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Hi there, thank you for your interest in my thread. I am xPolaris, you can call me that or any shortening of it you can think of—polly, or lari perhaps? I'm fine with whatever (mostly).
I've been roleplaying for around six years, and since the goal post is different for everyone I don't know if I'm considered literate, advanced, or semi-literate. You'll have to make the call yourself once you read the writing example(s) I've provided below. As for me, I'm fine so long as some effort is put in, and I can understand the post. I'm not going to be in our dm's like: "ummm, you know that's comma splice, right?! You know what I don't think this is working out..."
I'm interested in many things, but when on the spot I forget everything I've ever liked. So sorry if this part is a bit brief, I'll try to come back and fill it out more later. I enjoy story and character development the most in my rps, more so than smut, but I do think that characters can also be developed in a way that also includes a fair amount of smut if we feel the need. Occasionally I may want to have a smut focused idea, and—on the other end—I don't mind leaving the smut out or "fading to black" if that's what my partner is comfortable with.
I really love to write suffering. I love drama, I love angst, and I love tragedy. I'm too squishy to call myself a sadist, but...maybe an emotional terrorist is more like it? I'll always be happy to include something gut wrenching for our characters to overcome. Even so, I'm also really fond of levity. Of lightweight and, especially, comedic ideas. So, don't let me convince you that it'll always be doom and gloom. Let me know your preference. And if I suggest something overly dramatic, because I can't help myself, just let me know.
My responses are usually in the 200 to 1,000 word range, depending on what's going on. Can be more If I'm playing more than one character. I don't enjoy one liners, sorry. Also, I'm a bit slow. I won't say same day responses will never happen, but...a few responses or one in a week, is much more doable for me. If it's out of character chatting, or plotting I can respond much more frequently. Multiple times a day, easily. What's the difference, you ask? Not sure, it's just different somehow.
Story Ideas
[ideas/pairings that may or may not be fully formed, but can at least get us started.
Also, I hate to say this but it's happened before. But, please don't steal my ideas or anything else I've written. That's so wack :\ ] [/CENTER]
The Pretenders' Union [NEW!]
[alternate name: veil of deception]
Genre: Fantasy
Themes/Tropes: arranged marriage, fake relationship becomes real, mistaken identity, forced proximity,
Blood of the Last [NEW!]
[alternate name: the omega strain]
Genre: Post apocalyptic, omegaverse
Themes/Tropes: Nature reclaimed, power reversal, power struggles, mutation
writerssanctum.com
I've been roleplaying for around six years, and since the goal post is different for everyone I don't know if I'm considered literate, advanced, or semi-literate. You'll have to make the call yourself once you read the writing example(s) I've provided below. As for me, I'm fine so long as some effort is put in, and I can understand the post. I'm not going to be in our dm's like: "ummm, you know that's comma splice, right?! You know what I don't think this is working out..."
I'm interested in many things, but when on the spot I forget everything I've ever liked. So sorry if this part is a bit brief, I'll try to come back and fill it out more later. I enjoy story and character development the most in my rps, more so than smut, but I do think that characters can also be developed in a way that also includes a fair amount of smut if we feel the need. Occasionally I may want to have a smut focused idea, and—on the other end—I don't mind leaving the smut out or "fading to black" if that's what my partner is comfortable with.
I really love to write suffering. I love drama, I love angst, and I love tragedy. I'm too squishy to call myself a sadist, but...maybe an emotional terrorist is more like it? I'll always be happy to include something gut wrenching for our characters to overcome. Even so, I'm also really fond of levity. Of lightweight and, especially, comedic ideas. So, don't let me convince you that it'll always be doom and gloom. Let me know your preference. And if I suggest something overly dramatic, because I can't help myself, just let me know.
My responses are usually in the 200 to 1,000 word range, depending on what's going on. Can be more If I'm playing more than one character. I don't enjoy one liners, sorry. Also, I'm a bit slow. I won't say same day responses will never happen, but...a few responses or one in a week, is much more doable for me. If it's out of character chatting, or plotting I can respond much more frequently. Multiple times a day, easily. What's the difference, you ask? Not sure, it's just different somehow.
I would love to develop a friendship with my partner, that will hopefully continue past the lifespan of a single rp. But, in the spirit of that I should probably warn you that I struggle with social anxiety, which sometimes gets out of hand. It tends to flare up occasionally, to the point that coming online and even reading or sending a message becomes almost impossible. I've lost partners this way before. I've been trying to break this habit. Frequent out of character communication, I believe, seems to relieve the issue a bit. And I can only ask for my partner's patience and understanding. For this reason, I don't mind being bumped about once a week ( too frequent bumping will awaken a different beast which I'd like to also stay sleeping; that's why I suggested a week. ^^)
[this was a starter/ first post I wrote, so it's on the longer side]
▷ ▷ ▷ In an undesignated location, existed a room in which everything was completely white; from the minimal furnishings to the walls and ceiling. Everything was pristine and tidy, to the point that it was hard to look at. Opaque fog clouded the lower half of the room, pooling in the corners and anything that touched the ground in particular. Even so, the place's sole resident, a system resembling a young man with white blonde hair, wasn't weighed down by the sterile environment. Quite the opposite, it was in high-spirits at the moment.
"내 꿈이 현실이 될 그 날을,"
A song with no apparent source filled the blank space. The occupant accompanied the singer during the parts when they felt the urge; spinning and leaping around the room in sync to the music. When it spun, there wasn't a hint of disorientation, and no matter where the jumps took it, there was always a brightly colored platform there to land on. There wasn't such a thing as a limit in this place. If the ceiling or wall was reached, it stretched further to accommodate.
"Oh. Eh. Oh. Eh. Oh-Oh. 좁혀 가고 있지."
This was #9181415, an inactive—though not for much longer — D-rank system. Only one grade above the lowest, D-rank, was reserved for brand-new systems and the perpetually unaccomplished types. #918, however, belonged in neither category. If it had to say, it was more in the "narrowly avoided losing its job, thanks to previous accomplishments" group, if such a thing were to exist. And from what #918 could tell, it didn't. There was no division that #918 could direct its inquiries towards and, because of the reset, its mind was almost as empty as this room. So, it could only choose to navigate the duties at hand, as is.
All things considered, it could be worse. The punishment for breach of contract was typically four demotions and a life of serving as spare memory storage for Lord God. Besides avoiding that, the other systems—who were all very considerate—helped fill the disparities that cropped up. When it was curious, they would all describe its former self. #022, in particular, gave it a list of songs that the old #918 liked. The one playing now was one of its favorites. It did sound nice, but it didn't spark any memories. #918 was no closer to making sense of what it once was, but it knew one thing: It was lucky. Thanks to the efforts of the past, it secured another opportunity to reach its goal. And if it could feel anything, it would feel that it was only right to repay the original #918 by fulfilling the dream that the both of them shared.
"세차게 날개를 펼칠 때• 천국의 문이 열린다."
#918, singing along throughout the song's crescendo, leapt off a perch raised several meters above ground. The space's ceiling chased after white blonde hair tips as its dimensions snapped back into place. Black boots connected with an office chair, rather than the floor, during the landing. It jolted forward and swiveled around in a circle, but #918 stayed balanced, not wobbling for even a moment. The chair rolled over to another platform set lower into the wall. Sitting on top was a computer mouse and a matching headset.
#918 came down from the chair and sat in it properly. The song playing in the background faded out. It scooted close to the desk and plucked up the mouse with its gloved fingers. #022 said that #918 should ease into things and take adequate breaks between assignments, but when Lord God said, "work," one could only oblige. In any case, it didn't know how much of a break would make for an 'adequate' one, but it knew that it wouldn't be able to get anything done by waiting around. And, maybe, the old #918 would have thought the same way.
#918 pressed a button built into the corner of the platform, and several large displays flickered into existence on every wall of the room. On the screens was video footage of people of many shapes and sizes. Tall, short, men, women, old, young. They were all different, but they all had something in common. They were all going to die soon. Their individual displays contained a wealth of information about them, including the exact hours, minutes, and seconds until their imminent deaths.
#918 didn't want to waste time…it sifted quickly through the candidates and closed the screens of people with estimated times of death longer than a month. Then it weeded out those that might not be good for its specific program. This time, it was mainly children that were cut out. It kept going on like that until there was a sizable but promising bunch of potential hosts remaining.
Now, #022 recommended reading the information provided about the hosts and watching their interactions with others to gauge compatibility and potential. #069 said that for the HAI program, someone confident with many relationships and life experience was the best choice. #1874, for some reason, claimed it was good to pick someone who played a lot of video games. After three assignments, #918 felt that young people were more flexible, and thus more suitable. But someone too young presented a new set of problems. It further refined the results to candidates between the ages of 23 and 36.
#918 read through all the information several times, but what ended up catching its attention was one of the live feeds. On the screen, a young man's counter zeroed out, and a mugger promptly shot him dead. Objectively there wasn't anything exceptional about it, but in a sea of motor accidents, stabbings, and deaths from natural causes it stood out. It was fresh™.
Without considering it for long, #918 clicked that screen and typed a short command, porting that soul into the space between worlds. It wasn't obligated to form a contract with a soul just because it was called here, so if #918 found this one undesirable; it still had other options.
It designed an appearance for the SBW, based on the information it had about Dorian's tastes. Once it was done, a seam appeared on one wall that, by the time #918 walked over, became a proper door. When it stepped through, a starkly different scene was unfolding. It stood at the top of a lush hillside, dotted with poppies tottering in the breeze. A bright blue sky hung above, and occasionally, a fluffy cloud sauntered across it. There was a shoreline not far off in the distance, so the wind naturally carried a hint of salt.
This was the space that it created for its potential host. #918 inspected it for bugs, but everything seemed to work as intended. Nearby stood a tall shady tree and underneath lied the soul #918 picked out. It kept the appearance it had in life, that of a dark-haired young male. Dying was a rather disorienting experience, so #918 gave the man a moment to get his bearings after it came to. Eventually it stepped forward, "Not at all," it denied, and its voice was somehow flat, almost mechanical, and also very cheerful. This place was not hell in any sense.
"But you have, in fact, died. Congratulations Mr. Duran!" #918 grinned, and twirled its hand. Like magic, a party popper appeared in its hands at the end of the flourish; which it popped without hesitation. A small burst of ribbon and confetti floated to the ground between them.
[is this literate? advanced? Semi-literate? Find out next time on dragon ball z...]
▷ ▷ ▷ In an undesignated location, existed a room in which everything was completely white; from the minimal furnishings to the walls and ceiling. Everything was pristine and tidy, to the point that it was hard to look at. Opaque fog clouded the lower half of the room, pooling in the corners and anything that touched the ground in particular. Even so, the place's sole resident, a system resembling a young man with white blonde hair, wasn't weighed down by the sterile environment. Quite the opposite, it was in high-spirits at the moment.
"내 꿈이 현실이 될 그 날을,"
A song with no apparent source filled the blank space. The occupant accompanied the singer during the parts when they felt the urge; spinning and leaping around the room in sync to the music. When it spun, there wasn't a hint of disorientation, and no matter where the jumps took it, there was always a brightly colored platform there to land on. There wasn't such a thing as a limit in this place. If the ceiling or wall was reached, it stretched further to accommodate.
"Oh. Eh. Oh. Eh. Oh-Oh. 좁혀 가고 있지."
This was #9181415, an inactive—though not for much longer — D-rank system. Only one grade above the lowest, D-rank, was reserved for brand-new systems and the perpetually unaccomplished types. #918, however, belonged in neither category. If it had to say, it was more in the "narrowly avoided losing its job, thanks to previous accomplishments" group, if such a thing were to exist. And from what #918 could tell, it didn't. There was no division that #918 could direct its inquiries towards and, because of the reset, its mind was almost as empty as this room. So, it could only choose to navigate the duties at hand, as is.
All things considered, it could be worse. The punishment for breach of contract was typically four demotions and a life of serving as spare memory storage for Lord God. Besides avoiding that, the other systems—who were all very considerate—helped fill the disparities that cropped up. When it was curious, they would all describe its former self. #022, in particular, gave it a list of songs that the old #918 liked. The one playing now was one of its favorites. It did sound nice, but it didn't spark any memories. #918 was no closer to making sense of what it once was, but it knew one thing: It was lucky. Thanks to the efforts of the past, it secured another opportunity to reach its goal. And if it could feel anything, it would feel that it was only right to repay the original #918 by fulfilling the dream that the both of them shared.
"세차게 날개를 펼칠 때• 천국의 문이 열린다."
#918, singing along throughout the song's crescendo, leapt off a perch raised several meters above ground. The space's ceiling chased after white blonde hair tips as its dimensions snapped back into place. Black boots connected with an office chair, rather than the floor, during the landing. It jolted forward and swiveled around in a circle, but #918 stayed balanced, not wobbling for even a moment. The chair rolled over to another platform set lower into the wall. Sitting on top was a computer mouse and a matching headset.
#918 came down from the chair and sat in it properly. The song playing in the background faded out. It scooted close to the desk and plucked up the mouse with its gloved fingers. #022 said that #918 should ease into things and take adequate breaks between assignments, but when Lord God said, "work," one could only oblige. In any case, it didn't know how much of a break would make for an 'adequate' one, but it knew that it wouldn't be able to get anything done by waiting around. And, maybe, the old #918 would have thought the same way.
#918 pressed a button built into the corner of the platform, and several large displays flickered into existence on every wall of the room. On the screens was video footage of people of many shapes and sizes. Tall, short, men, women, old, young. They were all different, but they all had something in common. They were all going to die soon. Their individual displays contained a wealth of information about them, including the exact hours, minutes, and seconds until their imminent deaths.
#918 didn't want to waste time…it sifted quickly through the candidates and closed the screens of people with estimated times of death longer than a month. Then it weeded out those that might not be good for its specific program. This time, it was mainly children that were cut out. It kept going on like that until there was a sizable but promising bunch of potential hosts remaining.
Now, #022 recommended reading the information provided about the hosts and watching their interactions with others to gauge compatibility and potential. #069 said that for the HAI program, someone confident with many relationships and life experience was the best choice. #1874, for some reason, claimed it was good to pick someone who played a lot of video games. After three assignments, #918 felt that young people were more flexible, and thus more suitable. But someone too young presented a new set of problems. It further refined the results to candidates between the ages of 23 and 36.
#918 read through all the information several times, but what ended up catching its attention was one of the live feeds. On the screen, a young man's counter zeroed out, and a mugger promptly shot him dead. Objectively there wasn't anything exceptional about it, but in a sea of motor accidents, stabbings, and deaths from natural causes it stood out. It was fresh™.
Without considering it for long, #918 clicked that screen and typed a short command, porting that soul into the space between worlds. It wasn't obligated to form a contract with a soul just because it was called here, so if #918 found this one undesirable; it still had other options.
It designed an appearance for the SBW, based on the information it had about Dorian's tastes. Once it was done, a seam appeared on one wall that, by the time #918 walked over, became a proper door. When it stepped through, a starkly different scene was unfolding. It stood at the top of a lush hillside, dotted with poppies tottering in the breeze. A bright blue sky hung above, and occasionally, a fluffy cloud sauntered across it. There was a shoreline not far off in the distance, so the wind naturally carried a hint of salt.
This was the space that it created for its potential host. #918 inspected it for bugs, but everything seemed to work as intended. Nearby stood a tall shady tree and underneath lied the soul #918 picked out. It kept the appearance it had in life, that of a dark-haired young male. Dying was a rather disorienting experience, so #918 gave the man a moment to get his bearings after it came to. Eventually it stepped forward, "Not at all," it denied, and its voice was somehow flat, almost mechanical, and also very cheerful. This place was not hell in any sense.
"But you have, in fact, died. Congratulations Mr. Duran!" #918 grinned, and twirled its hand. Like magic, a party popper appeared in its hands at the end of the flourish; which it popped without hesitation. A small burst of ribbon and confetti floated to the ground between them.
[is this literate? advanced? Semi-literate? Find out next time on dragon ball z...]
Dusk. A time when most diurnal species of the deep tucked themselves into the crevices they'd claimed as their homes. Or if not, they at least proceeded back to the territories from whence they came. For them, the day had come to a close. But, for the nocturnal residents, it was just the beginning. A red snapper, for example, humble and lonesome, ambling through the brine. It swam around in search of food. Just then, it detected delicate movements up ahead, far too slight to be anything to fear. On a blade of kelp, a fuzzy white sea worm trembled and performed a weak roll. The worm entranced the red snapper, and its slight shivers aroused its appetite. The fish crept closer; the little worm twisted adorably. When the distance shrank to a hair's breadth, the hunter opened its jaws, ready to pounce on its prey. Strong vibrations fanned out from the disturbance, and an insurmountable force closed around the prey.
Trapped in the clutches of a creature that lunged out from the kelp bed, the snapper thrashed about but had no chance of escape. Just then, the fuzzy 'sea worm' bobbed, and the long thin feeler attached to its hind that stretched up and became one with the head of the larger creature was now in plain view. The true hunter swept a glance over it with pitch-black eyes. They were flat, without a trace of emotion. There was no joy to be felt in a hunt this easy. Still holding the live snapper in its mouth, the hunter rose completely out of the kelp beds, revealing itself to be a lionfish merman. The brown kelp had camouflaged its vivid pale yellow and white coloration. There was a strange length of rope wrapped around it twice. A loop was weaved between its fins, and a knot kept the rope in place on its shoulder. The other end clung to the mer's stomach, just above the connection to its tail. Two pointed objects were secured in the top section of rope, and three limp fish—similar in size to the snapper—adorned the bottom section.
The mer, Ombre, grunted around the fish in his mouth, which changed its tactic from thrashing to playing dead, and swam away with his bounty in tow. He traveled for fifteen minutes until he arrived at an area near the shallows populated with large rock formations. Ombre approached a particular rock, which had a long rod with a pointed tip resting on it, and set to work. Perching on the rock, he retrieved one of the fish from his belt and sliced it with one of his sharp tools. He flayed the fish beyond all recognition. Its blood took flight in the water as he squished the flesh and innards into mush. Then, methodically, he rubbed the mess onto his tail, fins, and skin. The process was repeated in full for the second fish. But he spared the third from becoming a bloody smear. Instead, it became simple strips of flesh and organs. At some point, the snapper resumed flailing wildly. The scent of blood must have agitated it. Actually, this area carried a heavy stench of blood, more so than those four fish could ever create. Perhaps Ombre grew tired of the movement, or holding his mouth open, because, in the next moment, he bit down. His sharp fangs pierced through the snapper's head and body, killing it instantly. Freed from his living burden, he tucked the sharp tool back into his belt and simply ripped the last fish in half with his bare hands.
Ombre was about to dump the viscera in a convenient spot but stopped short. His entire body tensed. Something changed. His lateral line alerted him to this shift immediately. Ombre's dark eyes scanned around the area, sometimes fixating on certain rock formations that he knew to be good hiding spots. Several heavy moments passed before he eventually parted his lips and flicked his tongue out. The slim, forked organ darted out and back in an instant, allowing him to create a scent map of the surrounding area. Blood was an overwhelming majority of it, but Ombre pushed past it, flicking out his tongue a few more times to be certain. A familiar scent shone through, growing stronger. Sure enough, it was coming. Ignoring how his instincts begged him to flee, Ombre dumped the fish and guts on a rock, grabbed the rod, and quickly ducked behind the ledge of that same column. He controlled his breathing and waited.
In the distance, from a direction that he'd stared hard at earlier, a faint figure appeared. Its silhouette grew larger and larger still as it drew near. Ombre all but hugged the rock pillar as the shadow circled, breathing in the halo of blood he'd created. Then it dove. A wave of water rushed over as it swooped down and seized the fish and guts on the rock. The same rock that protected him from the windfall. A ghost of a smile haunted the corner of Ombre's lips. The lemon shark finally descended! It took weeks, but it finally relaxed its guard enough to approach the daunting rock formations.
That being the case, he couldn't hesitate. The mer burst into action, churning his tail and propelling himself upward. The shine of the shark's eyes quickly came into view. Ombre raised his hands overhead to halt his upward motion and thrust the sharpened rod into the shark's right gill. He dropped the rod and pulled another tool free from his belt. It should have been the killing strike, but the shark's body crashed into his flank as it twisted in pain and threw him off course. His knife only slashed a piece of the shark's pectoral fin. He felt several of his spines stab into the shark when their bodies collided. Ombre winced, but suppressed the shout of pain in the back of his throat. The momentum of the crash spun him around. While he reoriented himself, the shark took advantage of his inattention and tried to flee. How could he allow that to happen? This was the prey that he'd spent so much effort cornering.
Ombre forced himself forward in pursuit. The shark was still reeling from the pain his toxin inflicted and was inching away, so he caught up quickly. The hunter regained his composure and, before his prey could escape, he anchored them together by shoving his hand into its wounded gill and holding on tight. This was the end. Without wasting another second, he drove his knife into the top of the shark's head and yanked it forward. The shark's movement stuttered, its undulating tail slowed down by a lot. But was that enough for Ombre? How could it be? He pulled the knife out, then forced it in again. And then... again. Then again, again until the shark stopped moving. With the shark no longer supporting itself, their combined weight made them sink down to the ocean floor. Ombre didn't move. His gills fluttered, frantically filtering oxygen to soothe his breathlessness.
Eventually, his breathing calmed down a bit. He'd accomplished something no lionfish in their right mind would attempt alone. But was he content with just that? Well, how could he be? Ombre bowed his head, finally pulling his hand free from the corpse. Several stab wounds decorated his prey's back, which he admired for a moment before his hunger won out. Lemon sharks weren't the biggest or the most dangerous species of shark. Still, the one who conquered the relative of such a mighty species was him, and now all it could become was nutrition for a mere lionfish. Thinking of that, Ombre could barely contain the ecstasy in his heart, and the voracity of his feeding became almost frenzied. How unfortunate that he didn't have the luxury of indulging in his own victory for very long. Their dance of life and death would've attracted scavengers looking for an easy meal. They very well could be ready to close in on him now, and he wasn't in any condition to contend with them. At this point, he was more than satiated, yet there was still over half of the carcass remaining. He took one more lingering bite before he pulled away. The mer retrieved all of his tools and reluctantly distanced himself from his prize.
He couldn't go back to his den in this state. The blood and scent of distress coated him inside and out. If he returned, schools of opportunistic predators wouldn't hesitate to invade his home. Fortunately for him, he had already thought this plan through until the end. Earlier that week, while scouting around for sharp tools and other useful things near a turned-over rowboat, he happened upon a school of skittish cleaner shrimp. Honestly, he'd wanted to take them home, but didn't have the means to do so. So, he settled on training them to approach and clean him.
The turned over boat was over ten minutes away from the rock formations, but because of the adrenaline still pumping through him, he arrived in half the time. Ombré untied the harness that held his weapons and set it on the ground before plopping down right next to it. The shrimp didn't come out immediately, but he wasn't worried. The scent of the shark probably spooked them. He took a handful of sand and used it to scrub his tail. Sure enough, as he carefully cleaned himself and checked for injuries, the shrimp tentatively emerged from the boat.
In this moment of respite, his thoughts turned. He recalled the fight from beginning to end, analyzing the parts that went well and the areas that needed improvement.
Trapped in the clutches of a creature that lunged out from the kelp bed, the snapper thrashed about but had no chance of escape. Just then, the fuzzy 'sea worm' bobbed, and the long thin feeler attached to its hind that stretched up and became one with the head of the larger creature was now in plain view. The true hunter swept a glance over it with pitch-black eyes. They were flat, without a trace of emotion. There was no joy to be felt in a hunt this easy. Still holding the live snapper in its mouth, the hunter rose completely out of the kelp beds, revealing itself to be a lionfish merman. The brown kelp had camouflaged its vivid pale yellow and white coloration. There was a strange length of rope wrapped around it twice. A loop was weaved between its fins, and a knot kept the rope in place on its shoulder. The other end clung to the mer's stomach, just above the connection to its tail. Two pointed objects were secured in the top section of rope, and three limp fish—similar in size to the snapper—adorned the bottom section.
The mer, Ombre, grunted around the fish in his mouth, which changed its tactic from thrashing to playing dead, and swam away with his bounty in tow. He traveled for fifteen minutes until he arrived at an area near the shallows populated with large rock formations. Ombre approached a particular rock, which had a long rod with a pointed tip resting on it, and set to work. Perching on the rock, he retrieved one of the fish from his belt and sliced it with one of his sharp tools. He flayed the fish beyond all recognition. Its blood took flight in the water as he squished the flesh and innards into mush. Then, methodically, he rubbed the mess onto his tail, fins, and skin. The process was repeated in full for the second fish. But he spared the third from becoming a bloody smear. Instead, it became simple strips of flesh and organs. At some point, the snapper resumed flailing wildly. The scent of blood must have agitated it. Actually, this area carried a heavy stench of blood, more so than those four fish could ever create. Perhaps Ombre grew tired of the movement, or holding his mouth open, because, in the next moment, he bit down. His sharp fangs pierced through the snapper's head and body, killing it instantly. Freed from his living burden, he tucked the sharp tool back into his belt and simply ripped the last fish in half with his bare hands.
Ombre was about to dump the viscera in a convenient spot but stopped short. His entire body tensed. Something changed. His lateral line alerted him to this shift immediately. Ombre's dark eyes scanned around the area, sometimes fixating on certain rock formations that he knew to be good hiding spots. Several heavy moments passed before he eventually parted his lips and flicked his tongue out. The slim, forked organ darted out and back in an instant, allowing him to create a scent map of the surrounding area. Blood was an overwhelming majority of it, but Ombre pushed past it, flicking out his tongue a few more times to be certain. A familiar scent shone through, growing stronger. Sure enough, it was coming. Ignoring how his instincts begged him to flee, Ombre dumped the fish and guts on a rock, grabbed the rod, and quickly ducked behind the ledge of that same column. He controlled his breathing and waited.
In the distance, from a direction that he'd stared hard at earlier, a faint figure appeared. Its silhouette grew larger and larger still as it drew near. Ombre all but hugged the rock pillar as the shadow circled, breathing in the halo of blood he'd created. Then it dove. A wave of water rushed over as it swooped down and seized the fish and guts on the rock. The same rock that protected him from the windfall. A ghost of a smile haunted the corner of Ombre's lips. The lemon shark finally descended! It took weeks, but it finally relaxed its guard enough to approach the daunting rock formations.
That being the case, he couldn't hesitate. The mer burst into action, churning his tail and propelling himself upward. The shine of the shark's eyes quickly came into view. Ombre raised his hands overhead to halt his upward motion and thrust the sharpened rod into the shark's right gill. He dropped the rod and pulled another tool free from his belt. It should have been the killing strike, but the shark's body crashed into his flank as it twisted in pain and threw him off course. His knife only slashed a piece of the shark's pectoral fin. He felt several of his spines stab into the shark when their bodies collided. Ombre winced, but suppressed the shout of pain in the back of his throat. The momentum of the crash spun him around. While he reoriented himself, the shark took advantage of his inattention and tried to flee. How could he allow that to happen? This was the prey that he'd spent so much effort cornering.
Ombre forced himself forward in pursuit. The shark was still reeling from the pain his toxin inflicted and was inching away, so he caught up quickly. The hunter regained his composure and, before his prey could escape, he anchored them together by shoving his hand into its wounded gill and holding on tight. This was the end. Without wasting another second, he drove his knife into the top of the shark's head and yanked it forward. The shark's movement stuttered, its undulating tail slowed down by a lot. But was that enough for Ombre? How could it be? He pulled the knife out, then forced it in again. And then... again. Then again, again until the shark stopped moving. With the shark no longer supporting itself, their combined weight made them sink down to the ocean floor. Ombre didn't move. His gills fluttered, frantically filtering oxygen to soothe his breathlessness.
Eventually, his breathing calmed down a bit. He'd accomplished something no lionfish in their right mind would attempt alone. But was he content with just that? Well, how could he be? Ombre bowed his head, finally pulling his hand free from the corpse. Several stab wounds decorated his prey's back, which he admired for a moment before his hunger won out. Lemon sharks weren't the biggest or the most dangerous species of shark. Still, the one who conquered the relative of such a mighty species was him, and now all it could become was nutrition for a mere lionfish. Thinking of that, Ombre could barely contain the ecstasy in his heart, and the voracity of his feeding became almost frenzied. How unfortunate that he didn't have the luxury of indulging in his own victory for very long. Their dance of life and death would've attracted scavengers looking for an easy meal. They very well could be ready to close in on him now, and he wasn't in any condition to contend with them. At this point, he was more than satiated, yet there was still over half of the carcass remaining. He took one more lingering bite before he pulled away. The mer retrieved all of his tools and reluctantly distanced himself from his prize.
He couldn't go back to his den in this state. The blood and scent of distress coated him inside and out. If he returned, schools of opportunistic predators wouldn't hesitate to invade his home. Fortunately for him, he had already thought this plan through until the end. Earlier that week, while scouting around for sharp tools and other useful things near a turned-over rowboat, he happened upon a school of skittish cleaner shrimp. Honestly, he'd wanted to take them home, but didn't have the means to do so. So, he settled on training them to approach and clean him.
The turned over boat was over ten minutes away from the rock formations, but because of the adrenaline still pumping through him, he arrived in half the time. Ombré untied the harness that held his weapons and set it on the ground before plopping down right next to it. The shrimp didn't come out immediately, but he wasn't worried. The scent of the shark probably spooked them. He took a handful of sand and used it to scrub his tail. Sure enough, as he carefully cleaned himself and checked for injuries, the shrimp tentatively emerged from the boat.
In this moment of respite, his thoughts turned. He recalled the fight from beginning to end, analyzing the parts that went well and the areas that needed improvement.
Story Ideas
[ideas/pairings that may or may not be fully formed, but can at least get us started.
Also, I hate to say this but it's happened before. But, please don't steal my ideas or anything else I've written. That's so wack :\ ] [/CENTER]
The Pretenders' Union [NEW!]
[alternate name: veil of deception]
Genre: Fantasy
Themes/Tropes: arranged marriage, fake relationship becomes real, mistaken identity, forced proximity,
Two powerful families—one strict and proud, the other meddling and overbearing—arrange a marriage to unite their houses. The bride/groom and groom, each unwilling to marry, secretly send stand-ins to the ceremony without knowing the other has done the same.
The imposters, strangers at first, form poor first impressions of one another, driven by false assumptions about who the other person is based on the real bride and groom. Their awkward attempts to uphold the deception lead to misunderstandings, strained conversations, and uncomfortable situations. Despite their differences, both share hidden similarities: one is a magical creature in disguise, while the other possesses forbidden magical abilities, though neither knows this about the other.
(yah it's based on a manga, iykyk)
The imposters, strangers at first, form poor first impressions of one another, driven by false assumptions about who the other person is based on the real bride and groom. Their awkward attempts to uphold the deception lead to misunderstandings, strained conversations, and uncomfortable situations. Despite their differences, both share hidden similarities: one is a magical creature in disguise, while the other possesses forbidden magical abilities, though neither knows this about the other.
(yah it's based on a manga, iykyk)
Blood of the Last [NEW!]
[alternate name: the omega strain]
Genre: Post apocalyptic, omegaverse
Themes/Tropes: Nature reclaimed, power reversal, power struggles, mutation
A post-apocalyptic world ravaged by environmental disaster has reversed the traditional hierarchy, with Omegas now in control. Betas, reliant on Omega blood to stave off mutation, begins to fracture as a desperate Beta faction, led by a mutating and increasingly unstable leader, pushes for violent control of the enclave. As tensions rise and an unpredictable Alpha from the wilderness watches from the shadows, the fragile enclave teeters on the brink of destruction,
More about the setting:
This is a post-apocalyptic world that has been reclaimed by nature after an environmental disaster occurred. The last remaining survivors live either in solitude, roaming the wilderness or in isolated enclaves. Alphas, once at the peak of society, have been nearly wiped out or turned into feral monsters by the toxic environment, their bodies twisted and mutated. Betas, as they always have, make up the majority of the human population, but they must rely on boosters created from the blood of Omegas to avoid that same fate. Omegas, immune to the toxins now pervading the world, have become the new leaders in this post-apocalyptic society, but their grip on that leadership is tenuous at best.
More about the setting:
This is a post-apocalyptic world that has been reclaimed by nature after an environmental disaster occurred. The last remaining survivors live either in solitude, roaming the wilderness or in isolated enclaves. Alphas, once at the peak of society, have been nearly wiped out or turned into feral monsters by the toxic environment, their bodies twisted and mutated. Betas, as they always have, make up the majority of the human population, but they must rely on boosters created from the blood of Omegas to avoid that same fate. Omegas, immune to the toxins now pervading the world, have become the new leaders in this post-apocalyptic society, but their grip on that leadership is tenuous at best.
Ruby eyes, golden blood.
[alt title: the last dragon]
Proposed pairing(s): Dragon x Vampire, Potential for multiple others.
Genre: High fantasy.
Needs: More plotting, Dragon character (preferred)
My childhood friend, turned lover, is a main character that can't remember a mob like me.
[alt title(s): world's best mob boyfriend, I may be a mob, but I can still f*** the main character.]
Proposed Pairing(s): Main character x Background Character
Genre: Modern, Romance, Slice of life, Comedy, Drama, Meta, potential college setting?
Need: Open to either character
Are you my brother's keeper?
Proposed Pairing(s): supernatural x vampire(s)
Genre: Historical, Fantasy
Need: A supernatural caretaker
[alt title: the last dragon]
Proposed pairing(s): Dragon x Vampire, Potential for multiple others.
Genre: High fantasy.
Needs: More plotting, Dragon character (preferred)
After awakening from a centuries-long brumation , a dragon discovers that his entire species, which was at the pinnacle of existence, has been all almost exterminated by vampires.
While out for revenge, he meets a young vampire suffering the effects of blood poisoning, who he later discovers is the rather gullible scion of a powerful vampire house (clan). The dragon decides to coax the vampire to his side, so that he can manipulate him into assisting him with his quest for vengeance.
While out for revenge, he meets a young vampire suffering the effects of blood poisoning, who he later discovers is the rather gullible scion of a powerful vampire house (clan). The dragon decides to coax the vampire to his side, so that he can manipulate him into assisting him with his quest for vengeance.
Since the moment they had to share the earth, dragons and vampires have never once seen eye to eye. They are natural-born enemies, if the myths and legends detailing the creation of the world are anything to go by. In one popular version, while fighting with the other celestials, as usual, a single drop of The Azure Dragon's blood fell to earth. The pure divine essence contained within that drop transformed the lands in which it fell and ushered in an era of peace and prosperity. New species of creatures and plants, born from the blood, spread across the earth until every crevice overflowed with The Azure Dragon's spirit.
During this golden age, one creature came to rule over all. They resembled the divine beast, more so than its other children, and eventually took on its name: Dragons. The dragons of earth inherited The Azure Dragon's strength, as well as its command over land, sea, and sky alike.
No man nor beast could contend with them. The Dragons felt as if this was only natural. If everything above the heavens belonged to the celestials, then everything below belonged to them. In this way, dragons reigned over the earth for centuries. The other creatures, with varying amounts of satisfaction, gradually came to accept it.
But on the celestial plains, The Vermilion Bird was not the least bit satisfied. It didn't like to see The Azure Dragon's spawn flourishing so uncontested. To relieve its irritation, it began working on a creation of its own. One that would be able to challenge the earth dragons.
The Vermilion Bird, despising the Azure Dragon's essence that pervaded almost every corner of the earth, chose the most desolate cavern to conceive its plan. It shaped creatures, who appeared almost perfectly human, from the clay found within the cave. Then, it fed them its blood until every remnant of the Azure Dragon's divinity disappeared from their bodies.
The Vermilion bird did not possess might similar to the Azure dragon, and could not give its children earth-shattering strength. However, they developed a speed, agility, and resilience which far surpassed most creatures. And the crafty celestial had one more trick. It saw that there were plenty of powerful beasts in the world already, and thus it let its children continue to do what they naturally had since their creation. They drank the blood of other creatures and claimed their power as their own.
The humans began calling the creatures "vampires". At first, the vampires had no way of suppressing the dragons at all; they could only gather strength and bide their time in the shadows.
Hundreds of years passed before the vampires finally had the opportunity and means to oust the dragons. The siege was swift and merciless. The population of vampires grew to dwarf that of dragons. Not only that, but the vampires, with their long reach, also grasped several weaknesses, which were integral to the dragons' downfall. Within the next quarter of the millennia, the dragons lay conquered. To gain their power and not give them a chance at redemption, vampires devoured many of them from flesh to blood. The vampires took care to pluck the natural treasures spawned by the Azure Dragon's blood, so that any remaining dragons could no longer draw strength from the very veins of the earth.
Soon the only dragons which remained were those of mixed parentage, which dragons had sired with humans, and the world experienced a major power shift. Before, although dragons had considered everything on earth theirs, they had little interest in the lives of mortals, unless someone encroached upon their territories. Beyond that, before the creation of vampires, humans were the genuine leaders of society. Now the masters of the earth, vampires came out of the shadows and governed openly. As with dragons, ordinary humans didn't have a way of overcoming them. And so the change in dynamic was complete.
It's unclear how much of the legends are true, but they are correct the vampire race presently rules all over the earth. They have conquered most of the regions.
This is the world in which a living relic, a dragon born in the golden age, awakens to find. He discovers that dragons, such as himself, were near hunted to extinction. What remained of the once proud species were pitiful hybridized descendants, blood diluted with that of humans for centuries. Bred for beauty and flavor, they're only rare delicacies for vampires to amuse themselves with, and the oppressive power of the dragon's bloodline has diminished.
Incensed, the dragon set out to reclaim what belonged to him and his brethren. However, he was one, and they were many. One day, while forming his plans, he happens upon a young vampire suffering the effects of blood poisoning. He picks the vampire up, hoping to interrogate him for information. However, as the effects of the poison wear off, the dragon finds out that the vampire not only possessed a prominent place in society but is also somewhat witless. The perfect pawn, to help him infiltrate the vampire's bloody hegemony and dismantle it brick by brick, fell right into his grasp.
During this golden age, one creature came to rule over all. They resembled the divine beast, more so than its other children, and eventually took on its name: Dragons. The dragons of earth inherited The Azure Dragon's strength, as well as its command over land, sea, and sky alike.
No man nor beast could contend with them. The Dragons felt as if this was only natural. If everything above the heavens belonged to the celestials, then everything below belonged to them. In this way, dragons reigned over the earth for centuries. The other creatures, with varying amounts of satisfaction, gradually came to accept it.
But on the celestial plains, The Vermilion Bird was not the least bit satisfied. It didn't like to see The Azure Dragon's spawn flourishing so uncontested. To relieve its irritation, it began working on a creation of its own. One that would be able to challenge the earth dragons.
The Vermilion Bird, despising the Azure Dragon's essence that pervaded almost every corner of the earth, chose the most desolate cavern to conceive its plan. It shaped creatures, who appeared almost perfectly human, from the clay found within the cave. Then, it fed them its blood until every remnant of the Azure Dragon's divinity disappeared from their bodies.
The Vermilion bird did not possess might similar to the Azure dragon, and could not give its children earth-shattering strength. However, they developed a speed, agility, and resilience which far surpassed most creatures. And the crafty celestial had one more trick. It saw that there were plenty of powerful beasts in the world already, and thus it let its children continue to do what they naturally had since their creation. They drank the blood of other creatures and claimed their power as their own.
The humans began calling the creatures "vampires". At first, the vampires had no way of suppressing the dragons at all; they could only gather strength and bide their time in the shadows.
Hundreds of years passed before the vampires finally had the opportunity and means to oust the dragons. The siege was swift and merciless. The population of vampires grew to dwarf that of dragons. Not only that, but the vampires, with their long reach, also grasped several weaknesses, which were integral to the dragons' downfall. Within the next quarter of the millennia, the dragons lay conquered. To gain their power and not give them a chance at redemption, vampires devoured many of them from flesh to blood. The vampires took care to pluck the natural treasures spawned by the Azure Dragon's blood, so that any remaining dragons could no longer draw strength from the very veins of the earth.
Soon the only dragons which remained were those of mixed parentage, which dragons had sired with humans, and the world experienced a major power shift. Before, although dragons had considered everything on earth theirs, they had little interest in the lives of mortals, unless someone encroached upon their territories. Beyond that, before the creation of vampires, humans were the genuine leaders of society. Now the masters of the earth, vampires came out of the shadows and governed openly. As with dragons, ordinary humans didn't have a way of overcoming them. And so the change in dynamic was complete.
It's unclear how much of the legends are true, but they are correct the vampire race presently rules all over the earth. They have conquered most of the regions.
This is the world in which a living relic, a dragon born in the golden age, awakens to find. He discovers that dragons, such as himself, were near hunted to extinction. What remained of the once proud species were pitiful hybridized descendants, blood diluted with that of humans for centuries. Bred for beauty and flavor, they're only rare delicacies for vampires to amuse themselves with, and the oppressive power of the dragon's bloodline has diminished.
Incensed, the dragon set out to reclaim what belonged to him and his brethren. However, he was one, and they were many. One day, while forming his plans, he happens upon a young vampire suffering the effects of blood poisoning. He picks the vampire up, hoping to interrogate him for information. However, as the effects of the poison wear off, the dragon finds out that the vampire not only possessed a prominent place in society but is also somewhat witless. The perfect pawn, to help him infiltrate the vampire's bloody hegemony and dismantle it brick by brick, fell right into his grasp.
My childhood friend, turned lover, is a main character that can't remember a mob like me.
[alt title(s): world's best mob boyfriend, I may be a mob, but I can still f*** the main character.]
Proposed Pairing(s): Main character x Background Character
Genre: Modern, Romance, Slice of life, Comedy, Drama, Meta, potential college setting?
Need: Open to either character
A background character, works to preserve the unexpected romantic relationship that he's forged with one of the main characters.
At some point in their life, everyone realizes that the world doesn't, in fact, revolve around them. But...what if that wasn't true for everyone?
One day, an average guy, who couldn't be any more average, realizes that some people really are the main characters. And not figuratively, his life so far has been eerily similar to every nostalgic young adult, heart-rending, 'like the scent of fresh lemons in summer', book, tv show, and film ever made. Well, to be more specific...the lives of his peers are similar to those things. Meanwhile, he's more like one of those background characters whom the artist drew to fill the classroom, but neglected to give a face or a name.
It's not just his imagination either. He's proved his hypothesis multiple times. For example, no matter what, he is metaphysically incapable of achieving something above or below average. He studied for his college entrance exams for months, yet still only received and average score, and even if he answers questions on a test randomly...he would still receive an average passing mark.
But, the most damning evidence is none other than the friend he grew up with. His friend, is a main character. His friend's life is filled with drama, excitement, and colorful characters who could only exist in a story. And he is among his friend's group of unimportant acquaintances. A person, he imagines, who would sit together with the main character at lunch, but be just out of frame.
The metaphysical force that drives his life, has an even greater effect, it seems, on main characters such as his friend. Particularly in relation to things which aren't a part of the "story". Since he is a recurrent background character in his friend's life he's experienced it many times. When the story requires his friend, his friend will completely forget his existence and go interact with the other mains. What's more, when they don't meet each other for a long period his friend routinely forgets his appearance and the fact that they've met before and even grew up together.
Stranger, though, is that people who have side characters status, such as his friend's parents, remember him but don't seem to see the bizarreness in having to always remind their son that they are, in fact, close friends.
He never thought that he could become close with a main character, and in the beginning was just playing along when he was needed to fill space. But it seems that, although his friend's memory is constantly being reset; there is always a part that still remembers him. When the story doesn't require him, although his friend might not remember, he always ends up approaching and trying to befriend him. He's now lost count how many times they've "met". Sometimes, he'll even spontaneously remember he exists and show up at his house to hang out as if nothing ever happened.
In this way, they've somehow become close and he's taken to collecting physical evidence of their relationship to help his friend remember whenever they happens to meet "for the first time".
He didn't think that anything surprising could ever happen in his life, but then one day there was a plot twist which even the author of their life probably didn't see coming. They suddenly crossed the borders of simple friendship. And before he knew it he, a background character, was in a full blown relationship with a main character. Surely this wasn't how the story was meant to go, his lover still has problems with his memory, and the author definitely had someone else lined up to pair with his friend. But as for him? He is completely unwilling to simply deliver what he has to others on a silver platter; no matter who it might be.
One day, an average guy, who couldn't be any more average, realizes that some people really are the main characters. And not figuratively, his life so far has been eerily similar to every nostalgic young adult, heart-rending, 'like the scent of fresh lemons in summer', book, tv show, and film ever made. Well, to be more specific...the lives of his peers are similar to those things. Meanwhile, he's more like one of those background characters whom the artist drew to fill the classroom, but neglected to give a face or a name.
It's not just his imagination either. He's proved his hypothesis multiple times. For example, no matter what, he is metaphysically incapable of achieving something above or below average. He studied for his college entrance exams for months, yet still only received and average score, and even if he answers questions on a test randomly...he would still receive an average passing mark.
But, the most damning evidence is none other than the friend he grew up with. His friend, is a main character. His friend's life is filled with drama, excitement, and colorful characters who could only exist in a story. And he is among his friend's group of unimportant acquaintances. A person, he imagines, who would sit together with the main character at lunch, but be just out of frame.
The metaphysical force that drives his life, has an even greater effect, it seems, on main characters such as his friend. Particularly in relation to things which aren't a part of the "story". Since he is a recurrent background character in his friend's life he's experienced it many times. When the story requires his friend, his friend will completely forget his existence and go interact with the other mains. What's more, when they don't meet each other for a long period his friend routinely forgets his appearance and the fact that they've met before and even grew up together.
Stranger, though, is that people who have side characters status, such as his friend's parents, remember him but don't seem to see the bizarreness in having to always remind their son that they are, in fact, close friends.
He never thought that he could become close with a main character, and in the beginning was just playing along when he was needed to fill space. But it seems that, although his friend's memory is constantly being reset; there is always a part that still remembers him. When the story doesn't require him, although his friend might not remember, he always ends up approaching and trying to befriend him. He's now lost count how many times they've "met". Sometimes, he'll even spontaneously remember he exists and show up at his house to hang out as if nothing ever happened.
In this way, they've somehow become close and he's taken to collecting physical evidence of their relationship to help his friend remember whenever they happens to meet "for the first time".
He didn't think that anything surprising could ever happen in his life, but then one day there was a plot twist which even the author of their life probably didn't see coming. They suddenly crossed the borders of simple friendship. And before he knew it he, a background character, was in a full blown relationship with a main character. Surely this wasn't how the story was meant to go, his lover still has problems with his memory, and the author definitely had someone else lined up to pair with his friend. But as for him? He is completely unwilling to simply deliver what he has to others on a silver platter; no matter who it might be.
Are you my brother's keeper?
Proposed Pairing(s): supernatural x vampire(s)
Genre: Historical, Fantasy
Need: A supernatural caretaker
YC is an imprisoned supernatural creature facing either death or execution. He is wallowing in an overly secure prison cell. Until one day, the prison warden offers him a deal. Rather than serving his time in prison (or dying), he can instead go work in the warden's manor. The caveat being, that he has to keep his brother in line.
Except, the warden's brother is a powerful vampire who's mind has been altered from the effects of drinking poisoned/impure blood. Most of the servants his brother hires to look after him are killed or die off in a matter of weeks or months. YC must find a way to get through to him or, at the very least get him to behave better.
Notes: I must emphasize that this is not a story of MC constantly abusing or otherwise assaulting YC without resistance. If anything they should be aggressing on each other until they fall into a sort of warped familiarity. Also, the point is that thus far Alex had been recruiting humans and weaker supernaturals to look after his brother, allowing Alexei to terrorize them unchecked. YC should be relatively strong and sturdy to avoid that.
((If we want, this story can include a relationship with YC and Alex as well))
Sir,
It's with regret that I inform you that Ara Papian, your most recent hire, was derelict in his duties and has since been discharged by Second Master Alexei. While attempting to tidy up, I also discovered that the second master had broken out of his wrist restraints at some point. As sir is aware, this makes it impossible for me to safely enter the room to care for the second master. He has become increasingly agitated these days as a result. When time permits, it'd be ideal if you could give the residence a visit. Second Master Alexei seems to be eagerly awaiting your return; as am I.
Useless. So useless. A fair brow arched down and added to a deep scowl on a face that was often described as perfect. But now hard lines of irritation marred that perfection. Thanks to Ivan's letter, or rather the contents of it, his mood took a turn for the worse. But not because the loss of a life stirred up any feelings of sympathy within him. Compassion and warmth didn't come easily to him when it was toward law-abiding citizens, let along convicts. So was a life as pointless and pathetic as Ara Papian's even worth his pity? No, he was just exasperated. He needed to find someone new, as well as spare time to travel back home. Ivan wouldn't be able to handle his brother for long, not if he had halfway escaped his bindings.
With a slightly weary huff, he set down Ivan's letter and scooted his chair back to get into one of the drawers built into his desk. As the warden, he possessed the files of all the prisoners but in the lower left drawer of his desk, that remained locked at all times, existed no more than ten files. These were the files of inmates housed in a very special block. And only these particularly convicts were eligible to participate the warden's 'work release' program. Ara Papian was the first eager participant, his results were...less than impressive; to say the least. Now he needed another willing contestant, but who? Alexander spread out the files in front of him and looked over his options.
Alexei was strong, he needed someone sturdy, who wouldn't die too quick. It would also be ideal if they could serve as a food source and take some of the burden off of Ivan. The choices were limited, but he refused to lower his standards and picked off those that didn't measure up one-by-one until there were only two remaining. One Jason Crow, and one [YC's name]. Alexander sniffed derisively and closed the first file almost immediately after opening it. He'd never allow a dog to spread its disgusting scent all over his home, let alone his brother, no matter how desperate he was. And then, there was one.
~~~~
On the lowest level of the prison, underground, where there was no light, and the air was consistently damp was cell block E. It was a place that only a select few knew the finer details of. Most of the occupants of this block were either on death row, or serving lifetime sentences. Alexander semi-frequently carried out inspections of the faculties and prisoners here, to ensure that everything was in order and that sentences were being carried out properly.
The clunky sound his boots made against the concrete ground warned the guards of his arrival a few seconds ahead of time. They all straightened their backs and looked alert when he passed by. While he wanted to see one man in particular, he resisted the urge to head to that cell first, and, instead, did his due diligence by checking in on the others. Well, thanks to small number of inmates in the block, and his competent staffing, it didn't take long to finish.
Eventually, he stood in front of the heavy metal door to the only cell that he hadn't yet entered. Alex personally unlocked it with the key ring that was always clipped onto his belt, and pushed it back shut once inside. The hallways were lit, but the cells were not. All the same, his eyes were able to cut through the darkness and sweep over the bound figure on the other end of the room. Right, he almost forgot, [YC] had gotten a bit 'testy' one day with some of the guards, and so Alexander had allowed for some appropriate restraints to be used on him from that point on.
"Well, well, well, you're looking much more comfortable now than last I saw you," Alex mused. He didn't think that he had a taste for this kind of thing before, but between his brother and his men in here...maybe he was developing one. "I wonder how we're feeling today?"
Except, the warden's brother is a powerful vampire who's mind has been altered from the effects of drinking poisoned/impure blood. Most of the servants his brother hires to look after him are killed or die off in a matter of weeks or months. YC must find a way to get through to him or, at the very least get him to behave better.
Notes: I must emphasize that this is not a story of MC constantly abusing or otherwise assaulting YC without resistance. If anything they should be aggressing on each other until they fall into a sort of warped familiarity. Also, the point is that thus far Alex had been recruiting humans and weaker supernaturals to look after his brother, allowing Alexei to terrorize them unchecked. YC should be relatively strong and sturdy to avoid that.
((If we want, this story can include a relationship with YC and Alex as well))
Alexei Tsarevich
Family: Alexander Tsarevich || Race: Vampire || Age: 600-650 || Height: 5'8" || Eyes: Ice blue & red || Hair: deep brown with shocks of white || Build: Fit & Lissome (typically), Malnourished (currently) || Complexion: : light brown
Notes: Alexei and his brother Alexander look alike, but they are fraternal twins. The main differences in appearance are Alexander's much shorter (above the ears) hair that is completely white. His eyes are either blue or red, the two colors don't bleed together as with Alexei's. And finally Alexander's build is larger and more athletic than Alexei's, and his complexion is darker.
Family: Alexander Tsarevich || Race: Vampire || Age: 600-650 || Height: 5'8" || Eyes: Ice blue & red || Hair: deep brown with shocks of white || Build: Fit & Lissome (typically), Malnourished (currently) || Complexion: : light brown
Notes: Alexei and his brother Alexander look alike, but they are fraternal twins. The main differences in appearance are Alexander's much shorter (above the ears) hair that is completely white. His eyes are either blue or red, the two colors don't bleed together as with Alexei's. And finally Alexander's build is larger and more athletic than Alexei's, and his complexion is darker.
Sir,
It's with regret that I inform you that Ara Papian, your most recent hire, was derelict in his duties and has since been discharged by Second Master Alexei. While attempting to tidy up, I also discovered that the second master had broken out of his wrist restraints at some point. As sir is aware, this makes it impossible for me to safely enter the room to care for the second master. He has become increasingly agitated these days as a result. When time permits, it'd be ideal if you could give the residence a visit. Second Master Alexei seems to be eagerly awaiting your return; as am I.
I am, Sir,
Your very obedient servant,
Ivan Lebedev.
Your very obedient servant,
Ivan Lebedev.
Useless. So useless. A fair brow arched down and added to a deep scowl on a face that was often described as perfect. But now hard lines of irritation marred that perfection. Thanks to Ivan's letter, or rather the contents of it, his mood took a turn for the worse. But not because the loss of a life stirred up any feelings of sympathy within him. Compassion and warmth didn't come easily to him when it was toward law-abiding citizens, let along convicts. So was a life as pointless and pathetic as Ara Papian's even worth his pity? No, he was just exasperated. He needed to find someone new, as well as spare time to travel back home. Ivan wouldn't be able to handle his brother for long, not if he had halfway escaped his bindings.
With a slightly weary huff, he set down Ivan's letter and scooted his chair back to get into one of the drawers built into his desk. As the warden, he possessed the files of all the prisoners but in the lower left drawer of his desk, that remained locked at all times, existed no more than ten files. These were the files of inmates housed in a very special block. And only these particularly convicts were eligible to participate the warden's 'work release' program. Ara Papian was the first eager participant, his results were...less than impressive; to say the least. Now he needed another willing contestant, but who? Alexander spread out the files in front of him and looked over his options.
Alexei was strong, he needed someone sturdy, who wouldn't die too quick. It would also be ideal if they could serve as a food source and take some of the burden off of Ivan. The choices were limited, but he refused to lower his standards and picked off those that didn't measure up one-by-one until there were only two remaining. One Jason Crow, and one [YC's name]. Alexander sniffed derisively and closed the first file almost immediately after opening it. He'd never allow a dog to spread its disgusting scent all over his home, let alone his brother, no matter how desperate he was. And then, there was one.
~~~~
On the lowest level of the prison, underground, where there was no light, and the air was consistently damp was cell block E. It was a place that only a select few knew the finer details of. Most of the occupants of this block were either on death row, or serving lifetime sentences. Alexander semi-frequently carried out inspections of the faculties and prisoners here, to ensure that everything was in order and that sentences were being carried out properly.
The clunky sound his boots made against the concrete ground warned the guards of his arrival a few seconds ahead of time. They all straightened their backs and looked alert when he passed by. While he wanted to see one man in particular, he resisted the urge to head to that cell first, and, instead, did his due diligence by checking in on the others. Well, thanks to small number of inmates in the block, and his competent staffing, it didn't take long to finish.
Eventually, he stood in front of the heavy metal door to the only cell that he hadn't yet entered. Alex personally unlocked it with the key ring that was always clipped onto his belt, and pushed it back shut once inside. The hallways were lit, but the cells were not. All the same, his eyes were able to cut through the darkness and sweep over the bound figure on the other end of the room. Right, he almost forgot, [YC] had gotten a bit 'testy' one day with some of the guards, and so Alexander had allowed for some appropriate restraints to be used on him from that point on.
"Well, well, well, you're looking much more comfortable now than last I saw you," Alex mused. He didn't think that he had a taste for this kind of thing before, but between his brother and his men in here...maybe he was developing one. "I wonder how we're feeling today?"
Specific Cravings?
None atm. I do have a thread especially for transmigration ideas if that catches your interest.MxM - xPolaris’ Transmigration Tales
Listen…it’s been years. I’m still not tired of this genre. Odds are, I never will be. Join me. First and foremost, this is the thread dedicated to my MxM ideas, I also thought of some MXF ideas but idk if I can place them here so I’m gonna make a separate thread for those and put them here...
If you're interested in setting something up, feel free to send me a message.
[/SPOILER]
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