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✦ ✧Request Thread (Remodeled 2.0)✧ ✦
✦ ✧Request Thread (Remodeled 2.0)✧ ✦
- TL;DR about the reformatting (optional read)
Hello there, I'm Sainted. I've been writing roleplay for a couple of years but writing as a whole for more than a decade. I'm capable of writing characters of any gender and orientation, and I'm usually comfortable juggling a few at once if the story calls for it (3–4 in a detailed RP, sometimes more if the posts are shorter). I'm open to most pairing types, (MxF, FxF, MxM), though right now I gravitate more toward writing with female characters, whether in FxF or MxF settings. I'll occasionally write MxM as well, but it's something I'm a little more particular about, since it depends a lot on the characters and the general chemistry.
✧What kind of things do you like to write?
While I keep an open mind across genres, my strongest footing lies in modern settings, while occasionally delving into the past with historical or medieval tales, as well as rich fantasy worlds. Generally, regardless of backdrop, I tend to lean towards darker themes, stories that explore tension, conflict, and the messier sides of human nature. Angst, moral dilemmas, twisted relationships (no cheating plots), and overly dramatic characters all have a way of keeping me invested. I like when a narrative isn't afraid to get a little gritty, so long as it feels purposeful and not forced nor excessive, as I believe in a healthy balance of these emotions along with more lighthearted ones.
✧Fandoms?
In short, they're not my preferred thing to write, however exceptions can always be made. For example, I take a LOT of interest in things like Star Wars, Harry Potter, Arcane, and the DCU, and I find those settings to be really fun to play around in. However, I don't have a lot of interest in making Darth Vader and Gran Moff Tarkin get freaky on Naboo, which is to say I generally don't include characters in those fandoms. OCs in those universes would be much more appealing to me.
✧How much worldbuilding do you like to do?
I don't go too heavy on it myself. I prefer to give broad strokes and keep things flexible. That said, I'm always happy to add details and flavor when needed, especially for specific scenes, along with general layouts of locations, but I'm not entirely invested in detailed immersion when it comes to anything outside of where our characters reside.
✧What's your writing style like?
Generally by default, I'm a paragraph writer. However, my main goal will be to match your response lengths as best as I can, of course adding length for details when needed and subtracting length for smoother back and forth dialogue. My intros always tend to be much longer than the length I would write for during the remainder of the story so keep that in mind, do not be scared away by the inevitable Wall of Text.
Writing Examples:
Jax leaned forward in his chair, shooting his sister a glare that didn't quite mask the smirk tugging at his mouth. "Keep an eye on me? Please. If anything, I'll be keeping you from trying to solve every problem with a rifle butt." Their father chuckled low in his throat, clearly amused despite the tension simmering in the room. But their mother wasn't laughing. Her hands folded tight in her lap, knuckles pale, lips pressed into a thin line. The kids had seen that look before, it was the one their mom wore at every funeral, every deployment goodbye, every time a uniform showed up at the door with news.
"You think this is something to joke about?" she said finally, her voice calm but sharp enough to cut. She turned her gaze on Jax first, then on Jenny, and it was worse than shouting. "Your father and I spent our whole lives watching friends and comrades disappear on missions they never came back from. Now you want me to sit here, smile, and pretend I'm proud you're volunteering to throw yourselves into the void?"
Jax opened his mouth, but their father raised a hand, silencing him. The older man leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, his eyes steady and searching. "She's not wrong. This isn't like enlisting, or even deployment. It's a one-way ticket until someone says otherwise. You'll be months, years even, from home. And if something goes wrong out there-"
"If something goes wrong out there my two babies are going to be floating into the endless vacuum of space and I won't even get to bury a damn body!" Their mother barked, slamming a fist into the table as the clattering of plates echoed with her yells. The room was left with a deafening silence afterwards before Jax reached for his mother's hand, squeezing it gently.
"We know the risks, Mom. We do. But this isn't just about leaving... you raised us to do something that matters. This could be the mission that changes everything for everyone back here. Don't you want us to be part of that?"
For a long moment, their mother just looked at him, tears welling in the corners of her eyes though she blinked them back. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but firm. "I want you to be safe. That's all I've ever wanted."
Jax, for once, didn't reach for a joke. He cleared his throat, his usual grin dimming. "We'll be together," he said simply. "You won't lose us. Not like that." The silence that followed was heavy, but not hopeless.
"You think this is something to joke about?" she said finally, her voice calm but sharp enough to cut. She turned her gaze on Jax first, then on Jenny, and it was worse than shouting. "Your father and I spent our whole lives watching friends and comrades disappear on missions they never came back from. Now you want me to sit here, smile, and pretend I'm proud you're volunteering to throw yourselves into the void?"
Jax opened his mouth, but their father raised a hand, silencing him. The older man leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, his eyes steady and searching. "She's not wrong. This isn't like enlisting, or even deployment. It's a one-way ticket until someone says otherwise. You'll be months, years even, from home. And if something goes wrong out there-"
"If something goes wrong out there my two babies are going to be floating into the endless vacuum of space and I won't even get to bury a damn body!" Their mother barked, slamming a fist into the table as the clattering of plates echoed with her yells. The room was left with a deafening silence afterwards before Jax reached for his mother's hand, squeezing it gently.
"We know the risks, Mom. We do. But this isn't just about leaving... you raised us to do something that matters. This could be the mission that changes everything for everyone back here. Don't you want us to be part of that?"
For a long moment, their mother just looked at him, tears welling in the corners of her eyes though she blinked them back. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but firm. "I want you to be safe. That's all I've ever wanted."
Jax, for once, didn't reach for a joke. He cleared his throat, his usual grin dimming. "We'll be together," he said simply. "You won't lose us. Not like that." The silence that followed was heavy, but not hopeless.
Sienna's breath caught when he lifted her from the ground, her body pressed against his as their mouths met. Every kiss with Buck had a way of stealing the air straight from her lungs, as if she forgot the world existed until he reminded her of it again. She laughed softly against his lips when his hat tumbled into the grass, her fingers tangling in his hair without a thought. He made her feel weightless, like even the earth itself couldn't tether her down. Her legs clung around his torso, wrapped around him like a koala.
When he set her back on her feet, her smile lingered, gray eyes locked on his as though he might vanish if she looked away. His words, half-joking but laced with that shy tenderness she adored, made her cheeks warm. "Well, don't you fall over on me, farm boy," she teased, her tone soft, fond. "Wouldn't look too good if the sheriff's daughter had to drag your sorry hide home after kissin' you." She leaned into the brush of his hand against her cheek, savoring the gentleness of his touch. He always held her like she was something precious, and though she carried pistols on her hip and the grit of law in her bones, Sienna loved the way he reminded her she could be soft too. When he called her gunslinger and peppered her forehead with kisses, her heart ached sweetly. There weren't many who could make her heart feel in such a way, nor who saw past her badge or her father's name attached to it, but Buck did. Buck always had.
Sitting with him by the pool of water, the roar of the falls filling the silence between words, she watched him tear into the basket like a boy on Christmas morning. Her laugh was light, ringing like the clear creek water. "Lord babe, are you happier to see me or the cornbread?," she said, nudging his shoulder with a snort. "You want brisket, you'll have to cook it yourself next time. I can only do so much."
And then he spoke the words that made her pulse stumble, the kind she hadn't let herself dare to dream about, not fully. You'll be mine forever someday. For all her sharp edges and all the steel in her heart, she felt tears prickling in her eyes at his promise. He didn't have wealth, or rank, or any of the things her father would claim a man needed. But he had something far rarer: sincerity that never wavered for even a second. When he placed the ring on her finger, she lifted her hand, staring at how the silver caught the firelight of the setting sun. Her initials with his carved inside had her throat in a knot, making her heart pound against her ribs as a stray few tears trickled down her cheek, glimmering in the day's light. A promise, not a proposal, but she felt the gravity of it just the same. Her gaze snapped back to his, and before he could utter another word, Sienna all but launched herself at him, knocking the cornbread clean out of his hand as she pushed him back into the grass. Her lips crashed against his, the kiss fierce and burning with passion, pouring every ounce of her answer into him. When she finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, her voice escaped through soft pants.
"You think I care about diamonds or fortunes?" she said, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "Buck, you've already given me more than any of that could ever buy. You give me peace in a world that ain't got any, and a kind of love I didn't think I'd ever find. That ring," she lifted her hand, the silver glinting, "means more to me than any gold some rich fool could offer." She pressed her forehead to his again, her voice low, steady. "You ain't gotta promise me forever, Buck. I already know I want it with you."
When he set her back on her feet, her smile lingered, gray eyes locked on his as though he might vanish if she looked away. His words, half-joking but laced with that shy tenderness she adored, made her cheeks warm. "Well, don't you fall over on me, farm boy," she teased, her tone soft, fond. "Wouldn't look too good if the sheriff's daughter had to drag your sorry hide home after kissin' you." She leaned into the brush of his hand against her cheek, savoring the gentleness of his touch. He always held her like she was something precious, and though she carried pistols on her hip and the grit of law in her bones, Sienna loved the way he reminded her she could be soft too. When he called her gunslinger and peppered her forehead with kisses, her heart ached sweetly. There weren't many who could make her heart feel in such a way, nor who saw past her badge or her father's name attached to it, but Buck did. Buck always had.
Sitting with him by the pool of water, the roar of the falls filling the silence between words, she watched him tear into the basket like a boy on Christmas morning. Her laugh was light, ringing like the clear creek water. "Lord babe, are you happier to see me or the cornbread?," she said, nudging his shoulder with a snort. "You want brisket, you'll have to cook it yourself next time. I can only do so much."
And then he spoke the words that made her pulse stumble, the kind she hadn't let herself dare to dream about, not fully. You'll be mine forever someday. For all her sharp edges and all the steel in her heart, she felt tears prickling in her eyes at his promise. He didn't have wealth, or rank, or any of the things her father would claim a man needed. But he had something far rarer: sincerity that never wavered for even a second. When he placed the ring on her finger, she lifted her hand, staring at how the silver caught the firelight of the setting sun. Her initials with his carved inside had her throat in a knot, making her heart pound against her ribs as a stray few tears trickled down her cheek, glimmering in the day's light. A promise, not a proposal, but she felt the gravity of it just the same. Her gaze snapped back to his, and before he could utter another word, Sienna all but launched herself at him, knocking the cornbread clean out of his hand as she pushed him back into the grass. Her lips crashed against his, the kiss fierce and burning with passion, pouring every ounce of her answer into him. When she finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, her voice escaped through soft pants.
"You think I care about diamonds or fortunes?" she said, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "Buck, you've already given me more than any of that could ever buy. You give me peace in a world that ain't got any, and a kind of love I didn't think I'd ever find. That ring," she lifted her hand, the silver glinting, "means more to me than any gold some rich fool could offer." She pressed her forehead to his again, her voice low, steady. "You ain't gotta promise me forever, Buck. I already know I want it with you."
The air between Marquis and the gunmen tightened like a bowstring. He let the silence stretch, his shoulders loose but every nerve bristling. He could feel it, the twitch in the air, the rising current before the storm broke. His gaze locked onto the gunman furthest to the left, the way his knuckles paled on the trigger, the subtle hitch of breath before release. Time slowed. The muzzle flashed.
Marquis's cloak came up in a sweeping arc, its inner lining glimmering as carbon-fiber threads caught and deflected the first volley. Bullets sparked off like furious fireflies, whining into the walls and ceiling as the metallic clinks of empty shells hit the floor. The crack of gunfire erupted, deafening in the room, but Marquis was already moving. Screams erupted from the crowd in the club as folks emptied through the front door with no hesitation. Behind the shield of his cloak, his cybernetic arm flexed, pistons hissing as his other hand drew his pistol in a clean, fluid motion from the holster on his hip. He dropped the cloak just enough to reveal the glint of metal in his grip, squeezing off two precise shots, one through a visor and another through a throat, blood spraying the wall behind the two unlucky guards before they fell limp to the ground.
The room descended into chaos. The squad fanned out, rifles blazing, but Marquis advanced like a phantom given flesh. His movements were deliberate, a predator weaving through prey too clumsy to understand what hunted them. Sparks and ricochets tore the air, smoke and blood mingling until the neon lights overhead painted the carnage in lurid reds and blues. A gunman lunged in close, rifle swinging up for a melee strike, but Marquis caught it on his cybernetic forearm, the matte-black plating shrieking under the impact. His glowing crimson etchings flared, adrenaline spiking, as he shoved the weapon aside and pressed his pistol to the man's chest. One more bang, another body down. All the while, he barely looked strained. He fought with the slow inevitability of a storm breaking glass, methodical in his slaughter. A bullet clipped his shoulder and sparked harmlessly against his subdermal plating. Another grazed his face, leaving a line of blood across his stubble underneath the mask, which triggered an injection of his adrenaline as his veins glowed red, pulsating to life under his skin. His eyes went wide with a feral nature as the adrenaline injected itself into his circulation. A small dose, but enough to make a difference. He catches two more guards on the fiery electric blade belonging to his cybernetic sword, swiftly opening their chests and burning through their vests like butter before his optics pull his attention to behind him, catching sight of Akuma and what looked to be an employee of his. He was using the poor bloke as a shield, edging toward escape.
It didn't surprise him, that was the kind of cowardice men like Akuma always resorted to. But Marquis's eyes locked onto them anyway, neon irises burning like warning lights through the chaos. His eyes flicker back towards the last remaining guard as he drops his cloak and stands back up to full height, his pistol already aligned with the guard's head. He quickly squeezed the trigger and took care of him, the glass on the guard's visor shattering as his body fell back against the wall and slumped lifeless to the floor. Without another moment of hesitation, Marquis made a swift pounce from where he stood all the way to Akuma, landing behind him with a thunderous clank of metal as his boots hit the ground, his eyes glowing still surging with leftover energy from the fight. His pistol was drawn, Akuma staring down the barrel.
The boss didn't flinch. His breath came fast and sharp, but his smirk was steady, cruel as ever. With a sudden yank, he dragged Delta fully in front of him, locking an arm across the boy's chest, pinning him tight. The muzzle of Marquis' pistol now faced Delta's temple instead of Akuma's forehead.
"Careful, chasseur," Akuma hissed, voice slick with venom. "One twitch and a poor civilian bleeds all over this floor." His grip tightened on Delta, nails digging into the boy's skin, dragging him backwards step by step toward the steel door behind them. Delta's chest heaved, panic in every ragged breath, his ultramarine eyes darting between Marquis and the weapon, fear painted on his face. For a long moment, the chamber was still. Blood pooled across the tiles, the air thick with smoke and iron, but Marquis didn't lower his weapon. He didn't move an inch. His gaze remained locked, unwavering, boring through Akuma as if the pistol were an extension of his stare.
Delta felt the tremor in Akuma's arm against his chest; despite the man's facade of control, fear was creeping in. Akuma barked louder to cover it: "You want me dead? You'll have to go through him. And from what I hear, you're not one to waste a poor bastard."
The taunt hung between them. Akuma thought he was buying his escape, but Marquis's mind was already made up two steps ahead. He could see it now... the coward's plan to slip through the exit, taking Delta as both shield and bargaining chip, trading him later for credits or alliances in the underworld. Marquis's cybernetic arm flexed, whirring softly as his pistol tracked, steady as stone. His voice cut like steel, low and deliberate with that metallic flare behind the mask:
"Put him down, Akuma. There's no realm in which you leave this room alive."
But Akuma only grinned wider, shoving Delta tighter against him, the barrel of a compact pistol sliding up from his sleeve and pressing against Delta's jaw. "Then let's see who's faster."
The standoff would not last long. Marquis knew it. He wasn't so confident Akuma knew it however, judging from the way his eyes grew wide with panic as Marquis wasted no time lowering his gun and putting two crisp shots into the boss' knees. Akuma fell to the floor with a scream of pain as the black fabric on his tailored dress-pants grew dark with a crimson fluid, the compact weapon falling from his hand as Delta was released. In this instance however, the familiar hissing of the club entrance behind them caught Marquis' ear. Without hesitation, he leapt forward and grabbed Delta in a ferocious tackle to the floor, the sound of gunfire splitting the air in a deafening wave of sound to signal more reinforcements had arrived, much to a very injured Akuma's pleasure. The metallic sound of ricocheting bullets punched at both Delta and Marquis' ears as his cloak protected them both.
Marquis growled in frustration before looking down at Delta underneath him. "You can run, yes?"
Marquis's cloak came up in a sweeping arc, its inner lining glimmering as carbon-fiber threads caught and deflected the first volley. Bullets sparked off like furious fireflies, whining into the walls and ceiling as the metallic clinks of empty shells hit the floor. The crack of gunfire erupted, deafening in the room, but Marquis was already moving. Screams erupted from the crowd in the club as folks emptied through the front door with no hesitation. Behind the shield of his cloak, his cybernetic arm flexed, pistons hissing as his other hand drew his pistol in a clean, fluid motion from the holster on his hip. He dropped the cloak just enough to reveal the glint of metal in his grip, squeezing off two precise shots, one through a visor and another through a throat, blood spraying the wall behind the two unlucky guards before they fell limp to the ground.
The room descended into chaos. The squad fanned out, rifles blazing, but Marquis advanced like a phantom given flesh. His movements were deliberate, a predator weaving through prey too clumsy to understand what hunted them. Sparks and ricochets tore the air, smoke and blood mingling until the neon lights overhead painted the carnage in lurid reds and blues. A gunman lunged in close, rifle swinging up for a melee strike, but Marquis caught it on his cybernetic forearm, the matte-black plating shrieking under the impact. His glowing crimson etchings flared, adrenaline spiking, as he shoved the weapon aside and pressed his pistol to the man's chest. One more bang, another body down. All the while, he barely looked strained. He fought with the slow inevitability of a storm breaking glass, methodical in his slaughter. A bullet clipped his shoulder and sparked harmlessly against his subdermal plating. Another grazed his face, leaving a line of blood across his stubble underneath the mask, which triggered an injection of his adrenaline as his veins glowed red, pulsating to life under his skin. His eyes went wide with a feral nature as the adrenaline injected itself into his circulation. A small dose, but enough to make a difference. He catches two more guards on the fiery electric blade belonging to his cybernetic sword, swiftly opening their chests and burning through their vests like butter before his optics pull his attention to behind him, catching sight of Akuma and what looked to be an employee of his. He was using the poor bloke as a shield, edging toward escape.
It didn't surprise him, that was the kind of cowardice men like Akuma always resorted to. But Marquis's eyes locked onto them anyway, neon irises burning like warning lights through the chaos. His eyes flicker back towards the last remaining guard as he drops his cloak and stands back up to full height, his pistol already aligned with the guard's head. He quickly squeezed the trigger and took care of him, the glass on the guard's visor shattering as his body fell back against the wall and slumped lifeless to the floor. Without another moment of hesitation, Marquis made a swift pounce from where he stood all the way to Akuma, landing behind him with a thunderous clank of metal as his boots hit the ground, his eyes glowing still surging with leftover energy from the fight. His pistol was drawn, Akuma staring down the barrel.
The boss didn't flinch. His breath came fast and sharp, but his smirk was steady, cruel as ever. With a sudden yank, he dragged Delta fully in front of him, locking an arm across the boy's chest, pinning him tight. The muzzle of Marquis' pistol now faced Delta's temple instead of Akuma's forehead.
"Careful, chasseur," Akuma hissed, voice slick with venom. "One twitch and a poor civilian bleeds all over this floor." His grip tightened on Delta, nails digging into the boy's skin, dragging him backwards step by step toward the steel door behind them. Delta's chest heaved, panic in every ragged breath, his ultramarine eyes darting between Marquis and the weapon, fear painted on his face. For a long moment, the chamber was still. Blood pooled across the tiles, the air thick with smoke and iron, but Marquis didn't lower his weapon. He didn't move an inch. His gaze remained locked, unwavering, boring through Akuma as if the pistol were an extension of his stare.
Delta felt the tremor in Akuma's arm against his chest; despite the man's facade of control, fear was creeping in. Akuma barked louder to cover it: "You want me dead? You'll have to go through him. And from what I hear, you're not one to waste a poor bastard."
The taunt hung between them. Akuma thought he was buying his escape, but Marquis's mind was already made up two steps ahead. He could see it now... the coward's plan to slip through the exit, taking Delta as both shield and bargaining chip, trading him later for credits or alliances in the underworld. Marquis's cybernetic arm flexed, whirring softly as his pistol tracked, steady as stone. His voice cut like steel, low and deliberate with that metallic flare behind the mask:
"Put him down, Akuma. There's no realm in which you leave this room alive."
But Akuma only grinned wider, shoving Delta tighter against him, the barrel of a compact pistol sliding up from his sleeve and pressing against Delta's jaw. "Then let's see who's faster."
The standoff would not last long. Marquis knew it. He wasn't so confident Akuma knew it however, judging from the way his eyes grew wide with panic as Marquis wasted no time lowering his gun and putting two crisp shots into the boss' knees. Akuma fell to the floor with a scream of pain as the black fabric on his tailored dress-pants grew dark with a crimson fluid, the compact weapon falling from his hand as Delta was released. In this instance however, the familiar hissing of the club entrance behind them caught Marquis' ear. Without hesitation, he leapt forward and grabbed Delta in a ferocious tackle to the floor, the sound of gunfire splitting the air in a deafening wave of sound to signal more reinforcements had arrived, much to a very injured Akuma's pleasure. The metallic sound of ricocheting bullets punched at both Delta and Marquis' ears as his cloak protected them both.
Marquis growled in frustration before looking down at Delta underneath him. "You can run, yes?"
✧What's your writing schedule like?
Life is busy, and writing is a hobby. I work a full time job and are currently apart of 2 touring bands. I don't mind if you need extra time to reply, because I most definitely will sometimes, so long as you keep me in the loop. If you need a break, just let me know, I'll always extend you the same courtesy if things get hectic on my end. At the very minimum, you will receive weekly replies from me, but more often than not, daily replies aren't usually a challenge.
✧What kinds of settings do you enjoy most?
- Western towns and cowboy era-desert <-- (currently most intrigued)
- Modern/space sci-fi with tech and alien encounters
- Post-apocalyptic survival settings <-- (currently most intrigued)
- Cyberpunk, neon cities and corporate intrigue
- Foreign exploration/adventure — discovering new places, cultures, and characters
✧Do you write NSFW material of any kind (mature/erotic)?
In short? Please. I'm good with profanity, violence, gore, and other mature content as long as it serves the story (not just edginess for its own sake). When it comes to sexual content, I'm open to a lot, with a few hard limits: no bestiality, non-con, underage content, scat/urine, or non-human anatomy. Furries are a maybe, depending on how closely it aligns with human anatomy. If you're unsure, just ask- I'd rather talk about it up front.
✧Are there any deal-breakers I should know?
Just a few:
- If spelling/grammar mistakes make it difficult to follow your posts, I may struggle to stay immersed and/or continuing the story
- Please read and respect what I write. Ignoring established details, rewriting characters' backstories, or inserting random plot elements without discussion is frustrating. Communication tends to solve this.
- Me declining a reply or idea is not personal (if it is, you must've done something really bad). If I don't feel the vibe works, I'll let you know politely, and I expect the same honesty in return.
✧Current romance cravings?
As previously mentioned, in terms of themes, it's angst, tension, drama, and those "oh no, what have we done?" moments. I like when characters are pushed out of their comfort zones and forced to deal with the mess (more or less I like creating said 'mess'). In specific I've had a hankering for the rollercoaster of emotions that relationships bring one another. I love seeing how different characters handle situations and react to certain things, in particular, being relationship struggles. (I.e., getting over hurting somebody loved, trying to correct a falsely accused rumor, salvaging trust in someone they broke it from, etc.) Enemies to lovers, while cliche, has also been something on my pallet lately. I absolutely love the idea of forced compatibility, being trapped in a room or a survival state with only each other to keep emotionally stable. Along with of course forbidden arrangements, fighters to romance, etc etc. Give me the slow, uneasy rise of pent up emotions.
✧Any final notes?
I don't currently have a lot of stories on this website in specific but here is one in-progress that can give you an idea of my writing.
I've had great partners before and some not great partners before. Usually, the key difference is the level of open communication. I don't ghost, and I'll always be transparent with you about my availability or my interest in a story. All I ask is that you treat me with the same respect. If you've read this far and think our styles would mesh or you have any questions, feel free to reach out! I'd be glad to hear your ideas!
-Sainted :)
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