❝ infect me with your love and fill me with your poison ❞

[ham]

❝ permanently public roleplay post ❞

Need help with a voice test or want to play anything at all with me? Just consult my muselist and put the name of the character you want to play with in the subject line. If there's a particular scenario you want to play out, feel free to stick that in the comment as well and I'll see what I can do. This also works as a way to hit me up OOC-ly for any plotting. If you prefer that I make an individual entry (private or not) for our interaction, please feel free to say so here as well. I'm open to most things so come at me. :)

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LITTLEFINGER 8V

[clownpunching]

[ The show must go on, even if she's her family to the conflict following Robert Baratheon's ascension to the Iron Throne, even after—when she'd been relieved of her position among a friendly troupe of mummers who'd kindly taken her in, on the off chance that she might've been reunited with her brother—

They're all lies, in the end, and she heaves a sigh as she's called to appear before her new "employer," hailed as a fine specimen from far-off lands, a worthy jewel among his collection. She doesn't even speak, and though dressed prettily for the occasion, she merely hangs her head, and sighs. ]

I NEVER GOT THIS NOTIF ;A;

[pimping]

[A sad girl. Another liability. Perhaps he should send this one along to speak to Ros. Telling that tale of Lys was starting to get old.]

Have you no teeth behind those lips, girl?

always one to keep people waiting huh littlefinger

[clownpunching]

[ That only incites her pent-up fury. ] Hmph! They may not be to your patrons' liking. [ A beat. ] My lord.

LADY UNE...figured it was easier to just keep it all in here. 8Ib

[asstrophysics]

[ You can't call it just another day at Preventer when you've hired a particularly flirtatious astrophysicist into your team. Sure, she may be confined to the labs for most of her employment, but damn if that hasn't made her a little…eager for more of her lovely employer's company. She's had her eye on Lady from the very beginning, though it had been more out of a sisterly sort of affection at first—the woman needed to loosen up, all right?

But days turned into weeks, months, and…so maybe she's getting a little crush now. No reason why she can't pursue it, and Mina's very aggressive when it comes to what she wants.

Insisting on working overtime in the lab when everyone else's gone home? Totally not suspicious at all. Neither is the fact that she'd called Une over on the pretext of some kind of breakthrough. ]

It'll change everything! [ She'd said excitedly, forgoing politeness for the sheer excitement of her idea. Better not to keep her waiting. ]

i hate dw for not letting me know i had this ;;

[11ady]

A development in terms of nuclear power, perhaps? We've been looking for better ways to power HQ for ages.

[She looks haggard when she comes in, uniform jacket off and dress shirt slightly crumpled. It's been a long day.]

I do hope you're not exaggerating, Miss Carmine.

TELENOVELA!GOT aka effy stalks old plurk convos and tl;drs too much; idk go with who you like

[northless]

[Twenty-two years ago, there was a little boy born to two loving (and wealthy) parents. Not that it mattered, because soon enough he disappeared, and Robb Stark soon became known as the missing Stark heir. One year passed, then two, then a decade had gone by, and there was still no sign of the boy, or any ransom note, for that matter. By now, it's all too certain that he's dead and gone, the victim of some random crime.

Except that's the official story, the one most everyone knows. The one behind the scenes is that the kid's alive and well, working as a barista in a Starbucks somewhere in New York, and even that one's got a story underneath it as well.

See, up until he was nineteen, he thought his last name was "Baelish", a notion that was quickly disproven when he started looking closer at his papers and noticed something just slightly off about them.

How do you react when you find out you're not who you thought you were? In Robb's case, he starts digging, looks for more clues. Along the way he packs up, changes his name (he always did like Edward Scissorhands), and moves to New York--for uni, he tells people, and it's acceptable enough that they don't ask any further. That much, he's thankful for.

He's a wolf, he was born one, he's got wolf's blood running through his veins, probably why he's always liked dogs. On the other hand, though, he was raised by a mockingbird, he can lie and bluff and bullshit just fine.

It's a crisp autumn day, and a slow Saturday as well. Robb's not really expecting anything to happen today, but then he glances out the window and feels--well, not exactly a chill, but it's an unwelcome feeling. He takes off his apron, tells Loras, "Can you cover for me, there's something I need to take care of, I'll make it up to you tomorrow," and walks out to meet someone he'd thought he wouldn't be seeing around.]

What do you want? [He's wary, and just a little tensed.]

[pimping]

Is that any way to speak to your father?

[Impeccably dressed in a freshly pressed suit, Petyr Baelish is a hardly a tall man but he casts a shadow over most everyone he comes into contact with. There's something about the way he stands and speaks that demands submission. His "son" however was another story entirely. Robb was always a rebel. The notion of a docile wolf has always been an impossibility though heavens did Petyr try to tame the boy.]

Robert Allan Baelish, you will cease this stupidity and come home this instant.

[For heaven's sake, what could he want here? Petyr had made him heir to an empire of casinos back in Las Vegas. For Robb to turn his back on all that to live in squalor was a slap in the face.]

That one guy who's a pimp or something (GBverse)

[misswatson]

[Joan Watson has gotten used to living in space. Crazy as it was, at least there was always a job to be had so she could take care of rent and her current residence was beginning to feel rather homey (it wasn't the brownstone though since it wasn't reeking with oddities that had Sherlock's name all over it). And most importantly of all, this crazy spaceship has given her the opportunity to meet all sorts of unique individuals, from different worlds, timelines, lifestyles... Different EVERYTHING really.

There are some things that stay the same though and observing people's habits and those small blips of abnormalities are one of them. Joan has been working at the clinic (clerical work, she's done with practicing) and of the patients that left seems to have forgotten a scarf of some sort. Watson thinks it would be a shame if she didn't get it back so she takes it upon herself to return this nice clothing item to its owner.

... And it's led her to the seedier part of the ship. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. ]

drop it like it's hawt etc etc

[pimping]

[It's not often that Littlefinger comes across another human face at his establishment. After all, the place is made to cater to a particular sort of clientele. The creatures come and go to work and play at his brothel. He copes as best he can, doing what he can to discover their desires and please them.

Though he works under the guise of being a mere receptionist, he holds all the power here. The brothel is registered under one Gnarrmz of Ggrawg but it's Littlefinger's through and through. On the outside, it looks like dilapidated ruin but once you push through that splintered door lacking a knob, you'll find yourself in an inviting lobby furnished with polished wood benches and floors that shine. In a corner, Littlefinger sits and balances his books, resisting the impulse to stop writing and dip his ballpoint pen in an ink well that isn't there. Old habits die hard. Upon looking up to raise a brow at the woman who's just walked in, he manages his patented genial smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He moves to stand with grace, offering a small bow with a slight flourish of the hand as the mockingbird pin twinkles at the neck of his doublet.]

I'd ask if we might offer you something you need but I think we both already know the answer to that.

[He then raises himself to his full height, smile never faltering.]

If you happen to be lost, I must tell you that it's terrible judgment to seek directions from the depraved.

[It's never been in his nature to hide what he is but he sugarcoats it well enough with easy candor and a joking tone. Then again, as poor Ned Stark learned all too late, Littlefinger has a rather sick sense of humor.]

so I don't even really know what I'm doing but here.

[sexpository]

[Honestly, this feels to Ros like an inevitability.

Not because of the complex dynamics of the situation at hand, no -- those were never her business and she never really asked, because she is not the kind of woman who often plays the kind of role that allows her to ask questions that aren't "is there anything more I can do for you?" or some variant -- but because honestly, whose brilliant idea was it to have her look after someone at all?

She is not by nature a traditionally protective woman. She is caring, but that's at best a tertiary quality, one that's easily pushed aside if need be. She is decent at taking responsibility for others in a professional context, but for all that her life has required her to fake interpersonal dynamics, she is not the greatest when it comes to the real ones, the ones that aren't just about sex and lies, the ones that require her to behave like just a regular person. It's no surprise she was so stupid as to let Robb slip through her fingers.

This is what she's telling herself in her self-directed frustration, at least. (She's no mother hen, but she's often better at this than she gives herself credit for.) It's mostly fear talking, fear and angst, and she's been unable to sit still for worrying about the inevitable fallout that she just knows is coming when Petyr finds her.]

you're fine! i showed our robb and she loved what you wrote :)

[pimping]

[Petyr's always prided himself on a quiet presence. He doesn't outwardly rage like some uncouth lout. No, his anger always bubbles just under the surface. On the outside, he makes sure to paint the perfect picture of disarming calm. When Ros arrives at his suite, Petyr will be there, calmly seated on the couch by the coffee table, swirling a glass of scotch on the rocks in one hand like nothing's amiss.]

Not much of a huntress, are you?

for anyone idk idk I NEED TO VOICETEST THIS GUY

[sceptique]

[So guess who, on his very first day on the SS Thor, proceeded to look for a good bar and get smashed on all kinds of alien liquor?

Yep. To be honest, though, Grantaire's threshold is surprisingly high, but it isn't like he's in any hurry to leave. He is, after all, dead, and enjoying his afterlife, as strange as it is.]

welp

[pimping]

[A fool and his money are easily parted. A drunken fool doubly so.]

I'd recommend the Rocket Fuel Ale. They say it'll leave you seeing stars.

[catelynstark]

[The last things Catelyn remembers are blinding pain and red, so much red. But now she finds herself in a richly furnished room, the warmth of the sun seeping through the wide window. Confusion clouds her mind as she runs her hand down the pale red stones of the wall. Only one place is specifically built like this, but she couldn’t possibly be in the Red Keep.

Catelyn is supposed to be back in Winterfell, bringing her fifth child into the world. But she has no time to dwell on the implications of her circumstances before she feels a presence behind her. She turns quickly, not knowing what she’s about to face, but face it she will.]

[pimping]

[The last thing Littlefinger recalls is burning the midnight oil, dipping his quill in ink, and scribbling statements of account for the upcoming tournament on His Grace's name day. Say what you will about the mockingbird but he's a hardworking man at his core. The past few days have worn him down and there are times when he finds gaps in his memory, forgetting why he's a certain place. It's dangerous for a man like him but he fathoms that sleep will cure it soon enough. Perhaps it's a consequence of one too many cups of wine at supper...

There's a woman standing before him and he has to blink and squint and rub his eyes at the sight. No, it can't be. She left this world but a fortnight ago. She's the reason he's been in his cups for the sake of numbing himself to grief.]

Catelyn?

[masterofbling]

❝ So all these years—since when?—he had been seeing the light of dead stars, long extinguished, yet seemingly still in their appointed places in the heavens.

An immense sadness as of loss invaded his spirit, a vast homesickness for some immutable refuge of the heart far away where faded gardens bloom again, and where live on in unchanging freshness, the dear, dead loves of vanished youth. ❞

[ladymother]

[It is an uneventful evening until Catelyn sees him. It has been years, and it almost seems a lifetime that separates them. Still, the small glimpse she catches of his face sends a pang of yearning in her heart -- for simpler times, for a childhood that was gone too quickly, for a boy who looked at her like she was the world. She mistook his affections for friendship, but perhaps, deep down, she knew of what he felt. It was difficult to remain in ignorance whenever he took her hand and wouldn't let go, or when he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and lingered close. But the path she was to take had already been set, and Petyr Baelish wasn't part of it.

She spends half the night on the opposite end of the room, her husband's arm wrapped around her waist. But her glances stray, and her eyes land on his silhouette, dark against the city lights as he leans against the balcony. A whisper in her husband's ear, and he grudgingly loosens his grip on her; she squeezes his arm lightly in reassurance. It will be fine. A lifetime separates them, after all. She wouldn't be surprised if he has already forgotten her.

(A lie.)

Catelyn doesn't bother hiding her approach, and the sound her heels make echo against the marble floor as she walks towards him. A light breeze tousles her red hair as she settles beside him, a hesitant smile on her lips.]

Hello, Petyr.

hey, i just met you (on plurk) and this is crazy, but give me trillian? something something rhymes.

[dressinggown]

crying so rusty ;A;

[astranomy]

[Sitting by a bowl of fruit (because c'mon, that's an integral part of a healthy breakfast along with lightsabered toast), Trillian takes an apple and bites into it with a loud crunch. Speaking with her mouth full, she sprays a few apple bits across the table, smiling all the while.]

Hey, what's eating you? See a white rat darting around the flat?

[Snorting, she laughs at her own unintentional rhyme.]

COME TO ME Elle c:

[abidan]

[ When Emery shudders awake in the wee hours of the morning it's on a sigh that would make a nun blush. He'd been having a dream — a wonderful dream filled with formless eroticism and a firm, possessive touch — enough to have his cock is rock hard in his boxer-briefs and his throat lightly dusted with sweat. It's ridiculous, of course, because he's not some horny teenager, but after ten minutes of wrestling with his conscience he decides that fine — fine.

It's his flat, right? And Elle will be fast asleep. If he can rub one out quickly and clean up quietly, why shouldn't he do just that?

And that's how Emery ends up kicking the blanket off onto the floor and pushing his pants down around his knees; how he ends up spitting into his hand and wrapping his palm around his dick. It's good. He starts slow, teasing himself, pushing his pyjama tee up a little way to slide his free hand across his abdomen; wandering down towards his balls as he begins to work himself with thorough strokes.

If he groans, it isn't intentional. If he gasps he tries to stifle it. But, as Emery gets more invested in his "alone time" he finds it more difficult to keep quiet — when he presses two fingers over his perineum he moans sharply into his pillow, dark curls sticking to his neck as he pants into the fabric.

Gods ... ]

sobs

[prevents]

[Much as Elle hates being any imposition as a guest, it's three in the morning and the glass by her bedside table is empty. Her throat's parched and she needs a drink. Tiptoeing to the kitchen, she pours herself some water from the pitcher in the fridge, sipping slow as she leans her back against the countertop. At this point, she's practically half-asleep, just seeking to slake her thirst before going back to bed. That is, until a particularly loud groan perks her ears.

What is that?

Creeping quietly down the hall, the noise grows louder as she nears Emery's room.

Is he all right? Having a fit?

Thinking nothing of it, she flings his bedroom door open and immediately regrets it. Her hand immediately rises to cover her mouth, stifling a gasp.]

Oh...

hey cersei heeeeey

[threeyears]

[It's been a stressful week for Jim, and seeing as he's the captain of the USS Enterprise (also known, throughout Starfleet, as that ship where all the weirdest shit happens, among other things), that's kind of saying something. First there was the first contact gone awry, then there was the unknown pathogen and everyone going nuts (he's pretty sure he can never get that 21st-century musical out of his head now, damn you Lt. Hannity), then there was the diplomatic incident with the Arvions, then there was the accidental almost-marriage between Chekov and a very old princess, and then there was that guy named Q who tried to screw around with his ship.

So of course he's not going to pass up an opportunity to relax on Risa. Come on, steam pools, good food, hot girls, the chance to forget the week he's had? Hell, no, he's not letting that pass him by.

So, after beaming down and giving the usual "come back safe, don't do anything I wouldn't do" spiel to the crew (not that there's anything he wouldn't do on Risa), the first thing he does is step into one of the planet's many, many bars.

And--oh, hey, there's one very lovely lady at the bar. He slides into a seat near her, wearing his best, most charming smile.]

So, what's a lovely girl like you doing alone at a bar like this?

[bitchslapper]

How amusing. I was just about to pose the exact same question to you.

[Her words are curt and dispassionate as she takes another sip from her wineglass. Jaime was off on yet another of their father's errands and she ached for him. She knows she won't find him at the bottom of a wine glass but it offers her respite and it's the next best thing she can reach for right now.]

Littlefinger!! uwu/

[kaiserin]

[It had taken far too long to convince the king to grant her audience. It had she suspected less to do with her apparent age or the fact she was a foreign ruler, and far more to do with the fact her hair was that pure white, tainted with the reputation that came from those that ruled before King Robert.

But her kingdom was rich and, out of the goodness of the little Empress's heart, she wanted to help the squandering kingdom. To refuse would be suicide and her lack of relation to the Targaryens had been proven several times. The white hair was the only link between them.

So she had crossed the sea to visit, a tiny little thing appearing of only 12, with regal bearing, a sweet smile, and solid-gold colored eyes. Around her neck hung a necklace of two snakes, one white and one black, in an oval, biting each other's tails.

The meeting had gone well enough, Empress sympathetic without being condescending and promising an alliance and aide-- all she wanted in return was the surety that should aide be needed by her own kingdom, they would provide.

"Not that such a thing is likely to happen, but the thought is what counts," she'd said with a peaceful smile.

Perhaps they'd thought her a fool; she had no other way of securing an alliance except on word alone. She had no king; no husband or consort or anything of the like, so all she could hope for is the word 'marriage' did not grace the lips of any of them.

Throughout it all she had given no name, being referred to only as 'Empress' or 'the Childlike Empress' by even her own people and brushing aside any attempt to learn it as though she hadn't heard. They had a Master of Coin to hash out the details, and the Empress had simply said:] I'll be in the gardens, if that's all right. Tell him he may find me there when he is ready and we can discuss the details further.

[Having no equivalent to a Master of Coin, she would do it herself. So she waited in the garden in the flowing light gown that seems far out of place among the stiffer, heavier fabrics she'd seen, and waited. A guard stood careful watch nearby]

c:

[coinage]

[Littlefinger walks with as much grace as the wind whispering through the leaves. He's dressed to impress with an ebony doublet, trousers of fine boiled leather, and a canary yellow cloak attached by a silver mockingbird at his neck. His boots shine in the sunlight, well-polished. The man knows how to make an entrance. He offers a bow and waits for their foreign guest to acknowledge him, smiling all the while.]

Your Grace?