CROSS, shane abdulluh

[Shane Abdulluh Cross]

I go by No One Special, and my time zone is Eastern Coast. I found this site by Looking. You can contact me PM for info.

`time to figure, time to sin
your time is done when you begin*

NAME:

His real name was Jamal Nikias before he was taken in and changed his name to Emir Abdullah. When he died, the man decided to get another name change and now goes by Shane Abdullah Cross. Seems normal American-ish, right? He thought so.

AGE:

He was born in 289 B.C. (around the start of the decline of the Gladiators). Do the math on his real age. Otherwise he is currently 22 years of age on his birth-certificate and driver’s license. He also appears to look around 22.

GENDER:

Male.

SEXUALITY:

Bisexual.

SPECIES:

Human, Angel, Fallen Angel.

NATIONALITY:

Greek/Lebanese.

OCCUPATION:

Runway Model.

`live for suffer, live for revenge
know your life comes to an end*

APPEARANCE:

Currently, Abdulluh (goes by this quite a lot other than Shane) is six foot three, though sometimes can be a few inches shorter. He doesn’t know why but his body is just weird like that. Guess his height fluctuate much like his weight; which currently right now is around two-hundred twenty pounds. Yes, he’s a little on the heavy side but that is mainly due to the muscles he has. Abudulluh works out quite a lot. In his eyes he must look keen, sharp, and dare he say “beautiful”. He must be in tone and in decent shape. He feels as though he has to just in case he gets into a situation that he must use his fists to get out of if his sweet and delicate voice doesn’t. Those are probably those Gladiator memories of being fit that take effect. His skin is slightly tan, though in certain lighting he looks tanner than usual. Abdulluh keeps his hair short and trimmed, though not like a buzz-cut, but just short enough. Usually the man shaves but occasionally he has scruff – what can he proclaim; women like hair. So a lot of the time he keeps that shadow on his façade decent and tamed, not wild like a forest. His lips are not pump but have a slight pale tint to them. As for those eyes, his eyes are hazel and yes, they do change color. The color they usually possess are a hazelnut brown to more of a sharp and right viridian green – like the brightest plant in the rainforest.

Now the clothing he wears varies very much every day. The man is more of a simpleton in terms of clothing. Some boxers (duh, who doesn’t wear undergarments), jeans – usually bootc-ut, and a normal t-shirt is what he wears. Occasionally he wears a buttoned-up shirt and more shaggy-looking clothes when he is in the mood. Other times, the man can look quite formal and nice by wearing some tucked-in shirt clothing’s and sometimes semi-suits that the men these days occasionally wear. To him, it just depends on the day, if he has work, what he’s done and what he is going to do for that day. The clothing types or said “colors” he usualy wears is more of a normal shade. Nothing too bright and nothing too dark; except for the pants and some hoodies that he possesses. Abdulluh has a tendency to wear a necklace when he can. Just something that can beat against his chest when he walks or something that can make a little ‘jingle’ when he walks. He doesn’t really wear much jewelry besides that.

CELEB CLAIM:

Noah Mills.

`taste the blood, taste your fate
swallow your pride with your hate*

PERSONALITY:

Shane, or “Abdulluh” as he frequently goes by (yeah, middle name – he doesn’t care), is one of those teeter-totter men. Not bipolar, not unstable, just reacts depending on the situation. All around he is a nice guy, though at any moment he can light a fuse and be an angry man. He’s not much of a sweet-heart and doesn’t always express his feelings, but when he does, you just know it’s real. Like if you were dating him, he’d rarely say he loved you… Then out of the blue he says that… That’s pure and true right there for him. He doesn’t really show his emotions much but sometimes he does. Just depends on what emotion. Abdulluh may be sweet and timid, but sometimes when you anger the man, his anger gets the best of him and that “warrior” of the past comes out. When he gets into a fight, usually people will have to hold him back for once he starts, it is as if he fights to the death.

Having a family was something he didn’t really have fully. He had some for a few years before they were taken away. So family, friends, and those he loves and cares for are just a handful in between – and the few people that he would kill and die for. He is protective but not overly protective. The man is understanding and a little loose; he doesn’t really care. Though anger him and he will call you out and isn’t afraid to speak his mind – unless it’s with authority, then he is reserved. Abdulluh isn’t one to have much possessions, but if a gift is given to him.,, he will guard that thing with his life. Greed is a little problem he has and he can occasionally seem like a penny-pincher, but he tries not to be. Lust on the other-hand; it’s just a human emotion. If it wasn’t allowed in Heaven, he’d do it on Earth instead. He can’t resist. Guess he’s a normal guy in this area, no?

LIKES:

Hot cocoa with mushrooms, fireplaces and being by the fire, snow (snowball fights), Victoria’s Secret (the women that shop there… Mmmm…) Sweet fruit like mangos and cantaloupes, driving with the AC on, listening to jumpy music (dark electro, some rock and metal, etc., anything with a good, fast beat), watching movies, exercising (he loves to look good and stay in shape), thunderstorms, the smell of clean laundry (or Febreeze, candles, etc., that smell like clean laundry).

DISLIKES:

When old people rabble on and on about the pasts and what they were in and experienced, TV shows that portray the Gladiatorial games incorrectly, posing for photo-shoots (believe him, it may seem easy, but it’s very exhausting), the smell of cigarettes, farts (burps are okay, but farts? They smell… Gross), wishing life was more of a fantasy, plain food with no spice or flavor, when people can’t mind their business (arguments over the stupid things, critics that don’t know what they’re talking about, etc.) backstabbers and lying friends or people he trusts, eggs in general.

SECRETS:

Does dying cound as a secret? Well, if not, the other one was that the reason he got kicked out of heaven was he was committing adultry… Big time.

FEARS:

Going to Hell. Though he is a fallen angel, he is a little scared of being sent down even further than that. He was an angel, then got kicked down, now has hit rock bottom. Would he go down further? He hope not.

Another fear is muscular men that look like Gladiators. He was a small child when he was fighting and well, even now in shape, the memories irk and bug him; he’s afraid of getting his butt beaten once more.

Authority is a big fear of his. Though he is a little reckless and loves to “test his luck”, he is scared of being taken too far and being arrested or shot down.

DREAMS:

He wants a child or children of his own. He’s a fallen angel, basically a non-aging human in other words… He just wanted to have a family; something he wasn’t able to get when he was living some hundreds and hundreds of years ago..

STRENGTHS:

Strength itself, strong will-power, determination, bilenguel (Arabic [many dialects], Angeitn Greek, and English), high tolerance to pain, puppy-dog expressions.

WEAKNESSES:

The police or people holding guns or weapons, puppy-dog expressions (though he uses them well, when they are used against him he’s helpless and they make his knees weak), massages, free things, Duster.

`your last breath, your last stance
the last of all in your command*

HISTORY:

The sky boomed and roared. It was as if the gods were angry at the world below. It was as if… He was angry I was being born into this world. Lightning as bright as gold shimmering, as bright as the sands of the desert struck upon the land. Winds pushed and pulled and rained poured like a waterfall. One had difficulty seeing what was before him out in the streets. Everyone was inside their homes this night and no one was outside… Except my mother… My father left for a battle, he was the commander, a leader of a faction of gladiators and had to depart… Leaving his pregnant lover, my mother, nine months pregnant all alone. She was alone for a few days by the time her water broke on that stormy night.

I was born on that terrible day… With just my mother and the neighbors child (whom alerted his parents), whom couldn’t sleep due to the storm. My mother was just captivated by my piercing virdian eyes at birth, she couldn’t share me. She called me “Moró” and “Tefal” (which both meant “baby” in Greek and Arabic) for a while until my father returned from battle and finally carried me proudly in his arms. That was when he named me: Jamal. I was his proud warrior, his honorable son that would carry on his legacy.

I don’t remember much of my younger days but what I have been told. Besides that, I do remember the fights and the “cheating” that my mother had done but the arguments, the violent fights… They were too much for me and I refuse to remember them. I cross them out of my memory and refuse to remember… All I know is that things went sour from then on out. My mother and father fought a lot and even though my father turned more abusive, I still looked up to him as my hero. He was something I wanted to be… Without being him entirely. I wanted to be a man of honor like him, but never hurt a woman who’s been crying for days on end. She was alone and father was gone a lot… All I remember was the fights those years and years. And soon, unable to deal with the constant chaos they brought, I ran off. I was only seven at this time.

I almost failed a few times, but being small, agile, and having good-timing, I managed to sneak out of the city and leave everything behind. I was out on my own for two days, no food and barely any water before I met them… Kero and Lorelei. They were traveling from city to city; trading some of their own trade before going back to their own home. I soon accompanied them as an orphan and was soon taken in as one of their own. though I still felt alone and much like a slave almost, it was better than my previous home with the constant… Anger.

They somewhat took me in and I was moderately a child of their own, though yes, they treated me much like dirt a lot. Though, sadly, I didn’t mind it. Those two loved each other and it seemed like the whole caravan did. There was no hate… To my liking. I spent there, traveling around and around for a little over a year. I was eight by the time when they came…

I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I never understood that saying until I experienced it first handedly. Raiders… Poachers… Whatever they were… Men in gold… They rode through the small caravan that I was in. Some killed, others ravaged and raped, and most… Took the rest in as slaves. Courage as what I believed I held… Courage of a warrior, like my father. I believed that ran course through my veins. To others it was pure stupidity and foolishness. Nonetheless, it never stopped me. I didn’t think twice before picking up a blade of a fallen warrior and holding the heavy steal up. The gray metal of steel clashed and clinked against more steel from riders on horseback. I was doing a poor job in defending not only myself but whomever was around me. One man in gold was amused and slipped off of his horse and approached me, sword drawn.

I remember a few hits with his blade in mine before he hit me with the side of his blade. It hurt so much, and then he had the guts to cut my arm to make me drop the heavy blade. Screaming in pain but refusing to cry, I got up and clenched my fist, trying my best to stand on my won and fight. It was foolish and I knew this was my end… And before I knew it, my whole world went black.

I awoke in chains, being yelled at and tugged. My wrists were swollen, scraped, and red from the chains being tugged and yanked abusively. My clothing that I wore were almost bare and I wore nothing but a short undergarment around my waist. I protested and tried to fight but a whip hit my back and I knelt to the ground. Merciless they were and yanked me up by my hair and commanded me to walk with the others… And so I did. It was the frist time that I shed a tear but quickly wiped it off of my shoulder. My whole body ached and I could barely stand. Slightly malnourished I was and beaten… I was now a slave and wished for the love of the gods that my parents were somewhere out there… Somewhere.

Alas, they weren’t. No one was. Before I knew it, all of us, all six of us plus three grow adults, were brought up and “auctioned” off like property. I was now nothing more than a slave. When they got to me, I felt as though no one wanted me, that I was on the small stage for hours it felt… Until one guy bought me. His name was Dareios, and he had a house full of gladiators… He bought me for some shillings before I was just “tossed” aside. He took me in. Hopeful I was and hoped I was being brought in as a son! Since I was eight and all but… It was not. He tossed me in a sandy pit with strong men and just two other boys slightly older than I. They tossed me a wooden sword and told me to “get up and fight”. It was then that I fought for my food and I trained for battle.

I was training harshly; sun, rain, or drought… I trained with men bigger and stronger than me most of the time. If I was lucky, I fought with the two smaller children that were in their younger teens… But usually, I was paired with the older men. One of wish, Tycho, was one of the men that took mercy on me and basically treated me like a son… In this House, I trained for six years; I was now thirteen. I was taller, stronger, and I had muscles, but I was nothing compared to these men with me. It was that day that… I was sent to battle. It was three of us in the gladiatorial games. Solon, a strong fighter my master favored was sent first and won. He was sent back and I was sent out to fight another one of my opponents fighters. He was older than me and if looks could kill; I was dead.

Tycho watched behind the gate, awaiting his turn and praying mentally to the gods that I would survive my first match. Things were going good at first. I struck first and managed to make the man limp around after me, but then things took a turn for the worst. The crowd… For the first time in my life called my name… Jamal. Jamal. Jamal. I was engulfed in it and that was in downfall. The man, my opponent, slashed me upwards on my back until I fell… Then he kicked me over and stabbed me in a chest. Awaiting for the final call to show “mercy” or “kill” he was given the signal to kill and once more, he stabbed me.

Unknown to him, I was alive. Covered in blood, bleeding, dying… But alive. To them I was dead. I died on the sandy grounds of the arena in front of a thousand of eyes of people. Dragged off to the rest of the dead, I and the other dead were dragged by buggy to some miles at the edge of the city. it was a small cliff where they dumped the dead fighters. It was there that they dumped me and some others. In the “valley of the slain” as I called it, I stayed for a day. My eyes stared at the dead, emotionless face of a warrior beside me. Weak and injured, but having the strength and courage to move, I crawled over the warriors and crawled out of the path of dead about a few yards before I fell once more; unconscious.

A small family of Arabs were passing by from the upper part of Greece back down to the north back to their homeland due to trading. This was a short-cut they always took around the city, by the dead. It took one day it they ignored the smell; two or more if they walked through the city. So they went this way. I was lucky that one woman saw me. At first she thought I was dead, but when she checked my pulse, she knew I was alive. Yelling at some other men, they came and helped me up – taking me with them.

They healed me decently before they set off once more down south to Lebanon and healed me more down there. It took weeks but they made it. I was conscious most of the time but I could hardly move. They asked me questions and everything, most of which I didn’t understand, until the woman that found me, Fatimah, whom spoke both Arabic and Greek (for trade) told me and translated for me. As I healed, I soon found myself to have a new home. The home with Fatima.

She was a nice women… Young but older than me. She was in her younger twenties and I was merely thirteen. Some months after I healed fully, I worked for her and did errands. She loved me like a son and was glad she found me. I was her “Barak” or “blessing”. And to her, I was one.

Years upon years I lived there in Lebanon with her and her husband, Ali. He was fine with me and understood. I was a privilege to her when he wasn’t there to give her permission or allow her to leave. I was in my late teens that I started to grow extremely fond of her… Fond of her in ways a son should not be with a mother. But it was there, and I think she knew. Ali was oblivious to my eyes. Keeping it a secret to myself for I knew she was married, I continued my chores for living with them. Traveling south to Beirut, right by Jordan, it was then I met someone just like her. She was beautiful… Dashing, gorgeous… Like a younger version of Fatimah! Her name was Yasmeen… She was my flower.

Years and years I kept on visiting her down south, going out of my way on errands to spend time with her. One day I decided to take things to the next level and she agreed. That day will forever be implanted in my memory and to me, no one can replace that with her.

About four or five months later, Yaseem told me by hawk, that she would be coming up to visit me. She had something to tell me and something to give me. I was excited. Nonetheless, I continued my errands, and for that week while I expected her, something bad happened. A little riot, some scarfed men from Damascus came and I was once again in the wrong place at the wrong time. In a little raid with scimitars, I was murdered in the streets… Before Yasmeen could come and tell me she was pregnant… With my children.

I died that day… Looking down at my dead body and seeing thousands of images flash before my eyes. Before I knew it, I was in a white room with godl linings and a man stood before me, informing me that I died. He spoke English but yet… I fully understood. It was the “gift of tongues” that were granted to all that were allowed in Heaven. I died… It took me forever to take it all in but when I accepted, I took my first steps past the golden gates and entered the Kingdom.

I was a good Angel for decades upon decades. Faithful and obedient… Until those human emotions I surpassed started to develop and show forth once more. Lust… Envy… And Wrath took hold and before I knew it, I had my second love up in Heaven. Apparently that was frowned on and I was given a warning. Not taking it seriously, I did it again and again… And finally, I was thrown out of heaven. My luscious wings that were white and soft as chinchilla fur turned gray and used like an old bird.

I reawaken in a forest outside of Essex by the mountain regions in the year 2010. A man that was fishing in a lake right next to where I fell saw the whole thing. This man… Was a believer and believing that men deserved that had second chances (I never told him “why” I “really” fell), he took me in. After about half a year, he gave me legal papers… Well, they were illegal, but in the world of the supernatural, these were legit. He, himself, was a hybrid. A spawn of a human and an angel. He knew… And his mother (full angel) had this same thing done. If the government looked me up, they’d see a whole past and family line. I was as if I really did exist, though I came from a time so far in the past, it was in the front of history books.

In half a year I was looking for a job so I could get employed and stop living off of my savior, Roberto. Some man in a store saw me and soon, my modeling career started. At first I didn’t like it, but then again, after I just pretended that men and women weren’t looking at me walk around, it was something I grew used to and accepted.

My name was Shane Cross. Middle name Abdulluh. And I am a runaway model. My home… Is Essex, New Jersey.

FAMILY LIFE:

His mother was Linda, an Arabic woman, and his father was Kyros, a Roman man. Fatimah is the woman that rescued him and has raised him until the day he died. He has no other siblings.

When he was in Jordan, he had an encounter with a beautiful Lebanese woman named Yasmeen and the two clicked quickly. Unbeknownst to him, Shane had triplets by her (one died after birth). One is in Heaven and the other has currently fallen much like himself.

He has a Lesser Vasa Parrot (ebon colored) named Jafar. Yes, he named him after the Disney movie “Aladdin”. Despite the name, the parrot is very well behaved, just has a little nipping problem when overly-happy.

OTHER:

Shane here is fluent in a few different Arabic dialects (Egyptian and Maghreibi to name a few), Ancient Greek (speaking and writing the language), as well as English. Currently, since languages tend to be an easy thing for him to quickly learn and understand, Shane is currently learning Chinese as well as German and Spanish to expand his language skills.

This template was made by Ninja Pie for This Is My Hell and will not be redistributed without permission. The lyrics are from Taste The Blood by Tetsuya Shibata. Please to not redistribute without permission or claim as your own.