MxM Original Characters and Fandoms.

[dismage]

—ABOUT ME
Hi, everyone. Dismage, here. It’s been a while since I’ve been here at the Sanctum so this thread is going to be new. I’ve been writing for a bit, more than a few years and it’s something that I really enjoy. I found that lately I’ve been missing it. Especially since at the moment, I have a really open schedule and no one to write with. I just recently graduated from graduate school, I am twenty-seven and I have one cat. I love ooc chatting and talking about a general outline of where we want the story to go, but at the same time not everything has to be set in stone. Hit me with the plot twists and everything.

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—WHAT I LIKE:
At the moment I have an obsession with a few things:

• Southern Gothic Horror
• Supernatural
• The Maze Runner
• The Hunger Games
• Star Wars
• Percy Jackson / Greek Mythology
• Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II
• Harry Potter / Hogwarts Legacy
• Justice League / Batman Hush
• Dune
• 9-1-1
• The Rookie
• Devil May Cry
• Dexter
• The Witcher
• The Matrix
• The Last of Us
• Constantine
• X-Men / MCU
• Batman / DC Universe
• The Accountant / The Accountant 2
• Hairspray (2007)
• Peaky Blinders
• Animal Kingdom (TNT)
• Sons of Anarchy
• John Wick
• Fate: The Winx Saga (Netflix)
• Wednesday (Netflix)
• Beautiful Creatures
• Hogwarts Legacy
• Teen Wolf
• Divergent
• Naruto / Shippuden
• The Irregular at Magic High School
• The Gentlemen
• Cyberpunk Edgerunners
• Bright (Netflix)
• Cells at Work!
• Tougen Anki
• Code 8 (Part I & II)
• How to Train Your Dragon
• Hellboy
• Gangsta.
• Bridgerton
• Star Wars

rules adherence!

any fandom with underage characters will be aged up in order to adhere to inner sanctum rules

fandom notice

if you choose a fandom, i prefer to play original characters. we do not need to focus on the original canon storyline, we can just focus on the fandom universe and place out characters within the fandom.

limits

hard limits include: scat, inflation, excessive watersports, body shaming, characters depicted as minor(s), extreme torture, race place, mutilation, amputation

tropes / dynamics / ideas / genres

horror, fantasy, mystery, historical fiction, science-fiction, post apocalyptic / dystopian future, forced proximity, slow burn, morally grey character, mutual destruction, possessiveness, descent into madness, corrupted hero, the devoted monster, stalker, villain / captive, the enabler / the destroyer, stalking as affection, shared delusion, sins of the father, slice of life, romance, sadism, masochism

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—MY WRITING STYLE:
Often times my replies tend to be paragraphs. I do not like writing in script form or anything like that. My writing style tends to lean towards a descriptive, paragraph style. Sometimes I can write three hundred words, other times I can write a thousand words. If you require a sample, a couple of them are provided down below:

sample one

Liddy looked up at Dante, before her shoulders deflated. Then she tugged at Nero, “…Fine. Come on, stupid Nero.” She had surrendered only because Dante had looked at her like that—with worry and concern and fear disguised under confidence and anger at being disobeyed by his daughter and nephew.

So, for once, Liddy had obeyed. She tugged Nero after her, towards Nico and the van. Towards relative safety until Dante and Vergil and Trish and Lady could finish and they could go home.

But relative was the keyword.

The others felt the air go still—wrong in a way that told them something had changed. Nero and Liddy had been in the van arguing over a slice of pizza when it suddenly rocked. Liddy had gone still, her head snapping towards Nero when the door had been ripped off its hinges.

The radio screamed.

Nero was already moving, Red Queen drawn and revving like judgement made into a machine, but Liddy had already been grabbed around the middle by the demons who had already begun to flood from underneath the van. Liddy screamed as Cadence slipped from her fingers, Peace Maker ripped from her hand as she reached for Nero.

“Nero!” Liddy yelled, kicking hard.

He grabbed for her. Their fingers caught for half a second. But something caught. Older and colder. Then Liddy vanished in a bright burst of red-black light. The voice that followed purred in near delight:

“The blood of Sparda will open the way.”

sample two

The smell in the small flat was rancid. The body lying in the kitchen was already in the stages of decay. Rancid was only one way to describe the smell. Some would describe it as cheesy, perhaps moldy. It was only after some inspection that one would realize the body decayed on the floor (taken by overgrowth) was a man—perhaps only after the inspection of the frayed picture held within the shriveled hand of the unknown person.

They were both smiling. The people in the picture. It was obvious the picture had been taken before the CAC outbreak. Hal had gone blind before the infection had spread across the globe. His father had been thankful for that. Both people had white hair, the little boy an obvious copy of the older man holding him up. Their smiles were the same, their hair was the same—their noses, their eyes, their chins…

Hal’s fingers gently brushed over his father’s hand. It had taken weeks to get used to the shriveled hand of his father’s corpse instead of the strong one he had been so used to holding. The smell had been surprisingly easy to get used to. After the outbreak of the CBI, the smell of death had been everywhere. What was wrong with having it a little closer to home? Deft fingers strayed across the decayed face of his father, fingers dipping into the missing chunk of his father’s skull.

For a moment Hal could still hear the sound of the shotgun.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my son.”

Hands gripped at his face. A strong forehead pressing against his. Hal reached out to grip at his father’s wrists. Terror had firmly gripped at his heart. The smell of salt had permeated the air. His father was crying. What was happening?

“Dad? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I love you, Hal. You’re strong. You’re stronger than you know. I’m so sorry.”

“Dad– What–”

It was like the shotgun had been shot off next to his ear. He had been disoriented. He couldn’t get his bearings, couldn’t tell what was happening until he had suddenly come to—their flat eerily quiet.

“Dad?”

Hal was met with silence. Silence and cold liquid that had soaked into his clothes and skin.

“Dad!” Hal crawled forward to grasp at his father’s body. No. No. His father’s hand was limp, and instead of finding his cheek, Hal’s fingers met the squishy insides of his father’s skull.

Almost abruptly, Hal let go of his father’s hand. Remembering hurt. Yet at the same time, Hal remembered how his fingers had traveled down his father’s arm to feel the crescent shape indent that had not been in his father’s arm earlier before. A bite.

Surviving after that… surviving without his father…

The man, no longer the boy within the picture, had learned to live off rats. Using the emergency torch his father had stashed underneath their sink as his makeshift stove. He couldn’t remember the number of burns he had given himself trying to cook the little bit of meat he had torn off of the rodent he had caught for that day. There were days where he didn’t eat, refusing to move when the clicks and moans of the infected sounded too close for his comfort.

He had only encountered very few infected. Although he never left, he was often covered in overgrowth that had made its way into the flat from the small window that overlooked the street down below. The flora and scent of his father’s body doing enough to allow Hal to camouflage within the shadows of his home.

Hal twitched when the stairs outside the door creaked. Infected never usually roamed this floor. Passive creatures they were when bored. When they had nothing—no one—to hunt.

The first sample provided is from a scene from a personal Devil May Cry story I was engaged in! It seems short, but this is just one type of sample. My style shifts depending on the writer and their needs as seen with the second sample which was from an AU of The Last of Us. Anyway, at the moment, as I stated earlier I have a really open schedule, so I have all the time in the world to reply. But sometimes I fall asleep, so if I don’t reply, I promise I am not ignoring you I am just asleep—I swear. For those writers who enjoy smut and gore and violence, I really don’t mind that. It just needs to be in moderation.

Following this, I also want to provide some accepted themes that I do not mind in scenes:

accepted literary themes.

violence / gore
assault
blood / injury
death / agony of dying
obsession
isolation
confinement
loss of sanity
moral collapse
cycles of abuse
betrayal of trust
corrupted divinity
memory erasure
forced compliance
soul fragmentation
spiritual decay
martyrdom complex
apocalyptic decay

—SOME GENERAL PLOT STUFF:
I’m more of a fan of horror and gore than smut if I’m being honest. I read a lot of horror and that’s really what gets me going because I can really do a lot with that. As for pairings, I can play either female or male characters—though I prefer male—I really don’t mind either! As long as you and I can work out some sort of scenes and details, I’m sure we can think of something. Most of my ideas stem from my original characters. And if you’re willing to hear me out, that would be awesome.

plot bunny one.

The apocalypse began in 2031, the same way every old comic, movie, and television show had once joked it would: infection, collapse, panic, and the dead refusing to stay dead. Cities became graves. Highways became feeding lines. Governments vanished behind emergency broadcasts that eventually turned to static. Years later, Muse A believes what most survivors believe — that humanity is nearly gone, and that every safe place is temporary. While fleeing a horde through the ruins of an abandoned city, Muse A breaks into an old public library, hoping the thick walls and maze-like shelves will buy them enough time to hide.

At first, the place seems empty. Dusty. Dead. Then something moves between the aisles. Muse A catches only a glimpse: Muse B, thin and exhausted, dressed in scavenged layers, moving too quietly for someone fully human and too carefully for something undead. Muse B scuttles away from the light, knocking over a stack of old books as they retreat deeper into the library. When Muse A follows, they realize Muse B does not look directly at them. Their eyes are clouded, unfocused, almost blind. Instead, Muse B turns their head slightly, tracking Muse A by breath, heartbeat, footstep, and the distant scraping of the horde outside. Muse B has survived in the library for months — maybe years — not because they are strong, but because they know how to listen. They know which floorboards scream. Which windows rattle before the infected arrive. Which shelves can be pushed down to block a doorway. Which basement tunnels still lead somewhere. At first, Muse B wants Muse A gone. Another person means more noise. More hunger. More risk. But Muse A cannot leave, because the horde has surrounded the building, and something worse is moving with them: infected that do not just wander, but hunt.

Trapped together inside the library, Muse A and Muse B are forced into an uneasy alliance. Muse A has the strength, supplies, and combat instinct to fight. Muse B has the map of the library memorized in sound, touch, and smell. Together, they realize the library is not just a hiding place — it may have once been a quarantine archive, filled with old records about the first outbreak, failed evacuation zones, and rumors of a survivor settlement that should not exist. But Muse B is hiding something. Their blindness did not come from injury alone. They were infected once and survived, changed but not turned. The dead react strangely to them. Sometimes they ignore Muse B. Sometimes they answer when Muse B whispers. Muse A now has to decide whether Muse B is a miracle, a danger, or both.

As the horde breaks deeper into the library and the truth of the archive comes to light, Muse A and Muse B must escape through forgotten maintenance tunnels beneath the city, carrying information that could lead to a real human settlement — or expose why the world was never meant to recover. What begins as survival becomes a grim, intimate journey through ruined towns, infected forests, collapsed hospitals, and military dead zones, where trust is harder to find than food, and the most terrifying question is no longer whether the dead are evolving. It is whether Muse B is evolving with them.

plot bunny two.

Since the first garden, every god has been chosen, not crowned. When Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, Heaven feared what humanity might become, so every tree from Eden was uprooted and carried beyond mortal reach — including the Tree of Life. But the Tree of Life did not die in Heaven. Instead, it began to bear strange golden fruit, each one containing the seed of a new god. When a fruit ripened and fell, it was meant to descend to Earth, take root, and awaken the next divine power chosen by creation itself. For ages, this cycle kept Heaven balanced: gods rose, gods faded, and no throne belonged to one being forever.

Until one god refused to be replaced.

Terrified of losing power, the reigning god secretly prevented the newest fruit from reaching Earth, trapping it in Heaven before it could take root. Without the new god’s birth, the divine order began to rot. Miracles soured. Angels started hearing prayers as screams. The dead lingered too long. Seasons slipped out of rhythm. Heaven, desperate to preserve its image of perfection, called it a temporary disturbance — but Muse A, an angel assigned to guard the Tree of Life, discovered the truth.

The fruit had not failed. It had been imprisoned.

Unable to convince the higher choirs to act, Muse A steals the god fruit and flees Heaven, tearing through the celestial gates and falling to Earth with the fruit clutched against their chest. For the theft, they are branded a traitor and become fallen — wings burned, halo fractured, grace bleeding out slowly into the mortal world. Muse A’s only goal is to find sacred soil where the fruit can finally be planted before Heaven’s hunters catch them.

But Earth is not the innocent garden it once was.

The old holy places are buried under cities, war zones, ruins, and forgotten blood. The fruit will not grow in ordinary ground; it must be planted somewhere life and death still remember Eden. Injured, hunted, and losing their angelic power, Muse A crosses paths with Muse B — a mortal, witch, prophet, exorcist, cursed scholar, gravekeeper, demon-blooded survivor, or ordinary person who can somehow see the fruit for what it really is.

Muse B should not be able to see it.

That makes them either dangerous, chosen, or part of the miracle.

At first, Muse A sees Muse B as an obstacle, while Muse B sees Muse A as a half-dead celestial disaster dragging Heaven’s wrath behind them. But when divine assassins, loyal angels, old gods, and hungry demons begin closing in, Muse A and Muse B are forced into an uneasy alliance. Muse A knows Heaven’s laws. Muse B knows Earth’s scars. Together, they search for the last place where Eden’s soil still survives.

The scandal is that planting the fruit may not simply create a new god. It may reveal that Heaven has been lying about what gods are.

The god fruit does not choose the powerful, the pure, or the obedient. It chooses whoever creation needs most. And as Muse A falls further from grace and Muse B becomes more deeply connected to the fruit, they realize the new god may not be waiting somewhere else. The fruit may have been calling to Muse B all along.

Now Muse A must decide whether to finish the mission even if it means handing divine power to someone Heaven will never accept, while Muse B must decide whether they are willing to become something worshipped, hunted, and feared. If the fruit takes root, the old god’s reign ends. If it is destroyed, the cycle of creation breaks forever. And if Heaven reaches them first, both Muse A and Muse B will be erased from every prayer, scripture, and memory that ever knew their names.

My original characters can fit anywhere. They are characters that are meant to be molded and shaped to the fandom chosen. Often times they keep most of their original template, but they are meant to be picked apart because they are also an extension of me, you know? They aren't meant to be set in stone because writing is a form of creativity. In my signature, there is a link to my characters, I am currently updating it (will always be updating it) because I would love for you all to know who my characters are.

Please let me know if you’re interested!