Here are some heads ups for those who wanna write with me:
βͺ Call me old-school but I go by the classic rule of you add you greet. If you added me I'm assuming it's because you were interested in starting a story, so speak up! The whole if you add you start thing is negotiable seeing as it doesn't always make sense once a story has been proposed. I would prefer the person adding to start, but as previously stated it's not a required action. βͺ Please, no drama ooc. I love drama in a story but really? We're all adults let's act like it please. βͺ Most of my characters will be in monogamous relationships others, eh, that's not in their character. However all of my characters will grow throughout stories. Just because one starts out a wild card, sleeping with whomever they please doesn't mean it will always be thay way. Likewise, someone who is normally loyal may change if they are hurt enough. People change through experience and I like that to translate to my characters as well. βͺ I love, love finding ways to cross over stories between friends. Sure it requires a bit of coordination but I feel like it has a way of further enriching the overall experience. So if you want to do this, just give me a shout! (If I haven't already poked you. Huhuhu~) βͺ Please use correct grammar and spelling. I understand in this amazing time of mobile devices sometimes we get auto-corrected into looking like an ass, but please at least give it a little proof read. I also realize that excitement and fast typing gets us all into trouble however if you are obviously and repeatedly messing up/using completely incorrect phrases and words, well... delete! I just don't have time to read, translate and reply. βͺ I am a Multi-Para to Novella writer, sometimes I deliver three paragraphs other times it's three pages. It all depends on what is happening in the story and how inspired I am. If our characters are sitting around bullsh*ting I'm not going to force myself to reply with a novel. After the valid writing it would all be drivel and I don't like giving people sh*t replies. Sometimes less is more. βͺ Please don't hassle me for replies. I have a husband and two little ones that come first and foremost. Even when I really want to reply sometimes I can't get on because of my responsibilities. βͺ I am less active Saturday night through Tuesday. Family time and all that. Plus Sunday's are almost entirely dedicated to Dungeons and Dragons. My house not only hosts, but we also craft a lot of stuff for it. So~ I get busy. βͺ Do NOT ask me to choose a character for you. I don't mind helping you narrow it down once you have a few in mind but I feel I have provided more than enough information for you to make your own decision. If you ask befoe at least suggesting a few characters I'll delete you. Again, busy, busy, I don't need to add everyone else's decision making issues to my load. βͺ Last but certainly not least, please, PLEASE communicate with me. If you dislike a reply I gave or are just not feeling a story but still would like to write with me then just say so. I can edit a reply easily. We can axe an undesired story and get something else going. I'm not going to get angry or snarky. We can just move on.
Sexual Orientation: Straight but open to experimentation.
Likes: Dairy milk, a good cup of tea (Lyons, filled with 1/3 cup cream), snuggling, alcohol, warm days, the craic (gossip, sh*t talking), knives, proving she can take care of herself, adrenaline rushes.
Dislikes: The English, people who want to (or do) hurt her loved ones, human trafficking,
Personality: Fiercely loyal to those she loves, stubborn, impulsive, hot headed,
Story:
Family: Carrick Malone (father), Ingrid Malone (mother)
Distinguishing features: Beauty mark beneath the outer corner of her left eye, scars covering her back, small scaring on the left side of her neck, scars on her upper thighs and ankles, Japanese Phoenix tattoo on the right side of her back that comes up and onto her shoulder.
Likes: Music, playing her guitar and singing.
Dislikes: People.
Disorders: Claustrophobia (fear of closed spaces), PTSD, mild Haphephobia (fear of touch).
Story: Paris's mother was an up and coming photographer in her youth. Not only that but she seemed to have found the perfect match in her High School sweetheart. Within the first year of her career she was married and the two seemed as happy as any couple could be. Sure they struggled with money every now and again, but they loved one another. As the years charged on the distance of her job began to wear on their bond. Yet neither party seemed willing to give up on the other. Slowly her job began to pick up and she was away more often and for longer periods of time. While on one of her many assignments she met a handsome gentleman in Paris. The two seemed somehow perfect for one another. Though she knew she shouldn't she could tell she was falling. After a magical week together the couple reluctantly parted ways. Her mother traveling back to the United States while the enigmatic male returned to his home in Japan.
Nine months and a thousand fights later and in came a healthy baby girl. Though the picture was far from perfect. One look at the obviously Asian child and the father knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had been betrayed. From that point onward her mother was forced to be a stay at home wife, hardly even allowed to go to the grocery store without the male's presence. Two years passed like this, and once more the wife became pregnant. This time the child exuded his fathers features. The sight of his true flesh and blood served as a temporary balm for his anger.
Yet as the years went by he began to notice how unattractive his once beautiful wife had gotten. With the help of stress and the last pregnancy she had become overweight and somehow couldn't seem to work the weight off. After eight years of watching his wife raise a walking talking infidelity, he decided he ought to reap some benefit from her unfaithfulness. The abuse began as beatings for each and every time she 'stepped out of line', then grew to explosive outbursts whenever her 'father' was stressed. Two years later the darkest line was crossed. It was something Paris's mother never imagined her husband capable of. Months after her tenth birthday the man who was supposed to protect her stumbled into he room wreaking of alcohol. He fumbled his way to her bedside and robbed her of her innocence.
The next seven years passed much the same. Whenever her step-father found himself wanting he took hold of the dark haired girl and used her until he was content. As she grew she eventually tried to fight back, but nothing helped. Everything she did simply made it worse.
A day before her seventeenth birthday a shadow wandered into her room. Only this time the figure didn't smell like alcohol and sweat. The silhouette she saw was tall, broad, and lean. Instead of her middle aged father her younger brother had darkened her doorway. Drawing up she called out to him, curious as to why he was bothering her. Yet the reply she got was far from what she'd expected. A hard slap across the face sent her tumbling to the floor, splitting her lip in the process. In an instant he was on her, groping after her flesh, pressing his face into her neck. She struggled, fought until the clock struck midnight and something inside of her changed.
A chill ran over her and her amber optics widened. Her pupils slowly morphed into slits and from their centers a brilliant violet color took over. Her fingernails began to grow and sharpen and harden. At the back of her mind she was scared but a confident, strong voice spoke out to her. 'You shouldn't have to take this. Not from him, not from anyone. You're better. Stronger. You don't have to take it.' A flash of red streaked across her face and quick as a flash of lightening she was on top of the male, glaring down at him as he choked and gagged on his own blood. But that wasn't enough. Lips curled back and an inhuman growl peeled free. Left hand darted out, slamming into the teens chest, cracking apart his sternum, digging in past his muscle and sinew until it found it's target. For a moment she reveled in the feel of his heart beating weakly in her grasp and finally she gave a tug and pulled his life-giving muscle free, letting it fall to the floor with a sickening wet thud.
It wasn't until the room lit and a scream sounded in her ears that she finally blinked away the haze and realized just what, or who rather, she was sitting on. Eyes shifted back to their natural color, then snapped back to catch sight of her mother in the doorway, her screaming rousing her step-father from his drunken slumber down the hall. Knowing she had to go she jumped to her feet, grabbed the only thing she could think to grab and jumped out her window. After hours of running she glanced down at what was curled in her sticky red digits. "My, guitar?" She murmured, amazed and confused.
