like a dog at your door

dear diary, there will be a lot of things in here about my gay characters, look at your own risk.

alexei veteris
OUTLANDER - COMMONWEALTH - UNDECIDED
male | 3 (summer) | ember | purple | medium
attracted to all, scent: salty ocean air
SPACEY, DAYDREAMER, IMMATURE, NERVOUS, & CHIVALOUS.



playlist
mood-board

ARMY BRAT. son of a general. royalist.
here for a good time, not a long time.

- earned title as far as his father knows.

LAOISE WHELAN
female ♛ royalist ♛ highlander ♛ thieves' guild (whore) ♛ four ♛ aromantic-panseuxal

template © bean

appearance:

EMBER.

personality:

history:

rp sample:

      She knew it was coming. How could she not? The wild kicks from within her swollen womb were indicating that this, would not be an easy birth or a trouble-free child that she had created. It was her that made the child. Sure, there was a sperm donor involved, one that she had not really planned on getting pregnant from. Even if she wanted help from a man (which, she did not need or want), it would be hard to depict what man it was. Her profession, it came with the tagline of 'there will be too many to remember.' In return, Laoise never really made a mold of their faces in her mind; none of them were that important to her any. Only the men that tipped her the most. Even so, she forgot their faces in time. It was way of the Brothel. When she left the Highlands for freedom, she was greeted by none other than a den-mother, offering her a life of riches along with endless love and adoration. How could a Royalist resist that? She started out as a teenager. And somewhere along the way, she ended up as a pregnant mother.

She found herself sweating and collapsed on one of the many beds, in the vast caves that made up the whore house. Some separate, some with multiple beds in one room. Little dens for each of the wolves that had taken this up as their line of work. The woman found the strength to prop herself up against the cold cavern wall; in a single room all to herself, she had just finished with one of her patrons. It was as soon as he slipped out of the door, that she found herself slick with water amongst other, tainted remnants of the long-gone male. The frigid wall cools her back down, caressing her through the waves of contractions that tear through her. Through gritted teeth, she screams in small echos of the room. There had been louder things going on in the hollowed out tunnels. No one would hear her, no one would harm her during this intimate moment.

After an hour of waiting; knuckles clenched and teeth gnashed together, he comes. Swathed in a thick sheen of bodily fluids and blood. Surprisingly, he doesn't come out crying. No whimpers or whines. She stares at him, for a mere moment; a fear strikes through her that he might not be alive. But as soon as that fear comes, Balfour washes it away with a few kicks of his back legs and then a cry for comfort. Laoise leans in, grasping him gentle, as if he is the most precious thing she has ever seen - and he is. No doubt. Something of innocence barely came along in her life.

In the long-awaiting time of her pregnancy; the other girls in the den would ask her. 'Are you going to keep it?' Barely giving her any room to reply, they would follow with, 'I know a doctor from the College who helped me before with this kind of.. thing.' Truth is, Laoise didn't know if she wanted to keep it. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but it was the first time she had felt some sort of instinct. A grasp of warmth and a beating heart within her womb before she could say she wouldn't keep it. There were a lot of troubles that a child could bring along. She wasn't in the best profession to have a child in; but that didn't stop her.

Dual green eyes drift down to the child who had just come out of her again, she nuzzled him close with a heart that had been missing a piece out of it since the day she was born. She once tried to fill it with freedom; and for awhile, she thought it had fit the missing hole that she had. But now, with a newborn child in her arms and nothing more than a feeling of love within her heart, she admits, "Darling.. you," With emotion pooling in the corners of her eyes, "you are my world." She whispered unto him, and before he can let out another whine, she holds him close to her nipple; and allows him to clamp on. As if all the sounds had rose then had been hushed, a few of her den-mates rush in, "Laoise! Oh! We were so..." One of them starts, but doesn't get to finish as they stare at the pup that has come into this world, suckling at his mother's teat. "Is that..."

Laoise picks up the woman's fading voice, putting an answer for her, "Balfour." She, at last, decides. A small voice from the back pipes up, 'Balfour?' A flash of the rolling plains where she had spent her first week, alone, on her own. A pasture that had shown her the first taste of freedom. Her first night in the green fields, where she howled and danced like a wild, out of control, a teenager. The first time she had ever felt freed, from what her family had chained her down with. "Yes, Balfour." Without another word, they huddle around her and Balfour, and in that moment, she was gifted a new affinity that she never would have thought possible, 'mother'.

Q & A
How does she view her Highlander family? Does she scorn their entire way of life, or does she simply want what she wants and doesn’t judge her family/others for it?

How does she feel about the Fae and all of those traditions? Does she give her name out freely, or does she still stick to her Affinity name?

How does she feel about the recent rebellion? Is she scared for her family, of whom she was certain must’ve fought? Is she planning on checking in on them, or does she simply not care anymore?

What are her goals now? Is she still happy in the Brothel, or does she desire something more?


details:
- cover job: waitress
- affinity: fox foxglove.
- moodboard
- playlist

what's up mambo rambo

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mephisto

storing this here, made by the incredible mephisto; linked at bottom.

every wicked bit of you

we're in a cycle, just keep your eyes closed.

words
397

tags
masako

bright eyes (blighted by praise, by fervence) slide towards the sharp edge of the other woman's chin, towards that mouth which is pressed in a grim, informal line. the titan's head now sits upright, away from the safe crook between amorosia's throat and collarbone, staring out towards the dark wall which looms many feet in front of them. she knows that she's thinking of it all; the many figures who stood in her path, the people who lusted her power and infamy (either out of greed or vengeance).

thus, the mortal goddess moves;

her head finds masako's own crook, laying against it with breaths of a sturdy spring breeze. she cannot help but delve into this moment (the romanticist, hungry for whatever emotions she can brew), how the late emperor's own body begins to sink into hers—a gentle notion for their sickening affairs.

how many of them did you kill? inevitable, both her and masako know that. she wished to know everything about her (and even if she knew that, she wanted to know more) no matter how dark or macabre those parts were. she wanted to know them all; to possess this knowledge and, in a sense, her.

the grim line of the heretic's lips only purses, the corners of it camber slightly upward almost pleasantly.

all of them.

spoken as if a sweet nothing; a gentle whisper from one lover to the next. (how it entices her, the subtlety of such a voracious act). a breath of content flutters past her mouth; inappropriate for the gravity of uttered grievances. is that what spurns the titan, fuels the restlessness that she can feel—grinding within her bones—before it is enunciated. she's attentive when the emperor's body surges—lunging for the deviously inquisitive woman upon her side in a sweeping, sideways motion. it isn't till the back of the valentina woman hits the discordant mass of covers and sheets they were once so docile upon, the late emperor (her murderer, her savior) hovering over her with a facade no better than a beast.

how her heart leaps and sways, beating with a furious rhythm of someone caught mid-deed. that dark form looming over the frailness of her pale one, hands and arms of steel malice caging in her brazen temperament. tendrils of black fall past the edges of her face, keeping the embrace of their gaze from the outside.

mephisto

I never spend much time in school but I taught ladies plenty. It’s true I hire my body out for pay, hey hey. I’ve gotten burned over Cheryl Tiegs, blown up for Raquel Welch. But when I end up in the hay it’s only hay, hey hey. I might jump an open drawbridge, or Tarzan from a vine. ’Cause I’m the unknown stuntman that makes Eastwood look so fine.

Ulysses, Ulysses — Soaring through all the galaxies. In search of Earth, flying in to the night. Ulysses, Ulysses — Fighting evil and tyranny, with all his power, and with all of his might. Ulysses — no-one else can do the things you do. Ulysses — like a bolt of thunder from the blue. Ulysses — always fighting all the evil forces bringing peace and justice to all.

This is my boss, Jonathan Hart, a self-made millionaire, he’s quite a guy. This is Mrs H., she’s gorgeous, she’s one lady who knows how to take care of herself. By the way, my name is Max. I take care of both of them, which ain’t easy, ’cause when they met it was MURDER!

manip + code: clae