OhDeer
New Member
⌨ Anything is possible ⌨
Heya! Feel free to call me Deer, I'm 21, comfortable with any pronouns, and really itching to write!! So lets get down to business shall we?
₪ Rules ₪
➮ +18
➮ Follow Rp Nation rules please.
₪ What you can expect from me ₪
➮ 400-1300 words per post.
➮ Third person perspective, past tense.
➮ Constant replies, and communication.
➮ Long term collaborations.
₪ What I expect from you ₪
➮ 200-1000+ words a post.
➮ First or Third person perspective.
➮ One reply every two to four weeks at the very least, and open communication.
➮ The possibility to be long term collaborators.
₪ Genres...Themes ₪
➮ Sci-fi
➮ Fantasy
➮ Post Apocalyptic
➮ Adventure
➮ Romance
➮ Slice of Life
➮ Drama
➮ Hybrid Genres
₪ Fandoms ₪
➮ My Hero Academia
➮ Beastars
➮ ATLA
➮ Avatar
➮ Titanfall
➮ Monster Hunter
➮ Fallout (4)
₪ Pairings ₪
≻ FxF. Fx(Hermaphrodite), MxM, Mx(Hermaphrodite), FxNb ≺
➮ Monster x Detective
➮ Angel x Demon
➮ Demon x Human
➮ Alien x Detective
➮ Alien x Scientist
Open to more these are just my favorites ! :3
⌨ Ending Sentiment ⌨
Above all, im a pretty easy going person with few limits on plot material, as long as it falls within the law and guidelines of the site. I love making friends OOC, chatting, sharing music, art. All of the fun things. If you were interested in my thread please shoot me a pm so we can start plotting!!
Heya! Feel free to call me Deer, I'm 21, comfortable with any pronouns, and really itching to write!! So lets get down to business shall we?
₪ Rules ₪
➮ +18
➮ Follow Rp Nation rules please.
₪ What you can expect from me ₪
➮ 400-1300 words per post.
➮ Third person perspective, past tense.
➮ Constant replies, and communication.
➮ Long term collaborations.
Salem sighed, the weight of their situation pressing on him like the chilling air outside. "Well... if we escape in the dead of winter, they won't come looking for us. Too risky," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's risky on our part too..." His hand instinctively reached for Chris's, their fingers brushing together in a fleeting moment of reassurance. Salem squeezed lightly, a silent promise that they'd figure something out. Just then, the intercom crackled overhead, interrupting the brief calm.
"All soldiers report to the yard for briefing from the general," the metallic voice boomed before fizzling out into static. Salem exhaled, getting to his feet with a lazy stretch, his muscles tense from days of being on the move. He collected their trays with a grunt, casting a quick glance at Chris. "Let's get going, big guy," he murmured, a softness in his voice.
The yard was cold and unwelcoming, a barren expanse of dirt and concrete where the soldiers stood, lined up like cattle awaiting judgment. General Ross stood at the front, his posture stiff with authority, his eyes scanning over the men with a quiet gaze. Salem noticed how the general's gaze lingered on Chris, sharp and calculating. He felt a flicker of unease, but remained still.
A heavy silence hung in the air before Ross finally spoke. "Today's the day. You've all been here long enough to gain some real responsibility. But, knowing some of you..." His eyes swept over the crowd, pausing briefly on Chris and a few others. "That can't be given so easily." His smirk was thin and humorless. "So, it's my joy to announce that today, you'll be tattooed with your soldier numbers. Right there on your name badges. Bet you didn't notice that before, huh?" His laugh was more of a sneer, mocking the men who stood before him.
"These tattoos will bring freedom," he continued, his tone swelling with self-satisfaction. "Freedom to do greater things outside of this military base. And, of course, they'll bring recognition of who you are." He spoke as though he believed his own words, though everyone could hear the hollow contradiction in them.
Salem's eyes darted toward Chris. Salem knew two things: Chris would loathe this, and Ross's attention on him was dangerous. Salem's chest tightened, a storm brewing beneath the surface. He clenched his jaw, his gut telling him something unpleasant was going to happen. Then, Ross's attention shifted, and Salem's unease turned into dread. A whispered conversation between Ross and another officer caught his ear, though Salem couldn't make out the words. It didn't matter. The look in Ross's eyes was enough.
"Gentlemen, if you please," Ross commanded, nodding toward Chris. Salem barely had time to react before four soldiers descended on the taller boy. They seized him by the arms, their faces strained with effort, as they dragged him forward. Salem's pulse quickened. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to stay rooted in place. They shoved Chris into a chair, binding his arms behind his back and wrapping a rope tightly around his chest to keep him restrained. It took everything Salem had not to lunge forward, his body trembling with rage. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He couldn't afford to make a scene. Not now. But the sight of Chris—trapped, vulnerable, and humiliated—made his blood boil.
"Even the most..wild..among you can serve a purpose," Ross declared, his voice oozing with smug satisfaction. With Chris fully restrained, a tattoo artist approached, humming a quiet tune as he surveyed Chris's body. There wasn't much space left, the man's skin already marked with ink. The artist's eyes landed on Chris's head, and he gave a small nod. Another soldier stepped forward, clippers in hand, and without a word, shaved off a patch of Chris's hair just behind his ear. Salem watched, helpless, his stomach churning. He couldn't stop it. The buzzing of the tattoo gun filled the air, a cruel reminder of the power Ross held over them. The other soldiers stood in uneasy silence, some shifting nervously on their feet. Salem caught glimpses of their faces—fear, disgust, and for some, a grim acceptance of their fate.
The general's display of dominance was working. Any rebellious spark in the yard was dimming, crushed beneath the weight of his authority. But as Salem looked at Chris, tied down like an animal, the fire in his chest only grew stronger. And he swore, in that moment, that he was going to get Chris out of here even at the cost of himself.
"All soldiers report to the yard for briefing from the general," the metallic voice boomed before fizzling out into static. Salem exhaled, getting to his feet with a lazy stretch, his muscles tense from days of being on the move. He collected their trays with a grunt, casting a quick glance at Chris. "Let's get going, big guy," he murmured, a softness in his voice.
The yard was cold and unwelcoming, a barren expanse of dirt and concrete where the soldiers stood, lined up like cattle awaiting judgment. General Ross stood at the front, his posture stiff with authority, his eyes scanning over the men with a quiet gaze. Salem noticed how the general's gaze lingered on Chris, sharp and calculating. He felt a flicker of unease, but remained still.
A heavy silence hung in the air before Ross finally spoke. "Today's the day. You've all been here long enough to gain some real responsibility. But, knowing some of you..." His eyes swept over the crowd, pausing briefly on Chris and a few others. "That can't be given so easily." His smirk was thin and humorless. "So, it's my joy to announce that today, you'll be tattooed with your soldier numbers. Right there on your name badges. Bet you didn't notice that before, huh?" His laugh was more of a sneer, mocking the men who stood before him.
"These tattoos will bring freedom," he continued, his tone swelling with self-satisfaction. "Freedom to do greater things outside of this military base. And, of course, they'll bring recognition of who you are." He spoke as though he believed his own words, though everyone could hear the hollow contradiction in them.
Salem's eyes darted toward Chris. Salem knew two things: Chris would loathe this, and Ross's attention on him was dangerous. Salem's chest tightened, a storm brewing beneath the surface. He clenched his jaw, his gut telling him something unpleasant was going to happen. Then, Ross's attention shifted, and Salem's unease turned into dread. A whispered conversation between Ross and another officer caught his ear, though Salem couldn't make out the words. It didn't matter. The look in Ross's eyes was enough.
"Gentlemen, if you please," Ross commanded, nodding toward Chris. Salem barely had time to react before four soldiers descended on the taller boy. They seized him by the arms, their faces strained with effort, as they dragged him forward. Salem's pulse quickened. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to stay rooted in place. They shoved Chris into a chair, binding his arms behind his back and wrapping a rope tightly around his chest to keep him restrained. It took everything Salem had not to lunge forward, his body trembling with rage. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He couldn't afford to make a scene. Not now. But the sight of Chris—trapped, vulnerable, and humiliated—made his blood boil.
"Even the most..wild..among you can serve a purpose," Ross declared, his voice oozing with smug satisfaction. With Chris fully restrained, a tattoo artist approached, humming a quiet tune as he surveyed Chris's body. There wasn't much space left, the man's skin already marked with ink. The artist's eyes landed on Chris's head, and he gave a small nod. Another soldier stepped forward, clippers in hand, and without a word, shaved off a patch of Chris's hair just behind his ear. Salem watched, helpless, his stomach churning. He couldn't stop it. The buzzing of the tattoo gun filled the air, a cruel reminder of the power Ross held over them. The other soldiers stood in uneasy silence, some shifting nervously on their feet. Salem caught glimpses of their faces—fear, disgust, and for some, a grim acceptance of their fate.
The general's display of dominance was working. Any rebellious spark in the yard was dimming, crushed beneath the weight of his authority. But as Salem looked at Chris, tied down like an animal, the fire in his chest only grew stronger. And he swore, in that moment, that he was going to get Chris out of here even at the cost of himself.
₪ What I expect from you ₪
➮ 200-1000+ words a post.
➮ First or Third person perspective.
➮ One reply every two to four weeks at the very least, and open communication.
➮ The possibility to be long term collaborators.
₪ Genres...Themes ₪
➮ Sci-fi
➮ Fantasy
➮ Post Apocalyptic
➮ Adventure
➮ Romance
➮ Slice of Life
➮ Drama
➮ Hybrid Genres
₪ Fandoms ₪
➮ My Hero Academia
➮ Beastars
➮ ATLA
➮ Avatar
➮ Titanfall
➮ Monster Hunter
➮ Fallout (4)
₪ Pairings ₪
≻ FxF. Fx(Hermaphrodite), MxM, Mx(Hermaphrodite), FxNb ≺
➮ Monster x Detective
➮ Angel x Demon
➮ Demon x Human
➮ Alien x Detective
➮ Alien x Scientist
Open to more these are just my favorites ! :3
⌨ Ending Sentiment ⌨
Above all, im a pretty easy going person with few limits on plot material, as long as it falls within the law and guidelines of the site. I love making friends OOC, chatting, sharing music, art. All of the fun things. If you were interested in my thread please shoot me a pm so we can start plotting!!
