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The Bad Twin

Name:Nicolina Angelica D'Vorah

Nick Name:Nikki


Birthday:April 15, 1996



Hair Color:Brown

Eye Color:Hazel


Relationship Status:Reserved for Shawn Singer @PointOfNoReturn

Species:Human (Witch)

Powers:Controling/Manipulation over the elements

Family:Mr. And Mrs. D'Vorah
Maria D'Vorah -Twin Sister

Quotes:"Me the bad twin? Oh pleaese I put the fun in dysfunctional"

"I never said he was a BAD person I just said that he's not good for you"

"We are a family of witches! That means we have magic on our side"

"Get your fix Witch bitch!"

Back Story:Nicolina "Nikki" D'Vorah is the eldest daughter of Audrey and Matthew D'Vorah and twin sister to Maria D'Vorah. Born in the witch house of D'Vorah and Raised in Las Vegas, Nicolina had always been the type of march to the beat of her own drum without fully breaking the rules although her sister Maria disliked it. Seen as the Spice or the "Bad twin" of the two Nicolina always felt that she was responsible for Maria by watching over her and protecting her at all cost, but that soon changed when they got older and Maria declared that she wanted her own life away from Nicolina due to always feeling in her shadow. Nicolina is a Elemental witch who has the ability to control and manipulate each of the elements Fire, Water, Earth, And Air along with other basic witch skills Nicolina is never afraid to put her magic to the test. Young, Smart, Charismatic and full of Life Nicole is described to be a beautiful young woman with rich dark brown hair and Emerald green eyes, she stands a little over five foot and has a slim but curvy body. Nicolina has a sweet caring personality but can become fiesty and ruthless when angry.

Theme Song:7 Rings by Ariana Grande

Face Claim:Becky G
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0 | 0 Comments | by Elements | 10 hours ago

Denlak the Paladin

Denlak “Denny” Fellinger
Age: 20-25
Occupation: Paladin

About Denlak:

Denlak is a paladin serving the Order of the Holy Church in an effort to remove those of evil and low moral standing from society, as paladins do. Denlak comes from a family who have been paladins for years before him. So far he’s been a bit of a disappointment to the Order as his powers haven’t come to full fruition. What they don’t know is that Dennys father brought great shame upon the family, as his son was not only born out of wedlock, his mother was a witch. His powers as a Paladin and his Powers as a warlock are at war. He also has a large heckin good doggo named Banjo. It is a breed of Tibetan Mastiff with pure white fur. They are a dog bred because they can take some of the powers of paladins and use it for good. Which will emerge victorious? Will he be able to use both? Will he use his powers for the good of mankind or will he succumb to the darkness? Will Banjo get the pettin’s? Find out next time on Roleplay.Me!

Authors comments:

Denny is a character who is very adaptable as he can play both good and evil, modern and medieval. My favorite idea for Denny is he is living in a world where the Forces of Magic are unknown to the public and he has to protect the people without disclosing that information to the public. This is managed via the deep connections (and pockets) of the Order.

Denlak the Outside Look:

Denlak has short spiky blond hair and glasses. In a diagonal line from his forehead to his cheek is a large long since healed scar from an accident long ago. To blend in with society Denlak usually wears jeans and a t-shirt as they are relatively easy to fight in during emergencies. He stands relatively tall at 5’11”, with a medium build.

Denlak the Inside Look:

Denlak is a nervous boy, as the Order has high expectations of him and he has managed to meet them yet. This nervousness leads to an edge of caution in battle because failure would truly be his demise as a paladin. Other than that, he is a regular guy who enjoys walking and wrestling with his dog and reading on the terrace of his apartment. He ‘works’ as a librarian at the local college to cover up his true job. It is something he managed to set up with his connections through the Order.

Denlak Insider Scoop:

Denlak might seem like he has a plain attitude, but it’s intentionally set that way so that he can move whichever way he needs to. Victories would bring him courage, and Losses would bring him hatred and a desire to do bad. It all depends on who he’s roleplayed with.

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Ren the Silver Tongued

Ren Tanaka
Age: 15-20
Occupation: Thief/Rogue

About Ren:

Ren gets his fingers stuck in more pies than he can sometimes manage. But thankfully he was born with a silver tongue that helps him talk his way out of trouble. If any of my characters were to be the definition of mischievous it would be Ren. Just because he thinks it’s fun he’ll occasionally swipe a guard/police badge and walk into crime scenes like he’s supposed to be there. His parents were the on again off again type of parent that you would expect a person like Ren to have.

Authors comments:

You can’t roleplay and not have a sneaky thief type like Ren. Well… You can… Shush. This character is pretty straight forward and versatile. He can be Modern, Medieval, Fantasy, or Realistic really. Plus, the possibilities are endless. Last remaining child of a noble family seeking revenge? Get a Ren. Another thief looking for a partner in crime? Get a Ren. Wedding Crashing, Tomb Raiding, Cookie Parties, or Birthdays you weren’t invited to?? Get a Ren! If it pays, Ren partakes.

Ren the Outside Look:

Ren has short but wild brown hair and green eyes. He comes in around an average 5’7” and is of a small dexterous build. In a medieval setting he would wear loose pants and a form fitting shirt as he walked around and likely has more knives than conceivably possible. Just kidding, but he has a few. In a modern setting he would free running pants designed to look like slacks and a mono-colored t-shirt with the occasional hoodie.

Ren the Inside Look:

Despite Ren’s rambunctious behavior, he’s actually quite sweet at heart. Those he cares about will gain an unrivaled ally for the rest of time. But those who cross him earn his sadistic side. If he thinks he has nothing to gain his personality would probably be quite aloof, though the idea of something to gain triggers his smarmy trickster side.

Ren Insider Scoop:

Ren has no interest in being a regular boy. He’s already drank from the goblet of crime and loves it. However, if someone managed to find a way for him to use his abilities for good, he might not be opposed to it.
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•Automatic Flowers• — Chaptaer 1

A cheap neon 'Open' sign flashes bright, blue and red, on a large, dirt-smudged window at the front of a small, run-down gas station in the middle of nowhere. Around this small gas station there is not a soul to be seen, neither a vehicle on the long deserted dirt road leading to and from it: just the occasional insect tottering  across and the scavenging bald birds to lessen the forgotten, abandoned-look of its out-of-date rerto appearance. 

The gas station door flings open with a tattling 'chime' and small, midnight-black high heel boots click and clack clumsily across its plain-white tile floor, long, bruised legs staggering up to the store counter. "Hey. . . Gotta restroom around?" The voice is young and drunk, but full of attitude; suiting its owner who is surprisingly-tall and incredibly-bony, her form almost towering over the counter because of the thigh-high boots she is wearing: that indeed look a bit weather-beaten and faded; peeling here and there from much laborious venturing.

"Yeah, outback—" he reached under the store counter, stooping some, and retrieved a single key hooked to a big, furry pink rabbit tail to hand to her. He jangled it above the counter, in Daffodil's chiseled bruised face and smirked, smugly; an all too familiar, but silent agenda crystallizing within his beady and blue, red-ringed eyes. "—I could um. . ." his orbs trailed along her face, her chest, and her stomach that partially disappeared behind the counter separating their bodies, imagining what the rest of her must've looked like. "Assist?" 

Her hand snatched for the key, weakly. It missed and he held it further back, forcing her to straightened to her full height, lean over the counter, and reach for it. He laughs when she fails again, seemingly finding amusement in her failure. Daffodil gnashed her teeth and stomped her right foot. "—ugh, please just give me the god damn key, before I slice your f***ing throat with it!"

The clerk isn't phased. He's dealt with her kind before; loud, aggressive, and easily provoked—those are his favorites though; he likes to test them, see how long they can keep up their tough girl act, before crumbling at his feet, like the pathetic little whores they truly are. In most instances he'd take advantage,(offer them food in exchange for sexual services), which is his main objective with Daffodil, who is currently glowering at him from the other-side of the store counter, holding out her hand demandingly. Is she as tough as she seems, he wonders, reluctantly placing the restroom key down in front of her instead of in her palm like she seemingly expected.

Daffodil snatches it into a tight fist and doesn't bother to say 'thank you', already too pissed to stand his face another second; she storms out to find the restroom, long, tousled locks of cinnabar-red coloured hair billowing out around thin elagant shoulders. He puckers his lips at her savageness and hoots, leaning backwards and shaking his head in insincere reproach: he likes it when they play hard to get — makes breaking them even more fun, he thought following her perky bottom with his greasy, icteritious-jaundiced , blue eyes, til she passes the front window and disappears behind the building out of sight.

It takes her little time to find the restroom, located outback, behind the grotty gas station; she uses the key to let herself in. Inside, it reeks of backup'd pipes and an un-flushed toilet; not to mention everything looks to be infested with black, spores of mold. She imagines tiny microscopic germs, with slimly bodies and stringy-mouths, slithering on the walls and the floor, and the sink and the toilet, and twists her upper-lip in disgust. You'd think someone with as scarce costumers as the store clerk would do something about the place; but she figures he's too busy trying to sucker poor, helpless, young girls out of their clothes to do that.

Daffodil snorts derisively at the thought, then steps up to the sink, forcing herself to ignore the filth corroding its -silvery faucet-head — with a thin bright, pavonated-blue coloured crust that for some reason reminds her of a hideous wall pattern she has seen before, though she can't quite remember where she has seen it, it still strangely-unsettles her. The sink splutters and spits, old creaking pipes grumbling and rumbling, as stagnate, rusty-brown water comes pulsating out from the corroded, blue-freckled faucet-head into the grime-infested face-bowl beneath it. She waits for it to clear up before hesitantly swooping her nimble, bruised hands under its small, rushing current, cupping them to gather water in her pitted-palms.

She splashes her face a few times and hunches to dry it, raising her short, tight, over-worn, moonless-black mini-skirt above her thin thighs and hungering-flat stomach and rubbing, vigorously, seeming to be unaware of the two large black and blue handprints on her right cheek and her left. It looks terrible and painful too. But she appears unbothered, pulling the crude skirt right back down, shimmying her hips a bit at any resistance, and then looking up into the cracked, dirt-bleared mirror hanging above the sink, gazing hopelessly into it, scrunching her brows at the flaming-headed, sapphire-blue eyed girl staring back at her — the ocean whirling in her eyes and the red-sea parting around her shoulders.

Smudged eyeliner, dried into charcoal-grey thready-stains, along her cheeks, where she had cried and it trickled. Lipstick smeared across her mouth, where her last aggressor kissed against her will. Bruises on her chin, running up her jawline, where ungentle fingers had squeezed and forced. And a gradually purpling-eye, where a retaliating  hand had struck and landed to shut her up. It must've taken the owner a couple minutes to realise she had gone unconscious. Daffodil clenched her teeth at the thought of it and turned her head from the mirror, rejecting the battered and abused image in front of her. She didn't —wouldn't —accept it.

Minutes later, she comes bursting out of the restroom, clutching her street-worn, thigh-high boots- one in each hand —her hair retouched and drawn up in a long, cinnabar-red ponytail, and her makeup refreshened so that the bruises on her face won't be so glaringly noticeable. Her strong, peculiarly chiseled face looks a bit more soft and feminine than at first now and her choice of hairstyle gorgeously compliments her daring face, that turns up high, as she struts her way back into the gas station.

The bell above the gas station door chimes again, alerting the fat, beady-eyed grease-ball behind the store counter that she has returned. She stops at the counter. "Welcome back—" she tosses the keys to him and he catches them in his hands, both closing around it, gracelessly. "—anything else I can do for you, sweetheart?"

Daffodil crinkles her nose in disdain, finding his corny nickname quite distasteful. It doesn't suit her personality in no sort — her heart and her sweetness died a long time ago; so she's sure he must be mistaken (or maybe just talking outta his ass). "Don't let this pretty face fool ya; there ain't one thing sweet about me, mister."

On the wall, behind the pervy store clerk, her silent, tormented, cerulean-blue hues focus; various packets of unopened, neatly packaged cigarettes hang there, temptingly, assembled together and just waiting to be purchased. She hasn't had a smoke all day- but perhaps... that'll change. "Hmm—" she presses her lips together, a brow raising in subtle contrast, as she leans onto the counter and seductively requests, "Cigarettes—" her voice dropping to nothing but a rousing whisper. "I need some."


A dusty, small, plain-white motorized scooter rolls into the gas station parking lot and parks near the front entrance; it backfires with a loud 'pop', then coughs out an enormous cloud of melanic-grey smoke into the air that billows out from a rusted, steel exhaust pipe, located on its rear. It rumbles and purrs, vibrating, laboriously, due to a seemingly, overworking engine.

Its rider kicks down its kickstand and leans it where it's parked, one average-size tennis shoe braced to the ground for balance, as another drops down beside it. The cool night wind whistles against his soft, albicant-white coloured skin and a large, vein-nestled hand comes up to swipe a cluster of wild errant, brunneous-brown curls out of a young, timid, square-shaped, cherubic face.

Large and cartoonishly-rounded, clover-green hues scan the surroundings, noticing an old, splintered wooden sign that reads 'Fast Fuel', fixed in the ground just at the front of the parking lot, right near the street. It does little to lighten his suspicion; the thought of running into cannibalistic crazies turning his stomach in one of the most unsettling of ways.

He's seen the movies, with the college kids, looking to go camping in the great outdoors, only to breakdown in a deserted town and be  hunted and slaughtered, one-by-one, by a pack of crazy townsfolk. The idea sends chills tingling up his spine and he shivers them out, half-courageously, before running a nervous hand through his wind-tousled hair and heading into the disturbingly, dingy and poorly-kept gas station.

Slinking in, the bell above the uncleaned, glass door chimes, alerting both, the store clerk and the red-head of another's presence. Lilic freezes at the front counter and they are quick to compose themselves, well.. at least the clerk is; the girl simply just rises from a suggestive kneeling position behind the counter and languidly drags her lower arm across her swollen, sarcoline-coloured lips, just as she shoulders past him and mutters "creep"

Sorrowfully, the horny clerk watches the red-head leave, before viciously grabbing his zipper and yanking it up. It resists, but he forces it the rest of the way, his flabby, pale stomach spilling over the waistband, like human-coloured jello. Lilic grimaces and he turns to face him, thick, bushy brows scowling in anger. "Can I 'help' you?" Lilic can tell, merely from the harsh tone of his voice, that his question wasn't prompted by genuine concern, but instead something more unwelcoming.

"Uhm. . . y-yeah—" he stutters, which only looks to make pot-belly even angrier. "I juh-just wuh-want a box of suh-suh-cigarettes."

The clerk mocks him. "Suh-suh-sorry, I'm out." Lilic squints his large, cartoonishly-rounded eyes, offendedly, and stares straight ahead at the contradicting bountiful rows of shiney boxed cigarettes , finding it quite difficult to accept the clerk's blatant lie. "Thuh-those." He points, defensively, to the brand he wishes to purchase and tries to form a proper sentence without embaressing himself. 

"—I want. . . those." That took everything to do. "What're you def too!" the store clerk snaps, snidely. "I said we're out, now get the hell outta my store, before I kick your 'f***ing' arse!"


The familiar chime of the gas station door catches her agile ears and she straightens herself up beside the store; her bruised back pressed against the brick wall, as she lowers one foot back to the ground beside the other and waits for the young quiet male to pass her. "—got a smoke," she imitates smoking, pursing her smooth, suction-bruised lips and blowing. Hooked.

He stops. "I um..." he tries to say, but his words cluster in his throat, catching at his tongue, like always. He gives up; just deciding to fish into his right, front, olive-green jacket pocket and pull out one, precious, unsmoked cigarette. Daffodil interprets this as an inaudible, yet polite-rejection and pouts, disappointedly.

"Too bad," she gave him a doe-eyed stare, hoping to elicit some sense of guilt or compassion within him. "I could've really used one." He shrugs, apologetically, and lights the cigarette right in front of her, the precious, once unburned tip, now smoldering molton-orange in the cold night.

Rejected, she tears herself from the brick wall behind her and starts for the gas station entrance door. "—if you weren't going to purchase sh*t, you should've just minded your own business." Daffodil hates to be rejected, but she hates nosy-bodies even more. And that's what the young boy apparently is to her: a f***ing open nosed, nosy-bodied. "—f***ing creep." she spit, shoving the store door open, the annoying bell chiming violently at the force, as she walks past it.

The store clerk spots her strutting in and furls his arms above his stomach, over his chest, a smug smile stretching his leathery-skinned lips. "I hope you're here to finish what you started—" he reaches behind himself and grabs a small packet of cigarettes, sliding them down into his trousers. The red-head rolls her eyes and expels a long, languid breath: she's so done, but she can't leave without those cigarettes."-just shut up and drop'em." she orders, striding behind the counter, then dropping to her knees to do him service.

"-oh that's it, mhm..." a fist in her hair and her ponytail comes undone, fire-red flaming around her shoulders and along her back, like bloody-waves furling on a molten-sea. She catches the wrist connected to the hand that's in her hair and grips, tight, pulling it outwards and away from her head. Its owner grunts in protest and her face pops up, fierce, cognac-brown eyes narrowing in on him. "—quit pulling, before I bite your prick off."

He grumbles, "Yeah yeah yeah. . ." then roughly pushes her head backdown again, leaning his head back and closing his greasy, mediocre-blue eyes in pleasure. She continues her service and all seems well, until the hand, that she only moments ago, tore from her head, finds its way back into her loose red hair again, massaging and tugging and gripping madly. She reaches up, just as she had done before, to remove the hand, but another catches hers just before she can, almost crushing her wrist in the process.

"-that's enough!" he shouts, forcing her into an un-consensual submission, running his fingers through her red waves and pulling, and pulling, and pulling, until suddenly his hand loses its grip. His greasy-orbs snap open and his right hand rises clutching a fiery-red wig in its grasp. Daffodil attempts to escape while he's distracted, but he catches her by the shoulders, shoving her onto the store counter, short, lustrous nigricant-coloured locks bouncing wildly, at the brute handling. 

Daffodil curses and growls, attempting to push him off and failing, her small, under-nourished form no match for the heavier, healthier man's pinning her against the counter. She thrashes and claws at the hands intruding upon her, desperate to regain control over the situation, but the hands only become rougher and madder, crushing her fragile collarbones between its palm and fingers. She whines and tears well at the corners of her eyes - memories of her prior assault flashing through her mind. 

  "—quit fighting, it'll only make it more painful." is the words screaming at her, as the hands upon her no are longer the clerks, but another's. "— shut your mouth, you f***ing whore!" she's struck, blinding-white in her right eye and her body crashing into a cheap motel bed.  "I ain't gonna ask you again, bitch-" her skirt is thoughtlessly forced above her bony thighs and her underwear savagely tore from her body. "-please. . ." her final plea, before a large, ungentle hand slams down onto her mouth and silences her, for good.

Piercing hot pain shoots throughout her form, thrusting into her pelvic, then deeper, and deeper, her hands and feet trembling, frantically, as the discomfort only increases. Her covered lips tremble underneath the musky, calloused hand smashed against it, but it's no use, she cannot scream; he's just too strong.

her mind starting to whirl and darken, she bites down in an attempt to ease the pain wracking her helpless, battered-body, only to open her eyes to the pot-bellied clerk flapping his right hand and hollering. She springs upward, panting, touching her mouth, where fresh, crimson blood now runs. It's not hers: it's his. 

"-crazy bitch, you're gonna f***ing regret-' is all she can catch, before she's tuning out again, her tight, stained, black mini-skirt crumpled up to her stomach and blood trickling down her thigh, like red-crimson vines. Daffodil's cognac-coloured hues flutter close and her hands shove her skirt back down over her hips and bottom. 

"-do you hear me! Hey, I'm talking to you bitch!" snaps her back to focus, her eyes blinking open. "—I'm sorry, I can't. . ." is all she can muster, before turning to leave. Daffodil snatches the packet of cigarettes from the counter top while heading out, ignoring the furious clerk behind the counter threatening to call the police if she doesn't return the stolen merchandise.
"F***." She curses bursting out the door into the, seemingly, empty parking lot, holding her forehead, disorientatedly, and sniffling. This isn't the first time she's went haywire while with a client. Last guy got a tire-iron to the skull — thought he could get a free one out of her; oh did he learn, and quick too.

Shuffling her box of ill-gotten cigarettes, she slips one out and into her mouth, her crimson-red lipstick-smudged lips parting in obedience. Daffodil having done this, now searches inside her purse for a matchstick/not really wanting to go back into the gas station to steal a lighter/. In the middle of searching her bag, a noise interrupts her, causing her to gasp and spin around.

It's the stutterer: and he's right behind her. Daffodil recoils and he immediately throws his hands in the air. "-suh-sorry, sorry!"

He's quite pathetic, she thinks, glowering at him for a brief moment, then sighing. "—what do you want, creep?"

He lowers one hand and nervously fishes into his left, front navy-green jacket, pocket and pulls out a silver flip lighter. He flicks it open, a small, oval-shaped flame flickering out in front of her, and extends it towards her. She huffs. "—what?"

"L-Light?" He, awkwardly offers, despite his embarrassing stutter, still pathetically holding out the silver zippo in his left hand just in case she'd allow him to light her cigarette: which is a long shot; she looks pissed. "I cuh-can luh-luh-light it fuh-for you, if you wuh-want me to?"

Daffodil wraps her right arm around the middle of her torso and rests her left elbow on top of it, her left hand holding the cigarette to her fine, parted, ruby-coloured mouth. "I don't want your stupid lighter—" she flares her nostrils and jiggles her head sassily, adding "-and no, I'm not sucking your cock, if that's what you're wanting." 

Lilic stands dumbfounded for a short moment, mouth half-open, face complelety red and the lighter still flickering-restlessly from side-to-side in his rigid-hand. He doesn't want sex. He genuinely wanted to apologise. "I don't want sex." He manages to say without stuttering, shaking his head and stepping a tad closer, lighter in hand. "I juh-juh-just wuh-wanted to ah-apologise."

Daffodil's bright, wintery-blue orbs sweep over him, face first, then everything else. He's kind of cute, she thinks, suddenly, tilting her curl-nested head and humming, curiously. "I don't accept your apology—" she makes absolutely clear, pointing her unlit-cigarette at him and cocking a brow. "—but. . . I do need a light." She smiles. 

Lilic nods, ever compliantly, extending the lighter out farther and lighting her cigarette. Daffodil leans forward and lets him, before straightening herself and taking a long, deep, much-needed drag from her cigarette. It hisses and brightens at the tip, gleaming orange in the dimness of the cool summer night.


His lighter 'snaps' closed. "You're welcome."

"-the police are on their way!" shouts the pot-bellied store clerk, after poking his head outside: which immediately proves to be a fatel idea. Daffodil turns to the gas station door and, without the slightest hint of hesitation, rams her foot right into it, shattering the glass and almost crushing his throat between it.

Lilic's head ducks behind his arms, that cross in front of him to shield his scrunching face, as many tiny shards of glass pelt into his clothes and shoes — only lowering them once he thinks it's safe enough to and beholding the violent aftermath.

The clerk's head leaks blood and sharp, lucid glass is scattered all around his tall and fat, flabby body. He had fallen forward, instead of backwards, and is now lying half-inside the store/between the entrance door/and half-outside of it/on the parking lot.

"Oh mm-my bluh-bloody guh-god," he exclaims, horridly, splaying out his fingers in utter horror. "Y-ou kuh-kuh-killed him!"

"-sure hope so." Daffodil cackles and claps, lurching down over the unresponsive store clerk's repulsive body and shamelessly checking his pockets: she lifts his wallet and a cheap, flip-phone; along with a small, dehydrated-green ball of something resembling dry, matted-weed, wrapped in thin, crinkled-plastic. She sniffs it and grins, full-teeth.  "Jackpot."

"Nuh-no—" Lilic chokes out, frantically, lunging forward and catching Daffodil's thin, bony wrist to stop her from searching the seemingly, dead man's body. Daffodil hisses, viciously, jerking back, her twilight-brown hair bouncing and curling around her long, cream-coloured neck. "Get your 'f***ing' hands off me, creep!" Lilic loses his grip and just then a knee shoves itself into his crotch. 

He doubles over, clutching hisself and moaning in agony. Daffodil wraps her slim, nimble, yet strong fingers around his straining throat and straightens him up so she can get a good look, his big,  green eyes baring wide. "I'm only gonna 'warn' you once—" her grasp tightens and he chokes for breath, her teeth bared and her felinish-shaped eyes narrowed to almost slits. "-never touch me again." She cocks her chin, dominantly. "ok?"

Lilic croaks a stuttery "yes" and she let's go. In an instant, his lungs expand, his mouth yawning open to inhale oxygen — she stands and watches, a sense of guilt settling within her chest. He didn't mean any harm, she reasons inside herself, but he did grab me, so it's his fault.

"I'm sorry, but. . ." she shrugs her bony, pale shoulders, "It's your fault for grabbing me."

He pants in his defense, "I duh-didn't... mean an-any huh-harm."

Her eyes circle round. "Hhh.. But you grabbed me, d*ckhead, that's the point." She blinks thoughtfully, looking at him rub his throat with one hand and his aching crotch with the other. "—c'mon, it ain't like I hit you hard, or nothing," His obvious discomfort proves otherwise. "-quit being a p**sy."

Lilic whines. "-I'm nuh-not."

Sirens wail in the distance and Daffodil curses. "Sh*t, it's the cops." She struts up to Him, shoves her hands into his pockets and quickly hops onto his small white scooter, that sits, parked, in front of a gas pump. It starts and big, clover-green hues widen.

His keys!

His hand instinctually finds the pocket on his navy-green jacket/where he keeps his scooter key/ and feels: nothing. He's screwed. "—hope you're fast, green eyes."

Lilic's big, cartoonishly-round eyes dart to the fat, motionless body lying between the shattered glass door, that continues to bleed onto the gas station parking lot, then up to his scooter; just as she kicks up the kickstand and grips the handlebars to ride off. 

He hurls himself in front of the scooter and shouts, waving his hands and blocking her. "-wait!—" he manages without stuttering. "-take me with you!"

Daffodil revs the engine threateningly.  "I don't think so, now get the hell outta my way, before I run you over!"

he looks over his shoulder and sees red and blue flashing behind him, in the near distance. He's gotta do something! He panics. "I duh-duh-don't wuh-wanna go to j-uh-jail!" He hopelessly adds, "—p-pluh-please."


To be continued...
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0 | 0 Comments | by CherubicSoul | 10 hours ago


Two video game players meet one another online, they grow a bond together . due to the large advancement in technology a major bug infected the game sending the two deep into the game. where parts were never to be seen hidden away deep into the coding . to escape they must kill 100 other players with given special requests. If failed they get sucked deeper and deeper into the coding . the game name is Galaleswen

name- Nyx
Nyx is a home school student living with her older brother since her mother is a drug addict. She is pretty known around the Galaleswen community . She makes a small amount of money due to donations from the streams she does 3 times a week. which most of the money goes to bills however. The female is level 67 in the game and has multiple gold weapons from PVP expierence . Behind the screen shes a rather shy girl suffering from her current situation but inside the game and in streams shes a very happy outgoing girl but she does have her outbursts of anger given the situation.
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0 | 0 Comments | by Aoi_ | 10 hours ago