#rp: stalking the wounded dog

[shimmerbeasts]

Stalking The Wounded Dog

Following Vi had been a thing of ease.

When an animal was wounded enough, it usually tried to find refuge in some secluded spot where it could bleed out in peace and safe from the leering eyes of predators. Not Vi though. Vi chose to take her wounds and wear them like black paint on her skin, presenting herself for all the leering predators and their salivating jaws as if she was daring them to rip her apart.

While Jinx apparently made a mockery of Zaun's animalism by becoming more than a predator, Vi made a mockery of her heritage by turning her role in the natural order inside out. Vi had not filed down her fangs and claws as Jinx had feared. She had done something worse. She had traded those weapons for bucking hooves and piercing horns. She had made herself a wounded prey animal and she fought with the fear of death against everybody in that ring.

The air in the hall of the underground fighting ring was stale and dusty. The sickly pale green light of lamps installed in the ceiling reminded Jinx of Zaun. Funny how that worked. Ever since her rocket, it seemed some of her home's violence had spilt over into perfect Piltover. The floor had been busted open to expose the rot underneath.

The hall was packed. A sea of people from the lower houses and classes of Piltover. Enforcers, cobblers, traders. All those, who did not have enough money to live in a house of marble and gold. Jinx thought she could even catch sight of the leering, leathery hides of Zaunites with their flashing fangs, rolling tongues and clicking claws. She let herself be pushed forth by the maelstrom, cocooned in a simple greyish-brown hood to conceal her telltale blue bangs and startling purple eyes. The visitors were creating a pooling river from the betting stands over towards the edges of the arena where you could look inside.

Jinx finally reached the betting stand. In a swing sat a yordle with grey skin and sunken, green eyes; his fat, little body was practically trapped in an ugly, bright yellow jacket. Jinx wondered idly if his guts would spill coins as she watched him munch on a few tentacles, riddled with grittle.

"Yes?", he asked.

"Red betting cards", Jinx ordered, her voice quiet and hoarse. She rummaged in her cloak in search of her coin purse and asked idly: "Is it possible to meet the young upstart post-stage?"

The yordle let out a throaty laugh, spit flying in Jinx's face. She remained unmoving, though her nostrils twitched and her lips pulled down.

"You are a fan of our young upstart, eh?", the ringleader said with a slimy grin on his round, bat-like face, "Can see why. That crazy butch has been wiping the competition left and right since she started here. Brought in a nice sum of money."

"In a manner of speaking", Jinx answered the question, "Now can you arrange this or not?"

The yordle shook his head and said: "Sorry, cutie, but normally, we don't do behind-the-scenes meetings. Though maybe I make an exception for you, sweetie. Go all in with something that is worth it. If our violent panther wins, you are free to meet her."

Jinx reached under her cloak again and procured her Zapper pistol. The yordle's eyes went wide. He called: "Oh, that's a fancy gadget you got there, cutie. All in then?" Jinx slammed Zapper on the wood and shoved him in the direction of the yordle. Her voice was like ice as she said: "All in."

The crowd was in uproar as the beginning of the first match drew nearer. Jinx let herself be manoeuvred closer to the edge of the pit. Standing between two other burly men, who almost obscured her from view, a single purple eye stared down at the pit, burning with fever.

The ring leader's voice came over a speaker as he shouted: "Good evening lads and lassies! Welcome to the first round of Piltover's Boxing League! Today we have an exciting match for y'all! Are you ready?" The crowd cheered, whooped and stomped their feet. "In the right corner, we have our defender of the golden belt! Last year's champion! You know him, you love him! Give it up for Thundering Thomas!"

Under a loud roar, a large, muscular man a good two times Vi's size came running into the ring. He only wore a pair of shorts, adorned with the aforementioned golden belt, a heavy leather item, adorned with a giant golden buckle. He had pale blond hair, which looked like he had been struck by lightning once, judging by how weirdly jagged it sat on his head. The man pounded his chest, roaring as loudly as possible while the crowd cheered him on.

Jinx stayed silent, though as the part of the announcement, she was actually here for, came through, she grinned wily. "And in the left corner, we have his challenger! You were just as surprised by her upstart as I was! Give a hearty welcome to the newest and most vicious member of our ring! Don't let her claws hit you. Here is Tigress!"

Excited thrills and whistles could be heard. Someone very drunk in the back row yelled: "Please go out with me!" Jinx gave a derisive snort, however, she gave a hearty clap, her rhythm a similar pattern to the slow clap, Silco had done in the cannery so many years ago. As the yordle prepared to bang the gong, shouting for bets, Jinx merely raised her hand with cold confidence, flashing one of the few red cards in the entire room. She fell silent, purple gaze locked exclusively on Vi as the gong rang in her ears.

@ferinehuntress

[sneakymystique]

Mystique Origins

I’m doing a clear-out of some old master links on my page which were from rp days and are long redundant.

One of them is a Mystique bio I wrote for X-Men Evolution. It’s probably the closest I’d come to writing a comics origin story, as nowadays I’ve swung round to the view that Mystique’s origins are better left shrouded. Also, canon has moved on and confirmed that Mystique pre-dates the 19th century, so it’s also obsolete for that reason.

Over 200 years ago a little girl was born to a young couple in the Austrian Empire. For the first ten years of her life the girl was much like any other, although times were hard hers was a loving family and as she grew older it was obvious she was going to be a great beauty, leading her father to hope he’d be able to make an advantageous match for her and his family. But soon after her fourteenth birthday everything changed when the young girl’s skin started to turn blue. The changes didn’t stop there, soon the girl’s raven black hair had turned an unnatural blood red and her eyes began to turn yellow and glow with an ‘unholy’ light. The girl’s parents and the villagers believed the girl had been possessed by the devil and knew what they had to do. A pyre was built in the village, and the girl who needed several men to drag her kicking and screaming, was tied to a stake and set fire to. In those few desperate moments, with the fire licking at her skin, the girl wished she could fly away and her body responded.

A bird, its feathers singed from the flames, escaped the pyre unnoticed and landed in one of the mountain forests. Badly burned, traumatised and starving the girl thought she would soon die, which she indeed did, for the girl did not survive that forest, Mystique did. The first winter was the hardest, although she didn’t feel the cold, there was little to eat on the frozen slopes of the mountains and plenty of predatory animals who could smell a fearful girl from miles away. But she was slowly mastering her powers, working out that she could change into virtually any animal in the forest, become bigger and meaner than anything that stalked her and soon she was the queen of the forest.

Her revenge against her birthplace was brutal. One day a group of hunters from her home village stumbled upon her by accident, they were no match for her, but as she stared down at them she had a sudden realisation. Could she become another human, could she look like them? The villagers were dismayed when the badly wounded hunter returned, talking of an enormous bear. Nobody noticed the yellow glint in his eyes, and soon the villagers began to die one by one. People from a nearby village who eventually came to investigate found the entire village deserted with no traces left save for the remains of a giant pyre in the main square. The rescuers soon left, convinced that the place was cursed, taking with them the village’s only survivor, a stray dog.

Mystique never looked back. The road took her to Vienna, where she used her shapeshifting powers to assume the identity of a wealthy aristocrat. She travelled all over Europe, living in luxury, assuming and discarding hundreds of identities, ingratiating herself with the rich and powerful, her only goal being her own survival. Mystique drifted for most of her first century, sampling the lives of actors, soldiers, spies and politicians. When the First World War came along she sold information to the highest bidder and helped to stir up revolutionary crowds in Russia. During the twenties and thirties she worked for the Soviet Union, Nazi Germany and the United States, hiring her skills as a spy to whoever would pay the most. Shortly after the war Mystique met Eric Lehnsherr and for the first time began to understand that she wasn’t alone. She soon became hooked by his ideology of mutant supremacy and put her talents to use furthering the cause.

Taking the role of Principal of Bayville High, Mystique used the position to recruit young mutants to the cause and keep an eye on the X-Men. Following Magneto’s betrayal, Mystique broke away to pursue her goals independently, creating the identity of Risty Wilde to spy on the x-men and later captured and replaced Professor Xavier and blew up the X-Mansion.

Following the revelation of mutants and the Apocalypse incident, Mystique has killed and replaced National Security Advisor Valerie Cooper whose position she’s using to further her own agenda, which includes the destruction of the X-men.

[radiatorchains]

The scholar wanted to see what he was capable of- an open invitation to release himself from the trappings of humanity in favor of the beast that rooted into his bones.

Jain gave a sudden snap of his jaws at the touch to his muscles, the continued prodding both physical and verbal left him with less patience than usual, and with his face twisted further away from a human visage it was easy to get some idea of the damage his teeth could do.

             "You think I'm like those pitiful dogs out there? Crazed by the taint in their blood?" He snarled, voice a rumbling and inhuman tone with the same threatening cackle beneath the surface. The schoolboy wanted to see, Jain would let him see.

He moved to claw at his chest, black taloned hands ripping away the shirt and vest there, ripping away at his own swarthy flesh with as much ease as the fabric. He would worry about replacing clothes later- after he had his fill of this nonsense. Black blood spilled from the wounds, revealing stained, tawny fur beneath. Jain continued to tear, revealing more of a beastly form. His face shifted into a squared maw, teeth growing and shifting to better fit the animal features with ease.

             "I AM the beast, you fucking idiot!" He bellowed out, followed by the animal laugh. This man wanted this, he had asked for it. It wasn't long at all before what stood before Simon was not the handsome, strapping man from before, but a massive creature of dark and ruddy fur, adorned with strange spots or stripes along its back and down to limbs ending in terrible black claws. It didn't look anything like the beasts that stalked the streets of Yharnam, and now Simon was stuck with it.

Swiftly the beast moved to lunge, jaws open wide in an attempt to bite down on the thin man that had pushed him to discard his human form. It was more comfortable this way, what better way to thank the good doctor than to tear him apart so beautifully?

@eldritch-horror-rp-blog

Teach me? How sad that you'd think that." the doctor replied, taking the pen back from the clawed hand with a bit more force than was polite. Boy? How he hated to be called that, and with such condescension. "But that is hardly a mistake I can blame you for, friend, with your confusion-adled state of mind. Quite pitiable, really."

With gentle prodding fingers, Simon prodded at the muscles.

"Oh but we are only just beginning." he continued, a sense of excitement forming within him. "I would like to see, first hand, the effects of your beasthood. I want to see it all. Every little change in your body. And I want you to describe it to me. In detail. Can you do that, or is that too much for your simple mind?"

@radiatorchains

[deviationdivine]

Deviant Heat • Connor x Reader

DBH After Dark Series

8.2k words

tw: language, smut • rated m/explicit

a/n: 1st full dbh after dark one-shot for 300 followers celebration. This milestone is past but finally have something for it. Thank you loves. Also this includes a nod to an original aesthetic idea used exclusively in a discord server rp involving a murder case detailing the Detroit Ripper. This original story line might creep into other fics down the road. Are you ready for some sin?

“Everything is secure.”

Officer Miller gave the android the all clear despite their sporadic correspondence throughout the day. Let’s say he heard some things while holding down the fort. After their officers left harbor docks, Chris was saddled with evidence compiling. He and a few of the others had to deal without the major detectives especially the RK800.

“Nothing on the inside as you know. Looks like our killer just left that unpleasant surprise on the door.”

Connor’s brows knit together. Surprise is inadequate to describe having evidence smeared on his door. This killer came too close. Imagining you home without him sends a ripple of stress through his tall frame. He holds composure stiffly. His shoulders are tense, eyes fixing on open door. Cleaned by forensics he understands you wished to handle the process in the lab but he already handed it off to someone else. This is far different.

“Has there been any more reported correspondence from them?” he tilts his head as he ponders aloud.

The last message he personally received pointed to him not able to protect for long. A taunt made to illicit a specific reaction. Nothing will prevent him keeping you safe.

Connor’s posture is wound, defensive while in wait. Resembling that of a rearing lion, only the ruffle of a mane shows his inner protective instincts. Churning inside, a blip of fire clouding LED and the android will circle in a predatory thrall. The need outweighs any other parameters as he constructs his own. He will stay up tonight, forego stasis and make sure nothing gets through. As long as you sleep soundly, hopefully you will not worry then.

“Nothing new,” the officer responds with a shrug. “Been quiet since –”

Miller scratches under his cap awkwardly. “Hey, Connor. How’s the lieutenant? I mean really?” He heard about the accident. Spread pretty quickly through department but it’s Gavin who decided to shout it from the rafters. Was anything else to be expected? Reed has a big mouth.

“Hank is doing as well as can be expected.” Explaining the lieutenant’s condition, Connor cannot help but feel responsible. If only he had been there. This murderer will not get away with this. Injuring his partner is only one small step towards the RK800’s true defensive nature.

Deviant or not he still carries those instincts pitting him against his foes with the utmost proficiency.  He will forever remain a skilled killer with combat prowess. There is no turning back the tide on what he is. He was made this way. However, he is also very much alive. Even as he debates this internally, realizing that he wishes to tear this killer apart piece by piece. Connor’s attention is elsewhere, distracted. This is no good for him. He needs to focus.

Life is different for him following the revolution. Deviancy is a blessing but can also be a curse. Emotions are an intricate web. Each one threads as a silky string stronger than it appears. Tendrils glittering, holding weight of emotional surges as dangerous as a tight rope act.

Still this sensation sparkles anew, fresh with those revitalized days since fracturing barriers. His wall is no longer keeping him at bay. Lost in a sea of free will, thought and drive pushes him beyond intricacies of code. It pushes him to you.

He inhales, nodding his head to Chris Miller as he wraps up with the few remaining DPD personnel. They have been coming and going through this high rise all day. Luckily they live on the bottom floor.

Connor finally enters. Shutting and locking door, the android presses palm against security scanner. Skin melts away revealing white plastic, his eyes blinking in succession with panel connection; he primes it for added protection, gaze softening at you near window.

Seemingly staring at nothing in particular through pane, everything is tense around your figure and it pulls him away. Moving up behind, sliding his bare fingers in a glide against your neck, his head drops down breathing beside ear.

“Y/N.”

Smooth white digits, his husky voice make you shiver into him. Already sweeping arms over waist, he tugs close to hold you safely and full of this burning need. He always wanted you but most importantly he needs you. Tonight you need him it is abundantly clear.

“Everything will be all right.” Whispering close allows lips to brush warm skin.

Data analysis screams out your anxieties and his arms tighten, snug, a warning to that fucking killer; Connor’s jaw tightens, falling into his deviant emotions, ruthless edge of negotiator presents itself at full light. His can be a blind side as he turns to those machine instincts. They will complete his mission.

He vows as certain as emotional ignition sparking his system anew. A way to fix, prevent these grisly murders gripping Detroit. Anyway he can and stopping this Ripper will end this.

“Please, calm down,” he advises, processes data compiling. “Your stress is far too high.”

It riddles him too but he masters a determined expression, a brave face. As the humans are prone to say and Connor kisses your jaw, massaging long fingers down against hips. A huff of breath lurches up his throat in a cradled pull of synthetic heart.

Sensors are high in his artificial epidermis, digging deep below its pale tissue. Even unto the wholly plastic frame hidden beneath he is a living being. Sentience is more than what is built in him. Adaptable to environment as he and transmutes solely of machine, biocomponents to particles of his humanity. Subatomic in system, unknown to naked eye but inside he feels them grow. As true, alive he grows since revolution’s end.

“Nothing can hurt us together, love.” Oaths are still new to him. Even as he understands, learns to accept this deviancy. “I will never let anything happen. I love you. And no murderer will change that. I will tear them apart before I let them hurt you.”

Shelter. It is the best way to describe how Connor's arms feel encircling, protective and full of unparalleled affection. Amounts are light at times. A gentle breeze cresting through windowpane and he is that natural airy scent that comes with it.

Others are electrified turning him into that whirlwind that swept his way through DPD. Little did you realize when he first came but then – How naïve is that when first seeing him you felt a thud in your chest? Just his cute little bobs of head while contemplating, brows furrowing, and the proverbial puppy dog look. You knew now how spontaneous it was for him. He never truly knew how well that expression would make someone cave. Honestly, you recall a little incident with him and Hank during one of their early cases. Connor needed more time. There came the puppy dog look of doom. He obviously knows now. There is so much more humanity in him.

You shiver oh so pliable to him. Clay to mold and your body does transform upon each touch. Feeling his unique warmth, innate husk and lips move in a promise against flush skin. Sounds are sweet and real as real as these vows spoken between you. Vows never once expected in your life but with him - oh with him this is beauty. He is beauty, in physicality and soul, in a dark world. Yes a soul because they are mated, entwined in one cradle.

Soul mates, he told you early on he admired the concept. Now he says he breathes it. Your Connor is alive. To hell with anyone who still thinks otherwise. It never mattered that he was an android. Never in your heart and it never will. You just want this to be forever. In Connor's arms eternity blooms colorfully fragrant in his petals caressing even with a murderer stalking the city.

Biting bottom lip at his fingers running in a slippery caress, you inhale sharply. Nestling your back to his firm chest, his body cages around and locks you away from this. It only could.

“Connor.” A quick breath, cherishing his gentleness despite his other violent skill sets, you pull away. Enough to twist around and face him now, eyes train up onto his: a sea of chocolate, steamy coated in luscious caramel. His eyes are burnish hues, loving but also hardened in worry. He wants to kill this Ripper. That you understand. Just from a look both soft in his love but also smoldering. He is forever made to kill.

Connor was originally meant to be Cyberlife’s killing machine and becoming deviant didn’t erase what he’s capable. Instead he became a hero. He freed his people; he-he became a friend, lover.

You swallow now thinking of the Ripper’s agenda. Android-human couples and those two women they were both married to their respective android partners. One of the androids she was murdered too. How easily could this person do that if they too did not have an advantage? Could they be dealing with an android that kills?

Shaking your head you are unable to hide these thoughts twisting in the mind. How can you hide from an advanced boy like him? He reads it easy. He scans always making sure that you’re OK. But when do you get to make sure he is too? Just like when you first met. When he was still trapped?

“How can everything be all right, Connor?” Huffing at him, clear about how messed up this is, you cross arms over chest. “When that fucking maniac came here! They were here, Connor! And we didn’t even know it! What if they’ve been here before? How many other times and we didn’t know?”

Before he even attempts to reach out you move away from the window. Picking up a few digital magazines left sitting on coffee table distracts. You should just clean up some anyway. Not that there’s much to clean. Connor’s pretty pristine that way. Besides the fact he’s an android but it’s not exactly known that he’s messy.

Occasionally clothes will be strewn in extra piles. That’s when you can’t wait. The urge to claw at each other, rip off accessories and… another huff, more intimate as this begins to burn, setting those data pads in a bookcase. A mix of new tech and old physical books nestle together. You study spines of those paper copies seemingly so ancient compared to new technology. Funny how quickly items become so obsolete in a short period of time. Nothing in this can be antiquated. Never these in a moment of pure terror but subtly you sink, twist to look at him.

He cocks his head, lips drooping as his mouth does that crooked thing you love. This time it doesn’t do anything to paint a smile to your face.

“I haven’t been this scared since…” A heavy almost sad breath tinges verbal thought. “When I thought I lost you, Con.” Softer than a feather it falls. Briskly you feel it run down deep to your core. Those memories paint a profound image. Who needs perfect memory when it is one strand in a timeline full of pieces? They all connect. Everything is always connected.

“Jericho. On the news. When they raided, that explosion,” trailing slightly, it is a strong case. Admitting it is too easy because it was the only truth you knew. “I thought you were gone there.”

Shaking your head it’s something discussed before. All of it, everything because opening up was another part of him adapting to his emotions. You never felt so full, so whole until he came into your life. This fear brought it all back. “But that wasn’t anything compared to Cyberlife Tower or-or that fucking program. Trying to take control of you, to hurt you again!”

Tears glisten, cascade in a torrent of ache moved beyond. Surviving all of that to potentially lose what you fought to keep to some maniac – hurts. Watching innocents terrorized, lives taken for who they wish to be with stabs you just as deeply. It is personal because you are like them. You are with him and you squeeze eyes shut. Naturally your body leans into his when he is there.

Quicker than anything he’s always here. As you were for him, reminding each time that he is so worth it. He only ever deserved to be free and happy. Connor is everything in a vast expanse of the world. Your world is much more colorful since him.

“Con.” Breath staggers at his touch. Thumbs rub affectionately against your cheeks. Displacing unwanted, angry tears you shiver at the colder digits of white. The skin of his right hand remains deactivated but feels so right, good against human skin.

Tilting your face into the smooth palm, you slide fingers atop his large hand. Kissing at his thumb, pushing his fingers close for your mouth, a tiny moan creeps up throat as you begin sucking on his index. Swirling tongue between his fingers, leaving a glistening sheen of saliva on smooth plastic, your body presses into his. 

Leaving wet trails over the stark beauty beneath his synthetic palette, you grind hips knowing how it feels without. All over his body, you’ve experienced raw desire as himself. He was worried the first time because he didn’t think it would be comfortable.

Oh but was he wrong. With skin, without skin, he fucks you to the moon and back.

“Connor,” a whisper, pleads for him as he holds you tightly by hips. “I want you. I need this. I need you, Con.” 

Kissing up at his jaw sets his body tense. Moaning that nickname now, you fall into his strong grab. Sliding arms up over his broad shoulders after he slides off and drops jacket to floor, your legs find a way to wrap around his waist. A sharp exhalation slithers past lips when he hoists you up with ease.

Tangling fingers in his hair, lips fuse together as you give into his prodding tongue. Allowing him entry, tasting his otherworldly tang it is intoxicating. His tongue slides, caresses wet and hot metallic. Filling your mouth up with quick darts, sensual flicks, you feel it bubbling. A sweet burn in your stomach is a confessional. To every part of him you demand to be against every part of you.

Connor forces you against the wall. The push is smooth but direct in where he wants you. Still attached to him, legs clench as it hits in a wave. You whimper at the hot pulse. Already needy in a shiver his muscled body rubs up against your softer flesh. 

Digging into the nape of his neck, you drag another hand to savor him. Beneath white buttoned shirt his toned body is a godsend. All it does is warble senses. The haze is thick just as thick as him grinding, straining to free himself. You just fucking want him out of those clothes.

“Connor, yes.”

You encourage his move to remove your shirt, gasping into his mouth at the rip he tears at the fabric. Sucking in a breath you lift arms to get the article off. His mouth is there. Kissing atop exposed skin Connor buries his face into the crook of your neck, his large hands brace against wall. Purposely he keeps you upright with the feral, hungry press of his body. Instantly your head drops back, lips parting to suck in breath at his grinding. 

“Please, fuck me, Con.”

Connor’s groan is a sharp answer. Building up from deep in his chest it unleashes this carnal side. A scalding fire broils in his stomach. He feels every part of you in his deviant skin, shell and all matter in between. Thriving on pleas, digging his wires deep into bones of your vessel, he lifts his head. Hair is a mess. Rebel strand flops greedily for your fingers. Twisting and tugging at his strands, he engulfs lips with his. Muffling pants drawn up his throat and sighs slipping out from you, Connor deepens the kiss.

The android slides tongue slowly mimicking the passionate tango of lovers. Data blinds him momentarily. Tasting what makes up your DNA, sweetened and ethereal; he gasps equally ravenous, hips pressing hard into your groin.

“Love,” he whispers, cupping face to force those lively eyes of yours onto him. The way they light up in a covetous spark.

Warm brown darkens to devour every last piece in return. Begging him to take you in this mess of emotions, stress and anxiety, Connor cannot deny. He never has denied you anything not since he first walked through those DPD doors.

 As much as he strives to hold together, not allow these murders to cripple his levels, he needs this. He needs you. Connor aims to show each time why he became deviant. While he mastered through the first stages of it there are still times of overwhelming battles. You become too upset. He never wants to be the reason you shed tears. Even for his life in danger.

No. You will be happy. He vowed to make it so because you have made him feel this blossom of emotion. That is all he could ask to be accepted despite what he truly is.

Seizing you in a burning gaze, Connor haphazardly unbuttons shirt and rouges shoulders to get the constricting clothing off. A new pile begins. He reaches for your thighs. Squeezing them in a maneuver to unwrap them from his waist, he catches you to steady balance when feet return to the floor.

Tugging buckle loose, Connor pushes jeans down and indelicately kicks shoes from feet. Matching frantic actions to shed every last stitch, he helps in this task as he unbuttons yours, pushing them down past hips and undressing in a complete flux. He follows your exposed form now with hands, skin stitching back over fingers.

“No,” an immediate protest quivers through separated lips. “I want to feel your fingers without.”

Connor swallows. Arousal grows tight. Processing needs, analyzing to satisfy, he will give whatever you want. An act of love bonds you further into each other’s worlds. Existences twine, nurture and build together. He makes love to someone so humanely warm, so alive that the RK800 forgets for a moment that he is a machine. With you he is no longer sent by Cyberlife. Past and won in their favor, Connor always looks to the future with you in his arms. 

The moment he first kissed you surrounded by new fallen snow, crisp winter air the android found his meaning in humanity. With his friend, soul mate, love of life he is a man. Somehow even he can believe that.

Lifting his hand, twisting fingers to draw your eyes, Connor deactivates his skin up elbow. He leans in close. Gliding and gripping with the plastic of his fingers grants him natural, raw possession of you. 

Hoisting you back up to him, bodies plastered together intimately, Connor carries you through apartment. Squeezing eyes shut under the soft moist touch of your lips, he backs blindly into couch. Jolting a bit, his arms tighten their hold.

You simply gasp. Expelling sweet breath into his mouth makes him lightheaded in circuits.

Connor thrusts you against the corridor wall, pinning, writhing together with your form glued to him, limbs wound to tie him to your softer body. He groans in appreciate of how you feel. “I am about to wreck you.”

Growling, tapping into his negotiator side, the one that still drives him in work, the RK800 aggressively bites into your neck. Scraping, licking over teeth marks and Connor sucks at the tender flesh. Nibbling at that sweet spot sends a rush down to his groin. His cock pushes against boxers aching. He aches to be inside of you. No longer can he wait and from those stuttered gasps neither can you.

The bedroom door bursts open in frantic movement. A tangling kiss crashes hard as your bodies drop. Bed creaks beneath the sudden drop of weight; Connor falls sideways to prevent his heavy frame crushing. That would not be romantic in the slightest nor pleasurable.

Pushing you up and back down atop soft coverlet, white and black patterns of trees stitch in quilt. A bright aesthetic decorates this room. Tall sheer curtains cover windows in an off white flutter. Equally soft is the sheer hanging twisted at each point of four poster bed.

Already you’re a mess atop pillows, chest heaving from his ministrations. He relieves tensions, paying attention to the quiver of skin beneath his lips. Kissing along the length of your neck provides him with a moment of calculation. 

Spontaneity is still something he is working on. What can be more spontaneous than fucking you during a serial murderer case? Possibly not the best thing to analyze while preparing to, as he has heard from some colorful people, fuck you senseless.

A torturous glide brings hand down, sticking his bare white fingers into his mouth. He narrows eyes onto you while sucking. Letting you watch while getting rid of his boxers in one shift he moans around his slick digits. A shudder of relief unmakes his sturdy frame as he springs forth. His cock twitches at the sight of you arching upon the bed, licking and biting your lips. 

Resting palms atop each knee separates them. Immediately he lurches forward to give a lick between thighs. Data streams in a nibble on inner thigh, biting hot skin but your jerk of hips stops under his strong hand.

Connor smirks. Knowing your body all too well it’s the quiver in anticipation for him instead of a human man that does things to him. You chose him as much as he chose you. No, he was blessed with this, with you and these sensations.

Leaning atop your supine figure shifts his hair across forehead. A messy chocolate oh how you want to eat him like a Hershey Kiss. Better yet rich Swiss chocolate creamy and smooth as his pale skin shimmers in freckle highlights. His torso is like a bust chiseled out of marble. Artistic and delicious are the adjectives of love. Tonight he is all those things. All of this dies in a fog of lust when his hand thrusts between your thighs.

He rubs, swirls and strokes, eating your moans. He builds a bridge with the rise of your body. The bone of your human structure strengthens to his craftsmanship. As quick as he erects this empire he burns it down in your honor.

Teasing further along, Connor stops to lick the plastic digits clean. He moans at the taste. Hovering above your awaiting, burning body, lithe and muscled, he dips his head to suckle warm skin.

 A symphony of gasps moans, scratching of nails into synthetic skin eggs him on. How he craves your marks. Littering him until healing wipes them away but Connor loves them as much as he loves giving them returning the favor. When he sheds all of his skin and you press kisses all over the white shell of his body; Connor gasps, gripping himself in hand as the fantasy manifesting in his processors produce a leak of precum.

Dots of light blue stain the bed between you. He kneels in front, positioning to slide his cock in sweet friction. Hips grind atop yours searing, pulsating drawing your arousal to its peak. A soft whine is already out of your mouth. Verbally begging him now the impatience is beginning to kill you. Connor readjusts. Sliding the thick head in a tease, he watches your lips separate, parting to release a string of sharp breaths, eyes on his. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip lowering eyes and you follow.

You watch, rubbing against his length with fingers formed in a V, biting lip; haze of sex floods his sensors. Natural perception overtakes every impulse in his hovering frame becoming an archway above your quivering foundation. Witnessing the hungry look on your face but it’s your eyes becoming heady; lids droop in a canopy of need as that beautiful cock snaps to action. He thrusts forward.

“F-fuck.” Connor curses, gripping onto your thighs and holding legs up, yanking you down to fit himself all the way. He cannot go any further, cock twitching in the squeeze of you hugging him in a loving embrace. 

“Y/N...” His head hangs back, pale neck stretched as far as it is functionally able. He remains that way a minute allowing time to adjust but your needy whines bring the android back to life. His current mission is set: fuck you until you cum the way you deserve. The android does just that.

Moving hips, pulling back to slide back out, Connor pivots waist for the next thrust. Rearing up with a deep growl ripping from up his torso, he pulls your legs up to prop them against broad shoulders, snapping hips hard. The gasps slipping up your throat make him shiver in a pleasant glitch. His LED is scarlet, wet gush of flesh sinking, swirling together filling audio processors. And Connor finds himself no longer part of his body. Connected with you, digging nails to hips, scratching and claiming the RK800 transcends being a machine. As he fucks to the rhythmic tune of his and your moans, he is alive in your universe.

“Connor!” Whipping head back to pillows, twisting covers in fingers, your eyes squeeze shut lost in the building ache. Fluttering in the pit of your stomach it grows, spreading fire through extremities. Each thrust fills, bottoming out in his luscious raw power. You are so full of him. God. Please.

Craving how good, thick and beautiful this man’s cock is sends you somewhere else. Yes, a man. He is yours, your sweet, romantic Connor. Balancing out his cool, killer instinct paints him as a complex being. There are two parts two him. Different sides of a coin and tonight he shows his humanity. A single look from those gentle brown eyes makes you feel like you can travel the universe. He ignites as a supernova. For him you burn as a glittering star and he swallows vast, endless in his love. With each snap pushing his hips flush you fall at his mercy pushing to claw up at him. You need to touch him.

“C-Con…”  Oh how sweet that nickname. How fluid it breezes past your lips glistening as tongue swipes across your bottom. Muscles scream out in tiredness, legs going completely lax propped up against his shoulders. The position strains muscles but it’s a sign of raw lovemaking.

Nights can be soft, sweet but others-others are like this. An oncoming storm battering your fragile shelter and Connor is that gale that first blew into the DPD. He is everything made to be perfect, efficient but in your eyes? He wasn’t a mere construct. You fell in love with him for who he truly is. He deserves all that love. After being shunned by society, hurt by some evil master program; you’re happy to see him accepted. Watching him get actual praise for doing his job? No longer seen as a tool but an active member of the DPD? 

It’s a pleasant flutter in your stomach. Connor is one person who deserves everything. Yes, he is person, he is so alive.

Moaning his name, rolling your head lazily atop pillows, you huff as he allows your legs to shift off from his broad shoulders. Falling down against you, chest squished under his, breath stutters at the friction of synthetic skin rubbing against your hot flesh. It’s a sensitive but delicious sensation. Trapped beneath his muscled frame, pale skin a starry painting and each freckle you longs to kiss. Of course you already have.

Exploring him that first time was just as good. It was more than sexual. Every emotion pours from him when he connects with you in the most intimate ways. This is all still new for him but being deviant opens up avenues he originally denied. 

Of course you realize this but each day makes him just a bit more human. What better way than showing, sharing as you consume every part of him as he’s done to every inch of your body. You both know each other like no one else. This never changes. You always come undone, surrendering for him.

The deep glide of his cock forces your back to arch. Planted between thighs now, legs full of needles from his slamming strokes, he rears his body above now, feral and growling. Those inhuman sounds are enough to make you shudder. 

Fuck. That husky snarl!

Immediately you grab onto him. Raising knees up beside his hips, you squeeze them against his body. Nails scratch into his chest as he pushes up now. Blue trails etch under clawing passion. The same motion along his exposed white arm simply scrapes without leaving marks on stark plastic but he shivers all the same. He perceives underneath the epidermis with every sensor going off in his body.

“Connor,” a whimper, eyes hazy, walls clenching down as he fills you all the way again. “I want to see more…of you.” Sharply those breaths invade the room. 

Silhouettes tango in rhythmic shadow, the android arching his back as he fucks you the way he knows you prefer. No one could ever make you howl with such need. No one could fulfill, morph you to complete putty in their hands like Connor.

Everything transforms in his possession. Nothing compares and you know this with each fiber of being.

“Oh, Con…”

Taut, sinewy his muscles ripple in synthetic harmony, body sliding against yours. Blue floods veins pumping consistently at the friction between you both. Connor groans sharply. His eyes lock down onto yours glittering in a wave of sin. An ocean he drowns in but ultimately skims along calm seas.

A gasp spills deliciously up throat. Trembling beneath his frenetic energy is an urgency to have him connect on a deeper level as it paints stars in your eyes. Long fingers interlock through yours. They curl over to clasp atop knuckles his large hand engulfing your own. Pushing your arm down holds it there but still your free fingers trail up against Connor’s back. Following the curve of his spine, digging nails this time, you rake scratching glowing blue in a pattern to his lower back. Finding purchase upon his ass gives a squeeze. Toned perfection that he is drives wild desire.

Encouraging his hard thrusts, sticky flesh melding, sinking his cock, so snug, completely stretching out it draws tears corners of eyes. You bite down trying to stifle the obscene sounds lurching up throat. Yet it’s too late. Each moan every gasp grows louder, catching in your throat and keening in luscious waves. 

How does a body become a tidal pool? A sensual stream of water shifts in a ripple beneath him. How deep does he dive? Enough to submerge into your abyss he sinks to the deepest trench. Dark and hidden it is more when you are together.

Your voice becomes a filthy soundtrack to his husky groans. Listening to him lose control, peeking up through half lidded eyes, it’s the sight of his handsome face twisted in love and lust that builds you to completion. Seeing your Connor shed his collected demeanor and become that fearsome negotiator, unleashing the strength he knows he holds but never would he hurt you.

Even when you want him to just rail you without consequence, craving that internal bruising that leaves you wrecked for days. Connor makes sure there isn’t any lasting damage. You can have hard, rough sex or just slow loving. The options are endless. This is endless.

You want him every which way. He wants you the same. Each time with the RK800 is like the first and he, this beautiful boy you love more than the whole universe always will shatter your resolve. You’ll always want this.

He shares this with you. Never questioning emotions because they are his now. With you he can be himself. Disabling skin, smooth layer disappearing stitch by stitch leaves stark white entwined you’re your human digits. The warmth of you is still tenfold. Even more Connor feels whenever showing his true self. He will only ever show this to you, he only ever has.

The android moans into your lips. Soft and boyish and everything you crave. He gives it willingly. Just as he as craves and needs you, Connor devours those sharp breaths. His lithe frame shudders, grinding hips against yours and it begins driving you crazy how slow he’s going now.

Desire swells up his torso. Fingers produce a soft glow against yours in another bind of this union. It’s hue is beautiful. He is so beautiful: with or without his skin it doesn’t matter. Connor is Connor. He’s the only thing that makes you happy. Why deny that? Why deny something so real even if others view him as not?

Huffing desperately snaps hips up into his to make him move faster. A cry falls so sweet impaling yourself up onto his cock. His is animalistic. Yet, he still gives you his gentle loving side. 

Caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, swiping off those tears of desire, you smile, listless. His return smile makes your heart pound. Even as he fucks you senseless he cocks his head, rebel strand of hair flopping cute and innocent like his expression. Soon it twists again, hungry as he drives himself deep.

“Please,” you beg, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m so close.”

Sensing it already, it doesn’t take you revelation. He knows your body more than you know it yourself. Moaning into his lips as he kisses you deeply, sensual stroke of tongue invading mouth, your kiss is wet, passionate. Your whole body trembles. Feeling his cool thumb rubbing down between the snap of his hips; without skin it’s slippery, sliding and circling in time with the plunge of his cock hitting all of those glorious spots. 

You squeeze legs around his waist, wrapping them, threading ankles together to clench tightly. Arms wind around him to hold on as your body shivers, thighs rippling despite their lock. Beside your head Connor growls viciously, a sharp rip right next to ear.

The fabric fall loosely against your neck tickling but you ignore what your android lover did to your bedding. Instead you fall, in a quaking mess; neck stretched back with head dropping back, crying out his name in that glorious snap that floods vision. Everything becomes a low roar washing away all feeling. Momentarily blinded, eyes shut in your release; the knot finally dissipates as everything floods. 

You gasp at the warm gush. Hot, full and creamy, Connor follows through soon after and he pushes to the hilt a final time keeping himself snug.

The sensation of his cum soaking, spilling every last drop he dribbles out between legs. Always you want him to finish sheathed inside. Needing his cum desperately, leaking out in a beautiful hue of light blue; your lips are moist as you kiss, his cock pulling out slowly.

Heaving in sharp breaths, fingers still attached to his white arms, you watch his head dip down to watch the spill of his artificial seed leak out. A genuine fascination he always gets, eyes alight in that boyish curiosity. He looks so cute it’s melting you on the spot. A big contrast to how dominant he was railing you against your bed.

You stretch fingers up to his chiseled cheekbone and his eyes snap up from studying the delectable mess he made in and around your inner thighs. This time he leans forward into your lips and your arms snake around his neck kissing him just as soft.

A quiet moan gives away Connor's true feelings even after becoming liquid above you body. His inorganic frame melts against yours. Balancing himself with palms flattened to mattress, he squeezes eyes shut to savor the sweetness of your mouth. He groans rougher the deeper it crests mingling with his orgasm. 

Coming down from the shiver of human physicality leaves the android spent of energy. He can easily make love to you multiple times over but he reads the exhaustion. You are content holding on and caressing him both synthetic and his bare plastic.

Focusing on his skin activates the cells in a wind. Covering his arms once again, he cups your face with his fingers just as they return to their human state. He leans to nibble on your bottom lip. Tugging the plump flesh with teeth ends in a smirk. Sharp breaths and thudding heart sends him a beautiful analysis. You are stunning. “I told you I would wreck you, Love.”

Connor's barely there smile is teasing. A natural aesthetic makes his smooth face livelier if only for a brief moment. He leans his cheek into the warmth of you. As you reach up to stroke, trace his cheekbones your heart races. An equal smile if not in its full flavor but loving and gentle from his love thrums deep in chest. His synthetic heart, the thirium pump that regulates his tempo chugs in sync.

“I love you,” he whispers husky beside ear. “No one will hurt you. I won’t let them.” Connor's tone is firm in his determination.

Taking you now to show, to share what keeps him grounded in this life he chose; he needed this as much as you did. A reminder to what you both overcame and no fucking murderer will touch you.

Sensing worry return as you hold onto him, he trails fingers down your side. Rubbing soothing circles against thigh, Connor shifts. This time he straightens up in a seat edge of the bed. His eyes narrow on the shredded pillow. During his loss of control he tore the fabric sheath. He cocks head back to you. His hand folds atop yours where it rubs up his forearm.

He teases next, “I will draw a hot bath for you to soak in. If you so require.”

Caressing flush skin with his thumb he means to keep you occupied from everything. The glow of his LED shifting from calm blue to processing amber shows where his mind is. Deviancy grants him everything he will never want taken from him. It also compromises the android exactly what this Ripper is hoping. Their killer knows more about androids than they realize.

 SEVERAL HOURS LATER

protect while you can droid...

 A flutter blooms, flashing from internal messaging system. Forcing Connor’s eyes to pop open out of a short bout of stasis draws his head up from pillow. His jaw tightens.

Receiving the unexpected transmission leaves a bad taste. If he could readily taste beyond data analysis; his arm shifts from around your waist. Your body nestles beneath coverings in a spooning embrace from his protective caution. Now he breaks out of low power mode with another taunt from their killer.

The android gauges your current status. Breathing softly, finally asleep after a long bath, he soothed whatever worries you had left. They are not completely gone. His stress spikes now. It is enough to protect. He fought to protect during the revolution. Even when he was still machine each thread of instability attached itself to you. You were courageous. Anyone who wishes to risk well being for something not alive is brave beyond a doubt. He is alive. He has you and Hank to thank for that.

Connor untangles from you. Sitting upright, narrowing eyes on open door, his defensive protocols activate. He leaves the bed, quickly striding out of the room.

Lights illuminate the central space of expansive apartment. His steps are bare, determined to check entrance. Calculations suggest their killer will not make another appearance. After the hospital but – can he be sure? 

Listening to percentages is not always the correct answer. If he had listened while chasing the deviant on the roof, Hank may have fallen to his death.

Deactivating security lock, Connor sidesteps through door. Corridor lights illuminate his pale skin, exposed in a state of half undress. Even then he would tear this fucking Ripper apart.

Everything in his system screams out in stress. As the senior deviant detective he is better acquainted with emotions. Threats against those he loves cripple the android’s composure. He already lost his temper at Reed. This investigation must be completed. Before more lose their lives –

Connor reenters, securing your home. He knows that you would like to live in a house. It has been a dream of yours. Ever since opening his eyes he has shared this. His gaze shifts across living room. Falling on curtains covering glass, he inhales unnecessary but inspects quickly. 

Tugging them open, scanning, all he sees is an empty night. The wall is glass pane, an aesthetic you found pleasing allowing natural light inside. All the android can see it as is a weak point.

His head cocks to the side, audio processes picking up click of door. He drops the curtains in place and frowns. “You should be sleeping.” Connor’s eyes snap onto your bare legs, trailing up to the buttoned shirt you hastily put on after bath. One of the android��s shirts - obviously.

Funny that he'd say that. You'll sleep when you’re dead. The idea squirms in stomach. Bad choice of words lately. All of this is just...

Forgetting for a while being completely entwined with him made you feel safe. He only ever made it that way even when he was struggling. It makes you somewhat happy to have this much peace. Can't have too much apparently. Look at these murders, everything falling apart and…

“Well, I woke up cold.” You tease him. Putting on a smile is equal to having a brave face. Slinking over to Connor, you slide a palm flat against his bare chest. Leaning up on toes to meet him closer as he dips his head down, you brush lips sweetly into his. A pair of strong hands clutch at your waist. You huff pleased with his touch and tap tip of a finger against his chin.

“I was waiting for a certain android to turn up his system heat.”

Smiling up at him, a sigh escapes, swallowing after shifting back from him. Pretty obvious what he's up to. Doesn't take a rocket scientist. Being with him might've been blissful but waking up alone like you did, half asleep, you thought something – happened.

Never mind what you thought. He's here. One thing you’ve known ever since they met is he'll always be here. “Con, I know what you're doing.” You slip back and sit down.

Curling up on couch, you idly run a hand against the creamy upholstery. “Don't think you can hide it from me. Think I've had a good grasp of your quirks since the first time I saw you at the DPD. And do you want to know what I thought? That you were the cutest thing. For a badass detective.”

Connor cocks his head with a smirk. “Am I not still 'cute' for you, Love?” Joining your bundled perch it is easy to read. You are deflecting. He understands why. Hiding his actions has become less successful. He only does so to protect, alleviate whatever worries there are. You went through just as much because of this relationship. Falling in love with someone like him but he fell in love equally. There is no one else he will ever want to hold, cherish in his arms. The message from the Ripper only pushes this parameter in his protocol.

Missions are his to own in deviancy. His mission is to serve and protect. Most importantly he will do everything in his power to shield the one he has come to love.

The android swirls his thumb atop exposed skin. Dragging fingertips along your leg, you stretch out, sliding limb to hang over his knee. It draws you in a close cocoon with him. Comforts of home are shattered after the vandal. He knows you are afraid.

“You know what has happened as well as I do. As much as I want to shield you from this I also know how strong you are. You made me see. When my people were hunted down, captured and-and I will fight for you now.” Connor leans close, fingers sliding down your neck, pressing forehead lightly against yours. 

He inhales the scent of you in a sense of feeling. “You caught me, Y/N. I was checking the apartment. My stress levels have been higher.”

Never can he lie. You have opened up so much to each other. You are soul mates in ways that even he could not initially comprehend. Connor bathes in your words, christening him a beautiful soul and the RK800 believes you. He believes in this because it makes him alive with every artificial breath, every synthetic beat of his heart. Nothing will take away what you have built, continue to build together.

“And I have done something I shouldn't have.” Connor confesses his stress. It is strange for him still to admit all of these emotional surges but he owns them. “I lost my temper with Reed. While I should be the one keeping everyone calm, focused. I lost my focus. All of this discourse in the DPD will only make it easier for this murderer.”

Swirling a fingertip along the circumference of his indicator is a sign of acceptance. Oftentimes you brush lips to his temple. Kissing the very android part of him shown outwardly to the world; you slide fingers through his rich coffee strands. 

Massaging his scalp, pecking little kisses all over his face, caressing each mark of beauty he was constructed with. Freckles paint his entire body and make him so uniquely handsome.

“Connor, please don't worry so much about me. If it means raising your stress... You know it scares me when you mention that.” A light laugh breezes past lips despite the confession. Is this you trying to remain calm or at least distracting? It sounds ridiculous that's all. Of anyone Connor can handle anything. He's strong. Always has been but losing him now will utterly destroy. You won't be able to.

“Con,” you whisper, pressing forehead back to his. “I doubt losing your temper with that asshole is the end of the world.” No surprise to you because Gavin has that effect on people. “After what he tried to do to you? Don't you even think you did something wrong. Besides, everyone wants a shot at him at some point.” You smile. Brightly this time but – “What's happening, Connor? Why? This maniac loose in the city. Why would they do this?”

One of your friends is dead. This monster came back to finish the job! That wasn’t all. This murderer has killed androids too. The idea of Connor winding up that way hurts. Cupping his cheek against palm, you lean up, brushing lips in a sweet lock. He's the only one that would ever hold the key. 

“I can't imagine being left alone. I can't imagine anything without you.” Holding it in streams this fear. It shivers right down to the core. Even as Connor pulls you flush against his chest nestled in his strong embrace; he rests his back to couch arm. You shift atop him. Resting in a tangle, cheek pressed beneath his chin and you plant a kiss onto his synthetic skin. 

Nibbling up along the pale column of your lover’s throat, sliding body atop his firm muscled frame props you up to reach his lips. A sigh slips out at his cinched arm hugging tightly.

“I love you, Connor.” Your breath hitches. “I just want to wake up from this.”

“I love you.” Softly he confesses. Just as the first time following his break into deviancy he gives you this. It is what you deserve, what you both deserve. All the love he can muster and Connor craves. He longs, needs you as he needs thirium to power his biocomponents. You are the calm in his storm. A safe harbor for him to rest his weary mechanical bones after grueling days, cases pushes his stress.

Connor is not one to complain. He has adapted easily in this free will, shedding Cyberlife, escaping Amanda via emergency exit. All of it led him back to your arms. Jericho was the moment he knew. Listening to Markus' words made him snap. Everything he said was real. Just as being alive is real and Connor holds you close.

“Shh. Be still, My Heart.” Whispering husky, comforting, he holds no answers to why. Why do murderers terrorize the innocent? In this dark time in Detroit you will never be alone. He made that oath when he first told you his true human feelings.

Twining fingers with yours now draws your ring up for his lips to touch. The gold band on his melds in harmony as fingers engulf in his large grasp. “Sleep, Y/N. You need it for tomorrow.”

Making a choice to stay here, stroking your back, he listens to your breath grow shallow. Connor's eyes shift to ceiling as you fall asleep lying atop him on couch. Guilt flutters in a scarlet blip as he keeps this killer’s message to himself.

Anything to protect and this time you do not need to hear tonight. He simply watches over you.

tag list: @your-taxidermy @tropfenlady @catastrophes-light @justashamwithwastedpotiental @tommy-10-k @dreamyby @etherealcel @clussysposts @queefsofsilence

[archiefm]

         ... claws my way up from hell once more and vomits onto the dash.... hello. its nora. i used to write rory bergstrom, but if u were here before that u might remember me as greta or alma putnam or..... som1 else.... an endless carousel of trash children..... this is finn, who i actually wrote for an early version of this rp abt 5yrs back now...... grits teeth..... so forgive me if im rusty i havent written him in a long time but seein honey boy gave me a lotta finn muse n im keen to get Back On The Horse yeehaww...

DYLAN O’BRIEN / CIS-MALE — don’t look now, but is that finn o’callaghan i see? the 25 year old criminology and forensic studies student is in their graduate year of study year and he is a rochester alum. i hear they can be judicious, adroit, morose and cynical, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet he will make a name for themselves living off-campus. ( nora. 24. gmt. she/her )

shakes my tin can a humble pinterest, ma’am....

finn has a bio pasted at the bottom (n written in like.... 2015.... gross) but it’s long  so if u don’t wanna read it here’s the sparknotes summary..... anyway this was written years ago n a lot of it seems really cliche and lame now but..... we accept the trash we think we deserve

grumpy, ugly sweater wearing, tech-savvy grandpa

very dry sense of humour and embraces nihilism. 

if ron swanson and april ludgate had a baby it would be finn

he was raised in derry, just south of dublin.

from a big family. elder sister called sinead. he also has a younger sister (aoife), a younger brother (colm), and a collie named lassie because his father lovs cliches (finn hates cliches but loves his dog). 

his father was a pub landlord and his mother worked at the market sellin fruit n veg when they met but got a job as a medical receptionist when she had kids cos it meant she cld be there with them in the day and work nights.

his parents met when they were p young and fiesty and rushed into marriage cos they were catholic n just wanted to have sex. his family were literally dirt-poor, but they had a lot of love i guess

hmmmmm his relationship w his father wasn’t the best cos i can’t write character who have healthy relationships w their parents throws up a peace sign. yh, had a pretty emotionally distant, alcoholic violent father n so gets a lot of his bad habits i.e. drinking as a coping mechanism and poor anger management from him BUT anyway

as a kid he was never very motivated in class, he always had a nervous itch to be off somewhere doing something else. struggled under government austerity bcso there just wasn’t the resources to support low income families where the kids had learning difficulties n needed support. fuck the tories am i right 

his mum suggested he try sports to help w his restless energy but he was never any good at football so he took up boxing and tap dance instead. he took to tap dancing like a fish to fuckin water. as adhd n found this as a really good way to use his excess energy in a creative way

had a few run ins with the police in his early teens for spray painting and graffiti, but he straightened himself out n now actually considering becoming a detective inspector??? cops are pigs.

he had a youtube channel where he posted videos of him tapdancing and breakdancing as a kid, basically would be a tiktok boy nowadays, n had like... a small fanbase in his early teens. attended several open auditions unsuccessfully, until he was finally cast in billy eliot when he was fifteen.

during billy eliot he began dating an italian dancer called nina. they became dance partners soon after and toured across the republic with various different shows (inc riverdance lol the classic irish stereotype). their relationship was p toxic tbh, they were both very hot tempered people and just used to argue and fight all the time.

he went semi-pro at tap dancing, and nina couldn’t stand being second best so she moved back to italy with her family. ignored his texts, phone calls, etc, eventually he was driven to the point where he used his savings to buy a plane ticket, showed up at her house and she was like wtf?? freaked out and filed a restraining order accusing him of stalking.

he was fined for harassment and then returned home to derry, but after the incident with nina he quit dancing for good and finished his leaving cert before heading to university in the US to get as far away from nina and his past life as poss. and basically since he quit dancing to study forensics (death kink. finn cant get enough of that morgue. just walks around sayin beat u) he’s become a massive grump and jsut doesn’t see the good in people any more.

u’ll find finn in an old man bar drinking whiskey bc he is in fact an old man at heart or sat on his roof smoking a joint, drawing wolves and lions and skeletons and shit, playing call of duty or getting blazed or at the corner of the room in a house party ignoring everyone and scrolling through twitter. is a massive e-boy. always up-to-date on memes and internet slang. has reddit as an app on his phone

not very good at communication. rather than solve his issues by talking, he’d prefer to just solve them through fighting or running away from his problems hence why he has come halfway across the world to get away from an issue which probs cld have been solved w a few apology emails.

takes a lot to phase him, but when his beserk button gets pressed he can become a bit pugnacious like an angry lil rottweiler. in his undergrad he was in a few fist fights but doesn’t really do tht any more as he doesn’t condone violence.

 in the previous version of this rp he was hospitalised like 5 times. pls, give my son a break. stop tryin to kill him. he literaly got a bottle smashed over his head and bled out all over his favourite angora rug that was the only light of his life

works at the campus coffee shop n always whines about how he’s a slave to capitalism. always smells of coffee

lives off campus with an elderly woman named Marianne, and basically gets reduced rent bcos he makes her dinner / keeps her company. they have a great bond

fan of karl marx. v big on socialism

insomniac with chronic nosebleeds

cynical about everything. too much of a fight club character 4 his own good n has his head up tyler durden’s sphincter

always confused or annoyed

statistics

basic information

full name: finnegan seamus o'callaghan nickname(s): finn age: 25 astrological sign: aries hometown: derry, ireland occupation: phd student / former street entertainer fatal flaw: cynicism positives: self-reliant, street smart, relaxed, intelligent, spontaneous, brave, independent, reliable, trustworthy, loyal. negatives: hostile, impulsive, stubborn, brooding, pugnacious, untrusting, cynical, enigmatic, reserved.

physical

colouring: medium hair colour: dark brown, almost black eye colour: brown height: 5’9” weight: 69kg build: tall, athletic voice: subtle irish accent, low, smooth. dominant hand: left scar(s): one on the left side of his ribs from a knife wound that he doesn’t remember getting cos he was drunk distinguishing marks: freckles, tattoo of a wolf howling at a moon allergies: pollen and the full spectrum of human emotion alcohol tolerance: high drunken behaviour: he becomes friendlier, far more conversational than when sober, flirtier, and generally more self-confident.

psychological

dreams/goals: self-fulfilment, travel the globe, experience life in its most alive and technicoloured version, make documentary films, help the vulnerable in society, grow as a human being.

skills: jack-of-all-trades, very fast runner, good at thieving things, talented tap dancer, good in crisis situations, dab-hand at mechanics, musically-intelligent, can throw a mean right hook and very capable of defending himself, can roll a cigarette, memorises quotes and passages of literature with ease, can light a match with his teeth.

likes: the smell of the earth after rain, poetry, cigarettes, shakespeare, whiskey, tattoos, travelling, ac/dc, deep conversations, leather jackets, open spaces, the smell of petrol, early noughties ‘emo phase’ anthems.

dislikes:  the government, parties, rules, donald trump, children, apple products, weddings, people in general, small talk, dependency, loneliness, pop music, public transport, justin timberlake, uncertainty.fears: fear itself, drowning alignment: true neutral mbti: istp – “while their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, istps are actually quite enigmatic. friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, istp personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. istps can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.” (via 16personalities.com)

full bio (lame as fuck written years ago..... pleathe...)

tw homophobia

born in quigley’s pub on the backstreets of sunny dublin, young finnegan o'callaghan was thrown kicking and screaming into the rowdy suburbs of irish drinking culture. the son of a landlord and a fishwife, he never had much in the way of earnings, but there was never a dull moment in his lively estate, where asbo’s thrived, but community spirit conquered. at school, finn was pegged as lazy and unmotivated, though truly his dyslexia made it hard for the boy to learn in the same environment of his peers and only made him more closed-off in class. struggling with anger management, finn moved from school to school, unable to fit the cookie-cutter mould that school enforced on him, though whilst academic studies were of little interest to the boy, he soon found his true passions lay in recreational activities. immersed into the joys of sport from as young as four, finn was an ardent munster fan and anticipated nothing more than the day he could finally fit into his brother’s old pair of rugby boots.

his calling finally came unexpectedly, not in the form of rugger, but through dance. to learn to express himself in a non-academic way, he began tap dancing, finding therapy in the beat of his soles against the cracked kitchen tiles (much to his mother’s disgrace). it wasn’t a conscious choice, finn just realised one day that dance was something that made him feel. a king of the streets, finn made his fortune on those cobbled pavements – dancing and drawing to earn his keep. by default, finn became a street artist, each penny he earned from his chalk drawings saved in a jam jar towards buying his first pair of tap shoes. though many of his less-than-amiable neighbours called him a nancy and a gaybo, finn refused to quit at his somewhat ‘unconventional’ hobby, for the young scrapper found energy, life, and released anger through the rhythm of tap. soon he branched out into street dance, hip hop, break dancing, lyrical, his days spent smacking his scuffed feet against the broken patio into the night.

when he was thirteen he took up boxing, and as expected, his newfound ‘macho’ pastime conflicted with his dancing. the boxers called him ‘soft’; the dancers called him ‘inelegant’. he felt like two different people; having to choose between interests was like being handed a knife and asked to which half of himself he wished to cut away. he couldn’t afford professional training in dance, with most schools based in england and limited scholarships available. instead, he made the street his studio, racking up a small fanbase on youtube. when he was fifteen he made his debut in billy eliot at the olympia theatre in dublin. enter nina de souza, talented, beautiful and italian; ballet dancer, operatic singer, genius whiz kid, and spoiled brat. she was selfish, conceited, hell bent on getting her own way, and every director’s nightmare. finn fell for her like a house of cards. he’d always had a soft spot for girls who meant trouble. and so their hellish courtship began.

by the time they were seventeen, the two young swans had danced in every playhouse across the republic. they were known in theatres across the country for their tempestuous personalities, their raging arguments with one another, their tendency to drop out of shows altogether without any notice, yet the money kept rolling in and the audiences continued to grow. for three years, their families continued to put up with their hysterical fights followed by passionate reconciliations. he was too possessive, and she was too wild. their carcrash of a relationship finally came to a catastrophic halt when nina broke off the whole affair and returned to italy with her family. for months finn tried to contact her, yet his phone calls, texts, facebook messages were always ignored, until finally he was driven to drastic measures and used his savings to get a plane to her home town. when finn turned up uninvited at nina’s house she freaked out – and rightly so – she contacted her agent, accused him of stalking her, and had a restraining order placed against him. finn was arrested, held in a station overnight, and charged with harassment before he was allowed to return to dublin.

after the incident with nina, finn lost the fight in his eyes. he became far more hostile, far less likely to retaliate with his own fists, and picked fights not for the thrill of feeling his own fists pummel another into a wall, but for the sensation of his own brittle bones cracking. he dropped his tap shoes in a dumpster, stopped talking to his friends, followed his father’s advice and went back to school to complete his leaving certificate. a few short months later, and finn was packing his bags, saying his bittersweet goodbyes, and travelling half-way across the globe to be as far away as possible from his past self, his mess of a life, and most of all nina. it seemed somehow ironic that the boy who had been cautioned by the garda so much during his youth for spray painting, busking without a liscence, and raucous parties would become the grumpy, aloof overseas student studying a degree in criminology; that his once reckless spirit could be crushed so easily. 

of all things that finn could be called, straightforward would never be one of them. ever since his first days in atticus, the boy was pegged as hostile, hot-headed, cynical, rude. he seemed to spend more time in his thoughts than engaging in conversation. like a ticking time-bomb, finn’s anger was of the calm kind, liable to explode without a moment’s noticed. his unpredictable personality make him something of an enigma to those who aren’t amiable with the lad, though hostile as he may appear, he harvests a good heart. loyalty lies at the centre of his affections, and whilst his friends are few in number, he makes a lifelong partner. somewhere within finn, there’s still some fight left, but mostly he has recognised that his hedonistic lifestyle did little to leave him fulfilled – mostly, it just emptied him out – and over his three years at university has resigned himself to a nihilistic predicament.

        if u wanna plot with me pls pls pls im me or like this post!! i am always game for plots i love em so excited to write with you all here r some ideas

study buddies. finn is now a phd student so has to start takin shit seriously. he gon be in the library every day doing that independent study. if he had ppl who were also regular library goers n they get each other coffees to save time.... tht wld be sweet

ppl who love techno dj sets and going super hard on the weekends!!! fuck yea

friends with benefits. exes on bad terms. ppl he tried to date but couldnt because he’s always emotionally hung up on someone else. spicy hook up plots

ppl he met touring?? maybe ppl who were also in the entertainment industry..... anyone got a character who is ex circus hit me up

does anyone else study criminology / forensics / criminal psych / law? phd students sometimes lecture so he cld be an assistant lecturer / tutor if ur character is in a younger year

gamers !!! social recluses !!! hermits !!

finn goes to the skatepark and all the young boys there think he’s a gradnpa which he is! 

[maximvms-blog]

HEY HOW’S IT GOIN’ GUYS. it’s ya girl aura and i’m back for veritas: quarter quell edition ! i’m a 20 year old garbage can ( she / her or they / them pronouns plz ) from pst timezone. as you can clearly see, i am a mess, but i’m here to have fun and get to know all of you guys !! i can’t WAIT to unlock the mysteries of this rp, and i know for a fact its going to actually destroy me, so heads up: i’m diagnosed babey and cry over everything all the time. that being said, i also love pain so while i may be crying, i am also THRIVING !! i’m also an artist so i hope ya’ll are ready for me to occasionally draw the shenanigans that happen here. it’s gonna be a TIME !

anyway, enough about me ! click the neat little read more button to get to know my baby boy, maxi-pad. if you like what you see, also feel free to hit that ♥ and i’ll pop into your tumblr or discord ims to aggressively keysmash a plot out. sounds good ? GREAT !! can’t wait to talk to you all asfkalsdjfasfd i’m so excited !

skeleton: the ace faceclaim: froy gutierrez name: max thomas gender & pronouns: cis male ( he/him ) age: twenty-two major: zoology clubs: captain of the track & field and football team ; student government secretary living arrangement: auberlin apartments / apartment 01 employment: unemployed, but occasionally volunteers places & does odd jobs for those that need it

[ GENERAL ]

first off, some links. you can find his dossier HERE ( featuring a bio / some stats ) & his pinterest board HERE !!

his name is maximilian anthony thomas ( if he turns out to be the killer i’m gonna laugh because i really did give him 3 first names ) but honestly just max is fine ^^

he’s the child to two ABSOLUTE UNITS of women. both of them are olympic medalists in the athletics category. even his sperm donor dad ( who, yes, also helped raise him ) was a big time baseball player who now coaches one of the best international teams, so to say that he is SPORTS BOY would almost be an understatement.

his sport of choice is easily track, but he also really enjoys baseball, basketball, soccer, and, later on in life, football. if it’s got a ball or allows him to run, chances are he plays it.

he was winning medals as early as 7 years old and had enough for a full wall by the time he was 10. boy is a legacy and it SHOWS.

he doesn’t like it when people try to give him things just because of his name or who his parents are. he would much rather get things through his own hard work. at the same time, he hates losing and is willing to do not so great things in secret if it means he’ll win.

captain of the track & field team during the spring / summer and captain of the football team during fall / winter. he also might be in the student government too so rifp his schedule. boy is ALWAYS busy.

LOVES HIS TEAMMATES SO FUCKING MUCHHHHH !!!!!! they’re his family.

he also does a lot of charity events cuz his parents raised that shit in him ( they literally met at a charity triathalon ), so he goes to quite a view galas and whatnot. LITERALLY HE’S SO BUSY THIS BOY NEVER HAS FREE TIME.

is surprisingly really well versed in art & art history due to one of his moms being a HUGE art history buff. literally his family did an art tour vacation once where they just went across europe & went to a bunch of galleries. basically he may seem like a dumb jock, but if you mix up a renoir & a monet, he WILL call you out on it.

absolute sunshine boy !! loves to smile & laugh & love !! is so passionate about everything !

however, he has some really bad jealousy and pride issues, as hinted at earlier. they’re easily his greatest vices in equal measure.

he’s emotionally fragile so if he snaps, it can get pretty scary, but he’s really good at hiding that side of him. granted, bottling it all up probably isn’t the best either . . .

THAT SAID, HE’S STILL THE TOWN’S GOLDEN BOY !! his coach keeps talking about the 2020 olympics and he’s SO PSYCHED !! everyone in town knows his name bc he really out here being nice to everyone he meets & helping little old ladies cross the road on top of everything else he does. he’s just That Guy.

[ DAISEY ]

he had known her since they were wee babies, and they were definitely friends first. whenever they played house, he was always the dog looooong before he played her husband.

the two were always real & honest with each other, and it’s safe to say that he knew the true her before she got all caught up in her loneliness and secret hoarding.

SHE was the one to ask HIM out not long after starting middle school, making them each other’s first like . . . actual relationship. ( though tbh, she moreso DEMANDED he be her boyfriend, rather than properly asking him aslkfjasdf he could never say no to her though so it didn’t really matter )

they wound up having an off-&-on relationship for SIX YEARS. in late-ish high school, he could feel her drifting away so he told her his secret, thinking it would stop her from being bored of him. unfortunately she ended up breaking up w/ him the next day.

[ STALKING TW ] before long she was already seeing someone new. that triggered his jealous streak, and between that and his fear that she was going to tell someone his secret, he started stalking her. at first it was just lining up their schedules so he could always keep an eye on her, but eventually he got access to her social media logins and started keeping tabs on her private conversations. she’d shown him some of her own hacking tricks when they were still together, so even when she changed her passcodes, it was a simple crack before he was snooping through her shit again.

eventually she confronted him about the fact that she was constantly seeing him everywhere, though still unaware of the fact that he was the one that was hacking into her accounts. he played it off, and while she did tell the authorities about it, that was about the end of it. he stopped stalking her for a couple of years after following her to st ettienne, and things mellowed out between them.

he joined student council that year, and after that him and daisey started to talk a lot more again. they even kinda became friends again. one night, she was having a rough time so she called him. after a quiet night of talking and looking at the stars, she kissed him. it was really great, up until she shoved him away and said it was a mistake, going right back to ignoring his existence the very next day. this caused him to fall back into his stalking habits, finding them a comfort.

this time, she finds out that its HIM going through her social media, and she pulls him aside privately at the homecoming party to yell at him. she even says that she’s going to expose his secret for being such a creep. it’s then that he sees her for what she really is, rather than the rose-colored image he’d been seeing before.

that’s the last he ever sees of daisey rutherford, and he can’t tell if he’s grateful or heartbroken for that.

[ WANTED CONNECTIONS ]

okay listen i’m . . . honestly garbage at coming up with wanted connections because i genuinely want everything. friends, lovers, enemies, family — the whole shebang. i’m always down to brainstorm, so if you’ve got any ideas, even if they’re whacky, hit me with them and we can come up with something phenomenal and unique, yeah ? yeah !

the biggest actual idea i can think of is like . . . half siblings through his biological father. i think the dichotomy of that could be fun since his dad is still VERY MUCH in his life along w/ his 2 moms. TAKEN BY CASSIDY

rivals in sports could be fun ! as w/ rivals in general !

people he tried hooking up w/ to make daisey jealous when they weren’t together ? maybe ??

he doesn’t drink or smoke or do anything fun so like ?? a bad influence type connection mayhaps ?

HE NEEDS A TUTOR !!!! HE NEEEEEDS A TUTORRRRR !!!!!

bro squad bro squad bro squad bro squad bro squad. did i mention bro squad ?? ( ed is his best fucking friend so any mutual friends,,,,,, let’s squad it up )

maybe i’ll edit this later if more come to me, but for now that’s what i’ve got !! hmu if anything strikes your fancy or if you’ve got any other ideas !

[notenoughmuses]

alt! c:

Ooof so many to choose from....Shall I start from my early beginnings in 2005/06 (I was 11 when I found a Proboards called Flaming Passions (A horse and wolf rp site). It died out in my when I was 16/17 from low activity and older people posting super smutty things that shouldn't have been posted per Proboards rules) where one my horse characters unlived herself via a cliff cuz all her friends were dead ?

SOOO let's go with 9 years ago, I played Grantaire from Les Miserables. Under the name Sobergrandr. I dug up this old starter:

Sitting upright, his back too straight for his comfert. His black curley hair was the only thing that was still remoltely him. He stabbed at the lettuce with his fork, taking a bite of the lightly ceasered dipped lettuce Grantaire forced himself to listen to his father drone on and on about his life and how well his new investments where going.  Grantaire stared at his father, a blank expression rested on his face. 

“Answer me Kenneth.” Grantiare scowled at the use of his name. Kenneth Grantaire Tremblay. No one had ever called him by Kenneth excpet his father. No one liked that name but his father. Grantaire had changed his legal name to exclude Kenneth all together.  So Grantaire did not answer his father who looked cross until he sighed and gave in.  “Grantaire.” Hearing his name he looked up from his plate and spoke “I’m glad your investments bode well for you father.” Grantaire replied robotically.  He’d been too used to these conversations. “You’re majoring in business. So these investments bode well for you as well.” His father told him in a matter-of-fact way.  “Art, father” Grantaire told his father. “No, you majored in bu-”

“Art, I’m going to major in art."  His father was shocked. "Going to?! You haven’t-  Grantaire could feel his father glare at him as he cut his father off. "Picked a major yet, yes.” “You’ve been wasting these past two years?!!” Grantaire wanted to flinch and run away as his father’s voice raised. He had to be strong this time. I’ve finally found my passion" His father scoffed. “I’ve been right about you since you were in first grade.” His father paused, smirking at his son’s open mouth. “Worthless piece of shit, I should disown you.” Grantiare bite his tounge, trying not to lose his cool. “Then do it, go ahead!” He challenged his father.

"Your mother would kill me if she could hear me say that, so in her memory, I won’t…Yet.“ At the mention of his dead mother, Grantaire’s expression grew dark. "The only thing keeping me here is her.” He whispered bitterly. “Grantaire-” He cut off his father. “No.  You can go to hell. Fuck off. You’ve always treated me worse than a dog. Disown me, we’d both be better off.” He told his father who stalked to the table, grabbed his suit’s collar roughly, and threw Grantaire on the floor, pounding into Grantaire who tried to curl up into a ball. “You don’t talk to me like that until you grow up. Understand?!” Grantaire tried to run from the monster, he felt his leg get caught by his hand and was drug back. He soon felt his ribs re-break, new bones break and old wounds bled. Shit, shit. That was all Grantaire could think as he started to black out.

He woke up outside near his car, Grantaire struggled to get up and stumbled into the car, got in, and drove the hour-long trip back to campus, his body bruised and bleeding, his head felt foggy as he pulled into his apartment and once inside he broke out the closest bottle and downed the whole thing, he drank another bottle and reached for a third as he sent out drunken texts.  He didn’t know who he was sending them to, nor did he care.  After the third bottle, he could barely feel any pain coursing through his system. Oh, how he loathed himself right now.  His life was just one fucked up mess.

[centralcitysfinest-rp]

Welcome to Central City, AJ! We’re glad to have you as our Ronnie Raymond! Please make your account with 24 hours and send it in! After you’ve made your account, please follow the main and check the members checklist. Enjoy your time here in Central!

**we kindly ask current acceptance to hold on posting until the flashpoint event ends, thank you.

name/alias: AJ

age & timezone: EST

activity (not just a number, but a good description as well):

rp experience (previous blogs, duration of rp): Pretty often

ic info:

character name/codename: Ronnie Raymond

character age: 29

faceclaim: Robbie Amell 

species(human, alien, meta)/status (villain, civilian, hero): Meta

occupation: Lead Structural Engineer in S.T.A.R Labs

Biography (min. 2 paragraphs) 

Past:

Ronnie Raymond was born the only child to Elaine Rockwell and National Journalist Edward Rockwell in Pittsburgh, PA in the lovely spring of 1988. His Mom stayed at home to raise him up while his father worked long hours to support their family for most of his childhood, thus resulting in him forming a close connection with his Mother. She stressed the importance of education in him early on, and always made sure to foster his creativity and inventive nature while balancing it equally with sports as he grew up, catering to his athletic abilities as well.

With his mother’s attention, his focus on his studies, and his extra activities of football, hockey and lacrosse, his Fathers absence was hardly noticed. Unfortunately, that all came crashing down when his mother was brutally murdered in a car bombing the summer of his sophomore year. Her death devastated both he and his father, as both men were suddenly left to fend for themselves in the world. While Ronnie and his father never had the strongest relationship, a bond failed to flourish, as his father was not only exceedingly secretive of the details surrounding his mother’s murder, but also refused to compromise his position at his job to raise his son.

From there on out, Ronnie raised himself, keeping busy with his studies and sports; in turn keeping his mind off the long hours his Father worked. Upon completion of high school, he accepted a full ride scholarship to attend MIT for Structural Engineering, and moved to Massachusetts to purse that endeavor, leaving his broken family life behind.

It was in college that he discovered his true love for engineering; he lost hours of his life in the lab and in the hangers, always working on some new crazy project that pushed the modern-day boundaries of quantum physics. His Senior Thesis on the possibility of designing a structure to harness infinite energy and use it to debunk the cosmic censorship conjecture, drew the attention of Central City’s elite science research facility, S.T.A.R. Labs. Ronnie was promptly offered a fully compensated internship on the infamous Particle Accelerator Project, spearheaded by Scientific Innovator Harrison Wells.

Ronnie moved to Central City and dove right in, easily outworking his superiors on the project with his naturally inventive mind and critical, yet divergent thinking. However, a dream career wasn’t the only thing he was bestowed with at S.T.A.R. Labs; it was there where he also met the love of his life, Dr. Caitlin Snow.

The first time he set eyes on her at the food cart, casually getting a cup of coffee early in the morning, he knew he had to make that gorgeous, intelligent woman his. However, she was not as receptive, and certainly made him work hard for her affections. There were times he felt discouraged; as if her mind was consumed with her research and he wasn’t even a blip on her radar, no matter how charming he managed to be. Soon enough, many months and hallway coffees down the road, he finally could get her to agree to a real dinner date, and the rest was history.

Also, while working on the Particle Accelerator, he met Cisco Ramon - a fellow gifted engineer on the project, and the 3 of them formed an inseparable bond of friendship and science as they paved the way to the future. After years of hard work; failures, and long sleepless nights in the pipeline, the night had finally come where they would activate their finished project.

Once turned on, the accelerator became unstable, and Ronnie did what any selfless, responsible engineer would; entered the core in an attempt to stabilize the accelerator and spare the city an immense wave of destruction. He succeeded in doing so, but not without the expensive of his own life - locked in on his own call, he was vaporized in the explosion and thought to be dead.

Months passed as the team licked their wounds; and when he came to; he realized he had not actually perished; but was merged in a body with Professor Martin Stein; a nuclear scientist on the cutting edge of harnessing nuclear energy through research entitled the FIRESTORM Matrix. Eventually, they were found and accepted help from his better half Caitlin and her friends who had taken up fighting metahumans at what was left of S.T.A.R. Labs. The team was able to separate them; and Ronnie took up a slot, using his new found pyrokinetic powers alongside Barry Allen and Oliver Queen to protect the cities they loved.

Of course, all couldn’t end well, and once again, Ronnie made the selfless choice to separate from Stein in the core of a singularity breach to close it and save Earth. This resulted in his 2nd death; once again leaving his gorgeous wife in this world alone.

Present: Fortunately, the singularity didn’t kill Ronnie for a second time; it hurled him across dimensions and into Earth 3, where he was merged with their rendition of Firestorm, Deathstorm. After a gruesome showdown; he was finally able to separate from the villain and find his way back to Prime Earth, tumbling through a breach opened by Earth 2 speedster Zoom.

Positive Traits:

Innovative

Happy

Genuine

Negative Traits:

Stubborn

Selfless

Hot-Tempered

Connections:

Caitlin Snow: Wife Grace Snow: Sister in Law Cisco Ramon/Barry Allen: friends and colleagues Team Arrow: Allies

skills:

positive traits: 3

negative traits: 3

para sample (min 2 paragraphs/ preferably ic)

“… Right.” he said, fumbling a bit with his keys; his face still cold from where her sharp nail grazed the skin. “So whats the point of all of this? You know, the stalking me and then holding me hostage in my own apartment?” he asked, oblivious to whatever motives she had. It wasn’t like he had an eventful night planned; he was hoping to just go home and make a sandwich then catch an episode of Seinfeld before bed. 

The fact that she had yet to reveal what she was up to was a bit unsettling, but he tried not to let it make him too nervous. She hadn’t killed him yet for whatever reason, and damn, he was actually starting to wish he knew where Stein was in case he needed to merge. Just as he put the key into the door, he felt an icy blast blow by as she froze the door in the hallway shut. “That wasn’t nice, what if my neighbors have to let their dogs out?” he sighed, shaking his head in disappointment as he finally managed to get the door open, moving it back and forth a little in thought. Nothing a little WD-40 couldnt fix in the morning. 

“Make yourself at home, Cait…lin? What should I call you again?” he asked, tossing his keys into a dish on the counter as they entered the run down apartment. It wasn’t dirty, just old and in a not so great part of town.

[forsaken-city-rp]

Welcome to the Forsaken City!   We’re glad to see that you have arrived safely within the city limits.  You have three days to make your facebook and add the admins Z.Tao, Hoseok, Seunghyun, and Hyunjae.  But be careful, the sun is rising quickly, and hunters are always on the move.

NAME, STAGE NAME, AND GROUP: Li Wenhan, Wenhan, Member of Uniq

AGE: 32 in Human Years/Physically 21 years old (He ages at both Physically and Mentally at half the speed of a normal human being/ 1.5:1 Ratio)

SPECIES: Half Merman, Half Siren

LIT RP SAMPLE:

Wenhan excitedly wandered about Downtown Seoul, marveling at the stores along the street, all abuzz with all manner of business. Never before had he seen a sight as magnificent  as this. This human city—overflowing with psychedelic light, radiating an exuberant sense of wonder—had been always been a point of interest for Wenhan. Despite the ungodly hour, the crowds of vibrant mortals didn’t seem to mind, and neither did Wenhan. It was incredible to experience all of this up close, being able to walk among mankind and explore the world above the waves. It was strange and invigorating to observe human civilization firsthand,  it was nothing like the Yellow Sea from which he came. Ever since he was a small child, he heard whispered stories of fantastic tools and technology, and of tragic yet beautiful love stories. Being able watch it all unfold in front of him, seeing these people go about their daily lives felt like a dream. The street was loud, a commotion of a hundred indistinct conversations taking place at once, excluding himself, who awkwardly stumbled his way through the crowds of people. 

The sights, the sounds, all of it was all very new to him. Wenhan had never swam beyond the borders of the Yellow Sea, let alone go ashore and walk out and about. He had always been too afraid to go ashore, his father had always forbidden him from doing so. Apparently the human world was too ‘dangerous’ for supernatural creatures such as himself. But here he was, defying all the rules and morals he had set out for him. Wenhan didn’t care about the rules, he had taken a leap of faith, choosing to embrace his desire to live among mankind. It was beautiful in every aspect, much more vibrant and lively than anything he could have called home. He felt as if nothing could spoil this moment…so why did he get the feeling he being followed? Wenhan had the sense that someone or something had been stalking him ever since he had stepped onto land. He had half the mind to run off, but something told him to keep calm. Even if he tried to run, he’d probably fall flat on his face; it nearly took him almost half an hour to learn how to walk, so running wasn’t exactly a good idea either. So he tried to act natural (or as natural as a literal fish out of water could act) and continued to walk down the street. Wenhan’s eyes darted about, scanning the block for any possible threats. From what was visible, there wasn’t any signs of him being followed. Despite the area being clear, he could feel a suffocating murderous intent in the air—growing thick like fog around him, weighing down on his chest. Swallowing hard, Wenhan turned the corner and continued to move.

To his displeasure, he hadn’t turned the corner alone. A hooded figure was following close behind, their hands in their pockets. Wenhan’s heart was racing now, and he needed to calm down or else he’d blow his cover. He wasn’t about to run when he had finally gotten the guts to come ashore. Positive thoughts. Think positive thoughts. Maybe whoever was following him wasn’t trying to hunt him down? As if on cue, a dagger comes spiraling from behind Wenhan, scraping against his cheek and burying itself in the lamp pole in front of him. Wide-eyed, Wenhan brought his hand to his face, brushing his fingers over the cut left in the blades wake. A cold trail of blood had began to seep from the thin cut, soaking his fingers in the sticky crimson droplets. It began to ooze in between the space from his fingers as he covered the wound with a shaky hand. The stranger smiled under their hood, a bright sadistic smile that shone in the dark of the night.

Wenhan needed to get the hell out of there. But the question was how, he didn’t have any weapons on him, and there was nowhere for him to go. As a Hybrid, his only true weapon was his voice. However, it was a dangerous one at that, and he never wanted to use it to harm anyone. There was the option of swimming away, but the closest body of water was the river, and that was nearly a mile away from where he was now. He was running out of options and he needed to think fast, because he didn’t have all night. Wenhan carefully and slowly stepped backwards, tripping over the curve and falling back onto his behind. He began to scramble back as the stranger stepped closer—pulling back their jacket to reveal a whole array of polished knives, tracing their fingers over their selection.

There was no questioning it now. He had no choice left. Taking in a deep breathe, Wenhan let out an ear-shattering scream, causing the streetlamps around them to shatter, sending sparks and glass flying like firecrackers. The stranger released the blade in their hands and covered their ears, squeezing their eyes shut as they dropped to their knees. He wasn’t knocked out yet, Wenhan needed to get louder if he wanted to get out of here alive. Inhaling from his nostrils, he raised the pitch of the shriek past the point of human hearing. The man cried out before falling limp onto the ground, their head rolling to the side. The sound of a hundred dogs barking and confused mortals filled the air as Wenhan shut his mouth. Struggling to get to his feet, Wenhan looked down at his assailant. His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, blood dripping from his ear. Horrified at what he had done, Wenhan turned and rushed away from the scene as fast as he could, ignoring the terrified screams of the unlucky humans who found his victim.

[shimmerbeasts]

The crowds' cheering and whooping fell on deaf ears. For Vi and Jinx alike. The Loose Canon leaned forward, her purple eyes flashing ominously underneath her grey hood as she laser-focused on Vi. Damn, sister. You really bet on the wrong horse, didn't you? Violet looked bad, worse than Jinx had ever seen her. Her sister's magenta hair was plastered in black oil and water, and paint smears covered up the tattoos, she used to wear with such pride. Instead of red leather, she had swapped the hide for black with some spikes and patterns on the back. The wolves looked almost like a shallow imitation of the Kiramman emblem.

Still crying out for that cold charlatan to save you. Pathetic. One would think you had learned your lesson.

Her fingers flexed and the betting card rubbed against her fingers. The one of flesh and the one of metal. Jinx gave a low humming grumble as she followed Vi's movements with her eyes. She realised what the other spectators did not: Her sister was already preparing to spring a trap. She was forcing her opponent to match her movement and pace. Like a normal walk, the danger was never speeding up. The danger lay in abruptly slowing down. And it was this slowing down, which would allow Vi to strike.

The ding of the bell was all her sister needed to spring into action. Jinx leaned over the railing to get a better look. Her breath caught in her throat. The way her sister relentlessly went after the other boxer was eerily similar to the endless pursuit of hounds after Silco's trigger words touched their ears. The snap of fingers and his harsh, hollow call: "Sicc'em!" The memory made Jinx tremble and blink away a few tears. She would have never thought she'd miss that verbal trigger so much.

Fighting the memory down, Jinx returned all her focus to the fight at hand. However if one was honest and generous, one would not even call this a fight. Thundering Tom or whatever his name was stood no chance. Despite being way larger than Vi, her sister danced around the massive body like a drunkard, slamming her fists into his belly and side, cracking ribs and dodging any counter, he threw at her. Even as he groped her head, Vi unleashed a vicious roar, leapt forward and sent him down on the ground with her fists slamming into his temple knocking him out cold.

The crowd's roars and cheers, climbing in volume as Vi pumps the air and yells herself, became white noise in Jinx's ears. As the others madly wave their betting cards around, already congratulating themselves on their cut of the money, Jinx merely raised her fingers, the betting card pinched between them, and continued staring at her sister with calculated eyes and a burning hunger in her belly.

Just what are you doing to yourself, sister? Wasting away like that? And for what? A love that never comes. Story of my life.

Collecting her pistol and a good cut of the betting money, Jinx let the goons point her the way towards the backstage area. Even before she entered Vi's room, the smell of alcohol hit her like a sledgehammer. Her purple eyes flitted around, taking in the chaos in Vi's room. Empty bottles of cheap alcohol lined the walls. The stench of whiskey burned her nose hairs. The inside of the sink was covered in washed-out paint, though it looked more like black vomit.

Vi was hugging the dirty white sink, staining it with more blood and spit. Her breathing was shallow, and her paling face was positively bathed in sweat. Jinx could feel a crumb of concern blooming in her despite herself. Her metal finger rested cool among her flesh ones. She swallowed, remembering the feeling of sharp-edged gloves coiling around it, squeezing her windpipe shut. All Vi had to do, was punch one more time and it would have been over. Deliciously over. But Isha had saved her life. And Jinx could not even find it in her to be mad at the girl.

"Janna, be damned. You really let yourself go." Jinx walked over to the sink and crossed her arms on top of it. Leaning over, she peered at Vi. There was no mocking euphoria in her eyes, just the dull gleam of pity. "Let me guess: The commander and chief dropped you like a still-cooling carcass. And now, you think that getting eaten by the other competitors might fix that damaged heart of yours."

@valiantthearts

Vi couldn’t remember the last time she saw someone she knew, the last time she’s had a comforting touch. From this point on, every touch was vicious, violent, resentful, and painful. A self-inflicting punishment for failing everyone she knew. Powder, Vander, Caitlyn, her mother. Everything had fallen to pieces, and she was left with nothing in her wake. All she possessed were battered knuckles and the single potential skill of punching.

So that’s what she did. She fell into a vicious cycle: fighting, drinking, clubbing, sleeping. Though the last two were negotiable, as sleep might come and most nights brought vicious nightmares that ripped into her. So drinking became even more of a crunch to silence those dreams, to drink herself into a stupor that she had no other choice. And then she would repeat. Her claws often left notches on her wall, each day another prison sentence in her own mind.

Desperation clung to the one person she needed, seeing her in the waving banners, or a brief brush of blue and she hear her sweet laughter. She would take a step toward her, reach out to her, and she vanish into smoke, billows of blue smoke flittering through the air. But she was always there, in her dreams, in her mind, Caitlyn never left her. Which made everything far worse, falling even deeper into her drinking; a constant reminder of what she wanted, what she lost, and what she had failed.

Sitting in the waiting room, Vi dragged the oil point over her face, ensuring that Vi's tattoo was completely hidden. Black fingers matted and stained from the constant use of oils, and a half chuckle left her lips. “Oil and Water,” she muttered under her breath, though the laugh wasn’t funny at all; more humiliating to herself. Black oil covered Vi’s neck and down her shoulders, and some of it had streaked down making make-shift strips. The tiger showing off her strips with an empty dark glint in her eyes. The roar echoed, but Vi had drowned it all out; despite all the cheers and excited she knew she was always alone. This was not celebration. This was simple doing the one thing she was good at: hurting people.

With only a bandaged wrap around her breasts and a tight pair of black pants, tattered and worn from a year of use with heavy combat boots; she moved to the side of the ring that had the archway to let her through. A slow steady breath through her lips, the heavy breath of whisky on her lips, and the one thought of her in her fight.

Vi walked through oiled black hair that hung down the side of her shoulders, and dark green eyes opened up to look toward the man who looked mighty proud of himself as if he had already won. He pounded his chest like a gorilla, demanding the cheers of the crowd. Yet as she walked through, she was silent, vicious, and her eyes were on her target. Despite her silence, the cheers grew louder and brief echoes of people calling out to her echoed through the air, but she didn’t hear them. She heard no one but her own heart thumping in her chest and a small whisper in her mind. “You’re better than this,” Silken words purr from her voice and Vi shook her head. “No, I’m not,” Her voice was so silent, drowned out by the crowds that only she could hear in.

She began to walk purposefully, her claws clenched into fists. Biceps bulged as she lifted her elbows just enough and zeroed in on her prey. What was his name? Thunder Tony? Tom? Fuck it, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t care less about his name, only about leaving him sprawled out on the ground in the end. As Vi started her slow pace, Thomas began to mimic her movement; which she did on purpose. Forcing Thomas onto her turf, her movement, everything done by her precise skill. The fighting ring belonged to her, and anyone who dared enter it faced severe consequences. A circus tiger for all to praise and cheer, and she got paid for it.

The ding of the bell caused Vi to instantly reacted. Thomas didn’t stand a chance as Vi’s powerful legs lunged her forward and her fist came up and slammed directly into his chest. A slight crunching sound meant at least one rib bone had broken, as Vi twisted away from the punch that came overhead. His giant size gave her the advantage, to dodge faster despite her drunken self. She focused her punches on his gut, a series of jabs to the side, another dodge, and her fist came up to block one that went straight to her face.

He managed to catch on to the side of her head, as she stumbled backwards, briefly dazed, only for her anger to break her out. And she jumped upward with a scream and slammed her fist directly into the side of his head. She ensured her hit met his temple so he would go down.

And down he did like Goliath, a puff of sand and dirt and laid there, knocked unconscious. Everything drowned out again, as blood pooled down her busted lip, but Thomas had blood seeping from wounds more than her. Her claws had swiped a few times across his chest, against his cheek. The rules were clear: there are no rules. Last one standing won, and she did. The cheers became muffled in her ears as she panted, raising her fist in the air, causing the screams to grow even louder. Although audible, her roar did not signal victory to those who listened; it held bitter sadness at the echoes of the shout. Her feet lead her to the back as she stumbled and hit the wall.

Instantly, her eyes fell on her whisky bottle she had brought and reached for it for a swig. It burned down, smooth but hot, as she rubbed her free hand against her blacken lips. “Another idiot down. I better get my full cut this time,” she muttered as she put the bottle down and her hands rested against the sink, staring at her swaying face in the mirror. Blood dripped into the off white stained sink, swirling with drops of water as she brushed her fingers through her hair. As her vision twisted, she lowered her head down and pressed it against the porcelain device, trying to stop the room from spinning.