Sai
Through Passion I Gain Strength...
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Hi there, hey there, how's it going? Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Evening. My name is Sai. I'm hoping that by constructing this thread, it will be the first steps to a new chapter in my writing life. I have a lot of interests; and am also open to ideas for new things to try and explore. I would like to also right off the bat offer any potential "writing suitors" this disclaimer:
My life outside of this is pretty hectic and busy and my attention span is unfortunately rather short. I deal with some attention deficit issues and can often become distracted and bored. Why am I divulging this? Well because I would hate to offer up the potential of a story to someone who is expecting 100% consistency if I can't completely offer that to them. I would rather you know now, before getting your hopes up and have me hurting your feelings because of the time it takes me to respond. (Not my best sales pitch, I know. I'm just trying to be honest.) I've done that in the past, and it's still something I need to make amends for.
Aside from that. I am excited to get back into the creative swing of things. It's been a few years, but I think that with the right pairing we can make some pretty sweet stories together. I'm keeping an open mind, and will excitedly await some future requests. Thanks for taking the time to look through this. I look forward to meeting you :) -
What to expect from me:
- I'm am very communicative on my ideas or plans for a story. I love taking time to hash things out; explore ideas, and brainstorm.
- I am a Para to Multi-Para role player with the potential for Novella lengths.
- I only write in the third person/past tense.
- ERP is not a must. I am more interested in building the reason why two people are being intimate, with the story coming first, and the ERP being just a cherry on top. Don't get me wrong, I like it lewd as much as the next guy, but it's not the most important thing to me with RP. I would consider my current taste for story to smut ratio to be 70/30 (If not 80/20).
- I am not afraid of darker themes. (i.e. mental health/illness, drugs, violence, gore, etc.)
- ERP topics I will not touch: Incest, water sports, scat. (I am however not offended by the occasional "I'm stuck step bro" snickers)
- As for pairings. When it comes to ERP I stick to MxF as that is my orientation and what I am comfortable writing about. However, for any other story that doesn't involve detailed and graphic intimacy, I am open to any and all pairings.
What I expect from you:
- Above all else, patience.
- If you would like to roleplay with me. Please come prepared with an idea; either one of mine or one of your own that you feel I may fit into.
- Para to Multi-Para is preferred. Give me something to work with and I will do my best to give you the same.
- Communication, both for ideas, and boundaries you're not willing to cross.
- Third Person/Past tense is preferred.
- I'm pretty easy going and low key, and if I think of any other expectations; I'll be sure to broach the subject with you as constructively as I can.
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Currently my ideas for plots and pairs are pretty shallow. So I'm also pretty open to other ideas. I'm sure more ideas will come and do, so I'll try to do my best to update things as they come.
Fandoms:
- Star Wars (This one is huge for me. I'm a huge star wars fan. It's actually quite obscene how much I care about this topic.)
- Underworld
- Call of Duty (Ish)
- Matrix
- Death Note
- Cyberpunk (Kinda got a mirrors edge cyberpunk thing going currently)
- Splinter Cell
- D&D ( Or in the styling of a D&D adventure)
- Vikings/Hell Blade: Senua's Sacrifice
- Witcher
- Need for speed/Gone in sixty seconds
- DayZ/World War Z/Stalker
- SteamPunk/Guns of Icarus
- Viridian Gate Online/.Hack
Pairings:
- Drug Dealer / Addict
- Mob boss / civilian or criminal
- Mutant / scientist
- Demon/ Demon hunter
- Vampire / Lycan
- Vampire / Vampire hunter
- Pornstar / Normal person
- Gladiator / Dominus/Domina
(If the plot/pairing is highlighted red. I am currently writing a story with someone else and have a lower chance of being interested in it)
(If a plot or pairing is gold. I'm very interested) -
Some examples of my writing:
Dustyn "псих" Vasilievimage 1image 2image 3box
There's something to be said about the New York city skyline in December. The way the snow casts itself across the building tops, and glistens for miles as every stray beam of light breaks through thick overcast skies. For the "City that never sleeps", New York in the winter feels like a desolate wasteland. The streets are lined with vehicles, abandoned, consumed by the caskets of snow that bury them, if only for a season. The people huddled up in their homes, or shrouded by layers of clothing; keep their heads low and their attentions to the warmth of their homes. Every snowflake that falls, hits the earth in a pin drop crescendo that echoes off of every structure; every wall. A sound so fleeting, like the flapping wings of a million butterflies.
Though, as far as that sound could be heard. There is one more profile, a New York City snow can offer. The crushing, indefinite, deafening sound of silence. As contradictory as these two qualities may seem, they play an impact to the dynamic of the city. For when passers by are hearing snowflakes fall, what they cannot here; are the sounds of screaming.
"Give him another." A sullen voice lashed out, followed by the subtle sound of an ember crackling through the small cylinder of a cigarette. A breathy exhale that sent a plume of death rushing out into the poorly lit room of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. The figure who rang out the order, skulking in the darker reaches, unseen by the naked eye. As swift as the order was given, the sound of a solid, bone crushing thud was soon to follow. Another drag from the cigarette illuminated a devilish and demented grin.
"Fantastika..." cackled the figure. Protruding from the darkness and into plain sight. The sound of Scarosso Italian Leather footsteps masked the coughing and spitting coming from the man who had been struck. As light began to undress darkness, the figure's form became truer. A young man, with dark shoulder length hair. Dressed in a dark colored suite with red stitching, and a thick mink coat draped around his shoulders. His eyes, could have been crimson with their distinction that wreaked of insanity.
"I'll never talk!" exclaimed the man who had been struck. Clearly deranged from pain and exhaustion. A body strapped by rope to a metal post that stuck straight into the ground. A three foot stool underneath his rear to keep him seated. There was a lot of fight in the man. Leaning forward to pull at his rope bindings, his eyes lashing out to the man in the suit who began to circle him.
"O vy budete govorit'..." Said the suited man as he flicked the withered butt of his cigarette to the floor. An arm wrapping around his own torso to pull the mink coat from his shoulders. Tossing it to one of the many henchmen that lined the room. "Everybody talks when they meet me, Bruce." That wicked smile plastered itself against the man's face as the name left his lips. "Because if you don't talk, milaya Bruce... There will be nothing left of you to listen to." With a swiftness, metal scraping metal filled the air. The sight of the suited man, spinning an object that looked almost like a balisong knife between his fingers. As the blade extended and the handles clasped together in the palm of the suited man's hand, he hurriedly thrust downwards, ramming the knife into Bruce's thigh. "Now tell me! You fucking inbred piece of trash. Where the fuck did that shipment of dope go!"
The sound of screaming, that sound dampened to the outside world by that beautiful New York City snow, filled the warehouse. Screaming adjoined by the sound of manic laughter. "Talk to me Bruce, I haven't got all day!" Screamed the suited man amidst his laughter. A hand reaching out to slap Bruce's face. "Quit your fucking screaming and tell me what I want to hear!"
When Bruce had quieted for a moment, his chest heaving and falling from adrenaline. He responded to the slap with spit. Spit that hit the suited man right on his cheek. "Oh Bruce...." The suited man breathed as he wiped the excretion from his face. "You fucked up..." The words hit the air with exasperation, as the suited man recoiled and turned away from Bruce. Leaving the knife in plain sight in Bruce's leg. "Do you know... who the fuck I am Bruce? Are you aware of the gravity of the situation you are in. Did you even think for a second, that spitting on me would be your best option....." Every word that came from the man, became much more hurried, anger written in every syllable. "Do you know.. kto yebat' ya!?!" As the russian exclamation fell, the man rushed towards Bruce in a fluster.
Suddenly another voice halted the man in mid stride. "Dustyn Vasiliev." The name came from a man who was adorned in similar garb. That man was the head of the New York Russian chapter of the Russian Mafia, Markov Vasiliev. Dustyn's head turned to meet his fathers gaze. Perplexed as to why he would take the time to show up to such a brutal exhibition of carnality. Dustyn's body straightened for a moment, eyes looking to his father, than back to Bruce; down to his hands that were stained with crimson. "Dustyn my son..." Those words drew the eyes of Bruce to grow quite a bit larger. "You haven't been answering my calls..."
"I'm sorry, Otets. I've been busy doing the family's work." Dustyn's hand reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Pulling from it a silver engraved cigarette case, and from that a black papered cigarette. Resting the butt of the stick against his lip, as the other hand flicked open a zippo lighter, igniting death. His lung pulling incessantly at the cylinder, eyes looking up from his hands and back to his father. "What can I go for you, Otets."
"Well, Son. I have other matters I need you to attend to." Markov began to explain as he walked toward the young man. Draping a proud arm over his shoulder, fingers latching firmly to the upper arm. The momentum his father took, began to lead him in the opposite direction of the carnage. All the while Dustyn's eyes peered over, transfixed on the knife he was leaving behind. 'get.. it.. get the..' his thoughts raced as they began to stride off. "You remember our dear friend Viktor?" Markov inquired as they began to round a corner that led to a hallway. Dustyn's eyes still straining to see the shimmering silver hilt. 'get the fuckin'...' That voice of anxious retention continued to rattle through his head. "Well, it's time we made due to our little promise. You remember don't you?"
His father might as well have been the parent from a Charlie Brown film. Hollow noise with no rhyme or reason. As they walked towards the warehouse exit. "Y-yeah, I remember." Dustyn's voice came out clearly distracted, as his fathers large hand pressed against the warehouse door, and as their feet breached the threshold and into the cold. Dustyn's head leaned back, and with as much gusto as he could muster he yelled. "Grab my fucking knife out of that dickheads leg!" and as the order echoed back into the building. The only reply he would have ever needed, was the sound of metal tearing through flesh. A wicked smile, disappearing behind the closed door of a black sedan.Drugs - Edencode by wren.
Cattle die, kinsmen die, all men are mortal.
imageEinar SundströmBefore the stormThunder, the sound of Thor's hammer sending sparks through the night sky was enough to muffle the sounds coming from within the great hall. The rhythmic tapping of rain against the thatch rooftops setting the timing of two heartbeats in concert with one another. A heavy breath and subtle moans the chorus to the evenings orchestra that would carry on into the early hours of the morning.
"I wish you weren't leaving." The soft and sultry sound of Áma's voice broke the silence that had fallen as the storm passed. Her body curled into the crook of Einar's side. Her hand tracing idle circles across his scar ridden chest and abdomen. "Ivan's only just been with us for a month now. He needs to learn who his Father is." She added with a soft sigh.
"He knows..." Einar replied as his head turned to look at his wife. Sweat trailing from his brow and down his cheek. "Just as Egil knew. Frey and Ingrid too. You've always done right by me with them." His hand brushed through her dirty blonde hair as he spoke. "If I don't go there will be no one to lead the raiding party. No one to navigate the uncharted waters."
"What of Frode or Magnus!? They have been by your side since you were a boy, why not send them?" Áma protested with her head tilting upwards to look into her husband's eyes. "Surely the raids south can wait for another year. Send them east back into Russia or down into Saxony. Send them to lands we have been before, and stay with me." At this point her body had lifted, perching her hand square against his chest propping herself up over him. "Seer be damned."
"Watch your words, Áma." Einar's expression shifted to one more stoic and serious as he heard her curse. "The Seer has foretold much of this household that has come to pass. Of our children and their health. Of our marriage. The success of Uppsala. Even the death of your father." His body shifted under her weight as he pressed his back against the head of their bed and stretched his way into a more seated posture which caused her body to lean forward into his. "The Seer has seen much of my upcoming journey, the perils we will face. That I will be knocking on the door of another man's god and the power that will bring. Who am I do deny the gods and their destiny for me?"
"You are my husband, and our Earl." Áma began to say as her body shifted to straddle over him. "You are meant to rule now, and leave the brutality of your life to those who serve your house." She slid her hand between them, taking Einar back into her. "That is who you are now." She added with a soft groan.
By the time the sun rose past the horizon Einar's boots were already connecting to the docks at the south side of the city. Traversing from pier to pier as he took stock of his men and their inventory. Checking each and every last ship. Minutes turned to hours as the men prepared their vessels until the sun was in full view of the beautiful city below.
"Uppsala!" Einar shouted as he stood in the center of the middle most pier and looked back at his people who had come to see them off. Áma and their children the front most on lookers. "My home! The gods smile down on us this day! Thor beat his anvil late into the night and filled the oceans with water for us to tread. Dagur lifts the sun above us to guide our way. Ægir has calmed the seas!" His voice boomed triumphantly accompanied by the sounds of drums, chants and cheering. "These brave men and woman you bore, Uppsala, are ready for the glory that awaits us beyond our shores; and even more ready for Valhalla shall they fall!"
There was a thunderous cheering that came from behind him as every man and woman aboard every vessel raised their weapons and their shields. A ringing of metallic clanging followed as they began striking the boss of their shields. Einar's arms lifted with the cacophony.
He looked down towards his family, treading along the pier until he was just within steps of them. He went to each and every one of his children, holding them, kissing the tops of their heads, bidding them farewell before standing to meet Áma's gaze. "My love." He said softly, his hand reaching up to cup against her cheek. "Don't be cross with me now, please."
Her expression which for the entireity of her time watching him prepare was tight and frustrated softened for a moment at his request. "See that you come home." She replied before leaning into his touch and embracing him in a kiss.
He nodded, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his lips before turning away from her and heading to the boats.
They had spent weeks at sea before making landfall in Francia. Fighting their way across the land until they reached a sleepy village not far outside of Paris. The people in the village had been ravaged by what could only be described as some sort of sickness. Boils marred the skin of women and children, the men too. They were emaciated and strung out. The warband soon learned that Paris was not much better off as their scouts managed to gain reconnaissance.
"We should leave this place, Einar." Frode spoke, a linger fear in his voice as they stood within their encampement. "Before this plague reaches us and swallows us whole before we ever make it out of here." He placed his hands on either side of his throat with a feint choking sound before breaking out in a fit of laughter.
"Besides!" Magnus chimed in. "Where is there glory in slaughtering helpless Gauls who can't even fend for themselves? Is this the measure of man you wish to face in combat? Is that a glorious death? Or mercy for the already dying?"
"I know you're right." Einar spoke as he took a step away from the campfire that burned at the center of camp. A look of pained frustration painted on his face. "I would be surprised if some of the men haven't already caught whatever is going on around here. We'll break camp in the morning and make for the ships." With that he stormed off to his tent.
Another month of sea fairing went by and a quarter of the men who made landfall in Francia were now gone. Cast overboard as the plague they had encountered ravaged them. They had made quite the journey and were estimating that they were likely breaking into a body of water called the Mediterranean. Tired and weary the men rowed ceaslessly onward into the vast nothingness that was the open ocean. Until one evening a storm, the most violent any of them had ever seen, overcame them. Their boats thrashed across the waters, separated them all from one another. Swells hundreds of feet high lifted ships like wooden ragdolls and scattered them like glass against stone. Blood curdling screams were stifled in an instant by water that consumed them.
Einar's own coughing woke him. The taste of salt and bile billowing up from his chest sent his eyes wide as he gasped for air. His fingers pressed into the coarseness of sand as he weakly clawed his way up the banks just out of the reach of the water's edge. He exerted his energy to roll onto his back as he continued to pull for whatever breath his body could take in. His head lifted and within moments his mired vision began to pull back into focus. Along the beach front before him lay the battered remains of his personal ship. Wood and fabrics scattered for hundreds of yards in either direction. The bodies of his men joined them.
Behind him a sound indiscernible at first became louder and more consistent. His body jolted up from his back as quickly as he could and frantically searched for something useful to fill his hands with. Not far from him a shield that had been split in half jutted out from the sand. He scooped it into his hold and turned to face the source of the noise that hand only gotten louder and was accompanied by other noises. A troupe of men adorned in bronze armors and carrying tall shields and iron swords made their way to the beach in a hurry towards him. His eyes continued to dart around trying to find anything else that might benefit him. He reached for his belt and with a sigh of relief felt the head of his hand axe still attached to it.
As the men continued to approach him, a few of them rushed their pace to face him seeing that he was now armed. Einar braced as swords crashed against his mangled shield. A soldier in front of him lunged towards him and Einar brought the broken edge of the shield down on the man's arm as he stepped to the side to avoid him. An audible snapping sound reverberated into the air followed by a yelp of pain and the clatter of metal against sand as the man's sword hit the ground. With an uppercut Einar struck the blade of his axe under the chin of the maimed man splitting his face and causing him to fall backwards dead.
A second man pivoted to Einar's side swinging wide towards his head. Einar lifted his shield at an angle above his head which sent the sword further wide. Einar ducked under the attackers arm and planted a swing of his axe at the mans chest, but the armor deflected the blow sending a shock up Einar's arm almost causing him to drop the axe entirely.
The third man who approached him lifted his shield to eye level and rushed into Einar's side with the force of bull which sent Einar tumbling to the floor ass over tea kettle and caused the remainder of his shield to shatter under his weight. He stumbled on the ground as he tried to regain his barings. Grabbing at the sword dropped by the first man.
As the second man closed the distance Einar clutched a handful of sand and tossed it into the man's face. The second man recoiled and Einar took that chance. From the ground he picked his axe back up and hooked into behind the second man's ankle and pulled, sweeping a leg out from underneath him and sending him to the ground on his back with a thud, Einar's momentum brought him forward over the man with a wild yell as he began hacking and wailing on any piece of him that wasn't covered in armor. Blood pooled in the sand and spattered up and across his face. There was a brief break in his bloodlust as he heard the sound of multiple footsteps growing louder. His head lifted from the carnage below him. As his chin became parallel to the ground time seemed as if to slow down.
A line of men stood before him shields raised, with spears jutting out from their sides. A slight break in the line at the center revealed a man holding a device Einar had never seen before. In an instant that device loosed something towards him. In another instant his vision blurred as pain sent waves through his body and his breath was caught in his throat. Then the sound of the back of his skull colliding with metal, then nothing but darkness. Save for the sound of waves crashing against the sand, and the feeling of his body being dragged if only for a moment.
【 】Words of praise will never perish, nor a noble name.
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