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.

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

• The Witcher
• MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
• X-Men
• Devil May Cry
• Bridgerton
• Dune
• Star Wars
• Percy Jackson / Greek Mythology
• Southern Gothic Horror
• Supernatural
• Constantine

rules adherence!

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

limits

hard limits include: scat, inflation, excessive watersports, body shaming, no minor(s)

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. 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.

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.

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.

Please let me know if you’re interested!