Hey guys! I’m a long time roleplayer looking for something in the vampire/demon/monster category. I prefer past tense, third person, literary style writing with a lot of plot! Totally happy to have a romance in the middle too!
I prefer MxM, but am open to other pairings.
Here’s a writing sample (and a starter with a hunter)
—-
From within the soft covers of a motel bed, Henric considered Marcus Aurelius. He mulled over the nature of duty, his sense of self, and his motives for carrying on when so much of what he’d been was already decayed beyond repair. He thought of a quote from Marcus Aurelius, who he considered to be the most accessible of the philosophers of Stoicism. From his bedside table he took a small book and found the page easily. In his own messy handwriting, he read;
“At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: “I have to go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I’m going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do? Or is this what I was created for? To huddle under the blankets and stay warm?”
“So you were born to feel “nice”? Instead of doing things and experiencing them? Don’t you see the plants, the birds, the ants and spiders and bees going about their individual tasks, putting the world in order, as best they can? And you’re not willing to do your job as a human being? Why aren’t you running to do what your nature demands?”
”You don’t love yourself enough. Or you’d love your nature too, and what it demands of you.”
Henric was not certain if his nature demanded him to hunt Thralls. While he’d identified the motive as having stemmed from a pack-animal drive to protect his own kind, and to be the person he’d needed during his own captivity, he was not entirely sure that was all there was to it. He went to a different page, which had other options.
Protect people - I wasn’t protected
Pack animal, mammal, just instinct?
Revenge motive
Sense of control over what happened
None of it brought him peace, but he did still keep the journal. Ever since he’d found himself on the brink of returning willingly to his captor, he’d carefully mapped out his thoughts.
Henric set an alarm on his phone and curled back up in bed. His eyes were blank but open, and sleep started to pull at him. In the darkness, her slender hands found his neck, and the gentle hypoxia was euphoric. Henric forced himself away from sleepiness. In sleep, he still belonged to Her. Henric was not certain if it was truly her mind reaching out and tearing at him while he slept, or if the alternatingly blissful and horrific dreams were an affectation of his own mind. Regardless, he slept little.
Henric turned off his alarm and forced himself out of bed. He was tall and looked imposing, or rather would have if it were not for the visible hesitation in every step. He put on his clothes, a bullet proof vest, a stiff collar, and a gun belt. He tucked knives into Kevlar holsters and strapped a medical kit to his back. He saw himself in the mirror while he dressed, and was as always at odds with the man who stared back.
Henric remembered a time when, boisterous and invincible, he’d ridden in the back of a ATV with three other soldiers. He’d been riding towards the worst of an armed conflict, and had felt exaltation. He held the image of that young man beside the one he saw now and wondered if he had been stronger before he was broken, or simply foolish for not knowing the depths to which a human could be brought. He wondered if all strong men were simply fools waiting to experience true depravity, and if he was better now for knowing it, even though he’d lost strength.
Physically, he was still dangerous. Strong limbs with healthy muscles and a keen eye made him look more dangerous than he felt, though in combat he was deadlier than ever. He was highly capable of putting the world back in order. As he donned his coat and looked at the printed map with the correct house circled, he wondered once more if this truly was his purpose.
Freeing Thralls put him right in range of the very creatures he’d escaped. Henric scowled, and added to his list of potential motives.
Still want to be close to them
He did not like that motive. Abhorrent was the hook that still tugged at his heart and pulled him towards her. Hateful was his weakened soul, for aching so badly for imprisonment. Looking back, it was so easy to see that she had abused him terribly. He had been a dog, a tool, a thing, not a man, not a person. And yet, when he closed his eyes, he often imagined her voice, her touch.
Henric got in the car and drove. He’d promised himself that if he freed another Thrall, he could take time off and read the book of Sumerian myths he’d purchased. It was difficult to remember what he’d been like before captivity, but he knew mythology called to him, as well as historical combat. Two more Thralls, he told himself, and he would buy a sword.
Henric parked a few blocks away and walked. First, he simply walked by without giving the house much mind. Already he knew there were no cameras, but he wanted a look at the place before attacking.
This house had no alarm system, so he did not cut power. Instead, he found a side door and over the course of an hour, being as quiet as humanly possible, he sawed through the lock with a tiny file.
Once inside, he kept four things in easy reach. There was a knife, inscribed with ancient carvings he’d paid a fortune to have done. There was a stun baton to make capturing the Thrall easier. There was a gun, as a last resort to put the Thrall down, so he could at least find freedom in death. Lastly there was a concussive grenade, designed to destroy windows and let in sunlight.
Henric moved through the house like a ghost until he heard footsteps. He stepped into the hallway and began to stalk behind the Thrall.
I prefer MxM, but am open to other pairings.
Here’s a writing sample (and a starter with a hunter)
—-
From within the soft covers of a motel bed, Henric considered Marcus Aurelius. He mulled over the nature of duty, his sense of self, and his motives for carrying on when so much of what he’d been was already decayed beyond repair. He thought of a quote from Marcus Aurelius, who he considered to be the most accessible of the philosophers of Stoicism. From his bedside table he took a small book and found the page easily. In his own messy handwriting, he read;
“At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: “I have to go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I’m going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do? Or is this what I was created for? To huddle under the blankets and stay warm?”
“So you were born to feel “nice”? Instead of doing things and experiencing them? Don’t you see the plants, the birds, the ants and spiders and bees going about their individual tasks, putting the world in order, as best they can? And you’re not willing to do your job as a human being? Why aren’t you running to do what your nature demands?”
”You don’t love yourself enough. Or you’d love your nature too, and what it demands of you.”
Henric was not certain if his nature demanded him to hunt Thralls. While he’d identified the motive as having stemmed from a pack-animal drive to protect his own kind, and to be the person he’d needed during his own captivity, he was not entirely sure that was all there was to it. He went to a different page, which had other options.
Protect people - I wasn’t protected
Pack animal, mammal, just instinct?
Revenge motive
Sense of control over what happened
None of it brought him peace, but he did still keep the journal. Ever since he’d found himself on the brink of returning willingly to his captor, he’d carefully mapped out his thoughts.
Henric set an alarm on his phone and curled back up in bed. His eyes were blank but open, and sleep started to pull at him. In the darkness, her slender hands found his neck, and the gentle hypoxia was euphoric. Henric forced himself away from sleepiness. In sleep, he still belonged to Her. Henric was not certain if it was truly her mind reaching out and tearing at him while he slept, or if the alternatingly blissful and horrific dreams were an affectation of his own mind. Regardless, he slept little.
Henric turned off his alarm and forced himself out of bed. He was tall and looked imposing, or rather would have if it were not for the visible hesitation in every step. He put on his clothes, a bullet proof vest, a stiff collar, and a gun belt. He tucked knives into Kevlar holsters and strapped a medical kit to his back. He saw himself in the mirror while he dressed, and was as always at odds with the man who stared back.
Henric remembered a time when, boisterous and invincible, he’d ridden in the back of a ATV with three other soldiers. He’d been riding towards the worst of an armed conflict, and had felt exaltation. He held the image of that young man beside the one he saw now and wondered if he had been stronger before he was broken, or simply foolish for not knowing the depths to which a human could be brought. He wondered if all strong men were simply fools waiting to experience true depravity, and if he was better now for knowing it, even though he’d lost strength.
Physically, he was still dangerous. Strong limbs with healthy muscles and a keen eye made him look more dangerous than he felt, though in combat he was deadlier than ever. He was highly capable of putting the world back in order. As he donned his coat and looked at the printed map with the correct house circled, he wondered once more if this truly was his purpose.
Freeing Thralls put him right in range of the very creatures he’d escaped. Henric scowled, and added to his list of potential motives.
Still want to be close to them
He did not like that motive. Abhorrent was the hook that still tugged at his heart and pulled him towards her. Hateful was his weakened soul, for aching so badly for imprisonment. Looking back, it was so easy to see that she had abused him terribly. He had been a dog, a tool, a thing, not a man, not a person. And yet, when he closed his eyes, he often imagined her voice, her touch.
Henric got in the car and drove. He’d promised himself that if he freed another Thrall, he could take time off and read the book of Sumerian myths he’d purchased. It was difficult to remember what he’d been like before captivity, but he knew mythology called to him, as well as historical combat. Two more Thralls, he told himself, and he would buy a sword.
Henric parked a few blocks away and walked. First, he simply walked by without giving the house much mind. Already he knew there were no cameras, but he wanted a look at the place before attacking.
This house had no alarm system, so he did not cut power. Instead, he found a side door and over the course of an hour, being as quiet as humanly possible, he sawed through the lock with a tiny file.
Once inside, he kept four things in easy reach. There was a knife, inscribed with ancient carvings he’d paid a fortune to have done. There was a stun baton to make capturing the Thrall easier. There was a gun, as a last resort to put the Thrall down, so he could at least find freedom in death. Lastly there was a concussive grenade, designed to destroy windows and let in sunlight.
Henric moved through the house like a ghost until he heard footsteps. He stepped into the hallway and began to stalk behind the Thrall.