#allijay

[kayleerowena]

if you won’t be my valentine, will you at least give me a little bit of sympathy?

[haunthouse]

allijay + switchboard

premise is that jaylen was on a one-on-one switchboard call with allie when she was alternated!! chat rp hell my beloveds saw the other half of this convo with new jaylen so. this is old jaylen.

"Results are up," Jaylen says, ignoring the warning signs: the pressure of a headache building behind her eyes, the sinking feeling in her stomach. "Gimme a minute to read 'em, I'll give you the highlights."

She scrolls down the league's election results page. Unwin the underbracket, and gray creeps into the corners of her vision. Something about debt — never a good omen — and a rumbling like distant thunder booms. The Monitor has given gifts to every team, and the sound grows louder, and louder, loud enough that she drops the switchboard's phone to the ground and covers her ears with her hands, eyes clenching shut as the room trembles.

When she opens her eyes, the phone is in her hand again. She doesn't remember picking it up.

"Jay? You still there?"

It's still Allie's voice on the other end of the phone. Jaylen takes a deep breath, then another — she is no longer in Tot's garage, no longer at hir switchboard. The set-up in front of her is sparser; a soundboard, a connecting phone with its curlicue cable, a couple of notebooks and her guitar leaning against the wall — her guitar, the acoustic one with the old Garages stickers on it they'd printed on label paper back in college, half-peeling off.

"Allie?" Her voice comes out smaller than she wants it to be. Shakes on the familiar syllables of his name, splitting them into pieces, cracked pottery glued haphazardly back together. Her ears are ringing. "What the fuck was that?"

"What was what?" She can picture, even at a distance, the furrow in Allie's brow. "You alright, honey? What's wrong?"

"I don't know, it — I got fucking teleported or some shit, I don't know. Sounded like a bomb going off or something. You didn't fucking hear that?"

And it is, in this new universe and in the old one, Allie who makes the connection first, who says "Okay," who says, slowly in that way that means he's trying not to panic, "Elections were today, right? Jay, I need you to check the results for me."

"I was about to, uh, give me a second —" and Jaylen scrambles to find her phone where she dropped it, face-up on the table next to the switchboard.

The Flowers chose Jaylen Hotdogfingers to receive an Alternate Trust.

She reads the blessing aloud, like it's a death sentence, like how Parker III had read out Star player Jaylen Hotdogfingers is incinerated those first elections.

"Fuck. Fuck, Allie, are you — are you still there?" She asks, though what she means is are you still my Allie?

"I'm here, I — did not want to be right, shit. I'm here, Jay, I'm — are you still —" and it could be are you still there or it could be are you still my Jay and Jaylen doesn't know, but she doesn't let him finish the sentence.

"I don't know how to fucking tell, I — I was in Tot's garage, I was telling you about the shit the coin was saying, I was gonna catch you up on the Moss Woman bullshit after the election." She's counting the facts off on her fingers like they mean anything.

"No, you were — you were telling me about the farmer's market," Allie says, something sinking in his voice. "Shit. Uh. Hi."

And Jaylen — who had gone out of her mind with worry when the shadows were at risk of alternating just in case Mike got swapped, who had taken the news of Agan alternating from within the trench with immense panic on Allie's behalf, but who hadn't done anything to prepare for it herself, because why would she, she's a good pitcher, a famous one at that, and maybe Patterson's alternation should have made her afraid but she had hardly noticed it because it isn't like she'd cared about the first Polkadot at all — begins to cry.

[dykesforcyclops]

allijay + 5?

5. where it doesn't hurt

the television plays reruns of some mindless game show that jaylen seems uncannily engaged in. she has refused to lie back, insists on sitting cross-legged on the couch with the popcorn bowl in her lap, her back straight, her shoulder relaxed as allie gently holds the wrapped ice pack against it.

they picked this couch together, he recalls. the chill is beginning to cut through the kitchen towel, numb his fingers, and he carefully rearranges the towel's folds to give himself a less frigid grip. jaylen had thrown herself onto the iklea display, declared this one, and he could never say no when she got that grin - patted the soft orange cushions to call him to her, arms outstretched. he'd let her pull him down, kiss him messily on the display sofa in front of half a dozen customers. she'd let him pull her back up to her feet before an employee caught them.

he draped a blanket over it when she broke things off again and moved back in with mike. dark brown and loosely lace-knit from thick, soft yarn, to let just a bit of the color cut through, but not too much. the orange had been grating on him.

his fingers are frozen again.

"cold," jaylen mumbles. she shifts uncomfortably. she's stripped down to nothing but her sports bra and tight boxer shorts, said she was overheating an hour ago. "cold. cold. allie -"

"oh, is this cold?" there's a hint of a grin spreading across his face. he pulls the towel away, presses the bare ice pack to her collar.

"fuck!" she tenses up comically, springs inward, her face scrunched like she's bit into a lemon, but she's laughing. "hey!"

"sorry, is that cold?" he moves the ice pack to his other hand and shoves his frozen hand into her face, his fingers pressing divots into her cheek, her nose. she shrieks, and pushes him away as best she can with her good arm.

"fuck you!" she gets out through laughter. he's chuckling too. he takes the ice pack back, and gently rubs the flushed red skin at her collar with his hand - not the cold one - to bring some warmth back. "you're the worst," jaylen tells him. "i'm injured."

"whose fault is that?" he says, because he knows if he told her once he must've told her a thousand times not to work herself to hard, not to push herself until she found a limit and then push harder past it - told her a hundred times that a breaking point is a stopping point, and not a fucking challenge.

"fuck off," she answers. even that line of teasing is a little too close to a lecture for her tastes.

he presses a warm kiss to her collar, an apology, and reaches for the knit blanket - pulls it up from the back of the couch and wraps it around her. "there," he murmurs, all playful cruelty gone, all tenderness now. "better?"

"little bit."

"you have to keep the ice on it," he reminds her. "your doctor said."

"i know," she says, and he can tell how badly she wants to complain. he picks the ice pack up from where he'd discarded it on the cushions, goes to work carefully rewrapping it in the kitchen towel.

"you know what it's called?" she asks.

"labral tear," he recites without thinking, though as her tone sinks in he can tell she's setting up a joke.

"a slap tear."

"'cause it'll happen if you slap too many people?" he guesses.

"no, i'm serious." her grin spreads through her voice. "superior labrum anterior to posterior. that's actually what it's called. slap," she finishes, and pops the p, and punctuates the word by smacking the afflicted shoulder.

she regrets the bit immediately, and groans in pain, and falls backwards into the couch cushions. allie is stunned for a moment, and then bursts out laughing - can't help himself - shocked sputtering laughter, and he gets out through it, "why the fuck would you do that?"

"i don't know," she groans, eyes squeezed shut tight. "oww," and it's so pathetic, and so predictable, moronically self inflicted, and even as the obligatory concern for her settles in his chest he can't help the laughter, the adoration on his face.

he pulls the blanket shut around her, and gently places the bundled ice pack against her injured shoulder again, and with his other hand he cups her cheek, leans over her, kisses her as she lies there. "you are so fucking stupid," he mumbles, still half laughing, against her lips.

send me a ship and a number and i'll write a short fic

[cambambaloo]

PSA

I changed Allijay’s blog url from all-things-allijay to @allijay-wra

She’s not really an active character or blog -- but she is my oldest and the one most people who have been around for a long time would know me by so I just thought I’d let you know! 

@itsleeooc @geraldcreed  particularly should see this post

[geraldcreed]

Tribulations of Gerald Creed

Part 1

OOC Note: This is going to be a series of short stories that took place in Gerald / Omen’s past that have a direct hand into shaping him into who he is today. The point of these is to create a deeper understanding of him and perhaps to create more meaningful RP connections.

Four years ago

For once, they were together. He had just wished that they were not here, on the front lines. The sky split as a crack of lightning burst overhead, the combatants on the ground doing their best to push the orcish Iron Horde back through the Dark Portal. There, in the midst of the various heroes fought a tightly knit group.

Hydrahlinus, the patriarch of the family, determined to see them succeed.

Caspian, the honor bound elder. A stalwart and loyal man.

Calcifur, A bulwark, the great wall. Brutish yet protecting.

Allijay, the sweet one, cares for family above all else. An excellent engineer.

Logan, Allijay’s husband. A brother to all those in the family.

Vallizz, talented assassin and engineer. Survivalist.

Gerald, smart and cautious, the lone magic user.

The Creed family fought well against the brutes, watched each others backs, and lent their aid when it was needed. The two eldest, Sir Caspian and Hydrahlinus, barked orders as the next generation followed. A well oiled machine, striking down one after the other.

The tide ebbed and the command was received to charge. The proud Hydrahlinus led their vanguard into the enemy territory, but as Tanaan opened it’s toothy maw before them, doubt stabbed into their hearts. The war machines of the Iron Horde were far more sophisticated than expected and the masses rallied against them.

Yet still, Hydrahlinus charged forth into the throng of bodies, his family close behind. 

Steel and gunshots, daggers and fire, leaped far into the air as neither side gained ground. Still, the unforgiving climate of the jungle wore them thin. Not the orcs though, as they were fueled by bloodlust and honor. Gerald, hair mashed across his forehead, looked up to see himself parted from his family. Swiftly, he sought higher ground, but the bodies closed in, pushing him farther and farther away. 

A voice pierced though the roars and bloody screams. The voice full of anxiousness. Of worry. “Everyone, with me!”

Gerald saw them then. The Archmage leading a group away from the battle and there, trailing in the back, a limping and injured Hydrahlinus. 

He was retreating

The family isn’t with him.

A rage filled Gerald veins as he pushed and slashed through flesh to get to him. Before he could make it a fraction of the way, the Iron Horde closed the gaps. This was it.

I will die on a foreign planet, without my family.

 “What the fuck are you doing?!”

He was dragged through the crowd by his arm, his eyes kept on where Hydrahlinus disappeared to. When he finally saw who was pulling his hand, a little solace was received. It was his cousin, Allijay. They broke through the ranks and into the open. Both bloodied, they kept running and turned to survey the field. 

The portal was crumbling. The jungle floor was a bloodbath of both sides. Regardless the orcs continued to cut down the last remaining members of the vanguard or take captives. 

“Look...LOGAN! DAD!” Allijay started to scream before Gerald forced her down to the ground. There were two bodies slung across a couple of the orc’s backs. They were broken, near death. Caspian Creed and Logan Lockley.

There was no sign of Gerald’s sister Val or Allijay’s brother Calcifur. Hydrahlinus had left them for dead. “We need to go,” Gerald said as they started to scramble away towards the coast. “I can create a nether portal. I have no idea where it will go, but it’ll take us anywhere other than here.”

With an unceremonious ritual, the two cousins stepped through the portal and into the unknown wastes of Dreanor. Alone.

[melodyofmercy-blog]

I just happened to stumble upon your blog and was curious what Avenue you use to roleplay?

World of Warcraft! There’s a whole community on different servers (Primarily Wyrmrest Accord and Moonguard). Myself and my lovely mutuals here are on Wyrmrest Accord, I roleplay primarily on Alliance but we do this thing called cross-faction roleplay, meaning that I will write with any character both Horde or Alliance. If you don’t know what Horde and Alliance is, it’s the two factions with in World of Warcraft who rival one another. World of Warcraft roleplay can take place here on tumblr, in game, or really through any text medium. I roleplay on discord, not everyone roleplays on tumblr -- most of the activity is in game. 

People have different blogs for writings and aesthetic of different characters; like I own this one, @caterinaprimrose, @quinn--nadine, @ophelia-gampre, and @all-things-allijay while my OOC blog just for me and my life is @all-things-cameron. If you are interested in getting in on the community feel free to message me. It’s a very large one with all kinds of different roleplaying characters, styles of writing, relationships. Some people follow lore, some don’t -- so there really will be something that fits your cup of tea in this world!

[khiphop-discussions]

Whats you opinion on girls like jhene aiko wearing dreads and saying the n word. And other girls like kehlani and lexi allijai they dont wear dreads but they say the n word

They are all black? So…nothing. They can do that if they please.

[cambambaloo]

My character Allijay ( @allijay-wra ) is a mother to two beautiful babies, Elijah (3) and Holly(1).

reblog if your muse is a mother, because mother characters get far too little attention, and because all these moms probably need other moms to have brunch with sometimes. 

                                #momsquad for the win.

[kayleerowena]

your honor theyre in love

[haunthouse]

alliejay + the shadows

Jaylen does not fly to Dallas to see Allie the moment she’s shadowed, but it’s a near thing.

Instead, she throws everything she owns around Tot’s guest room and then cleans it back up, sweeps the glass into the dustpan and shoves the clothes haphazard into her suitcase. She screams loud enough that Tot’s neighbors start knocking on the door. Tot knows her well enough to know when she needs to be alone, and kindly leaves the apartment, texts her that ze’ll be around and that there’s cookies on top of the fridge, and Jaylen shoves three cookies in a ziploc bag and takes her suitcase and goes.

She doesn’t have a destination in mind until she gets to the airport. She thinks, maybe Dallas. She thinks, no, she’s going to have a breakdown if she sees anyone who’s still playing right now, and picks a city with no blaseball team, and goes there instead.

So in the end, the first time Jaylen-in-the-shadows sees Allie in person is months into the season. A layover in Dallas turns into god, I just want to sleep turns into a cab to Allie’s ranch would only take half an hour turns into dragging her single suitcase out of the airport, leaving a seat unfilled on the flight she was meant to get on, and forty-five minutes later she’s using the key Allie insisted she keep on her keyring to let herself into Allie’s home and collapse on the couch.

“Shit,” she hears, a few not-quite-restful hours later. The sound of something falling, the sound of Allie scrambling to pick it up. Jaylen yawns as she opens her eyes.

“Hey, Al.”

“Hey — jesus, Jay, you couldn’t have texted?”

“Forgot,” Jaylen says, dragging herself up to sitting, rubbing at her eyes. “Wasn’t planning on coming here, but I had a layover and decided I didn’t actually care about where I was planning on going anyways, and —”

Allie’s found his way to the couch at some point, and his arms wrap around Jaylen, suddenly holding her tight. The embrace is such a shock to her system that she can’t remember what she was going to say next, not even a little bit. It’s been — it’s been a while since anyone’s touched her. She thinks she’d ended up sprawled halfway across Betsy when they’d gotten high on the roof the night before elections, but since then she’s been jetting around, looking for any meaning at all beyond the game she’s no longer permitted to play (or maybe just an escape from the hostage situation Seattle has made of her life.) It’s only now that she realizes she was missing it.

“Missed you,” Allie says against Jaylen’s hair.

“Yeah,” Jaylen murmurs into his shoulder. Her voice is hoarse all of a sudden, and she’s content to pretend it’s just sleep making it that way. “Shit’s been weird. Didn’t want to lay all that on you.”

“That’s — weirdly considerate of you, you know. But you don’t have to do that.” Allie pulls back a bit — just far enough for Jaylen to miss the touch — and brings a hand to her cheek, and looks her in the eyes, and —

He covers up the sharp breath pretty well; it wouldn’t be noticeable at all, were he not so close, and if Jaylen weren’t so familiar with Allie.

“Oh shit, your eyes,” Allie says. Softly. Something like awe creeping into his voice.

It’s been just long enough for Jaylen not to leap out of her skin every time she looks in the mirror and sees two dark brown eyes instead of one dark and the other burning incinerationfire blue, the way it had been since she came back.

The way blaseball has changed her physically has always been among the lesser of her worries — she can change herself right back, keep its influence off with shitty haircuts in hotel bathrooms and shittier dye jobs — but this feels personal, feels like something’s been taken away. Every sign of what she’s been through erased. She looks, once again, the way she did in season one, with her hair grown almost to her shoulders, her eyes both dark. She also looks nothing like she did before she died: she carries herself differently, now, like she’s always looking for a fight; she’s tired; something skeletal still hangs around the edges of her smiles when they appear.

“I — fuck, did I not tell you about that,” she says, knowing full well that she didn’t. It was a stupid hope that they’d return to what’s been normal for the last decade. This was the norm for the two decades before she’d died, but nothing else is the same as then, so why the fuck should she look like who she was?

(It isn’t true that nothing’s the same. Allie’s — well, Allie isn’t the same, he’s changed, same as everyone else, but he’s still here.)

“You didn’t,” he says. He reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of Jaylen’s face, and she feels exposed, she feels — more seen than she has since she was shadowed, that’s for fucking sure. People tend to look around her, now, more than at her. Their eyes slide past. It’s made her question, more than once, if she’s even still visible, if blaseball hasn’t taken her very corporeality from her — but Allie is looking at her, and there’s no doubt in her mind about that.

She looks down at his shoulder, because if she looks him in the eyes while he’s looking at her like that she’s going to lose her entire mind right here on his couch.

“It’s fucking weird, I know. I don’t know how I feel about it, either. It’s — I don’t know, it’s —” The words come out all in a rush, and don’t stop until Allie kisses Jaylen, sweet and soft and over before it’s even started.

“Jay, it’s fine.” He smiles, just a little. It makes something that had nearly been dormant flutter to life behind Jaylen’s ribcage. It makes her feel in a way she hasn’t since she got shoved unceremoniously into the shadows. “It’s fine,” he repeats. “You look beautiful.”

[dykesforcyclops]

11 + allijay !!

11. blood at the corner of your mouth.

she's been coughing up blood again. third day this week that she's had these awful coughing fits, dry hacking sounds too harsh and violent for how delicate her body's been, shaking the whole of her skeletal form like an earthquake pulls at a building's frame, and it comes up thick and viscous, dark as grave dirt. it's the third day this week and it's only thursday, and allison is trying not to worry too much, because logically he cannot believe that the opaque mathematics of their world would send her back only to swiftly sweep her away again. the game is horrible, bloody and unfair, at times random and always uncompromising in its rules and its rulings, in what it gives and what it takes, all subject to the impenetrable whims of its puppeteers - but to his memory, to his memory, it has never lied.

jaylen doubles forward, and allie is trying very fucking hard not to worry, but as he supports her trembling body with his arm hooked under hers, as he feels all her insubstantial weight laid into him, as she leans over the sink - white-knuckled grip on its side with one hand, her other lifted and trembling, holding the bloodied tissue to her lips - as she gasps like what remains of her lungs is trying to crawl up her throat, he is finding it incredibly fucking difficult.

"i got you," he murmurs, though he knows she'll likely hate it - the softness of reassurance, the platitudes, the sweet nothings in the face of the abjectly horrific, she always has. he pulls her hair back from her face for her, gently moves the long damp strands over her shoulder. his eyes fix on the chips in his black nail polish instead of her. "i got you," he says again as another round of coughing grips her, throws her forward, and he catches her before she can slam her forehead into the mirror - "i got you," and it's more for him than it is for her, isn't it.

"i'm okay," she rasps, eventually, once several minutes have passed in silence, once she's felt safe enough to lower her tissues and grip the sink with both hands. allie carefully slips a stray bit of her hair behind her ear, and she repeats, "i'm okay," half irate, or as close as she can muster.

"i know," he says. "water?" she nods, and he reaches one handed for the cup at the edge of the sink, turns the faucet on with the heel of his hand, fills it only halfway - keeps his hand on the cup even after she lifts hers to take it, just to be safe. she drinks in broken gulps. he watches her throat swell and contract.

she pushes him away, eventually, once she has the strength to grasp again for her distant pride. he lets her go, steps back but stays braced to catch her should her knees give out. there are too many hard porcelain surfaces in this room for her to crack her head on if she fell, too many cold eventualities that would bury her again.

"you're okay," he says, and jaylen nods. "you've got a -" he reaches out, gestures, and she frowns a little, not understanding. the smudge of blood at the corner of her lips follows the downturn of her mouth. "i'll get it," he mumbles. he licks the tip of his thumb and extends his hand to cup her cheek, and carefully wipes it away.

"bit of blood," he says afterwards.

jaylen wrinkles her nose a little. "just fuckin' soccer mommed me," she mutters, "i can't believe you."

"shut up," allie answers, and he's smiling. there's a faint laugh pulled up from his chest despite everything, stopped just short of his tongue.

"do i have a bit of shmutz on my nose, too?"

"no." he's still smiling. even weakened, even rasped, the wry tone she gets when she's making fun of him washes over him, settles in his ribcage and blooms there, fills him with an incomparable warmth. he moves his hand back to cradle the curve of her jaw, slips his fingertips into her hair, and kisses the tip of her nose. "you're good. come on. should get you back to bed."

send me a prompt and i'll write a short fic

[cambambaloo]

Allijay and her father, Caspian, entered the stockades swiftly,  a guard placing himself just by the door frame. This was the first time either of them could see Logan since he got arrested from the shoot out in the Recluse; all the other men free but wanted.

“Logan.” She hissed, face as red as her hair and the daggers in her eyes to match.

"She was unstoppable. Sorry, son." Caspian moved towards the corner, letting the two have their discussion. 

"Visitors?" Logan pushed himself up off the stones, dusted off his new pants, which seemed a bit small for him, and made way toward the door. When his eyes settled on his family, Logan smiled bright, rested himself against the gate, and slipped his arms between the thick bars. "Hey there, sweetheart," said the man, "stayin' outta' trouble?"

She glared at him, rosed lips pursing. "What the fuck happened? Why did you start shooting in the bar? I know there has to be a damn good reason."

The man gave her a plain look, giving only one explanation: "Erik."  

"Erik." She repeated, her eyelids threatening to flutter shut but never quite getting there as gloved fingers wiggled to a tremor. "You think this is fuckn' hilarious. Right. Well, let me make this plainly obvious to you. Not only did your break your back, but your buddies are wanted in the city of Stormwind. They've got you, imagine what they'll do. More than that, I don't have a fucking job, Logan. I've got three mouths to feed plus the worgs and I'm suppose to do that and take care of our infant, our toddler and teenage girl while your stuck behind bars? Elijah is wondering where you are, Pops. I've been telling him you're off getting supplies because how am I suppose to tell him his father got locked up for being nonsensical. And laughs about it? I thought we were past this. I thought we were trying to keep our shit together for these kids. So what were you thinking, baby?" She couldn't stay calm. She was silent for a few moments, her brows tugging closer together. There was a sting in her eye, but years of tears trained the woman in biting them back. She inhaled slowly to choke it down.

"If I'd been in that cell right now, you'd think me bad for our kids and leave my ass. But that's not me. Trouble or not, you're my husband and I'm sticking with you hand and hand. But if you endanger our babies lives, Logan, we're both gonna lose them." She swallowed what felt like a hard lump that grew into her chest. "He's too young to understand right now, but that's not too far off, Logan."

Logan's head snapped, turning toward his left shoulder, allowing his eyes to find the love of his life. "Leave you?" He spat, spun on the heels of his dirty sandals and marched right up to that gate. "I wouldn't leave ya' fer' nothin, 'Jay--never. You should know that by now, woman."

He'd reach out to her, hoping she'd accept his grasp. "An’ we ain't losin' our kids, never. Ya' think I'd ever let anybody take our babies from us?"

Red brows creased in terrible frown-lines as she hesitated to near him. She made him wait several seconds before the rough pads under her feet took her forward along gritty stonework.  She tugged her glove off, allowing his dirty hands to meet cleaned ones. Her torso tipped forward, forehead leaning against the bars. If the guard hadn't rounded the corner at the sound of commotion from the neighboring cell, he'd probably snatch Logan out in a cautious manner, seeking to discover her slipping him something - anything that would aid in escape. She had nothing to give.

Her husband licked his lips and glanced around the prison, snarling. "This place ain't shit. Been 'ere'nough times t'know 'at as fact. I'll be outta' 'ere 'fore th' children even 'ave t'really miss me, m'love. I'll be home soon, yeah? We might 'ave to leave Elwynn fer' a bit though, 'til it all calms down."

Caspian chimed in, "Yup. Not likely to happen, though. Plus it's a forest, so there's a lot more space for you to hide in if they come looking."

"Fucking promise me." She growled back, low, her eyes glazed over with a darkened determination, a hurt. She saw it reflected in his own, that soft, everlasting glow growing dimmer by the moment.

 Gods above, he hated to see her in pain. His thumbs graced the backs of her hands in a gentle caress, head pressing to the same bar hers propped against. "I fuckin' promise ya', 'Jay. I'll be outta' 'ere by th' time the last bells toll t'morrow, yeah?" He sniffed the air, sighing at the scent. Her smell was strong enough, but it was tainted by piss, blood, shit, and sweat. "I love ya', Allijay," he said, "an' we're gonna' be just fine."

{ @itsleeooc​ } 

{ @all-things-allijay }

[geraldcreed]

Impromptu Letters

Prompt:  Your character is in a position where they may never see their loved ones again. If they write letters, to whom are they addressed and what do they say?

(Gerry isn’t dying, but if he were to die at this moment and time, this is who and what he’d write.)

Dear Caspian,

Uncle, you have been a father to me since you found me just a few short years ago. Before you, I had nobody to look to for guidance, for trust. I’m afraid things have become dire, and this is a goodbye. I hope you and Aunt Anastasia are happy on the farm. I’d give it all to see the place one last time. Take care of your grandchildren, I see a lot of you in Elijah.

With Love, Gerry

Dear Allijay,

I’m afraid I have to say goodbye, cousin. There is nothing the family could do to avoid this, and even if there was, it’d be too dangerous to involve you all. I lost you all once, I wouldn’t want us all separated again. Enclosed are two journals. The filled one belonged to my father, I ended up filling it. The second is a continuation of my writing. I expect you to fill it with stories of you, Logan, Holly, and Elijah. Don’t forget to look back on it, and most importantly, enjoy your children.

Love, Gerry

Dear Valizz,

Unlike you, I am not faking my death, this is the real deal. I know what you are thinking right now. ‘I’m coming to save you, Gerry.’ Not this time, though. What’s done is done, this letter is just a formality. Now, I know you’ll try to hunt down the people that did this to me, but you won’t find them. They do not want to be found. Take care of Faith, she’s the closest thing I have to a daughter. Try not to go and die, and be there for your daughter. I’ll be watching, sister.

Much love, Gerry

Dear Vinarei,

Only a year ago we met, isn’t that strange? I remember before then, I was almost tasked with hunting down and killing Kota. No doubt I would have lost that fight. I wish I could spend more time with you, Kota, and young Atticus, but sadly what we have it what we got. Don’t lose yourself, keep the two boys in line, and keep aiming for the horizon. I know that countless adventures await you all, no matter who you are with.

Love, Gerry.

Dear Lady Strixena Draconis,

I am sure you didn’t expect a letter from me. I am sorry that my involvement with your family has stopped so abruptly, but I have little choice in the matters of death and who it takes. I expect you to keep an eye on Vinarei, Kota, and Atticus. I know for a fact you will do everything in your power to keep my family safe. As for you, you have taught me a humbling lesson. I judged you harshly before I met you, lumping you with all the other nobles out there. You are not them, though. You are trusting and trustworthy. You are caring, beyond my expectations. I would have liked to work more closely with you. I will say that one thing is clear. Your child will be one of the luckiest kids alive to have a mother such as yourself. Treat yourself well, Lady Draconis.

With care and admiration, Mr. Gerald Creed.

Mentions: @cambambaloo​ @vinarei​ @atticus-angus-andrews​ @the-voyager-kota​ @strixena​ @housedraconis​

[haunthouse]

allijay + street fair?

set between s7 and s8!

“Jay, honey,” Allie says, leaning in close to Jaylen’s ear. “Don’t you think you’ve got kinda an unfair advantage here?”

Jaylen’s standing in front of a carnival games booth, eyeing up the knock-em-over games like the milk bottles are a batter and she’s still got debts to pay. She does, but nothing to do about that until the next season starts. A year and twelve lives paid has brought her from half-dead to mostly-fine, and today’s a good day, anyways; it doesn’t press on her mind. 

She has bigger things to worry about: “You know they’re rigged anyway, right?” She looks over at Allie, bumping his shoulder with her own. “’sides, I know how you sound when you’re saying shit just to make sure someone says it. You care way more about me winning you a giant teddy bear than whether it’s fair for me to be playing this.”

“I can care about both,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And I want the big dog, not the teddy bear.”

Jaylen grins, hands the kid working the booth a $5 bill. Notices the way recognition flashes in their eyes, how they flinch back when she picks up a softball from the bucket, and maybe it’s cruel to laugh but maybe Jaylen’s a little cruel. “Chill,” she says to them, and she watches for a moment as they suddenly take great interest in arranging the hanging plush toys.

“Bet I can make it in one shot,” Jaylen says to Allie, cocky as she lines up her throw.

“You know they’re rigged, right?” Allie repeats, half-sarcastic with Jaylen’s words in his mouth.

Jaylen laughs, again, joyful instead of cruel this time. She throws the ball, a dead-center sinker that tumbles the bottles to the ground like they’re nothing, and walks away with a massive magenta stuffed dog under one arm and Allie’s fingers laced through her own. 

[cambambaloo]

§ - Should be interesting.

P: What can I possibly say to sum up how much you mean to me, and all that we’ve been through the past five years? You know me better than anyone on the planet, maybe my Mother knows as much about me. My own boyfriend doesn’t even know me like you do, and that’s not because I hold back from him - but it’s just things that someone whose known me for so long finds out. You know how I feel before I even know. You know all my past, all my pain, all my joy. You’ve been there through every boy, even when you were one of them, every idea, every story I wanted to do. You’re one of the three people I have that special connection with where no matter how long we go without talking it never feels like we stopped. You and I, I think, are soulmates. Not in the way that everyone immediately thinks. You know very well that I think there is a difference between soulmates and the love of your life. I think our souls can mate to different people in the world as we come across them, friends, family, pets, anything. Because that’s the only way I know how to describe it is that you and I are hooked together on a soulful level that can’t ever just die. 

N: Two years ago I would have had a lot of bad things to put here. But now? I don’t have any. You’ve grown up (just as I have) so fucking much in the time I’ve known you, Lee. Holy shit. We’re not even the same people. We use to butt heads all the time, tears were spilled many many many times over each other, we really struggled there for a good solid year but we persevered and that’s so important. You’re much happier now than you were then, and you’re the only person I’ll really listen to if they tell me I’m doing something stupid. I follow your advice, trust you more than anyone on the fucking planet, and just really love you a lot. 

P: You’re the best writer I’ve ever known, and I know a lot of amazing writers. There has never been a better story for me since Allijay and Logan - and I doubt there ever will be. Even beyond them, anything else I’ve written with you just engages me fully. You’re a great writer, Lee. No one could ever match you in my eyes. There’s nothing that could lessen how much you mean to me, I mean, if I haven’t expressed it enough how important of an influence you’ve been in my life for the past five years, you’re getting a fucking tattoo dedicated to our relationship. That means so much. That I, just me, have impacted someone’s life so much that they’re putting ink on their body about it. Do you know how fucking special that is? It’s kind of like you’ve made me eternal.  I love you Lee

[geraldcreed]

// Basic Information //

Born in Gilneas to Balthazar Creed, a banker, and Rosemary Creed, a teacher, Gerald grew up loved. His sister was kidnapped by ransomers when he was five, and his parents killed when he was eight. Under the tutelage of Lucian Kingsley, he was schooled and trained in the magical arts and later escaped Gilneas after being bitten by the first few worgen in the region. For a couple years the adolescent was feral until cured by a studying druid. Over the years he’s tried of find his family and make other worgen feel more secure with themselves. His one goal is to keep those that are close to him and learn everything he can about anything he can find.

Full Name: Gerald Creed

Nicknames: Gerry, Gerbear, Deathsbane

Age, Weight, Height: 28, 180, 6′3″

General Physical Description: Tanned, skinny and lean. High cheekbones, short black hair atop his head and bright, verdant eyes.

Distinguishing Marks: His left arm is slightly more bulky than his right, being a prosthetic. A scar runs down the part in his hair and onto his forehead  from an axe blow. Twelve scars from bullet holes litter his torso. 

Facial Reference: See picture above.

Orientation and Relationship: Straight, single

Known Affiliations: Inquisitor of Ivory Sail Acquisitions (@ivory-sail-acquisitions), The Bloodwinter Pack, The Crimson Conclave.

Family Ties: (D = Deceased, A = Alive) Father Balthazar (D); Mother Rosemary (D); Sister Valizz (A); Uncle Hydrahlinus (D); Uncle Caspian (A); Cousin Allijay Creed Lockley @all-things-cameron(A); Cousin Logan Lockley @itsleeooc(A, by marriage); Cousin Ralph Lockley (A); Cousin Calcifur Creed (A); Cousin Vinarei Brooks @vinarei (A); Cousin Atticus Angus Andrews @atticus-angus-andrews (A)

// In-Depth Knowledge //

Personality Strengths: Level-headed, patient, determined, adventurous, loyal, sympathetic

Personality Weaknesses: Trusting too easily, Jealous, Shy, Rash (When it comes to family in danger)

Personality Synopsis: Gerald has been though a lot, but it makes him more sympathetic to people, and willing to help them though rough times. When it comes to family and trusted friends, he’s loyal to a fault, going as far as to kill and die for them. However, he is not confident in his abilities and in himself, which makes him very reserved and shy. He finds it difficult to approach and get close to people, making his love life rocky at best. He has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and adventure, even when it gets him in trouble.

Education: Gerald went to a school in Gilneas up until his parent’s murder. Then he was tutored by Lucian Kingsley, a well-learned mage from Dalaran who settled on the outskirts of Gilneas. Afterwards, he taught himself literature and history, finding both fascinating and alluring. It took a long time to relearn his personality and mannerisms after his feral years, but he takes pride in showing a more dignified side of himself.

Upbringing: Once destined to take up his father’s position at his bank, Gerald’ future was already laid out until a series of unfortunate events left him a lone child and an orphan. His mother and father were loving, going out of their way to make sure Gerald was raised properly and happily. His Uncle Caspian taught him basic sword fighting skills in his youth. After his parents, Gerald went from guardian to guardian, anyone who would take him, until his own power awoke and he could take care of himself and any others who needed the help he received. 

Primary Motivators: Knowledge, Family, Wanting to be liked, achievement

Emotional Disposition: Reserved, caring, optimistic, Hopeful

Interesting Facts: Gerald has a pet clefthoof named Gunther and a pet Pandaren serpent hatchling named Noodle. He has reservations about nobility due to previous encounters. He’s died twice and brought back via his soulstone. He loves telling stories, and those stories are mostly about things he’s experienced. He looks for the best in people, which at times has lead to his endangerment.

//RP Interests & Hooks //

Research: Gerald spends a good amount of time at the Stormwind and Dalaran libraries, looking at all the tomes and books. He usually checks out a decent sized stack to read in his free time and takes notes on any information he deems important. He’s been researching the effects of fel magic on users and how to negate it.

A Good Story: Gerald will do many things if he thinks it will result in a good story to tell later on. He believes that telling people stories of his adventures will impress them and make them value him more. Hit him up with an adventure and he’ll probably want to tag along.

OOC Notes: I’m always looking for new contacts whether it be enemies / friends / fellow coworkers. Gerald his friendly once he initiates or gets initiated into a conversation, so the RP won’t be awkward, I promise.