Welcome to the Construction Site!
I'm so glad that you've come at just the right time!
We're still in the process of reconstructing this profile.
However, we are OPEN FOR BUSINESS!
Thank you for your patience.
Author's Note~ Each character will be getting their own backstory etc. written up in due time. They are all wip's.
Wild Child's writer~
(Available characters below!)
• H O L B Y . H E N D E R S O N •
Single || Peoplesexual
I wasn’t born yesterday. I have lived a thousand lifetimes, maybe more, and still I find myself contemplating the focus of a lens, the stroke of a brush, and the man who lives in the apartment across from my own. He’s in his mid-to-late fifties; tall, dark and mysteriously Italian. Every morning it takes me a hot minute to drag my gaze away from the open window where he stands, flexing in his Ralph Lauren boxer briefs. Sometimes I think he does it because he knows I’m watching. Perhaps he’s an exhibitionist and I the voyeur? My name… is Holby. I was born during the eclipsing of a blood moon. I often wonder if my parents were high trying to write ‘Holly’ and ended up misspelling my name. Wouldn’t be much of a surprise really considering how laid back they were. I say were because they’re not longer of this world, or the next. As far as I’m concerned, reincarnation doesn’t exist, and violin’s are the Devil’s instruments. Among other things. My childhood was a fairly educational and abnormally normal one seeing as both my parents dabbled in witchcraft, or “Devil worship” as our snooty neighbours used to call it. Whatever. Doesn’t make a difference in my world. Anyway, back to the story. The house I grew up in was a beautiful old Victorian manor on the outskirts of a newly erected estate of expensive looking homes with white picket fences, soft pastel exteriors and perfectly manicured gardens. It was like living in Pleasantville or Stepford. I’m leaning more towards Stepford, have you seen those fuckers? Seriously. So, anyway, life was spent in the grandeur of this beautiful house we came to know as home and it was great. We never really fussed with the outside world, and by keeping to ourselves, we became the outsiders. My family’s wiccan heritage goes way back. My mother’s a witch, my grandmother, and so on and so forth. Throughout each generation the bloodlines have thinned; watered down to barely a skerrick of what it used to be and our “powers” aren’t what they used to be. Instead, I’ve got books filling the shelves of dusty bookcases, drawers filled with amulets and talismans, herbs for every occasion, animal skulls, candles, crystals, et cetera. You name it and I’ve probably got it stashed, stored or on display. Did I mention that I loved plants? I’m an avid botanist and herbalist. So, there you have it. I’m a witch. It comes with the stigma that we ride broomsticks, cook children in cauldrons and look like hideous old hags with warts on our noses and hairs sprouting from our chins. If you’re looking for a spinster in a cottage hidden deep within the woods, you’ve come to the wrong place.
FC: Katya Miro
• N Y X O N • C H A S T A I N •
Single || ~
FC: John Akan
• L I BE R T Y . "L I B B Y" . B L U E •
Wherever the work is
Single || Straight
Crime Scene Investigator
FC: Nadja Auermann
• D A E S Y N . G A G E •
Single || Bisexual
Daesyn Gage is not your average out-of-towner. He doesn’t bite, I assure you, but you should approach with caution. His quick, closed-fist jabs can leave one’s ears ringing if they decide to brawl with this bad boy. But aside from his ability to win fights with little to no effort, he leads an otherwise quiet, solitary life away from the likes of people. Amidst the congregation of idiots within the confines of this one particularly active establishment on the strip, sat a table of three; two men and a woman. There were papers strewn across the tabletop and the woman was pointing at unmatched distances along the page for Daesyn to sign. He’s the burly guy with the pen in his hand on the right side of the boot. On the other was his best friend and fellow underground fighter, Jackson, and Jackson’s girlfriend and executive producer of said fights, Lilianna. She was a beautiful woman, but she lacked a certain… something. Probably why Jackson had her in his clutches long before Dae wanted anything to do with her. A curl of fingers has the broad of shoulder male lifting his glass of stout to his bristly lips, tongue stroking along the rim of the glass before he’s chugging back a mouthful, swirling the dark liquid around his mouth then swallowing with a neat bob of his throat. “Daesyn, are you listening?” Lili’s sharp, exotic tone pitchforked against Daesyn’s eardrums, causing the male to curl his lip back over his teeth and sneer. “I’m listening.” Flat, more than likely bored, and somewhat tired of visiting the same venue every single time he had to sign another period of his life away to the underground league of extraordinary fighters. Whiskey colored hues swept the bar lazily as Daesyn reclined back against the booth’s cheap leather, grunting as he cocked one arm over the backrest and rubbed his thumb and fingers together absently. No one knew just how this nobody became one of the undefeatables. But fame wasn’t something Daesyn needed. See, Daesyn was never known to remain in one place for longer than necessary.
FC: John Cooper
• C A L L A I S •
Single || Straight
Darkest Recesses of one's Mind
I wasn’t always… this. After the devastating attack on my family, I was taken captive by the monster, afraid that I would be next. But I wasn’t. I survived. He kept me hidden from the rest of the world. From the cold, vermin infested dungeon below the ballroom I could hear the festivities; the laughter of his guests as he entertained them all with his antics. I don’t know whether they were mortal like myself or monstrosities like my captor. It was hard deciphering the screams from the laughter. Perhaps it was a ritualistic feeding? I couldn’t be sure. But I wanted to know. He’d starve me. For days. Sometimes weeks at a time. Allowing for only a little bit of water here and there. I’d begged for death when he visited my frigid cell. Pleaded with him to end my suffering. He refused. Said it would help me come into my own. I didn’t understand. But I would. Upon my lips Death’s icy kiss was granted. I felt the sharp scratch of his fangs as he punctured my flesh and drank deep from the well of my life force. My blood was both toxic and intoxicating. It took every ounce of mortality that monster had left – however little there may have been – for him to pull away, and by that point I was nearing the end. I was a weakling unable to raise my arms or kick my legs. I felt… empty. Void of feeling anything. Every mortal emotion that once coursed through my veins was slipping away. The dull throb of my body begged for that final release. But what I got in return was white hot pain. Everywhere. I could barely move my lips but I drank, deep and until the burn became bearable. My hunger was never ending. The bloodthirst unlike anything I’ve ever known. I was hungry and yet it wasn’t food that my rebirthed body desired. When he tore his body from mine, I shuddered, collapsed to my knees and wailed. What had he done? He never gave his name and I never asked. And yet somehow I knew exactly who he was; the monster from my nightmares, the darkness from a past I longed to forget. He’d kept me for several years, watched me grow into a bountiful young woman from the shadows before ever daring to lay a hand upon my body, let alone my tarnished soul.
• E L O D I U S • B E L L V U E •
FC: Kj Apa
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