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Jan 28 2013, 07:15 PM
[dohtml] <center> <div class="appcontnr"> <div style="background-color: #3fa1bc;"><div class="appname"> SAMSON JAMES MOORE<center><div class="appquote">"What did you do this time, Nic?"</div></center> <div class="appdeets"> 27 - AIR CRAFT MAN - ENGLISH - SAM CLAFLIN</div></div></div> <div class="appimg"> <div style="width:450px; height:450px; background-image:url(;"> <div class="apptext">

“They always say that that majority of people's earliest memories are negative ones. S-something so powerful and life changing that it sticks with you fo-forever. I guess I could say I fall into the category of the majority with this one, too. I was sitting out in the hallway, my head resting against my older brother's shoulder. He had his arm wrapped around me and he held me with an unusual tightness, as though he was trying to shelter and protect me from something. I was only five, I didn't know exactly what was happening. I just knew that my mum was sick and she wasn't going to get better. My dad had tried to explain it to me, he told me that' mummy was going to join the angels.' Of course, everybody tried to sugar coat it for me. Nobody wanted to see a five year old suffering the pain of a terminally ill mother more than they had to. I don't exactly remember how I felt, confusion m-mainly. I couldn't grasp the concept that some day soon, would be the last time I saw my mother and her pretty, warming was hard.<br><br>

I will never forget that moment, when my father stepped out of that hospital room and into the hallway where me and Malcolm were waiting. I glanced up at his face and to my horror, his eyes were swollen with redness and his cheeks streaked with tear stains. The strong, courageous giant of a man I called my father had been crying and as much as he tried to, he couldn't muster a single smile when he looked down at me. I think it was at that moment that I realised just how bad things were. It was then, I understood that maybe I wouldn't be okay...not for a long, long time.
When my mother passed away, my dad changed...he changed a-a...a lot. I remember waiting to see him smile again, but was like his smile was stolen away with my mother's life. It completely and utterly shattered his soul. He used to mope around the house, which at first was understandable. We were all a crying mess for weeks and weeks after laying her to rest, but Malcolm and I seemed to get through it. My father still hung around in a depressed and desolate world and began to neglect his duties as a father. We'd come home from school and sometimes he'd still be sleeping. He'd forget to c-cook dinner, wash and iron our uniforms, to make sure we washed and got ready for was almost as if we weren't even there. He barely spoke to us. It was Malcolm who had to take care of me but he was only eight.<br><br>

Things continued on like that for we-weeks a-and it didn't take long for the teachers at our primary school to notice that something wasn't...wasn't...quite right. Here, they were dealing with a child who u-used to come to school dressed in pristine and ironed uniform, with neatly combed hair and a beaming smile. Now suddenly we go, dressed poorly, unwashed and taken over by depression. They knew something wasn't right. So, they made a phone call..and that was when our lives were turned upside down. When we came home, my father was waiting for us. I remember pushing open the front door and suddenly freezing in the hallway when I glanced up and caught the man's gaze. He was furious. Absolutely seething with anger and rage. The memory of him screaming, over and over again in blind fury still makes my skin tingle. He grabbed my brother by a thick clump of his hair and he ra-raised his hand and...and...a-and that was the first time he hit him...smacked him across the face. I re-remember cowering in absolute terror and I made a run for it, I locked myself in my bedroom and didn't dare come out for hours.<br><br>

I-I won't go into detail...a lot of it is a blur anyway...but it wasn't the first time my father was violent. It wasn't l-long before...before he started hitting me, too. Then, gradually, it got worse. He'd strike us for the smallest of things, like leaving the damned kitchen light on...a sharp slap across the face. Sometimes, he'd shove us into a wall or just feel the need to hurl verbal abuse and make us feel insignificant and pathetic. It lasted a few I guess it was at that time that I developed my stutter. He terrified me so much that I could barely form a sentence in front of him...but then he'd get annoyed and impatient because I couldn't speak properly...and then I'd get hit. He'd make me flinch and stutter and whimper whenever he was in the room. I hated him. As far as I was concerned, I was a damn orphan.<br>
But you learn to get over the hurdles of life. Don't worry yourself though, my early childhood was a rough bump but...well...things got better eventually. My maternal grandmother lived down in the south of England, just outside of London so we didn't get to see her often. She was the most loving, kind and considerate person I have ever had the fortune to know. One day, out of the blue, she appeared outside the door of our family home whilst my father was out. It was often that he left us alone. The moment I opened that door and saw here standing there...a familiar, pretty face, so much like my mother's...I broke down. I couldn't stop myself. I sobbed and sobbed and she took me up into her arms and cuddled me close. I knew my grandma wouldn't tolerate what had happened and I just knew...that now she was here, everything would be okay.
br> My grandmother took me and Malcolm into her care and we moved down to London, leaving our father behind without a backward glance. We were beaten and bruised, both physically and emotionally. But she was here for us both and she would help us to be happy again. She saw the way we flinched when she tried to hug us or kiss us goodnight and it broke her heart. She was absolutely determined to smother us with as much love and affection as she possibly could. She ensured we knew that, never again would we come any harm.<br><br>

My grandmother was a very clean, neat and tidy woman. She made a fuss if there was anything out of place. The cushions had to be pumped and in an exact position against the sofa. The coasters had to be in a neat pile in the left hand corner of the bloody coffee table...a-and even the fruit bowls had to be presented in a perfect, orderly way...with an even amount of grapes left on the bunch...I'm not e-even kidding! She was bloody insane! Everything had a place...and if it wasn't where it should be, she'd declare it to the be the end of the world !She'd act as though a giant cataclysm was falling around her. She even used to make this loud cry of disapproval...which Malcolm and I can do a very good impression., to avoid any devastating fate, we'd make sure we took off our shoes before we stepped into the lounge and we'd hang up our coats on our assigned pegs. It seems li-like her OCD sorta rubbed off on me too.<br><br>

But despite all this...I loved her, more than anybody else in my life. She...helped me to discover that...when I get comfortable with people and I-I gain confidence in them and trust them wholly, I don't...don't stutter around them. It stopped entirely when I was at home, with my grandmother and brother and with a handful of friends too. I guess that just means I have a few trust issues but, when the man you once called father turns against you, it's only natural.<br><br>

I lived a pretty normal life after that, here in London. I grew up reading everything that my hands fell on. I loved books more than anything and any spare, passing moment was spent with my nose stuck in a book. My grandfather had a huge collection of old, dusty books piled up in the attic and he was more than happy to donate them to me. It was when I was around twelve that I thought actually...books weren't good enough. I didn't want to guess what happened and then be disappointed by the authors decision on the outcome. I wanted to make that decision and write it for myself...and so I did. I wrote my first book about a kid named Billy, who loved exploring and adventures more than anything in the world. He wasn't much like me. I wasn't as daring dreamer who was fearless. I liked to play things safe and keep them mild. I didn't like taking big risks...I was too scared of failure. I guess that was where the roots of my decision of following a career into writing came from...hence how I found my way into journalism. What better city to live, other than London when you're a journalist? And journalism is much more safer than writing fantasy books...I have a boss who pays me no matter how many papers sell.<br><br>

1939...the moment Chamberlin's announcement rang through the hallways in our local church, my heart stopped in its chest.
This country is at war with Germany.
The moment those words filled my ears, I-I knew...nothing would ever be the same again. I struggled to deal with the concept of war...oh how I struggled. It kept me awake at night for weeks, m-months after knowing and even as people began to doubt its existence...a phony war...hah...I knew things would kick off eventually. That moment came in 1940...not long after the early air raids had began. Everybody knew the drill, the si-siren get your ass out of bed and into your Anderson. I was staying with my family that night. My grandma was terrified, we all were and so me and my brother moved back in with her. A couple of my cousins were staying with us too, for the same reason. None of us wanted to leave London. We were going to defend our matter what it took...bu-but we had to stick together.<br><br>
I was sleeping...when it happened...I was woken up by the horrific, blood curdling screams of my cousin tearing through the room and I awoke with a start. The drone of the Luftwaffe engines moaned over our heads and the powerful scream of bombs whirred down our ears, followed by a powerful explosion that shattered the taped up glass. It was then, that the cry of air raid siren wailed through the air...far too late.
All around us us was chaos and destruction and the sounds that exploded through the air still keeps me awake to this day. All outside the broken windows came the powerful, orange and red flash of light as bomb after bomb fell down on the sleeping peaceful city below and sent it crumbling to the ground. The buildings I had spent my life surrounded by fell, their debris blasted apart. The people who resided in those buildings had no chance...nobody had been alerted in time.<br><br>

We tried, oh how we tried...I sent my two cousins out to take refuge in the Anderson and they ran for it, faster than they could possibly imagine. Oh how they ran for their dear lives when halfway across the lawn, that horrific screech of a falling bomb thundered through my ears and they were hit with the full force...yo-you can imagine...what I saw, just as the house wall came crumbling down on us. It collapsed body became twisted and trapped beneath the fallen bricks and I thought surely that I was dead. Yet, from somewhere in the dark, warped version of reality that my surroundings had become...I heard the pained cry of my grandmother's voice.
“Samson?” It was strained with agony. She choked out my name in sheer desperation that somehow...I had survived.<br>
I choked out my own, agonising reply but that was all I heard from her. She didn't respond matter how many times I called out her name, screamed it, cried it...whispered voice only growing weaker and weaker...she didn't reply. She was buried under the debris of her own home and she was dead.<br><br>

It was hours...hours I waited to be pulled from the wreckage with nothing other than broken legs and a few scars to show for it. My brother was pulled out shortly after...his flesh was ghost white and his eyes had slipped closed. He looked almost peaceful, like was was sleeping. My grandmother too...I was alive. I had escaped with some fucking cuts and they were dead...all of them. I was carted off to hospital on a stretcher, slung across some hospital bed out in the corridor...London has suffered so many casualties that night there was no room for anybody. I watched them...take their lifeless corpses and load them into their they were just slabs of meat...another corpse or two to add to their ever growing collection. I should have joined them...I should have been there with them...through it all. Why did I escape? I will never stop asking myself that question. It's been years now but...I'm still haunted by what I saw and I hate the Germans more than anything else in this fucked up world...I am just hoping that...some day soon...somebody does something and helps to fight against these fucking HOUNDS.<br><br></div></div></div> <div class="appooc"> JADE - FEMALE - TIME ZONE - 20 - PM</div> </div> [/dohtml]
Sep 9 2012, 08:03 PM
Okay so, Jade had some really shitty news about family stuff yesterday. Takes a lot to knock me but yk it's just one of those things, <3 So rather than being grumbly and bothering everybody Imma just take a break. Not for long at all, maybe like a few days but Imma try some handwritten posts and what not. So I might be around to post some stuff but not on AIM/cbox or anything.

Love you guys lottts and lots : ) <333

Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Aug 7 2012, 12:06 AM
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<div style="width: 200px; font-family: arial; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 8px; color: #fff">35 - medic - Matthew gray Gubler</div>



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Okay, so Jonas here is a bit of a goof ball. He doesn't take himself too seriously, which is good because nobody else takes him seriously either. He is however a very intelligent man and studies sciences for a living. He is a Chemist. He has a lot of various, quirky little hobbies like soap carving and arts and crafts. He's just all around a very quirky and charismatic guy and a massive geek. <br><br>
He's the type of guy that Nicholi Barrett thought would be perfect for Samson Moore. See, Nic and Sam have had a very rough relationship and Nicholi has decided he has put Samson through enough. Jonas and Nicholi cross paths and in thinking that Jonas would be better suited to somebody as fragile as Sam, breaks it off with Samson, so he can meet somebody new. This of course will be Jonas~ but Nicholi pretty much set this up. We can discuss this more on AIM. <br><br>
So, based on a lot of advice given by Nicholi, Jonas and Sam start to become friends and it will blossom into something more, before the two of them date. But I think Sam is destined to really fall hard for this lovely, quirky little Jew and everything can be sweet and sugary for a while. Until Nicholi changes his mind...and wants Samson back. So this whole relationship is going to end up as some awful, heart breaking love-triangle type thing. Poor Jonas is probably going to be in for a lot of trouble from angry ex boyfriend who used to be a HOUND, so his life is probably going to be a living hell. - It's quite vague that's because it's quite open and flexible! So much more detail over AIM if you're interested!


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May 31 2012, 11:09 AM
Apr 5 2012, 09:28 PM
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Samson Moore
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So this here is S-sa-Samson and he's one of those decent, genuine guys...well, at least he tries to be. One of those types who likes to just smile and sit quietly rather than get caught up in an argument. Samsy is a happy go lucky, very caring, fluffy kind of guy (just don't call him fluffy, he will glare.) He's the type that would give you hugs and cookies if you were crying but man oh man...avoid his bad side! <br>
Some people would swear he had a split personality. When he gets angry he really does flip his shit...tends to throw things, which is really bad considering he has OCD. He yells, screams and he has this infamous glare that will freeze your soul into ice. BUT, there are not many things that do this to Samson other than- liars, bigots, selfishness and generally being a twat. <br>
Samsy is in a bit of a terrible state at the moment. He just survived a bomb exploding in his back garden that claimed the life of every family member he had so he' you can imagine, distraught, depressed and completely shattered by that. So sad Samsy is sad. : (<br><br>

Can pretty much be anybody as long as they don't fall under the Samrage category. His best friend is Jewish, so he gives no fucks about race, religion or even nationality. He has an open heart and is a strong believer in chances...which is why he probably gets his heart crushed mercilessly so often. He would certainly be one of those loyal, true friends and he would protect them with everything he has. <br><br>


Sam is just asking for them he's so naïve and fails to understand things like euphemisms and sarcasm – so unless people are blunt he wouldn't realise he was being insulted r ridiculed. So like sarcastically telling he is well spoke or something, hur, with his little stutter he'd be like “Aw, you really think so?” He doesn't pick up passive aggressive anger it just feels so easy to bully him bnmhbgfv yes. do. <br><br>


Uh man all this criteria, his actual love interest is the opposite of everything Sam wants to be. OHWELL. So for now he has a...thing with Nicholi Barrett but he's going to get his heart crushed so ugh rebounds or new love interests for the time being would be so much fun. Or past lovers or crushes or something. I have no idea. Throw whatever at me. <br>

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