Elemental Son
Human, honest.
Hey there. I'll cut straight to the chase:
Am I looking for these things or offering them, you may ask. Short answer? Both. To this end, I've included a roleplay sample, below. Check it out, and if you could deal with matching that on the regular, then maybe you and I have some talking to do.
I'm into slice of life, apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic settings (nothing like a good old fashioned zombie outbreak, after all), fantasy, historical plots (particularly military) and stylized horror. In regards to fandoms, video-games are my thing - although, if you meet these specifications and offer to roleplay Naruto with me, I will love you always. In all cases, I'm interested in these whether they contain romance elements or not.
I'm also open for suggestions if you have something outside of the above that you're desperate for. Hit me up, and maybe we can work something out. Please note, however, I genuinely struggle with anything other than male/male romance plots. I'll give it a shot if you're exceptionally talented and I like you, but you'll have to shout the champagne when the attempt invariably goes down in flames.
- Excellent grammar and spelling.
- Solid control of both description and dialogue.
- Considerable amounts to content - between 500 and 2000 words, as the story demands.
- Nuanced characterization.
- Tolerance for an often unpredictable posting schedule.
Am I looking for these things or offering them, you may ask. Short answer? Both. To this end, I've included a roleplay sample, below. Check it out, and if you could deal with matching that on the regular, then maybe you and I have some talking to do.
I'm into slice of life, apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic settings (nothing like a good old fashioned zombie outbreak, after all), fantasy, historical plots (particularly military) and stylized horror. In regards to fandoms, video-games are my thing - although, if you meet these specifications and offer to roleplay Naruto with me, I will love you always. In all cases, I'm interested in these whether they contain romance elements or not.
I'm also open for suggestions if you have something outside of the above that you're desperate for. Hit me up, and maybe we can work something out. Please note, however, I genuinely struggle with anything other than male/male romance plots. I'll give it a shot if you're exceptionally talented and I like you, but you'll have to shout the champagne when the attempt invariably goes down in flames.
{At close range, Aiden looked worse for wear than Caius’ initial appraisal might have suggested. There was a haggardness that came from an exhaustion more emotional than physical – and given the effort it actually took to take a life, that was saying something.
Even seeing this, Caius taunted him deliberately. It was cold, and he was mildly surprised that he felt…unkind, for pressing on with it, but it was justified. Working to Aiden’s requests meant not pursuing the most direct solution for their immediate issue, it seemed. Caius could adapt – that came with the territory, sometimes – employers with lines they would not allow to be crossed, and so on. But time was never a friend to the hunted. They needed to move. A personal vendetta against a dying man was one thing, but the Carta would not be long behind them, now. Caius could not risk reminding him – not in earshot of others – and so mild cruelty was the best substitute on hand.
He had not, however, expected Aiden to take it to the logical extreme. Mercy was a strange beast; it was merciful to grant reprieve to a man who’s Knight-Commander had gone mad, who would be overcome by lyrium addiction one day soon, who had failed to protect his friends and abide by his holy vows. It was merciful to kill a man who had, conversely, apparently not lost faith in his Order, and who very clearly had business to attend to still in the world of the living. It seemed unlikely that even the most talented healer could have saved Darius, admittedly, but if mercy meant not allowing for the chance… Well. Caius would vote on the side of mercy in this instance.
Or so he would have thought.
"'He is not your problem. He's mine.'"
Ears focused on their surroundings, scouting for new threats, Caius’ eyes were free to watch his companion. Were it not so personal a moment, he would have intervened. Aiden advanced slowly, shuffling forward like the old man he’d pretended to be earlier in the evening. He picked up one of Caius’ own daggers – oddly apt, given the amount of killing they’d done in this city – and moved towards the pinned Templar. His gait was deliberate, but the flaring of his nostrils, the grit of his teeth – the slow, pained swallow as he set his staff aside. He was fighting to keep himself together, it seemed, the idea of taking pleasure in revenge as foreign to him as it was familiar to Caius.
Darius bayed at him, vitriolic to the last. A rabid dog backed into a corner. Aiden responded with kindness.
There was a quality to the scene which told Caius it would haunt him, as so many other things did, the shadows of ghosts in a living graveyard. Aiden exposed the man’s throat in a movement which must have used force, but which appeared gentle – the rationing of pressure, no more allocated to the task than it absolutely required. He had the strength to look Darius in the eye, to face his tormentor one last time. Subtly, he trembled as he did so.
Whispering something that not even Caius could discern, Aiden cut his throat.
The same wrongness as had been in the air when Aiden had screamed earlier was back, deepened tenfold if not more. There was something akin to desecration in Aiden choosing to kill. Almost on cue, Aiden’s body seemed to reject the reality of it, violently. He reeled as if burned, kneeling and retching, ichor across his face, the red of it a visceral experience – a brand which would remain, invisible, insidious, long after his skin became clean.
By the time Aiden had reclaimed enough strength to stand, Caius had approached him. The paces between them were enough for Caius to reclaim the supplies left with his daggers and shirt – he had not realized they were so close until Aiden had taken up one of his blades – and now more than before, they could be put to good use.
Unthinking, he pressed one of the treated cloths to Aiden’s face, softly wiping away the gore. It was too close, too personal – grounding contact to help hold the world together. There were a dozen possible explanations for his actions which would absolve him from seeming compassionate, not the least of which how visible one of them coated in blood-spatter would make them as they tried to flee. Such reasons were self-evident, and had almost nothing to do with the motivation Caius had for performing the action. Suffice it to say, he did not know those motivations himself.
Aiden’s face was clear in scant moments, circumstance having distorted time to seem far longer than it was in actuality. Stepping back, Caius re-slung the bow he carried over his shoulder, and checking his pouches to ensure nothing had been lost in the fight. He was – and had been for the entirety of the evening, really – all business, and he addressed Aiden with words absent of demand or expectation, not referencing the kill at all.
“We can take what we came for from here, set up the docks as discussed, and make our way out. If you’re ready?”
Caius had defaulted to the same modus operandi as had kept him alive, alone for so long: push aside what you feel, get up and get the job done. Don’t think about what it means, just keep moving. It had been enough in the past, and would have to be now.
}
Even seeing this, Caius taunted him deliberately. It was cold, and he was mildly surprised that he felt…unkind, for pressing on with it, but it was justified. Working to Aiden’s requests meant not pursuing the most direct solution for their immediate issue, it seemed. Caius could adapt – that came with the territory, sometimes – employers with lines they would not allow to be crossed, and so on. But time was never a friend to the hunted. They needed to move. A personal vendetta against a dying man was one thing, but the Carta would not be long behind them, now. Caius could not risk reminding him – not in earshot of others – and so mild cruelty was the best substitute on hand.
He had not, however, expected Aiden to take it to the logical extreme. Mercy was a strange beast; it was merciful to grant reprieve to a man who’s Knight-Commander had gone mad, who would be overcome by lyrium addiction one day soon, who had failed to protect his friends and abide by his holy vows. It was merciful to kill a man who had, conversely, apparently not lost faith in his Order, and who very clearly had business to attend to still in the world of the living. It seemed unlikely that even the most talented healer could have saved Darius, admittedly, but if mercy meant not allowing for the chance… Well. Caius would vote on the side of mercy in this instance.
Or so he would have thought.
"'He is not your problem. He's mine.'"
Ears focused on their surroundings, scouting for new threats, Caius’ eyes were free to watch his companion. Were it not so personal a moment, he would have intervened. Aiden advanced slowly, shuffling forward like the old man he’d pretended to be earlier in the evening. He picked up one of Caius’ own daggers – oddly apt, given the amount of killing they’d done in this city – and moved towards the pinned Templar. His gait was deliberate, but the flaring of his nostrils, the grit of his teeth – the slow, pained swallow as he set his staff aside. He was fighting to keep himself together, it seemed, the idea of taking pleasure in revenge as foreign to him as it was familiar to Caius.
Darius bayed at him, vitriolic to the last. A rabid dog backed into a corner. Aiden responded with kindness.
There was a quality to the scene which told Caius it would haunt him, as so many other things did, the shadows of ghosts in a living graveyard. Aiden exposed the man’s throat in a movement which must have used force, but which appeared gentle – the rationing of pressure, no more allocated to the task than it absolutely required. He had the strength to look Darius in the eye, to face his tormentor one last time. Subtly, he trembled as he did so.
Whispering something that not even Caius could discern, Aiden cut his throat.
The same wrongness as had been in the air when Aiden had screamed earlier was back, deepened tenfold if not more. There was something akin to desecration in Aiden choosing to kill. Almost on cue, Aiden’s body seemed to reject the reality of it, violently. He reeled as if burned, kneeling and retching, ichor across his face, the red of it a visceral experience – a brand which would remain, invisible, insidious, long after his skin became clean.
By the time Aiden had reclaimed enough strength to stand, Caius had approached him. The paces between them were enough for Caius to reclaim the supplies left with his daggers and shirt – he had not realized they were so close until Aiden had taken up one of his blades – and now more than before, they could be put to good use.
Unthinking, he pressed one of the treated cloths to Aiden’s face, softly wiping away the gore. It was too close, too personal – grounding contact to help hold the world together. There were a dozen possible explanations for his actions which would absolve him from seeming compassionate, not the least of which how visible one of them coated in blood-spatter would make them as they tried to flee. Such reasons were self-evident, and had almost nothing to do with the motivation Caius had for performing the action. Suffice it to say, he did not know those motivations himself.
Aiden’s face was clear in scant moments, circumstance having distorted time to seem far longer than it was in actuality. Stepping back, Caius re-slung the bow he carried over his shoulder, and checking his pouches to ensure nothing had been lost in the fight. He was – and had been for the entirety of the evening, really – all business, and he addressed Aiden with words absent of demand or expectation, not referencing the kill at all.
“We can take what we came for from here, set up the docks as discussed, and make our way out. If you’re ready?”
Caius had defaulted to the same modus operandi as had kept him alive, alone for so long: push aside what you feel, get up and get the job done. Don’t think about what it means, just keep moving. It had been enough in the past, and would have to be now.
}
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