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                          “Oh my God, it’s not like you’re dumb, El. Why are you, like, worrying so much about it?” Katie, her roommate, asked as Elliot dabbed on her lipgloss in the mirror from her purse. Elliot resisted the urge to roll her eyes – Katie was pretty, but in all honesty was even dumber than she played at sometimes.

                          “Dad says I can’t just coast through this year like I did last year, and I need help. So you can get Hannah or Marcie to go shopping with you for a month or two,” she said, shaking her hair over her shoulders and smiling brightly. She was a little happy about not going shopping with Katie – she had bad taste in shoes and it was almost painful to watch her shop.

                          With that very obvious end to the conversation, the two girls got up from their bench in the sunshine and hugged that easy one-armed sorority sister hug before Katie left, pulling out her cell and pressing one of the speed dials, and Elliot picked up her notebook and bag and began the walk to the campus commons.

                          Elliot DeSalba was definitely that type of girl – her family had money, what with her dad being the owner of three hospitals in the Midwest and her mother coming from an old-money situation. She and her older brother were given every opportunity to learn and study whatever they wanted, because they had the means to. Not surprising anyone, her older brother Parker took a business management class and stayed around Tucson with their uncle and helped run the garage. While Elliot loved cars just as much as her brother, she never had any desire to work with them. In fact, the only things she ever seemed to have a desire for were shopping, parties, and traveling. In fact, the only classes she could pass with flying colors without even trying were the various cultural studies classes, her literature classes, and her consumer studies class. Her plan for the future? Almost non-existent in her eyes. Her mother joked around that Elliot would make the perfect trophy wife – just enough world smarts to be fun on trips, enough athleticism to keep up with whatever kids she ended up having, and classically devastating good looks from the Bowers side of the family that tended to last well on in years. Her mother was so firm in her belief that Elliot didn’t have the heart to tell her that would never happen.

                          The coffee shop, some pseudo-hipster Starbucks knock-off, was dim and quiet, as it almost always was. There were a few couples, a few little knots of friends, and the ever present ‘writers’ – posers with thick glasses and laptops who cared more about seeming like a writer than the actual quality of their stories. It was a little sickening and a lot irritating.

                          ”Baby, you came to see me!” called the barista, a sweetheart named Trevor who called Elliot his leading lady. It worked out. Whenever either of them needed a date somewhere, they could call each other and not worry about the whole dating thing. In fact, most of their friends, unless they knew better, always said that Elliot and Trevor were a couple when asked by interested parties.

                          Elliot grinned and leaned over the counter to hug Trevor before pointing up at the menu. ”Can I have my usual, honey? I’ll pay when I leave ‘cause I don’t know if it’s the only thing I’m ordering. I’m meeting someone here in a few and I’m picking up her tab, too.” She picked up a bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips to go with her iced coffee and opened them right away. Thankfully, she had her father’s metabolism and could always eat with little problem.

                          ”Ooh, a girl! Tell me more. Is she pretty?” asked Trevor, passing over her iced coffee – dark roast, extra sweet, vanilla – and jotting it, and the chips, down on a little notepad he kept for preferred customers.

                          ”I honestly don’t know her. She’s my new tutor. Name’s Rowan Xander, I think. That’s what the flyer said, anyway.” Trevor waved his hand in dismissal as a group of customers – freshmen girls with a giggling problem – walked in, and Elliot took that as her cue to step away from the counter. So she took her things to one of the window tables, one with two beat up mismatched arm chairs and settled in to wait. She’d told this Rowan girl what she’d be wearing, and she wasn’t exactly the shortest girl in the world, so she wouldn’t be hard to find.


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                          This was his life. John Sharpe, detective for hire, would investigate anything - just so long as you could pay. He would scope out murder scenes on the down, he would go undercover to find out the bootlegging routes. All at his own personal risk, just so he could get paid, and sometimes feel a little bit of heroic satisfaction. He needed something that reminded him why getting up in the morning was worth it, something to do to help the people of his beloved Chicago. Even with all of its crime, filth, and danger, it was still one of the most beautiful places he knew. With jazz spilling out of any doorway at any given time of day, mingling with the sound of traffic on the sidewalks and streets, there was no sweeter lullaby. Most days, he could work a case, catch a movie, go grab a coffee with one of those sweet ladies from Mary's club, maybe not spend another night alone in his apartment, alone.

                          But today...today was not going as well as he had hoped. He had had three clients call in and cancel in the last two days, and his last and final investigation he had lined up was just called in under federal jurisdiction. He couldn't get in if he was the president of the United States of ******** America.

                          With a sigh that was really more of a grumble, John pushed his chair away from his desk with a solid kick and scrubbed his hand over his face, wincing at the two-day-old stubble. He hadn't had a good night’s sleep in a week, and hadn't had a good meal in even longer. It was about time to go pay a visit to Paul's. At least Lucinda was always good to him. With the promise of a big plate fried potatoes doused in ketchup in mind, he shrugged into his jacket and made his way from the room, grabbing his hat from the stand by the door.

                          The walk wasn't a long one, but the cold made it seem a little longer. He was beyond irritation as he pushed open the door to Paul's Coffee, setting off the little tingly bell. He gave the place a swift once-over, a habit so ingrained into his being he couldn't break it if he tried, and took a seat at the bar. It didn't take long for tiny little Lucinda to come over and take his order. "Fries, Lucy. Double order, and some onions?" he said with a weary grin as he let her take his hat and coat. He and Lucinda were close cousins. Their fathers were brothers, Lucy being Paul's youngest daughter. Probably why Lucinda had managed to keep a job there for all these years, and why he got free meals on the sly when his luck was down. "And coffee with sugar."

                          Lucinda wrinkled her nose in amusement and pat his shoulder before jotting down the order with an 'Whatever you want, Johny-boy. It's your sleep you're ruinin'.' before she slunk to the back to give the order to the cook. Paul himself brought the coffee, spoon, and sugar shaker.

                          "Yer lookin' pale, Johny-boy. You ain't been gettin' no jobs'r somthin'?" he asked gruffly, shaking his head as John poured a few good tablespoons of sugar into the steaming hot sludge he could mostly identify as hours old coffee. The only answer John gave was to shake his head before taking along draft of the hot liquid before cursing quietly when it burned his tongue.



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                                                              indentWith a miserable cough, Steven looked up the stairs, dreading the long walk up them. A tap on his shoulder got his attention, and he turned to find Papa Fred standing behind him, an apologetic smile on his face. “You holding up alright, kid?” he asked, pulling a tiny package out of his inner pocket and handing it to Steven. Inside the little packet were two little purple gel capsules. “No alcohol tonight if you take those. They don’t mix well.” Steven nodded and Fred gave him another pat on the shoulder before going back to the lounge with the other ‘grown-ups’, leaving Steven alone again.

                                                              - - - - - - -


                                                              Steven stood outside his fathers’ bedroom door, watching Fred tie June’s tie with quick plucks of the fabric. He wasn’t dressed yet; instead he was waiting for Fred to tell him why he’d called him out of the comfort of his favorite chair. He’d been watching a scary movie marathon all day, trying to get over the last dregs of the cold he’d had for nearly a week, hadn’t even given the dinner a thought until Fred came past his room in his shirt, pants, and socks and told him to meet him in their bedroom.

                                                              “You needed me, Papa Fred?”

                                                              Fred glanced at him, grinned, and then went back to tying June’s tie with tender hands. “You’re still croaky, but the doctor said you’re not contagious anymore.” he said brightly, giving June a pat on the newly finished tie and a quick peck on the lips before pushing himself away. “I went into your closet the other day to get your grey suit to get it cleaned for tonight-”

                                                              “The Versace?” asked Steven, following Fred as he beckoned his stepson into their rather extensive closet.

                                                              “Yeah. Apparently the Fat-Azz had some kind of fight with the pants. That or they were thrown into a wood chipper.” Fred dug around in a couple of bags before pulling out what seemed to be shredded grey wool pants and passing them to Steven. That damn cat. thought Steven, gently running his hand over the ruined fabric. It had been his favorite suit: light wool, ash grey with dark navy pinstripes, absolutely stunning. Not to mention the fact that it was almost $1,200.

                                                              A chuckle from June, who’d come up behind them to grab his shoes from the rack, pulled Steven out of his contemplation. “Show him, Freddy. Don’t make him suffer too much.”

                                                              Fred grinned and gently pushed past Steven to tug at one of the many suits hanging on his side of the closet. “It was supposed to be a gift for tomorrow, but your father and I decided tonight would be fine.” With a gentle pull, he pulled the hangar off the bar and presented it to his stepson. A little tag on a black silk ribbon was pinned to the lapel, and Steven’s eyes widened when he saw it.

                                                              “Canali? You’re shitting me,” said Steven, quickly inspecting the included silk vest, grey shirt, and purple and black tie on the hangar. “It’s all Canali, Papa Fred.” He finally looked back at Fred to find that he was smiling brightly at him. “I’ll, uh, just go put this on now, then,” he said finally, giving them him a smile before ducking out of the closet to head back to his room.

                                                              - - - - - - -


                                                              He’d taken pictures of the suit for his blog and was dying to upload them, as he hadn’t had time to upload them before June called them down to leave. He also hadn’t had a chance to check anon’s latest post, which he’d been notified of sometime during dinner – damn lag. So, while normally he would have loved sitting next to Dr. Gregorvich, he’d been itching to get his hands on his phone. So after finally making it to the library and grabbing a beer from the bar, deciding that the meds could wait until later, Steven plopped down in one of the unoccupied seats, watched Yoon Sung get beat at pool, and then finally pulled out his phone to check his messages.


                                                              Alright my Hopetown hotties, I'm signing off until after the holidays. So enjoy the fruitcake and
                                                              catch someone under the mistletoe; just make sure they've been tested first. But don't forget:
                                                              just like dear Saint Nick, I'll know if you've been bad or good...

                                                              XOXO,
                                                              xxxanon.


                                                              Steven smirked, and was about to sign in to post something snarky – oh, how he loved messing with anon – when the topic of Truth or Dare came up. Serafina was the first to be asked, and he almost sighed with relief. He probably would have picked truth if it came to him. He honestly preferred Spin The Bottle. Maybe he wouldn’t get picked till after he finished his second beer, or maybe a brandy.



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                                                            His father had found him on the training grounds, where he often – if not always – could be found during his free time. What little free time, that is to say, the Crowned Prince of the Angelic Kingdom could manage to find. Currently, he was training himself how to use cudgels, staves, and other short and blunt weapons; he was, in fact, finding it to be rather a difficult transition from having nearly three feet of extra room between himself and his enemy – in this case a straw, wood, and leather training dummy – to having less than an extra half-arm’s length. The weight had been throwing him off as well, but that was easier to compensate for than the reach, or lack thereof.

                                                            “I must say, I am unaccustomed to having to track down those who’ve I’ve called in for an audience, Andel.”

                                                            Andel dropped his cudgel to the ground, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and turned to face his father. “My apologies sire. The news was rather more … difficult to process than I had imagined.” He stepped forward and gave his father a slight bow, his wings fluttering gently in the light breeze. Like many of his kin, his wings simply were an extension, always present and never unseen. At least his were comely – he knew a son of one of the palace cooks had dark, oily black wings that were often ruffled.

                                                            “Yes, well, your mother has arranged for your things to be put into the carriage for you already. Your sister has already gone, but I would assume that you would like to wash up before setting off?” asked the king gently, observing his son very closely.

                                                            “As you wish, sire.” If the king had been looking for any kind of resentment, he could have looked for a year and never seen it – Andel had already resigned himself to do what was best for the kingdom, no matter what he had to sacrifice.

                                                            And so, after washing and saying his farewells to his mother and father, Andel boarded the carriage bound for his new life. Surprisingly, however, the Prince of Angels managed to somehow fall asleep on the ride over, waking only when a gentle tap at the door announced his arrival. Then, the door opened, sunlight flooded in, and out he climbed, hastily brushing the wrinkles out of his breeches and long tunic – all in the soft colors he preferred. So many of his kinsmen tried to wear darker colors to make themselves seem more regal, when in reality they were disguising some of their best features.

                                                            With all the strength of his people, Andel took a firm grip on his trunk and hauled it out of the carriage, not wishing to put the burden on his older-than-most coachman. Then it was up the steps, through the doors, and here he was.

                                                            This palace was not bright – instead, it was lit softly with candles and a lonely but large chandelier. More than enough light to see by, but cozy enough for any of the darker kingdoms’ residents. Andel hummed his approval, then sat unceremoniously on his trunk, awaiting instructions, just like the good soldier he was raised to be. It was about then that a young woman came into the foyer from outside, sitting among her luggage just as Andel had, seeming not to notice him. This seemingly pure young lady could not be his betrothed, so the Angel did what any true gentleman would do in his situation: he stood, cleared his throat, kept his distance, and said - "Good day, m'lady."






[[ooc: i hope i didn't overdo it.]]


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                                                                                  L O I C __ A R L O V S K Y
                                                                                  { d e v o l a ` s s p o n s o r }
                                                                                  { ICE MAN }

                                                                                  e n e m y of mine
                                                                                  i`ll f v c k you like the D E V I L
                                                                                  violent in s i d e
                                                                                  b e a u tiful and EVIL
                                                                                  i`m a g h o s t , you`re an A N G E L
                                                                                  ONE in the s a m e
                                                                                  just r e m a i n s of an age
                                                                                  L O S T in a day d r e a m , what do Y O U see?
                                                                                  if you`re looking for JESUS
                                                                                  then g e t on your knees

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                                                    Victor was handsome, to be sure, and his warmth was somewhat comforting, though Loic would never admit that the one thing he enjoyed, other than blood, was the warmth a human seemed to contain. As they lay together on Loic’s couch, he taking little licks at Victor’s throat to catch the still trickling blood from where he’d fed earlier, Loic began to contemplate the possibility of keeping Victor around for an extended period of time. He’d never kept a swan for longer than a few weeks at most, and yet Victor, so covered in freckles that even his lips were flecked with brown, had managed to keep is interest for a month and a half so far.

                                                    -dingdong-

                                                    With a sigh, Loic gave Victor’s neck a slow lick, letting the naturally healing enzymes in his saliva ooze out and close the neat punctures, and untangled himself from his swan’s lap. “You will watch my Hunter, yes?” he more directed than asked in his softly accented, impassive, and cool voice. Victor nodded and made to stand, but Loic put one hand on his broad chest and forced him back down. “Stay here for at least an hour. You’ve been bleeding for almost three.” He picked up the tray off the coffee table that had a large cheeseburger and potato chips on it as well as one of the sports drinks Victor insisted made him feel better after a feeding, and put it on Victor’s lap. “Budʹte laskavi, moya lyuba,” he said softly, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Victor’s forehead, then pulling away to grab his bags and head out the door before Victor could say anything that might put a crack in his shell.

                                                    The cabbie standing outside was mercifully another vampire, who took Loic’s bags without complaint. “JFK, as quick as you can.” His voice had slipped out of cool and into cold as he took a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and shook one out between his lips. “Yeah, sure, but I’m sorry: you can’t smoke in here.” said the cabbie, turning in the driver’s seat to look at Loic in what he probably thought was a menacing way. The flash of gold from Loic’s eyes as he glanced at him over his tinted shades was enough to make him freeze in place. With deliberately slow motions, Loic lit his cigarette, took a long draw, and blew the smoke through the mesh separating the two vampires, causing the cabbie to cough softly.

                                                    “Just get me to the fvcking airport.”

                                                    • t ɪ м ᴇ s ĸ ɪ p •


                                                    Venice. Loic had never been, but he was already finding severe distaste for the city bubbling under his cool face. It smelled too damp, too old, too crowded. So it was little wonder that he did his best to get a private carriage to take him from the train station to the stadium. However, it took walking nearly seven of Venice’s uneven and crooked blocks for him to find a vampire driven carriage that was willing to take him. By the time he’d gotten to where the Sponsors were staying, and had unpacked his things, smiling softly upon the discovery of a small box full of Victor’s handkerchiefs and a note that told him to remember what he had back home, he was probably a little later than he normally would have wanted to be to go get his paperwork back. So it was a bit of a rush down to the stadium.

                                                    He took a moment to steady himself, to draw himself back into his cold shell, and to light another cigarette. Sure, he was a vampire, and the nicotine didn’t affect him anymore, but the motions were calming and familiar. He left a thin trail of icy smoke behind him as he walked, and just inside the stadium was a small knot of vampires – other Sponsors. So, with a soft huff of anticipation, and a gentle pet of the handkerchief in his pocket, Loic approached the others.

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
THE END IS COMING , EVERYBODY RUN xxWE`RE GONNA LIVE FOREVER , LIVE FOREVER xxTONIGHT , TONIGHT , TONIGHT
THE END IS COMING , EVERYBODY RUN xxWE`RE GONNA LIVE FOREVER , LIVE FOREVER xxTONIGHT , TONIGHT , TONIGHT
THE END IS COMING , EVERYBODY RUN xxWE`RE GONNA LIVE FOREVER , LIVE FOREVER xxTONIGHT , TONIGHT , TONIGHT
THE END IS COMING , EVERYBODY RUN xxWE`RE GONNA LIVE FOREVER , LIVE FOREVER xxTONIGHT , TONIGHT , TONIGHT

                                                                                  ooc
                                                                                  :translation- be good, darling.:
                                                                                  outfit
                                                                                  yes, loic loves his victor. but he'll never let on >.<
                                                                                  sorry it took so long to get this up.

                                                                                  EDIT: also, swan is another term for blood donor
                                                                                  in the vampire community. i looked it up because
                                                                                  i thought loic always calling victor his donor would
                                                                                  be a little distant, even for him.
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            ( M - M - Mʏᴇoɴg Sᴇok 난 당신이 잘 처리 할 수 ​​있습니다

            x▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇ xx ▇▇

            DON'T WANNA BE THE ONE xx TO POP YOUR CHERRY GIRL xx JUST JUMP A TRAIN THAT WILL xx BRING YOU BACK TO MAMA'S SIDE
            DON'T WANNA BE THE ONE xx TO POP YOUR CHERRY GIRL xx JUST JUMP A TRAIN THAT WILL xx BRING YOU BACK TO MAMA'S SIDE
            DON'T WANNA BE THE ONE xx TO POP YOUR CHERRY GIRL xx JUST JUMP A TRAIN THAT WILL xx BRING YOU BACK TO MAMA'S SIDE


                                                    beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep -

                                                    Myeong hummed quietly and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Damn alarm clock. He’d been having such a great dream, too. A soft rustle alerted him to his bedmate’s presence, and he wriggled a little in place, happy to have the warmth of another person with him.

                                                    beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep -

                                                    That party last night had been so crazy. Usually, his dad didn’t let him drink, but with all the other pop stars, producers, and CEOs who’d shown up, Myeong had managed to sneak in a few drinks here and there. He was regretting it now, though, as he’d stayed up entirely too late for his own good.

                                                    beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep - beepbeepbeepbeep -

                                                    “Shut off the clock, Myeong, and don’t you dare hit snooze again.”

                                                    Wait, snooze?

                                                    Myeong’s hand snaked out of the covers and latched onto his clock, simultaneously shutting it off and bringing it close enough for him to see without his glasses. s**t. He was almost forty-five minutes late. “s**t!” he muttered, scrambling to untangle himself from the covers and his bedmate.

                                                    “You’re really going to school?”

                                                    With a sigh, as he was hopping around his room, trying to put together a quick, yet totally hot, outfit for school, Myeong threw the girl in his bed a pleading glance. Minyah, a fellow pop icon with a hardcore reputation. Funny. Myeong hardly remembered seeing her at the party, much less bringing her up to his room … oh, dear. “Be honest, did you corrupt me last night?” he asked with a laugh, going towards the door to his bathroom with a handful of clothes.

                                                    Minyah sighed herself – Myeong could hear it over the running tap. “You brought me up here, sat on the bed giggling while I brushed my teeth, and passed out before I got back.” And then there she was, standing by the bathroom door, wearing his shirt from last night, arms crossed over her chest. “Very uncool.” Oh, great. She was pouting now. But Myeong was glad that they hadn’t done anything. Minyah was a good friend and he didn’t want to upgrade her to his girlfriend, not with that absolute hottie Subin Pak to woo.

                                                    “I’ll make it up to you.” He brushed past her back into his bedroom and started gathering the rest of the stuff he usually took to school – glasses, hat, bag, wallet. Laying on his bedside table was a small purple scrap of fabric, which he picked up and folded neatly into one of the pockets of his wallet. “Text me.”

                                                    -timeskip-

                                                    Math finally let out. Myeong had joined in a little of the teasing of Jaeyoung, mostly just because the fact that he’d paired that particular shade of yellow sweater with that particular orange belt. It’d made him cringe earlier when Jaeyoung Kim had walked in before class, but class had mostly gone by without much noteworthy happening. Well, he’d been told that not only did he miss over half the questions on their last test, but that he was failing the class by this point. Oh, joy. The only thing that made that fact bearable was that Subin would have to spend that much longer tutoring him. As the bell rang and he joined the mad rush to get the hell out of that class, he contemplated what bad game it was to trick a girl into hanging out with him by forcing the teacher to make her tutor him. Then, as he passed her on his way to the door, seeing her just really stuck it into his head that this was actually not a bad idea, especially since they couldn’t hang out in public without a good reason. Good reasons included tormenting her and whoever she was with, making her tutor him, and setting her up for an even bigger prank than usual – although Myeong was happy to say that he’d never actually pranked or made fun of Subin, just making half agreements with whatever the rest of his group said was enough for them most of the time.

                                                    Some blue he barely recognized stopped him in the hallway to basically fangirl over him and ask for his autograph, and with an easy smile, he obliged. By the time he was done with her, having had snatched the blue flag she had dangling carelessly from her back pocket and shoving it quickly into his own while she was walking away, Myeong was running late yet again. So, employing an old trick he’d figured out by chasing a freshman red level a while back to convince him to tell his friends that Myeong had given him some embarrassment or another, he took off at a jog towards the almost always empty language hall that was nearly a direct shortcut between the math hall and the lunch room. Rounding the corner, though, he nearly ran slam into a small group of three students: Jaeyoung and Subin, and the exchange student. Lucky day!

                                                    “What are you doing in the middle of the hall at lunch time? Shady business?” he asked lightly, giving them all a smirking kind of smile and putting one hand on his hip. Oh, this was probably going to be fun.


            DON'T WANNA GET YOUR xx TEDDY-BEAR MAD AT ME GIRL xx SO GET YOUR PRETTY SLIPPERS ON xx AND DANCE OUT OF HERE
            DON'T WANNA GET YOUR xx TEDDY-BEAR MAD AT ME GIRL xx SO GET YOUR PRETTY SLIPPERS ON xx AND DANCE OUT OF HERE
            DON'T WANNA GET YOUR xx TEDDY-BEAR MAD AT ME GIRL xx SO GET YOUR PRETTY SLIPPERS ON xx AND DANCE OUT OF HERE

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                                                                                  S O S H A N N A __ G E S C H O S S
                                                                                  { y u k i n a ` s h u n t e r }
                                                                                  [ DIRTY FIGHTER ]


                                                                                  d o n ` t listen what your girlfriend says
                                                                                  she r e a d s those MAG A ZINES
                                                                                  that say y o u failed the test
                                                                                  you don`t h a v e what she needs
                                                                                  i s l i t h e r like a V I P E R
                                                                                  and get YOU by the neck
                                                                                  i know a t h o u s a n d ways to help you FORGET about her
                                                                                  my lips are PALE and v i c i o u s
                                                                                  you`re F O A M I N G at the mouth
                                                                                  you`ve suffered in the d a r k ness
                                                                                  i`ll s u c k the pain right O U T
                                                                                  so come and T A S T E the reason
                                                                                  i`m n o t h i n g like the rest
                                                                                  i K I S S you in a way you`ll never f o r g e t about ME
                                                                                  that b i t c h can EAT her heart o u t

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                                                    "Sweetheart, stay." said the older gentleman in the bed behind her in his heavily accented English as he lounged half-covered. The poor b*****d had tried picking Soshanna up in Italian for nearly twenty minutes before she took pity on him and told him, in English, that she didn't speak anything but German and English. He had then switched to English long enough for Soshanna to get the exact idea of what he wanted, to gauge her own desire, and to follow him back to his flat near one of the canals.

                                                    With a toss of her long hair, Soshanna wrinkled her nose at his desperation. "I am not your 'sweetheart', human." she snarled, pulling her dress on over her head. Nearly white eyes flashed over him before she took a seat on the bed to pull on her shoes, some towering black things that added precious inches to her very short stature. The human had dozens of bite marks on his shoulders and torso, and his pupils were blown wide from the ecstasy of intimate relations with a vampire. "I hope you enjoy explaining those to your wife." she added nastily before going over to the mirror to fix her mussed makeup. She could almost hear the agitation in the man's movements as he tried to scramble from the bed. "I do not have a wife, little devil slut." He was so far gone, he did not realize the danger he was putting himself in, as he even had the gall to press against her back and wrap his arms around her waist.

                                                    "Bite your tongue, heathen, or have it removed. And you'll do well to take your hands off of me." hissed Soshanna, effortlessly breaking away from the man's hold. She shrugged into her jacket and fixed him with another white glare. "I could smell her on you. Maybe if you make her watch the Bloodletting, when she sees me rip the arms from another of your kind, she'll believe you where she thought you were lying about my having had forced you to come with me." she said as she took a moment to brush her hair out in the mirror with her fingers.

                                                    "I a-asked you to come."

                                                    Soshanna grinned at him, her pearly teeth all unnaturally pointed from her filing them down twice a season to add to her 'appeal'. "I'll expect you'll lie to her, then." She gave his cheek a gentle pat, her long nails 'accidentally' causing a few fresh nicks in his tender skin: the giggle that came out of her when he flinched was deliberately an octave too high for comfort.

                                                    "Enjoy the show."

                                                    • t ɪ м ᴇ s ĸ ɪ p •


                                                    The hotel was nice - well, nicer than her hunting cabin back home outside of Bremen. However, the atmosphere had changed drastically since Soshanna had been by earlier to drop off her things and put on a fresh outfit to explore the seedy underbelly of Venice. Where before it had been quiet with nervous fear, it was now full of anger and a rumbling anticipation. The rush of emotions that even the dullest of human children could pick up made her smile darkly as she took a seat in one of the darken corners of the room, her legs hanging over the one arm and her back against the other as she watched the argument taking place among those she could only take as Hunted.


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LOVE BITESXXAND SO DO IXXSO DO I
LOVE BITESXXAND SO DO IXXSO DO I
LOVE BITESXXAND SO DO IXXSO DO I
LOVE BITESXXAND SO DO IXXSO DO I

                                                                                  ooc
                                                                                  :translation- be good, darling.:

                                                                                  yes, loic loves his victor. but he'll never let on >.<
                                                                                  sorry it took so long to get this up.
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                                                                                  D A V I D __ S T I H L
                                                                                  { SteelGiraffe }
                                                                                  { boarding the AIRPLANE }

                                                                                  i h e a r d there was
                                                                                  a secret CHORD
                                                                                  that D A V I D played and it pleased the l o r d
                                                                                  but y o u don't really CARE for music
                                                                                  do you?
                                                                                  it GOES like this
                                                                                  the F O U R T H the f i f t h
                                                                                  the MINOR f a l l the m a j o r LIFT
                                                                                  the b a f f l e d KING composing
                                                                                  hallelujah

                                                                                  User Image








                                                    With a sigh, David took a seat in one of the Preferred Flyers Lounge’s arm chairs and pulled out his phone to send yet another text:

                                                    and now the wait to board. isn’t
                                                    this the worst part? the waiting?


                                                    He hit send and watched the little envelope sail away into whatever corner of the world she was in, then locked his screen and slipped it into his jacket pocket again. He honestly hoped she wasn’t on the plane yet, that she might have time to reply before she got on herself. The reality of the situation hadn’t really set in yet, but when it did, he imagined he would be nervous. Hell, it happened last time.

                                                    Here he was: forty-one years old, owned half of Stihl as the only blood decedent of Andreas Stihl left alive, and had nobody to share it with. Not that the money mattered, though it was good money. No, that had never seemed to make any difference after his daughter had been born. No, his ex-wife was never happy with him. She wasn’t happy with is smoking – he stopped smoking around her and the house completely, only at the office, and only his cigars. She wasn’t happy with his drinking – he did the healthy thing and stopped drinking anything but the occasional glass of wine. She wasn’t happy that he spent so much time at work away from her and Patricia – so he started coming home by 4:30 every day. Well, he only came home that early once, and that’s when he caught her in bed with Mr. Howard from the PTA. Then came the messy divorce, and three long years of half-assed relationships he never really had any intention of following through with. It took Patricia’s disaster of a Sweet 16 party – him getting completely and inappropriately hammered and her telling him she wouldn’t have anything to do with him until he got his life together, in front of all of her friends no less – for him to decide to take himself seriously again.

                                                    That led him to go through four months of therapy, and finally to the dating site where he connected with her. Under the name SteelGiraffe, he talked to her for three months. Told her everything about himself, with the exclusions the site told him to steer away from – such as age, name, and even putting up a photograph – and learned all about her. Somehow, they came to the decision that it would be a great idea to go ahead and get married, just out of the sheer convenience of it. They could both get something out of this marriage, the least of all a stable friendship.

                                                    So here he was. About to get on a plane to Las Vegas to meet this woman he had so much in common with, and he had the rings in his pocket.

█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
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IF YOU LOSE YOUR ONE AND ONLYXXTHERE'S ALWAYS ROOM HERE FOR THE LONELYXXTO WATCH YOUR BROKEN DREAMSXXDANCE IN AND OUT OF THE BEAMSXXOF A NEON MOON
IF YOU LOSE YOUR ONE AND ONLYXXTHERE'S ALWAYS ROOM HERE FOR THE LONELYXXTO WATCH YOUR BROKEN DREAMSXXDANCE IN AND OUT OF THE BEAMSXXOF A NEON MOON
IF YOU LOSE YOUR ONE AND ONLYXXTHERE'S ALWAYS ROOM HERE FOR THE LONELYXXTO WATCH YOUR BROKEN DREAMSXXDANCE IN AND OUT OF THE BEAMSXXOF A NEON MOON
IF YOU LOSE YOUR ONE AND ONLYXXTHERE'S ALWAYS ROOM HERE FOR THE LONELYXXTO WATCH YOUR BROKEN DREAMSXXDANCE IN AND OUT OF THE BEAMSXXOF A NEON MOON

                                                                                  ooc
                                                                                  outfit - x
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F O R R E S T ___&___ R I V E R
[ HUNTERS&MOONSHINERS ]

so man you think you wanna r u n whiskey?
roll with ME
hoss you better l i s t e n good and clear
and if you got a b a d g e
or a B I G mouth brother
you ain't got no business here
boy, this here is a m o o nshine still
can't you smell that whiskey burn
THIS is how the b i g dogs run
boy, you ridin' s h o t g u n
b u c k l e UP, and let's have some FUN

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                          “.. still don’t see why you had to drop out of school.”

                          River rolled her eyes and kept her attention on the trees around the still, doing her best to ignore her brother’s mutterings. Forrest meant well, God only knew, but sometimes he would be the most irritating man on the face of the planet, much less the Georgian backwoods.

                          Of course, Forrest McCoy would be irritated at his baby sister. Where he was perfectly content with his lot in life, he, and their grandfather, had always known that River was smarter than the two of them combined. Picked things up like flypaper and never lost anything. So when she not only actually finished high school without a kid, a nice accomplishment in their neck of the woods, but was awarded a hefty scholarship, he and Paw-Paw were ecstatic. And for three years, she stuck it out, wonderfully if her letters home were anything to go by. This past semester, though, she and a boy had gotten sort of close, and when he broke her heart in a way only a Yankee could manage, River had done a number on his pretty little car – and his face, or so she says – and come home in time to help get everything ready for winter. Sure, she had more than enough schooling to get a job teaching at the middle school, but staying in Georgia, checking the stills, and carving up deer was never the life Forrest wanted for his sister.

                          With a sigh, he finished adjusting the fire under his well-hidden still and stood, taking a Jones soda bottle of ‘shine from the little stone alcove he and Paw-Paw had built last summer that kept the jars cool and safe from a cave in as he did. “Here, taste this.” he said, hefting his own rifle over his shoulder and offering River the bottle. A masking tape sticker labeled it as mint flavored – the McCoy family specialty. “It’s sort of sweeter now. I tweaked the sugar.”

                          Resting her own rifle against her leg, butt to the ground, River took the bottle of water-clear liquid and held it up to the early morning beam of sunlight before giving it a firm shake to watch the bubbles. They were big and went away almost as soon as they formed. Good mix, then. With a small smile and a glance up at Forrest, she uncapped it and took a quick swig. It’d been a good while since she’d had good alcohol, and it burned a little on the way down, but it was worth it. “Well it’s better than the time you tried to make lime flavored with real lime peels.” she laughed, slipping the nearly full bottle into her jacket pocket, earning a chuckle from Forrest. “Now can we go hunting? I don’t want to be out here all day.”

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                          Nothing, nothing, all morning. The McCoy siblings were irritable, twitchy, and just a little bit more than tipsy up in their deer stand. They had their rifles trained on the both the feeder to the left and the salt lick near the stream, but they hadn’t seen anything and were this close to giving up just to get away from each other for a little while. “Maybe going by the duck pond will work b-”

                          Forrest’s gun going off with a sharp bang cut her off effectively. “Hell yes.” he muttered, slinging his legs over the edge of the stand and starting down the ladder with shaky motions from sitting still for so long. River followed him, a nervous knot in the pit of her stomach, as they went towards the river. It was always like this for her, the initial site of the kill had a tendency to make her stomach churn a bit. So, while she did follow her brother down the hill, she followed slowly, taking a long swig from what was left of the ‘shine in her bottle and hoping it would settle her stomach even just a little. It’d been a long time since her last hunt.

                          “s**t. River, get down her now!” She easily opened her strides, speeding towards her brother’s panicky voice, and nearly dropped her gun when she saw him crouched down by a deer carcass – that had most definitely not been killed by a rifle shot – and a man laying half in the river with a bloody hole in one shoulder. Red seeped from the wound into the river, leaving a rusty stain traveling south. “Well, get him out of the water, damn it!” she said harshly, leaning her gun against the closest tree and putting her hands under his head, making sure to keep his face out of the water, because he was indeed still alive - breath feather soft and barely a pulse, but alive.

                          With a grunt of effort, Forrest pulled the man from the river by his waist, being careful not to get blood on his own jacket. “We have to get him out of here.”

                          “What about the deer?”

                          “Forget the ******** deer, River! Just .. just help me lift him.”



    THUNDER IN THE HOODXXHEAVEN FROM THE STILLXXLIGHTENING IN THE JARXXBROTHER SAID I'M HELL ON WHEELS
    THUNDER IN THE HOODXXHEAVEN FROM THE STILLXXLIGHTENING IN THE JARXXBROTHER SAID I'M HELL ON WHEELS
    THUNDER IN THE HOODXXHEAVEN FROM THE STILLXXLIGHTENING IN THE JARXXBROTHER SAID I'M HELL ON WHEELS
    THUNDER IN THE HOODXXHEAVEN FROM THE STILLXXLIGHTENING IN THE JARXXBROTHER SAID I'M HELL ON WHEELS

                                                                                    ooc

                                                                                    sorry it took so long to get this up.
                                                                                    outfit = x
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                                                                                  H A R L O W __ D O L E
                                                                                  [ a d o p t e d d a u g h t e r ]

                                                                                  hey, baby, won't you look my way?
                                                                                  i can be your new addiction.
                                                                                  hey, baby, what you got to say?
                                                                                  all you're givin' me is fiction.
                                                                                  i'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time.
                                                                                  i find out that everybody talks,
                                                                                  everybody talks, everybody talks.
                                                                                  it started with a whisper,
                                                                                  and that was when i kissed her,
                                                                                  and then she made my lips hurt.
                                                                                  i could hear the chit-chat.
                                                                                  take me to your love shack.
                                                                                  mama's always gotta backtrack
                                                                                  when everybody talks back.





                                                    Harlow hadn't gotten out of bed yet. It was her silent form of protest at being stuck in the same room with the six year old. Of course, she loved her baby sister, adopted or not, but she was fifteen. It was almost improper for her to be in the same room with someone so young. Then again, it was probably better that she share the room with Luella. While she was still young, dolls were a perfectly acceptable interest. Harlow could only hope to influence the youngest Dole child in having an interest in something maybe a little less ... frilly.

                                                    When she heard Aunt Alyssa's voice, however, she knew she couldn't lay around all day. She'd only met Alyssa once, but they had become close. So, with a sigh that was more than a huff, she began picking her way through the mess she and Luella had managed to make in their short hours in the room the night before to her closet. Yes, her closet, because it had been decided that the dresser was more than big enough to hold Luella's clothes, and there were only a few things that required hanging up for a six year old anyway. Harlow's boxes she'd labeled as clothes were shoved in the closet for now, and she'd probably spend a good hour or two sorting and hanging those later. For now, she just wanted to find something bright and loud and probably clashing with Winnie's idea of fashion. Again, Harlow loved her whole family, but there was such a thing as too much of an investment in what you wore.

                                                    So, once she was suitably dressed - hair and teeth brushed, contacts in - Harlow reached into her jewelry box to pull out her Golden Gloves on the gold chain. Yes, Harlow was one of the very few female boxers in the league. Not the girls' league, mind you. No, just the standard New York City Youth League. It had been a funny start for her, actually. She'd followed a friend in for his practice, darted around the gym mock-practicing on some of the equipment, and somehow ended up in a fight after she'd offended one of the guys who was a regular there. She'd broken his nose with a left hook, and the coach had asked her to get some permission forms signed. Since then, she'd won several featherweight titles, as well as the coveted Golden Gloves, in the three years before the move. On her mind the whole way to Texas was 'I wonder if they let girls box with guys,' and the fear of the very obvious gender stereotypes all over the news.

                                                    With a sigh, she cocked her Yankees cap off to the side and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where all the human noises were coming from. "Look alive, people!" she said brightly, wiggling through the group of family to get near Alyssa. "Heya, Auntie 'lyssa. I missed you." she said, standing up on her toes to give her aunt a light kiss on the cheek. It was her near standard greeting for most family members, and even many of her old friends. "Did Dad steal your baby? Because I think he likes collecting them."


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OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH
OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH
OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH
OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH

                                                                                  ooc
                                                                                  so does this count as too long? sweatdrop
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                                                              indent



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                                                                                  P R E S L E Y __ S U M N E R
                                                                                  [ t r o u b l e ` s c o m i n ` ]


                                                                                  hey, baby, won't you look my way?
                                                                                  i can be your new addiction.
                                                                                  hey, baby, what you got to say?
                                                                                  all you're givin' me is fiction.
                                                                                  i'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time.
                                                                                  i find out that everybody talks,
                                                                                  everybody talks, everybody talks.
                                                                                  it started with a whisper,
                                                                                  and that was when i kissed her,
                                                                                  and then she made my lips hurt.
                                                                                  i could hear the chit-chat.
                                                                                  take me to your love shack.
                                                                                  mama's always gotta backtrack
                                                                                  when everybody talks back.








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█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH
OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH
OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH
OH MY MY, SH!TXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKSXXEVERYBODY TALKS TOO MUCH

                                                                                  ooc
                                                                                  yay posted
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xoxoxojudy faye stutton
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxJUJU , SWEETHEART

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx↗↗ IS YOUR HEART SINGING OUT OF TUNE , ARE YOUR EYES JUST SINGING THE BLUES , DIRTY RECORDS FROM ANOTHER TIME AND BLOOD STAINS ON YOUR SHOES

xxxxxxxxxhey there,
xxxxxxx twenty - two
xxxxxxx august 11th
xxxxxxx female
xxxxxxx straight



xxxxxxxxxlife,
xxxxxxx new york public library main branch
xxxxxxx she used to binge eat, and still eats more when she's under stress.
xxxxxxx 14A
xxxxxxx the pregnant drop-out

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