she, to have power over Cazador? If he’d had feline ears they would have pulled back in fear.”That is all you have to say and I will free you in a way he will never grant you."He could barely register the lunacy of this before Cazador was on him, screaming at him, again. Astarion’s familiar cowering posture returned at once, but when the vampire doubled back at the woman’s call. Abysmal. Unheard of.He perked up at her voice, glancing from behind his own scarred forearms–how had he gone so long tonight without getting hit? This must be some kind of record. He wished he could enjoy it.They were arguing. Astarion wanted to flee again, but he forced himself to stand on the spot, pondering what this meant. Shake the cobwebs. Cazador wasn’t even focusing on him; he had no thrall. Remember yourself.A thundering voice in his head, like a thunderclap, and he had no idea from whom it might’ve came. The elf snapped upright when he heard it, and the rush of sound that flew into his ears was like coming up to the surface after being underwater. He could hear. He could see and smell again.He was back. Panting, as if this mental work of struggling to and fro took everything in him; but Astarion could now clearly hear Nettles. She heard what he said to Cazador, heard the other’s reply. Astarion’s face screwed up in an angry snarl at the vampire’s words.The fear was still there; it was hidden below the bluff, but Astarion could smell it even more clearly on his own kind."I grant you permission to feed on my blood... should you dare choose to."He struggled with the gravity of this; Cazador was so near him, and Astarion had never been able to try to harm the vampire. He knew this–it was one of the only far-reaching memories he obtained. Those first few years had involved so much attempted kicking, hitting, fighting, biting, and nothing ever landed. Most things didn’t even leave his own body other than in an angry tremble.He fought for his voice, lips peeling back in a feline sneer that mimicked the smile on his master’s face. Astarion could smell fire from overhead. Fire and salt, and a storm. It smelled just like her.He didn’t even care, didn’t notice, didn’t process that had she been telling the truth, a dragon was directly over their heads. He was too busy formulating words.“F*** you! I never wanted to be….THIS.” He gestured at himself. “F*** you, and EVERYTHING you ever did to me!” It wasn’t exactly what Nettles had asked him to say, but he couldn’t help the words that poured out.When he heard the first droplet splash onto the ground, he dove forward, landing on his knees, dipping his head down swiftly. Perhaps Cazador shouldn’t have kept him so starved all the time.Perhaps Cazador shouldn’t have been so bold.Perhaps a lot of things. It didn’t matter. Astarion had to lick up the droplet from the floor, first–something, anything, to break the spell that kept him from harming the older vampire. He simply hoped it would be enough.It was.Moments later he sprang up, landing on his heels, and shoved Cazador’s arm away, going instead for his neck. Vividly, a memory entered his mind; Cazador’s bite to him, swift, painful, without mercy. He tried to double the pain of it by clenching his jaws down. Not even drinking, simply tearing.Astarion lashed so deeply into the Master Vampire’s throat, and pulled away so vigorously, that chunks of sinew and strips of skin flew into his mouth when he pulled back. He inhaled through the gore, swallowing the mouthful of blood, finally. And then he spat out what remained. His crimson eyes glowed, and his hands fell into a clawed grip.He could think clearly. Finally.For the first time in two hundred years, the thrall was gone.Astarion’s posture immediately straightened; he looked haughty, bored, except for the clawed hands, and his gaze fell to his old master. Cazador looked furious, but the man surely knew what awaited him; his mouth snapped shut, and then he bared fangs.Astarion leapt forward, the dagger at once on the other’s throat, Cazador’s head cradled near his groin and wrenched painfully away from the maimed side, where the wound was already healed.But the silver gave him pause; he was far stronger than Astarion still, but one swipe….plus, he still had the dragon to worry about. As if on cue, both vampires looked toward Nettles, four red eyes shining in the dark.Cazador didn’t speak, but Astarion’s voice was full of hate. “Is it true, is it coming?” He yanked on the hated head of black hair. “I want him to WATCH.” created by heedless moth - layout by creativian
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ʜᴇᴇᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴏᴛʜ™
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03/16/2024 12:32 PM
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I Can't Go On - Drabble
The camp was shuttered down and the others accompanying them had already settled into their tents. Astarion was joined at the fire by Nettles, and for a moment the vampire said nothing, continuing his search of the night sky in silence while she situated herself. After a few tense, quiet minutes, he licked his lips to speak. Astarion was no longer a spawn. His idiotically-overconfident former Master had--rather accidentally--let Astarion get ahold of his blood just before Nettles' dragon stormed in the door, quite literally. With the transformation now several weeks' complete, he was adjusting to life as a Vampire. Rather, everyone else was adjusting to his life as a Vampire, because Astarion had changed.No one had spoken to him of it yet, perhaps out of respect, or maybe they just didn't give a damn. He hadn' anticipated sitting here with anyone, either, but his head nodded toward his dragon rider companion, and he wiggled one booted foot amiably."I've changed, you know," he began haltingly. Her stare was something between a kind attempt at listening, and a 'no f***ing sh*t' stare. He caught it from side-eyeing her with his deep crimson eyes. And despite his different demeanor, the elf's lips lifted in an almost-smile. He couldn't quite bear the eye contact, and turned his gaze back to the starlit sky."I was just coming to terms that I might not be a bastard," he continued in a falsely-amiable voice. "That I was...well. Better than he was. Capable of doing things different. But I find that the void is there anyway. I released the spawn," his voice was low, "Tried to help them. But I feel nothing for them. I'm free now. But I feel nothing. And now, everything that I've worked for...it feels like it means nothing."His gaze slowly fell back toward the illuminated riverbed, where steam rose. Some small animal was making noise. Frogs? Crickets? There was singing. It occurred to Astarion that he didn't know which season it was. Were frogs a summer thing? He always felt numb, and cold, even here near the fire. "I'd always thought after Cazador was gone, I would want to find myself. Seek out family, if I had any. And instead he's passed this curse onto me. I could walk into the sun tomorrow and not think twice about it." Finally his grim smile, and the eyes that it didn't reach, turned back to her lovely face, lit by the firelight, where beyond, the dragon lay over the cliff face, its wary eye still on the camp as if it didn't trust Astarion. It probably didn't--he was more vicious, more bloodthirsty than he'd ever been as a spawn. More callous, more flippant. Just a bigger d*ck all around. "I'm trying very hard to keep my mind from turning...well, cruel. I feel it gripping me, a cold hand around my heart. I don't know how much more of myself I have to lose before I end up like him. And I know I will walk in the sun before I let that happen. I guess I just thought...I had more time. To....rediscover myself."Idly, Astarion looked away. His next comment was halfhearted, as if an afterthought. "If I ever do get that way, you must put a stake through my heart at once, of course."He stood slowly, unfolding his legs, loathe to leave the false warmth of his camp. He held out a hand for her to follow. "Now, go get some sleep. I'm afraid I must go hunt, not for hunger's sake, but the need to kill is rising in me. And I'd rather not piss off Sheepstealer."The dragon rumbled from its perch as if agreeing with this sentiment. He almost left then, but the vampire pondered his own loss of a soul, his own darkness, and then he spun on a heel, planting a kiss on Nettles' cheek, touching his icy hand to her other cheek for mere seconds. He was so sensitive to touch, and a beating pulse, that he no longer trusted himself. "There, now...off to bed with you." His voice was still light, but it carried a deep tone of remorse underneath. (c) made by creativian
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ʜᴇᴇᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴏᴛʜ™
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03/16/2024 12:31 PM
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Piece of a Soul
perhaps you have a piece of a soul after all After a halting, judging stare, Astarion uncorked the bottle. He didn't like the look on Shadowheart's face; it had only appeared after she watched the vial's liquid turn purple. She was thinking something, wasn't she? He scoffed, and tipped the small bottle back, drinking the disgusting liquid in one go. The elf wrinkled his nose, but Shadowheart smirked. "Enjoy your rest.""I have a question.""Sure.""Why did the hex cause me to have...well, to dream.""I thought you said it wasn't a dream. It was a memory.""I never said that aloud." He bristled. "But...yes."Shadowheart shrugged. "Part of unlinking you from the hex means that I no longer feel the feelings, the pain that the hex pulled from you. It is simple magic, but old. It creates longing. Since you don't have a soul, I suppose the hex doesn't quite work the same as it would on the rest of us. So it gives you the torment of memory.""But I've had other symptoms.""Oh?""I feel....strange. Hungry, but not hungry. Restless. Bloodthirsty? The will to....do...things. Violent things." He shrugged. "But I've fed. Twice now.""Then perhaps you have a piece of a soul after all," she said with a strange smile, and turned on her heel, back toward the wizard's tent. c; creativian, author, heedless moth
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ʜᴇᴇᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴏᴛʜ™
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03/16/2024 12:29 PM
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the cut - reply to Nettles
CONTENT WARNINGit is dark, it is violent, it is the worst of Astarion's life and being. Reader please be aware! Astarion's mouth was fully open when Nettles moved, GODSSS how he longed to move with her, to cheer her on, to plunge his weapon into the bastard's heart, or eyeball, or anywhere really. The scent of blood assaulted his nostrils. Not only the human's. Now that was interesting.He'd never seen Cazador so much as with a hair out of place. But his blood was all over her chin; how strange. A mere lick of that blood with Cazador's approval and he would be free, free forever. It was the most horrible irony to stare in the face the liquid of one's salvation, smeared across the lips and chin of a warrior who, unlike he, had the capability to fight for her life.So, a part of him was thrilled, and satisfied, even if his gaze conveyed panic. And it did.As eager as he was to watch Nettles kick the vampire several more times, he was worried for what would happen to her after. He showed defiance when and how he could, and he got punished for it, but Cazador's insistence on focusing on Astarion meant that he got away with less and less. The chokehold around his particular brand of thrall was sometimes more insistent than his siblings'.Still, it was nothing compared to what Cazador could hand out to mortals when they displeased him. He winced when she was pushed, and he willed her to stay quiet. She didn't. She roared, and for a moment he could almost sense something not quite human about her...the vampire's head tilted as if to get a better view, or catch something he hadn't seen before.Then came the kick; he hissed a breath inward, and turned his head away momentarily. Astarion knew that kick well. He'd crawled away with shattered ribs on multiple nights, to stay crippled until someone felt like tossing him a half-dried rat so that he could heal. He wanted to sob, but that would help neither of them, so he simply ground his teeth, his claws leaving marks on his palms as he grasped them.When Cazador spoke Astarion had no choice but to slowly, forlornly look up from this posture and peer at the paper. He was being commanded; the words were short. Cazador was angry. Was he...shaken? Astarion's red eyes lit up, and he glanced at his master for a few triumphant seconds before his gaze moved, casting down upon the nude woman, and what was far worse--the scroll.Cazador had commanded that he cut her, to those specifications. When Cazador passed Astarion, he ran a hand playfully down the rogue's torso, teasingly. The elf flinched, disgust written all over his features, but thankfully the vampire turned his attention on Dalyria as they left the chamber. Finally, the footsteps faded and Nettles began to stir. He rushed forward, his hand outstretched to help, though she probably couldn't stand the sight of him.His silent stare said one thing--it was better to do it, than not. She seemed to agree with this, and through painful-looking swollen lips, came, "Do it...But I will not give him the satisfaction of my screams.""I....envy your bravery."His voice was weak and small, nothing like the outgoing noble she'd met in the tavern before. Astarion was shaking; there was a lump in his throat. He picked at the scroll, looking at the images through a blur of tears. Why? What was the point of this? Why would Cazador keep...diagrams? of images. What was this signifying anyway? The markings on Astarion's back were supposedly a poem, though anyone he'd ever showed it to said it simply looked like a grotesque tattoo--he didn't understand at all.Then again, he'd known Cazador long enough to suppose the bastard had nothing better to do than turn people into maimed canvases. Better to not make logic out of madness. He sighed, withdrawing his dagger, and with a shrug, the rogue held it up to her with a pitying glance. One eyebrow drew down, and he said in a miserable voice, "At least it's sharp."Darkest of humor--he had no other coping mechanism. Except sobbing open-mouthed on the floor of his kennel while in the fetal position, and he couldn't really do that with her standing here. So with a steadying sigh, he nodded, and moved into her space, brandishing the knife with all of the verve and style of an expert. He spun it, pointing the end toward her chin. The elf steaded his stance as well, and pulled her close. Funny, for a moment the rowdy smile almost came back to him. It was all muscle memory--hold them close, pretend to enjoy it.But he spoke honestly; he was trying to help. "Hold onto me," he muttered. "Steady yourself."He was trying to help them both, but it probably just seemed like a lewd request. Truly she deserved to bite a hunk out of him for what he'd done to her. He expected a knee to the groin or a punch to the throat, but one didn't come as he flourished the blade again and made one short cut.It was terrible work, but he made it as fast as he could, focusing on the small tears in the skin as a carpenter focuses on trimming a board. Astarion's expression was focused, but his lips were taut--he was miserable. He hated himself. And even more, he hated Cazador for turning him into this.Someone who could cut another person without batting an eye. Someone who HAD to.After he finished with the facial markings and moved to her chest, Astarion sighed, only once breaking his concentrated stare to peer up at her in an apologetic way. In a low voice he muttered, lowering the knife toward her chest, "I am so sorry." (c) made by creativian
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